I know when I have found it. His smell is all over it. Along with traces of human blood. All noctali carry that smell. It is unavoidable.
“We're here.” When I set her down, she does not let go of me right away. I take her hand and we walk side-by-side.
“Here? A noctalis lives here?” I understand what she means. The house looks like any that a suburban couple might occupy, with perhaps a few children. There is a tidy lawn, even a few of those little lawn ornaments shaped like tiny people with funny hats that glare up at us as we walk by.
Her fear slips over me like a cloak. She had been so eager, but now that she is faced with the reality, she is scared. So human.
“He will know we are here. Stay behind me.” She obeys, ducking into my shadow, but not letting go of my hand. I will have to put some distance between us soon. Even though Cal is my oldest friend, that does not mean I will share my reason for the visit. Never trust a noctalis.
Except for Viktor. I would trust him with anything.
The front door opens, letting light flow onto the steps, outlining his form.
“Hello, Cal.”
Cal pauses for a fraction of a second. “Hello, Peter. I was not expecting you.”
“I have come to ask you something.” Ava peeks from behind my shoulder. He takes her in for the space of a human breath. Soon, I am going to make her angry with me. But it cannot be helped.
“Please, come in. Both of you.”
Chapter Sixteen
Ava
On the outside, the house looks like Mr. and Mrs. Sunshine and their 2.2 children would live here. There's a white fence. Freaking lawn gnomes. I swear they glare at me as I walk behind Peter. I can't see the man standing in the doorway because it's too dark. Even for my heightened eyes. I'm still human. Ish.
When we finally get close enough to see him, I'm ready to turn around and go back home. There's something spooky about this house, and I can't put my finger on it. But Peter just drags me along. This is his friend, after all.
As soon as we step on the porch, Peter steps away from me. I'm instantly chilled, and I don't know why. Instantly, I'm hyper aware of the distance.
Cal speaks first.
“Your Claimed.” He tips his head to the side, and I get an impression of slicked-back blond hair. He's definitely not wearing sweatpants, either. It's some sort of suit. He's wearing shoes, too. Fancy leather dress shoes. Who was this guy?
“Yes,” Peter's voice sends ice down my back. The last time I heard his voice so cold, he was strangling me in the cemetery. Something is going down. Nice of Peter to let me know. I send him a mental kick in the family jewels.
“I would not have picked you as the type to Claim.” His voice has an odd tone to it. I've grown use to the strange way the noctalis voice echoes. But his has something else going on in that voice. Something I don't like.
“It was not planned.”
“It rarely is.” His smile is nice, though. Soothing. He reminds me of a nice doctor you'd see. Not the kind that would give you a shot or anything, but the kind that would give you a lollipop.
“I'm Cal.” He looks at me as if he's trying to figure me out. I try not to wiggle under the scrutiny.
“Please, come in.” He sweeps his arm out and we walk into the house.
It's just as Mr. Sunshine on the inside as it is on the outside. I'm afraid to breathe for fear of dirtying the air. It's all done in beiges and silvers and blacks. Very masculine and neutral. As is Cal. His suit is all pinstripes and he's got a purple tie on. Very debonair. He's even got wingtips. Frank Sinatra plays softly in the background. Mack the Knife. I hope that's not an omen.
I finally say something. “You have a lovely home.” It seems like the right thing to say. I wonder if he was the decorator or if he has a woman.
“Thank you.” We walk into a living room that is so clean, I'm afraid to breathe on anything. “How long have you been Claimed?” I realize he's talking to me. I also realize his teeth are really white. They almost glow.
“Uh, two weeks?” Feels like forever. Peter's still freezing me out. I pluck at our connection, but it's like he's blocking me. I slam into a blank wall. What the hell? We need to come up with some form of nonverbal communication. Hand signals or blinking Morse code.
“What is it you need?” Cal's eyes flick from me to Peter and back. I don't like him looking at me. The house, while pretty, is super cold. I wrap my blanket closer around me. I wish I could hold Peter's hand.
