The Noctalis Chronicles Complete Set Read online

  “Hi, ma fleur. Are you surprised?” She gives me a hug, right there in front of everyone passing by, planting a loud kiss on my cheek. I'm only slightly mortified. Her cheeks have too much blush on them, but it's not her fault she's lost so much color in her face that she has to paint it back on.

  “Yeah,” I say, dying a little inside.

  “I feel like a bad mother, but I figured we should have a little girl time, what do you think?” She takes my arm as we walk out together.

  “Sure.” I smile and she squeezes my arm with fingers bony and frail.

  We go all the way to Portland, even though the Brunswick Mall is only a half-hour away. She cranks the radio and rolls the windows down even though it's chilly. I wish she'd stop putting her fingers in her wig, but maybe she's remembering what it was like to have her hair blowing in the wind. That makes me sad and I turn to look out the window, not wanting to think about it. Every moment now is tainted with the specter of death looming in the background, his black fingers tugging on the corners of our moments.

  She takes me to every clothing store we usually avoid, pressing me to pick up anything that even remotely strikes my fancy, exclaiming about how good it looks on me. She forces me up to the counter, handing her card to the salesperson. I wish she'd believe me if I told her these things don't mean anything to me. The one thing I want neither of us can buy, unless someone's perfected a working time machine or a way to freeze moments and put them in jars. I'd have a shelf of them in my room.

  She hugs me from behind and whispers how beautiful I am into my ear. I lean back into her, even though the closeness overwhelms me. When she buys me a huge cookie and then shares it with me, I'm as gooey as the chocolate chips and almost tell her all about the creepy cemetery guys. Thing One meeting Thing Two. My mouth stays shut.

  She's having a harder time the later it gets. Her steps slow and aren't as bouncy. I can tell she's tired.

  “I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted. Do you mind if we go home?” I say.

  She leans heavily on me, using my arm as a support. I have a bunch of bags to balance me out on the other side, which probably weigh more than she does.

  “Sure, baby.” She pulls me in for a hug and I hold on tight. This is the third time she's hugged me today. Is that what I'm going to do now? Count the number of hugs I have left?

  I offer to drive back, but she turns me down.

  After dropping her keys and purse by the door, she gives me a tired smile and says she's going to rest. Dad's still at work and the house is quiet. I haul all the things she's bought me up to my room where I have to cram them in corners in my closet. If she's going to be doing this a lot, I'm going to need a bigger bedroom.

  I go downstairs and knock on her door. She's out like a light, breathing softly.

  My feet don't make a sound on the carpet as I walk into the room. Soft peach light greets me; it's her favorite color. The curtains move as a gentle breeze breathes into the room, making it the perfect lazy afternoon. I walk around the bed and look at her face. It's relaxed, peaceful. She mutters a little in her sleep. I take one finger and run it over her head. I twist one of the brown wisps that passes for her hair around my finger. She moves a little and I let go.

  Her eyes open and she starts, seeing me standing next to her.

  “Is something wrong?” Her eyes are wide with alarm. Mother's instinct, to assume the worst.

  “No. I just came in to check on you.”

  “You don't have to do that. I'm fine.” She yawns.

  “I know.”

  The words that I need to say hang between us, invisible as a spider's web until the sun hits it.

  “I love you, my Ava-Claire.” Her arms reach for me as she props herself up her elbows.

  “I know. I love you, too.” I sit down on the edge of her bed.

  “You're going to be okay. You're my strong one. My miracle.” Doctors had told her she couldn't get pregnant, but she did. She almost lost me a few months in, but I survived.

  Without Dad to monitor us, we finally venture into the minefield. I think about changing the subject, but don't.

  “I don't think I can do it,” I say, my voice trembling. The tears I've been trying so hard to keep deep down in my reservoir bubble up my throat.

  “You can. We're never given more than we can carry.”

  I take her hand. I can't look at her. “It isn't fair.” My voice hurts.

  “I know, baby.” She sits up and pulls me toward her. “I know.” Her soft words release something in me and I can feel the tears release. In this peach room with her arms around me, it's nearly impossible to push them back, but I have to.

