Neither Page 5

  “Easy, easy,” he said, holding his hands up.

  I wanted out of the room. I ran to the other side, which took less than a second. I tried the other. I just wanted out. Out of this room, out of my body.

  “Brooke, listen to me. You can't go out or you'll die. Do you understand?”

  I looked up and saw a trapdoor. It was high up, but with a jump I could do it. Ivan's words reached me.

  “I want to get out,” I said.

  “I know you do, but you can't right now. We just need to sit for a while.”

  I looked at the door again, but his words scared me. I didn't want to die.

  “Do you remember anything?”

  “Anything about what?” I searched my brain. I remembered my name; I remembered him. But... nothing else. “What's happening?”

  “Brooke, you're sixteen years old. You liked a boy named Dillon, and your best friend is Cara. Do you remember that?”

  As he said the words, murky images swam through my brain, but as soon as I tried to grab them, they slipped through my fingers. I tried harder and I was able to hold onto them for moments before they slipped away again.

  “You think you hate your mother and her boyfriend. Your favorite color is sea-foam green. You hate Mondays and flossing and eggs. You love moonlight and silver jewelry and sunrises. Remember?”

  I heard his words, and they triggered little flashes in my mind. Little pieces that I tried to pick up.

  Yes, I was Brooke. I'd gone to hang out with my friends at the railroad tracks and met Ivan. He'd taken me into the woods and I thought he was going to kill me, but we talked instead. He kissed me. And now I was here.

  “What time is it?” I asked.

  “It's 6:34 a.m.”

  “What day is it?”

  “It's Sunday.”

  “Sunday?” I had to reach, but I remembered the night I'd gone out had been Friday. Two days.

  “Where are we?”

  I traced my hands on the walls, trying to feel our location. It was cool in this room, around 52 degrees. I didn't know how I could tell the temperature. I just could. Like how I could smell that no living person had been down here in at least fifty years. This was a secret place. Only rats and other creatures had been here. I could smell them, hear them scurrying around. They didn't bother me. I used to be afraid of rats, I thought.

  “We're in New Hampshire still. I would have carried you farther, but the sun was coming up and I had to get you out of it.”

  “Why?”

  “The sun will hurt you now. Soon you will revel in it, but for now it will hurt you. You're safe here,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “You like that word, don't you? I am not sure I can answer that. I am not normally impulsive. My plan was to kill you. To drain your blood. That is what our kind do. That is what you will do. We need blood to function. But something about you, maybe it was your eyes, or maybe it was something else... I don't know. Something about you reminded me of her. Of my Josie. She has been gone for so long, but I always search for her. I've been searching for her since the moment I lost her.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “She died, a long time ago.” He looked away from my face.

  “You love her.” Anyone could have seen that.

  “Yes, I love her. I will always love her. Even if I could love someone else,” he said, taking a step away from me.

  “Do you love me?” I asked.

  “Not yet. But I could. There is another girl who — never mind. She is in love with my brother.”

  “Ouch. So you're stuck in the friend zone.” I didn't know where the words had come from. My mouth said them without thinking.

  He stared at me for a moment. “You are still somewhat human. I hope that doesn't change too much.”

  He touched my face and I moved away. I didn't want him touching me. I remembered the kiss. What was wrong with me? I knew nothing about him, he'd done something to me and I'd kissed him.

  “How long do I have to stay here?”

  “Until something happens.”

  “Until what happens?”

  “You'll know,” he said, brushing my hair back.

  “Stop touching me.”

  He smiled, stepping back. “Will you promise me one thing, love?”

  “Maybe. Depends on what it is.”

  “Will you promise me that you will spend one entire day with me?”

  “A whole day? I don't even know you.”

  “Will you do that for me?”

  Did I have a choice? Maybe he would let me go. “Yes.”

  “You have to say that you promise.”

  “I promise.”

  The air in the room changed, crackling with something that I could taste on my tongue. Something settled over me like a heavy blanket. I looked at him and he smiled at me.

