Sanguine Moon

by Jennifer Foxcroft

  I explain to the boys about casts and hospitals and that his arm will be healed before Spring. Decker and Rocks exchange a knowing glance—only I don’t know what it means. Jeremiah shrugs when they look at him, and Ezra asks for more coffee. What the hell are they so worried about?

  Ezra clicks open his pocket watch, before jerking his head toward the door. I catch a brief flash of agony crossing Decker’s face before he rests his hand on his brother’s leg.

  “Uh-uh, you aren’t going anywhere. If you three don’t spill, I’m gonna … gonna … scream if you flippin’ flip.” My threat causes Rocks’ eyes to fly open, and the looks I get from the silent trio would be priceless if the circumstances were better. I rack my brain for all the facts I know about the Camazotz … and then it dawns on me. He can’t stay human for six weeks while his bones mend. “Hang on, you guys are worried about the flip?”

  Decker’s eyebrows almost disappear into this hair, before he nods.

  “Duh, put blood on the cast,” I suggest.

  When Decker’s shoulder sag once more, I know I’m still not connecting all the dots.

  “That won’t work, Connie. We keep trying to tell you.”

  “No, you aren’t telling me jack!” I rub my temples and suddenly the light bulb clicks on. “Oh, fudge me. Your bones.” I take hold of Rocks’ good hand and cradle it in mine, tracing the long, still intact bones. “When you flip, your bones will move. They won’t be where the doctor set them.” Ouch. The thought alone makes me wince.

  I don’t understand why the boys are being so tightlipped all of a sudden. I know way too many Camazotz secrets for them to get shy on me at this point.

  “I’m right, aren’t I?”

  Decker nods slowly, and the others join him. Silly Camazotz. My subsequent smile must be dazzling because Jeremiah’s frown deepens to a scowl. “Well, that’s easily solved. You don’t need a doctor, Rocks—you need a vet!”

  * * * * *

  The fact that the Camazotz had no idea of the existence of veterinary medicine turns me as mute as Jeremiah on a bad day. Vets have been around since the ancient Egyptians so their Victorian-era head-in-the-sand ways are no excuse.

  “You lot have had hundreds of years to experiment with bat medicine!”

  “Of course. Our shamans heal what they can, but broken wings are a curse,” Ezra answers. He looks at his fob watch again, frowning.

  Curse my butt. That loopy medicine woman Sylvana needs to go. Her and her stinky herbs would have no chance healing broken limbs, but that doesn’t mean it’s not possible.

  “Is there a curfew?” Rocks croaks. Even sick, he doesn’t miss a beat.

  “Colony lockdown. Strickland’s orders,” replies Jeremiah.

  “Get out of here,” he groans. “Now. You shouldn’t have come.”

  “We volunteered for a patrol, but Ezra’s right. We’ll be missed if we don’t hit the sky soon,” Decker explains.

  They can’t leave me now. I’m not even sure if putting a cast on a bat’s wing is possible, but that part can wait. What I don’t have is goat access to feed a recovering vampire bat. I’m gonna need some serious Camazotz help. Right now, I need to assume I can convince Feathers’ vet to save Rocks, but that kinda feels like the easy part of my predicament. Jeremiah and Ezra move toward the doorway, clearly unconvinced by my vet suggestion.

  “Wait, how am I going to feed him?”

  More silence. These bats are gonna wish I hadn’t drunk that third cup of coffee in a second.

  “We can feed him, but … well, not here,” Decker admits, looking at Jeremiah and Ezra, but noticeably not in his brother’s direction.

  “You mean I have to get him back to Blood Mountain?”

  The intake of air into Rocks’ lungs reminds me that he didn’t know I know about their secret batty headquarters.

  “Who told her?” He tries to sit up, and the sudden movement causes him to grunt loudly. “Who?” he half yells.

  My eyes automatically flick to Decker and Rocks swears softly.

  “Brother, why? No! Why?” He covers his eyes with crook of his elbow, the noises still coming out of him are closer to a growl than a groan. “They’ll sentence you to death, and God only knows what they’ll do to Connie!”

