Bad Bloods: November Rain Read online

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  “You can’t go randomly running off like that.” Michele shook her head as she fiddled with the lamp by the stairs.

  It was a gift from Calhoun, but I had begged Michele to get rid of it. Over the years, it had stubbed three toes, jammed two fingers, and twisted four ankles, but she insisted it would come in handy one day, so it stayed, and I avoided it. The tiny scratches around the rim reminded me of snowflakes.

  When it was finally turned off, Michele walked across the hallway and sat down at our crooked table. I slipped into the chair across from her. “First off,” I began, “it wasn’t exactly random. The red lights went off before I could meet up with Cal.”

  “So, you took in a stranger?” she retorted as her eyes flashed yellow again. Her eyelids snapped shut, and she rubbed them like she could make it go away. I knew she couldn’t. She couldn’t even decipher them. Her premonitions weren’t controllable, and she lived with the pain of the future, somewhat known but still as much of a mystery to anyone else.

  “What did you see?” I asked after a minute.

  “What time?” Her voice strained against her throat, powerless in her powers. “When you disappeared or just now?”

  “Both.”

  “I saw you carrying her.” Serena. “That’s all.”

  “And this time?”

  “We’ll get around to that.” Her pale cheeks flushed at her snap. “I’m sorry,” her mutter dropped to a whisper. “It’s nearly impossible to keep everyone from panicking right now, especially when you’re not here.” Her lips opened, closed, and then opened again. “Floyd doesn’t help.”

  “I know, but we need supplies.”

  She looked me up and down. “Where are the supplies anyway?”

  I cringed. “Cal’s.” In my haste, I had forgotten what was most important.

  “I sent Adam out to get some anyway.”

  “Explains where he is.”

  Adam wasn’t the quiet type, and he definitely wasn’t the type to hang out with Floyd in the basement. On a normal night, he would’ve been at the table with us. Maggie, too.

  “Maggie’s with him,” Michele answered my unasked question. “I couldn’t let him go out alone.”

  Adam was the first member of the Northern Flock, but he was also Calhoun’s nephew. He understood the streets, but he didn’t take after his militarized uncle. He was loud and careless. He was also my best friend. Maggie kept him in check.

  “They’ll be fine,” I tried to ease Michele’s worry, but she laid her forehead in her hands.

  Her fingers threaded through her white hair. “The election is getting closer,” she said. “If you keep going out like this, you’ll get caught.”

  “Is that a premonition or a concern?” I asked.

  Michele lifted her chin to rest it on her palm. “Concern.”

  I laid a hand on my chest and mocked a happy sigh. “That’s a relief.”

  She smacked my arm. “This is no time to joke,” she said, even though she half-laughed.

  Laughter was a strange but necessary aspect of our existence. We knew our chances were poor, but we couldn’t forget to feel. Vendona could succumb to negativity, but we wouldn’t. We had to stay positive if we were going to survive.

  Still, Michele’s laughter tapered away. “You have no idea what happens to the kids when you disappear.” She didn’t hold back. “Ryne and Kally fight. Peyton cries. Blake won’t even eat.”

  Blake, the youngest, had been with me since birth. He was practically my son.

  “I got him to eat some cereal,” Michele clarified before I could panic. “He’s sleeping now, but it was a fight.”

  “I’m sorry,” I sighed. “I am, but I had a good reason.”

  “One girl?” She shifted away from my touch. “You don’t even know how she escaped that blood camp.”

  “It shouldn’t matter,” I countered. “She’s one of us.”

  “And they’ll chase her until she’s dead.”

  “How’s that any different from what they’re already doing to all of us?”

  My words silenced Michele. This time when I touched her hand, she didn’t pull away.

  “She’s important, Michele,” I managed to speak as my gut tightened. Just the thought of Serena was overwhelming. “I can feel it.”

  Michele’s hand flipped around to latch onto mine. Her heartbeat drummed against my palm. “You asked me what I saw earlier,” she said without looking at me. “I saw her. And it goes further than that.”

  “What?”

  Michele was silent.

  “What is it?” I pressed. “What did you see?”

  “I’ve seen her before. Not in a vision but in a dream.” She only pulled away from me to touch her sternum, as if to hold her heart in her chest.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The dream, I think, came from a bad blood, a long time ago,” she struggled over her words, as if even Michele—the girl of visions—couldn’t understand another’s foresight. “She’s important, Daniel,” she said. “I can feel it, too.”