“Not my favorite,” he replies, trying to smile. Suddenly, he tries to sit up, bumping his leg against me as though he going to get out of bed.
“What are you doing? Lie down.”
“I made a mess.” He wrinkles his nose reminding me of the smell that I’m trying hard to ignore. Breathing in through my mouth isn’t helping.
Silly Camazotz.
His sense of responsibility—no matter what it costs him—is one of the reasons I fell for this flawless, magical boy. Then again, a flawless boyfriend wouldn’t stain my mother’s new rug—maybe I can blame Mini.
“Stay in bed! I’ve got this. Mini’s an expert at projectile vomiting. Trust me, that was nothing.”
* * * * *
His room smells slightly better, like he vomited a bunch of lavender instead. I sit on the bed scanning his body for hints as to what it’s going to do next. The twitch of his nose makes me crack open the window despite the cold air it lets in. Unfortunately, the olive-green, plastic laundry bucket sitting next to him almost matches the pallor of Rocks’ complexion. He’s gone from gray to green, and I’m not sure which is worse. We’ve tried a cupcake minus the frosting, dry crackers, ice cream, and lemonade. All of which have been ejected from his system.
I wipe his sweaty forehead, not liking his still higher-than-normal temperature. “You don’t know how lucky you are surviving your childhood without puking.”
He pulls a face for reminding him, and I don’t blame him. Not exactly the romantic conversations I thought I’d be having this soon in our relationship. “Before I met you, I’d only tasted Bavarian crème-filled doughnuts.”
I wonder if there’ll ever be a day when Rocks doesn’t surprise me. It certainly won’t be any time soon, I’m betting.
“I don’t think I’ve had a Bavarian crème-filled doughnut. Explain, mister.” I smile at him and wipe his forehead. “Where on earth did you get one?”
“There’s a German cake shop in Helen. I used to beg Judge to take me with him when he’d go into town to collect our mail orders. He would rarely agree to it because of the pressure the Sire put on him, but on the occasions he would let me accompany him, I’d head straight to the bakery and stare at all the cakes.”
I picture a younger version of Rocks, hands against the glass cabinet inside the bakery, that smile of awe spread wide across his features. His nose analyzing the delicious aromas filling the store, trying to choose one tasty treat on which to spend his few hard-earned dollars.
“First time, the lady in front of me bought six of them and told the baker she’d driven all the way from Atlanta. Figured they had to be good and got one. Every other time I visited, I couldn’t imagine anything else tasting better.”
“That good, huh?”
He nods slowly, not wanting to cause his stomach to react, or his arm to protest with the movement. “Judge never once said anything to me about it. He never told Strickland either. I was so grateful. He’s never said it, but I think he accepts this side of me.”
I recall the Fold member with the jagged scar running down the length of his face, and the kindness he showed me when he bandaged my hand and kept me on my feet during that blood ceremony. I wonder how many other Camazotz would accept Rocks for who he wants to be if a few influential members didn’t ostracize him.
There’s no doubt that Rocks is getting worse. His sweat-drenched shirt clings to his lean body, and he hardly opens his eyes. It’s as though the weight of his eyelids are too much. I can’t risk taking him to the hospital until I’m sure he won’t flip.
He rests his cool hand in my lap. I stroke the length of his fingers between mine, hoping with each pass to give him comfort. I would do anything to take away the pain that I’ve caused him. I stare at his gorgeous hands. His nails are short and impeccably clean for a teenage boy. I trace the outlines of his nails before I stroke the length of his fingers from knuckle to tip.
This is a rare opportunity to study him up close. The red metal bar that pierces his eyebrow makes me smile. Remembering he got it so that I would recognize him in the dark when he’s a bat ignites a fuzzy feeling in my stomach. I study his face. His perfect lips that rarely break into a full-blown grin, but will always bless me with a shy smile. My fingers itch to touch his jet-black hair—hair I love watching get flicked out of his eyes when it hangs too low over them.
Why is a broken arm—or wing—causing a fever and the vomits?
Why did Decker cry like he’d never see him again?