  “You and Dad will take care of each other.” I don't say anything and I don't let go. “Nothing in this life is ever truly lost.” It's a quote from a poem or something. They'd always irritated me, those little proverbs and bits of wisdom. Now I want to collect them, to write them down so I have them with me when she goes. My mother is going to die. “I would never leave you. If I had the choice. I want you to know that.”

  “I do.” She pulls back and looks at my face. There are tears in her eyes, but they haven't spilled over yet.

  “I tried. It just wasn't enough.”

  “I know.” I feel like I'm saying the same things over and over. I hope they matter.

  She changes the subject.

  “What are you doing this weekend? Anything?”

  There's always some sort of party, if I wanted to go. Which I don't, unless Tex is going to drag me.

  “I don't know. Probably nothing.”

  “I don't want you not doing things because of me. You're a teenager and I want you to act like it.”

  I open my mouth to protest, but she puts her hand over it.

  “Go out. Have fun. Bring back good stories. Meet a cute guy. Dance. I want you to have a good time.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me. If I didn't know better, I'd say my mother was trying to get me laid.

  “Okay.”

  She pulls me in for hug number four.

  Tex is finally ungrounded, so it's her first chance to get out and go to a party. I'm glad she waits until lunch the next day to accost me, even though everyone is talking about it the minute I walk into school. I hadn't bothered to eavesdrop on the details. I want to talk her out of it, since a party is what got her grounded in the first place, but she's insistent. With my mother's blessing, I have to go, but I make Tex sweat a little.

  “Come on, it's going to be fun.” She says this every single time, and it's not always true.

  “Where is it?” Location, location, location.

  “Sam Weston's. His parents are going to New York for their anniversary.”

  “Don't his parents go away every weekend?” I take a bite of my salad. I'm not hungry, but I don't want to start eating disorder rumors.

  “But he doesn't have a party every weekend,” she points out.

  “Who else is going?” This is also a determining factor. Certain people, like Joe Silar, make for a better party. He always has too much to drink and ends up with a video online that gets thousands of hits. He even has his own YouTube channel for his exploits, entitled “Joez Show.” Super classy.

  "Uh, everyone who matters," she says, like it's obvious.

  “So, pretty much anyone who isn't a total loser.” Not that many people have exclusive parties. The more people show up, usually the more alcohol does.

  “Come on, please?” She bats her eyelashes at me, like that's going to make a difference.

  “I don't know,” I say, trying to make my face look indecisive. Deep down, I don't give a crap about it, but my mother wants me to go, for whatever reason. I don't want to disappoint her.

  “What don't you know about?” Jamie sidles up to our lunch table and plunks down. We rarely see him at lunch; he usually has a meeting or goes out with his sports buddies. He grabs a chip out of Tex's bag and chomps on it. Jamie eats enough for five people, but he burns it all off doing sports. Loser. />
  “Sam Weston's. You in?”

  “Might as well. Have you recovered from the last time yet, Ave?”

  I roll my eyes and punch him in the arm. At the last Weston party I tripped over the keg, causing it to roll down the hill and into a pond. It had been a few months, but I was still known as the girl who killed the keg. It's a wonder they don't bar me from coming to another party.

  “I'll stay away from the keg this time.” I give him a wink. He returns it.

  “Does that mean you're coming?” Tex is practically jumping up and down, flapping her hands like a bird.

  “Yeah, I'm in.”

  She squeals and hugs me. I am so not into it.

  “Want me to pick you up?” Jamie asks.

  “What about me?” Tex punches him on the arm. He winces and rubs it.

  “Fine. I'll pick you up too, Tex.” Jamie doesn't drink, ever, so he's usually our DD. He's also really good at driving Sam's mom's minivan full of drunken people without getting distracted. A valuable skill.

  “Sweet.”

  There's not much to do in Maine for teenagers except to hang out at Seagull Stop, our equivalent of a 7-Eleven, or build a fire and get drunk. The only other alternatives involve family game nights and movies at the library, or hanging out in cemeteries, my activity of choice.