“I want to know about binding promises.”
Cal raises one eyebrow. How is it he can do that, but Peter finds it so difficult?
“Her?”
“No. I could not leave her behind. It was uncomfortable.”
“I see,” Cal says.
I don't.
Cal studies us in silence for what seems like hours. I'm starting to get seriously uncomfortable with his perfect house and his perfect teeth and his perfect human imitation. This guy has got to have skeletons in the closet. Plus, he knew Peter back when. I know what he's like now, but I really don't have any concept of what he used to be like. The truth is that I really don't want to know.
I keep my mouth shut, even though I want to say something so bad. Can Peter make that kind of bind with me while I'm still human? We didn't discuss this on our way over.
Why did we not discuss this on our way over?
“Do you remember when I found you?”
“Yes.” Find another response, Peter. I want to kick him, but I'm not in a position to do so. It's like they've forgotten all about me. Peter hadn't told me anything of their past. Now I was starting to wonder. The house is still freaking me out. It's just too perfect.
There are no personal pictures or knick-knacks or silly things like that. It is not a human house. There is no dust. One of the components of dust is dead skin cells. He doesn't have any skin cells. Which is weird when you think about it.
“I did not save you for you to throw it away on a human. I taught you not to kill them. That is enough. You cannot save them. Even if you want to. It is their purpose to live and die. Ours is to exist.” He was like the Yoda of noctali. And what is this saving business? How can you save someone that's immortal?
“She means nothing to me.” I can't help it, but a little sound escapes my mouth. I stare at Peter. Oh there is something going on that he has not informed me of. That's the only way he could say something like that. The words rattle around in my brain. I wish I could shake them out and forget he ever said them. There has to be a reasonable explanation.
There has to be. I wish I could read his mind.
“I only brought her because I had to.” It's the second time he's said it. I can't believe this is happening. I close my eyes, trying to make it go away. I open them again and I'm still here. In this sterile house looking at Cal's sterile eyes.
Cal stares at Peter for what feels like hours, but is probably only a few seconds.
“The only way is to destroy a bind, is to destroy one of the noctali. That is all I know.”
“Then there is no other way?” Peter's voice is still cool, but I hear a note of desperation. Hm.
I glance at a decorative iron clock on the wall. The hands remain still. Either time has stopped, or the clock has. “I have a few contacts. It will take me a week. Can you return in a week?”
“Yes.”
“Then that is what we will do.” Wait, that's it? We came all this way for Peter treating me like less than dirt and come back in a week?
I find it hard to believe that he doesn't know anything, but this is Peter's crazy train I'm riding. And I'd hopped on without knowing the destination.
“Thank you. We will go now. Come.” The last part is directed at me. If I wasn't so shocked I would have told him to kiss my ass.
“It was a pleasure to see you again, Peter. Even under these circumstances. I have missed you.” I want to tell him those 'circumstances' have a name. I still haven't said anything since we entered the
house. I think he followed the “humans are meant to be drained and not heard,” or something like that.
Peter walks backward, towing me with him. “Thank you again.” Never turn your back.
“I will see you in a week.” He shares a deep look with Peter, and it's like I'm not even there. It's a warning.
For one terrifying beat of time, I think he's going to lunge at us, or do something crazy, but he doesn't. He just stares at Peter for another wordless moment. I hate it when they do that.
“Goodbye,” Cal says.
I start to breathe again after the door closes. Peter scoops me up in his arms, holding me so tight I can't even begin to fight him. He holds my arms tight, but I thrash anyway. My face is pressed to his exquisite chest, which doesn't help keep my anger fired up.
“What the hell was that?”
“Hush,” he says so quiet, it's like a hiss. I still try to move, but he holds me tighter and takes to the air.
“You're an asshole, you know that?” He doesn't answer. There's nothing to do, so I just stay silent. Even though I am royally pissed, the Claim makes me happy to be in his arms. They're home, even when I want to kick him in the nuts.