Rocks’ face is as calm as the ocean on a still day. It’s peaceful, but I know the pain he’s suffering with each and every movement. This gorgeous, gentle boy is being brave for me. The sheen of perspiration is the only giveaway. Dread creeps up my spine. I’m tired, exhausted actually, and I sense my brain isn’t connecting the dots. If anything happens to him, I’ll never forgive myself. Tears silently wet my cheeks. Never in a million years did I think finding my biological parents would bring this kind of violence down upon us.
The lies I’ve nailed to the cross of my conscience are piling up, and what were they for? Answers? Do I really have any more answers about who I am? I don’t have a freaking clue. All I know is that I don’t want anything to damage my relationship with my adoptive parents—my real parents. I would be lost without their love and support. I try to imagine Rocks’ life at the colony without the support of his parents. The snide remarks and judgmental stares that follow him. I’ve never seen disappointment of that magnitude in Mom or Dad’s eyes, but if they found out I know about Josie and Enzo, then Rocks and I might have something else in common.
The tears fall off my chin, but I won’t risk disrupting Rocks. My fingers continue their circuit of his beautiful hands. Without opening his eyes, he speaks. “No tears, Beans.” He manages half a smile.
“How did you know? I was trying to be so quiet.”
One eye opens and then closes again. “I can smell the hint of the ocean on the breeze.”
What breeze? Oh God, is he hallucinating?
He looks at me for a brief second. “I’m imagining I’m good as new and flying high on a moonlit night. Whole. Unbroken. Alive. But the smell of your tears brought me back to earth,” he explains.
I sob. I can’t hold it in. “I’m sorry.” My fingers halt.
“Don’t be. I wouldn’t change a thing.”
I want to ask him how it’s ever going to be okay, but he needs rest. If he’s saying that to give comfort—as I know Rock would—I don’t want to argue. His fingers flex out straight in mine.
“Don’t stop.” He wiggles them. “Feels nice.”
I resume my circuit, tracing the length of his middle finger. “I can’t believe you fly with these. It’s … it’s so hard to believe even though I’ve seen it.”
Silence settles over us. I continue to comfort him and include tracing the tattooed patterns on his forearm while his breathing evens out at last. The painkillers have finally left his system, but he’s beyond exhausted from his repeated flipping. While Rocks dozes, I take a much-needed shower and scour my body of the filthy touch those two thugs left on my skin. The hot water burns, but I don’t care. Enzo Ascari has tainted me even though we’ve never met. Dressing in my room, I keep one ear alert for noise from the guest room.
Rockland?
“Holy shit!” An angry, deep, male voice was just inside my head. Not caring that my jeans are laying on the bed instead of on me, I tear down the hall to check Rocks.
“I’m alive,” he whispers, facing the window on the far wall. “Leave her out of this. It’s not on her hands.”
He’s talking about his blood—his blood not being on my hands. But he’s wrong—it is. I might not have crushed his wing under my boot, but I was the reason he was there. The reason he was vulnerable and unconscious in the first place. Nothing has ever been more my fault.
It will be.
“Who is it?” I ask, wondering who’ll be knocking on my door if …
“Ash, his broth
er Cedar, and Mackie. Not exactly friends of mine.”
We can wait.
That does it! I understand that I’m responsible, but I’m not hanging around upside down in a tree simply waiting for him to die. I’m trying to come up with a plan to save his life. How dare they sit like vultures on a carcass! I storm across the room, swiping the curtains out of the way and pulling the window wide open. Night has fallen and the crisp winter air hits my bare skin.
“You listen here, you—you, ugh!” I yell. Neighbors be damned. “You’re going to be waiting a long time because he isn’t going to die. I’m going to prove to you that my ways can save lives. Just you wait and see.” I barely refrain from calling Ash ‘fang features’ before slamming the window with such force the frame creaks.
“Connie—”
“Don’t. I have a plan, and I’m not letting anything happen to you.”
Rocks’ eyes dart to my bare thighs and away. His cheeks get the first hint of color all day, and I feel my ears flame. I pull the end of my tee over my butt and crabwalk to the door to finish getting dressed.
