chapter Nine
Ava
Mid-morning I'm in so much pain that I can't even stand up. Mom is seconds away from calling 911 when I cave and tell her the truth.
“It's because,” excruciating pain, “he left.” More excruciating pain. “Oh, god.” The pain is so bad I have to run to the sink and puke. Good thing my hair is up.
“Baby, you're sick. We need to take you to the hospital.” She looks so worried, but I'm in so much pain I don't have room for much else than that.
I can barely turn the sink on to wash out my mouth.
“Is there any way you can get him to come back?” She pushes a few strands of hair back from my sweaty face.
“No, he doesn't have a phone.” When did talking get so hard?
“He should probably get one if this is going to happen.” I want to scream because it might make me feel better, but I can't get enough air in to do it.
“Come on, let's get to the couch.” She barely has enough strength to get us from the kitchen to the couch. We sort of cruise over, me hunched like a little old lady. I never thought sitting down would be so impossible.
“Have you taken anything?”
“A little while ago.” It's down the drain by now.
“Maybe we should put some heat on it.” She's weirdly calm, as if I've just got a strained muscle. She must be seriously freaked out, and trying not to show it. I guess I failed Dad with the whole, don't-stress-Mom-out thing. I failed the morning after I made the promise. If I were a noctalis, I'd be dead within 24 hours. Or re-dead.
The only sound, other than the screeching of my own pain is the telephone. Dad's called about forty times today, making sure Mom's okay. Somehow she's able to hide what's really going on in an eerily composed voice.
I start screaming his name in my head, just to focus in something other than the agony that burns inside me.
Peter Henry MacKintire! Get your ass back here right now! Please.
I dissolve into just saying his name over and over in my head. If I could, I'd rock back and forth. Mom comes in with a heating pad and plugs it in. She practically has to use the Jaws of Life to get me out of the fetal position.
“What was so important that he left you like this?”
“He had to go do some stuff.” It's too complicated to get into while in this state.
“Did he know this was going to happen?”
“No.” I suck in a breath through gritted teeth. Jesus Christ, it feels like someone is jamming a flaming sword into my chest over and over. And over. Mom flutters her hands over me, putting a blanket on and then taking it off, bringing me glasses of water and every single pill in the medicine cabinet. Nothing helps.
Just when I think I can't take it for one more second, it gets fractionally better. Like 1/1 millionth. But it's enough that I notice. I don't say anything about it. Maybe it's a fluke.
Nope, it moves another notch better. A few minutes later, another notch. Mom's rubbing my head and humming songs. Like I'm a fussy baby she can't calm.
Finally, it lessens enough so I can breathe again.
“Is it getting better?”
“Yeah. A little.” It's still a lot of effort to talk. I keep screaming his name in my head, trying to feel for our connection. I'd lost it a while ago and my head had been so silent.
It had been really lonely. Weird how the only person I'd had in my head was me for 17 years, but after Peter had infiltrated my mind, I'd gotten so used to it, that it was a quiet place when he was gone. I wanted it back. I also wanted the pain to go away, and I was starting to get my wish.
A half-hour later the pain was bearable, so I could sit up and uncurl my body. My mother keeps humming, and somehow it's helping. It gets so much better than I'm able to get myself to the bathroom. Not upstairs, but still. At least I can walk.
It takes another hour for the pain to subside into a dull ache. Mom's trying to make me eat something, but I don't feel like it. Not until Peter comes back.
His thoughts finally come to me in little blips. He's worried. Freaked out. Desperate. I kinda hope he's been in as much pain. Which is horrible, but if he's been sitting around thinking I was fine, I'm going to be very upset. Epicly upset.
I get more feelings from him and one of them is pain. It's sharp and hard, just like mine. Only it's less physical and more of an emotional kind. Like someone's trying to scoop my soul out with a burning spoon. Well, this is fun. I go from sitting up to curling into the fetal position again. So much for progress. Mom is instantly alarmed. As if she wasn't already.
“What is it?”
“He's coming.” I have to grit my teeth again. Who knew your soul could hurt like that?
“I thought it was supposed to get better.”
