Hotbloods 6: Allies

“I’ll hold your hand if you’d like, Bash,” Angie said with a smile.

Bashrik sighed wearily. “No, it’s fine.”

To prove the point, he held his index finger toward the device, though he squeezed his eyes shut as the sharp tip of the needle bit into his skin. A droplet of blood rose to the surface. It trickled through the hollow body of the needle, settling at the bottom of the miniature canister. A moment later, three blue dots peppered the celestial map—two inside the ship, and one outside.

“I guess it still sees me as a coldblood, even after I took that serum and went through all those changes,” Ronad said, sounding unsure of his own feelings as he watched his dot flash on the screen next to Bashrik’s. I didn’t know what to say to comfort him.

“Where is that?” I asked, pointing at the location of the third blue dot, which was moving around the expanse of the Junkyard.

Ronad shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

“Can you check against the ship’s navigation system?”

“I’m sure Navan will tell us where he’s been once he gets back,” Ronad said. A bristle of annoyance rippled through me. Did he know where Navan really was, and just didn’t want to tell me? Maybe I was being paranoid. Navan would be back soon enough—I could see him moving in our direction.

“So, what kind of poetry does Lauren like?” I heard Xiphio say behind me. He had pretty much cornered Angie, trapping her in conversation. Bashrik had taken up a spot at the controls beside Ronad.

“Poetry?” Angie retorted. “I’ve got no idea what poetry she likes, and I doubt it’d be anything you knew. Now, if you’ve got a filthy limerick you’d like to entertain us with, I’d be more than happy to hear it.”

“A limerick is no way to charm a lady, Miss Angie. No, I have a whole library of wondrous poetry stowed away in the annals of my mind! Name a poet and I shall conjure up a piece for your delectation and delight,” he insisted.

Angie shot a “help me” look in my direction. “I’d really prefer it if you wouldn’t.”

“So would I!” Bashrik interjected from the controls. “Don’t merevins understand boundaries?”

Xiphio looked mortified for a moment. “Oh, goodness, Bashrik. I wasn’t… I was merely hoping to try out some poetry from your lovely lady’s planet, for the purpose of… well, discovering what Lauren might enjoy. My intentions are wholly pure,” he assured him.

Angie gave a sigh of relief, evidently expecting the ordeal to be over now that Bashrik had stepped in. Only, he had turned back to what he was doing, apparently satisfied that Xiphio had no interest in his girlfriend, leaving him free to continue.

“A sonnet, or a piece of prose, perhaps? I can recite most things upon request, and I would very much like to know which pieces your friend enjoys, so that I might see if our personalities align. I feel such an affinity with her already, and the two of us have yet to even meet! Truly, it must be destined; I feel a stirring in the stars!” Xiphio enthused.

“Yeah, well, I’d rather you kept your stirrings to yourself,” Angie muttered, catching my eye again.

I hurried over to save her from being Xiphio’s encyclopedia on how to woo Lauren. Even so, there was something amusing about the way he acted. Like most merevins, it seemed, poor Xiphio had an undeniable hero complex, prompting him to make grandiose, chivalrous statements, like some overzealous white knight. Even the most romantic of girls would have found him somewhat overbearing.

“I think Bashrik needs you to see to his finger,” I lied, freeing Angie.

“No problem, I’ll get a bandage from the first-aid kit,” she cried, making a break for it before Xiphio could say another word. Still, he didn’t seem too bothered by her hasty exit, carrying straight on with his train of thought, addressing me instead of Angie.

“Truly, I feel as though her mind must be calling to mine from the ether,” he continued. “We are being drawn together in this serendipitous meeting, and I know I shall be the one to heal what has been hurt within her, once we know each other in our corporeal forms. Our spirits, I believe, are already well acquainted.”

I stifled a giggle, knowing Lauren would hate this. “She likes poetry from our planet,” I explained. “I think she’s a fan of e. e. cummings, Carol Ann Duffy, and a few of Shakespeare’s most famous sonnets.”

“Shakey-who? Never heard of them. They must not be very good,” Xiphio remarked.

“I think there are a lot of high school students who’d agree with you, but he grows on you,” I replied, smiling.

I had to stop myself from cringing at the idea of him reading out a sonnet to her, but at least he was distracted for a moment, his expression thoughtful. Talk of Earthly things turned my thoughts toward the conversation between the president and Ezra, and the terrifying vagueness in what I’d heard. A deal with Ezra could only be a bad thing, but I didn’t know the details, and, frankly, that scared the living daylights out of me. What was being offered—guns, weapons, warships? And what did that mean for the people of Earth, who likely had no clue that an interplanetary deal was even being struck? What would we have to give in return?

“I shall see what I can do about a sonnet, though I may find a more suitable one amongst my repertoire—one that I believe shall be befitting of her beauty and spirit!” Xiphio said, after a lengthy pause.

“You can recite as many sonnets as you like, fish-boy, it won’t change your face!” Mort chimed in, padding through the cockpit hatch. “The poor girl will be begging for a hook by the time you’re done.”

“Mort!” I chided, as a purple flush rose to Xiphio’s cheeks.

Mort shrugged. “Just telling it like it is, sweet cheeks. Merevins are all the same, recycling poetry to whichever pretty thing comes along next. He’ll pretend it’s just for her, but he’s probably read it out to a thousand other victims.”

“I demand you take that back!” Xiphio declared.

“Can’t hide the truth, fish-face.”

“Listen, Mort, you aren’t a picture of beauty yourself! So, if you can’t come in here and say something nice, then don’t say anything at all,” I snapped suddenly, my anger flaring. “You’re always saying what you like, but you never actually say anything useful! I’m starting to wonder why we even brought you on this trip, since all you do is sleep and keep secrets.”

Mort smirked. “Why do I get the feeling this isn’t about our fishy friend anymore? What’s the matter, did the bloodsucker go running to the nearest brothel for a taste of something more exotic?”

“No, he didn’t!” I fired back.

“Well, I don’t see him anywhere.” He was taunting me, but I couldn’t help rising to it. Mort had been around Orion and Ezra long enough to know something was up with them and Earth’s leaders, yet he hadn’t said a word about it. I wanted to know why.

“This isn’t about Navan; this is about you keeping things from us,” I insisted. “You must have known about the president and Ezra. You must have.”

Mort raised his fleshy hands in protest. “I didn’t know anything about baldilocks being in cahoots with the rebel coldbloods. You think they’d let us shifters in on that kind of info?”

“Then how do you know what he looks like?” I countered, suspicious.

“I’ve seen enough Earth TV to know what the president of the United States looks like. Everyone knows what he looks like. He doesn’t exactly keep himself to himself, does he?”

I narrowed my eyes at him, still unconvinced. “Well, maybe you didn’t know about the president, but you definitely knew that Ezra was Pandora’s brother! That might have been nice to know!”