Close to midnight when I hope the hospital won’t be a mad house, I’m taking him to the ER to get his arm set. My plan has flaws, the first of which is how the hell I’m going to get a six-foot-four, very sick boy to my car. But where there’s a will, there’s a way.
The microwave chimes telling me my canned soup is ready. I know I’m in for a long night, and despite the fact that I’m not the slightest bit hungry, I’m forcing myself to eat. I’m going to need all the strength I have to pull this off. A knock at the door sends hot soup down my clean sweater. The clock on the microwave shows it’s after eleven. The only folks I know who would call at this hour are either of the aerial variety, or are in the narcotics business. I tip toe to the front door and look through the peephole, letting out the breath I was holding when there’s a friendly face in sight.
The boys—Decker, Ezra and Jeremiah—are all fidgeting on the porch.
“Oh, thank goodness it’s you guys,” I say, holding the door wide. My eyes dart to the trees lining our fence.
“Who else were you expecting?” Decker asks.
“Are Ash and the death squad still out there?”
A cacophony of voices rings out in our small foyer as they all speak at once. That got their attention. The three of them—including the most silent Jeremiah—bombard me with questions.
“Wait. Wait. One at a time.” I answer as many of the questions my brain was able to process. “Rocks is alive. He’s not great, but okay. I heard Ash in here.” I point to my temple. “They were here around six. Waiting to witness him die. I have no idea.”
The boys look as stunned as I feel. Ezra swears and paces back and forth.
“What’s going on? Does the Sire know?” I need answers of my own.
Jeremiah nods, but Decker answers. “I had to tell him, Connie. I’m sorry. Rockland is his first-born son. I wanted to give him the chance to say goodbye, but—”
“Oh, sugarplums, is he out there?” I look toward the door, my heart hammering in my chest. I can’t stop my hands from covering the soup stain on my sweater. Yelling at Ash is one thing, but I’ll need clean underwear if I have to face Strickland.
“No.” Decker’s face drops. “He didn’t come.”
Knowing Rocks’ half-brother as I do, he’s no doubt feeling the sting of disappointment too. If Chad was informed that I had a life threatening injury, I know for a fact nothing would keep him from my side. He would want to be with me for the last moments of my life. Poor Rocks. I really have pushed a bigger wedge between him and his family.
“Those Camazotz shouldn’t have come here,” Ezra informs me. He explains that a Fold meeting was held once the news of Rocklands’ injury spread. The Sire ordered all Camazotz to remain at the roost after the wings lead by Cypress and Macallister started calling for a witch-hunt.
“A witch-hunt?” I repeat, aghast. “Me? A witch? What the hell is that crazy goat killer at the colony if I’m the witch?” I recall the strong scent of herbs and the long flowing robes that trailed behind the twirling medicine woman that performed the blood protection ceremony. If that isn’t a bunch of hocus-pocus I witnessed, then I don’t know what is.
My outburst actually makes Jeremiah—Mr. Super Serious—crack a smile. He shakes his head and looks away when he notices I see it, but doesn’t say anything.
“Be cool. We know you’re not. It’s just, um, there’s more to this than just you,” Ezra says.
“I know. Rocks told me about Alex Green.”
Three sets of eyes widen simultaneously. “He did?”
I nod. “But if Strickland ordered everyone to stay at the roost, then what are you guys doing here?” I channel Kelly and give them the evil eye. I’m sick to death of being the last to know what’s going on. They fidget. I glare at Decker figuring he’s my best chance since he told me about Blood Mountain, and in doing so broke their most steadfast rule. I know the moment he cracks since he looks away and sighs. He reminds me so much of Rocks, it hurts.
“I wanted to see my brother,” he says, looking me in the eye. “And, well … Jeremiah and I sorta did something last night.”
That dark storm cloud of doom that I swear has parked itself over my house obviously hasn’t moved. My skin prickles from watching how uneasy the most relaxed and laid back Camazotz I know is, as he tells me this.
“What—did—you—do?” I give Jeremiah a look, but I could learn a thing or two from him on nasty glares. He seems completely immune to my most lethal stink-eye.
