“Better?”
“The super fast thing isn't a myth, is it?”
“No, but I will not hurt anyone who matters to Ava.”
I fight the urge to grin like an idiot. Tex isn't impressed.
“I wish that was more comforting.”
“So do I,” he says.
Twenty-Six
“Shut the front door!” she says for the sixth time this evening.
I'd ask her to stop saying it if it wasn't so funny. Peter takes her on a crash course on noctali, including the wings, which she makes him show her. Her eyes are so wide I'm afraid her eyeballs are going to fall out. She's taking it pretty well, especially after he shows her the wings.
“Do you all have wings? Cuz that's totally freaking awesome.”
“No, we do not.” Tex tries her best for an elaboration, but gets nowhere.
Then we get to the Claiming part. She's not so cool with that.
“How am I supposed to be fine with the fact that he gets to snack on you whenever he wants? I don't care if she likes you and thinks you're hot. I swear if you drain her or,” she sputters, trying to think of what else he might do, “I don't know, do anything weird to her, I'll kill you.” He hasn't told her that she can't, but that doesn't seem to bother her in the slightest. The show of friendship is kind of endearing.
“Is there anything else I should know?” I look at Peter.
“Nope, that's pretty much it,” I say.
“Then I have one more question," she says with a sly smile. I don't like the look of that smile. “Do you have any brothers?”
Peter
Her friend took it well. Much better than many people would have. She was loyal to Ava. I liked that in her. Texas had a sharp wit that I also found amusing. I would not mind spending time with her.
I didn't know what made me take her hand. Whether it was to comfort her or myself. I liked having something to hold onto, like a boat with an anchor in a storm. I felt as if I was about to be in the middle of a storm. I gripped her hand tighter, but released it again so I wouldn't crush her fingers. She was delicate, no matter what she said. Her spirit was the strong part of her. The human body was a fragile thing. I would protect hers. I was going to need help.
Ava
“There's another reason I came here. I wanted to ask you about Jamie. How's he doing? He doesn't seem to want to talk to me anymore,” I say.
We're all sitting closer than we were. Tex is still leery of Peter, but you can only be freaked out of your mind for so long.
“Yeah, he doesn't want to talk to me, but I just chase after him and won't leave him alone,” Tex says.
“I tried chasing him, too. He was gone by the time I got to the parking lot. It was very dramatic.” I twist in my chair. It makes me uncomfortable that Peter's still standing. I know he doesn't get tired, but it bugs me he's standing while we're sitting. I'm not going to tell him what to do, but then he comes over and sits next to my chair. Just like that.
“How's Cassie?” I say.
“She's good. She had a fight with their dad, but instead of taking off, she went back. I think that's the first time she's done that. He didn't hit her either.”
“He probably doesn't want to hurt her since she's pregnant.”
He's even more distracting when he's sitting next to me. Is this ever going to change?
“Ugh, I hate to think that's his reasoning,” Tex says.
“I know. I hate that Jamie has to stay at that house.”
When Jamie and I had first become friends, some of the teachers at school had been suspicious of the marks on his arms and why he was absent so often. Social Services was called, but nothing ever came of it. I guessed that if you only hit your kid a few times that wasn't enough to do anything. There was probably some reprimand involved, but we never heard any more from it, and Jamie got better at hiding his bruises. Once he got older and bigger, his dad stopped hitting him, but clearly that had changed. I hate to think who he'll turn his anger on when he doesn’t have Jamie around.
“It would be great if they could get his dad out of the house. If it was just his mom and Cassie and Jamie, I think they'd be okay.”
“Do you think his dad would go to rehab?”
“Hell, no. Then people would know, and the whole town would know what they know already, but he doesn't think they know.”
“It's so stupid.”
“It is.”
All of a sudden I'm exhausted, completely wiped. I just want to go to bed and have Peter on the roof watching out for me. It's not the typical vision of nighttime bliss, but it's as close as I can get.
“It's really late. I was supposed to be home a while ago,” Tex says.
She must be reading my mind. I give her a grateful smile and we share a best friend look. It was stupid to think that something as small as me being involved with a noctalis would damage our friendship. This is the girl who saved me from the embarrassment of peeing my pants. We can get through anything.
“It was, um, very nice to meet you, Peter. I know there was that other time at the party, but I feel like this was really the first time.” She smoothes her skirt down, like she's not sure if she should shake his hand or something.
“It was a pleasure meeting you both times. I am glad Ava has such a loyal friend.”
“So am I,” I say, getting up. “I hope I didn't give you anything to think about that's going to keep you up all night.”
“You know I'm an insomniac. At least tonight I have something to think about other than the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling or what I'm going to have for lunch tomorrow.”
“So I've done you a service?”
“Absolutely.”
There's a grin on her face that I don't like. Peter shrugged off the question about brothers, or rather he blinked it off and I deflected. We'll tackle that later. He sort of got into the reasons for the Claiming, but didn't mention his other brother.
He told me Viktor is more of a brother than Ivan, but I don't know what that means and I don't have anything to go on. He still hasn't mentioned his mother. Maybe he has mommy issues, which must be way worse when you're a noctalis.