“I'm just getting stuff from him. I guess I wasn't the only one in pain.” I try not to gloat.
When he's a mile away, I get his feelings so brilliant and close that I gasp. As if being away has somehow made our connection stronger.
Minutes later there is a crash outside and the front door almost flies off the hinges, he's in such a hurry. He really does look like an angel. I have one last thought that he must have flown because his wings are out before he wrenches me from the couch and into his arms. He isn't gentle. I don't care. Let him crush my ribs. He is here. And I want more.
And more and more.
When I can breathe again, he puts me down and clutches my face. I try to breathe, and find that it is not difficult. It is easy. What was I making such a fuss about?
“I am so sorry. Are you well?”
“I am now. Are you okay?” I feel like I need to check him all over to make sure he's all there. It's so damn good to see him. We just stand and stare for what feels like eternity. It might as well be.
At first we're serious, just basking in the fact that the other is here and we feel whole again. I get a luminescent joy from him that lights me up and I start laughing. He smiles, and it's so perfect I have to kiss him. There's a crash that resonates distantly. I don't bother to look until Peter pulls back and cranes his neck around. Oh yeah, my mom's still here. Imagine that.
She's standing at the other end of the couch. I notice there's a broken lamp on the floor. It's one of the lamps she'd gotten from my grandmother's house before she died. It was her favorite, with handpainted butterflies on it. I glance from the lamp to her, trying to connect the dots.
I think for a second how this must look from her perspective. Here I am, in massive amounts of pain and then this guy with a set of ginormous black wings bursts in, sweeps me up and then kisses me. I'd probably do more than break a lamp.
“See? All better.” I smile sheepishly at her. “I think you can put those away now,” I say to Peter.
“Ah, yes.” There's the Velcro sound and the wings suck their way back into his shoulders. Mom gasps and covers her mouth with her hand. It is pretty impressive. If I do say so myself.
“I am sorry for bursting in, but I could not let her suffer for one more moment.” His thumb traces my face, as if making sure everything is still in the same place. His eyes haven't left me. As if I'm the only thing he'll ever want to look at again. It goes both ways.
“It's fine.” I'm so happy, I'm sure I'll explode with it, sending glitter and sparkly goo everywhere. Peter's eyes and hands finally leave my face and he looks down at the lamp, moving away from me. I have to resist my urge to grab him and never let go.
“Let me clean that up for you. The glass will not cut me.” Mom still hasn't moved. The longer she stays frozen, the more worried I get. I hope I don't have to slap her or anything.
“Here,” I say, going to the kitchen to get a garbage bag and a broom. It's so nice to be able to move without pain. I still remember what it felt like. It's never going to happen again. If Peter has to strap me to his back, that's how it's going to go. Because I can't do it again. It would kill me.
Mom's staring at the broken lamp as if it's going to dance and sing and repair itself.
“Mom? Are you okay?”
Her eyes blink. “Fine. I'm fine,” she says, her voice barely a whisper. “It was just, a little shocking. Just give me a moment.” She holds up one finger.
“Take your time. Maybe you should sit down.” I usher her to the couch and get her sitting. Water, I should get her a glass of water. It worked last time. Sort of.
Peter's busy cleaning up the lamp, and Mom doesn't look like she's going anywhere so I dash to the kitchen and fill a glass with cold water. I press it into her hand. She's staring off into space.
“Mom,” I say sharply. She looks up.
“Do you want to talk about it?” She wraps both hands around the glass and takes a sip.
“One moment you were in pain and the next he was here and there were these wings and he was picking you up and it was just a lot to see.” She drinks again. Peter cleans up the mess as quickly as he can.
“Um, maybe you should put a shirt on.” I don't want him to, but it might make him look more normal and maybe Mom will stop freaking out so much. “I have a sweatshirt upstairs you can borrow.” He nods and is back in about five seconds wearing my “District 12 Tribute” sweatshirt. It makes me want to laugh, but the situation is so unfunny that I can't muster up the humor.
“Those wings are very, impressive,” she says to Peter. He comes around the couch and stands next to me. “Does it hurt when you, ah, put them away?”
“No.”
“Where do they go?”
Blink.
