“You would miss earth-shattering cheesecake,” he comments.
I sip the warm liquid, feeling it seep down my throat and warm me from the inside. “True. But I'd have blood.” I try to sound cheerful, but yurgh. Blood.
“It is not the same.”
“I know that, but I'd give up earth-shattering cheesecake if it meant you got to be free.” I want to reach out to him, to touch his face and kiss him and breathe him in.
I look up at him and he meets my eyes, pulling me in for only a second. Then he blinks and pulls back. I feel like I've been slapped in the face.
“You should get to bed.” He's hurt me again, but I try not to show it. I drain the rest of my tea, trying not to look at him.
“Goodnight, Peter.” I don't wait for him to get his book or do anything else. I just turn over and pretend to sleep.
I feel, rather than hear, him sigh. He picks a book off the top of the stack and opens the cover.
“Goodnight, Ava.”
Peter
She is upset, as I expected. I can always tell now. Images flash through my mind, including one of me. It must be how she sees me. But it is gone before I can study it. She is still a conundrum. Part of me doesn't wish to understand how her mind works. I still like being surprised by her. I don't want that to change. Ever.
I understand that my words hurt her, but I could not let Cal know my true feelings for her. He would not help me if he knew. Ava is right; I should have let her in. I have been alone for so long, I often forget that I have to consider another person. She knows I am keeping things from her, but she does not know why. Perhaps, one day, I will tell her.
I'm distracted from my book by Ava. She's deep in sleep, so deep that I get up and take a shower. A wonderful invention, indoor plumbing.
She's having another nightmare when I return. Her legs twitch and her eyebrows contract, forming a crease that I want to put my thumb in to smooth it away like clay. Her hands are clasped under her chin. She twists them, as if she's trying to hold onto something. I consider waking her. I have done it before. With just a nudge, she would come out of it naturally. But I hesitate. It is not that I want her to suffer, but dreams are mysterious things. Sometimes they show us things we need to see. My mother always believed in the truth behind dreams. I do not dream anymore, and even a nightmare would be welcome.
She moans a little and rolls so she is facing me. Despite her anger from before, she still turns toward me in her sleep. I do not touch her, but let her pull herself closer to me. Her hands grab at my shirt and she snuggles into my chest. She will move away in the morning, but for now, she seems to need to hold onto me. Her sleeping body doesn't know it, but I put my arm around her, pulling her closer. She sighs a little. The dream has passed. I go back to my book.
In the morning, I sense her mother coming up the stairs and slip out the window and onto the roof. The day is gray, the clouds swollen with rain. I hear the knock at the door and Ava's confused voice answers.
“Wake up, sleepyhead. It's almost eleven.”
Ava mutters something in reply.
Her mother sits on her bed, the springs protesting under the combined weight. Her scent floats out the window. Sick blood and lilac soap and sleep. “You okay, baby? You're not still sick from Tuesday?”
“No. I'm fine.” Her voice doesn't convince me or her mother. Ava rolls over in preparation to stand.
“No, don't get up. I'm going to bring you breakfast.”
“Are you sure you're up to that?” Ava's voice is wary. She has more concern for her mother and I that I fear it will become too much for her. Claire and I agree, at least on that.
“Stop trying to mother me. That's my job. Get back into bed, young lady.” There's a light slapping sound, as if Claire hit Ava playfully on the shoulder.
“Yes, Ma'am.”
“Don't you dare Ma'am me.” I enjoy Claire. She is so much like Ava. Even though they do not look much alike. Except those green eyes. Mesmerizing.
“Fine, fine.” Ava always acquiesces to her mother's wishes. Almost always.
“Stay there until I come back.”
“Okay.” The door closes. “Peter?” Ava's voice floats out the window.
“I'm here.” I lean over the top of the window, letting myself into the room upside down. Ava raises her eyebrows at me. I stand up, wondering what she is thinking. Her face can be a puzzle sometimes.
“What is it?” She shakes her head, making her curls bounce around. They're all tangled together in one mass. I want to comb them out, but I doubt I will have time if her mother is coming back.
“Did you sleep well?” I ask this every morning. Partially to see if she remembers moving so close to me. Also to see if she will tell me the truth about her dreams.
“Meh.” She shrugs her shoulders and goes to the bathroom to wash her face. I go back on the roof to give her some privacy. She rarely asks for it, but I know when she needs time to do things she does not wish me involved in.
I know she is done when she starts humming to herself. It's Maroon 5 today.
“Are we going to rehash last night?” She straightens her t-shirt, not meeting my eyes. “I'm still a little mad at you, but I'm willing to forgive and forget.”
“I am sorry I made you upset. We will not speak of it if you do not want to.” Her shoulders relax a fraction.
“Good. I don't like fighting with you.”
“We were not fighting.”
“Fine, we were having a disagreement.” She gets her brush and snarls it through her hair. I move to take it from her and she lets me. “We're disagreeing about disagreeing. That's kind of ridiculous.” She giggles, making her hair shake just a little. I wrap a curl around my finger and let it go. “I think we need to sit down like adults and talk about this. Make a compromise.”