  “Welcome to eternity, Brooke.”

  Five

  Ava

  Telling Tex about my mom is not nearly as horrible as I thought it would be. Isn't that always the way? You make things up in your head to be way bigger than they are, and afterward you wonder what you were so worried about.

  It's in that moment that I know there's a reason I've stayed friends with her. She drives me nuts most of the time, and her energy is sometimes too much, but she is always there for me. She's my soft place to fall. Peter is the one who catches me. I need both of them in my life.

  She gives me another hug before we leave and promises to call me later to talk. Viktor stands next to her, and I know I'm going to get used to seeing a large, blond Russian standing next to my best friend. She is completely smitten with him, and he seems pretty far gone as well. That damn Claiming does it every time. It's almost like a weird sort of marriage. I promise to love, honor and give you all my blood for as long as I shall live, and you shall exist.

  Peter leaves me at the end of my driveway and runs into the woods. I guess he's going to do laps around my house. The image of that is a little comical. Poor guy.

  Mom is elbow-deep in a huge bowl of something when I walk in, and the smell of blackberry jam cake fills the air. Next to blood, it's my favorite smell. Not that I like the smell of blood, because what normal person does? Not me, that's who.

  “How was your time with Tex?”

  She's mixing whatever it is by hand, turning it over and over in the bowl. I adjust my scarf to make sure it's in the right spot. I looked up some scarf tying techniques online, but I haven't tried many of them out yet.

  “Well, it started out good.”

  “What does that mean?” she says, raising her eyebrows at me. She's put on her everyday wig, and one of her old summer dresses. It looks good on her, but she needs more to fill it out. They're definitely going to notice that.

  I take a breath. “I told her about you.” Macaroni salad. That's what's in the bowl.

  “You did? And how did that feel?”

  “Really good, actually.”

  She smiles. Moms know everything. “That's what I thought. The truth will set you free. That's why I wanted to do this. I can't keep this secret anymore. I don't want it to be a surprise.”

  I glance around the kitchen, finding several half-completed dishes. “Do you need any help?”

  “Could you chop up that basil for me? That would be wonderful. That scarf is pretty. Where did that come from?”

  “Peter,” I say.

  She slides one end through her fingers. “Matches your eyes.”

  “Yeah.” I pull the cutting board and knife closer, rolling the fragrant leaves so they make ribbons when I slice them. “Where's Dad?”

  “Off doing something secretive again,” she says, smiling and shaking her head. I can only imagine. “Aj called. She's coming up next weekend.”

  “Awesome.” I can’t wait to see more of Aj. She's my reality check in all the crazy. Somehow she and Dad have completely opposite personalities. If only they could switch. Now that would be awesome.

  “Where's Peter
?” Mom says.

  “Probably running in the woods. He really likes to run.”

  “Not flying?”

  “He would, but he doesn't like to be that far from me,” I admit as I stare at the basil. She's getting dangerously close to revealing the fact that he sleeps with me every night.

  She moves to stir something bubbling on the stove. “He can stay if he wants. I don't mind.”

  I shrug. “He's okay. I like to give him his space. He can't be with me all the time.” Oh, he most certainly could, but that would be a little excessive. Perfect, but excessive.

  “Okay then. They should be here in a half an hour,” she says, looking at the clock.

  I want to make myself scarce for that part of the day. I actually have crap tons of homework I've been neglecting as of late.

  “Do you mind if I stay in my room?” I say as I carefully slice the basil into ribbons.

  “Of course, ma fleur, do whatever you feel comfortable with.”

  I give her a hug and she kisses my forehead. I finish up the basil and toss it in with the rest of the pasta salad.

  “I've got a ton of homework to do, so I think I'm going to work on that. You sure you don't need any more help?”

  “No, I'm fine. Enjoy your homework.”

  I pretend to shoot myself in the head. “Yeah, right.”

  Peter is waiting for me, my homework already spread out and waiting for me. Aw, how sweet. It's not roses, but I'll take it.