I wave to Tex as we drive away.
“That went well,” I say. His only reply is to take my hand. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For whatever vibes you're sending me,” I say.
“Vibes?” He's confused. It's about time he was the one in the dark.
“You know. I know you can feel when I'm upset, but I can feel you all the time. It's not very strong, but I can feel it more now that we're touching. You're very Zen. It's nice.”
“I am not trying to feel any particular way.”
“Oh, well.” I don't let go of his hand until we have to get out of the car. I shiver a little. It's cold tonight. Ugh, I still have homework to do and dinner to eat.
We stand outside the pool of light from the porch.
“My dad's home, so I don't think you can come in. One of these days I'll have to introduce you for real, but I'd like to put that off as long as possible.”
Although, Mom's interrogation might be worse than his. Dad would just spend all his time glaring at Peter and trying to figure out if we've had sex yet. Yeah, I wanted to put that off as long as possible.
“You could introduce me as your boyfriend.”
“Oh.” I'm taken aback. His unblinking stare makes me squirm. “You wouldn't mind?”
“No.” He's straightforward. It's good sometimes and others not so much.
“If you're sure.”
“I've never been anyone's boyfriend.” He says it casually, but it means more than that, I know.
“Never?” I feel like we're getting near sensitive territory. I feel like we should be in the cemetery for this. “You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to.”
“Ava? What are you doing out there?” Dad peeks out the door.
“Nothing. Just looking for an earring I lost.” I tha
nk my brain for being so quick as to think of something. Peter blends into the dark so well, I'm sure Dad doesn't see him.
“I've got to go in,” I say to the dark. I can still see him, even though he's hiding in shadow.
“I will see you later.”
“Goodnight, Peter Mackintire.”
“Goodnight, Ava Sullivan.”
I smile as he uses my last name. I hate walking away from him, but it has to be done. I close the door and instantly I feel empty.
I have a quiet dinner with my family. Mom keeps giving me the eye, and I try to signal back that I'll tell her later. She nods imperceptibly. Message received.
I decide that I do need to concentrate some, so I go to my room and lock the door. I slog my way through my assignments, suckiest first. I kind of get into the groove, playing some Muse on my iPod to keep me going. It's a nice break to focus on something that isn't life threatening. When I get to the good stuff, my English homework to read Catcher in the Rye, I'm feeling good.
“Knock, knock.” I fold down the corner of my page. Normally I don't approve of folding down pages, but this copy is so battered it doesn't matter.
“Come in.”
Mom looks like she's been bursting to ask all night.
“You have some explaining to do, ma fleur.” She sits at the edge of my bed.
“I know,” I say, rubbing my eyes with the heels of my hands.
“How old is he again?” She says it casually, but I know the answer matters.
“Eighteen.”
“He seems older.”
“Yeah, I know. He's an old soul.” This is true.
“How did you meet again?”
“I spilled a drink on him. He made some witty remark, I said something dorky back and the rest is history.” I roll my eyes.
“He's —” She struggles to come up with an adjective. “— intense.”
“He is that.” Also true.
“Are we going to be seeing more of him?”
“Uh, yeah.” Why beat around the bush?
“His family's okay with that?”
“Yeah, they're cool.” Gah, I sound like a moron. “He's got two brothers.” In this lifetime, I don't add.
“Parents?”
“Just a mom. His dad died.” It's amazing how little I have to lie. Although, if you consider the omission of the truth as lies, then my pants should be on fire.
“Well, I hope we get a chance to get to know him better.”
She strokes my hair. It feels nice, but it just reminds me of the fact that I'm not going to have this forever. I think the worst thing is not learning of your own mortality, but that of those around you. I'd rather the world just went ahead and ended, because it won't be the same without her.
“I'd like that,” I say, gazing up at her. My chest loosens some.
“Goodnight, baby.”
“Night.”
I feel how frail she is when I hug her again. She doesn't smell the same either. I mean, it's not like she doesn't still smell like lilac perfume and dirt and the dinner she cooked. With my added senses, I smell something different, rotten. I don't like it, because I know what it is. It's the cancer eating away at her.
I still hold her tight. I'm not thinking about it.
“I love you.”
“I love you, ma fleur.”
She tucks me in like I'm a child again. For a second I almost ask her to read out loud to me like she used to, but it's been years and she looks tired. Peter's also been gone for hours and I want him to be able to come back. Even if he's lurking on the roof like some sort of beautiful gargoyle. The image of him hunched over with his wings tucked makes me want to laugh.
My mother turns off the light and softly exits the room, as if I'm a baby she's scared to wake. I wonder if she still sees me like that sometimes. Then I start to cry.
I have no idea where it comes from, but one second I'm fine and the next I'm crying into my pillow.
“Shh.” Of course I don't hear him come in. He's so damn stealthy.
“Leave me alone.” Okay, so it's mean, but I don't want him to see me cry again. I don't want anyone to see me cry.
“Do not be ashamed of tears.”
