chapter Seven
Ava
Sometimes the Claiming is too much. I hate admitting that, because I love him and I love being in love with him and feeling so special when he looks at me. But being so tied to him is really hard. My emotions and his get so tangled up sometimes, I lose myself for a second.
It's a scary feeling, losing yourself. I am never prepared for it, but it happens. And there is nothing I can do to stop it. Peter is silent as I turn the car off. I feel his distance. He'd pulled back to give me some space. He was considerate like that.
He opens my door for me, and touches my face, knowing that I need some time alone.
“Goodnight, Ava.”
“Goodnight Peter.”
After he's gone, I slump against the car. I'm hungry and tired and I have to do homework, but I need a second. I take a few yoga breaths to stabilize myself. My stomach is fine now.
“Hello?” I call as I walk into the dark and quite house. I find it hard to believe Dad left her alone.
“Hey baby, I'm in here.” Mom's still in bed, sans wig, reading a bodice ripper that she tries to hide under the covers. Scandalous.
“Have you been in here all day?” Her lack of energy is more worrying than the dark circles under her eyes.
She shoves the book further under the blankets. Like I haven't already seen it. “No, I got up and cleaned a little. How was your day?”
“Fine.” Standard response.
“How was work?”
“Fine.”
“What did you learn?” I lean my chin on her pulled-up knees.
“That when in doubt, the answer is -1.”
The book falls to the floor with a clunk, but we both ignore it. “Even in English class?”
“For that, the answer is almost always deus ex machina.”
“Oh, very fancy.”
“It is, isn't it?” There's a tray beside her with a full bowl of soup that looks like it's been sitting there for quite a while.
“Not hungry?” She shrugs.
“I could make you something.”
“Your father went out to get pizza.” We'd eaten more takeout in the past several months than we had in my entire life. It couldn't be healthy, but with Mom out of commission, none of us really felt like taking over the cooking duties on a permanent basis. It would be like admitting defeat. I wasn't ready for that yet.
“He left you alone?”
“I had to beg him.”
“You and your feminine wiles.” She wiggles her eyebrows and we both laugh. “How are you feeling?” She holds up her hand, tipping it from one side to the other.
“I missed you today,” she says.
“Weren't we going to talk about me taking some time off school?” At least we did a few weeks ago before Dad put the kibosh on that.
“Yes. I'm not sure if it's a good idea.”
“But I thought –” She cuts me off.
“I don't want you sitting around and being my nurse. You're too young and I don't want to trap you like that.” I move off her knees and she tries to get up. It takes a moment before she can get completely vertical. I would offer to help, but she doesn't need me.
“You wouldn't be trapping me. I want to take care of you. You did it long enough for me.”
“That's different.”
“Just because you're my mother? Well, I'm your daughter. It goes both ways.” She shuffles toward the bathroom, and it breaks my heart how painful her little mincing steps look.
She leans on the bathroom door and closes her eyes. If I didn't know better, I'd say she was going to fall asleep. “I know, baby. I just don't want this to drag you down, too.” I don't say that it's too late for that. I don't say that I'm getting dragged down by so many other things that the cancer isn't even the worst of it. She goes into the bathroom, and that ends the conversation.
I take the tray to the kitchen and wash the dishes, stacking them in the sink. I can't stand to be alone with the thoughts in my head so I turn on a Beatles cd that Mom loves.
Dad comes back as I'm getting out plates and silverware for the pizza.
“Hi,” I say.
His eyes race down the hall, as if he has x-ray vision and can ascertain her health through the door. “Hi. How is she?”
“Fine. I just checked on her.” He sets the box and a paper bag down on the counter. In the light of the kitchen, I spot a few gray hairs I don't remember seeing a few weeks ago. It's like the cancer isn't killing just her, but it's killing us, too.
“Good. I don't know if she's going to be up to eating out here, so it might just be the two of us.”
I nod. That should be fun.
He makes up the tray again with more soup, crackers and fruit and takes it in to her. I hear the murmur of their voices from down the hall. It is a mark of how sick she is that she can't even make it to the dinner table.
I make up a plate for both Dad and I. He comes out, pushing his hair back from his forehead. God, he looks tired. Like an old dishcloth that was once white, but is now gray and stained and wrung out.
We sit down, but there is a hole the size of South America where my mother is supposed to sit. We chew for a few minutes and I can feel he wants to say something.
“We need to talk.” Those are the most awful words ever put together. Alone, they are benign. Together, they make up the scariest sentence in the English language.
“Your mother is getting sicker. It's going to get a lot worse here soon. She's not going to be able to do a lot of the things she wants. We're going to have to try and keep her spirits up. Do you think you can do that?”
“Yeah.” Oh, you mean telling her that the guy I'm seeing is an angel vampire that gets to drink my blood whenever he wants was a bad idea? Yeah, too late.
