Jackal Page 10

  She glances at the sudden roar of the fire as the sparks ignite. The small upward tilt on her lips fills me with such satisfaction, I feel more of a rush than I did with the jump I took earlier.

  “You should do a broadcast while you’re here,” Phoenix says. “Keep the fire burning. The Statehead and the Society are scaring people into being quiet.”

  “Talk about Marcus,” I say suddenly.

  They both look at me thoughtfully before nodding.

  “He’s right,” Gwen says, looking at Phoenix.

  It’s almost as if I’m not even here.

  “The reason they were trying to move Laticus into the End Men before he was of age was because they were down an End Man. They were trying to avoid the panic that would ensue when people found out he was suddenly sterile,” she adds.

  “And now no one knows where he is,” Phoenix says. “They should have to answer for that.”

  We all nod.

  “The Birthing Celebration is tomorrow,” I remind them. “Maybe I’ll find out more then.”

  Gwen stands up, stretching her arms above her head.

  “Bed,” she says. When Phoenix isn’t looking, she winks at me and I suppress a smile.

  I head back to the compound once Phoenix has fallen asleep on the couch. I have a headache and now there’s a slippery vein of worry creeping around my brain, exactly the type of thing I try to avoid. I have a bad feeling about all of this. At first Phoenix was just intriguing, different from any woman I’d ever met. It’s easy to become infatuated with something that is both hard and soft at the same time. You become determined to understand the hard so you can inspire the soft. No matter how hard they make you work for it. When I reach the compound, I park the car far enough away that I won’t wake anyone. I lean my head back and think about how her neck felt beneath my hand, the skin so soft I’d wanted to dip my head and kiss it until she moaned. I imagine her riding me, throwing her head back, the grace of her neck exposed. I’d reach up and wrap a hand around it and—there’s a rapping on my window. I crack one eye open. Selfish.

  I wave, but I make no move to roll the window down. After a few minutes of standing there, she storms off to her apartment. I make a run for the compound.

  SIXTEEN

  JACKAL

  Female porcupines are interested in sex only about eight to twelve hours in a year.

  The Birthing Celebration is a Statehead tradition. It’s one of the only times the lower and upper ends come together, filling the streets of the city until there is barely a place to move. They seat the pregnant women on stage, lining them up next to the mothers with babies that were born since the last celebration, and we honor them with wreaths and bouquets of flowers.

  Every Region has smaller scale festivities, but the Birthing Celebration is renowned for the over-the-top spectacle they make to celebrate yearly and impending births. A different Region is chosen to represent each year, and this year it’s convenient for me that it’s in the Blue. The End Men come together for the occasion, and they parade us around like show dogs on leashes.

  From morning until night, floats hover over the streets, each decorated more outlandishly than the last. The pregnant body is celebrated and worshipped, rituals are performed, and the air is heady with sex and lust. I’ve always enjoyed the experience, just another opportunity to get drunk. It’s a nonstop party, after all, but I feel nothing but dread about this one.

  In the past, Foley and I would catch up. It was at one of these things that he’d tossed me the bottle cap and told me that one day we’d drink to a changed world. But with Folsom missing, the whole tone of the affair is more somber than usual. The Society has done their best to pretend nothing is wrong, going as far as removing his face from every billboard and piece of media across the Regions.

  We gather in the hall for a toast before our part in the ceremony begins, my first time seeing most of these men in the past year. I shake Bastien’s hand and hit Titus on the back.

  “Any word?” is all Bastien says.

  I shake my head and his eyes cloud over. I look around and catch Bone’s eye. Bone and Marcus are tight.

  “Has anyone seen Kasper or Marcus?” I ask.

  He moves closer and leans in. “I’ve been trying to reach Marcus for months. No one can tell me anything about him. I’ve asked everyone here already. You don’t know anything?”

  “I’ve heard they’re trying to move him out because he isn’t producing,” I tell him.

  He pales and steps back. “I need to find him.”

  “If I hear anything, you’ll be the first I contact...any idea where Kasper is?”

  “Right behind you, motherfucker.”