  I needed to stop thinking about him. I'm usually able to shove the other less-pleasant memories far down into my subconscious where they will no doubt cost me years and thousands of dollars in therapy. Not him. I wake up in the middle of the night and I swear I can hear his voice.

  Seven

  “You look great, baby.”

  Mom waits for me at the bottom of the stairs with a camera like it's prom. Dad got her a digital camera and she's been taking picture after picture. Things like me sneezing or eating or doing something awesome like sitting on the couch. I'll see the flash out of the corner of my eye and try to stay still and not do anything weird with my face. I pretend like I don't notice when she does it. I have no idea why she's taking a picture of me doing nothing, but I don't ask.

  I smile and pose on the stairs, and give my best Miss America wave. Dad's right behind her, arms around her waist, laughing. I make some funny faces and she takes so many pictures I'm blinded by the flashes.

  Jamie's truck sounds in the driveway like a hurricane hit a chainsaw factory. He loves that truck, even though he could never use it in a getaway.

  “That's my ride.”

  “Have fun, Ava-Claire. Be safe. Don't be home too late.” She hugs me tight. I wish she'd hug me like this forever and never let me go. I don't want to go to the party, but I let her go and walk out the door. She takes one last picture as I look back at her. The flash makes my eyes burn for a moment.

  “I will, I won't.”

  Dad looks like he wants to add something, but he gives me a look that says it all. I smile and wave as I grab my jacket.

  “Ready to roll?” I say as I launch myself to get into the truck. Jamie reaches out and hauls me in. Even though he's never had a cigarette in his life, his truck still smells like moldy cigarettes. It's a hand-me-down from his dad, who smokes like a chimney.

  “Always.”

  I ride bitch, since I have the shortest legs. We get Tex a few minutes later, and her skirt rides up so much she has to haul it down after she gets in.

  “Classy.”

  “I have great legs, what can I say? It would be a crime to cover them up.”

  I sigh. She does have great legs. I've got stubs.

  My knees are crunched up under the dashboard and Tex keeps brushing crumbs off her seat. Jamie also has to reach between my feet to get his coffee cup, but that's part of the charm of riding around with Jamie.

  Sam Weston lives at the end of a dirt road, like a lot of people in Sussex. Secluded in the summer, hell to drive on in the winter. His house is closer to the water than mine, and even has a little cliff so you can watch the waves. The neighbors are all rich summer folks that hibernate in Florida and haven't made it up for the summer yet, so the location is ideal. Cars are haphazardly parked in the ditches on either side of the driveway, and some have made their way onto the lawn. The cold air bites at my legs and exposed arms. I should have brought a sweater to cover the blue t-shirt I've worn.

  “I didn't think there would be this many people.” Tex seems surprised. I have no idea why. A carful of people who sound like they're already three drinks in skids next to us, nearly jamming into Jamie's truck. They all stumble out and have to hold onto each other to get up the steps and into the house. It's practically vibrating on its foundation from the music.

  “Can we stop staring and go in? I'm freezing,” Tex says. No wonder, considering what she's wearing.

  “Put a coat on,” I snap. This was her idea.

  “But I might lose it. You know coats disappear at these things.” She holds her arm up, showing me the wristlet that holds all her identification and cell phone. Style before function.

  “Shall we?” Jamie leans down and offers each of us an arm. I fake a smile and link up with him on one side, Tex on the other. A Jamie sandwich.

  No sooner are we through the door than beers are chucked in our direction. The music is loud, the rooms are packed, and it's hot and smells like sweat with a hint of pot. If I'm going to be here I might as well enjoy myself as much as I can.

  Each beat from the music moves through the floor, making its way up my legs and through my body like a spark of electricity. I want to plunge into it, to lose myself in it, but Tex drags me into the kitchen. Now that I'm here, it's not so bad. Jamie heads to the next room where beer pong is in full swing. He has to say hello to his buddies, who are already slamming each other around and laughing too loudly at something that probably isn't even funny.