Mom looks at me, confused.
“It's not really an exact science. It's more like magic than anything else.”
“Magic?”
“Yeah. There isn't really an explanation. It just is.” I shrug. Mom drains the glass.
“So you two are...” She points at each of us to indicate a relationship.
“It started before the Claiming, but yeah.” Eventually, I'm going to have to explain about the curse, but only if we can't break it ASAP. Which reminds me...
“Did you find anything out?”
“No.” So all that pain was for nothing? Oh, that's just fantastic.
Mom coughs. “I think I'm going to lie down, if you don't mind. Peter, you're welcome to stay.”
“Thank you Claire. Get some rest.” His hand reaches for mine. Reassurance.
“I will.” Her eyes are still pretty wide and she kind of floats down the hall. I'm going to have to check on her.
“Well?” I say as soon as she's out of earshot.
“I had to come back.”
I put my arms around him and place my head on his chest where his heart would be. I sigh and breathe him in, trying to erase the memories of agony. “So you didn't get anything? Why didn't you just bring him back with you?”
“I did not make it there.” His fingers wind in my hair.
“How far did you get?”
“Georgia.”
“You couldn't send him a message or make Viktor go see him or something?” I'm starting to think we are wasting our time with this.
“There is an easy solution to all this.” I'd been considering it since I knew I loved him, but had never said it out loud.
“What is that?” I can tell he's smelling my hair.
“Make me a noctalis.”
Peter
I ask her to repeat the words, even though I knew I heard her right. My hearing is perfect. I just needed to hear the words from her again. Then I have one thing to say to her.
“No.”
“It's not your choice to make.” I let go of her, stepping back to see her face. “It was just an idea.”
“I will not. Ever.”
Her chin rises. “You Claimed me.”
“That was different.” So, so, so different. With the Claiming, I took her blood. If I made her a noctalis, I would take her soul. Humans can make more blood. She could not make another soul.
“I don't see how. I just went through hell when you left me. I never want to go through that again. The only way to break the Claiming is for you to kill me, or make me a noctalis. If it comes to that, I'll take the second.”
“I will not.” She storms upstairs. I follow her. She lets me into her room, and slams the door behind me. She puts her forehead against the wood and then turns on me.
“My mother is going to die. Maybe not today, but very soon. And then I'll have my dad. I have Tex and Jamie, and my Aunt Jenny but that's it. I have a very small group of people I can count on. Who love me. I know you can't love me now. But you could. You could love me and we could be together. Forever. I'm not saying that you should do it right now, but someday. You won't even consider someday?”
“You would be losing your soul.”
Her hands twist the cord that holds the key to my trunk. “You'll take good care of it for me.”
“I will not take it. Your soul belongs here,” I point to her chest. “And wherever it will go after this body is done doing its purpose. You would never see your mother again.”
“I can't base my decisions on things that may or may not happen. I don't know how I feel about heaven and all that, but I know how I feel about you and I know that I want to do this for you. You don't have to make the binding promise to me. You can make any promise. Just a little one. Like always turning the light off when you leave a room. Something stupid. Just something to undo the other one. See? It could work.” She tries to take my hands.
“You do not know if it would work.”
“You didn't know the Claiming would work. Big rewards require big risks.” Her hands ball into fists. I can hear the desperation both in her voice and in her thoughts. She wants this very much. She shoots it at me, trying to make me give in. But I will not. Tears spill over her cheeks.
I back away from her. “There has to be another way. We will find another way.”
“Why do we need another way when we have this one?”
“There is a better way.”
“Is there? Do you know that for absolutely sure?”
“I do not.” I will not lie to her.
“Then will you at least promise to take me with you next time? I will not go through what I did today. It's not happening. I don't care if you have to fly me at night. I'm not leaving you.” She strides toward me and grabs the shirt I am wearing. Her shirt.
“I won't leave you.” Her words are full of tears.
“I won't leave you, either.” I can't help myself. I pull her face upward and lick her tears away.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking your tears.”
“Oh.” She looks at me puzzled, but lets me. Then she starts to giggle. It's a bubbly light sound that makes me feel much better. As if the past hours had never happened.