Sanguine Moon

by Jennifer Foxcroft

  “Connie, sweetheart.” She tries to pull away, but I cling to her. “Are you all right?”

  I swipe at my eyes. “I missed everyone so much. It’s good to see you.” I can’t tell her that I thought I might never lay eyes on them again when I was kidnapped.

  “How’s Rocks? Tell me what happened.” Her genuine concern for my secret boyfriend hurts my heart. I’ve been such a thorn in their side, and she’s not punishing me for it.

  “He’s at home,” I lie. “His arm got crushed.” The truth. “His folks were felling a tree and it went wrong.” What’s one more lie? Dad is unpacking the car with gusto. Even after a long drive, you can’t keep that man down.

  “But he’s fine?” I shrug and figure that’s not a lie. Maybe I just need to answer with non-committal gestures from now on. “I was kind of hoping to find him here with you when we got back.” Mom smiles that knowing smile. She would love to hear that Rocks and I are an item. But it’s too new, and with everything that comes along with Rocks being a bat boy, I kinda want to keep it to myself for a while.

  “Mo-om.”

  “Oh I know, but he’s so lovely. I’m sorry he got hurt. Tell him, won’t you? I’ll bake him some of his favorites, and you can take them up to the market?”

  Oh fudge me! Lies get you nowhere. This gets proven to me time and time again. Thinking of what whopper to spin her next pains me. I’ve lied to them enough, and I want it to stop. Up until now, it’s been so easy to let them slip from my lips without leaving a bitter aftertaste. Letting her bake dozens of treats for Rocks that I’ll end up dumping in the trash seems wrong.

  I understand why Mom and Dad lied to protect me for the past eighteen years. I didn’t need to know that my real flesh and blood father runs the biggest drug operation on the East coast. The lies they told me had a purpose. They were actually a safety net that I wish was still tight around me. The lies that I’ve been telling my parents cut a hole in that net. And nothing I can do now will change that.

  “Ah, the market is closed for winter, so his family all, um, go north.” God, I’m crap at this. North? Really? They aren’t migrating ducks for crying out loud, even then that would be south. Idiot. Who would actually volunteer to spend the winter in worse weather?

  “Oh, you won’t be seeing him?”

  “No.” Finally the truth, and I let the real emotions that accompany that thought show on my face.

  Mini runs up and tackles my knees. She has a giant, purple, egg-shaped bump on her forehead.

  “If only I’d listened to your warnings about those McNamara twins. Totally out of control. I didn’t have the heart to tell Penny.” Mom brushes her fingers gently over Mini’s head. I pick her up and hug her tight.

  “What happened?” I ask.

  “They used Mini as a shuttlecock! A shuttlecock? For a game of badminton! I’m so glad we were blessed with girls.” Her smile lights up her eyes.

  Blessed with girls. Her words rattle the cage that holds that secret. It really doesn’t matter that I’m adopted, but I want to tell her I know. The only problem is all the crazy complications that come along with my admission. I don’t want to cause them any stress or worry. I bite my tongue and sigh, burying the urge to come clean. I need to let life return to how it was before the letter arrived—simple, stress-free, and happy.

  “When you have a minute, I’ve got something in my room to show you both.”

  * * * * *

  While I wait for my parents to finish unpacking, I use the time to research everything and anything on Sophia Ascari, the Vipers’ murder trial, and Enzo. Now that Rocks is stable, I can slowly piece together what the Internet knows about the family I’ve never met, and hope to goodness I never will.

  I angle the laptop so Rocks can see from my bed. “Yep, that’s her all right.”

  A recent photo of my sister is filling the screen. Finding my parents was nothing short of devastating, but suddenly being told I have a sister has left a weird feeling wriggling around inside me. A sibling. I stare at her features the same way I did Josie and Enzo. We are so similar it’s freaky, and that fact lessens the wriggling a little. There’s someone else in the world just like me. But is she?

