Bad Bloods: July Thunder

By Shannon A. Thompson

From best-selling author Shannon A. Thompson comes an exciting new duology in the Bad Bloods universe.
Fourteen-year-old Violet has been called many things: a bad blood, a survivor, an immortal...now she has a new name—citizen. But adjusting to a lawful life is not easy, especially when she must live under the rule of the same officers who justified the killings of her flock only eight months earlier.
Segregation of bad bloods and humans is still in effect, and rebellious Violet steps into a school where she is not allowed. When the police get involved, things deteriorate quickly, sparking a new revolution at the wall separating the Highlands from the outskirts.
That's when Caleb steps in. He might appear to be an average sixteen-year-old bad blood, but he has secrets, and Violet is determined to figure them out. Caleb knows who's attacking the wall and why, but his true identity remains a mystery—and how he relates to Violet could shake the threatened city to its very core.
Together or not, a storm will form, a rally will start, and shocking truths will be revealed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: CTP Publishing
• Release date: Apr 10, 2017
• ISBN: 9781634222457

Shannon A. Thompson

Shannon A. Thompson is a young adult author, avid reader, and a habitual chatterbox.As a novelist, poet, and blogger, Thompson spends her free time writing and sharing ideas with her black cat, Bogart, named after her favorite actor, Humphrey Bogart. Her other two cats bring her coffee. Between writing and befriending cats, Thompson graduated from the University of Kansas with a bachelor’s degree in English with an emphasis on creative writing, and her work has appeared in numerous poetry collections and anthologies. Represented by Clean Teen Publishing, Thompson is the best-selling author of The Timely Death Trilogy and the Bad Bloods duology. When she is not writing, she is climbing rooftops, baking cookies, or watching murder shows in the middle of the night, often done with her cats by her side.Visit her blog for writers and readers at www.ShannonAThompson.com.

Book preview

By Shannon A. Thompson

Dedicated to anyone who has felt left in the shadows. (And to those who are at home in them.)

THIS book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

NO part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

Bad Bloods: July Thunder

Copyright ©2017 Shannon A. Thompson

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-63422-245-7

Cover Design by: Marya Heiman

Typography by: Courtney Knight

Editing by: Kelly Risser

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

About the Author

Acknowledgements

I’d learned two rules since President Henderson declared bad bloods had the right to live again.

1. Freedom came with rules attached.

2. Breaking rules was in my blood.

Rebelling was how I survived, after all. And nothing screamed rebellion more than the color black.

I put my best black boot forward to make my entrance at Western Elementary. As I stepped out of the shadows into the halls, I changed from a ghost to a girl. The same girl who gave Shadow Alley its name. The same girl who lived on the streets, then lived in the Northern Flock, and survived them both. And now, that girl was expected to be anyone but herself.

My name was Violet Wilson, and I was now a citizen.

As far as laws went, bad bloods were allowed to live, but only in certain places.

Bad bloods had special schools, special hospitals, special offices, special everything.

And Western Elementary was not for bad bloods.

I rolled my eyes as I tied my hair into a tight ponytail at the top of my head. When my midnight hair solidified, every other part of me formed, too. That meant I looked as human as I could, though my bottomless black eyes didn’t fool anyone.

I would always be a bad blood, inside and out.

As if humans had a radar for bad bloods like me, a woman stormed out of the nearest classroom, shaking a finger like it had the power of a fist. You can’t come in here.

It was an improvement from last year’s motto—You’re not allowed to live—but just as aggravating.

I said, you can’t come in here, the high-heeled teacher repeated.

She followed me every step of the way down the hallway until I faced her. Then, she froze. I tended to have that effect on people, which was why I avoided everyone altogether. But the sounds of her high heels on the linoleum floors annoyed me. So did her nasally voice and her mousey nose. I didn’t trust humans who looked like rats. I preferred scarred bad bloods, with purple hair, chipped teeth, or hooves for feet. Anything but rule-abiding heels.

I stepped forward, mainly to prove I lacked fear but also to show off my brand-new black leather boots, an early birthday present from Daniel.

In three days, I’d be fourteen—legally, anyway—and though I’d spent my life breaking the laws in order to survive, I was now expected to behave to get the same job done. Now, I was a citizen. Now, I should be grateful.

Excuse me for second-guessing the same lawmakers who justified the murders of my family last November.

