by Carol Robi
I don’t know how long we’ve been at it, probably for hours, but if it wasn’t for my mother’s voice calling out in the distance, we’d never have stopped.
Gauthier hears it too, confirming that it’s not a figment of my imagination. My breath catches in my throat when without warning he leaps out of the water, his hands still wrapped around my waist, sailing in the air with me at his jump. When next we land, it is on the shore, cold sand pressing against my toes.
Mom’s voice sounds even closer, so I rush to put on my clothes, glad for the fog concealing us. By the time I see her face, I am tying the sash around my coat, and Gauthier is dutifully standing beside me. She is none the wiser.
“Mrs. Torres,” he says, bowing his head slightly, and she smiles at him, knowing better than to stretch out her hands towards him. She’s met him a couple of times already, and understands he’d rather not be touched.
“Hello, Gauthier,” she says. “Are you kids crazy! It’s freezing out here. You just might end up lying on the couch like Tony,” she scolds. “Come on, let’s get back inside.”
“Okay mom,” I dutifully say, though I send a cheeky smile Gauthier’s way, which he promptly returns, his fingers weaving into mine, and we walk on hand in hand.
“I hope you are up for chicken soup,” mom says. “For Tony’s sake, as he cannot eat anything solid at the moment.” I cannot help but giggle.
“Tony is such a baby when he’s sick,” I say laughing. Mom joins in too surprisingly. I’d expected her to tell me off.
“Don’t tell him, but he is much better than the baby your father had been when sick.”
“Really?” I ask laughing. “I don’t remember that,” I tell her.
“I do,” she says smiling as we burst in through the kitchen doors.”
“What are you guys laughing about?” Tony asks when he sees us. He is now seated by the kitchen table.
“Why you dummy,” I tell him, right before I place a rushed kiss on his forehead, stopping his mock grimace.
I then rush off upstairs needing to dry my hair before mom notices the wet trails drooping down my coat. Unlike Gauthier, I cannot raise my body temperature so hot that I instantly evaporate the water droplets clinging to me.
I luckily convince mom to let me make the soup, as hers are utterly unpalatable, judging from past experiences. Gauthier is of course pressured to joins us for dinner, which he is only too happy to accept, after first disappearing to his car to get another pair of leather gloves, now that his other pair is floating back at the lake. We have us a lovely dinner of garlic bread and chicken soup that night.
“There is something I’ve been wondering,” I ask Gauthier quietly as I rinse off the bowls and set them in the dishwasher. He is busy scrubbing the pots and pans. I can hear mom and Tony having a heated argument over the game going on on TV.
“You can ask me anything,” Gauthier says, equally as quiet.
“Am I going to have to die?”
“Everyone dies, Sophia,” is his answer.
“I know,” I tell him. “But when exactly?”
“I hope for you to have a long fulfilling life,” he tells me. “I am in no particular hurry to make you undead. We can grow old together like Hilda and Peter are doing. And when it’s time for you to die naturally, you die,” he says shrugging. “Would you like that?”
I nod in answer.
“I don’t want to leave mom and Tony,” I explain.
“You never have to until it is time,” he tells me. “We can live an ordinary human life until then.”
“Will they die first?” I ask.
“Most probably,” he tells me quietly, my elbow tingling where he strokes me. “If you die a natural death of old age, they will die first. Because my essence, which you are getting very good at inhaling, if this afternoon is anything to go by, will keep you much healthier than average humans your age.”
He is now so close to me that if I lean back just an inch more, I know my body will be flush to his. He chooses to bury his face into my still slightly damp tightly entangled hair, taking in a deep inhale that causes me to considerably weaken. I reciprocate by inhaling his proximity, taking as much of him as I can that I feel myself swaying from the intoxication.
“I’ll never get tired of doing this,” I whisper raggedly.
“Neither will I,” Gauthier admits with a laboured breath. “Neither will I, leman.”
Chapter 21
“Gauthier? Is he French?”
“No grandma. He’s.. His family is from all over, but he grew up in Southampton, England,” I choose to say. It is the cover story Gauthier had told me to say. The story he tells everyone else.
“But his father owns a restaurant here.”
“Yes. Their family moved here and opened a nightclub and a restaurant.”
“Gauthier Cynebald, eeh? ‘Em very old names,” Grandpa says as he places the plates on the table with me.
“I guess,” I say.
“His family must be English and French. Cynebald is an old English name,” Grandma says.
“I guess,” I say again. Luckily, the door bell rings then. “There he is,” I say, starting to go to the door.
“Hi,” I call, reaching my hands to his, holding his, and he pulls me into a full embrace, sinking his face in my hair.