  I whip around and there stands Kasper in his bright blue designer suit. Leave it to him to try to show me up in my own fucking Region.

  “Represent your own Region…” I say.

  “Yellow is not my color.” He dips his head toward my ear and says under his breath. “If you happen to see Gwen, tell her she better get to Folsom soon. Sophia is…” He kisses his fingers and squints his eyes like he’s tasting a fine wine.

  I jump at him, wrapping my hands around his throat and squeezing as hard as I can. His eyes widen and his skin turns a beautiful purple...speaking of his color...I think I’ve found the perfect one for him.

  Titus and Bone drag me away, and Kasper straightens out his suit jacket, chuckling, but eyeing me warily.

  “So you have seen her…” he says. “You and Foley...such uptight pricks.” He tries to move in closer to me, but Titus holds his hand up, blocking him.

  “Where is he?” I yell.

  “Gwen needs to get out of the Regions. The price on her head grows by the day,” he says.

  “What?” My shoulders deflate and I sag against the two men holding me up. Titus and Bone drop their hands but stay close. I study Kasper’s face, looking for any signs that he’s fucking with me.

  “You don’t have a thing for her now, do you?” Kasper laughs, and it takes everything in me to not kill the cocksucker.

  “Foley should’ve killed you when he had the chance,” I spit out and feel a slight satisfaction when his face loses some of its bravado. He quickly regains it and struts off like the egomaniac he is.

  I nod at the rest of the men. “Let’s do this.”

  I try for my standard face, my smile forced but fooling everyone save those who heard the exchange. Jackal, the dog, eager to make everyone happy, no matter the cost. I hate my mother for putting such a foolish name on me, but she ended up being right: it seems it’s all I’m capable of being.

  I stand on a float for hours; it flies just over the asphalt, so slowly I can barely tell it’s flying, mostly steady. I wave at the people on the side of the street. Each of the End Men is on a float that represents their Region. When we pass people who are from that Region, they go wild. I get more attention than ever before because of being in the Blue. Women try to jump on the float and some make it up, humping my body like little bitches in heat while I’m supposed to stand there and look like I love every minute of it. I would’ve been amused by this before, but now I’m put off by the degradation.

  At night, the atmosphere takes a darker edge when the alcohol is flowing, and those who haven’t had a chance at pregnancy yet see the witch doctors for remedies and potions. There are birth enactments in the streets, clusters of women in circles doing rapid breathing and pushing with all their might. Dildos abound and sacrifices of food, jewelry, and the monthly blood are laid on the birthing altar. It is a ridiculous, grotesque affair that I’m seeing with new eyes.

  Those whose babies are actually born during a BC get special privileges. Their schooling is paid for, a complete wardrobe is provided, and the mother/mothers get two plastic surgeries of their choice. It’s a good incentive for both the upper and lower ends to participate, always drawing the biggest crowd in every Region. After birth, they’re carried to a separate altar that is elevated over the rest and lifted to God, the he
avens, and the other mothers of previous Birthing Celebrations. It’s my favorite part, to see the tiny newborns. Some years none have been born during the Celebration. This is a good year: thirteen births...twelve girls and Rebel is the only boy. Many other women are pregnant, but some will likely end in miscarriage, as that has been a cause of concern since the population began dwindling. The BC is a symbolic way of protecting the pregnancies and ensuring a healthy baby.

  At the end of the evening, there is always a mass cleansing—a disinfecting wash, where everyone is cleansed inside and out. Booster shots follow, leaving the majority on a high of vitamins and antioxidants. I avoid the wash and the shots since I’m given those things on a regular basis. Someone else can benefit from them.

  I’m exhausted when I go back to the End Men’s private room. I want to see if I can get any more out of Kasper before I go back to Gwen with information.

  When I reach the room, Avil and Ras are the only ones in there and they look spooked.

  “What’s up? You guys look like someone just fucked your mother.” I pick up a towel and wipe my face.

  “Kasper has disappeared,” Ras says.

  “Disappeared? You know that guy, he’s like a bad rash. He’ll show up.” I lean forward in the mirror assessing whether or not I need to shave for tomorrow.

