My logic is clearly lost on the bat population that is staring at me like I’m a fish out of water, or maybe I’m the aeronaught up to her eyeballs in bats. “Those names are very common in my world, and if I didn’t want to be tracked down, that’s the kind of name I’d use. It doesn’t exactly sound like a Camazotz name, does it?”
Even though my logic on the matter is sound, Strickland still seems to be holding me personally responsible. I want to scream in his face that I don’t know that freaking bat, but a member of his own colony does.
“Which colony?” Strickland asks.
“Duskwing,” she replies.
“We will pay them a visit.” The Sire has spoken. A quick head nod and Zabreena flips and departs. “You will be leaving us immediately,” he says to me before glaring at Rocks.
Rocks takes my hand and pulls me in the opposite direction. I assume he’s escorting me to my car, but we don’t turn off the path at the signpost. Instead, he leads me up past the apothecary toward his shop. Before we get there, two figures step out of the apothecary and head toward us. I recognize Zada immediately, and even though Rocks says she likes me, I’m still not convinced. The other is a tall man, maybe in his mid-thirties. It’s hard to tell because he’s dressed kinda like a punk rocker in full leather, and there’s something about him that seems more modern. Maybe it’s his black, shoulder-length hair, but for an old dude, he’s kinda good-looking. Then I realize he has the same bone structure as Rocks.
“This is my brother, Zander,” Zada says. She still has that ‘off with the fairies’ vibe about her. If I didn’t know any better, I would say she’d recently smoked something that’s illegal in this state.
“Hi Zada.” I meet Zander’s eyes and then remember he’s also a Fold member. “Hello, pleased to meet you.” I dip my head in acknowledgement. I don’t want to piss off every member with power at the colony.
The surprise I’m not expecting is that he smiles, and it’s a warm, genuine smile. Holy crabapples. After standing next to the Sire, and the anger he was radiating mostly at me, this is a welcome reprieve.
Zander extends his hand, and I step back on instinct causing Rocks to snort. “He wants to shake your hand.”
What the?
Staring at his outstretched hand, my ears start a slow burn. “Sorry.” We shake once, and his grip on my hand doesn’t break any bones as I was expecting. I think I’ve been in the presence of anti-aeronaught Camazotz far too much.
Rocks explains that we were just dealing with Strickland, and Zander nods in understanding. “He can be pretty intimidating—even to me.” He smiles again, and I hope my face isn’t showing my total and utter confusion at his lack of scare-off-the-aeronaught-bitch-itude.
“I wanted to thank you for saving Rockland and returning him to us.”
At that, my jaw drops open before I can stop myself. Some alternate universe has swallowed me whole. “Um, oh, yeah sure.” Smooth. I need to calm down. “You’re welcome, sir.”
His mother and uncle turn with another smile and head back into the store. I stare at Rocks who is grinning like the cat that ate the canary. “Did I imagine that?” I ask.
He laughs. “No, my uncle is serious. He’s really grateful. There was so much death last year, you know, and you performed a miracle by preventing mine.” He tells me that for seven grueling hours last night the Fold and Clip members voted on his broken blood oath.
Rocks says that he stood before the group and told them he only disclosed the roost location because he wanted them to witness his recovery using special aeronaught animal healing. He said that if he stayed with me while he healed, most of them never would believe he had a broken wing. When I raise my eyebrows at him, he turns slightly red. We both know Rocks wasn’t convinced he would heal, but he figured this version of the truth was the only way he would be allowed to live. Zander and Judge both stood by his side and spoke in his defense. In the end, the vote was close, but enough members voted in his favor because they were so shocked to see him fly when the cast was removed.
A wing break is their worst nightmare, and for the first time in their history, a member has survived imminent death. He explains there’s a rumor going around that I’m a descendant from a powerful shaman.
“They think I did magic to heal your wing?”
Rocks smiles and I’m relieved to know he thinks the rumor is crazy too. “Sylvana is not happy.”
