Blood Awakens

by Jessaca Willis

  Sean scrambled for a clean shirt and found one of his favorites. A shirt with character, his brother would’ve called it. If today was going to be as busy as he anticipated, he needed to wear a shirt that was a little worn.

  The red fabric caught on the solid curves of his shoulders as it slipped down over his head and past his stomach. These were the arms of a laborer, taut and rigid from years of lifting, pulling, and pushing. Sean warmed at the memory of when he had just been Sean, the warehouse worker, and quickly shoved the thought aside when those memories started to sour. No point in dwelling on the past.

  Besides, now he was: Sean, Head Sentient, leader of Hope. The weight of the title still felt unreal most of the time, today being no different. Had Samson made it back to this base with him, it very well might’ve been him in charge instead.

  But Sean tried not to think about what if’s, at least not as far as the past was concerned. Nowadays he lived for the future.

  Before standing from his bed, Sean breathed deeply through his nose once. Twice. He then spoke the same words he uttered every morning before leaving. “Today will be filled with the light and peace I bring to it. I control my happiness.” It was an adaptation of a Sanjari preaching his mom used to say to them when they were growing up. Although Sean no longer fully practiced the religion, the words always brought him comfort. Ever since he’d lost control the day his brother was murdered though, he’d amended the prayer a little. “The blood does not have the power, I do.”

  Sean, shortly after retrieving the two sets of dog tags and the purple die from the nightstand, headed for the barn. It was always his first stop.

  “Hey, Miss Bessie,” Sean greeted cheerfully as he approached one of the cows inside. “You thinking about giving us any milk today?”

  “Are you thinking about giving her a better name than Bessie?”

  Amusement played at his lips. Sean didn’t need to look back to confirm that it was Mara in the barn doorway. “You’ve got a problem with the name Bessie?”

  Mara moved in closer, hands snug in the crook of either elbow. “No. It’s only a little cliché.”

  “Well, if you think of a name more suitable, you’ll have to run it by her. I think she kind of likes it.” Sean cooed to the cow before retrieving a pale. As he sat down, ready to work, he noticed Mara’s devious smile. “Someone’s looking chipper this morning.”

  A shrug. “I won a match.”

  He shuddered at the thought. “Did the poor guy walk away intact?”

  “Physically, yes. I try not making a habit of maiming my trainees.” Wicked, her grin widened. “But I think his ego might need some bandaging. It honestly may never recover.”

  Sean shook his head, empathizing over whoever was arrogant enough to challenge her, but glad she’d given a show to the rest of the group. It behooved them to see a true fighter in action. Most people made the mistake of misjudging an opponent based on size alone, but size had nothing to do with it, as Mara was proof.

  It wasn’t long after he started milking the cow before he turned back to Mara, her presence heavy beside him. “I know you didn’t come here for the free smells. What’s up?”

  “Actually, I came to discuss the Tri-Lunar Festival.”

  There was something about her inflection that made his stomach tighten. He angled a wary eye her way. “What about the festival?”

  Without hesitation, her hands busied themselves as she elaborated. Mara was always active with her hands when speaking. It was an Italian thing, she’d informed him. “I think we should consider canceling it. With the report we received this morning—”

  “What report?” Leaving one hand on the udder, he used the other to fumble for the ulipsi he swore was in his pocket, before realizing with embarrassment that he’d left it back in his room.

  Mara’s eyes grew fierce, the same way a mother looked at a poorly behaving child. “Really, Sean?” As if she was about to unscrew a lightbulb in each hand, all of her fingers pinched together, and she rocked her hands in front of her face. “You of all people should be checking your ulipsi more regularly.”

  He began to protest, to let her know he checked it at least once a day, whenever he noticed it glowing on his dresser right before bed every night. But before he could, Mara was flipping through a notebook that had accumulated many entries since his last visit a day or two ago. Sean bared down for an earful of unpleasantness.