  She works for Enzo, something I would never do, but I can’t shake the curiosity about what she’s like as a person. Would I recognize parts of me if I spoke to her, or am I more like Chad and Kelly than I realize? In the photo, she’s surrounded by police officers—not exactly something I’m familiar with—so maybe the only thing we share is DNA and a family resemblance. The article states that they have set a date for the trial at last.

  Read it.

  Glancing over my shoulder, I check for signs that we’re alone.

  Still downstairs.

  Can hear them.

  “Thanks. Let me know if they come up.” I half whisper. Who knew having his Camazotz hearing would be this handy. “So it says she’s giving evidence at the trial in March. She apparently witnessed Mitchell Jones—he’s the gang leader—and his second in charge, Raymond Ramirez shoot two plainclothes cops.” I scan the rest of the article. “According to this, nobody really knows if she did see it, but the facts all point to the Vipers being responsible regardless. I guess they don’t care so long as those guys do time.”

  Time?

  “Go to prison.”

  Worried.

  About you.

  I turn and face Rocks. It’s kinda weird having a conversation with a bat. Then again, I talk to Feathers all the time; I just don’t expect her to answer. “I’ll be okay. I mean, they’re not after me now anyway. And Enzo doesn’t know I exist.” I shrug.

  I have to admit the reality of my situation is only beginning to dawn on me. My bat protector is going to be out of action for six to eight weeks. I’m on my own again, and after what happened two days ago, it is starting to freak me out. Not to mention the fact that the boys stole a lot of money from my abductors. If the Camazotz don’t come for my blood, the Vipers might.

  What?

  “Nothing.”

  Tell me.

  Even when he’s a bat, I can’t hide from Rocks. “I was thinking about the money.” I bite my lip. “I just hope they’re too busy trying to keep their boss out of prison to worry about me.”

  Me

  Stay.

  “Pfft, and do what exactly? You’re grounded you know.” I stare into his alarmingly intelligent eyes. “Thank you for the offer. I’ll keep my head down. Don’t worry.”

  Should have.

  Kissed you.

  More.

  Oh Rocks. Don’t make me cry. My poor emotions have been through the wringer. I take a deep breath, trying to stay calm. Rocks is thinking he’s not going to get the chance to kiss me again because a) the Vipers will get me first or b) he’s not going to make it. Either option is unacceptable.

  “Well, you’ll just have to get better and come visit.”

  Parents coming.

  Listening, I hear mom and dad on the stairs. I cross myself, praying this will go smoothly.

  “How about we order take-out?” Mom’s voice drifts down the hallway. Next moment, she steps into my room—and screams.

  “Shhh … no!” Too late. I so didn’t think this plan through. I seriously must have some kind of brain defect for not predicting this exact scenario. A quick glance at poor Rocks confirms he’s unconscious. “Mom, be quiet. You’ll scare him,” I say, walking around my bed to get between her and Rocks before she throws him out the window. Dad is frowning and holding Mom upright.

  “What on earth is that … creature doing on your bed? Heavens above. Where’s Mini?”

  “She’s asleep. Well, she was,” Dad answers. “Connie, what are you doing? One of those things attacked you.”

  I hold out my hands to prevent either of them from getting any closer. “Listen. There’s absolutely zero rabies threat. He’s been to see Dr. Gandy. So both of you take a deep breath and calm down.” I eye them. “I found it, rescued it, and Dr. Gandy has
shown me where to release it. But I need your help, Dad.”

  If this weren’t Rocks’ life we were discussing, the looks that flit across Mom’s face would be hysterical. Her emotions wash over it, changing by the second, nothing is hidden, and it makes me wonder if that’s why Rocks can read me so easily. I’ve picked up her habit of wearing my thoughts on my face. Blood and genes don’t have a thing to do with it.

  “Is it dead?” Dad’s peering over my shoulder, studying Rocks.

  “Um, sedated. He’ll wake up in about ninety minutes.” I give Mom the evil eye, but she’s oblivious.

  “Aren’t you scared?” she asks, her face now showing complete and utter disgust.