“Good.” He takes a bite of his pizza, but he doesn't look like he wants to eat it. I'm not that big on it, either, but I need something to do with my mouth so I end up eating two pieces. I put the rest of it in the fridge. Dad puts his head in his hands, and it makes me feel bad. I don't mean to treat him the way I do. We just seem to be unable to communicate on anything other than a hostile level.
“How's work?” I never ask him about work. Because it's really boring. He raises his head from his hands, as if he's just woken up.
“Oh, it's, uh, it's good. We just approved new rates and there are a lot of people coming in for loans.”
“That's good. Isn't it?” I know next to nothing about banking. I'd probably know more if I paid attention at all when he brought me and Mom to some of the corporate dinners, but I'd been too busy gorging on the fancy food an trying to see if I could sneak a sip of champagne.
“Yes. It is.” And then we fall into silence again.
“How is everything going at the bookstore?”
“Fine. We made a poetry display today. Tex covered everything in glitter.”
He takes a sip of water, his forehead contracting. It hits me how much I look like him. “What does glitter have to do with poetry?”
“I don't know.” He gets up from the table. Not a bad conversation. More than we've had in weeks. And no one yelled. That's progress.
I wonder if he's thinking the same thing I am. That in a few months, it's going to be just the two of us. We won't have Mom to keep things lively. Somehow we need to find a way to communicate, or else we're going to fall apart as a family even before we lose her.
Dad interrupts my gloomy thoughts.
“I got a cheesecake. Strawberry. I was hoping she'd be well enough to have some, but...” he doesn't need to finish.
“I'll get some plates.” Dad makes a cup of instant coffee and we each sit down to cheesecake. It's good, made by a local woman who only uses eggs her chickens lay and organic vanilla and so forth. The berries are also from her garden, tart and sweet at the same time. Like life.
“I wanted to talk to you about something else. That boy you were with when your mother had her episode.” Oh crap. Here we go.
“What about him?” I poke at the cheesecake. I really don't want to eat it now.
“Who is he? Where's he from? How old is he?” Bang, bang, bang. Oh boy, I'm really going to have to do a lot of lying here.
“He's a student at Galdon Academy. He's originally from New York. He's eighteen.” I fire back just as fast. Only the middle thing is true. I hate how easy it is to lie to Dad. Much easier than Mom.
Dad jabs at his own cheesecake. “He looks older.”
“I know. He gets that a lot. Mom says he's an old soul.” The last part is also true.
“How did you meet him?” Oh, how I would love to tell him I met Peter at a bar, or some other scandalous place, but I don't want to test his heart like that.
“We were at a party and I bumped into him and we started talking. We had a lot in common.” Oh, I am pulling this out of my ass. “He really likes books, so we got talking about that and we've been talking ever since.”
“Does that mean you've been involved with him for a while?”
“No, just a couple of weeks.” Weeks that feel like lifetimes.
“He's been here to the house.” It's a statement that expects an answer.
“Yes.”
“Your mother knew.” I can't fib about this. He'll know I'm lying, but he's so forgiving of her, it doesn't really matter. She could murder someone, and he'd say, yes dear, I'll hide the body.
“Yes.” He rubs his chin and puts his fork down.
“I don't know if I like this or not.” I'm going with or not.
“Mom likes him.” I feel the need to point this out. It's pretty much Peter's biggest selling point.
“She does.” I nod so vigorously my hair flops in the cheesecake and I have to wipe it off with my napkin.
“How many times has he been here?”
“A few.” Hundred.
“Has he been in your room?” Every night.
“Just to get a book.” Oh the lies, lies, lies.
“That's all?” He drinks my blood. But no sex. Other than the eye variety. Oh, I also want to drink yours more than I want to eat this cheesecake.
“Dad, it's not like that. Peter respects me. Mom would never let him in the house if those were his intentions.” We both know she would never open the door to a skeezy guy who just wanted to get in my pants. Not to mention the fact that I'd never be attracted to a guy who would do that anyway.
“I'm sure he respects you.” He snorts, shaking his head. He definitely put quotes around the respect word. “Just please do not do anything to upset your mother.” Too late.
“I'm not going to.” That cheesecake is going to burst into flames if I stare at it any longer.
“Well, I had to do my Dad thing. As long as he is respectful of you, and your mother is here to supervise I think it's okay to have him over. But we'll have to set some rules.” Has he lost his damn mind?
“Rules?”
“He leaves before nine-thirty on weeknights, ten on weekends. No unsupervised trips to your room. If you do go to your room, the door must remain open. There will be no making out or horizontal behavior of any kind in this house. Understood?”
“Sure.” The rules he's set out are so laughable given the situation it's nearly impossible to keep a straight face.