“You know how you asked us to get rid of the van?” I nod and swallow hard. “Well, we did.” Decker looks at Jeremiah who shrugs.
“Decker!”
“Okay, okay. Well, there was a bag of money in the back of it, and we hid it in your shed.”
My vision falters; my chest tightens; my lungs don’t seem to be processing oxygen at all. Strong fingers lock around my biceps and hold me upright.
“Move her to the couch, you idiot.” Jeremiah’s voice helps me surface through the heavy fog that has swallowed me whole. I feel my knees bend and the softness of the couch beneath me.
These completely clueless imbeciles stole drug money from the Vipers’ gang—who tried to murder Rocks and me less than twenty-four hours ago—and have hidden it in Chad’s garden shed.
Decker is kneeling in front of me—the worry evident in his dark blue eyes. “Connie?”
How do I explain the magnitude of their actions to three young men that have been raised in a community stuck in the 1860s? How do I explain illegal drugs when I know none of them have ever taken a headache tablet? I want to cry. I want to scream. I want to smack their thick skulls together. I sigh, accepting what’s done is done.
“How much money?”
“More than Jeremiah and I could carry. That’s why we brought Ezra too. But we didn’t take it all. We left some in the van.”
More than two Camazotz could carry! Maybe I will cry. That’s too much money to go unnoticed regardless of the fact they left some behind. “Let me think. Go sit with Rocks and just let me think.” I rub circles on my pounding temples as they trudge up the stairs.
It turns out their impetuous stupidity might be the answer to one of my problems. Rocks doesn’t have medical insurance, and even with all the practice I’ve had I didn’t know how to lie my way around that.
Just before midnight, I fire up the coffee machine. Caffeine is all that will get me through what I’m about to do. A moment later, Decker is at my side, his Camazotz nose unable to resist the fresh brew and the lure of a technological gadget.
“You aeronaughts are addicted to this stuff,” he says, watching my every move and eyeing the coffee machine like he wants to tuck it under his wing and abscond with it. “We get so many people asking where to buy it at the market. You should see the looks they give us when we tell them we don’t sell coffee.”
“Aeronaughts are like totally addicted. Coffe
e shops are gold mines. You so need to open one. Wanna try some?” I don’t know whether giving him caffeine is wise after witnessing Rocks on pain meds. He nods and it’s the first sign of happiness I’ve seen on his face. “Can you guys get Rocks into my car? It’s time.”
“You know it’s not going to work, right?”
“Do you think he’ll flip? In front of the doctor?” That’s my main concern if they try to sedate him.
“Nah, it’s just not going to save him.” The anguish I witnessed last night when Decker said what he thought was his final goodbye isn’t present in his eyes, but I can tell he’s using everything he’s got to hide it.
I sigh. “If I don’t do anything and sit back and watch Rocks fade away, I’ll gladly hand myself over to whomever comes after my blood. But I can’t do that. None of you understand. I know what modern medicine is capable of. You have to trust me.” I load up his cup with cream and sugar and slide it over.
“But modern medicine can’t turn you into a Camazotz, can it? So why on earth do you think it would work on us?”
3. Blood Donor
Jeremiah and Ezra are standing in the far corner of the room holding their noses when Decker and I join them. I roll my eyes and shove the steaming cups under their delicate noses. My nose had forgotten about that lingering smell. Good thing the coffee will drown out all evidence of Rocks’ rough afternoon.
“You have to tell her,” Decker says, taking the seat by his side.
“No. Don’t upset her,” Rocks whispers.
I crawl across the bed as gently as I can to be close to him. “Tell me what?” I look at the boys, but in unison they start gulping their coffee, braving its scalding temperature. “Rocks? If you know why the hospital won’t work, tell me! What am I missing?”
I’m pretty sure less than half my brain cells are currently functioning on the tiny amount of sleep I’ve had. The caffeine is firing up a few more neurons, but I sense there’s a Camazotz problem I haven’t accounted for in my put-a-cast-on-his-arm-and-let-it-mend plan.
Sanguine Moon Page 3
