by B D Grant
I open my eyes. I slept most of the ride, only waking once when Dad asked if I wanted to stretch my legs at a pit stop. The sun is rising over the horizon turning the sky a pinkish-orange. I let out a big yawn, not liking to be up before seven o’clock unless it’s deer season. John answers the phone.
I readjust and begin drifting off again as John talks in a low voice.
“We’re almost there. No, nothing out of the ordinary…Yes sir.”
The sound of the phone hitting the hard console jolts me back awake. John’s voice is louder when he asks, “You awake, Mr. Jameson?”
Dad answers sleepily, “I am. Everything alright?”
John keeps one hand on the wheel as he reaches the other below his seat. He pulls out a handgun.
Seeing the gun, I sit upright. I check our surroundings outside of the car, but besides a few other cars on the road, there isn’t anything unusual,
He passes the gun to Dad. “Keep this on you in case we get stopped,” he tells him.
Dad scans the windows the same as I had.
“Are we expecting something?” I ask.
John glances over at me. “Only a precaution,” he says before turning his attention back to the road.
Nothing is discussed further until we’ve made it to New Orleans. This early in the morning there isn’t much traffic getting in. Clairabelle and Miles are standing out in the alley waiting for us at the back entrance of Clairabelle’s spa when we pull up. They both smile ear to ear when they see me in the passenger seat. John gets out to do a sweep of the spa and upstairs apartment to make sure it’s secure before we’re allowed out of the car.
Both Clairabelle and Miles look good as they wait by the car for John to return and give us the thumbs up. Both of them have made little, but noticeable changes. Miles’s dreads are now a natural-looking brown that he has pulled back in what has to be an enormous hair band for it to hold all of his dreads out of his face. Clairabelle has lightened her hair a few shades making it harder to tell that she’s his mother and not his sister.
Once everything’s secured, John has Clairabelle direct us to the upstairs dayroom as he calls my uncle to let him know that we’ve arrived.
Dad and I take the love seat in front of the coffee table. Jake takes a stool at the mini-bar on the other side of the coffee table. Clairabelle and Miles have been nice enough to lay out a choice of bagels and fresh fruit on the coffee table in the dayroom, and Miles hands out plates and utensils as he tells us about a new vegan food joint down the block that he’s hoping we’ll want to try for lunch. Clairabelle brings cold sodas from the kitchen for everyone before taking a seat on the floor at the left end of the coffee table. Waiting on John doesn’t cross my mind as I dig in, beating Jake to the one blueberry bagel. Miles grabs a wheat bagel before taking a seat next to Jake at the mini-bar as Clairabelle opens a soda. I keep watching Clairabelle and Miles as they eat, not realizing how much I have missed them until laying eyes on them outside of the spa. Clairabelle doesn’t use any butter or jelly on her bagel, but she finishes it before I’ve even gotten three bites into mine. Her appetite is impressive considering how slim she is, Miles too. My parents have always been in shape, but they were always mindful of what they ate and had made it a habit to walk or jog together most evenings when the weather allowed back in our old neighborhood.
I’m halfway through my bagel when John walks into the dayroom from the hall. He pauses in the doorway, looking over each of us as if he’s thinking something over. “I have some bad news,” he finally says, letting out a sigh.
I freeze, my mouth full of bagel. Jake sets down his slice of cantaloupe, turning in the bar stool to give John his full attention. Dad sets his food down as well. Miles and Clairabelle are the only ones who continue eating quietly.
“Yeah, it’s not good,” John says, his mouth drawn tight. “It looks like the second bus not making it to pick up the Rogues prisoners was a decoy.” My heart sinks. “The guys Mr. McBride sent out to locate the bus found the bus driver tied up at the depot. He’s telling them that he was about to get on the bus to leave when three masked men came in and knocked him out. He woke up with his feet and arms tied. That’s why no one could get ahold of him.”
“But he’s okay,” I say, relieved.