  “I couldn’t—” Decker’s words fade as he stares at his feet.

  “You couldn’t what?” he snaps. His eyes are the most focused I’ve seen them since the pain meds wore off. Rocks is absolutely livid. “What have you done?”

  “I didn’t want to lose you, okay? I freaked out. Seeing you broken last night, man, I couldn’t give up on you! I knew if anyone could help, it would be Connie.”

  “Hey,” I intervene. “Yelling won’t change anything. I know now. The end. Let’s make a plan to get you back there.”

  “No!”

  “Rocks, what do you mean, ‘no?’” How can he be this stubborn? He’s blocked every idea I’ve had to fix him. “Do you actually want to die?” I ask, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.

  “No, I never want to leave you,” he states, still trying to sit up higher but failing. I grab the spare pillow and help wedge it behind his back.

  “But I don’t want my brother to die either. Or dare risk what the Fold will do to you. This is our most sacred promise, Connie. We swear on our lives to take that location to the grave. Decker should not have told you.”

  Now I understand why Jeremiah wanted nothing to do with it last night. This also might be why they aren’t eager to divulge any new Camazotz information.

  “Can you come back for him tomorrow night?” I send up a silent prayer the vet can get his wing set immediately, but nobody’ll meet my eye. “For fudge’s sake, talk to me!”

  Rocks jerks at my tone, but then seems to deflate before my eyes. He sighs. “If the boys have patrol tonight, they won’t be allowed back on rotation until all the other males of age have done their turn. Depends how long the lockdown is for.”

  When the boys confirm it could be over a month before the three of them will get the chance to return, my heart sinks. With the market closed for winter, the Camazotz stay close to the roost even to feed, and feeding takes far less time than flying to Atlanta and back. With Rocks’ large size as a bat, it will take the three of them to airlift him home over that distance, and Strickland will be watching them closely.

  The only way he’s going back to Blood Mountain to be fed is if I deliver him. Another heated discussion follows my suggestion, and I’m ready to argue all night in order to win, until Ezra points out that regardless of whether Rocks heals, the Fold will sentence Decker to death.

  Rocks will never let that happen—even if it means dying to save his brother.

  Thankfully Decker is on my side. It’s almost ugly witnessing him resort to begging Rocks to try to live. Jeremiah inches closer to the door. He’s clearly as upset by the scene as I am. I have to help.

  “Rocks, if you die, a part of me will die too.”

  That stops all conversation, and Rocks looks at me for a long moment with the saddest eyes I’ve ever witnessed.

  “No, Connie.”

  “Yes. You’ll take part of me with you. Please don’t do that. Help me. Don’t give up.”

  My admission and his exhaustion are what finally make Rocks cave, but on one condition. Rocks vows that he’ll claim responsibility for disclosing the roost location to save Decker’s neck; however, he’s not happy about the unknown risk to me.

  By the end of it, I’m not happy with the thought of saving him only to have his fudged up bat family put an end to him. My head is spinning, and the coffee sours in my gut.

  “Maybe you can risk it,” Jeremiah adds with his signature shrug. “You’re Strickland’s son. Zander and Judge won’t vote against you.”

  Wait a minute; two out of seven leaders voting for him are not the kind of odds I’d stake my life on.

  “No way. What if all the others vote differently? No!” I fold my arms, still slightly confused as to wha
t I’m now asking. A second ago, I was in favor of taking him to the roost, and now I’m arguing the opposite. These Camazotz and their freaky laws are doing my head in. The bottom line is I’ll do whatever it takes to save my boyfriend. “Forget it. You’re staying here. You can feed from me.”

  I might as well have released an owl in the room. All the boys start talking over the top of each other, including Jeremiah.

  “Strickland would definitely end you if—”

  “—no blood bonds.”

  “—but she offered?”

  “How will the Fold know?”

  My head is spinning as I try to follow what the hell they’re all talking about. Rocks looks positively horrified by my suggestion, and I have to admit I’m a little hurt.

  “Enough!” Rocks shouts. I feel bad when he closes his eyes and his chest rises and falls with labored breaths. We’re only adding to his already weak state. “You need to go. There’ll be more blood spilt if the Sire works out you were here.”

