[Blake]. chapter 2

                          

Blake.

Chapter 2

 

        I paced the length of Ombra Point anxiously, my breath escaping in white puffs in the cold air. I could hear Scipio off in the trees to my left, and I was eased a bit by his presence, though I knew that at any moment now, he would vanish, the rising sun in the East made sure of that.

        When I looked to my left, I could just barely make out the shape of Chloe, solid titanium gray fur, pacing the length of the Neville's Cove. I sighed at length and laid down on the surface of the large flat rock beneath the oak. I knew that over the course of the day, the autumn sun rays would warm the rock surface, creating the perfect spot for a three 'o' clock nap. But I also knew that I had promised my afternoon to the princess.

        The princess.

        I thudded my head against the flat surface, groaning. I dragged my nails across the surface of the rock, cringing at the noise. It sent goosebumps down my skin and cleared my head.

        She'd glowed, there that night. That had been the first thing I noticed. Her nerves had tightened my stomach as we'd danced, and my palms had begun to sweat when I had held her close. I could smell her sweet perfume and shampoo, and it had lightened my head.

        For a while, I watched Chloe pace Neville's Cove. By sunrise her anger would burn out. I knew that she was angry with me for accepting the Treaty, and accepting the Princess, too. I sighed and stood, shaking myself as I recalled the memory of the Princess' wonder in her eyes as Bear has spoken to her. I was grateful of his enthusiasm. He related so well to others, and was so eager to share information.

        “How did it go?” A smooth voice asked me. I glanced towards the foliage, where I could just barely make out Scipio's silhouette. I hopped off the rock and shook myself as I plodded over to him. Scipio slipped his heavy green cloak off his shoulders as I phased with a slight groan. Immediately my sore shoulders felt the weight of Scipio's cloak. I gave a pained cough and wrapped it around my bare body.

        “I may never get accustomed to that,” Scipio laughed.

        “Hmmm,” I groaned, “you and me both, Skip.”

        “Did you meet her?”

        “Indeed.”

        “And? What was she like?”

        I paused for a moment, searching for the right words. “She was...everything I that had hoped she would be. She didn't hate the concept, I think it just frightened her. She was willing to accept it to help her father.”

        “Aaah,” Scipio sighed. In the fading moonlight, his purple eyes shown. I could almost see the individual strands of blue and red swirling in them. “I hope that things continue well with you two.”

        “Thank you,” I told him. He nodded and drew his hand through his dark hair. “How was Norah tonight while we were out?” I could briefly imagine Norah having a fit to Scipio about how she'd been unable to attend the banquet with us. Of course, the fit would be utterly internal. Scipio gave a laugh.

        “She was very well behaved,” he told me, “she ate her entire meal that your mother left for her. I awarded her with juice, and she was exuberant. She read to me for a while before finally tiring out and falling asleep, right in my arms. She continues to amaze me every time I see her.”

        “I know she'd never pass up an opportunity to see you,” I told him with a smile. “You're the only outsider who knows she's not crazy.”

        Scipio's face fell, suddenly.

        “That is because I made her that way,” he whispered, tortured.

        My own hand subconsciously flew to my hair; to the spot near my temple that had lost its pigment before I could remember. I saw the pain in Scipio's eyes and I knew that her was remembering my pain, and Chloe's, and finally Norah's. The only one whose procedure took root. The tow of them were connected now, the Alpha werewolf's youngest daughter, sacrificed to keep the Pact thousands of years old on Island.

        “Skip,” I sighed, stretching, “it's not your fault. Norah loves you, regardless of what happened when she was younger.”

        “I understand that, Blake,” he murmured, “but still, I feel guilty about ruining her.”

        “You haven't ruined her, Skip! If anything, you've secured her future.”

        “I suppose,” Scipio's voice was pensive, as he held out his hands for his cloak as the first rays of sun graced the trees. I phased slowly, taking my time, easing into it. Scipio knelt and untied his cloak from around my neck. “Thank you, Blake,” he smiled, petting my hand. I licked his hand a bit, plodding over to the large stone. Scipio, hidden in his cloak, walking at my side. I hopped up onto the rock and lay down. “Easy watch and pleasant company with the Princess,” Scipio murmured, as he moved the rock aside, as easily as if it weighed as much as tiny Norah. He disappeared between the gap in the oak's gnarled roots. I flicked a fly away from my tail as he moved the rock back into place from the darkness beneath.

        For a while longer I remained there, letting the rising sun melt the dew on the grass and heat up the rock. I nodded off now and again, tired from staying out all night, then having to stay awake today to visit the Princess. I know that I truly shouldn't have, but let my eyes droop and close, relaxing my muscles and letting the sun soak into my dark fur.

