chapter Six
Ava
Even with Peter next to me, I have a nightmare. It starts out as a nice dream. I'm walking in the woods, barefoot. As it goes in dreams, my feet feel nothing even though the ground is uneven and covered in rocks and sticks and such. I'm walking toward something bright-greenish that shines out of the trees. Actually, it's two somethings. I walk further, and, once again, it takes me forever.
I finally get to a clearing with grass so flat, I know it can't be real. Still, I want to know what's going on. Two fires, flickering in the darkness. Not like normal fires with smoke and wood. These are more like giant columns of light that flicker and burn. But the fires, or whatever they are, aren't burning wood. They're burning people.
The light dims and I can make out my mother's face, and then the rest of her. The other is Peter. They're glowing like fireflies, which is totally weird, but I go with it. They both smile at me at the exact same second.
“I love you,” they both say in unison. I hear each of their distinct voices before they are both consumed by a burst of light. And then darkness.
“Ava?” Peter shakes my shoulder. Somehow I've migrated in my sleep so I'm practically on top of him. I want him even in my sleep. I shift over to my side of the bed, trying to be subtle about it. Hell, I'd just seen him in my dream going up in weird greenish flames. Part of me wants to touch him all over and make sure he's all in one piece. But that's silly. It was just a dream.
“Sorry. Bad dream.” My room is dark, but I feel safe with Peter next to me, his thumb stuck in his book to mark the place. I notice he's nearly done. The book is about four inches thick. Stupid speed reader.
“Do you wish to talk about it?”
“Not really.” I put my hand over my eyes, wishing I could block it all out.
“It must have been frightening.” Thanks Peter, that's helpful.
“Just a dream.”
Just a dream, just a dream, just a dream. I'm going to keep saying it until I believe it.
“I could feel your distress.” Can't he see that I don't want to talk about it?
“What, I can't even dream now without you getting vibes?”
“I feel what you feel, asleep or awake.” In turn, I feel his anxiety for me. Peter's emotions are easy to separate from my own. They're distant and foreign. Like having an invader in my brain. It didn't bother me as much as it should. Nothing about Peter bothered me as much as it should.
“It's nothing. Just go back to reading.” I turn my back to him, and pull the covers up. He waits for a moment, for me to speak or change my mind. When I don't, he goes back to reading, the swish of the pages turning lulls me back into a much better sleep.
I'm not big on dream interpretation, being as how sometimes dreams are just dreams and not a manifestation of your secret love for your English teacher. Before I finally decide to close my eyes and try to sleep again, I vow to do some research. In the morning.
****
I think about the dream as I brush my teeth the next morning. It had been so clear, and I'd remembered every detail when I woken up. I usually didn't remember my dreams, so this was new. I wasn't sure if I liked it or not. I certainly hated the dream. It was probably just a manifestation of my fear of losing Peter and my mother. But I wanted to know for sure.
I hated that I'd broken down in front of him last night. Generally, I tried not to be too emotional and needy in front of Peter. I think it kind of freaked him out sometimes. When we'd first done the Claiming, he'd even had jitters. All that had calmed down, but I still tried to hold it back a bit.
Not so much.
I didn't regret the promise I'd forced him to make about finding a way out of the curse. I'd decided to call it that, because it was a Curse. With a capital C. Promises were things that you made in wedding vows and to your children and to best friends. They were supposed to be good. To make you better. This was a Curse.
I wasn't selfish enough to want Peter to break it just for me. I wanted him to be free, not chained to someone else.
Viktor was Cursed, too. He was forced to come whenever Di called. Which wasn't very often, but when she whistled, he came, like a dog. He was better than that. I didn't want them to be slaves to this woman who had made them out of her own selfish need not to be alone. I wouldn't make the same mistake.
Peter was unusually quiet, and that bothered me, but I wasn't getting any bad vibes from him, so I didn't say anything about it. Sometimes, Peter was just weird. I figured he was just thinking about who he could ask about breaking the curse. I hoped.
I had to say goodbye to him in my room before I went downstairs to grab something to eat. Since my mother had gotten worse, wasn't making pancakes every morning, and I spent most of my time in my room with Peter, I usually just grabbed a bowl of cereal or a protein bar.
“I'll see you after work, okay?” I give him the obligatory peck on the cheek, not letting my lips linger. “I know I made you promise to look for a solution, but you don't have to do it today.” I'm feeling guilty now about forcing him. It was a knee-jerk reaction to the dream, and I should have just calmed the heck down and thought about things.
“I will wait for you.” He's staring at his trunk. I automatically check to make sure the key is still firmly around my neck. It's become a nervous tick now.