“You get more beautiful everyday.” I giggle trying to hide the tightening in my stomach at having him so close to me.
“You’re lying..”
“Never!” He says fervently. Now my face is burning.
“Be warned, my grandparents are a lot more inquisitive than my mom. They never agreed to the whole no pushing agreement mom and I made after dad’s death.”
“So all those questions your mom has been asking me..”
“She’s being holding back.”
“Uh-oh!” He says, stepping into the house.
“Now there he is!” Grandma says, rushing over and making to embrace him.
“No!” We both scream, Gauthier jumping back, his face alarmed. Grandma looks at us confused.
“He doesn’t like to be touched grandma. I told you,” I remind her.
“I thought.. even a hug?” She asks, looking at us confused.
“Wha’s goin’ on ‘ere nah?” Grandpa asks, walking into the room, reaching his hand out. “Gi’ mi a strong ‘andshake, sonnie eeh?”
Grandpa looks confused, pulling his hand away when Gauthier doesn’t shake it.
“He can’t grandpa,” I say. “I told you already. He doesn’t like being touched.”
“Silly nonsense, eih? He got dem workin’ hands, eeh? He’s holdin’ dem flowers, so I know dey move..”
“Grandpa please don’t make him do it..”
“I never..”
“Dad!” Mom calls, untying her apron as she walks over, placing her hand on her father’s chest. “I know it’s odd. I’ve never met anyone like him either, but Gauthier doesn’t like to be touched. In fact, he can’t stand it. We told you already, and you said you would respect it.”
“No ‘andshake, ein natural!”
“Grandpa!” I plead, and this seems to soften him, as grandpa does have a soft spot for us. Mom is their only child, and Tony and I are their only grandchildren.
“Okay, Fine! But how’d you two eh..?” Grandpa insinuates, looking between Gauthier and I. I’d be quite embarrassed right now, if it wasn’t laughable how lost Gauthier looks. He’s having a hard time understanding grandpa’s slight Jamaican patwa, which the old man has refused to let go of even after living for almost a half a century in Canada. I move closer to my boyfriend and hold his free hand in mine.
“He can only touch me,” I tell my grandparents confidently.
Grandma looks shocked beyond words, unsure of what to say next, while grandpa just looks on bemused. A pin drop silence settles over us, as we all wait to see how grandpa will react. Tony leans back against the wall, watching the show from a distance with open amusement. Grandpa is the loose c
anon here. His reaction is the most unpredictable. He finally scratches his head.
“At least you’n’t worry ‘bout im n ‘nother gal, eeh?” He says, and we all laugh. “Ca’ me Jackson, sonnie,” Grandpa tells him when we quieten down.
“Pleased to meet you, Jackson,” Gauthier says.
“And I am Natalie,” grandmother rushes to say, her hands fidgeting before her unsure of what to do.
“Lovely to meet you too, Natalie. Sophia has talked my ears off about her grandparents, and I’m just glad to finally meet you.”
“We don’t come too often up here,” grandmother says, turning away to lead us to the dinner table as Gauthier hands my mother the bouquet of flowers in his hands. Mom makes sure to keep her fingers as far away from Gauthier’s as she receives them as possible.
“Too cold for we islanders up ‘ere,” grandpa says, motioning Tony to sit beside him, and me on his other side. Gauthier finds himself between grandma and mom. He looks so out of place it’s hilarious. I send him as sympathetic a look as I can manage.
“Dad you’ve been living here for almost half a century, and you’re still complaining and talking about dear old Jamaica and how cold it is here,” mom says laughing.
“He just romanticizes it, but we both know he’ll never go back,” grandma says. “He loves the cold just as much as he pretends to hate it.”
“Hamilton’s warmer, eeh?” Grandpa says.
“My husband died in Hamilton and my children and I were depressed!” Mom says this, and it chills me just to hear her state it plainly like that.
“He knows, Carla. He knows,” grandma says, reaching out to touch mom’s hand. I do not miss to see the weird look grandma gives Gauthier when he jumps back, taking his hand with him from the table so that grandma doesn’t accidentally touch him.
Grandpa laughs heartily. “I love him bwoy!” He says, pointing at Gauthier. “Wha’d’u think, my Tony?”
“He’s a good friend of mine,” Tony says.
“He recoil from you’ touch too, eeh? Dresses up in ‘em all clothes, covered up in ‘ere indoors wit’em gloves on, eih man?”
“Yeah, he does,” Tony says shrugging. “But he’s cool. And a great shot too.”
“You play basketball, sonnie? How’s’t possible wit’ no contact?” Gauthier has to wait for mom to translate the question before he answers.