“They're embarrassing and they make my face all red,” I say as I shake. The sobs explode out of me and I grab my pillow to muffle the sound. I can't let my parents know I'm crying. That would be the worst of the worst.
“Would you like me to hold you?” He hasn't touched me yet.
“Yeah.” I sniff like a three-year-old.
He holds his arms open and I fall into them. He isn't warm, but I don't really care about that. I can do without the beating heart. I need something to hold onto so my tears don't take me away with them. He's also big enough to muffle the sound.
I don't know how long I stay there in his rigid arms. He doesn't rock me. He doesn't say anything. He just lets me go. It's exactly what I need. He lets me cry it out, dribbling snot and tears all over his shirt. I feel bad, but there's really nothing I can do about it.
Like a hurricane, it takes a while for my crying jag to blow itself out. I also probably look like I got hit by a truck, but that's beside the point.
“Can I get you a glass of water?” I nod.
“And some aspirin?” I ask.
He comes back with both and I swallow two pills. I should have asked him for the nighttime ones that make me sleep, but I wasn't thinking about that.
“Are you feeling better?”
“I probably look like crap.” I wipe my hands on my face as my vanity gets the better of me.
“You look emotional.” I can't tell if that is a compliment. It kind of feels like one.
“Thanks for that. Most guys would have run the other way. Girls turn ugly when they cry.”
“I am not a guy.” His shirt is really gross from my tears. I want to offer to wash it for him.
I give him a look. “You know what I mean.”
“I know.”
I sigh and flop back on my pillows. What a night.
“I am so freaking tired right now.” Tired in body and soul. I need to sleep for like a week to recover.
“Sleep. I will stay with you.”
“That might not help me sleep.”
“Then I will leave.” He gets up. I try to grab his arm but he moves too fast.
“No! That wasn't what I meant. I don't know what I mean anymore. I think I just need to stop thinking and talking.” I'm having trouble finding the words I want to say.
“Don't worry. You're safe.” He brushes back some of my hair with his finger. I feel a little bit of something from him, which reminds me that he can feel my emotions, too.
“Oh my God, did you suck in all my stupid emotions?” I sit up again.
“Yes.”
“I am so freaking sorry. You shouldn't have touched me.”
“It made me feel alive. I am not sorry to carry some of your grief for you. It is more than enough for one person.” I open my mouth to protest, but he puts his finger to my lips. “Less talk. More sleep.” To the point.
I roll my eyes and sink back down.
“Goodnight, Ava.”
“Goodnight, Peter.”
Peter
It overwhelmed me, this grief. It brought back the memory of my own, even though it was dulled and tarnished with time. Hers was raw and fresh. There was beauty in it, but I didn't mention that to her. As far as she was concerned, her world was ending. I would not be the one to tell her that it wasn't true. The world would still turn when she lost her mother, even if she didn't want it to. I understood that all too well.
I enjoyed holding her. Other than the dancing and flying, it was the most prolonged contact we'd had. It reminded me of the dancing, but only in intensity. I wished I could put the moment in a jar and keep it, like a winking firefly. To remind me that moments like that could exist for me. I could have some sort of existence, even if I didn't deserve it.
I couldn't leave her. Not even to go ou
t on the roof. I needed to be in the same room with her, surrounded by her air and her heartbeat. I hoped it didn't bother her. I tried to stay quiet. To not infringe. I had not bathed in some time and wondered if I should use her shower. It was also strange for me not to hunger. I did not take much of her blood, but what I did take sustained me. It might have been one of the side effects of the Claiming. I needed someone to speak to about it. Normally, I prided myself on my own resourcefulness, but I didn't want to take chances where she was concerned.
Her eyes fluttered as she tried to keep them open. So stubborn. I told her she was reckless, but she was just as stubborn. It made me want to smile, but my face still didn't know how. She said she would teach me. Maybe tomorrow.
After she went to sleep, I used her computer to send Viktor an email about everything, asking for advice. He'd showed me how several years ago, and I'd seen Ava do it enough times to figure out how to log into her email program. I hadn't had contact with my kind in years, but I knew he checked his messages regularly. He would like her, I was sure of it.
Ava
“What are you doing?” I say, rolling onto my side. He's sitting on my floor, legs crossed, shirt off, wings out, reading. My night vision isn't good enough to see the title, but I recognize the cover. “Harry Potter? For real?”
“I was curious.” He doesn't look up from the book. I notice he's reading the second in the series.
“I have the first one on the shelf.” I run my hand through my hair and get it caught.
“I read it.”
“You read it? What time is it?” I lean over and look at the clock. It's only 11:50. “You read an entire Harry Potter book in less than an hour?”
“I'm a fast reader.” I watch as he turns a page. I squint at him in the dark. He turns another page. Huh. I guess he is a fast reader. That's pretty cool.
“You should go back to sleep.” He turns another page.
I want to ask him how he liked the first book, but I feel like kind of a dork. I have no idea why he picked that, of all books, to read.
“Do you like it?” What the hell? I'm giving him my blood. I shouldn't be embarrassed about something like this.