  “Day 10 of March,” Mara read, each note enunciated so that the weight of it hit him hard. “Harmony’s Haven defended attack from PON. Twenty casualties. PON retreated. Day 11 of March: Surviving & Thriving reports hostiles farther south. Concerned for safety. Requesting AwA provisions and defenses. Day 12 of March: AwA HQ confirms three more feeder sanctuaries in the PAU have fallen.”

  Sean settled back on his stool, the information like a jab to the chest. Proselytes of Niha attacking Harmony’s Haven. Surviving & Thriving in danger in the south. The Pacific American Union losing three more developing sanctuaries. The growing list of enemies was becoming impossible to follow these days.

  To his despair, Mara kept reading. “Day 16 of March: Genesis reports a dozen more inhabitants have gone missing. Day 17 of March: Surviving & Thriving confirms six more sanctuaries of the TAU have fallen. Anticipating attack from hostiles. Requesting AwA provisions and defense.” When she peered up, her gaze was unyielding. “Should I continue? Or do you—”

  “No,” Sean cut in, no power in his tone. “No, I get it.”

  Mara shook her head, again appearing like a disappointed parent. She sighed, knocking on her head. “Had you listened to the one from today, you’d know that another sanctuary has been disbanded.”

  His gloomy eyes pulled up to hers. “Disbanded?” That word usually meant one thing only, so he wasn’t sure why he asked, why he prompted her to speak the words.

  “Everyone’s dead.”

  The news shot Sean’s heart to his throat, and it thumped so loudly he was certain she could hear it. “Which…which one?”

  “Harmony’s Haven.”

  His chest loosened a little. Not that he was glad it was them necessarily, but Harmony’s Haven was in Florida, practically a world away. Whatever had caused it, it wouldn’t be a threat to them. Not anytime soon anyway.

  Mara must’ve noticed his ease. “We can’t take this news lightly. It’s the third one this month and—”

  “I’m not taking it lightly.” His tone was somber. Serious. It wasn’t as if he didn’t care about what happened in the other countries. He truly did. It was the foundation that Hope had been built on: that the Awakened—no matter where they came from—were in this together. “I’m just relieved that it wasn’t another sanctuary closer, or this might be more of a threat to our people.”

  Mara shifted to a single hip and held up her index finger. “First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak because I was not a Socialist.”

  At Bessie’s mournful cry for relief, Sean’s hands resumed working and he regarded Mara with a flattened scowl. It was a look that warranted no further guilt-tripping.

  Mara gave it anyway. “Then they came for the—”

  “Okay, I get it. You’re right, all right?” This was just one of the many genuine struggles of being Awakened and belonging to a community. The threat on their lives was real. Not everyone was accepting of them. In fact, most people weren’t. And every day the anti-Awakened communities and groups grew larger, just as theirs did. But that was precisely why the Tri-Lunar Festival was so important. It gave his people an opportunity to celebrate one another, to relax, to remember what it was like to enjoy life and feel loved. It gave them all a break from fearing they might die.

  When he finally spoke, it was the voice of Hope’s leader that came forth, the one charged with ensuring the people of the community lived full lives. Like his brother would’ve wanted. “Canceling, or even postponing the festival, is not an option. The people here need it, just as much as they need protection.”
/>   Mara flared an eyebrow. “Some might argue that their lives are more important than a party.”

  “And others might say that the festival is their lives.”

  Her forehead skyrocketed.

  “You know what I mean. Every once in a while, people need something to get their minds out of survival mode.” His hand shot up before she could argue her point further. “But you’re right. The threats can’t be ignored, and defense can’t be relaxed, even during a celebration. Especially during a celebration.”

  Though Mara’s mouthed tightened, there was the faintest detection of a winning grin behind it.

  “Cocky doesn’t suit you.” Sean rolled his eyes, unable to prevent his lips from curving. “As the person responsible for our defenses, I trust you to decide how best to keep our walls safe during the festival.”

  “Sure thing, Head Sentient.”

  Sean shot her an unamused scowl. The formal title was one he despised and rarely used, unless in the presence of the Awakened Authority, and Mara knew it. But with the loss of his brother and with Mara unable to be with her sisters, the two had become like surrogate siblings, and like any sibling, she always knew exactly what buttons to press.