        You just couldn't beat this peace of mind.

        I could hear the waves below the cliff crashing against the rocks, and the birds chirping in the trees. Just knowing that Chloe was down a few miles, at Neville's Cove, comforted me.

        I awoke to Norah's tiny fingertips walking over my side; threading through my fur. When I opened my eyes, she gasped and giggled, wrapping her skinny arms around my neck. I could smell her sweet shampoo in her hair; raspberry scented.

        “Hi Blake,” she giggled at me, “you seepin', I bing you toes.”

        I shook my head, clearing the sleepy fog. I yawned wide, and was conscious of a tickling sensation in my mouth. I didn't dare close it. I knew that that was Norah's hair; that she'd adorably stuck her head in my whole mouth.

        “Sarp teef,” she murmured, her tiny fingers poking at my teeth. After another moment, she sat back, allowing me to close my mouth. “Toes?” she asked me. I nodded my head, standing on four legs and stretching my limbs. Norah hopped off the rock, her hair bouncing. I hopped down, too, as Norah picked up some neatly folded clothes off the ground for me. She set them on the rock, smoothing the blur fabric of my shirt.

        “Sirt,” she told me, stroking the shirt, “an' pant,” she pointed to a black fabric beneath my folded shirt. “Soos,” she added then, picking up my converses and sort of tossing them next to my clothes.

        I nodded, unable to thank her with words. With my nose, I pushed her shoulder back slightly. Obediently, she turned around and faced the tree, shaking the 8 ball with a smile. I licked her cheek lightly.

        “You see pincess aday, Bake?” Norah asked me. I groaned as I phased, flexing my fingers in relief. I found my underwear folded between my shirt and pants, and pulled them on quickly.

        “Yes,” I responded, sitting on the rock, taking even breaths as the tingling sensation from phasing began to recede. I reached for my pants, which had been washed and ironed, and pulled them on slowly. As soon as she heard the zipper, Norah turned back around for a moment, I lay against the warm rock, letting the sun soak into my bare chest. Norah smiled and scrambled up beside me, setting the 8 ball next to my head. In my peripheral vision, I could see its pink paint.

        “My doo?” she asked, handing me my shirt.

        “No, Norah, you can't come, too,” I sighed, “I've got to go alone.”

        “You tum back a ninner?”

        “Yes, I'll be back for dinner.”

        “Mhsay,” she sighed.

        As I put my shirt on, Norah hopped down, snatching up her 8 ball off the rock and tugging on my hand.

        “Mun, Bake,” she encouraged, “mun, mun, mun.”

        I snatched my converses off the rock as she led me through the woods in silence. I didn't bother putting my shoes on; I knew Mum would make me wear a more formal pair to visit the Princess, after what I had pulled on her las night.

        “You're sure you want to run the distance, Blake?” She'd asked me, as we all sat on the front porch, waiting for Scipio to show up.

        “Yes, mum, Chloe can take my clothes in a bag and wait by the Palace wall.”

        I knew that mum wouldn't deny me a chance to run, so it didn't surprise me when she'd dismissed me to my room to grab a pack and neatly place my fancy clothes inside. But instead of packing my formal, shiny loafers, I slipped my comfortable converses into the bottom of the bag.

        “You really shouldn't do that.”

        I flinched where I stood, startled by the voice. When I turned, Dad stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame.

        “Those aren't your dancing shoes, son.” His voice was stern, but he smiled at me. I tossed him my loafers, grinning. He caught them, shot me a young look, and walked out of my bedroom.

        I confess, it surprised me, how old the Princess' parents had been that night. They looked as though they could be her grandparents. I wonder id my parents' young age had surprised her.

        “Bake!”

        I was snapped out of my thoughts by Norah's voice; she was pointing to a rut in the path, her eyes looked anxious.

        “I dop it,” she whimpered, showing me her hands, empty of the 8 ball. I sighed and knelt down to get it. The rut was deeper than I had anticipated. I rolled up my clean sleeves to my elbows and searched around.

        “You fine it?” Norah asked after a moment.

        “Not yet,” I told her, growing puzzled. Where was it? I could hear Norah shuffling anxiously; the increase of her heartbeat. I sighed an dug deeper. Not again, I wished. Finally, my fingertips brushed the smooth, cold, round surface. I snatched up the 8 ball and yanked it out of the rut. I heard the skin of my hand tear on something sharp. I heard the intake of my own breath and held out my bloodied hand, clutching the 8 ball in a grip that would have sucked the air out of young Norah's lungs.

        “Thank you,” Norah whispered. She took the 8 ball from me, wiping a spot of my blood off its surface with the hem of her white dress. I watched my hand shake as the think blood poured slowly from the deep, dirty gash, running from my fifth knuckle, across my hand to the inside of my right wrist.