  “You going to do it for me, too?” I say, shutting the door.

  “No, but I thought I could help you a little.”

  “I guess,” I say, moving some of the papers so I can sit.

  “How are you feeling?”

  I tip my hand from side to side. I think the shock of the night before hasn't settled over me yet. I'm sure I'll freak out about it later.

  “You should do something to take your mind off it.”

  Like make out with him? Yes, please. I lean toward him, but he leans back and holds a notebook in front of his face.

  “Haha. You're hilarious. What, am I not allowed to kiss you now?”

  “I think it is wiser to let things cool off for a little while, don't you think?”

  I think it's a terrible idea. Peter's kisses are one of the things I look forward to all day.

  “I guess,” I say, pulling back. I don't want him to know I'm upset about it. He can probably sense it anyway. Stupid mind reading. At least it's selective. I couldn't stand it if he could read my mind all the time.

  I get down to my homework as Peter reads some of my books. Somehow I got him into Jane Austen, and he is making his way through an omnibus edition of her books I found at the library, but every now and then he helps me with a problem or a passage in a book. He's the best tutor I've ever had.

  “How am I going to learn this so I can take my stupid exam?” I say as I wrestle with a geometry worksheet.

  “I have faith in you,” he says, turning a page. I wish I had so much faith in me. I have faith in him, but it isn't the same thing.

  I hear laughter from downstairs. That's encouraging. I've been eavesdropping without trying to eavesdrop. I've heard snatches of their chat and as far as I know, Mom hasn't gotten to the bad part yet. I really don't want to hear that part, but I know I probably will.

  The laughter downstairs fades naturally, and I hear my mother's voice. Oh, shit. Peter looks up from his book, knowing exactly what's going on. I want to block my ears, but I can't.

  “I have something to tell you. I'm still sick. I know I told you it was in remission, but it's not. The cancer is back and it's not getting better. I'm terminal.”

  It's awful. The silence that follows her declaration is stunning. The biggest, loudest silence that I've ever heard in my life. Almost as big as the silence when she told me.

  I hear crying, but I can't tell who it's coming from since there are five women down there and they all pretty much sound the same when they cry. Peter grips my hand tight, making the bones crunch together. I'd rather he break it than let go. With my sensitive hearing, it's like having them right beside me.

  The crying gets worse, and I can hear Mom trying to soothe them. I should be down there, but I can't make myself move. I can't walk into that tornado of grief. I've got enough as it is. A few more moments of this and it's going to tear me apart.

  “It will be over soon,” Peter says, kissing my hand. I just want him to take me away, right then and there. Fly me to somewhere else, anywhere else.

  I hear Mom walking around, and I bet she's giving out hugs and bits of advice, because that's what she does. She gives and gives and gives. The world should have more people like her, not less.

  I can't force my attention back to my homework. Peter shoves it aside and pulls me into his arms.

  “Shhh,” he says, rocking me. I don't want to cry, but it's hard not to. I don't know when I became such a crier, but I've shed more tears in the past two years of my life than in the fifteen prior. Almost sixteen. I'll be eighteen on September 2. I don't know if she'll be around for that birthday. It will be my first as an adult, and it might be the first without her, a little more than three months away.

  I hear another car in the driveway. Must be Dad. God, he has no idea what he's getting himself into. The door opens and he hesitantly asks what's going on, and Mom says in her calm voice that she told them about her diagnosis. Whatever plan he had about surprising her is squashed as he goes to hug her. She doesn't cry. She never cries in front of anyone anymore.

  “Will you take me out for a few minutes?” I ask Peter.

  “Of course.” Peter slides out of his shirt and I think for a moment about losing myself in him. In the feel of his skin under my hands, his smell and those eyes. I try to catch them, to let him pull me in, but he looks away and holds his arms out to me. I throw myself into them gratefully, and we're out the window.

  ***

  We're only out for a few minutes when I start feeling the tug of guilt. What kind of daughter am I? A terrible one, that's what.