  “If one dog bit me, does that mean I’d never help another dog ever again?” Dad’s face shows he can’t argue with that logic. I focus everything I have on him because he’s my ticket to saving Rocks. I explain about the underground cavern located on Blood Mountain, and that we’ll need his rappelling gear to return this bat to his colony that is hibernating for the winter. My heart sinks a little when Dad doesn’t look convinced.

  “It won’t work. It’s probably going to die.”

  “Daddy, please. If I don’t try, it will die. I can’t let that happen.” Everyone telling me Rocks is going to die is wearing thin. I swallow the sob that is itching to escape because Dad thinks this is just some stupid, filthy bat. “You said you wanted to take me rappelling, remember? Well, now we can do something you love, and something I love at the same time. Please,” I whine.

  Mini starts wailing from her room, and Mom takes that as the perfect reason to get as far away from the bat on my bed as possible. I stare at Dad. He’s watching me closely. I can feel my eyes filling with tears but don’t want to risk blinking. “Over the past six months, I’ve been … well, I haven’t been me really. I’m sorry—so sorry—because I know you both love me.”

  His face shows shock as he reacts to my words. “Sweetheart, of course, we love you. Why on earth would you think otherwise?”

  I shrug. “If you do this, I’ll be old Connie again. I promise.” A frown creases his brow, and he eyes the bat for a moment. I have to get him to agree. “Aren’t you at least curious about the underground cave? It will be the most exciting abseil you’ve ever had. Trust me.”

  Knowing Dad, the allure of an exciting adventure that his fellow rappelling buddies haven’t experienced might be my ticket to getting him to agree to this madness. It’s worth a try.

  “Okay, I’ll help you, but on one condition.”

  “Anything.”

  “You paint your mother’s nails. If I have to hear once more how you don’t have time for her any more…” He grimaces and shakes his head.

  I smile because not only is that a super-easy bargain, but the fact that mom missed me as much as I’ve missed her sends a warm glow through my chest I hope never fades.

  * * * * *

  The road hugs the mountainside like a snake twisting around a tree branch. We drive up and down, and up again as we pass over the surrounding smaller hills that all lead up, up, up to the king—Blood Mountain.

  Rocks informed me that Blood Mountain is the highest peak on the Georgian section of the famous Appalachian Trail. It starts in Georgia and ends all the way up in Maine over two thousand miles away. He said that’s why it’s the perfect place for them because there’s just enough traffic for the Camazotz to go unnoticed.

  Giant trees hang over the road in places casting long winter shadows across the asphalt. Rounding one blind corner, Dad swears and quickly moves over to avoid an exhausted cyclist who was obviously suffering from delusions this morning when he thought it was a good idea to ride up this bad boy. I’m impressed he’s made it this far.

  Two more hard corners.

  “I think we’re really close,” I say, hoping Dad won’t call me out on how the hell I know where we are; all the corners we’re twisting around are lined with ancient behemoth trees and look identical. Our plan is to stop off at the Mountain Crossings store—Dad has always wanted to visit and get a t-shirt—before starting our hike. It seems the store is just as famous as the mountain, and Rocks had said it’s up the road from the parking lot we need.

  Pulling off the road in front of the large stone building, I ask Dad not to mention the secret cave and explain that Dr. Gandy didn’t want hikers upsetting the local bat population. Another lie, but who’s counting now? He grunts, and I pray I’m not bringing more unwanted attention down upon the Camazotz. I’m in enough trouble as it is.

  I watch while Dad goes and speaks ‘hiker’ with a bearded dude hugging a steaming mug outside the store.

  “You doing okay?”

  Yes.

  You’re warm.

  Rocks’ admission makes my ears flame. He’s been snuggled on my boobs inside my hoodie for the whole trip, and I don’t even care. Well, I might care a little bit, but I’m trying to be mature about it. I couldn’t bear the idea of putting him in the plastic carry cage again, and he needs to be kept warm and comfortable. He can hop in my bra if it eases his pain. If I were going to get all self-conscious about it, then the fact that he looks way too comfortable would make me dig a hole to bury myself—but I’m not. Besides, this is last time I’m going to see him for a while, and since he’s my boyfriend, I figure he’s allowed to “rest” there for now. Although if Dad knew who was really down my top, I’m sure Rocks would be riding in the trunk. I blush at the thought of telling my dad I have a boyfriend.