  She patted Sean on the back as she started to march out of the barn. “Be sure to save some milk for me, Bessie.” But she stopped just outside the doors.

  Sean straightened. “What’s wrong?”

  When Mara turned around, she was holding her ulipsi in hand, the compact already unhinged.

  “CLIODNA REPORTS,” the mirror rang in monotone. Hope’s doctor, Darach, cut in after. “Hey, Mara, I hear you’re with Sean and I need you to deliver a message for me. Tell the scut to start carrying his ulipsi on him, and then to get over to the school. I’ve been told there was some kind of accident. No one’s seriously injured, but I’m treating a patient here and can’t leave. Oh, and tell him to expect a little blood.”

  The two of them burst out the barn and cut through the market. The people they passed cast concerned looks in their direction. Sean realized that seeing two of Hope’s leaders running through the town likely wasn’t the best thing for morale, but they both seemed to agree that without knowing what awaited them, they couldn’t risk leisure.

  Sean smelled the blood long before he saw it. The sweet scent of sandalwood guided him into the second teaching room, and he knew by the aroma that they’d find a shifter there. Two, in fact: Meeka and Ryka. Meeka, the strawberry blonde, sobbed as she leaned against a wall, one hand pinned in place by a metal rod. The other, her sister Ryka, had platinum blonde hair, and hovered over her with hands creating invisible circles over the injury. At her command, the thick pole began changing shape inside Meeka’s hand, taking the form of something wormlike instead.

  Sean was just jogging up as the spike drooped free, leaving behind a thick, oozing hole, before hitting the ground back in its original state.

  Up this close, the call of the blood grew louder, the familiar seductive whisper of his demons calling to him. “Pleaaaase, Master of Life, save us.”

  “Free us.”

  “Bathe with us.”

  “Taste us.”

  As he’d trained hundreds of times since his brother’s death over a year ago, Sean silenced the call with nothing more than honed willpower. Today, he seemed to have it in abundance. Other days, he wasn’t so lucky.

  “How are you holding up, Meeka?” he asked.

  She was already holding her hand to her chest, rocking herself gently, almost childlike. “I can’t feel my hand.” A soft squeak broke from her when she snuck a look at the damage.

  “I told her not to touch it,” Ryka remarked. “I said, ‘Be careful with that. You’re not some handyman’. But did she listen to me?”

  “Give it a rest,” Sean cautioned. “I’m sure she regrets that decision enough without you reminding her.”

  He squatted beside Meeka, blood dribbling down her forearm and elbow. Blood. That velvety red surface, sparkling and fizzing like champagne. The flow swirled and danced against her skin. Vaguely, he could hear Meeka asking him something, but even she couldn’t pull his attention away.

  Drip.

  Drip.

  “Sweet freedom,” the sensual voice whispered at the base of his neck. “But what about the rest of us, Master of Blood?”

  “Free us from this human prison. Let us flow.”

  “Sean!” This time it was Mara, one hand firmly latched onto his shoulder, that brought him back.

  Sean blinked away the bloodlust. It was always hardest to ignore the woman—or women, he wasn’t ever quite sure—when the blood was fresh, exposed. But he’d been working hard to learn to control his urges, although it wasn’t always easy. Today, he was grateful for Mara’s presence. Only once had he given into that weakness and become the monster the blood woman enticed him to be and he never wanted to experience that again.

  He wanted to thank Mara, but when she nodded at him and backed away, he knew she already understood.

  “Can you make it stop hurting?” Meeka pleaded tearfully.

  “Of course,” Sean answered calmly. “Assuming you didn’t break any bones as well, I’ll have you healed in no time.”

  Then Sean channeled his power in the opposite direction. Where the blood called to be released, he meant to send it back.

  As naturally as it had ever come, Sean began a low hum, calling to each individual droplet, every molecule. They pooled closer to him, seeking his guidance. As if the gravity had suddenly ceased, Meeka’s blood lifted from the floor and wall in globs and specks. Wherever it was, it levitated into the air, ready for the command.

