I push aside the guilt at the thought of pimping out Mrs. Gill’s beloved pup. Rusty’s exuberant excitement at four a.m. is because he’s convinced I’m taking him on a walkies. Yeah, no, it’s chow time for my boyfriend, pup. He eagerly follows me up the porch, into the house and to Rocks’ side.
“Okay, then, how about a real hot dog?”
Rocks doesn’t open his eyes, but his smile makes my petnapping justified. Rusty’s wet nose nudges his hand as his tails beats a rhythm on the floor.
“You’ll need to calm him. My goats are used to us, but other animals need to be asleep to make it safe.”
Knowing Mom would freak doesn’t deter me. Rusty accepts the invitation to join Rocks on the soft, warm double bed. He curls up beside my patient, happy to be settled inside out of the cold. I move the chair to be closer to Rusty’s potentially snapping jaws, grab the laptop, and wait.
Google maps and I are new best friends. My research keeps me awake as our four-legged blood donor enters dreamland. Without a word, Rocks is human one second and a bat the next. I admire his courage for not screeching when he lands on the bed with a soft thump, thankfully not on top of his wing. Rusty doesn’t flinch. I pull my best “do you need help” face, not wanting to risk the noise of moving or speaking.
Stay there.
Hands near jaws.
I watch as Rocks uses what little strength I’m sure he’s got to jump once, putting him closer to the retriever’s shoulder. He’s behind Rusty’s head, which I’m guessing is the safest place to snack. But my heart almost breaks at the sight of his mutilated wing twisted beside him. The pain must be intense, but I’m pleased to see his will to live return.
Close eyes.
Please.
I roll mine, but do as he requests. I’d probably be embarrassed too if our places were reversed. My open hands hover close to Rusty’s snoring head, and I hope I can catch him in time if he wakes without my eyes to help. Rusty seems far more co-operative than my first victim.
My initial idea was my three-legged chinchilla, Feathers. Only Feathers had a differing opinion on being dinner. Since she’s mostly nocturnal, there wasn’t any chance of her falling asleep. Standing next to the bed, I held her fluff ball body flat against the mattress while Rocks flipped. The mere sight of him gave her super-chinchilla strength, and despite my firm grip on her, she clawed her way up my body till she was precariously balanced on my head—as far from the scary blood-sucker as she could get—screeching her little lungs out. The irony of my pet mirroring her owner’s first Camazotz encounter wasn’t lost on me.
The minutes drag by, and it’s hard to tell how long it takes before I hear Rocks’ human groan of pain. He lifts his red, swollen wrist across his chest and lies back. His face is noticeably less grey as a tinge of pink returns to his cheeks.
“You just saved my life.”
I bite the inside of my lip so that I won’t cry.
“Thank you, Beans.”
“You’re welcome. Get some rest.”
* * * * *
I have a very solid plan, and it’s going to work because failure this time is not an option. The sun is rising on my second dawn without a full night’s sleep. I grab the printouts and tiptoe back to the guest room. Rocks is resting, but awake. I can’t believe the difference a pint of blood and a few hours sleep has made.
“I need your help. In an hour, we’re going to the vet. I’m going to get your wing set, and then when my parents get home, I’m taking you to Blood Mountain. I need details of how to find the roost entrance. Can you tell me while you’re still human?” I hold up the maps of Blood Mountain.
Rocks’ look speaks volumes.
“Don’t start with me,” I threaten. “I’m serious. I know that vampire bats can feed each other when food is scarce. So that means the Camazotz can keep you alive. I just need to get you back to them. Right?”
He nods. “Yes. They can keep me alive, but it will cost—”
“Let me worry about the vet bill. You worry about giving me clear instructions to find your front door.”
“It’s not the vet bill I was thinking about, but I will repay you for that.”
The printouts are suddenly forgotten. “What now?” I sigh, trying not to curse the Camazotz to hell and back.