  “Nah, man. Milly Oppenheimer showed up—I saw them talking after he got off of the float. Next thing I knew, he was gone.”

  I look at Ras’ reflection in the mirror.

  “What makes you think he didn’t just skirt out of here early? He’s always disappearing,” I say. I don’t buy it, but I want to hear what he has to say.

  “I heard her tell him he was done. Her words were, ‘you’ve pushed one time too many’...”

  “Fuck.”

  I can’t stop myself from going to Phoenix’s house again. It might be risky to continue, but I try to cover my bases before the drive each time. Pay off Yvonne, check. Evade security detail, check. With the city in an uproar because of the BC, it’s easier than ever to sneak past my usual barricades. Each mile away from the compound and closer to Phoenix, I feel a little more like myself. When I pull around back and into the barn, I see her waiting for me at the back door. I jog toward her, my heart aching at the sight of her.

  SEVENTEEN

  PHOENIX

  Female Barbary macaques have loud sex. They scream and fake orgasms to attract multiple mates in hopes of confusing the males.

  It starts with one look. I’m sure many things start that way: fights, affairs, lies…

  With Jackal...with me...us—that look changes everything.

  When he comes in the door, his eyes square on me and suddenly my senses are no longer languid and sleepy. I have the fleeting thought that I’m glad Gwen has gone to bed because something about him is different tonight. By the light of the fire, his eyes glow gold. The way he’s seeing me disables my lungs so that I’m not able to take a full breath. I can smell him, his distinct male scent mixed with the cedar logs in the fireplace. If I lifted his shirt to my nose, I know I’d smell wood burning. It’s not so much lust that’s in his eyes, but rather a soft vulnerability. He’s leaning forward in the chair across from me, elbows resting on his knees.

  “And all that’s left is the predator and the bird,” he says softly. “Will she fly away?”

  I want to tell him that I want him, but those are hard words to say; they’d scrape like nails coming out of my throat. My vulnerability sounds like anger. Everything I say comes across hostile, it’s probably why people don’t talk to me. So I say nothing, staring at Jackal and hoping he can hear what’s in my heart.

  Outside the window the toads are singing—I try to focus on that sound rather than the feel of my pulse thrumming in my throat. I’m waiting for Jackal to say something.

  “Come here, Phoenix.”

  My temper sparks. I don’t like being told what to do, but then I see the look on his face.

  “It’s not going to be the only time tonight that I tell you to come.”

  I walk toward him, all thoughts fleeing my brain.

  His fingers skate across my neck. He leans back and looks at me, eyes glazed and shimmering in the firelight. He stares at me intently while the seconds tick by and then he stands, his face an inch from mine.

  “I want to savor you. Lick you clean and mark every inch of your skin with my tongue and teeth and—”

  I groan and my head falls back, while his mouth on my neck makes me lightheaded. He shifts and we’re against the wall, his mouth hard on mine while his hand pushes my shirt and bra down. As soon as my breast is free, he tugs my nipple with his teeth and I cry out. He raises his head to look at me and I push him back down. I feel his smile across my skin and I laugh; it quickly turns into a whimper when he sucks me harder.

  “Jackal,” I moan.

  “Tell me…what do you want?” He kisses under my breast and traces his tongue down my stomach then lifts me from the wall and moves us to the alpaca rug in front of the fire. He spreads me out there and lifts my shirt over my head. He studies my short wraparound skirt and makes quick work of untying it and slowly opening it up on either side.

  His chest rises and falls, slightly uneven, as he looks me over, studying me with smoky eyes. His fingers tease and tickle as they brush over my skin. I become squirmy the lower his fingers venture.

  I unclasp my bra and fling it to the side. His eyes widen and he grins, savage. He bends down and pulls my lacy thong down, two fingers hooked on either side. It’s his fingers I watch with fascination, large hands with ropey veins, skin dark from the sun. My heart thuds so rapidly, I know he must be able to hear it.

  I reach down and touch his face, moving to his hair and pushing back the hair falling over his eye.