"The Northern Flock Massacre," they called it.

"The tragedy that demanded a new beginning," they said.

"A snowy, dreary night," one awful poem in the newspaper read.

No one mentioned the facts.

Twelve kids had died while twelve lived. Almost all the survivors were separated. And I was permanently injured.

I leaned into my left leg’s limp, hoping the teacher saw the broken bone I normally hid, wishing she could see the scowl on my brow from the pain, but knowing she saw nothing except my eerily white skin and ink-black hair. To her, I wasn’t alive at all. I was a ghost. But most of all, I was a bad blood, no matter what the law said.

I’m well aware of where I’m allowed to be, I said slowly, and the shadows listened to my every word. Lately, the darkness had a mind of its own. If my voice faltered once, the shadows sprang into action before I held them back. What could I say? I was a bit sensitive nowadays. I’m just here to pick someone up, I added.

Then, you can wait outside.

Where bad bloods belonged.

Despite promising equality, all President Henderson had managed to do was stop the bloodshed, or at least keep it to a minimum. Even after we were deemed citizens, a few bad bloods had been killed, but some bad bloods killed back. Because of the sudden insurgence, Henderson had no choice but to comply with the South Council’s overrule to keep us separated in most cases. That meant bad bloods were required to attend school like any other citizen, but we could only attend special schools—ones designed to treat those who’d spent the majority of their lives outside of the education system. What most failed to recognize was how few of us wanted, or needed, any more special treatment from Vendona’s government.

But how could I blame Henderson?

He was just a president, one balanced out by a council and a bigger council higher than that. When he wasn’t fighting for bad bloods, he sat behind an electric-powered, ten-story wall wrapped around the Highlands like a steel blanket, complete with guards and artillery.

Couldn’t say I’d understand the outskirts from a skyscraper pedestal either.

Even at ground level, I struggled to understand their nuances.

I’ll leave, I said, once I get her.

Who? would be the normal, human response, but I was starting to believe humanity was a myth—one only written about in textbooks people mistakenly thought I couldn’t read in the first place. Not all bad bloods were illiterate like Serena. Though, she’d come surprisingly far in the past eight months. Much further than Vendona had anyway.

I’m calling the police. The teacher’s words threatened enough. Just the idea of police showing up made my heart pound, and when my heart pounded, my powers went a little haywire.

As adrenaline coursed through my veins, my shadows responded. With every beat of my now-racing heart, the black bounced off the floor. Slowly at first. So small the rat teacher didn’t notice. But then, the darkness wrapped around her heel. Right as she began to scream, a child shouted over the impending doom.

Sorry I’m late! Serah cut the tension like the small, curly headed knife she was. She smiled, too, either because she chose not to notice the reality around her or because she was too wrapped up in her latest novel to notice. Looking at the book snuggled against her heart, my guess was the latter. I didn’t mean—

Ms. Malone. The teacher stood akimbo, but kept her distance. What is the meaning of this?

Serah blinked, like she could barely comprehend the question. Oh! Her expression brightened. This is Violet. She’s my friend.

Her teacher’s face turned beet red before she slammed her heel down on the linoleum floor. Come here this instant.

Serah glanced at me, but when I shrugged, the seven-year-old Malone ran over. If she were anything like her older sister Serena, then I doubted the teacher had an easy battle ahead of her.

We have rules around here, Serah.

And some aren’t right, Serah defended. They’ll all change eventually.

I couldn’t help myself. I snickered.

The woman pursed her lips. Yes, eventually, she said, but, for now, you can’t break them.

At that, Serah tilted her head. May I ask what rule I’m breaking?

Bad bloods… the teacher began, but when I coughed, she changed her stance to the new, more proper term. Bloods can’t come in here.

Bloods can’t attend, Serah corrected. There’s no law that says Violet can’t step inside.

The little genius performed our script perfectly, right down to her childish sway and the fluttering of her eyelashes. I almost succumbed to laughter, but the teacher’s glare stopped me. This time, the woman addressed me instead.

While I appreciate that you’re looking out for Ms. Malone… She stumbled over the famous surname and only reminded me of why we continued to fight for recognition.

