Nocturnal (30 page)

“No! It's not going to happen. Just let it go.”

“How come you get to be so damn special?” Both of our voices are raised, and we glare at each other for a second before I cave. I need her right now. I need her more than I need to fight with her about this. Viktor would probably never go for it anyway.

“I don't want to fight.”

“I don't want to fight with you either, but I feel like that's all we do.”

“Let's make a pact not to fight.” She holds out her hand. I shake it.  

“Deal. We won't talk about things that will make the other one mad.”

“So we can talk about frosting. We agree on that.” I hold up one finger.

“Yes. And Patrick Dempsey's hotness.” She holds one up.

“We do agree on that as well.” 

“Ickiness of boob sweat.” Three fingers.

“Ridiculousness of Donald Trump's hair.” Four. 

We go on like that until we're both laughing, holding onto my car for support. Someone walks by and mutters something about lesbians. I don't bother to shoot whoever it is a dirty look. 

“There is something we need to talk about,” I say when we can breathe again. 

“Cassie.” We both say it at the same time.

“I feel like we should do something.”

“Like what?”

I put my elbows on the hood of my car. “I don't know. My mom always bakes in crisis situations. When my grandmother had a stroke she made a triple layer cheesecake and a bunch of bread,” I say.

“Somehow I don't think that's going to help.”

“I also don't think they make a Hallmark card for this either.”

“'I'm sorry you're screwed up sister is knocked up' doesn't have a good ring to it.”

“Not really.”

“We'll have to think of something.”

“Agreed.” We shake again, and Tex yanks me in and gives me a nasty wet kiss on my cheek.

“Luv ya!” She does a little twirl before skipping away to her car. She is so strange. But then, so am I.

***

“What's up, baby?” I think about telling her everything is fine, but I just don't have the energy for it.

“Everything.”

“You okay?”

“Meh.” She hands me a plate of cake. I could smell it outside the house and my mouth has been watering ever since. There's also another smell that I can't put my finger on that makes my stomach growl. I wander around the kitchen, searching for it.

“Do you want some dinner? I'm making fettuccine alfredo.” She sings the last few words, putting an arm around my shoulder. I take a few more bites of cake. It doesn't taste as good as I thought it would.

“Maybe.” The thought of the creamy sauce sends my stomach into a nosedive. I shove the rest o the cake away. I hope it doesn't hurt her feelings. 

“I've having the girls over next weekend. I already called June and Helen. I just have to get in touch with Mae and Liz.”

“Are you sure, sure?”

“Yes.” She stirs the pasta with certainty. I really don't know if this is a good idea, but I'm going to keep my trap shut. They're her friends. 

“Ava,” Dad calls from his office. Oh, I so do not need this.

“Yeah?”

“Can you come in here please?” He seems fully recovered from his little breakdown and is back to his irritating ways.

“Sure.” I give my mother a look and she wrinkles her nose at me. Normally, it would make me smile. I give it a good effort before I walk down the hall. 

“Close the door,” he says, looking up from the computer. He's been trying to do more and more work from home, but he just seems to do more work, period. When he'd been going to work every day, he would come home and be done. Now he could access it all the time. So he did. 

“We've talked about you upsetting your mother.”

“What am I supposed to say? I had a shitty day.” It wasn't exactly that bad, but I'm not in the mood for him to be like this. Also, I'm really distracted. That smell is much stronger. It doesn't smell like any food I've ever had, but I want to eat it. Whatever it is.

“Ava, don't use that language.”

“Why? Because it might upset her? Shit. Shit, shit, shit! Oh look, the house hasn't fallen down.” My filter is gone, gone, gone. 

“Ava Sullivan.” He stands up. What, does he think he's going to intimidate me? “I will not have you speak that way to me in this house.” A wave of the smell cascades over me and I glance around the room. Maybe he's hiding something in here.

“I won't have you tell me what to talk to my own mother about. I had a bad day. I'm not going to go around smiling like some psycho so you can act like things are fine. They're not. Not even you can pretend they're fine, remember?” I hate throwing that in his face, but I can't stop myself.