“I’m serious about taking the blame for telling you about Blood Mountain. My life could be forfeit whether I survive this or not.”
My relief at seeing him better is so short-lived. I guess I’d already clung to Jeremiah’s thought that they won’t really go there with the Sire’s son.
“Well, stay here then. I can start up a dog-walking business.”
“Your parents are not going to let you keep a bat. You’ll have to return me. It’s our best chance.”
“But—” The sick feeling at the thought of losing Rocks returns with a vengeance. But he’s right. Mom will never ever agree to let me keep a sick bat.
“Connie, trust me.”
In the end, I agree to return him to the roost even though the Fold will decide his fate. He explains the Fold vote when a blood oath is broken, and circumstances do affect the results. He says he can’t risk Decker coming clean and telling the Fold the truth, and since Decker is the world’s worst liar, that’s a high possibility. If Rocks can save his brother, then he must. I have to trust his father won’t let him die after I prove a broken wing isn’t a death sentence.
“Plus with all the deaths recently, the Fold is already worried about our numbers.”
Rocks spends the next half an hour describing exactly how to find the entrance to his colony’s secret roost on foot. It will be a rough hike since their underground cave entrance is off the beaten path, but he’ll be able to guide me when we’re close using his telepathy. He describes the entrance and tells me I’m going to need Chad’s help. Finally, the black clouds of doom seem to be lifting—sort of—if Strickland can be trusted to save his son.
“If this works, I’m going to miss you,” he says.
“Me too, but at least you’ll be alive. When does Sanguine Mountain Market open?”
“Depends on how long winter lasts.”
Rocks tells me that even though the Camazotz don’t have to hibernate, it just makes life easier since most other bat species do hibernate during winter. If too many people saw them as bats during the snowy winter months, questions would be asked. So ever since they settled in Georgia, they hide away in their roost all winter.
Rocks takes my hand and places a soft kiss over my fingers. “Will you, um …”
“What?”
“Wait for me?”
Oh Rocks, you silly boy. “Of course, I’ll wait for you. You’re not going to be out of action for that long. Two months maybe?”
He smiles and opens his arm for me to snuggle up beside him. His body temperature is closer to normal again. The fever has passed.
We’ve still got some time before we need to leave for the vet, so I make the most of his openness about the Camazotz. Maybe the pain has lowered his guard. I’m trying to imagine hiking in the mountains and coming across a group of Camazotz if I didn’t know about them—all that black leather, blood-red velvet and lace. They must get some serious stares.
I guess people aren’t exactly surprised to be attacked by vampire bats in a place called Blood Mountain. Not that attacking humans is allowed by the Sire—except at Halloween—but still, it’s a wonder the locals haven’t discovered them. I fire off as many questions as he has the energy to answer.
“But the place must be teaming with hikers, tourists, and hunters? Isn’t it … like … risky? Don’t people notice you suddenly appearing?” I roll onto my stomach so I can see his face better.
“Not at all. There are hundreds of us. We need to have some humans around so that it won’t be odd seeing people appearing in the middle of nowhere. If the area was isolated and mostly deserted, and an odd hiker came through, then they would take notice of us appearing. Since it’s a popular place, people just
mind their own business. If any of us are in human form and come across hikers and the like, we act like hikers too and talk about the area. We know the mountain better than anyone and can usually stay well below the radar.”
“But your clothes, well, not your clothes—you always look—” I can feel my ears warming, and the look in his eyes tells me he really wants to know how I honestly see him. “You always look so mysterious and sexy in those vests.” He grins. Talking seems to have distracted him from the pain.
“Sexy, huh?”
My ears have ignited and I imagine they’re glowing red. I nod and smile not caring that he knows I’m embarrassed. “But the girls, I mean, they don’t look as though they’re interested in hiking or nature. They look as though they’re heading to a burlesque dinner show.”
“A what?”
“Never mind.” I let my eyes roam over his face slowly—his straight nose, his high cheekbones. He’s so good-looking I want to pinch myself. I stare at the red metal bar piercing his brow. “That’s gonna have to go.”