Everyone knew Serah was Serena’s little sister—the same Serena who escaped a blood camp—but no one outside the flocks knew Serena took over Stephanie Henderson’s place during the election. Though many magazines remarked on the uncanny resemblance, Stephanie Henderson had once been the missing and rumored bad-blooded daughter of our now-president, Alec Henderson. In reality, Stephanie was long dead—a member of the Eastern Flock, who was slaughtered trying to cross the borders—but now, someone other than Serena stood in Stephanie’s place. Her name was Catelyn, and she had grown up with Serena in the Southern Flock. She was as much Serena’s sister as Serah was. And at this rate, Serah would be my sister-in-law one day. I was now Daniel’s legal sister, after all.

Who needed a flock when they had a sisterhood?

…so you must understand why I cannot permit you on this property, the teacher continued, but when she seemed to realize I had tuned her out a long time ago, her upper lip curled. Perhaps if you could read, you would know the rules.

I can read, I corrected. Perhaps it’s you who should study more.

To prove a point, I let my shadows leak down the walls like ink, so she could see the scope of my powers.

I didn’t just control darkness. I became it.

The teacher fainted at the sight.

I rolled my eyes at the lack of fun. Come on, Serah.

Serah waved good-bye, though the woman had yet to come to, and I dragged Serah behind me before anyone else decided to call the police. I swung her hand as we walked to the exit.

You know, Serah started, you really should go to school. Sometimes, she sounded too much like Serena. It’s fun.

I imagine your school is different from mine.

On the first and only day I attended school, the majority of volunteers were too spooked by my appearance to approach, let alone teach.

You might learn something new, Serah said as she began taking smaller steps to accommodate my only secret.

I limped, but I had yet to tell Daniel how it happened. In fact, I hadn’t shown him at all. Only Serah knew, so I only physically walked when I was with her. Other than that, I stuck to the shadows. No one questioned my actions, because everyone was too busy to care, including Vendona’s overzealous police force.

Outside the front doors, they circled Western Elementary, weapons drawn. The rat teacher had actually called. But I never wanted to face the police again. Not after what they’d done to my family. Not after my fear started controlling my powers as much as my blood did.

In the bright Vendona sun, my shadows ached with vengeance.

Pointing blazing barrels seemed like a ridiculous reaction to a bad blood entering an elementary school, but Vendona’s emotions were high, and fighting back was futile. I’d only encourage the biased newscasters who listed violent bad blood stats every night. And escaping with Serah in the shadows was impossible. She was human, and humans didn’t survive my shadows.

I had killed before—by accident and on purpose—but by law, my slate was clean and so were the police’s. Unfortunately, it seemed everyone craved to start counting again.

Serah took one look at my shaking shadows and squeezed my hand. You should go.

A seven-year-old who was either used to guns or used to me. Either way, she was brave.

But—

They’ll just call Mom, she said, staring right back at the guns the same way her sister stared at news cameras, like it was all an opportunity. Or Sissy.

And Serena didn’t fear the badge as much as I did. In fact, Serena reveled in physically challenging them. I only yearned to change the law from the inside out.

I’ll make this up to you, I promised, but Serah held her book like a shield.

You already have, she said, and I knew why.

Though I had coached Serah on how to perform our school script, she had written it, and she had done so after I told her my only dream.

If bad bloods could attend normal schools one day, I wanted to become a lawyer. I wanted to challenge and defend laws legally. I could give bad bloods a voice. And then, I would help everyone acquire jobs, marriage certificates, and high-earning degrees. It was that passion that drove me to research.

Enraged by the quality—or lack thereof—of my special school, I had found a loophole in the current laws that allowed bad bloods to step foot in any place, special or not.

I had studied it out of anger, but Serah wanted to turn it into something real. She wanted to perform it like a play, and we had…seamlessly. But we’d predicted the news would report it. Not that the police would actually show up. And I wasn’t about to get shot because of someone’s shaky finger. I wasn’t about to abandon Serah either.

We’re in this together, I said, and she nodded, because she saw what I did.

The cameras behind the police. The news following the crimes. The truth that could be exposed.

Our scene would bring our challenge to a stage, and no matter how much Vendona wished for it to happen, no one could arrest a shadow.

An absolute catastrophe. That was what the day had become.

Between bustling streets and sweaty-sticky people, Vendona’s humid heat lingered at hell’s level. Inside me, the rage was worse. Much worse.

Britney. I mentally cursed the child I brought into town,