“Oh sugarplums!” I do not like being on her radar—ever. “So they’re not going to punish you for telling me about Blood Mountain? It’s over. You’re in the clear?”
“They’re not going to put me to death, but they are punishing me.” He rolls his eyes and won’t say anymore about it, apart from it’s nothing he’s not used to anyway. “Having two Fold members vouch for me was what saved me in the end, I think.”
It suddenly occurs to me just how high up the ranks Rocks is. His mom has kids with not one, but two Fold members, and her brother is in power too. If the Camazotz had royalty, Rocks would no doubt be the crown prince. No wonder the other bats get out of his way.
“Is Zander okay with you being human so much?”
Rocks shrugs. “Not sure.”
“Which way did Strickland vote?” I don’t want to ask, but I need to know.
Rocks scans the sky, and I wonder if he’s looking for little batty eavesdroppers. “He voted last and sided with the majority.” He looks down and kicks a stone into the garden opposite us.
Fudge me, Strickland’s a hard ass. I don’t want to think how he would’ve voted if it wasn’t going Rocks’ way. Surely as the Sire, he could spare a life if he wanted to, but he’d have to want to …
Rocks takes my hand and we keep walking, but I’m surprised when we don’t enter his workshop. When I point to his closed store, he smiles and leads me around the corner down behind the building. Opposite the back entrance, sitting under a massive tree is an old-fashioned, gypsy wagon.
“What’s that?” I can’t take my eyes off the mystical, horse-drawn carriage before me. I feel as though I’ve been transported back in time. I let go of his hand and move closer. “Oh my …”
I’ve never seen anything so beautiful but so old world at the same time. The wagon has a rectangular base that’s at least seven-feet wide across. A horseshoe-shaped dome sits on top. It’s made from dark, brown wood, but the front door is paneled with carved ornate patterns in rich, glossy colors. Blood-red, deep purple, and forest green engraved patterns cover the entire front wall. All the railings and trim are painted in shiny silver that outlines all the panels making them pop. Staring at the patterns makes me imagine dark-haired gypsies traveling under the stars. A short, curved ladder of five steps leads up to the ornate door.
“This is home.”
My mouth drops open for a second time. “But …” I shake my head. “Wow, but … some days I honestly don’t know you.”
Rocks takes my hand and walks over to the ladder. “You know me better than anyone.”
The inside of the wagon is even more spellbinding. The space is small, yet every inch is put to use. The far end of the wagon houses a plush double bed, covered in pillows. A large window—surrounded by an ornate frame that matches the design on the front door—dominates the back wall. Red velvet curtains are tied back with thick coils of golden cord to let the sunlight in. Rocks’ bedspread is made from a green fabric that is so dark, it’s almost black, and the edges are embossed with heavy, gold thread.
Running the length of the right side of the wagon is a cushioned bench seat. Lined up on the bench in ridiculously neat stacks are Rocks’ folded clothes and few precious possessions. Above the seat are cupboards with sliding glossy, wooden panels. Between two cupboards is a tiny little window. I stand on tippy-toes to peer out and am stunned to see a dozen or so goats under the same massive tree that protects the wagon. Two large animals are butting heads while the rest stand half asleep.
“Your goats?”
He nods and a litt
le tinge of pink colors his cheeks.
The left side of the wagon houses a turn of the century iron stove. Looking up, I follow the silver chimney until it vanishes amid the most jaw-dropping ceiling I’ve ever seen. One long, arched panel covers the center of the roof. Carved into the wood is the Milky Way—the moon, distant planets, silver stars, a comet, and flying bats—feature on the artwork. Beside the stove, there’s a sink and strange wooden dresser that can only be described as a miniature, turn-of-the-century kitchen. It’s plain and ancient, and clearly hasn’t been used anytime in the last fifty years. Instead of pots and pans, the bench is filled with jewelry-making supplies and tools.
“What do you think?” I jump at his close proximity behind me. Being here is like stepping into another world.
“It’s freaking incredible. Wow!”
Rocks smiles. “You really like it? You don’t think it’s … stupid?”