  Look up.

  “What?”

  Out window.

  Lowering the window, I lean out, trying not to disturb Rocks.

  “Huh? No way.”

  Aeronaughts are odd.

  Perfectly good condition.

  To the left of the store is a massive, old tree. It’s easily forty or fifty-feet high, but it doesn’t appear that big because of its giant siblings covering the rolling mountain ridges surrounding us. Hanging from the lower branches are dozens and dozens of hiking boots. It’s not at all what I was expecting when Rocks told me to look up. Even with that many pairs of boots hanging in the tree like weird Christmas baubles, the tree is in no way diminished by them. It gives it an odd beauty.

  Pairs of boots only hang from the lower section, but some of the hikers must have a pretty mean throwing arm. Climbers or hikers must tie their old boots together and launch them into the tree after they summit Blood Mountain. Or maybe after they buy a new pair at the store? Who would buy boots in the middle of nowhere on a mountainside? Wouldn’t that be the sign of an unprepared hiker to wait until now for boots? I stare at the different pairs in awe. Who started it? How long have they been there? I guess if I was fluent in ‘hiker’ I could find out from Mr. Man-Vs-Wild still chatting to Chad.

  “Yeah, that is pretty odd. Are any of them your size?” I smile at him.

  Check Decker’s feet.

  “Decker stole a pair of these?” I don’t know whether to imagine a bat wrestling with the boots, the laces all twisted up around the branch, or whether he flips high up on a sturdy limb and picks his way through the dozens of sizes and designs.

  Not stealing.

  Recycling.

  I laugh. “You told me you didn’t know about recycling at Christmas?”

  Fast learner.

  Dad returns with water, a t-shirt for me and him, a small map, and a radiant smile. He’s obviously been told we’re in for a treat and is excited at the prospect. “The parking lot’s just down the road. Two minutes.”

  The first thing I notice getting out of the car is the sound of running water. But looking around the parking area carved out of the forest, I can’t see any sign of a stream. Rocks must sense my confusion. I sniff the clean, forest air and it chills my nose.

  Left.

  Down below.

  Under road.

  Before I can investigate, I need to keep us both warm. I pull on my down jacket and slowly zip it up so that Rocks is peeking out over the zipper. He’s secure and war
m for our hike.

  When Dad re-checks our gear, I walk under a massive fur tree that hangs over where we parked. Rocks is correct. A little stream bubbles over the uneven stones below the parking area. The water is crystal clear, and I’m betting would taste wonderful on a hot summer’s day.

  Dad is over by the information sign checking for alerts, or whatever kinds of things dads check for. Heading up this trail in winter isn’t the smartest move, but we can’t exactly wait. Luckily, there hasn’t been much snow over Christmas so the trail should be clear.

  Dad is in his element. This is his world—hiking and rock climbing—so I’m not going to give him a hard time for taking our safety seriously. I’ve fallen into a habit of little snide remarks and eye rolls when it comes to my parents over the last six months. It’s a habit I’ll gladly break because I’m so grateful he’s helping me return Rocks to his roost.

  “You ready?” He smiles. I nod and follow him off the asphalt.

  Ferns grow on the ground where the light pierces the thick canopy of forest branches. The canopy isn’t very impressive as the bare branches showcase winter’s hold on the landscape. Birds sing from above, but I can’t find them. The path is quiet due to the time of year, and with each step we take trekking higher and higher, my lungs begin to wheeze, and my thigh muscles burn. Crabapples, this is hard work. Dad gives me his hand to help me over a couple of icy sections and looks as though he’s barely even raised a sweat. My fitness is embarrassing.

  The summit of Blood Mountain has a little stone cabin on the top. The view is amazing in a desolate kind of way. In summer, when a kaleidoscope of different greens cover the landscape, I imagine it’s spectacular, but now it looks barren and remote—the perfect place to hide a colony of Camazotz for the winter.