Nocturnal (The Noctalis Chronicles 1)

“What kind of movies do you like?”

“I have not seen many movies. Whatever you choose is fine.” I pick five boxes at random and shuffle them in my hands, fanning them out without looking at them.

“Pick one.” Without breaking eye contact, he points to a box. I turn it over, relieved.

“The Wizard of Oz it is then.” I'd been hoping he'd pick that one. I wondered if he could tell and that was why he chose it. My sources say yes.

“Are you sure I can't get you anything?” Mom's face peeks around the wall, cheery smile firmly in place. I really want some of the cake, but I don't want to eat it in front of Peter, since he can't have any.

“We're fine. Thanks.” She gives me another glare and then a wink before going back to the kitchen where the mixer sounds a little bit later. God, what have I gotten myself into?

“You are okay, aren't you? I mean, you're not starving, right?” I whisper, since eavesdropping is not beneath my mom. He'd gotten some last night, but I knew he hadn't taken as much as he could have.

“I am fine,” he says as I put the movie in. He considers before he continues, “I cannot starve. I would become weakened, and the desire to feed would get stronger until I would get it any way I could. An animal would do.”

“But since you've Claimed me, you can't do that, right?”

“Correct.” Shit. We're screwed.

I try not to think about it while we watch Dorothy sing about going over the rainbow. I've seen the movie so many times, I'm not paying much attention, but he's engrossed.

“That's my favorite part,” I say when Dorothy opens the door after the tornado and everything's in Technicolor.

“I can see why.” We lapse into silence again. Somehow having him in my house on my couch makes everything feel awkward. If we were in the cemetery, we'd have no problem. Not so much in my living room.

“I know you're supposed to love the Scarecrow, but I've always had a thing for the Tin Man.” I whisper and watch his reaction.

“Why?” He doesn't take his eyes off the screen as the Tin Man sings about his missing heart.

“I don't know. Maybe I have a thing for people who think they don't have hearts when it's really the opposite.” He opens his mouth as if he's going to say something and then doesn't. I feel dumb and wish I hadn't said it.

“Do you ever smile?”

“Does it bother you?” He still doesn't look away as Dorothy falls asleep in the field of poppies.

“It's kinda weird,” I admit.

“It is not natural for us. To smile.” I want to mention that they dyed the horses different colors using Jell-O and they kept trying to lick it off, but this doesn't feel like the right moment.

“Is that part of the humanity thing?”

“Yes. When we change, we lose all those things. Like smiling, laughing, breathing, blinking, all of it. We have to remind ourselves how to do them. If we want to blend in.”

“And you don't want to.”

“I do not need to. Most of the time.” I've never seen someone so transfixed by a movie before.

“You could make more of an effort, around me.” I didn't know it bothered me until I said it out loud.

“Would you wish me to?” Finally, he looks at me. I'm so startled I look back at the TV.

“I don't want you to do anything you don't want to.”

“If you want me to smile, it is no trouble for me to try to do so. For you.” The last part makes me grin like a moron, but I smother it as quick as I can. He still sees it, though.

“You don't have to do it right now. Just, you know, if you feel like it.”

“I will try.” His eyes go back to the screen.

“Cool.”

We aren't in Kansas anymore.

Twenty-Five

“I have something to ask you.” Dorothy's back at home, in black and white, surrounded by family. The music builds to a crescendo and it's all beautiful and happy.

“Go ahead.” I've been silent for the rest of the movie, watching him instead of the screen, even though he's so still. This uninterrupted time to look at him in daylight is a luxury. Not that I'm staring or anything.

“About you being a noctalis and all. And the Claiming.” If I can get away with both.

“You wish to tell your mother.” It's a statement, not a question.

“I don't know if I can keep it from her.” It's been less than a day, and I'm about ready to explode. I wouldn't insult her intelligence by thinking that she doesn't notice a difference.

“Will she believe you?” He still hasn't given me an indication of his views on the subject, which makes me nervous.

“I think she would.” In reality, I have no idea. There isn't a manual for this sort of thing. I open and close the DVD box. The credits on the movie roll, and he turns his head.

“Then tell her.” As simple as that?

“You're serious? Isn't there like some sort of noctalis code of silence?” I pull my knees up on the couch and prop my chin on them.

“There was, back when people believed in magic and witches and gods. Now, if you told someone you were immortal, they wouldn't believe you. If you showed them a video or a picture, they would say it was doctored. We have no reason not to tell who we wish to tell.” That makes me feel kinda special.

“I guess that makes sense. Don't you worry about the government finding out about you and using you as weapons?” Peter could be a weapon of mass destruction, no doubt about that.

“You read too many science fiction novels.”

I raise my chin. “It could happen.”

“But it would not.” He's more stubborn than I am.

“Why not?” Images of police in bullet-proof vests trying to capture Peter as a hurricane of bullets rain on him, flies through my head.

“We would not allow ourselves to be captured. One of out greatest abilities is to melt into the darkness. People also have a tendency to forget us after they have seen us. The mind rejects that which does not fit in with it's established beliefs.” He sounds like a college professor.

“That sounds like a really fancy way of saying that people don't believe in magic anymore, so they reject it even when it's right in front of their faces.”

“That is what I said.” Only fancier, with bigger words.

“Whatever. So you're really cool with me telling her?”

“Yes. Did you think I was lying?” he asks, his head to the side. I love it when he does that. Somehow it softens him, but I don't know how.