  I grab a lime wedge and stick it in my beer can. Tex discards her beer and grabs a cup of something pink some girl ladles from a huge metal bowl. I think her name's Angela, but I'm not sure. She catches me staring and gives me the hairy eyeball before clopping away in her gigantic heels.

  “Are you going to drink that?”

  “Why not? You know I hate beer.” She peers into the cup and pulls something out.

  “Because you have no idea what's in it.”

  “Alcohol.” She takes a sip. “And... fruit punch? Maybe lemonade? I don't know. It's good. Try it.” She shoves the cup under my nose. It smells good, but that doesn't mean I'm drinking it. There could be anything in there.

  “No thanks. I'll stick with what I know.” I sip my beer, which is improved by the lime. Drinkable.

  I haven't had a whole lot of experience with alcohol. I mean, I've had one here and there, but my experience with it is nothing compared to most of my classmates. I've never actually been wasted. Maybe now is a good time. At least I don't have to drive. I take a bigger swig.

  “Slow down there. You want it to last.” Tex practically has a degree in drinking. “Water is the key,” she tells me, “and food.”

  I ignore her and nearly choke on my next gulp. I barely even taste it.

  The beer kicks in a few minutes later. My body warms and I don't feel so tense. It's nice. I stop thinking about Thing One and Thing Two.

  As soon as she's gotten one drink in her, Tex goes off and mingles. I hang out with my beer in the kitchen, waiting for the right moment. I say hello to a few people from school who come in to get a refill, but for the most part I'm alone.

  “Ready to dance?” Jamie finds me sitting on the counter next to the sink helping some girl put ice in her cup. She gets most of it on the floor.

  “I've been waiting for something better to come along.” I grin at him. Smiling seems so easy now, as if someone else is doing it for me.

  “Ouch. You've hurt my pride.” He clutches his chest as if I've wounded him before helping me off the counter. The girl stumbles off with her drink and plenty of ice. She almost does a face-plant when she slips on a cube. Jamie leans down to pick them up and throws them in the sink.<
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  “I think that's impossible.”

  He takes my hand and twirls me around. My can of beer sloshes on the floor.

  “Come on.” He tugs me to the pounding living room. With the alcohol, I'm more willing to dance than I would be otherwise. He notices when I'm less-than-graceful. I've barely gotten into the song when he pulls on my arm and takes me away from the speaker. He says something and I put my hand to my ear, telling him I can't hear.

  “How much have you had to drink?” he yells.

  “Just one,” I yell back, holding up one finger. The strobe lights make him look like he's moving in slow motion.

  “Since we got here?”

  I'm not sure how long we've been here. Feels like a few minutes. “Yeah.” I try to pull my arm away. His grip hurts.

  “You idiot. That's going to come back and bite you. You're not supposed to drink it that fast.” He takes my arm and yanks me back into the kitchen. I protest, but he lifts me up onto the kitchen counter and hands me a glass of water. “Drink.”

  “I'm not a baby. You don't have to take care of me.” It's a lot easier to hear now, but the room is doing this wavy thing I don’t like too much.

  “Yes, I do.” He doesn't say it like a joke. More like it's a fact that he's admitting to.

  “Where's Tex?” I say as I take a sip.

  “Not sure. I saw her over with the video gamers a while ago. I'll go find her. You stay here.”

  I stay on the counter and dutifully drink my water. Jamie is a little overprotective. It's what happens when you have an alcoholic father. Tex has another drink in her hand when he hauls her in.

  “I'm going to keep an eye on you two. Pace yourselves. Eat. Don't leave with strangers. Keep your underwear on and your tongues in your own mouths. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.” We both say, saluting in unison. He gives us the 'I'm watching you' finger gesture and goes back to referee the beer pong. Tex chugs her drink in protest and I get another beer.

  We spend the rest of the night dancing and fending off drunken gropers. Tex more than me, but I blame that on the skirt. What kind of message did she think she was sending? I only think about it for a second, thanks to the beer. I'm not sure how many I've consumed, but I'm past caring. I'm dancing and laughing and not thinking about things. It's awesome.