“One other thing. I want to have a formal introduction with him so I can ask him some questions myself. Get to know him.” He takes a bite.
“I don't know –” of course he cuts me off.
“I want him to come over for dinner one night this week.” Oh damn, that's going to be a problem.
“He, um, his mom's really strict about having him home for dinner.” I'm flailing like a goldfish on a kitchen counter.
“I think she can make an exception.” He scoops up the last bite of cheesecake.
“Maybe he could come over after dinner?” Dad puts his fork down. Great, now he's suspicious.
“Why don't you want him to come over to eat? I won't cook, we can order something.”
“No, it's not that.”
He folds his arms. “Then what is it?”
“Ava?” Mom's voice silences both of us.
“Claire, what are you doing up?” Dad rushes to grab hold of her, like she's going to fall.
“I was lonely.”
“Oh, Taylor.” He pulls her in for a hug, kissing the top of her head. I put away the cheesecake as they talk in low voices.
“Maybe we could watch a movie?”
“Whatever you want,” Dad says. Mom winks at me as he helps her into the living room. Well played, Mom. Well played.
I half-ass all of my homework as we watch My Cousin Vinny. Mom's snuggling with Dad and keeps laughing. It's nice to hear, even if it's weak. Dad laughs with her, but only after she does. Clearly, he's not watching the movie, and instead watching her. It's kinda sweet. And it makes me think of Peter. I hope he's okay. I feel along the thread that connects us. He's close, but not too close. I'd had enough space to remind me why I never wanted him to leave. Even when it was hard, I was better with him than without.
I get restless waiting for Peter, and as soon as I can, I kiss my parents goodnight and head up to bed. I know Peter's there, but it's still a relief when I open the door to find him standing in front of my window, wings fully spread. I want to run and throw my arms around him and have him tuck his wings around us, making a cocoon, but I don't.
Instead I say,
“My dad wants to invite you over for dinner.”
Peter
She closes the door and leans on it. “Don't worry, Mom distracted him, so I think he forgot about it, but you need to come over and formally meet him so he can pretend he's all concerned about my virtue and make sure you're not a psycho trying to steal his little girl.” I am always startled by Ava's unique way of putting something.
“But that's not important right now. Are you okay? I feel like we left on a weird note.” Her hands flutter, as if she wants to touch me and make sure I am fine.
“I am fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” Ava gathers her nighttime clothes, turning her back so I can't see her pick out underwear.
“You're not lying to me, are you?” Her worry about rejecting me earlier speaks louder than her voice.
“I would not lie to you, Ava.” I attempt a smile, and she returns with her own. Warm relief floods through her as she goes to take a shower.
She continues to talk to me through the door. I have to speak loudly for her to hear, and she worries about her parents hearing, but she will not let me in the room while she is showering. I have never seen her naked body. I would like to, but not unless she wanted me to see it. And right now, it doesn't seem like she does.
I had not thought of having a physical relationship with Ava, at first. After we danced that one night, and after the Claiming, I feel differently. I did tell her I'd never been with anyone. I wasn't quite sure how it would work, even if we were to try.
“Are you going to see your friend tomorrow?”
“Yes.” I have not seen Cal in at least twenty years. It will also be the first time I have sought him out.
“Where does he live?”
“I don't know.” This is true. The last I knew he was in Canada.
“So how are you supposed to find him?”
“Viktor will help me.” He should be back tonight. Another one of Viktor's talents is finding people. I am not sure if it has to do with the bind with Di, but he has always been able to find me.
“What does Viktor have built in noctalis radar?”
“He is good at finding people.”
“But this guy is your friend and you don't know where he is?”
“No. We do not keep in touch.”
“I can imagine that. I hope you find him. It seems like shooting in the dark, but if you say so.” There is a pause as she rinses out her hair. “I'm sorry about today. I didn't mean to push you away. It's just a lot, sometimes.”
“Yes.” She is speaking of the Claiming. “You do not have to apologize.”
“I know you don't need me to, but I need to. Does that make sense?”
“It is a human thing, an apology.”
“Noctali don't apologize?”
“No.”
“Huh.” The water runs as she thinks for a moment. I hear a sponge scrape across her skin. “Do noctali get jealous?” What made her think of that?
“Probably.”
“Do you?”
“No.” I think about it for a moment. I sense the emotion coming from her. I feel it. This is what I do when I get a new emotion from her. I taste it, feel it. Try it on. It is not a good feeling. Yes, I have felt it before. But only since I've met her. I'm thinking about jealousy as she turns the water off.
“You don't get jealous?”
“Not until I met you.” I can feel her smiling. She likes that I am jealous.
A few minutes later, she comes out, wet hair dampening her shirt.