“Stupid? Are you crazy? Look at this.” I gesture to everything around us, turning in a circle as my eyes soak up more details.
“But it’s not modern like your house.”
“I’d feel like a gypsy princess if I lived here. This is way cooler than my house.” He motions for me to take a seat beside his precisely folded shirts while he reaches up and digs around in a small cupboard above my head. He pulls out the e-reader my folks gave him for Christmas.
“I think it’s broken. It says it holds three thousand books, but I can’t find any.”
I bite my lip, but my smile escapes regardless. We never got a chance to have a lesson on the e-reader with the craziness that was post-Christmas.
“I’ll take it home and download some for you.”
Since we finally have some real privacy, I grab his vest and pull him down toward me.
Before I can kiss him, Rocks jerks up, looking toward the door. Little Bailey’s head appears as she climbs the steps into his wagon. Her hot-pink seahorse is tucked under her arm, and she’s now wearing a leather eye patch. A miniature Goth pirate in the making.
“Did you bring them, Miss Connie?” Her good eye sparkles.
I have no idea what she’s talking about and look at Rocks.
“Bailey, how many times do I have to tell you it’s rude to ask? How about starting with hello?” He sighs and lifts her onto the cushions beside me. She straightens out her long skirt and places the seahorse on her lap.
“Hello, Miss Connie. How are you?”
“Fine, thank you, and you?”
“Fine, except Odelia doesn’t have a baby to love,” she explains, looking at me, and then up at her enormous brother.
Crabapples.
My mind rewinds back to the blood ceremony and meeting her little Goth friend that didn’t get a Beanie baby. Bailey had requested that I bring more babies that could fly—like her. Her and her little friends have been waiting patiently ever since.
“Oh, sweetie, I forgot. I’m so sorry.” I try not to look at her eye patch, but into the deep blue eye that’s watching me so intently.
“That’s okay. I know you’ll be back,” she says with a smile. “Do owls ever attack you, Miss Connie?”
Sugar. That’s not a question I would have expected her to ask. Rocks rubs his eyebrows, half covering his face with his hand, and leans his hip against the counter opposite us. I don’t like the slump of his shoulders.
“No, they don’t.”
“Just us then?” She’s waiting for an answer.
I nod. My gut is warning me to keep my opinion on the safety of being human to myself. After all, she’s just a kid—a pup.
“They’re dangerous. I worry about my family every night.” She looks up with tears forming in her good eye. “But I don’t have to worry about Rockland as much.”
This is one smart kid, but these sorts of conclusions are not what the Sire would want her making. “I’ll bring you a new baby soon,” I say, trying to change the subject. “I’ll bring you lots of them.” Her face lights up and reminds me that she’s still a child regardless of how mature she seems.
She hops off the seat and heads out the door. I stare at Rocks. He simply shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders. “She’s got a point.”
“How’s she doing with—” I point to my eye.
“Good, I guess. Adjusting.”
“Yeah?”
“It’s affected her flying. She’s covered in bruises, but she’s getting better at it. It’s messed with her depth perception. She’ll eventually adjust.”
That poor little poppet. I imagine myself in gym trying to do that stuff with only one eye. I can barely manage with two as it is.
“She was spending a lot of time in the shop with me before we closed for winter.”
“That’s great. I know how you miss the little ones.” I stand in front of him and take his hands.
“It’s not great when she’s scared to flip. I thought she might have forgotten about it since we’ve been away, but she asked you about the owls.” He turns and watches her through the windows behind the stove. She’s chatting to her pink seahorse, and it looks like a serious conversation. “If the wrong wing heard that …”
“What?” My hackles rise.
“They’ll think I’m trying to brainwash the pups that being a Camazotz is dangerous.” He shakes his head and sighs. “The problem is I don’t trust them not to make an example of her.”
“What are you saying …” I can’t even bare to voice this crazy notion that the leaders of this colony might single her out and punish her after what she has already endured. Bailey is Judge’s daughter, but her mother is Zada. Would Strickland punish the daughter of the woman he’s had children with when Judge is a Fold member too? This is getting beyond absurd.