“You are willing to compromise?” I am surprised. Ava does not compromise when she wants something.
She smirks. This is an expression I have not grasped the concept of for my own face. “Not really, but it sounds better when I say that.”
“Ava.” I have learned use of the sigh since I met her.
“No, we're not doing that. We're going to talk like rational adults. After my mom makes me pancakes.” She takes the brush back and flops on her bed. I let her, going to the book I'd left on the floor of her bedroom and stacking it on top of my finished pile.
“You're not going anywhere today, are you?” Her anxiety beats faster than her heart.
“No. I will stay close. Viktor will probably come to visit me in the woods. If you need me, say my name. I will hear.” I would hear her at least a few miles away.
“Good. I'll see you later, then?” She looks over her shoulder at me. Her curls fall like tangled water.
“I will see you later. Enjoy the pancakes. I hope they are earth-shattering.” I think about leaving my shirt with her, as I have such a habit of losing them, but I might need it later. It is one of only two I posses.
“They probably will be if my mother is making them.” I leave her brushing her hair, a tiny smile playing on her lips.
I stay on the roof until her mother comes up the stairs with a tray.
“Knock, knock.”
“Come in.” Ava adjusts herself on the bed, trying to get into the same position again.
“Did you move?”
“No. There was no moving, I swear.” Her lie clangs in my ears.
Claire hears it, too. “I don't believe you.”
“I swear!” Claire sets the tray down with a clatter.
“I don't believe you!” She leaps on top of Ava, tickling her stomach. They both dissolve into laughter that rings as bright as bells. It's a clear sound that reaches out to me. Pulls me toward the room. But I cannot be a part of it. That kind of thing is not for me. Not anymore.
Ava and I have never done such things together. Even if we were to, I would not know how. I am grasping the art of sarcasm from her, but I am a slow learner when it comes to all thin
gs human. Ava is helping me find the threads, but they are tricky and hard to hold onto.
I fold my shirt and leave it on the roof. It might rain, but I can always find another shirt. I should start keeping some at Ava's house so I have spares. I let my wings unfurl and pause before letting my wings try and brush the sky.
The tug back to earth is strong and I falter. Just for a moment. Then I gain altitude and climb higher, letting the wind brush away any resistance. I have not flown alone in a while. I keep the door to her emotions open. I need that connection to make sure she is safe, but let everything else fall away, like water from the clouds. It starts to rain, the droplets streaking by me, racing each other to the ground. Always in such a hurry.
A sound makes me look down. Viktor is running toward the house in his noctalis form. I turn a lazy circle and dive toward the ground, picking up speed. Even if I hit the ground at full force, nothing will happen to me. The thrill of life is gone when you cannot die. At the last moment, I pull up and land on my feet, leaving two relatively large footprints in the ground.
“Nice landing,” he says, changing back into his human-looking form and putting on a pair of pants he had hidden under a tree.
“Thank you.”
“Are you well?”
“Yes.” Somewhere in the house, Ava laughs. The sound fills my ears.
“How was your trip to Florida?”
We walk toward the house. “Fine. Cal is searching for more information.” The details are irrelevant.
“Ivan is nearby.”
“I know.”
“He wants something.” Ava laughs again. Claire joins her.
“He always wants something. That used to be my death, but now I am not so sure. There is only one other thing that he could want and that is to make me suffer as he has.”
“But he cannot touch Ava.”
“That doesn't matter. There is always a way.”
“You should change her.” It's the first time he's said it to me. I know he's thought it. I have thought it. Ava has obsessed over it.
“There has to be another way.” The way to save her life is not to end it.
“It is your choice.”
“What would you do? If it was Adele?” At the mention of her name, he freezes like a statue. His eyes focus on something far away. A girl that had ended many years ago. I need to know his answer.
“I would do it.”
“You would change her.”
“Yes.”
“Even with everything you know.”
“Yes.”
“No hesitation.” I need him to say it one more time.
“Yes.” He offers no explanation. I wait for one. “If she would have been human, I would have changed her. Then the bind wouldn't exist and I wouldn't have lost her. But it did not happen that way.” Only his lips move as he speaks. Even the air is still.
“You have also not considered something else.”
“What is that?”
“That if you do not change her, she might find someone who will. And they could... take advantage of her vulnerability.” Oh yes, I had thought about it. Many times. But there is a catch, which I have not told Ava. In order for another noctalis to touch her, she would need to be so near death that the chances of her being changed would be miniscule. It is not worth the risk. I have not told her that, because I knew she might want to gamble.
“Think about it,” he says before departing.
I spend the rest of my time without Ava flying. Since I never get tired or need to rest, I don't have to stop. Before she came into my life, I would often spend days or weeks in the sky, only coming down long enough to feed. Sometimes, I would ride through a hurricane. Once I was swept inside a tornado and spit out several miles from where I started. That was nothing compared to flying with Ava in my arms.
My thoughts spin like a tornado, tossing out random bits and potentialities until I'm so wrapped in it, I take a breath to try and release myself. It seems to work well for humans, this breathing. It does little to calm my thoughts, but I do my best, trying not to telegraph them to Ava.
