Nocturnal (25 page)

His smell fills my head, and I wish I could bottle it, or make it into one of those air fresheners shaped like a tree. Eau de Peter. No. It would be called something like Darkness of the Night. With a brooding picture of him with no shirt on, riding a horse or something on the advertisement. 

“What kind of movies do you like?”

“I have not seen many movies. Whatever you choose is fine.” I pick five boxes at random and shuffle them in my hands, fanning them out without looking at them.

“Pick one.” Without breaking eye contact, he points to a box. I turn it over, relieved.

“
The Wizard of Oz
it is then.” I'd been hoping he'd pick that one. I wondered if he could tell and that was why he chose it. My sources say yes.

“Are you sure I can't get you anything?” Her face peeks around the wall, cheery smile firmly in place. I really want some of the cake, but I don't want to eat it in front of Peter, since he can't have any.

“We're fine. Thanks.” She gives me another glare and then a wink before going back to the kitchen where the mixer sounds a little bit later. God, what have I gotten myself into?

“You are okay, aren't you? I mean, you're not starving, right?” I whisper. Eavesdropping is not beneath my mom. He'd gotten some last night, but I knew he hadn't taken as much as he could have.

“I am fine,” he says as I put the movie in. He considers before he continues. “I cannot starve. I would become weakened, and the desire to feed would get stronger until I would get it any way I could. An animal would do.”

“But since you've Claimed me, you can't do that, right?”

“Correct.” Shit. We were screwed. 

I try not to think about it while we watched Dorothy sing about going over the rainbow. I've seen the movie so many times, I'm not paying much attention, but he's engrossed.

“That's my favorite part,” I say when Dorothy opens the door after the tornado and everything's in Technicolor.

“I can see why.” We lapse into silence again. Somehow having him in my house on my couch makes everything feel awkward. If we were in the cemetery, we'd have no problem. Not so much in my living room.

“I know you're supposed to love the Scarecrow, but I've always had a thing for the Tin Man.” I whisper and watch his reaction.

“Why?” He doesn't take his eyes off the screen as the Tin Man sings about his missing heart.

“I don't know. Maybe I have a thing for people who think they don't have hearts when it's really the opposite.” He opens his mouth as if he's going to say something and then he doesn't. I feel dumb and wish I hadn't said it. 

“Do you ever smile?”

“Does it bother you?” He still doesn't look away as Dorothy falls asleep in the field of poppies.

“It's kinda weird,” I admit.

“It is not natural for us. To smile.” I want to mention that they dyed the horses different colors using Jell-o and they kept trying to lick it off, but this doesn't feel like the right moment.

“Is that part of the humanity thing?”

“Yes. When we change, we lose all those things. Like smiling, laughing, breathing, blinking, all of it. We have to remind ourselves how to do them. If we want to blend in.”

“And you don't want to.”

“I do not need to. Most of the time.” I've never seen someone so transfixed by a movie before.

“You could make more of an effort. Around me.” I didn't know it bothers me until I say it out loud. 

“Would you wish me to?” Finally, he looks at me. I'm so startled I look back at the tv.

“I don't want you to do anything you don't want to.”

“If you want me to smile, it is no trouble for me to try to do so. For you.” The last part makes me grin like a moron, but I smother it as quick as I can. He still sees it, though.

“You don't have to do it right now. Just, you know, if you feel like it.”

“I will try.” His eyes go back to the screen.

“Cool.”

We aren't in Kansas anymore.

Riding the Crazy Train

“I have something to ask you.” Dorothy's back at home, in black and white, surrounded by family. The music builds to a crescendo and it's all beautiful and happy. 

“Go ahead.” I've been silent for the rest of the movie, watching him instead of the screen, even though he is so still. This uninterrupted time to look at him in daylight is a luxury. Not that I'm staring or anything. 

“About you being a noctalis and all. And the Claiming.” If I can get away with both. 

“You wish to tell your mother.” It's a statement, not a question.

“I don't know if I can keep it from her.” It's been less than a day, and I'm about ready to explode. And I wouldn't insult her intelligence by thinking that she doesn't notice a difference.