He waits a good twenty minutes before he says anything. I refuse to look at him. I know I'll be lost when I meet those eyes. Even in the dark.
“I am sorry. But I could not let him know that I cared for you.”
“I thought he was your friend.”
“He is. But you never show all your cards, Ava-Claire. I did not want him to know why I wanted the information or what I would do with it.” I'm powerless against him. I meet his eyes and he pulls me in. His body pulses with each beat of his wings. I open my mouth to bitch him out, but I can't. I mean, it kind of makes sense.
“Whatever. Just don't. Ever. Do. That. To. Me. Again. Got it?” I poke him in the chest with every word. Trying to make my point. “You hurt me.” Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.
“I am sorry. I will try not to. But I cannot promise.” Is he trying to piss me off again?
I rub my tears on my shoulder. “Will you at least let me in on your secret plans? So I'm not a bitch to you again?”
“Only if it will work with the plan to do so.”
“So what, you've got all sorts of secret plans?” Who is he, James Bond?
“Perhaps.”
“If I could punch you right now, I would.”
“I do not doubt it.” I decide to move on.
“By the way, your friend is super creepy.” I wiggle my fingers out from under the blanket and put my hand on his chest.
“What do you mean?”
“I don't know what it was. He was just too perfect. His house was too nice, he dressed too nice. The whole thing. I don't know. It was just a vibe. Also, what was that whole thing about saving you and not being able to save humans and letting them burn in hell and all that?” I try to pull myself closer to Peter, but I can't.
“That is Cal.” That's not an answer.
“I don't like it. He got my Spidey Senses tingling. And I didn't like the way you were with him.” He doesn't even have to ask before I explain about Spiderman. That takes us part of the way.
He's still hiding something from me. I'm so attuned to him, I can tell when he's hiding something. Peter never really lies. He omits things he doesn't want me to know. And he's doing it now. I could make a big deal out of it, but I'm tired, cold and still weirded out. I switch topics.
“Guess he's not a big fan of humans, huh?”
“He believes that when we interfere with humans, we disturb the balance of the world. That we may live on the same planet, but we should interact as little as possible.”
“That's very zen.” I'm still offended. “So we have a week to wait. That seems like a long time.”
“It will be fine.”
“If you say so.” I really don't think it's going to be fine.
But there's not a whole lot I can do about it. Just one more thing to worry about. I should make a list. Yes, an orderly list would make everything better. Lists always helped. Someday, when the world was ending in a cataclysmic apocalypse, people would make lists and they would save the world. Somehow.
By the time we get back, my hands are so frozen that Peter has to help me unclamp them from the back of his neck. If he were warm, things would be a lot easier. The rest of me is roasting inside the blanket. I unpeel it from around me and go to the sink to throw my hands in some hot water. At least he stopped blocking me. He finally came back when we hit New York.
My shoulders shake and my head bobbles around. Peter comes up behind me, wrapping a thick fleece blanket around me. He starts rubbing my shoulders, trying to get my circulation moving. What I should really do is get in the shower, but I'm too tired to take my clothes off. Peter picks me up, taking me to bed and tucking me in with as many blankets as he can find before making the fastest cup of tea ever. My hands are shaking too much for me to hold it, so Peter tips it to my lips.
“Thank you.”
“I have turned you into a popsicle,” he says with a smile.
I gape at him for a second.
“Good job.” I'd give him a pat on the back if I wasn't buried in twelve thousand blankets.
He tips the cup to my mouth. “I have been working on it while you sleep.” Sometimes he says the strangest things. Taken out of context, I should have him arrested. “Did I say something wrong?” He asks when I don't respond.
“Not at all.” I finish my tea and start to warm up a little. Peter moves closer to me, stroking my hair. That's certainly warming me up. Maybe it's something about my insides thawing that loosens something I've wanted to tell him for a while.
“You know what the worst thing is about having a mother who is dying of cancer?” He blinks, waiting or me to continue.
