Bad Bloods (4 page)

“Stay out of this, Vi.” Floyd attempted to
quiet the thirteen-year-old, but the shadowy girl scoffed.

“I could run, but I don’t. You know why,
tough guy?” Her head tilted, and her eyes darkened to depths only a
demon would have. When she pointed at me, I half-expected shadows
to consume me, but only her finger shook. “Because Daniel is the
one who took us off the streets. If you haven’t forgotten, this guy
is the one who dragged you out of a suicide mission at the bar. He
saved us, not you, and we owe him for that.”

Floyd’s mouth cracked open, but before he
could speak, Vi stepped forward—almost lurching—and sneered.
“You’re a coward, trying to take over like this.”

“Vi,” I said and tried to catch her
attention, but her bottomless eyes remained locked on Floyd.
“That’s enough.”

She ignored me. “Daniel’s the only one who’s
done anything for you, and if you think I’m going to stand here and
let you berate him—when I’m one of the few who could leave Vendona
behind—then, you have another thing coming.” Her words were as fast
and sharp as her snarl. “I’ll put you in the shadows before I let
you take over.”

Floyd’s eyes widened as Adam attempted to
grab her, but his hand went right through her. In her anger, she
had lost control of her abilities, and she had become a partial
shadow. Her black hair formed into misty snakes, and the closest
child scooted away from the teen. Everyone knew what being in the
shadows was like. Vi had taken everyone in before, and not a single
person asked to be taken in again. Except for Blake. He loved
everything fearlessly and stayed close to Vi’s feet, even reaching
up for her hand, but she never noticed the blond boy.

When Blake gave up on getting Vi’s attention,
he waddled to Floyd’s side. “Daniel loves you too,” he said, adding
a big grin like the period at the end of his sentence.

Vi solidified at that. She even looked down
at him, her hair finally cascading down her back like she was
human, and the rest of the room focused on the five-year-old
too.

As if he didn’t notice the amount of
attention on him, Blake squeezed his teddy bear into a hug. “He
loves all of us,” he squeaked, never losing his grin. “And he
wouldn’t kick you out, even though others want it.”

Floyd blinked. Adam pulled Vi back, and
Michele’s shoulders rose. No one had told Floyd about how the
others wanted him thrown out, but Blake’s abilities allowed the boy
to hear it without being able to understand it. Even after he said
it, Blake’s brow scrunched up right above his nose, and he glanced
at his feet as if he were trying to remember what he just said. It
was when he looked back up that his blue eyes were wide. “I can
kick a soccer ball.”

His attempt to make sense of the unfamiliar
phrase failed, and Kally’s hand landed on Blake’s blond mop—a
gesture everyone used to train him to stop talking—but he began
humming like it was the only way of distracting himself. Even then,
when he stopped stroking his bear, his cheeks burned red. “Daniel
wouldn’t kick you. That’s mean. He doesn’t kick anyone.”

Kally lifted the five-year-old up into her
arms. “That’s right, Blake,” she said, adjusting him as if she had
forgotten how big he’d gotten. “Kicking is mean.” She looked at
Michele for guidance, and she gestured to the hallway where we all
knew Calhoun was hiding. No one wanted Blake involved any more than
he already had been. It was upsetting him too much, and Kally was
taking over the situation. She hurried down the hallway before
Blake could continue, but the entire time, Blake’s blue eyes
watched over Kally’s shoulder.

The silence that followed was too familiar,
too lined with aggression. When Floyd sucked in a breath, I
expected the worst, but he shrugged. “No one wanted to kick me
out.” He chuckled, as if laughter would make it a fact, but Maggie
huffed.

“I did.” The redhead locked eyes with him,
but I averted mine to see Adam’s reaction. He was focused, watching
her every move, and by the time I glanced back at Maggie, she was
standing a foot away from Floyd. “I never wanted you in this flock
in the first place.”