“Will she believe you?” He still hasn't given me an indication of his views on the subject, which makes me nervous.

“I think she would.” In reality, I have no idea. There isn't a manual for this sort of thing. I open and close the DVD box. The credits on the movie roll, and he turns his head. 

“Then tell her.” As simple as that? 

“You're serious. Isn't there like some sort of Noctalis code of silence?” I pull my knees up on the couch and prop my chin on them.

“There was. Back when people believed in magic and witches and gods. Now if you told someone you were immortal, they wouldn't believe you. If you showed them a video or a picture, they would say it was doctored. We have no reason not to tell who we wish to tell.” That made me feel kinda special. 

“I guess that makes sense. But don't you worry about the government finding out about you and using you as weapons?” Peter could be a weapon of mass destruction. No doubt about that. 

“You read too many science fiction novels.” 

I raise my chin. “It could happen.”  

“But it would not.” He's more stubborn than I am.

“Why not?” Images of police in bullet-proof vests trying to capture Peter as a hurricane of bullets rain on him, flies through my head. 

“We would not allow ourselves to be captured. One of out greatest abilities is to melt into the darkness. And people have a tendency to forget us after they have seen us. The mind rejects that which does not fit in with it's established beliefs.” He sounds like a college professor.

“That sounds like a really fancy way of saying that people don't believe in magic anymore, so they reject it even when it's right in front of their faces.”

“That is what I said.” Only fancier, with bigger words.

“Whatever. So you're really cool with me telling her?”

“Yes. Did you think I was lying?” he asks, his head to the side. I love it when he does that. Somehow it softens him, but I don't know why.

“No, I just wanted to make absolutely sure.”

“You can do what you want, Ava.”

True enough. 

“What about Tex? Would you mind if I told her?

Blink.

I take that as a no.

***

I could not stop my hands from trembling. She appeared calm, which is in opposition to the feelings rolling off her like body heat.

I had not been afraid of anything in a long time. I suppose afraid was not the right word. I don't know if I can take any more. But seeing her does make me feel marginally better. Perhaps better was not the word. I felt... safer? No. More content. Like things are the way they should be. It also made me want to do other things. Like touch her face and stare into her eyes and find out what her lips might taste like. Of course I have thought of these things before. But there is an immediacy now. As if I will die if I do not do these things. It burns within me, this need to be close to her. 

I do not like it. 

I do like it. 

I don't know. 

She looked at me differently. I wished I could crawl inside her mind to see what she thought. Was she thinking about me? I hoped she was. At this point I couldn't tell where my feelings began and hers ended. They were all muddled and twisted together and I couldn't find myself anymore. 

Her mother doesn't trust me. I don't trust me, either. 

***

“Can you drive?” I decided that there was no time like the present to fix things with Tex. I also wanted to put off telling my mom about everything, but I didn't want him to know that. 

I tell my mother Peter and I are going out. I get an eyebrow raise and a, “drive safe and be back for dinner.” 

We pull out of the driveway just as Dad is pulling in. I don't bother to ask Peter to duck. Dad's not paying attention to me anyway. I wonder what other sparkly thing he's brought home for her. I keep seeing shiny things appearing on her ears or around her neck that weren't there the day before. 

“I am familiar with the mechanics. My brother, Viktor is fond of cars.”

“I've never heard you mention him much before.” He blinks. Noctalis shrug.

“Well?”

“He's my next oldest brother.”

“He's not like...” I don't need to say the name.

“No. We get along quite well.” 

“Can I meet him?”

“I don't think that would be wise.”

“Why not?”

Blink. 

Grr. He's doing that thing again, but I can feel through the emotional telegraph that there's more to it and he's keeping a lot from me. Which kinda irritates me more. I turn on the radio and find some Celine Dion. I concentrate on him, trying to pick up his vibes. It's like tuning into radio static, only harder, because I'm part of the static. 

Tex is working late, so I bring her an Irish cream cappuccino, which I know will soften her up. I add a danish, just to make sure. Cover all my bases. I make Peter wait in the car. Which seems kind of mean, but I want to talk with her without him there giving me vibes. 

