“I have a job working in my mother's office. Photocopying and that sort of thing.” Wait, what? First I've heard of it. I smooth my face and pretend that I totally knew. He needs to share these things with me ahead of time.

“You're lucky to have a job already in place. I bet she's pushing you into a career in law,” Mom says, giving him a little wink Dad doesn't see.

“She does push me, but I have decided that I have to make my own path.”

“Well, that's very admirable, Peter,” Dad says. I seriously want to ask who he is and what he did with my dad, but I can't get the words out.

“We were going to watch a movie. Would you like to join us? I know you said you had to get home for dinner, but I can talk to your mother if you'd like.”

“That is unnecessary. I will send her a text message,” Peter says, smiling. Perfect. He even remembers to blink and everything. What a good pretend human.

“Your mother won't mind?” Dad says.

“I'm sure she won't.”

We settle in to watch the newest sequel of a spy movie that Dad picked out. It isn't my cup of tea, nor my mother's, but it's gripping. Peter and I are allowed to share the recliner, and I even get to sit in his lap. I tip my head back and get crazy comfortable. Peter twists and untwists our fingers with one hand, and dances his fingers up my arm with the other. I've never been so comfortable in my life.

I glance over and see Mom and Dad in almost the same position, her head on his chest and his hand rubbing her back.

Helena is right. It is all about love.

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Thirteen

Peter

I call Viktor again that night to discuss the latest developments. Ava is tired after the long day, and her head is full of so many things, it is impossible for me to be able to follow their twisting paths. Every time I think I know her completely, I am proved wrong. I like that.

“Did you see that coming?” I say.

“No, I did not. Tex's shock was overwhelming. Her mind is a very loud place.” I could only imagine.

“How are you coping with her emotions?”

“It is... stressful. Sometimes I wish I could go back to Russia.”

“Do you regret it?”

“No. I often wonder if it would have been like this with Adele. If her mind was such a chaotic place. I imagine it was. I wish I could have shared it with her.”

“It is a lot to get used to. Do you crave her blood?”

“Yes. It is constant. I do not know how you can feed from Ava so infrequently.”

“I have little need of it. What little she gives me is satisfying. I hope it will be that way for you.”

We have nothing to go on. I wish there was some sort of book for this, like the humans have their holy books. It appears that no noctalis ever found the need to write anything down. Most of the stories of us are passed orally, from what Viktor tells me from what he learned from other noctali. I felt the urge to write something down. To see it in print; to make it real.

“I will see you tomorrow,” I say.

“Goodnight.”

Viktor hangs up and I grab the notebook Ava keeps beside her bed, along with a pen. I turn past several lists she has made, including one with questions about being a noctalis. It makes me smile. I wish I had a mirror so I could judge if it looks right.

I find a blank sheet and tear it out, hoping she won't notice. I turn the pen in my hand, thinking of what to say. I know what I want to say, but I can't. It will end me. I can't even think about it. I switch my thoughts to something else. I write her name. Ava-Claire Sullivan. I write my name next to it, Peter Henry Mackintire.

Even slower than a human, I trace a heart around our names. Just a simple heart. Two rounded bumps and one end that is sharp like an arrow. Smooth and hard. Rough and soft. Death and life. Me and her. I wait for a second.

Ava mumbles in her sleep. I hope she is not having a nightmare. She turns on her back and her shirt rides up, exposing some skin at the base of her spine. I press the pen to her skin, making another heart, and then another. She stirs a little and I stop. She won't know they are there unless she somehow sees her back. I make dozens of them, some small, some larger. I am shocked she doesn't wake up. My hand smears some of the ink, and the hearts blend together. I stop and sit back, staring at the black ink on her pale skin. I kiss one of the hearts, tasting the pen and her skin.

I brush my thumb across the hearts. My Ava-Claire. Covered in hearts.

Ava

“You're watching me,” I say the next morning when I wake up. I had some really weird dreams, but I don't really remember them. At least I didn't have the burning one again.

“You are beautiful,” he says, as if he's commenting that it's Tuesday. I don't exactly feel beautiful first thing in the morning. I pull myself toward the bathroom, knocking into several pieces of furniture on my way.

First thing, I check my neck. It just looks like I've got a little red mark, like I bumped against something. Phew. I get in the shower and try to wake up. Peter stands at the door, which should be completely creepy, but it isn't. The door stays closed. It's also a relief to know that if I should slip and fall or have a seizure, or whatever, that he's right there to catch me. He's always there to catch me.

After my shower, he watches me walk around my room as if he only has eyes for me. It's so freaking sexy, I can't even look at him or else I'll think about jumping on him and tearing his shirt off. Too late.

“Ava,” he says as a warning.

“Sorry. I can't help it.”

“Try. Please.” Easier said than done.

We meet Helena, Tex and Viktor at the cemetery. I mention something to Mom about a shopping trip with Tex. It sounds legit.

“Hey!” Helena says, as if she's already had four cups of coffee. Except she hasn't, because she can't. So she just must be like that. All the time.

“Mmm,” Tex says, her eyes half-closed and her head on Viktor's arm. She can't really reach his shoulder. He looks down at her and moves his arm so it's around her, letting her head fall into his side. He looks a little shocked, but I see a little smile pass over his face like a cloud. He sees me and winks. I make the 'I'm watching you' motion with my fingers.

“Soooo, about yesterday. I'm really sorry I dumped all that heavy stuff on you,” Helena says.

“It's okay.” I still really haven't processed. It's like my brain is stuck or on strike or something. “We can talk about something else.”

“Unicorn,” Tex says sleepily. Viktor is now supporting most of her weight.

“Unicorns are so last year. It's all about the zombies,” Helena says.




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