“Do you ever get tired of waiting for me?”
“No.” He's so sure of things. So convinced that it will work out, or it won't. That it is black or it is white. I'm not like that.
I want to really kiss him goodbye, but don't. I'm still not convinced that being close with him won't kill him. I'm such a hypocrite, because I made him sit next to me while I slept all night. What harm would a little kiss do?
Well, Peter's kisses could do a lot of harm, I knew that already. They are Weapons of Mass Destruction. So I just looks at him without blinking for as long as I can. He touches my face and slides out the window. I feel the pull to go with him. It sucks so much that I can't. My poor neglected lips cry out as I drive myself to school, hoping today will be better. Better than the previous three.
****
Tex nearly runs me over, she's so eager to talk to me. It takes me a moment to focus. The smells almost swallow me up. It's like being in a huge bakery filled with the most delicious cookies and pies and cakes in the world, but you can't have any of them. Only blood doesn't smell like cake.
“Oh my god, where have you been? We need to talk date details. I need to know what Viktor's favorite color is so I can wear it.” Tex's blood smells sweet, like copper and salt and dark chocolate. Those don't sound like delicious things in combination, but somehow they are. My stomach grumbles, even though I just ate. This is a different kind of hunger. I rest my face on the brick of the main school building. The smell of the brick and the cool temperature helps me focus.
“Tex, I don't know what his favorite color is.”
“Then ask Peter.” She makes a pouty face and adjusts her purple glasses.
Give. It. A. Rest. “I can't, he doesn't have a phone.”
“Seriously? Vampires are always up on the new technology.” I don't know where she's heard this. Vampire chat rooms?
“He's not a vampire,” I say, lowering my voice. “He's a noctalis. There's a big difference.”
“Difference, schmifference.” She waves it off. I'm about to argue with her when Jamie walks by. I smile and he stops to talk.
“Well, hello James, long time no see.” He looks like crap. Things must be bad at home. Still, seeing him is like seeing the sun come from behind the clouds. He envelops me with warmth and comfort. Jamie was like apple pie.
“Hello ladies.” A shadow of his smile comes out and is gone as quick as we can blink. “How are you?” He leans against he wall in all his jock glory. His hair picks up all the spare sunlight and glimmers like gold. His blood is salty and... active. Bright, like him.
“Never mind us, how are you?” He looks around, shifting his bag in his shoulder. Then he tugs his earlobe. That tells me everything I need to know. He's not doing well.
“Cassie and Dad are fighting a lot.”
“He hasn't, you know...” Tex trails off. She meant to say, he hasn't hit her, but she doesn't want to say it out loud.
“No, he's been good. Just a lot of yelling. I keep telling both of them it isn't good for the baby, but he doesn't care. He wants her to lose it so he doesn't have to worry about it anymore.”
Oh, god.
“Jamie.” Tex and I hug him from both sides, wishing this hug could make it better.
Sometimes I get wrapped up in my head and think that I have it the worst off. Then I talk to Jamie, and realize that both of my parents love me. I know they love me, even though my Dad and I don't get along that well sometimes. We used to. This whole cancer thing kinda screwed things up. But before that, there was no doubt in my mind that both of them would do anything for me.
“I'm thinking about getting a job at Santina's so I can give her some money to get her own place. I think, once the baby's born, she'll qualify for assistance, but I don't know if she'll be willing to take it.”
Tex and I look at each other, both thinking the same thing. That it isn't Jamie's responsibility to take care of his sister. He shouldn't have to. And if the choice is him taking a job, when he's already busy with sports and a sucky home life, or her going on assistance, we're picking the latter.
“It'll work out.” I try to channel some of that Peter confidence. He's close enough that I can still feel him.
“I hope so,” he says, sounding completely defeated. I give him another squeeze as the bell rings. I haven't even gotten to my locker to get my books yet, so I'm going to be late. Doesn't matter. There are some things more important than punctuality.
“We should do something for him,” I say after he dashes off to class. Maybe I can rope Tex into pitching in. She definitely has more money than I do.
“We could throw Cassie a baby shower. She's going to need all sorts of baby stuff. And it would be fun.”
“You know there would be no boys or drinking, right?”
“My dear, a party is a party. As long as I'm there.” She does a little hip wiggle and Trevor Hyasin's eyes almost bug out of his head as he walks by.
“I was thinking about something for his truck.”
“That's lame. A party is a much better idea.”
“Thanks for stomping on my idea, Tex.”
“No stomping, just suggesting it's not a great idea.” Same thing.