“I just shoot hoops with my friends, sir,” Gauthier tells him.
“Don’t call me sir, sonnie. I’m jus’ plain ‘ol Jackson t’u, eeh?”
“Yes, Jackson.”
“You’s any a good shot?”
“Yes, Jackson.”
“We fin’ out after dinner, eeh?” He says chuckling.
“Uh-oh!” I say laughing, Gauthier squirming slightly in his seat. Who’d have thought the great bad undead could be brought down squirming by just spending dinner with my family?
I shoot hoops with mom and the guys after dinner, while grandmother relaxes in a camping chair and watches us. The half court we built on our second weekend here still holds strong. Ever since then, we’ve had it painted and have replaced the concrete tiles flooring to allow for more even dribbling.
Normally we’d play three on three, as we did back in our Hamilton house when dad was alive. Today though, grandpa is cool with shooting from outside D- Game 21. He can constantly be heard calling out, Watch’a! Don’t hi’ im, dat one! whenever anyone would get too close to Gauthier.
We find it hilarious, but at least it shows that he is choosing to accept him even though he’s not perfect.
Later in the evening, while we are all sitting at the verandah, I help grandma bring out some cocoa and the cookies we baked earlier today.
“Tell me, sonnie,” grandpa starts, referring to Gauthier. “Is hand holdin’ all y’do? All dis time I ein see you peck me granddaughter one, eeh? Go on now- gi’ her some lovin’ eeh..”
“Jackson!” Grandma exclaims, undoubtedly embarrassed for grandpa’s sake.
“No don’ go a-Jacksonin’ me, Natalie luv. Ein no trouble wit’ his gloves ‘n no touchin’ ‘n all. But de no kissin’ I’m not okay wit’, hehe!” Grandpa finishes off by laughing.
“We kiss grandpa,” I say panicked.
“If dat were true u’d no trouble lookin’ me straight in me eye, eh? Now go’on, bwoy. Kiss ya ‘ooman now!”
My heart is thumping in my chest as I look up at Gauthier, searching his eyes. However it isn’t fear or apprehension looking back at me. He’s smiling. I look at him puzzled, cocking my head to my side to study him better.
“I wanted to tell you,” he whispers to me, lowering his head into my hair again, causing my toes to curl as his warm breath fans my ears. “You’ve been ready for a while.”
“I have?” I ask in a whisper of my own, electric charges coursing through my body, tying up my stomach in endless knots, dizzying me, causing me to sway on my feet, which he stops by placing one hand around my waist to hold me close in place and stable, and the other sinks into my hair.
“Uh-oh! ‘Ere it comes, eeh!” Grandpa says clapping his hands behind me. But his voice sounds so distant, for all I see, feel, hear, notice- is Gauthier.
“Yes,” is the single word he says against my lips, right before he presses his warm firm lips to my trembling ones.
~The End of Book 1~
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
First edition: August 2014
Copyright © 2014 by Carol Robi
Nuit Noire: a novel/ by Carol Robi/ 1st edition
Summary
She dreads the nights, for she dreads the dreadful dreams that come with it- nightmares that began with the devastating loss of her father.
But now she realises something worse, that her dreams are not just dreams, and that there’s something darker out there, and it’s determined to claim her.
It’s upon one such dark night that they finally meet.
Everything she thought she knew is now toppled over as she learns of a world she never knew existed before, of a race she's never heard of, and of a boy whose touch could kill her.
Others by Carol Robi
● Found (available for free at www.carolrobi.us)
● Nuit Noire
● Run! Love.
● Shadowman
● Strange Bedfellows
● Akira Nakahara & I
● Re-United Again
● Emma
● Drachenburg School for the Supernaturals Series
○ Drachenburg School for the Supernaturals: All’s Well..!
○ Drachenburg School for the Supernaturals: Book 2
○ Drachenburg School for the Supernaturals: Book 3
○ Drachenburg School for the Supernaturals: Book 4
● The Divine Brotherhood Series
○ The Descent (Book 1) (available for free at www.carolrobi.us)
○ The Army Divine (Book 2)
○ The Fallen (Book 3)
○ Deity (Book 4) (T.B.A.)
● A Story Untold Series
○ A Love Story Untold (Book 0.5)
○ Dawn of War (Book 1)
○ Seasons of Change (Book 2)
○ A War Unquenched (Book 3) (T.B.A.)
● Dawn of the Damned
○ Redemption (Book 1)
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○ Falcon Crest (Book 2) (T.B.A.)
○ Rouge (Book 3) (T.B.A.)