“I know I shouldn't feel good about the fact that you get jealous because of me, but I kinda do.” She flops on her bed and crinkles her nose at me. I fold my wings and settle to the floor by my trunk.
“I get jealous when I can't be with you. I am envious of anyone who gets to be with you.” I don't know why I tell her this, other than I know it's going to make her blush and she does. I like it when she blushes, even though it reminds me more about her blood.
I still want it. I was able to stop in the car, but I cannot stop now. Not when she is so warm and sleepy.
“Ah.” She clutches at her stomach, folding her body around it. She breathes deep, and I feel guilty for the second time today.
She gasps. Her pain slices through me, dulling some of the want. But still, I must have her blood to stop her pain. This time.
“Not again.” She turns her head. I instead take her hand, where a wide bracelet hides my previous feedings. I hate to use the same place, but I don't want more marks on her body. There are many more intimate places I could take it from, but I would do that to her.
“Please.” Her pain throbs like a heart. I bite softly into her wrist, clamping my lips around it so I don't miss a drop. The flavor hits me like lightning bolt. She'd talked about earth-shattering cheesecake once. This was earth-shattering blood. If I ended my existence at the exact moment, it would have been satisfying. I pull the blood from her veins, letting it burst in my mouth. Her moan of pain does not stop me. It barely reaches me. What does stop me is her hand on my head and her voice.
“Peter, that's enough.”
Through the haze that has taken on a brilliant white tint, I hear the words and feel her warm touch. I release her wrist, nearly throwing her back on the bed.
“God, Peter. That wasn't very nice.” She gets up, going to the sink in the bathroom and turning the water on. She shakes as she rinses her wrist off. The water is pink as it swirls down the drain.
I give her the only words I have. “I am sorry.”
“It's okay. It's not your fault.”
“Let me take care of it.” I pull out the medicine kit from above the mirror. “Sit down.” She crumples to the edge of the tub, shivering, even thought the night is warm.
“I keep forgetting what it's like,” she says as she holds her wrist above her head to stop the bleeding.
“What is it like, for you?” I am curious.
“Well, it isn't fun, but I'd rather give it to you than not. It's just something we have to go through. Some couples disagree about whether they like Thai food or not. We have this.” She points to her wrist, which has two semi-circular imprints of my teeth. I slather it in antibiotic ointment, fighting the urge to lick off the excess blood. I wrap it up and then put the wrist cuff back on.
“Better,” she says.
“Good.”
“I am truly sorry. I did not wish to hurt you.” She closes her eyes.
“It's fine.” It is not fine.
“You can tell me.”
“I don't know. I just wish there was a way we could be normal. Not that you were normal, because I love the way you are.” She licks her lips. “But for your sake, I wish you could be normal. If that makes any sense. I just wish you could experience the things you can't. God, that sounds terrible.”
“It doesn't.” I understand what she wants. I want it as well. What I used to want, before Ava, was to end my existence. I would still be content with that, if it were to happen. But I also have another wish. That I could go to school with her, holding hands. I wish we could go to the local eatery and I could share a pizza with her. I wish I could experience earth-shattering cheesecake. I want to be human with her.
“I used to think what I wanted was to end my existence.”
She shakes her head. “Don't say things like that. I don't like hearing them anymore.”
“That is not what I want anymore. I wish I could be human with you.”
“Me too.” I'm still crouched in front of her. She reaches out and pulls my head to her chest. It is a brave thing to do. I still have the taste of her blood on my tongue. I lick my lips, trying to get some of the residue.
“But you can't have what you want,” She says into my hair. I put my ear to her heart.
“I have what I want. This.”
“This is nice.” We stay like that for a while, even though she's trembling.
“May I get you something?”
“Maybe some pizza from the fridge?” We both hear her stomach growl in protest from the blood-taking.
“I will be right back.”
Her parents are awake downstairs in their bedroom, but it is a simple matter to go to the kitchen and retrieve the pizza, a plate and a paper towel. I stop for a moment to listen to them.
“Sam, you have to stop pretending. This is happening, and just because you don't want it to isn't going to make a difference.”
“I know.”
“We'll see each other again,” she whispers. I hear them kissing.
“Why Taylor, have you gotten religious on me?” She laughs and he tumbles her around.
“Maybe. It's something to think about. That my soul will live on somewhere.”
“If anyone's soul deserves it, it's yours.” They resume kissing and I go back upstairs. I'd snagged a can of ginger ale as well. I'd heard Ava's mother say once that it was good for an upset stomach.
Ava is back in bed, covers pulled up.
“Did you want it warmed up?”
“No, this is fine.” She takes the pizza and munches on it. “How are you feeling?”
“Satiated.” It's what I always tell her afterward.
“Happy?”
“Yes.” No one has ever asked me if I was happy. I never was, so it didn't matter. I smile.
“Almost normal,” she says.