“I don’t know,” Rocks replies. He looks tired—that bone-deep tired that comes from too many worries and is usually only seen on overworked adults. “I don’t know anything anymore, and that’s half the problem.”
10. Camping
Bailey’s questions have left Rocks flat. He tries to smile, but nothing about his body language is happy. He’s worried, and that makes me worried—and I’m worried enough already. With Rocks trying to find the rogue bats on his own and Enzo always in the back of my mind, I don’t need anything else to stress about.
“We need to have some fun.”
That gets his attention. “What do you have in mind?”
“Can you get away from here? I know everyone has work to do.”
“Lead and I’ll follow. When it comes to hours at the market, I more than pull my weight.”
My idea has me practically bursting with excitement. This is exactly what we need. “How about a driving lesson?”
The weight from earlier vanishes as the most blinding smile crosses his features. “Yes!”
He’s such a teenage boy. I forget that when I see him so serious and responsible here. I explain since he doesn’t have a learner’s permit we can’t get caught on the road. He says there’s a high school one county over from Helen that has a large parking lot and a road that rings right around the buildings and sports track. Having an aerial perspective can be handy.
My old Honda is an automatic so Rocks won’t have to worry about gear changes—not that I would be much help in that department. Seeing him behind the wheel and so excited makes it hard for me to concentrate. The first time he hits the gas, I’m thrown back in my seat. Talk about beginner to NASCAR driver in two nanoseconds. His eyes are so wide, and after he quickly slams on the brakes—confirming that seatbelts do indeed save lives—he throws his head back and laughs.
“Sorry.” His apology does not match his earsplitting grinning. “You okay?”
“Just ease your foot onto the gas pedal, Speedy.”
It’s been too long since I’ve seen Rocks this laid-back and content. In no time at all, he’s doing laps of the school grounds, steering straight and generally trying not to age me or the Honda. In the confines of my car, all I can smell is that moonlit night scent that is all Ro
cks. It’s doing strange things to my insides, which gives me an idea for lesson number two.
I get him to pull over behind the school, where the parking lot backs on to the forest. It’s away from the main road and private. Perfect.
“What are we doing?” Even though the daylight is fading, I can see the excitement almost glowing in his eyes. I pull the handbrake on and turn to face him in my seat.
“Um, teenagers do lots of stuff in cars that don’t have anything to do with driving.”
His frown makes me giggle. I can’t help myself. Mr. Old-Fashioned gives me a confidence that simply vanishes when I’m around the boys at school. “Like what?”
“Like this.” I reach over, grab Rocks by the collar and pull him toward me until my lips touch his. Rocks has always been a fast learner, and in no time at all, we’re a tangle of limbs, making out like it’s our last hour on earth.
A text from Mom separates us, and I realize it’s dark. I’m late and have a long drive ahead of me.
“I gotta go.”
Rocks cups my face, he’s mere inches away from my lips. We sit and grin at each other in silence until my phone beeps again.
“Driving is my new favorite thing if this is what happens.” He winks, and I lean in to kiss him quickly before he climbs out of the car.
Instead of walking around to the passenger side, he just stands there.
“Aren’t you coming?” I say, sliding into the driver’s seat.
He shakes his head. “I’ll be fine. You get going and drive safely.” His raised eyebrow makes me laugh, and I know he’s never going to think of driving the same again. The last thing I see is him give me a quick salute before flipping, and his bat silhouette disappears into the thick line of trees.
* * * * *
Back home, I seek out my family. Mom is reading to Mini tucked up in her little bed, and Dad is in his armchair watching a game. I think of Strickland’s command to not tell them, but the desire to share my secret is still strong. I can’t explain the sudden urge to include them. Maybe it’s simply hanging out with them so much and knowing they love me that I don’t want anything between us. I try to find the words, but they die on my lips at the thought of telling them Enzo Ascari wants to get to know me better.
Sanguine Moon Page 13