“He’s okay,” John says. “But that wasn’t the bad news. The bus that left from your hospital only made it to its destination at the new hospital with seven people on board. Two of them were nurses.”
“No, there were way more than that,” Jake says quickly.
John crosses his arms over his big chest. “According to the nurses, the bus was stopped by masked Seraphim It appears that our bus driver was part of it.”
“It was them,” Dad says beside me. “Rogues always have someone on the inside. It never fails.” He glares angrily at his bagel.
“Our detectives searched the stretch of highway where the nurses said it took place, but it was a remote spot. They didn’t find anything, as far as I know.”
“Of course not,” Dad grumbles, rubbing a hand over his mouth.
John looks at my dad. “The nurses said no one was harmed while they were there, but there were several armed Seraphim, so…”
“There’s no telling what happened to them,” Dad finishes. John doesn’t say anything. He turns to one of the windows in the dayroom that overlooks the street, his back to us.
“They’re as good as dead,” Jake says.
Miles looks down at his mother still sitting at the coffee table. Like all of us, she’s saddened by John’s news. She looks up at her son, noticing his eyes on her, and gives him a sad, tight grin.
Most of the patients on that bus had been students from the Rogue school that my uncle had his people raid, The Academy. Sure, a few of them had helped out the raiders, but most of them were kids! “Why would Rogues even want them?” I ask. “Some of those patients on that bus were shot by Rogues during the raid, on purpose. Why go to the effort for Seraphim who they didn’t care if they killed less than two weeks ago?”
“There’s no telling,” Dad says.
I wonder if this was that man’s plan all along when he used my connection with Sidney to scare me into believing that Rogues were coming for us. His threat of knowing where we all were didn’t seem to be a rehearsed speech, but had it been something that was really about to happen or was it something he came up with when he realized I was connected with Sidney. If he had known who Sidney was connected with than he would have known who my uncle was, surely. Had he guessed that I would go to my uncle if I was scared enough? Had I been the catalyst for all of this?
I glance around the room as Clairabelle asks to no one in particular, “Are we safe?”
I keep my mouth shut, wondering the same thing.
“We should be,” John says.
“Really?” I want to ask him, because I bet Kelly and everyone else on that bus were thinking they were safe too. They were at their most vulnerable sitting on that bus without the protection of the hospital or my uncle’s security. They were moved because of me, because I opened my big mouth and told my uncle that the wolves would soon be at our door. This is my fault.
“We weren’t followed,” John tells the room. “What I don’t get,” he says, turning back around, “is why they didn’t get their own people. They could have just waited until the second bus had picked the prisoners and then intercept that one.”
I need to talk to my uncle, I decide. I’ll ask John later when everyone isn’t around. I don’t even want to speak right now in fear that it might lead to me confessing my part in all of this.
“Those kids are more important to them than their own people,” Miles says nonchalant, getting off of his stool to reach down to the coffee table. Clairabelle isn’t a Seraphim, and neither is Miles. They are among the few nonSeraphim who know about people like us and still accept us as regular people. Miles picks up another bagel and takes a bite.
Uncle Will sounds preoccupied when John hands
me the phone. I caught John heading to his room on his evening check-in with my uncle.
“I, uh,” I say into the phone, hesitating as I look up at John. John notices, and without a word he turns and walks out of the hallway. For good measure, I turn around and head for my room. “I wanted to apologize,” I say quietly into the phone as I shut the door to the bedroom Clairabelle has designated as mine.
“For what?” he asks. I hear the rustle of papers on his end.
“For what happened to everyone today.”
Someone starts talking to my uncle and I could almost hear him wave the person away. “This isn’t your fault,” he says in a hushed but firm voice. “It was one of the men working security at the hospital who was feeding information to The Movement. He even volunteered to drive the bus.”
“But I’m the reason they were going to the new hospital.” I sound more like a small child than a sixteen year old.