  “Take me back,” I say, tapping Peter's shoulder. I can't be happy in my heaven when my mother is down there in hell. “I can't leave her to face this alone.”

  Peter doesn't say a word and banks left, spiraling toward the house and landing gently on the roof before popping me back through the window.

  “I will be waiting for you.”

  “I love you,” I say. Most of the time those three little words terrify me, but in this moment, I'm not afraid of them.

  “I cherish you, Ava-Claire.” Who needs love when you can have that?

  The voices are tearful as I walk down the stairs. Mom's friends all have red eyes and are clutching each other. Mae and Liz look like they're at her funeral already. Mom instantly sees me and pulls me into her arms, popping a smile on her face. Effortlessly.

  “We're going to be okay, right Ava-Claire? Everything is going to work out. Hm?”

  I nod and put my head on her shoulder. One by one her friends come to hug me: Helen, Mae, June, and Liz. Dad stands back, and I can tell he's doing whatever he can not to cry and doing a terrible job of it. One tear rolls down his face.

  The smell of their blood is flooding the room, and it's all I can do not to bite all of them. I'm a human vampire. Pretty effed up, if I say so myself.

  Somehow we all end up in one giant hug, and then someone starts laughing — I don't know who — and then we're all laughing and wiping our eyes. I hold my breath.

  “So much for the cake,” Mom says.

  “It's fine. We'll take it home,” Mae says. The rest nod and start cutting the cake in pieces, digging out our Tupperware and promising to bring the containers back.

  “I don't need them. Have them,” Mom says, her arm still around my shoulders. I want to scream that we certainly do need the Tupperware. She will need it; she isn't dead yet. I can’t, because soon she won’t, and I am not sure if I will.

  “No, no, we'll bring it back,” they all
say.

  As soon as they can, they all make their exit, giving Mom more hugs and promising to call and stop by and so on and so forth. They start talking about a movie night or shopping trip. I don't think those things are going to happen. People say things to your face, but when it comes down to it, most of them don't follow through. I hope they will. She needs them. Everyone needs friends, especially in a time like this.

  “Phew,” she says when they finally drive down the road. “That was more intense than I thought it would be. Now just wait, the phone's going to start ringing.”

  Her prophecy comes true a half hour later. Now that everyone has cell phones, Facebook and whatever else, news travels faster than fire.

  We all sort of stare at each other, and Dad goes to answer it.

  He says hello and rolls his eyes. “Yes, hi Marion. Yes, I know. Uh huh.” He mimes shooting himself in the head, and Mom and I gave him sympathetic looks. This is going to get old fast.

  Mom turns to me as Dad tries to get Marion off the phone as quickly as possible. “Well, the cat's out of the bag now. I'm going out to the garden. If he wants, put the phone off the hook.”

  With that, she's out the door, grabbing her sun hat on the way. Dad is still knee-deep in sharing sympathies with Marion, who is the secretary at the elementary school Mom worked at. I wave to Dad and go back upstairs. Hell, I need a nap.

  Peter has his arms spread out when I open the door, and I climb into them and shut my eyes. I don't care that I still have my clothes on, and it's the middle of the day and I’m too old for naps. I'll worry about everything that needs to be worried about tomorrow. I'm done for today.

  Peter

  Humans have too many emotions, I decide while Ava is sleeping. Too many complications. I had not realized how quiet the noctalis life is until I started sharing hers.

  I hesitate to leave her while she is sleeping, but I do use her phone to call Viktor. He made contact with Rasha and Kamir.

  “Will they come?”

  “It might be a few days. They are not fond of air travel, and it will take time to ready their boat.”

  Rasha's noctalis form is that of a crow. Her wings are small, but they rival mine for quickness. Kamir's form is that of jaguar. They are a matched pair in their other forms, even though she is a creature of the sky and he was a creature of the land. They never part, even though she misses the sky terribly. Or so Viktor has told me.