“What?”
“Wild animals don’t normally have piercings.” He smiles and nods. “Oh shit, the vet’s gonna see your wing tattoos!”
4. Intruder
Rocks is in the passenger seat in Feathers’ carry cage. Guilty doesn’t even come close to describing how I felt putting him in there. He’s not an animal, but then again, he is. My handbag rests on the floor, jammed with large bills. To say I feel dirty again is an understatement, but this is for Rocks. I’m only touching drug money to save a life. I don’t even want to think about the look I’m going to get when I hand that over, but under no circumstances are Chad and Kelly paying for this.
The boys divided up their acquired funds evenly between the three wings. When I asked why they weren’t splitting it into four stacks—one for each of them—they said at the colony everything is split according to wing regardless of member numbers. So Jeremiah and Ezra, being from the same wing, only count as one share. I think of lonely little Moonshiner—Rocks’ nine-year-old half-brother—and am happy that he would get his share of colony resources regardless of the fact he’s the sole member of his wing.
The looks the boys gave me when I told them I didn’t want my cut, confirmed how crazy they think aeronaughts really are. They kindly set aside enough money to cover the vet bill. But when they tried to tell me the total tally of the drug money, I blocked my ears and sang Jingle Bells at the top of my lungs. One thing I’ve learned since last July and that stupid letter is that some information is best not known.
I pull into the vacant parking lot. “I’ll stay with you. Don’t worry.”
No drugs.
Will flip out.
“Yeah, you don’t have to tell me that twice.”
Rocks told me earlier that, from what he’s learned about aeronaught eyesight, his tats will be safe. I only noticed them holding him up with direct sunlight behind his wings. So somehow I need to prevent the vet from holding his wing up to a light and make sure he’s not sedated in any way.
“Feathers isn’t sick I hope,” Dr. Gandy asks when I lift the carrier onto the stainless steel counter.
“No, I’ve got a far more interesting case for you, Dr. Gandy. A bat with a broken wing.”
He frowns, pushing his dark rimmed glasses up his nose. “There isn’t much I can do, and besides, you shouldn’t be touching a sick bat. You should know better.”
“I had rabies shots recently. Plus, I know this bat doesn’t have it—none of the usual signs present. I’ve been monitoring him for a couple of days while I did some research.”
“Connie.” He frowns, but the look in his eyes shows he’s secretly proud.
“What? You taught me what to look for. I learned from the best.” I smile and hope I look suitably innocent.
I need to ignite Dr. Gandy’s curiosity. His job is to save animals, but he never wants them to suffer. A little inter-veterinary competition is required. If that woman in California can fix bats, then why can’t he?
Dr. Gandy peers into the carry cage while I start spreading out the pictures from the procedures the other vet successfully performed. Wing x-rays, surgery shots, bandage technique, it all gets shoved under his nose.
“’There isn’t much I can do,’” I imitate in my deepest voice. “Look at this. These bats can even fly afterward. I thought you’d like the chance to add a new species to your patient list.” I cross my fingers.
Dr. Gandy leans over and starts flicking through the step-by-step pictures. Rockland’s bones are so tiny, they shouldn’t need surgery, just bone alignment. A simple little splint, followed by bandaging his folded wing against his body, and the bones should mend. I freaking love the Internet. Actually, I love people’s need to display their success in step-by-step diary entries like that Californian vet did.
“Hmmm … have to admit I wouldn’t have thought this possible, but … very interesting. Let me sedate the fellow and do an x-ray.”
“Actually, you won’t need to. He’s very calm. Must be in shock or something. I’ll show you.” I lift Rocks out of the carry case and place him on the cool metal. He doesn’t make a sound, but I know I’ve hurt him. “I find saying out loud what you’re going to do to him works really well.” Dr. Gandy raises an eyebrow at me and hands me a pair of gloves. He watches as I spread out the injured wing and explain what I think needs to be done.