“They only thing you did was alert me to the threat. What happened to the Seraphim on that bus proves you were right,” he says calmly. “And I need all the help I can get,” he says, his voice taking on an edge of desperation. “If you hear anything from…” he pauses. “From your friend,” he says, obviously referring to Sidney, “please let me know.”
“I will,” I say meekly.
“And don’t worry about the kids that were taken. We’ll find them.” A phone rings somewhere on his end. I hear him moving around. The ringing gets louder. “I need to get this,” he tells me. “Tell John to check in with me in the morning.”
“Yes sir,” I say as he hangs up the phone.
A month later, the scent of lavender is in the air as I trudge out of my room on the second floor, above Spa New Orleans, looking for Clairabelle. I stop by her room, but I can’t find her there or anywhere else upstairs. I pass through the kitchen, picking up a couple of donuts on my way to the dayroom. Well-versed in our food preferences by this point, Miles has gotten a few buttermilk donuts for Dad and me. I pick one up, taking a bite, before wrapping another in a napkin and carrying it in my other hand.
Jake and Miles are sitting outside on the veranda off of the dayroom facing the street. John had told all of us when we got here not to leave the second floor of Clairabelle’s property. Her spa, which is run on the first floor, has been off limits to us. John doesn’t even want non-Seraphim seeing us.
It wasn’t until last week that Jake finally talked him into allowing him access to the second floor terrace. However, the deal was that Jake had to disguise his appearance and sit right against the house so that if anyone were looking for us they wouldn’t be able to identify him when he’s outside. Miles took it upon himself to supply Jake with a range of getups. Today he is wearing a cowboy hat with a thick, fake mustache that juts out on either side, ending in a tight curl. It’s the mustache that does the trick; I’ve never seen Jake with so much as a five o’clock shadow. He keeps twisting the ends between his pointer finger and thumb as if it were a regular habit.
I go over to the love seat in the dayroom where Dad is sitting reading the newspaper and drop onto the empty spot next to him. He lowers his newspaper after a few moments, although clearly still distracted. “Good morning. How was your night?”
“Lovely,” I say, taking another bite from the donut. I put the extra one on the coffee table. The truth is that I haven’t slept well since we got here. I thought having my cast off would give me some relief. It was pretty funny watching John and Jake cut it off for me instead of leaving the apartment to go to a doctor’s office. I jumped a couple times just to scare them as they took turns cutting the plaster cast and underlying bandage, but it didn’t help me sleep any better that night. Every night, I fight fruitlessly to find Sidney or my mom in my sleep. John had been giving me his phone every evening when he’s checked in with my uncle, but the last few times he hasn’t. I’m guessing Uncle Will has gotten tired of hearing me tell him no every time he’s asked if I have found out anything new from Sidney.
Uncle Will’s been pretty vague about whether the detectives have gotten anywhere, but I do know that a few of the kids taken from the bus have been released to him. Getting some of the patients released had been some sort of a deal struck up by someone who had worked at The Academy and had up until that point not been thought to be an actual Rogue. He got in touch with my uncle wanting a trade. Supposedly, we got the better end of the deal. The Rogues had asked for Shelby Athens in return who had not been on the bus when it was ambushed. Shelby was a kid who was injured from an explosion during the raid. Raiders had found her on campus and she had still been in intensive care when the bus showed up to transport patients to the new hospital, which is why she didn’t make the trip. Shelby’s parents were wanted by detectives investigating the raid. Detectives believed that Shelby’s parents were Rogues based on footage from the raid, and the teacher admitted as much by asking for Shelby in return for some of the kidnapped patients.
All Uncle Will has told me about the people we got back is that Kelly wasn’t one of the returned Seraphim.
Despite all this, I spend the majority of my time worrying about Mom and Sidney, though. It’s been so much time since I’ve connected with either of them that I can’t help imagining the worst. Mom still thinks I’m dead, I’m sure, and Uncle Will’s people are too focused on everything else to worry about one woman who willingly went into hiding.
