I feel the pull as Peter leaves, and it gets worse as the minutes tick by. He said he might be going far, but he didn't say how far. We've never really been farther apart than a couple of miles. I feel bad about him being chained to me, but it's not really something either of us can help.
I still feel our connection, but it's like there's static on the line. The feelings aren't as clear, and they go in and out. It worries me, but I know Peter is safe with Viktor.
I'm getting ready for school when a dull pain starts somewhere near my heart. Great. I have actual heartburn. What the hell? I try to ignore it and put my jeans on.
The pain gets worse, and I take several pain pills with my breakfast in hopes that they will help, even though I know they won't. This kind of pain can't be cured by pills.
My mother is up, surprisingly, and putting dirty laundry in the washer. She must have waited until Dad left. Sneaky.
“Are you sure you should be doing that?”
“Someone has to.” Her arms look longer because they're so thin. I look away, seized by another shot of pain. It's getting sharper, knifing into my chest.
“I have to go; I'm going to be super late.” Tardy passed ten minutes ago.
“Want to play hooky?” I turn back around, trying not to show the strain on my face.
“Are you serious?” Can she read my mind now?
She throws a pair of socks into the washer like basketballs. My, don't we have energy this morning. “I got stuff for pies. You need to learn how to make pie crust. I forgot to put that one on the list.”
“Wait, you're adding to the list now?” I have to lean against the machine and I grit my teeth.
“Well, when I think of things.” She shoves more things in the washer. It's going to take at least four loads to get it done. I'm not a huge fan of laundry. Dad isn't really, either. That's going to have to change.
“I don't have anything I can't miss.” Shh, it's a secret. I can still go out with Jamie tonight. Of all my bases that need to be covered, attending school isn't one of the important ones.
“Great, I'll call the school.” She chucks the rest of her armload in the washer and goes to call. I throw the detergent in and turn the washer on.
She comes back, throwing her arms around me. “All set.” I hug her, so grateful that she somehow knew I needed a mental health day. Mom and I have tea and sit in the morning sun that floods the dining room. I wish I could enjoy it.
As the minutes tick by, the pain in my heart region starts to get worse. More stabby. Yeah, I definitely couldn't get through a day at school. I text Tex and Jamie, telling them I'm not feeling well. Tex offers to skip school and bring me soup. I tell her nice try and that my mother is taking care of it. She does call me out of work, which I beg her not to, but Texas Sarsaparilla Anne Hamilton doesn't take no for an answer.
Jamie also offers to come over and bring my homework, which I do take him up on. My sweet Jamie. He'd be late for track practice, but he doesn’t care. Coach wouldn't either, because Jamie is his golden boy. He is everyone's golden boy. He also offers to postpone our date, but I say no.
“I feel like I haven't really seen you in a couple days.” She smacks a kiss on my forehead. “I had a chat with your father about Peter. I think I got him out of having dinner with us, but he'll have to come over some night this week after and bring coffee or something. Can he drink coffee?”
“I don't think so.” She waves it off.
“No matter. It'll work out.” She sounds almost like Peter. A jolt of agony goes through me and I grab at my chest like I'm trying to pull the knife of pain out of me.
“Are you okay? What happened?”
“Nothing, I'm fine.” She looks at my face and sees that I'm not.
Peter
I expect the pain, but the sharp brightness of it startles me. It begins slowly and builds until it is so keen I can't see, hear, smell, taste, or feel anything else.
I stop running for a moment.
“What is wrong?”
“It is hard to be away from her.” My voice is strained in a way it has never been since becoming a noctalis.
“I have heard that can happen. I have not experienced it myself.”
I nearly stumble from the pain, but clench my teeth and keep running. This has to be done. I have to find another way for her to be free. Even if it causes some pain.
Viktor stares at me. “You are in pain without her.”
“Yes.”
“I understand.” I know he does. Perhaps not the physical pain, but he does understand what it is like to lose someone as a noctalis.
He stays silent for a while, thinking. I do not need mind-reading abilities to know who he is thinking about.
Her name was Adele and he met her on a brief trip we took to Paris. She was sixteen when she was turned into a noctalis, but looked much younger. Everything about her was small and delicate, down to her tiny nose. He took her to the top of the Eiffel Tower and that was it. They hunted together in the slums of Paris for several months and I stayed with them a few times. Adele was lovely and bubbly, and Viktor smiled when he was around her. We made a family. At least for a little while.
One day we were running and Adele collapsed to the ground. Viktor dropped down next to her, asking what was wrong. She crumbled to ash, leaving her clothes empty.
I will never forget the sound he made. It would be similar to the one I would make if I lost Ava. Part of me can still hear it. Viktor went back to Russia after that and would only feed when desperation became too much. He only ventured out when I needed him a few weeks ago.
“Do you miss your cabin?”
“I have had many years of solitude. It was time for me to end it.”
“Where is he?” So far we are just coming into the border between Maine and New Hampshire.
“Florida.”
Florida. That is a long way away. I had never thought of places in terms of distance before. I could fly anywhere, so distance did not matter. But being tied to Ava, it does.
The pain is already bad. I don't know if I can make it, but I will try. The taste of Ava is still on my lips.
Viktor and I are mostly silent. He changes into his noctalis form, and I have to push to keep up with him. If I could fly, there would be no contest.
When we pass Pennsylvania, I have to stop for a moment.
“You should have brought her. I did not know it would be this difficult.”
“Nor did I.” I shake my head, trying to rid myself of the pain. I am so cold, if I could shiver, I would. I hope she is not in as much pain. I try to get a vibe, as she calls it, but there is nothing. My thoughts and emotions are my own. It is a cold and quiet feeling.
“We must go.” So we do. I have to stop again in Georgia. I can barely run, so Viktor slows down to match my pace. The heat is thick on my tongue. I imagine it tastes like Ava's blood.
We have to dart in and out of roadways. I prefer the rural setting of Maine. It takes much less time to get anywhere because of all the free running space. Although the architecture is lovely to look at. I cannot focus on anything but moving one foot in front of the other. One more step, one more step, one more step. And then I can take no more steps.
A jolt of pain tears through me. It is too much. Too terrible. Too great. My body cannot take being without her for one more second. I will end.
I fall to the ground, screaming, the sound shattering my ears.
Nine
Ava
Midmorning 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 mo
uth.
“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 you 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 on 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 as if 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 lost it a while ago and my head was so silent. It was really lonely. Weird how the only person I had in my head was me for seventeen years, but after Peter infiltrated my mind, I got so used to it that it is a quiet place when he is gone. I want it back. I also want the pain to go away, and I am starting to get my wish.
A half-hour later the pain is bearable, and I can sit up and uncurl my body. My mother keeps humming and somehow it's helping. It gets so much better that 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 kind of hope he's been in as much pain. Which is horrible, but if he's been sitting around thinking I am fine, I'm going to be upset. Epically 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. It is 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, because 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 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 got from my grandmother's house before she died. It is her favorite, with hand-painted 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 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 that 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 the urge to grab him and never let go.
“Let me clean that up for you. The glass will not cut me,” Peter says.
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?”