Nocturnal (The Noctalis Chronicles 1)
Page 30“You're going to have to talk to Jamie.” I've told her a hundred times. I can't do this right now. Not with everything else.
“I know. I just wish you'd tell me. That both of you would.” She chucks the rest of her trash away, missing the can, not bothering to go retrieve it.
“I promised.” I absolutely cannot look at her. It hurts too much.
“I know you did. That's what makes this suck so much. I just can't believe that there would be something he wouldn't trust me with.” Stab me in the heart, Tex.
If she's this upset about Jamie, God knows how ballistic she's going to be when she finds out about Thing One and Thing Two. Pandora's Box can only stay shut for so long, and Thing Two has sort of morphed into Thing Two-and-a-half, if you count the angel-vampire thing. Get back into the conversation, Ava.
“I don't get it either, but you should talk to him. Not yelling, talking.”
“I'm not a yeller!” she yells, throwing up her hands.
“Yeah, okay, you're not a yeller.” Jesus, calm down.
“Shut up.” She's got those little wrinkles between her eyebrows that tell me she's more upset than she's letting on. I reach out and give her a hug. She doesn't pull away.
“What was that for?”
“Just 'cause.” I blush, embarrassed at my display. Hugging doesn't come natural to me. Kind of like making toast or doing geometry.
“Well, thanks.” She looks at me for a second. “I wish you'd tell me what's up with you.”
“I know.” My lies are thick and deep, like quicksand. I've seen the real stuff. It's pretty liquid, not like that gloppy, thick stuff you see in the movies. My secrets are like the movie stuff. Heavy and impossible to wade through. Taking me down without a sound.
The second I walk in the house that afternoon, I know something is wrong. Dad meets me at the door as I'm putting my bag down. The house is too quiet, and he's supposed to be at work. He puts his finger to his lips and whispers, “your mother isn't feeling well.”
“Is she okay? Why didn't you call me?” I immediately go into panic mode. I start to walk toward her bedroom, but he moves to block me.
“We took her in to the emergency room, but she's fine. She's resting, so I don't want you to disturb her. If you could go and stay in your room, that would be good.” It's like he slapped me in the face. I try again to step around him. What is he doing?
“I just want to say hi,” I say warily.
“She's sleeping.” What's he going to do? Physically stop me? Neither of my parents have ever physically touched me in a negative way. Not even a spank when I was little. They don't believe in that kind of parenting.
“I want to go in and see her.”
“And I'm saying no. Not right now.” He crosses his arms, and I stare up at him, shocked. Who is he? My loan officer father must have traded personalities with a prison guard.
“You can't stop me.” I bump against him as I try to go by. He holds me by both arms.
“Ava, no.” I try to get free, to get past him, but he's too strong. Finally, I use my lack of height to my advantage and get free, knocking over a vase. It shatters, but neither of us move to clean it up.
“Fine. I'm going out. I'll be back later,” I say, my words drenched in tears while I try to find my keys. His facade finally cracks.
“Ava, don't leave.” I turn around and shut the door in his face.
I have nowhere to go but the cemetery, and of course he's there. He sits down beside me without any further ado as I try to wipe my tears away. I'd cried all the way over.
“I did.” His clothes don't have holes in them and look relatively new. I finally look up at his face and gasp. His hair's out of his face for the first time. Somehow he's pushed it back from his forehead so it falls on either side of his temples. Dear sweet Jesus.
“You look, um, nice.” Oh, what an understatement. He looks like he was peeled from the pages a magazine that only photographs beautiful people.
“Thank you.” Of course, I'm exponentially more awkward giving the compliment than he is receiving it. I sniff again, wishing for a tissue. I'm left with my sleeve as my only option.
“You are crying,” he says as I stealthily try to wipe my nose.
“Yeah, I know, thanks for pointing that out.” I'm not feeling very nice tonight.
“Why?” He's looking at me with that cool detachment, but I'm getting better at reading him now. I can finally hear the question in his voice. It's hard to hear, like a musical note at the end of a song, but I'm finally starting to pick up on it.
I sigh before I answer. It comes out funny, with the mucus in my nose.
“A lot of things,” I say, rubbing my sleeve on the moist grass to clean my snot off it. He's silent, so I look up at him. He's looking at me. Unblinking. It's hard to believe he's real. Granted, he doesn't breathe, but still.
“Can we talk about something else?” I look away. I don't know if I want to be caught in his eyes, even though they would give me an escape. That's what I came for.
“Yes.” Once more, I wipe my face and bring out the list I've been carrying with me and adding to all day.
“I've got a ton of questions for you.” I don't want to talk about my mother. I don't want to talk about Tex or Jamie. I don't want to talk to anything that feels real.
“I will try to answer them.”
“In fact, I need the sun to function. I will show you sometime. I cannot digest blood on its own. I need the sunlight to start a chemical reaction to turn it into food.”
“So you're like a plant.” I remember enough about photosynthesis to know it's pretty much the same thing. He sure as hell doesn't look like any plant I've ever seen. Women all over the world would be growing him if that were true.
“More or less.”
“That's freaky,” I say before moving on to the others. He shoots down the garlic and crosses and coffins. I cross them off my list.
“Stories. Elaborations on fact.”
“Where did you come from?”
He doesn't answer.
“Oh come on. You can't tell me anything?”
“Where did the first human come from?” Wait, I thought I was the one asking questions.
I shrug. “Depends on who you ask. Some people would say God or Allah or the Great Spirit. Some would say we evolved from a puddle of goo.”