Serpentine (33 page)

Skybright hated him then. Because she knew Stone spoke the truth. Just as he always did.

But she would prove him wrong one day.

She had an eternity to do so.

When I started
Serpentine
, I knew that the major focus of this novel would be a strong sister friendship. So it isn’t surprising that I want to acknowledge many female friendships in my own life, women who have encouraged me, boosted me, cheered me on during the writing and selling of this novel. It has been a long journey and would have been a much lonelier and harder one if not for these friendships.

Heartfelt thanks and fuzzy hugs to Malinda Lo, whom I most definitely consider a sister and best friend. Gratitude for the Mexico Retreat crew, especially Delia Sherman, Sarah Rees Brennan, and Holly Black, who took the time to read
Serpentine
then talk through both this novel and its sequel with me. Hugs to Cassie Clare for inviting me to these fabulous retreats and your support of my novels! You ladies are spectacular and amazing. Thank you to both Emily Kokie and Juliet Grames, who also critiqued this book and gave feedback and encouragement throughout my entire time as a published author.

To Ellen Oh, Marie Lu, Kristin Cashore, Leah Cypess, Shveta Thakrar, Megan Whalen Turner, Cinda Williams Chima, and Kate Elliott, whose stories I love and whose friendships I hold dear. You have all raised my spirits and inspired me more than you can know.

To Megan O’Sullivan (Raddest Fan Ever) of Main Street Books, who never fails to make me laugh in her enthusiasm for reading and boosting authors and spreading the love. To my favorite local indie, Mysterious Galaxy, and all the wonderful folk there, who have always supported me and greeted me with smiles. Eternal gratitude to the multitude of librarians who have encouraged me and supported my books since
Silver Phoenix
published in 2009. I have loved libraries since I was a kid, and I never thought there’d be a day when I’d be an author with books carried in them. Putting more diverse young adult novels onto library shelves is something I’m very passionate about and one of the reasons I keep writing!

Thank you to my old college roommate, Dr. Natalie Grunkemeier, pathologist extraordinaire, who continues to answer my random and grotesque questions on injuries, death, and the human anatomy.

Delicious pastries to my critique group: Kirsten, John, Tudy, Janice and Mark. My novels are so much better for the feedback you give me. Here’s to many more years writing and critiquing together!

Many thanks to my agent Bill Contardi, who has been with me from the start. I couldn’t have asked for a better Partner in Crime. And to my editor and publisher, Georgia McBride, without whom this book would have had a much different journey. Thank you for your passion, humor, drive and innovation! It’s been a true pleasure to work with you and all the fine folk behind Month9Books.

And finally, last but never least, to Sweet Pea and Munchkin, growing faster than I can believe, and every bit as goat headed as their mom. I feel so lucky to have somehow plucked you from the stars to have you in my life. And to M, my goat headed love, who supports me in all my artistic endeavors.

San Diego, CA

November 9, 2014

Photo credit: Jen Kerker

Cindy Pon
is the author of
Silver Phoenix
(Greenwillow, 2009), which was named one of the Top Ten Fantasy and Science Fiction Books for Youth by the American Library Association’s
Booklist
, and one of 2009′s best Fantasy, Science Fiction and Horror by VOYA. The sequel to
Silver Phoenix
, titled
Fury of the Phoenix
, was released in April 2011. Her first published short story is featured in
Diverse Energies
, a multicultural YA dystopian anthology from Tu Books (October 2012). She is the co-founder of Diversity in YA with Malinda Lo and on the advisory board of We Need Diverse Books. Cindy is also a Chinese brush painting student of over a decade.

Social Links:

Website
:
http://cindypon.com

Facebook
:
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Cindy-Pon/44479388541

Twitter
:
https://twitter.com/cindypon

Tumblr
:
https://www.tumblr.com/blog/cindypon

The Before

The winter of two thousand nine brought influenza, taking twenty-seven souls from Colleton County, South Carolina. The good people of Sales Hollow deposited their corpses in the ground. The following spring, Hurricane Isaac hit the coast, and the earth gave them back.

Scandal covered the news. It seemed the proprietors of Coffee Funeral Home took money from several grieving families to cremate their loved ones, including my late mother, Ida Elizabeth Weathersby. They buried the bodies in their own backyard. Granted, the Coffee family plantation consisted of sixty acres. Still, the urn filled with pasty white sand was a poor substitute for my mother’s actual remains, and the undoing of my stepfather, Ben.

While the sheriff handcuffed Wade, Jerry, and Thomas Coffee and led them away, the deceased, who had resided up until that point in shallow graves behind the crumbling Coffee family tennis courts, were identified through their dental records.