With Clairabelle and Miles carrying on with their daily lives as if they didn’t have a house full of visitors, Dad and Jake have been working with John to put together a list of known Rogues. The two of them draw from their time above and below the Rogue campus.
The crinkling from the newspaper pulls my attention back to my dad. He’s flipping to the comics section at the back of the newspaper. I finish off the first donut. “Are you worried about Mom?” I ask, wiping away the flakes of sugar from my shirt. After a moment, He places the paper on the coffee table. “Catherine knows what she’s doing,” he says, giving me a sad smile. “Your mother has always been prepared to leave at a moment’s notice. She’s been that way since we left Aurora, before you were born. She must have felt like she was in danger and for her that meant that she had to run.”
“I know that,” I say, looking down at the rug. “She knew that I was safe at The Southern Academy. There’s no way she would have known that I’d end up at the raid,” I admit.
“If she had known that you would be in combat, she would have been there. She would never have allowed you to be in danger like that.”
“Do you think she’s okay?” I ask, watching him carefully.
His smile tightens. “She’s staying under the radar. We have a protocol in place, your mother and I. She’s doing the same thing I’d have done in her shoes.”
I feel something stir when he says that, but I don’t push him on the lie. I don’t need to be a Veritatis to know that my dad is downplaying the situation for my benefit. It will just make it worse if I tell him that Mom thinks we’re both dead. There’s nothing he’d be able to do. I’ll just have to keep trying to connect with her. Dad’s still watching me carefully. “How are you doing with everything?”
“Fine,” I say. I haven’t looked at myself in a mirror since getting up. Besides the occasional finger-combing to get the flyways out of my face, I haven’t washed or brushed my hair in days. As it is my hair is pulled up in a frizzy bun nestled on top of my head.
I pull the hair band out and discover that my hair’s knotted itself. I give it another yank, taking out some of my hair with it. I brush out the blonde strands around my face, using my fingers before twisting it into a nicer bun at the nape of my neck. With my hair as long as it is, it feels better to have it up in a bun than in a ponytail where it doesn’t stop getting in the way.
I grab a tissue from the side table, feeling a sneeze mounting as the pressure builds in my nose. I let out a muffled puff of air into the tissue and tuck it in my pocket in case I need it again.
Dad is still watching me.
“I take it you haven’t opened the birthday presents your mom and I got you.”
“I opened The Happiness Inside,” I say, although I haven’t read it yet. “The other two are still in my suitcase. You want me to go get them?”
I had forgotten about the birthday presents Dad had given me the morning before he and the Angelo’s were taken by Rogues. I had the three presents with me when Uncle Will brought me to The Southern Academy. They were at the bottom of the bag that John had for me in the trunk of the Camry.
Dad shakes his head. “Wait until your mother’s here. She likes watching you open her gifts.”
“Okay,” I say. I pick up the napkin with the second donut and hand it to Dad before I head downstairs.
Clairabelle is walking her client to the front desk as I reach the first floor. I stay out of sight as they pass the doorway. I wait, listening for the waiting room door to shut, and Miles comes trotting down the stairs behind me. I quickly move to the side so he can pass.
“I’m coming,” he calls after them as he lands on the ground floor.
Clairabelle had to let her part-time receptionist go so that she could better keep our presence upstairs a secret, so I’ve been helping out when the spa rooms are empty. I’ve gotten in the routine to break up the long days. Most of the time, like this morning, all Clairabelle needs is the dirty sheets removed from the massage table and fresh ones tucked in tight on the table.
As I finish up, Clairabelle returns. “Did you use the stones?” I ask, trying to figure out what else I need to pick up around the massage room.
She stretches her hands up, reaching for the sky as she slowly bends back. Her spine makes a delicate curve. “Only the oils,” she says to the ceiling. “I shouldn’t need the stones today.”
I unplug the warmer that holds the hot stones and wipe down the oils. “How many clients are you seeing this morning?”
“Two more. Did you get yourself some donuts before the guys wiped them out?”