        Crud, I huffed inwardly. Now I'm going to be late.

        I snatched up my shoes in my left hand and held my right arm above my head, starting to walk again, a little faster this time. Norah followed close behind.

        “Yoo tay?” she asked me, her tiny legs pumping fast to keep up with me. I slowed a little.

        “Yes, Norah, I'm fine,” I told her. I could feel the blood trickling down my arm, and wanted so badly to set my arm down.

        When we got to the North Village, I let Norah skip off on her own, towards home, and I made my way, my hand still suspended over my head, to Nathaniel's house, at the center of the village.

        It seemed like absolutely everyone from North Village who could walk was in the streets. Hurried heartbeats and loud words flooded my ears as each person fought to be heard over the noise. I noticed a few of the women shoot me concerned looks, but I smiled, assuring them that I was all right. As I wove through the crowds, my hand began to tingle. From the blood loss, I assumed. I gritted my teeth and pushed myself faster.

        When I reached Nathaniel's house, I was conscious of the sweat on my forehead and the back of my neck. I didn't dare look at me hand-it felt as though it was on fire. I pounded on the front door with my left hand, dropping my shoes.

        “Nathaniel!” I yelled. The effort made me dizzy, “Nathaniel, I need your father! Nathaniel!”

        Finally, the door swung open. My own pulse pounded in my ears as I stepped into the house, stumbling over Nathaniel's white cat, Luna.

        “Blake?” Nathaniel's worried voice sounded miles away. “Are you alright?” What's happened?” I watched Nathaniel's icy blue eyes move from my face to above my arm. He pushed me down into a chair by the table and scurried down the hallway. The fire in my hand wouldn't stop. I closed my eyes and sucked a deep breath through my teeth.

        “Great blue moons boy. What's all this?”

        Nathaniel's fathers voice registered in my mind, and I opened my eyes to meet his eyes, identical to his sons.

        “Carter,” I groaned, lowering my arm, wincing. The instant I saw my hand, I wished I hadn't.

        There were trails of blood down my arm, soaked into the rolled-up part of my sleeve at my elbow. The gash was dirty, open and seeping. The skin around it was ruined and gross. It almost looked...gray. I swallowed hard and tried to steady my hand. My attempt proved futile.

        “Carter,” I tried again, “I was coming from patrol with Norah, and she dropped her 8 ball into a rut. I got it out, but...” I let my voice trail off as Carter went to the sink, scrubbing his hands.

        “Nathaniel, get me my bag, son,” he commanded quietly. I set my head on the table as Nathaniel vanished again down the hall. Carter came and sat down next to me, wiping the blood off my arm with a warm cloth.

        “How long ago was this, Blake?” he asked. I had to close my eyes to concentrate on the answer.

        “Around..twenty minutes or so,” I answered, sucking in a breath, “Carter, it feels like my whole hand is burning.” I watched Carter's face through half-closed eyes. His face went from curious to almost horrified. When Nathaniel came back into the room, he set his father's medical bag on the table and held out a pair of latex gloves. Carter didn't move.

        “Dad?” Nathaniel asked. Carter sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. It was a habit that had originated when Nathaniel and I were young; a response to all our ridiculous acts.

        “Thank you, Nathaniel,” he sighed at last. He took the gloves and turned to me. “I'd like to take a blood sample,” he said, “to check for infections of any sort.”

        “Carter, just clean it,” I pleaded, “stitch it up and bandage it. No waiting for blood samples. That will take too long.”

        “Blake, there's something wrong.” Carter told me. I watched his face, the feeling of dread washed over me. “See this gray part of the skin? Around the wound?” I gasped from the sudden wave of fire that rocketed up my arm when Carter touched that gray skin.

        “Yes, I see it Carter.” I groaned, closing my eyes.

        “I believe that its terribly infected. The only way for us to to certain is to take a blood sample.”

        “No, Carter,” I groaned, “I have someplace that I have to be.”

        “I'm sure that it can wait, boy,” he said slowly. I shook my head.

        “No, Carter, you've got to let me go,” I insisted. My head began to ring and black spots had started to obscure my vision. What the hell was wrong with me? I tried to stand up, to exit the house and go home. The Princess was counting on me. I had promised her my time. But as I stood, the fire pulsed up my arm and into my chest. I gritted my teeth. I couldn't find my footing. I suddenly felt like I had been slammed against the wall. My entire right side ached. “Carter,” I groaned, trying to look for his kind face. All I saw was black.

        “Forgive me, Blake,” I heard Carter murmur. Then there was a prickling feeling on the inside crease of my elbow, almost like a bee sting. Then there was nothing.