  Rocks is right. It’s after one a.m. and the boys have a long flight back to the roost. Considering they aren’t even supposed to be here, I don’t want them in any more danger. This is another strike I know will go against my name if they’re discovered missing. Heading downstairs, I give them time to say goodbye. I know they believe deep down it’ll be the last time they see their friend alive.

  When I return to the bedroom, Rocks reaches for my hand. His fingers are chilled to the bone. “How do you feel?” He won’t open his eyes. “I can get you another blanket.”

  “Please. Very cold.”

  He needs food, or at least some water. He hasn’t eaten anything for over thirty-six hours, and Mr. Hollow Legs must be starving.

  “I’m going to heat up some dinner. You feel like anything in particular?”

  Nothing.

  “Rocks, look at me.” He slowly opens his eyes and what I see scares me. His pupils are huge, and I can tell he’s having difficulty focusing. Those arguments have left him drained. “Shit, how do you feel?” I place the back of my hand on his forehead.

  “Tired. Not hungry. Sit with me.”

  “No, you have to eat. I’m getting you some dinner, and you’re going to eat it.”

  “Please, Connie,” he begs. “Come here.” He holds up his good arm, indicating for me to join him on the bed. I slip in under the extra blanket and snuggle close, glad for the physical contact after he turned down my blood offer.

  Before long, he whispers against the top of my head. “I want you to know it’s all right. You tried. And I wanted you to try so that you won’t feel guilty … later.” I look up and he’s watching me, sadness filling his ocean-blue eyes. “I don’t want to you blame yourself for this.”

  “Rocks—”

  “No!” I try to move away, but he grunts, holding me to his chest. “I love you. I had no choice but to try to rescue you from those men. I couldn’t fly away and leave you there. That’s not what you do for the ones you love.” His words melt my resolve and quiet sobs fill the room. “If anyone is to blame, it’s that bat. If only we knew who he was, the colony could go after him instead,” he adds.

  “I’m still sorry this happened,” I whisper. “But just so we’re clear, I’m not giving up yet.”

  His hand plays with my messy hair, and the repetitive action calms me. Rocks has always loved my golden blonde strands. It’s such a contrast to his jet-black locks, and the most obvious sign that I’m not a Camazotz—and never will be.

  “I once told you that you were worth it, and I meant it—I still do. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

  I take his hand and press it against my lips. “What can I get you?” I sniff.

  He shakes his head. “Just talk to me.”

  “But you must be hungr—”

  “No, just talk.”

  To avoid another argument, I agree to talk if I can get the laptop first.

  By three a.m., with the help of trusty Google, I’ve got a new plan. Rocks is curious about what vets can do, but extremely dubious. I’ve been watching a video about a vet in California who has successfully saved bats with broken wings. I’m studying the x-rays of the broken wings she’s successfully fixed and reading about each bat’s recovery.

  “Oh, shit!” I exclaim. Rocks knows I rarely swear. If my baby sister ever utters a cuss word, my parents won’t give me another cent of allowance money, but at a time like this, it’s warranted. I look at Rocks. “Oh my God, you need blood, like right now, don’t you?”

  If only I’d had coffee earlier today and worked out what was wrong with him sooner. I glare at him over the top of the monitor.

  “That’s why you’re turning this creepy gray color.” He closes his eyes and turns his face toward the window. “Do not avoid me. You might not tell me everything, but I’m not stupid. You once said that vampire bats need to feed regularly. Right?”

  Opening a new Google tab, I type in my search. I know that being a Camazotz isn’t exactly the same as being a wild vampire bat, but quite a lot about their physiology is similar. I start scanning the information before me.

  “’Vampire bats can only survive two days without feeding.’” I read out loud. “God damn it, Rocks! You’re thirsty, aren’t you?” I harden my glare.

  “Yes.”

  “What the hell? Do you actually want to die?”

  “I wanted to see what would happen,” he whispers.

  “What would happen?” I screech. When he winces, I take a slow breath. This is not the time to test out the effects of being human. “You mean by staying human when injured?” I growl.