“He’s certainly large and healthy. Would be a shame not to try to save him.”
Rocks had told me the Camazotz were unnaturally large in comparison to plain old garden-variety vampire bats. I pray Dr. Gandy doesn’t ask why a vampire bat is even in this neighborhood since they aren’t native to this part of the planet.
* * * * *
I thank my animal-loving guardian angels for all the times I’ve been to Dr. Gandy over the years with wounded animals. He knows saving animals is my number one favorite obsession—even above my nail art—so the knowledge I had about this bat, and what was wrong with it, didn’t raise too much suspicion. He even allowed me to assist with the x-ray and said I should consider veterinary science as a career.
Rocks is resting on my bed. His wing is secured to his body with a gauze bandage, and he’s had German shepherd for lunch. Never in a million years did I think I’d be absconding with peoples’ pets so my boyfriend could munch on them. Aztec, the fifteen year-old deaf shepherd from down the street is lying on my rug. He hasn’t moved a muscle even when Rocks chomped on his neck.
“He’s not dead is he?” I lean over the bed to see if I can spy chest movement.
No!
Not knowing how long it takes for dogs to replenish their blood supply, I couldn’t risk poor Rusty again. Since old Aztec spends 90 percent of his time napping, he was the perfect choice, except now I’m worried I’ll have a dead dog to deal with. I eye Rocks.
Can sense heart beat.
Trust me.
“Sorry. It’s just that he looks dead.” I lean over and nudge his rump. His little snore settles my frayed nerves.
You okay?
“Yeah, it’s just not what I thought it would be.” I have to be honest. Rocks let me watch him feed this time. Since I met Rocks, he’s been trying to work out where he belongs in the world. His colony scorns the fact that he feels more comfortable in his human form than as a Camazotz. As a result, he’s on the verge of being kicked out altogether, particularly since his friendship with me has become common knowledge.
Gross?
To watch?
Oh boy. I promised myself I would never lie to Rocks. He only ever tells the truth, and I have lied to enough people in the search for my birth parents. “Not exactly. You want to know honestly?”
EEEKKK!
“If I think about you drinking blood, then that’s a bit gross. But watching the bat do it, well, it kinda made me curious. You know my animal love. So as a bat it’s okay, but at the same time I know it’s you in there—both parts of you—so, yes and no, but mostly no. It�
�s fine.” I smile and hope I haven’t said the wrong thing, if he even understands what I just said. I never want him to doubt himself because he does that enough without my help. “Wow, no wonder you’re confused about who you’re supposed to be.”
Thank you.
It is.
Confusing.
They’re here.
“Who?” I listen, scanning for bat tones, but it’s close to midday. Then I hear the engine shut off, signaling my folks have arrived home a day earlier than expected.
My feet have carried me down the stairs and onto the porch before I can stop myself. Ever since my birth mother sent a letter on my eighteenth birthday explaining that I was adopted, the words Mom and Dad have caught in my throat. I’ve had trouble saying them out loud. I was so heartbroken and then consumed with anger that they didn’t tell me. Now that I know who my biological parents are, I’m so grateful the universe gave me to Kelly and Chad. They’re my mom and dad—regardless of whether our blood types match or not. Those people who I do not deserve are thankfully home at last.
The tension in my shoulders eases a smidgeon at the thought of adult help. I’m exhausted, and even though part one of this plan has worked, there’s still a long way to go before Rocks is out of danger. I can’t shake the fear that if I mess up, I might prove Decker right.
My parent’s annual college reunion has revived their spirits. Dad gives Mom a kiss as he passes her to get Mini out of her car seat. Just watching them—being alive and able to watch my family—brings more tears to my eyes. Two days ago, I thought I’d never see them again, but with all the stress over Rocks, I’d pushed those feelings to the bottom of my emotional pit. I launch myself off the porch and engulf Mom in the tightest bear hug she’s had from me in years.
Sanguine Moon Page 5