  Sean, humming, opened his mouth to unleash a high-pitched shriek. The suspended blood shot like shards back into Meeka’s hand, just below the star tattoo on her wrist. On impact, she let out an amplified cry of pain. But, like magic, her skin repaired itself, reconnecting all the tissues until there was nothing left but a light scar.

  Meeka breathed a sigh of relief and flipped her hand back and forth for inspection. “You did it!”

  It was in these moments that Sean prided himself of his role with blood. He was a healer. He was a blood guide.

  Ryka and Meeka chose to take a break from carpentry for the day—the construction of the school would still be there tomorrow—and Mara dismissed herself to complete her weekly request for international news from the other large sanctuaries.

  Sean, on the other hand, decided to head to the strategy tent to get updated on the current state of their incoming reports.

  As Sean left the school though, the faint aroma of sandalwood tickled his nose. Sean looked down to find a small speck of red lingering on the toe of his shoe. He stared at the remnant for a moment, frozen in the street, wondering why it was there and how it had defied his command. The trick to maintaining power over the call of blood though was not to wait too long before showing it who was in control.

  Without a second thought, Sean scrubbed the tip of his shoe into the dirt. Anything to remove the temptation.

  When he checked again, the blood was no longer visible. The residue, however, the lingering scent, would whisper to him for the rest of the day.

  Chapter Seven

  Graciela

  According to her journal, today marked the twenty-second day since Graciela and her brother had left Mixco, a municipality of Guatemala. Day in and day out, they trekked, the extensive travel not kind to either of them. A rather pungent, yet increasingly easy to ignore odor, trailed both of them.

  So, at first when the midsummer storms had come, they had greeted them with welcomed arms, heads tilted back toward the sky, tongues outstretched eagerly.

  But the novelty had since ended. Now that they had been on the road for what felt like an eternity, the erratic monsoons, regardless of their brevity, were becoming a nuisance and hindering their pace.

  Graciela noted the grim clouds rolling in overhead. It would be another blustering night. She shuddered at the thought, considering
her clothes were still damp from the last downpour.

  Between the sudden showers and Santiago’s frequent need for rest, they were breaking at least once every hour. Graciela could tell by the shadows darkening Santiago’s face that the journey was beginning to take its toll, though he’d never admit it. They would need to stop again, and soon.

  With the map under her nose, the one they’d found to supplement the flyer, Graciela took a quick assessment of their situation. The sanctuary in California was at least a thousand kilometers farther than the one in Texas. By the time they’d reach either, neither of them would likely be able to tell one kilometer from one hundred given the distance they will have already covered. But what it did equate to was time, and that, they had precious little of. One glance at Santiago, and Graciela knew their time would run out sooner than she’d like. Something shattered inside her when she admitted to herself that she wasn’t even sure they’d make it to Texas in time, let alone to California.

  For now, she tried only worrying about surviving the night. Being out in the open after dark wasn’t safe, to say the least.

  “Gimme that,” Santiago grumbled, yanking the map from Graciela. “Do you even know where we are?”

  Despite sheer exhaustion, Graciela mustered a bright chuckle. To someone as oblivious as her brother, it would just seem like they were plodding through yet another abandoned city. But to Graciela, who’d been keeping her eye on the map, looking for landmarks, paying attention to road signs, and more, she knew exactly where they were.

  “Oaxaca,” she said with pride.

  Oaxaca was once an alive and bustling state, and the same-named capital had been no exception. It was known for its dreamy beaches and colonial buildings, one of the most popular being a gothic gray church located at its center. She’d done a study of the place in primary school, just like her classmates had of other notable cities in Central America.

  Graciela could see the church now from where they stood. It would make for decent shelter.

  Lazily, Santiago cocked his head back to one side. “No way. We’ve gone way farther than Oaxaca. Plus, this place is too big. Looks more like Mexico City. At least, what I think Mexico City would look like.”