“That's it. You're grounded.” He stands right in front of me. The smell gets stronger. It's coming from him. I want to get closer, but there's no way I'm going to do it.

“Oh, really?”

“Go to your room.” He points out the door, as if he expects me to march right off.

“No.”

“Go to your room.”

“No.” 

“Go. To. Your. Room.” He gets right in my face, every word seething with anger. It doesn't scare me. The scent has kind of taken over my brain. I want it so much my stomach starts making noises.

“The only place I'm going is the kitchen. To talk to my mother. I'm not five anymore, Dad. You can't make me do what you want me to by threatening to take away my toys.” With that I turn around and walk out, closing the door softly behind me. I can't slam it or my mother would get suspicions. As soon as I shut it, the smell lessens, and I can think clearly. I swallow the excess saliva my mouth produced and try to calm down. 

“What was that about?”

“Nothing,” I say with a smile, hoping she'll think that we're planning some surprise for her. 

“Oh really?” She smiles back. Mission accomplished.

I dash up to my room and shut the door, breathing like I've run miles. I have an idea of what the smell is, but I don't want to think it. Because then it would be real, and I would know it was real and it can't be. I can't want to... No. I'm not thinking of it.

It is always darkest before the dawn.
The quote of my mom's echos in my head. Things are about to get a whole lot darker, I can feel it.

Di

“I just don't know what to do.” It's the middle of the night and I'm in the cemetery with Peter. It's been getting worse being away from him. Pretty soon I'll have to walk around holding his hand like he's some ratty security blanket that I can't go anywhere without. 

“Calm down.” Oh, he can stay calm. I'm busy pacing in front of the mausoleum nibbling my nails.

“I can't calm down. You're sure I'm not turning into a noctalis? Because I think...” I can't finish. I can't tell him that I think I'm smelling blood and I picture killing people when I'm mad. 

“It would require a much greater exchange of blood. It is not possible.”

“Well, Jesus Peter, you're a vampire with wings. Anything's possible.” I'm being mean to him, but I don't have anyone else to unleash my freak out on, so he gets the brunt of it.

“Ava.” His voice makes me stop pacing.

“What?”

“It will be fine.” His cool voice normally soothes me, but I'm too worked up.

“How do you know?”

“I do.”

“How can you be so sure of things?”

“I am sure of you.” We lock eyes, and I let him do that thing that pulls me in. I lose myself for a moment, but he yanks the contact, eyes going toward the woods. My hearing may not be as good as his, but I hear someone coming. A Noctalis someone.

“Peter.”

“Ivan.” Oh shit. My eyes snap to Peter, waiting for him to leap in front of me. Or pull out a sword. 

Nothing. If this is Peter riled up, then I'm in trouble. If possible, he's even stiller than normal. Which does not bode well for me. 

“What do you want?” I'm wondering if I should run or scream or do something. I glance to Peter for guidance, but he's not looking at me. A little help here?

“Has Peter ever told you about the first noctalis?” My eyes grope to pick him out from the shadow of the trees. There. He's wearing dark colors, which appears to be the Noctalis clothing of choice. 

“No.” What does that have to do with anything? I'm still debating about running. But Peter said he couldn't touch me, so I might as well not provoke him. Isn't that what you're supposed to do when you're attacked by a bear? Not run away. And so far, he hasn't done anything threatening. Which is actually more threatening than if he would have just run at me.

“The legend goes that he was a man who lived a long time ago.” I want to ask him why he didn't start with the once upon a time, but I keep my mouth shut and try to look disinterested, when I am the opposite. I hate that Peter kept so much from me. 

“He was traveling one day and met a beautiful woman on the road. Men are always lured by beautiful women, are they not?” I try not to shift my feet. I try to channel Peter and then I stop. I'm not getting good vibes anymore.

“The woman was strange and still and very beautiful. He had just lost his mother and father to an illness and was traveling to find a new life. She spoke to him, whispered in his ear promises of eternal life. Of never being sick, or growing old. He would be perfect, forever. He would also be powerful. No one would be able to hurt him. Ever. And she stroked his cheek and he fell under her spell. She kissed him and bit his lip. He tried to pull away, but she was too strong. She sucked the blood from his lips and laughed. The sound was like cracking ice. Sharp and hard. She sucked so much blood from him, his soul came with it. He felt a horrible tearing and screamed with the pain of it. The beautiful woman had taken his soul, but given him something else. Immortality. But it had come with a price. Like everything.”