  “I want you,” I whisper.

  He sits between my knees, my legs spread wide and reaches a finger down to trace the throbbing between my legs.

  “Oh my God,” I cry out, hips bucking.

  His fingers run across my wet skin, tracing the outside until I want to scream. When I think I’m going to explode, he sinks a finger inside me and I feel my muscles clench around it. His finger slides in and out of me over and over, until finally, he lowers himself between my legs and replaces his hand with his mouth. His tongue moves up and down in rhythm, dipping once inside of me before rising up to circle my most intense spot of pleasure.

  I writhe around, tugging his hair with one hand and pounding the floor with the other when I come the first time. Then his fingers join his tongue and I can’t take it, coming so hard my eyes roll back in my head.

  He kisses down my legs and to my feet, slowly making his way up my body as I catch my breath.

  “You’re exquisite,” he says, his face inches from mine. “And you taste so sweet.”

  I flush under his gaze, embarrassed that I came undone so easily by him, yet emboldened by the honesty I see in his eyes. I pull his shirt off and run my hands across his chest, leaning up to kiss the space between his shoulder and neck.

  “Take your pants off,” I tell him and he moves quickly, the firelight casting shadows across his legs. I pull his briefs off the rest of the way and his cock bobs out, thick and long, making me swallow hard. He lowers himself onto me, and I gasp when his body lines up perfectly with mine.

  “I’d die a happy man right now if this was all we did,” he says.

  I lean back slightly. “You’re done? But—”

  His expression is far from the cocky Jackal I’m used to. “I’m trying to tell you something. I don’t even know how to say it, but...this...with you. I’ve never been present...I’ve never even wanted to be...like this. I only want to make you feel good. That’s all I want.”

  I kiss him then. All of the feelings I’ve been trying to hold back, flooding into our kiss. My body reaches for him; inside and out, I need him.

  “Please,” I pant, “please, Jackal. I want more.”

  He rests his weight on his hands and
plunges inside just enough to make me moan but not hurt. When it gets tighter, he teases my clit with his fingers until I’m begging him to go in all the way. He works his way in, each inch deeper relieving me with the sting. When he’s balls deep, I feel complete. And then he pulls all the way out and eases back in, and I scream, the feral in me coming completely out.

  “Oh God,” he says, watching me. “I’ll never get enough of you.”

  He does it again and again, dragging in and out of me, the sounds of us slapping against each other and groaning enough to make me crazy. He pulls out one more time and when he comes back in deeper than ever, I grip him tight and hold him there, both of us convulsing together.

  We lay there for a while in front of the fire, his elbow on the rug, face leaning on his hand as his fingers continue to explore my body. Each freckle and scar that he finds, he leans down and kisses it. When I shiver, he picks me up and carries me to my room. He’s about to put me in bed when I say, “Shower with me?”

  He changes direction and we go into the bathroom. When he sees the large clawfoot tub, he says, “Would you rather have a bath to yourself?”

  “I think you can fit in there with me,” I tell him and he seems happy with that answer. I lean over and run the water, and his hands explore my backside.

  “I just remembered how flexible you are,” he says in my ear. “I’ll need weeks, months—longer even—to discover all the ways.”

  The way he says it almost feels like a promise.

  “Did I hurt you?” he asks, dragging the loofah across my skin.

  “I’m a ballerina. I love pain.”

  EIGHTEEN

  JACKAL

  The male bedbug stabs into a special place in the female’s abdomen and inseminates her. This is traumatic for the females' exoskeletons, but they’ve adapted ways of minimizing the damage to protect themselves.

  At first, when Phoenix and I lie in bed together, I’m not sure what to do. I’m good at the playacting, great at the fucking, but when it comes to curling up in bed with a woman, I am knobby knees and awkward elbows. We laugh and bump around for a bit before I pull her back against my chest and wrap my arms around her. Nestling my nose in the back of her neck, I inhale the scent of eucalyptus, which she tells me she soaks her body in after a long day of dancing. I allow myself to relax, letting sleep tug me slowly away. She eases against me, sighing.