Some things you never see coming. Like Ben’s attempt to smuggle a gun into the courthouse at the Coffee brothers’ arraignment, his subsequent arrest, release, and emotional breakdown.

Other things are glaringly obvious. Like the crippling pain of someone you care for. Dreams wither and waste away much the same as an apple core curls under the hot southern sun.

What sacrifice is too great when you love someone?

I decided there was none—the day I gave my freedom away.

The Middle

Chapter One

Sweat drips from my temple as I push a needle through my friend’s torn flesh. Years of sewing custom clothing enable me to make tiny sutures in his skin, close the three-inch gash in his shoulder. I hope it won’t leave another scar.

Dane sits on the closed toilet seat in my bathroom. The space is too tight, the air between us close and cloying. I toss my head, shaking damp hair away from my eyes. Blood trickles down his bicep as I pierce him again. Today makes the third time I’ve sewn him up. He doesn’t complain about the pain. I don’t ask what pissed his father off this time.

Dane Adams introduced himself in my English Literature class a year ago when he first moved to Sales Hollow from Nashville. He missed the drama concerning the Coffee brothers, my mother’s corpse, and Ben’s trial. After Ben got out of the psyche ward, my name became synonymous with social pariah. People don’t look me in the eye anymore. Pity, guilt, fear … whatever the reason, I make them uncomfortable.

Dane doesn’t treat me that way.

Angry and incessant buzzing breaks my concentration. I scowl at the window where a fly is trapped between the screen and the world outside. I can’t set him free. The windows are painted shut. Refocusing on my task, I complete two more stitches, tie them off, and cut the thread. Not bad. I tape gauze loosely over the angry wound and straighten. He grabs my fingers, giving them a tender squeeze.

Sorrow mixed with gratitude shines from his dark brown eyes. I clear the knot from my throat. “All fixed up, bro.”

I take a step back allowing Dane to stand. The guy dwarfs the little space. He leans around me, lifting a white cotton tee from its place on the sink countertop.

“Wait, you’ll tear your stitches.” I help him stretch the fabric over his head and cover his impressive torso.

When he showed up earlier, he was wearing the new, camel-colored leather jacket I made him. Double lapel over a red button up paired with dark stonewashed jeans and boots. Sharp. He can’t afford to pay me for the clothes I make him. I wouldn’t take his money if he could. The dumb guy spent ten minutes hanging out, bleeding, until finally admitting he needed stitching up.

I glance at my wrist for the hundredth time. The watch is my own design, fashioned from discarded parts into a silver, steampunk beetle. The wings slide to reveal a clock face. Two forty-five
AM
.

“How long has he been gone?”

The ‘he’ referred to is my stepfather Ben. I raise my eyes to find Dane studying me. He lifts an eyebrow, waiting. My shrug is my only answer.

A heavy breath leaks out as my friend leans against the wall. “You should have called me when he went missing.”

Hoping to avoid an interrogation, I head out of the bathroom and into the storage area of our leather repair shop. The lease doesn’t cover our living here, of course, but since we lost our apartment two months ago, we had no place else to go.

Dane follows and I face him. “It’s not your job to protect us all the time. You’ve got your own problems. I can handle this.”

“As if.” He snorts. “Don’t I always find him? You need me. Besides, I’m scary as hell.”

I can’t help my smile. He
is
scary as hell. Severe facial bone structure makes him look perpetually pissed off. He’s tall and skinny but in a wiry, muscular sort of way. The boy can bend metal pipes with his bare hands. I’ve seen him.

Our rent is overdue. I glance at the fabric piled on the work counter. Resentment sprouts like weeds in my chest. “I have a clothing order to finish …”

“I know you’re broke, but can you sew while you’re worried about him?” Dane tosses his long, rust-colored dreads over his shoulder revealing the fresh bruise on his neck.

Anger burns a hole in my gut, but there’s nothing I can do to help him. Or anyone else it seems. “I can’t always drop everything and go looking for Ben!” I slink to my sleeping bag on the floor. I don’t know why I’m yelling. The people I’m angry at aren’t in the room to hear. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, Rae. I get it.” He scratches his chin. “Leave him be for one night. He’ll turn up.”

What I haven’t told him is that I’ve already been looking.

All night long, I searched Ben’s usual haunts—the liquor stores, card games, and bars he frequents—with no sign. Jacob, who owns the pawnshop Ben visits, said the hot game in town was one held near the docks at Maddox Industries, a textile warehouse district turned seedy clubs and bars. The name Maddox is like a shadow over our town, drawing a collective shudder. Everyone has heard the rumors: money, crime … bodies in the river.