  He nods.

  I fist my hands as my temper bubbles up inside, but I have to calm down. He’s sick enough. I’m slowly but surely learning how his brain works. Rocks hates his dependence on his Camazotz side. The only reason I even discovered he’s a Camazotz was because the night he helped me in the forest, he ran out of time and couldn’t prevent his flip. Rocks has been trying not to drink blood since we’ve become friends, and because my mom’s happy to feed him, he’s been surviving on mostly aeronaught meals. Now he needs to release the animal inside in order to survive.

  “You can’t help that your body needs blood.”

  I wait for a response. Whenever Rocks has Camazotz news that he knows I’m not going to like, he stalls—like he’s stalling right now. He won’t look at me, and it’s not because of the pain in his arm.

  “Maybe I can. Maybe this is what it feels like. Maybe I just need to tough it out.”

  My gut is screaming at me to trust my theory. He’s a Camazotz, and he’s not reacting the way a human does to a broken arm.

  “No, you need blood now. You can drink from me?”

  The idea of Rocks feeding from a human has always been an issue. It completely and utterly freaks me out. He’s always assured me that he only ever feeds from the animals he keeps at the market. But this is different—a life or death matter. The blood in my veins can solve our problem. I just need to not think about it too much, and I’ll be fine. I swallow.

  “No.” He closes his eyes and pulls his hand from mine.

  I can’t believe I’m this calm talking to him about drinking blood—my blood. Last Halloween when he warned Mini and I not to go trick-or-treating because some of the not-so-aeronaught-friendly Camazotz might try to eat us, I was a mess. I imagine holding my wrist out for Rocks to feed from as a bat. I can’t stop the shiver that runs up my spine. Gross, but then I think of the alternative—he dies before I ever get him to the vet. His family will blame me and come after my blood anyway, so I know whom I’d rather give it to.

  “Come on. Flip.” I hold out my wrist. “Don’t you want to drink my blood?”

  I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. His need for blood is barely contained by his cool control. Sometimes I’m so out of touch with what’s going on around me it’s ridiculous. Rocks is so in tune with me and my needs it freaks me out. He says it’s because he trusts his instincts. For the past s
ix months, I’ve been trying to listen to my intuition, and right now it’s telling me to feed him blood or else.

  “Rocks?”

  “I need to feed, but you are not on the menu. Never.”

  “But my blood can sustain you better than anything else. You said it’s powerful. If it means the difference between you living or dying, Rocks, then just flip and … sip.” I need to lighten the mood.

  Rocks opens his eyes and his shy smile appears. I’ve missed seeing him smile.

  “Flip and sip, huh?” His smile grows. My lips curl up mirroring his. “Hmm … tempting, but no chance. There’s no doubt that you’d be delicious.” His eyes roam my face, and I know he’s looking to see if he’s freaked me out. “Sweet from all that sugar in your Mom’s baking.”

  “I’m serious.”

  He swallows again and tries to hide the grimace of pain that hits him as he moves slightly. “I know, but I never ever want to look at you like you’re an easy meal. It’s never going to happen, Connie. And you’re human. I just want the chance to be a human boyfriend. If I feed from you, you’ll never look at me the same. I know it. Things will change between us, and then I would rather die.”

  I can’t hide the tears that spring up the instant his words hit me. I know it upsets him to see me cry, but his words have upset me more. The fact that he’s placing my comfort above his life isn’t right, but then again, it’s so Rocks. I get up and leave the room. I cannot sit and watch his slow and painful death—I can’t, and I won’t.

  * * * * *

  As I gently push the cold metal, the neighbor’s gate squeals louder than Mini on a swing set. My sneakers manage to locate every twig and crunchy leaf covering both front lawns. I’m making more noise than a busload of eight-year-olds amped up on a sugar high. By the time I make it to Rusty’s doghouse, he’s sitting in the dark wagging his massive tail. He lurches to the end of his chain, adding clinking metal to the melee, when he sees I’m coming toward him and not heading to the Gill’s back door. If Rocks won’t drink from me, then Golden Retriever it is.