Floyd’s upper lip twitched, like he wanted to
scream, but his eyes glanced over Maggie’s shoulder—directly at
Adam—and Floyd shrank. It was only then that I realized he had
stretched out previously, trying to appear taller than he actually
was. This time, though, he folded his arms and slouched against the
wall like that explained his change. Before he could create a
clever response, Maggie shook her head at him.

“You don’t get it,” she said. “You had a
family—a fiancée—until two years ago. I’ve never even been on a
date.” She waved her hand over the others. “Most of us hardly had a
family. We had the streets. We had—” She choked. “You think
this
is living on the streets. It’s not. And the rest of the
flock understands that, but you don’t.” Her voice rose an octave.
“You couldn’t save one of us if it came down to it.” As she raised
her voice again, it cracked and her eyes watered. “So, please.
Please stop trying to ruin the only family I have.”

“Hey.” Adam’s voice was soft as he reached
out to take Maggie’s arm. Instead of pulling her back, he stepped
up to her side and took her in his arms. His right hand rested on
top of her red curls, and his left hand stroked her back as she
began to shake. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

In two seconds, I saw them as children—seven
years younger—as Adam dragged her inside our house and begged me to
let her join the Northern Flock. Whatever had transpired for him to
get her out of the gangs, he hadn’t just traded my knife. He had
fought, and they were both covered in muck and grime. Next to one
another, with muffled up hair—his black hair and her red hair—they
had looked like fire and ash—burning with desperation. I couldn’t
deny her membership. She joined right away, and she saved Ryne
shortly after that. Now, standing in the room, Ryne stepped up next
to Adam.

“You understand, don’t you?” he spoke calmly,
like the events in his life muted his emotions. “We can’t fall
apart now. We have to be together in this. And without him”—Ryne’s
head tilted my way—“we won’t be a flock.”

“He’s what brought us together,” Michele
added, her voice quieter but firmer than the rest of them. “In one
way or another, he’s the reason we are all standing in this
room.”

Floyd’s face flushed as red as Maggie’s
curls. “But he’s never here—”

“Floyd,” I finally spoke up, saying his name
as sharply as I could. When he looked my way, I forced a smile,
still exhausted from the day. “Go home.”

His eyes widened like I had kicked him out,
and everyone waited for my clarification. I allowed my pause to
linger, just to allow him to feel the possibility grow inside of
him, and then I added, “Take everyone with you too.”

He was still in the Northern Flock. He always
would be.

While Floyd’s shoulders relaxed, Adam’s grip
tightened around Maggie. “What?” It was practically a curse. This
was my opportunity to ostracize Floyd, but I wasn’t taking it.
Despite the ruckus the guy had caused, I was still going to protect
him.

I locked eyes with my best friend and Cal’s
nephew. “I know it’s late”—I took a breath—“but everyone will be
safe in the dark, and you all need to sleep in your own beds
tonight. Floyd will lead you back.”

As much as I wanted to blame him, I couldn’t.
I wasn’t around, not by choice, and Vendona was in a tough
position. Nerves were high, and they were only about to escalate.
Michele’s premonition about Henderson had yet to come true, and I
knew it was approaching quickly. When it happened, I didn’t need to
be leading a bunch of children through the night. I needed to be
alone. I needed to be able to come up with the next step, and in
the meantime, Floyd could do what I couldn’t. Giving him the
responsibility would also ease the tension.

“What about you?” Peyton asked as she tugged
on my jacket. I hadn’t even noticed the eleven-year-old standing
next to me.

“I’ll be back in the morning,” I
promised.

She eyed me, but Michele grabbed her hand,
and the two headed for the door. Hearing the door open, Kally
appeared from the back room with Blake, and Cal hovered in the
hallway as Adam helped Maggie to the exit. Floyd watched me, but he
didn’t speak as he walked by. I was the one to grab him.

“I trust you to get them back safe,” I
said.