I had to admit, it was a pretty story. It also sounded like one of those legends that might be true, but it made me shiver. 

“So, what is the moral of the story?” It takes me a second to realize he's actually asking me. I feel like I need to raise my hand. I do some quick thinking, which, given the situation, is nearly impossible. I take a guess.

“That noctali have no souls? They traded them for powers and immortality.”

“Precisely.” Ten points for me.

“No,” Peter says. I'm not sure who or what he's saying no to.

“Yes. And you can't blame me. Blame yourself. Or blame her.” His eyes shift to mine, and I struggle not to get caught in them. Being trapped by him would be walking into a spiders web willingly.

“Don't talk about me like I'm not here.”

They both snap their attention on me and it's like being blinded by a spotlight. It sort of reminds me of my first dance recital. When I stepped out on the stage the first time, my tights falling down and itching my legs, I was blinded by the lights and tried to run back to the wings and hide. My teacher had shoved me back on, hissing at me to get on the stage. I was terrified of her, so I went. The fear lasted until the music started. 

I'm still waiting for the music to start.

“We are more aware than you know, Ava.” I hated the way my name sounded, coming from him. And then Ivan starts to laugh. It's not really a laugh. It's a harsh sound that grinds against my eardrums. I want it to stop. I want to clap my hands over my ears and hum to drown it out. But I can't. I can't show weakness. I must be strong.

Never turn your back. Advice is least heeded when most needed; Bad is never good until worse happens; A half-truth is a whole lie.

It is always darkest before the dawn.

“Stop.” We all turn.

It happens so fast that I don't have time to duck before I'm on the ground. Dirt blasts into my lugs and I lay there for a second, praying nothing is broken. There's something holding me down.

“Stay down.” It's Peter. I try to move my head, but I'm having some issues. Finally I'm able to turn it enough so I can breathe. I choke on some of the dirt and grass I've inhaled. I try to survey my body for any damage and figure out why Peter is holding me on the ground. 

“Hello, Ivan. It's been a long time since you came and visited me.” Turning my head, I see Ivan on the ground, like me, with someone on top of him. Unlike me, I don't know who the person is. But the voice is female. I make a tiny noise, and Peter shifts his hold on me so I can move my head a little more. 

There is a woman perched on top of Ivan, holding him down. It's kind of crazy, because he's struggling, but somehow she has enough power to subdue him. A fountain of reddish blonde hair skims her back. She's wearing a filmy dress that isn't even dirty or torn. I can't see her face, but something tells me she must be very beautiful.

“Hello, Mother.” Mother? It's clear there's no love lost between them. It sizzles in the air like static electricity. I wish I could sink into the ground and slink away. Whatever's happened, I'm not sure I want to be around to see how it turns out.

The pressure releases somewhat from my back and I can breathe better. I lift up my head a bit more. Peter squeezes the back of my neck. It's some sort of signal, but I have no idea what he wants me to do.

“What have we here?” She turns to face us, still holding Ivan down with very little effort. I was right, she is beautiful. I can't say exactly why. Her nose is small and dainty. Her eyes, one a multi-hued hazel, the other an icy gray, are perfectly set in her face. I remember once in biology that we talked about the Golden Ratio. I didn't understand it exactly; it had something to do with symmetry being the essence of beauty. Anyway, if there was anyone would fit those calculations exactly, it would be her.

“Hello.” I can't think of what else to say, so I go with my gut.

“Hi.”

“I don't believe we've been introduced. I'm Di Hart. I see you've met my boys.” Her eyes flick to Peter and Viktor and Ivan in turn.

“I'm Ava.” The absurdity of the situation is not lost on me.

“You should let her up, Peter dear, I believe she might suffocate.” Finally the pressure is completely gone from my back. I use my hands to push myself up. They shake a bit, and I know everyone notices.