Somehow I get through the rest of the day, even though I'm like a kid with ADD high on sugar. No focus. Too much blood. Too many people I picture killing. It's almost a relief my teachers sort of ignore me. They don't know about my mother's diagnosis, but just having a mother with cancer is enough of a free pass to slack off.
I call Mom several times to check in. Dad came home from work to watch her, so she's drowning in blankets and soup and TLC. Poor thing.
Jamie has practice, so I text him asking if he wants to do something on Tuesday night. It will mean a night away from Peter, but Jamie's important. He needs a friend right now. And I owe him. I've been a pretty crappy one.
Tex and I carpool to work, which is so close to school, we could walk if we wanted. I always mention this, but Tex is usually wearing impractical shoes, and throws a hissy fit about ruining them. So we drive, increasing our carbon footprint. Peter lurks nearby, trying to send me happy vibes. A for effort.
After reprimanding us for being late, Tex's parents set us to making a display of the poetry books. April was National Poetry Month, and they were a little late getting a display up, so we pick out all the prettiest and most famous books and try to come up with an eye-catching way to showcase them. Usually Tex's mother doesn't let us do things like this, but she's so busy, since one of the workers quit, she doesn't have time to do it herself. Waves of scent caress me, and I can barely focus on anything but the blood smell. I focus on Tex's voice.
“We could use that old velvet cloth from Halloween and put some glitter on it.”
“What does glitter have to do with National Poetry Month?”
She shrugs. “Nothing. I just like glitter.” Glitter it is. We stack the books on top of boxes draped with the velvet to create a little dimension. And then Tex sprinkles gold glitter over everything. To give it pizazz, she says.
It makes me think of that night when I invited Peter to a party and we'd danced. Well, it was more like we'd mashed our bodies together and moved with the music. It had been totally amazing. I wished I could have frozen that moment so I could go back to it later. Go back to that moment when it felt like we were one person. I still felt that way with Peter, but I missed his physical touch sometimes. Or all the times.
“Hello? Can you hand me that sign?” Tex snaps her fingers in front of my face. She does that a lot and it makes me want to bite her fingers off. And taste her blood.
“Here.” I hand her the sign and she hangs it in the window.
“I feel like it needs something.” She tilts her head back and forth and squints her eyes as if she's trying to see what's missing. “Aha!” She says, jumping down from the window. She's gone for a few minutes and then is back, hauling a giant quill pen that's about three feet tall. I don't remember why her parents bought it, but it's been sitting in storage for a while. Tex sneezes as she props it against one of the boxes.
“I couldn't find the ink pot that goes with it, but oh well. This says poetry, doesn't it?”
“I think so.”
She bangs her hands together and I choke on a glitter cloud. I think Tex has a glitter addiction. She should join GAA. Glitter Addicts Anonymous.
****
Later on, she catches me in the New Age section of the store. It's located right next to the knitting books in a back corner near the heater that is so loud you can barely hear yourself think. It was also perpetually dusty because no one really wants to go back there. Also because Tex's parents had contempt for anything remotely like that, so they hadn't ordered any new books in years. Or bothered to do anything about the ones they did have.
“What the hell are you doing back here?”
“Would you believe me if I said I was dusting?”
“Yeah, nice try. No one's dusted back here since this guy was alive.” She holds up a book with a guy with a beard so impressive, it covers most of his face, a shirt covered in flowers and a pair of bell bottoms that looked like lampshades.
I can't lie to her anymore. “I was just, um, looking for a book about dreams.”
“And my next question is: Why?”
“I had a dream and I wanted to know if it meant anything,” I mumble.
“You should have just asked. I've got one of those encyclopedias at home. Aunt Bea gave it to me.” She rolls her eyes as she says it. She's Tex's mother's sister, Beatrice, otherwise known as Aunt Bea or the Crazy Lady. I've only met her once and my first impression was that she looked exactly someone who dressed as a cheap psychic for Halloween. Only she dressed like that all the time. Scarves and long flowy skirts and bracelets that jingled whenever she moved. She also brought a cloud of patchouli wherever she went. Tex said it was to cover up the smell of pot smoke, which wouldn't surprise me. After she'd told me my aura was cloudy I'd pretty much tuned her out.
“You can borrow it if you want.”
“Yeah, sure.” She gives me a weird look and then edges away from the books as if they're going to give her a disease. I also want to escape the close space that smells like dust and books and blood.
Work drags on for another hour until I can finally leave. Peter's waiting for me outside the back door like a shadow. We always walk back to my car, taking our time. I'd told him he didn't have to, because Tex always tackled him with questions about Viktor. Tonight was no exception.