He was quiet, searching my face for something
I couldn’t guess, but then he nodded. As he left with the others
following, Tessa paused at the doorway. The flowers Blake had
brought me were already withering. In the chaos, we forgot to put
them in water. But Tessa leaned up on her tiptoes and stretched her
fingertips toward the bruising plants. They sprung up, straight
toward the ceiling, and glowed white with life.

She shot me a small grin before spinning
around, flinging her two long braids over her shoulder. When
Tessa’s tanned skin disappeared against the dark alleyway and the
door was shut behind her, I stared at the gift. My once-dying
flowers looked like they hadn’t come near death at all, and my
once-damaged flock seemed to mirror the plant’s revival. But
Tessa’s powers only worked for so long, and staring at the lilies
reminded me of the one flaw in the little girl’s abilities.

After she revived plants, they always died
quicker than the time before.

“Daniel.”
Hearing my name shook me awake as much as Calhoun’s one-arm shake
did. Barely. “Daniel. Daniel, wake up.”

“Huh?” I blinked, trying to focus in the dim
light. It was still dark out. I must not have been asleep for long.
Maybe two hours at most.

“Wake up,” he repeated as his silhouette
slowly gained color. Calhoun always avoided turning his lights on
at night to avoid suspicions from the neighbors, but tonight was
bordering on an exception. A small stream of golden light spewed
down the hallway toward us. His office light was on.

I rubbed my eyes and propped myself up on my
elbows. I had fallen asleep in the living room instead of my
bedroom. “What’s going on?”

Cal pressed a cold can of Diet Coke against
my face, and suddenly the room was as clear as day. The shock
awakened my senses, and I grabbed the can as I cursed. Before I
could yell at Cal, he started walking back to his office, speaking
over his shoulder. “You need to see this.”

Michele’s premonition. It must have come
true. Something had happened to Alec Henderson, and whatever
happened, even Cal was in a fit.

I opened the can of Diet Coke and took a sip
as I speed-walked to Cal’s office. We rarely went to his office,
and I definitely didn’t venture into his private room without
permission, but I’d seen it once before. Still, the room impressed
me.

It was easily the largest room in the
apartment, with enough space for a large oak desk and two
pearl-white chairs. Even though they were old, they looked
brand-new, as if Cal had bought them for someone who never had the
chance to sit in them—and the navy blue threads running along the
armchairs matched the old American flag hanging on the far wall. I
didn’t know where the illegal item came from, but I knew the
military ran in his blood, much like the bad blood gene ran in
mine, and framed photos of his time spent fighting were posted
around the other walls.

I only tore my eyes from the paraphernalia to
stare at the television Cal had flicked on. I immediately
understood everyone’s panic. The scrolling words at the bottom
caught my—and all of Vendona’s—attention.

Henderson’s Daughter: A Bad Blood?

“Henderson doesn’t have a daughter,” I
started, but Cal shushed me into listening to the news
reporters.

“These sorts of files are private,” the male
reporter began.

The female reporter spoke over him, “The
public has the right to know if Henderson is running for office
because he believes in his cause or because he has a selfish
agenda.”

“There is nothing wrong with a president
having personal reasons for what he is fighting for—”

“A candidate, not a president,” the woman
corrected, “and I think it matters greatly. It shows a level of
ineptitude. A president must be able to remove himself from his
decisions. It’s the only way to represent the people of Vendona
fairly.”

“And the people of Vendona want this
murderous rampage to end,” the man interrupted for the first time,
but the other reporter wasn’t quieting down.

“For all we know, Henderson murdered his own
daughter and is only running for freedom out of guilt.”

Cal shut the TV off.

I leaned forward, ready to turn it back on,
but Cal grabbed my wrist to stop me. “That’s all you need to see,”
he said and slowly released me.

I didn’t reach for the TV again. Instead, I
stared at the blank screen, somehow still seeing the images of the
two reporters, side-by-side on a split screen, bantering over the
lives of hundreds of children because one girl might have existed a
long time ago.