The rain tapers off and soon the wind has my pants and hair dry again. I dip down every now and then to check on Ava. I try to rationalize it as we both need the closeness. She and her mother are deep into the mysteries of pie crust. I hope Ava teaches me later. I enjoy her teaching me about food, even if I do not wish to eat it.
I push my hair back from my forehead before pulling myself through her window.
“Hey, Peter,” she says when she opens the door. Her lovely cheeks flush and she pulls me into her with those eyes. No, I cannot crush this warmth and happiness from her with immortality.
Seventeen
Ava
Peter is acting a little weird, even for him. We're in the kitchen, basking in the smell of an apple pie and a blackberry pie that are cooling on the counter. They look freaking delicious. Earth-shattering, you might say. I've finally decided that Peter should come over when my dad is here. The sooner he gets used to Peter and the quicker we can integrate him into the family, the better. Because he is my family now. I'm still injured from what he said last night, but I'm doing my best not to let it show. Don't worry, be happy.
He came out earlier when Peter “happened to stop by” and gave his disapproval. Then Mom saved us by asking him to go and get her some more mulch and potting soil. Bless her. He'd be back soon and then Peter and I would have to keep at least five feet of distance between us. It was Mom's idea to make pie. It seemed like a normal Sunday thing to do, so I couldn't say no.
“How's Viktor? Still wolfy?” I joke, trying to get him to smile in the presence of my mother. It would be good to get him to do that so she'll stop being so wary around him. She's gotten much better, but we still have a long way to go.
If I'm being completely honest, I want her approval. I need it. I can't give my life to him unless she supports it. Kind of like asking your father's permission before you get engaged. Only, Peter and I aren’t getting engaged. You can always break an engagement. You can't undo becoming a noctalis.
“Wolfy?” my mother says. I look at Peter to ask if it's okay if I tell her about Viktor.
Blink.
“He kind of looks like a wolf when he wants to. Do you remember the guy in the third Harry Potter? He kind of looks a little like that. Only not so scary. And more humanish.” Of course I botch the explanation.
She stares at me like I've grown an extra head. “He's a werewolf?”
“The legends may very well be based on some of us,” Peter chimes in.
“Really? What other legends?”
“Angels, vampires, fey, both Greek and Roman gods. Most any culture with supernatural beings as legends has been based on my kind.” It's weird when he says 'my kind.'
I watch the cogs work in her brain, thinking of all the noctalis possibilities. I've already been there, done that.
“How interesting. Are there many of you?”
The fact that they're talking so easily warms the cockles of my heart.
What the hell are cockles?
Peter speaks again. This is the most he's ever talked to her. “Several hundred at most. It is difficult to tell. We do not tend to stay in groups.”
“Huh.” Mom looks like she's thinking really hard again. The timer dings, alerting us that the pies are cool enough to eat.
“What about your other brother, the one who came, ah, to visit?”
“We are not close,” Peter says, closing the subject.
“This is Ava's very first pie made from scratch,” she says, going with the flow.
“It looks wonderful.” Yeah, I should win a damn prize.
The reason I'm learning to make a pie isn't because my mother wants to teach me. Well, it is, but she needs me to know because she won't be around when I eventually want to learn. It's like trying to cram a lifetime of memories into a few months. It's impossible. There's always that ticking clock, telling me that this could be the last ti
me we make pie. This could be the last time we laugh together. This time. This time.
“I must go,” Peter says before doing his disappearing act. Moments later, Dad's car is back, and guess who gets to help him unload a million bags of mulch and soil and drag them to the shed? Yeah, that's me.
The rest of the afternoon is Peter-free and spent with my mother on our hands and knees in the garden. She's teaching me about the tulips, and I'm trying to remember everything.
“Don't worry,” she says, tapping my shoulder with a trowel. “I wrote it all down. Just be glad I'm not a fan of orchids. Now those are hard to grow.” I had no idea.
God, I am going to kill all these plants without even trying. Maybe Peter could help me. He likes nature.
“So,” she says, ripping open another bag of mulch, “you love him.”
My chin hits the ground and I say, “Come again?”
Her hand brushes some dirt off my nose.
“You love him.”
I flounder and can't speak. How did she know?
“Yeah.”
She laughs. “Don't be ashamed of love, ma fleur. He may not be the boy I would have chosen for you, but if you love him and he loves and takes care of you, that's all I can ask for.”
Oh crap, here come the waterworks. What I don't tell her is that Peter can't love me, but what he does give me is so worth it. Even when he's a pain in my ass.
I fall into her arms, tears escaping from my eyes. “I love him.” It's such a relief to say it out loud. I don't know why I have to cry about it, but there you are.
“I know,” she says into my hair. “I know. C'est la vie.”
“Hello, Ava,” a voice says from the roof. We both look up to find Peter perched on the edge, his legs dangling over the rain gutter. Speak of the devil and he shall appear.
“What are you doing?” I shade my eyes against the sun, trying to wipe the tears away.
“Talking to you. I did not want your father to see.” He smiles again. I answer him with one of my own.