“We're closed!” Tex calls as I open the door. 

“Good, that means we're alone.” I walk slowly toward her, pretending to be sexy. Instead of playing along she glares at me.

“Shouldn't you be wherever it is you go, which you won't tell me about, doing whatever it is you also won't tell me?”

“I came to apologize. And I brought provisions.” I hold the bag up in front of my face like a peace offering. I hope she won't throw it back at me. That cappuccino's hot.

“Bribery is a start.” She open the bag and yanks out the danish. She turns it over before she bites into it. “Talk,” she says around a mouthful.

“So here's how it goes. I asked the person if it was okay to tell you, and they said yes. Whatever you think it is, it's not. It's weird. And not weird like someone who LARPs on the weekends or has a multimillion dollar Pez collection. This is big.”

“Come on, now you have to tell me after building it up like that.” She takes a spiteful bite of danish. At least she hadn't thrown it at me.  

“Okay.” I take a deep cleansing breath.

“You don't have to tell me right now,” she says, backpedaling while wiping the cappuccino mustache off her upper lip. “I'm not going to torture you. I can tell that this is tearing you up. I just can't imagine what could be so crazy that you couldn't tell me. All I can think is that it's something illegal and that scares me.”

“It's not illegal.”

“That's good to know. Because you'd look awful in orange.” She licks some frosting off the danish. Man, I'm hungry.

“That is true. But it's not, I assure you.”

“Then fine, tell me if you can.” The danish had done it.

“You're not mad at me?”

“I'd hate to be one of those petty friends who freaks out when someone has a secret.” I let out the breath I'd been holding.

“And that's why I love you.” 

She looks scandalized.“You'd better love me.”

“Of course I do, I brought you a danish, didn't I?” I point to the quickly-disappearing pastry.

“You did.” She smiles and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “Just don't make a habit of keeping juicy secrets. I can't stand not knowing things.”

“Yeah, I'm aware.”

“Don't push your luck.” She finishes the danish and licks her fingers. I forgot to get her a napkin. She looks at me expectantly. 

“You should probably sit down.” She grabs two rolling chairs from the back office and crashes into one, swiveling from side to side.

“So this is going to sound insane. So um, you know that guy, Peter?” Her eyes light up, like she's expecting juicy gossip. Like I lost my virginity or something. Oh, if only it was that.

“Yeah, and?” She waves her hands for me to go on.

“Anyway, so I've been spending a lot of time with him. And there's other stuff I need to tell you.”

“So tell me.” She grips the edge of her seat and leans forward, as if she's going to fall out of the chair if I don't tell her.

“It's not as easy as you want it to be.”

“You didn't do it, did you?”

“What? No!” My cheeks flame for a second. It's time to put an end to this.

“He's a vampire. Sort of.” I'm going to bring him in at the end in case she doesn't believe me. But she will. I know she will. 

“Yeah, okay.” She rolls her eyes.

“No, seriously.”

“You're screwing with me.”

“No, I'm really not.” I start tipping back and forth in my chair, but she grabs it so I'll stop. “He died in 1912. On the Titanic, actually. But that's not relevant.” I wave it off. “So he's like, almost a hundred years old... wait, is he? That's not important.” I'm really messing this up.

“He changed in 1912, and he's been alive ever since. He drinks blood, but he doesn't have to kill people. He also has wings. So he's kind of an angel. Crossed with a vampire. But he's not dangerous.”

Tex sat in her chair, staring at me. I've never seen quite that expression on her face. If I could put a description, I'd say it was a WTF face. 

“Okay, so not what I was expecting.”

“What were you expecting?”

She throws up her hands. “I don't know! I thought he was really old and your dad would have had him arrested, I thought that maybe he had a kid or he was married or he was a criminal or you were doing drugs together. I could have dealt with all of those things. All of those things don't require me to believe in vampires.” She spins the chair around a bunch of times, like she's trying to make herself dizzy. She's making me dizzy. I reach out to stop the spinning.