“Can I get you a glass of water?” I nod.
“And some aspirin?” I ask.
He comes back with both and I swallow two pills. I should have asked him for the nighttime ones that make me sleep, but I wasn't thinking of that.
“Are you feeling better?”
“I probably look like crap.” I wipe my hands on my face as my vanity gets the better of me.
“You look emotional.” I can't tell if that is a compliment. It kinda feels like one.
“Thanks for that. Most guys would have run the other way. Girls turn ugly when they cry.”
“I am not a guy.” His shirt is really gross from my tears. I want to offer to wash it for him.
I give him a look. “You know what I mean.”
“I know.” I sigh and flop back on my pillows. What a night.
“I am so freaking tired right now.” Tired in body and soul. I need to sleep for like a week to recover.
“Sleep. I will stay with you.”
“That might not help me sleep.”
“Then I will leave.” He gets up. I try to grab his arm but he moves too fast.
“No! That wasn't what I meant. I don't know what I mean anymore. I think I just need to stop thinking and talking.” I'm having trouble finding the words I want to say.
“Don't worry. You're safe.” He brushes back some of my hair with his finger. I feel a little bit of something from him, which reminds me that he can feel my emotions, too.
“Oh my God, did you suck in all my stupid emotions?” I sit up again.
“Yes.”
“I am so freaking sorry. You shouldn't have touched me.”
“It made me feel alive. I am not sorry to carry some of your grief for you. It is more than enough for one person.” I open my mouth to protest, but he puts his finger to my lips.
“Less talk. More sleep.” To the point. I roll my eyes and sink back down.
“Goodnight, Ava.”
“Goodnight, Peter.”
***
It overwhelmed me, this grief. It brought back the memory of my own, even though it was dulled and tarnished with time. Hers was raw and fresh. There was beauty in it, but I didn't mention that to her. As far as she was concerned, her world was ending. I would not be the one to tell her that it wasn't true. The world would still turn when she lost her mother, even if she didn't want it to. I understood that all too well.
I enjoyed holding her. Other than the dancing and flying, it was the most prolonged contact we'd had. It reminded me of the dancing, but only in intensity. I wished I could put the moment in a jar and keep it, like a winking firefly. To remind me that moments like that can exist for me. I could have some sort of existence, even if I didn't deserve it.
I couldn't leave her. Not even to go out on the roof. I needed to be in the same room with her; surrounded by her air and her heartbeat. I hoped it didn't bother her. I tried to stay quiet. To not infringe. I had not bathed in some time and wondered if I should use her shower. It was also strange for me not to hunger. I did not take much of her blood, but what I did take sustained me. It might have been one of the side effects of the Claiming. I needed someone to speak to about it. Normally, I prided myself on my own resourcefulness, but I didn't want to take chances where she was concerned.
Her eyes fluttered as she tried to keep them open. So stubborn. I told her she was reckless, but she was just as stubborn. It made me want to smile, but my face still didn't know how. She said she would teach me. Maybe tomorrow.
After she went to sleep, I used her computer to send Viktor an e-mail about everything, asking for advice. He'd showed me how several years ago, and I'd seen Ava do it enough times to figure out how to log into her email program. I hadn't had contact with my kind in years, but I knew he checked his messages regularly. He would like her, I was sure of it.
***
“What are you doing?” I say, rolling over on my side. He's sitting on my floor, legs crossed, shirt off, wings out, reading. My night vision isn't good enough to see the title, but I recognize the cover. “Harry Potter? For real?”
“I was curious.” He doesn't look up from the book. I notice he's reading the second in the series.
“I have the first one on the shelf.” I run my hand through my hair and get it caught.
“I read it.”
“You read it? What time is it?” I lean over and look at the clock. It's only 11:50. “You read an entire Harry Potter book in less than an hour?”
“I'm a fast reader.” I watch as he turns a page. I squint at him in the dark. He turns another page. Huh. I guess he is a fast reader. That's pretty cool.
“You should go back to sleep.” He turns another page. I want to ask him how he liked the first book, but I feel like kind of a dork. I have no idea why he picked that, of all books, to read.
“Do you like it?” What the hell? I'm giving him my blood. I shouldn't be embarrassed about something like this.
“Yes.” Another page.
“I remember when they first got big. I made my mother take me to a midnight release party to get the newest book. I can't believe she took me, but she did. We drank tons of soda to stay up and in the morning she made me pancakes. Even though I had to go to school and she had to go to work, it was totally worth it.”
“You are lucky to have a mother like that.”
“I am.” I won't be having her for much longer. That takes me back to my crying episode. My head still hurts and my throat is parched. I get my feet under me and fetch another glass of water. He's still in the same position when I get back.
“What's with the wings?”
“I flew for a while when you were sleeping.”
“Was it nice?”
“Yes.” He turns another page. His presence is so calming, and the sound of pages turning is like a lullaby. A weird one, but still. I crawl back under the covers and try to go back to sleep. The last thing I remember is the sound of the pages turning.
He's gone when I wake up in the morning. My Harry Potter books are stacked up on the floor. All seven of them. There's no way he read them all. I shake my head as I drag myself out of bed.
I've got about a million texts I missed from Tex. Seems like we've made up now she's in on Thing Two and Thing-Two-and-a-half. About a third of them are questions about Peter's brother. Maybe I shouldn't have told her, or I should have killed her shortly after or had Peter do his scary-noctalis-thing and freaked her into silence. Too late now.
Twenty-Seven
“So he's like, old enough to be your great-grandfather. I should start calling you jailbait.” Tex has definitely come around to the whole Peter thing, except for the age difference. She's totally cool with the blood drinking, but not the fact that he could have grown up with my great-grandfather. I really don't like thinking about that.