“Hello Texas.” He always calls her by her full first name. I think it bugged her at first, but she seems to have gotten over it.
“Well hello there.” She always tried to fake-flirt with him, trying to get a rise. It never works, but Tex is not easily deterred.
“Ava.” He nods formally at me.
“Peter.” I smile and curtsey, feeling both of our relief that we're near each other. It must last for a while because Tex coughs and waves her hand in front of my eyes.
“Yeah, that's enough eye sex. You should remember to wear protection.” I smack her in the shoulder. Real classy, Tex.
“We need to go.” I take Peter's arm and try to steer him toward the street. Tex darts in front of us so fast, I wonder if she's a noctalis.
She snags my arm. “Uh! We need to talk date details.” I give Peter a look that says I'll tell him later.
“We'll let you know.”
“What, are you like one person now?”
I think I'm getting a migraine. “Tex, can we please not do this now?”
“I just don't want to see you saying things like 'we love pumpkin scented candles' and wearing matching plaid shirts.” Like that would ever happen.
“You are free to slap me in the face if I do any of those things.” Peter doesn't say anything. I look at him and he blinks. An agreement.
“Bye!” I grab Peter's arm and start walking before she can react.
“Wear protection!” She calls. I wave over my shoulder, considering giving her the finger.
Peter
“Have you come up with a plan yet?” Ava says as we walk back to her car. She's still holding my arm. It blazes against my skin.
“I have consulted Viktor. He has stayed less in touch with the noctalis world than I have, so he did not know what we should do. There is an old friend I can contact.” She stops.
“You have a friend?”
“Yes.” I do not elaborate. Cal is from a time in my life that I do not want her to know about. Granted, if I hadn't Claimed her, and wanted her to stay away, I would have told her. It would be enough to make any human run. Even her.
“Why have I not heard of this friend?”
“I have not seen him in a long time.”
“What's he like?”
“Tall.” How can I describe him in a way she would understand? I am not sure how.
“Tall? That's it?” She raises her eyebrows.
“He is my oldest friend.” That is a truth I can part with.
“So you've got a little bromance going on.” Her smile returns. I am not familiar with that term, but I believe I know what she is thinking of.
“He is my friend.”
“So you think he'll help us?”
“Yes.” He has helped me before. When I have needed him, he has been there. Ava searches my eyes, looking for more information. Her natural curiosity will harm her one day. It already has. She came back to see me, even after that first night in the cemetery. I told her then she was reckless. She has not learned.
She sighs and leans her head on my arm. Her contentment is palpable.
“How was your day?” I say as we get in the car.
“Awful. Jamie's issues just keep getting bigger and Tex won't leave me alone about Viktor. I may have to kill her before this date happens.” Her laugh is weak.
“You could not kill anyone.”
“How do you know that?” She is offended. Angrily, she starts the car and turns the radio on loud. It is one of Texas' German rock albums.
“Your soul is pure.”
“So is yours.” Ava will hold to her belief I have a soul until she breathes her last breath. I like her determination. Even if it is false.
I do not want to discuss the status of my soul so I remain silent.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks.
“You.” It is the kind of thing that makes her blush. The scent of her blood fills the car, and I want it so much I have to push myself as far away from her as I can get in the small space. Her blood calls to me, sings to me, taunts me.
“Oh god,” she says, clutching at her stomach. I reach to take the wheel before we veer off the road and into a ditch.
“Put the car in park,” I say. Her breath comes out in little pants of pain. I have hurt her. Again. With my unstoppable need.
“Take it, take it.” Pain colors her voice as she whimpers. I cannot take it from her now.
“I am fine.”
“I am not!” Her face falls to the steering wheel as she curls in on herself. My need subsides in light of her pain. I push it away, struggling with two separate needs. My primal need for blood and my other need for her. One is stronger, at least this time.
“Ava?” Her pain has quieted a little, but she is still slumped against the steering wheel. Her parents will be concerned if we are not back to her house soon.
“It's better. It's getting better. Did you do that?”
“I am not sure.”
“Well that's good. I guess.” She seems unsure. “You could still have some. I know you want it.”
“I will pass.”
“Fine.” Her relief shivers along our connection. I have never felt that from her. A little bit of fear comes with the relief. She may love me, but she also fears me. That will never change, as long as she is human. As long as I can fight to keep her that way.
When she is able, she turns the car back on and drives the rest of the way to her house. I say nothing, not wishing to disturb her thoughts. They swirl like an angry wind, whipping her emotions around. It is impossible for me to keep track. So I listen and feel and watch.