“One,” I hold up a finger, “you know that you're going to live the rest of your life without her. Two,” I hold up another, “you think about your own mortality. A lot. Like, all the time. You think how horrible dying is. How scary. When you see your strong, unstoppable mother go through that you think, I could never do that, I'm just not strong enough. So I'm scared. I'm scared of death, I'm scared of losing her, I'm scared of losing you.” I fist my hand in his shirt, trying to make him understand.
I'd actually thought more about death in the past two years than anyone my age reasonably should.
His eyes are distant, closed off. He's withdrawing from me again. Shit. “You cannot understand the consequences. You cannot understand what it would be like.” He won't even entertain it. Not even as a possibility.
But I wasn't just doing it for me. If I helped him break the bind, then his life, existence, whatever, would be free. He could do what he wanted. He could even love someone other than me. He could love the whole damn world. My mortality seemed a reasonable price to pay.
“You mean the blood drinking and all that? Yeah, it would kind of suck. Wow, I did not mean to make that pun.” It would be funny under normal circumstances.
“You would kill people. Are you prepared for that?”
“I wouldn't have to. You learned not to do it.” That was one thing I knew I couldn't deal with, even when it came to the reality of it happening.
I didn't want to think about drinking blood. But I figured that I'd get to a point after the whole changing thing and I'd become okay with it. Just, um, like that. Like a light switch.
He looks away from me. “It was not easy.”
“But you did it. That's the point.” It didn't matter if it wasn't easy, only that it could be done. Had been done. “I wish you could just read my mind and see the truth.”
“Ava.”
“Fine, let's not talk about it.” What I want, more than anything else right now is to go to sleep with Peter next to me. My body has finally stopped shaking, so I reach for my tea. There's still tension between us. Caused by whatever he's keeping from me. It's like something is clogging the line that runs between us. I wonder if he feels
it.
“You would miss earth-shattering cheesecake,” he comments.
I sip the warm liquid, feeling it seep down my throat and warm me from the inside. “True. But I'd have blood.” I try to sound cheerful, but yurgh. Blood.
“It is not the same.”
“I know that. But I'd give up earth-shattering cheesecake if it meant you got to be free.” I want to reach out to him, to touch is face and kiss him and breathe him in.
I look up at him and he meets my eyes, pulling me in for only a second. Then he blinks and pulls back. I feel like I've been slapped in the face.
“You should get to bed.” He's hurt me again, but I try not to show it. I drain the rest of my tea, trying not to look at him.
“Goodnight, Peter.” I don't wait for him to get his book or do anything else. I just turn over and pretend to sleep.
I feel, rather than hear, him sigh. He picks a book off the top of the stack and opens the cover.
“Goodnight, Ava.”
Peter
She is upset, as I expected. I can always tell now. Images flash through my mind, including one of me. It must be how she sees me. But it is gone before I can study it. She is still a conundrum. Part of me doesn't wish to understand how her mind works. I still like being surprised by her. I don't want that to change. Ever.
I understand that my words hurt her. But I could not let Cal know my true feelings for her. He would not help me if he knew. Ava was right, I should have let her in. I have been alone for so long, I often forget that I have to consider another person. She knows I am keeping things from her. But she does not know why. Perhaps, one day, I will tell her.
I'm distracted from my book by Ava. She's deep in sleep. So deep that I get up and take a shower. A wonderful invention, indoor plumbing.
She's having another nightmare when I return. Her legs twitch and her eyebrows contract, forming a crease that I want to put my thumb in to smooth it away like clay. Her hands are clasped under her chin. She twists them, as if she's trying to hold onto something. I consider waking her. I have done it before. With just a nudge, she would come out of it naturally. But I hesitate. It is not that I want her to suffer. But dreams are mysterious things. Sometimes they tell us things we need to see. My mother always believed in the truth behind dreams. I do not dream anymore, and even a nightmare would be welcome.