by Kelley York
Not what he was referring to, I know, but after all the lies I've been told, I can't stomach keeping something from him anymore.
Oliver takes a deep breath. "I know."
I blink. "What?"
"I already know. When you got home that night, you smelled like human blood." He shrugs. "And you were acting weird. I sort of pieced it together."
"You could have said something."
"Why? You obviously didn't want me to know." He looks down at his hands in his lap. "I figured you would tell me eventually. And I hope you aren't beating yourself up over it."
"Still feeling guilty. Don't think I'm quite at the forgiving myself stage yet."
He nods slowly, eyes rolling up to watch me. "So...what about everything else? That can't be the only thing on your mind."
What is there to talk about? In this case, talking isn't going to change a thing beyond making me feel worse. Making me reflect more. My eyes fall shut. "I'm comfortably numb right now. Want to hold onto that for a little longer."
Oliver shifts, taking a deep breath. "Look, Briar... Daniel and Cole are better at this whole talking and comforting thing. But I'm here if you...need something. Or whatever."
I open my eyes to watch him and, yeah, he looks as uncomfortable as he sounds. When he catches my gaze, he turns away.
"And since you still have a lot to learn about what you are now, you might as well come with us when we leave. Our house is big enough."
A new home? Guess I do need one of those. This isn't the first time I've thought about what to do now that my whole life has changed. Though it doesn't feel like it right now, I know being with Oliver, Daniel, and Cole is what is best for me. These boys who took me in and protected me, taught me, cared for me. Even when I'm not sure I deserved it.
I nudge his leg with my foot. "Well...I hope you know you can't take that back later."
Oliver smiles. He has a nice smile; he should do it more often. Before I can tell him as much, the bedroom door flies open and in rushes Daniel, with Cole on his heels.
"Mes chéris. J'avais si peur!"" he gasps, and we both stand while he puts his arms around us, touches our faces and smothers us in kisses. Making me grin and laugh while Oliver blanches and tries to pull away.
"He was worried," Cole clarifies.
Oliver leans his head back, gaze fixed patiently to the ceiling. "Clearly."
Only when Daniel is done fussing over us does Cole bother to speak. He looks just as relieved to see us in one piece as we are to see him and Daniel. "You're both unhurt?"
I can't help but wind my arms around Daniel's skinny waist, soaking up the feel of affection, of his fingers stroking my hair. "We're all right," I confirm. "Freddy's passed out in my room. What happened?"
Cole takes a seat on the bed. "Maverick is dead." He says this so quietly and sadly that my heart aches for him. And for Fred, too. He already knows, but having it confirmed...I know it's going to be hard on him. I wonder if he'll come with us now that he has no one left.
"There were many vampires waiting for us, too," Daniel says, more solemn than I'm used to him sounding. "They could not be saved. Aujourd'hui est un jour triste."
Oliver sighs. "Joel was a busy guy."
Cole's attention zeroes in on Oliver, waiting for the report of our night.
Really, I don't want to hear it. There's nothing Oliver can't tell him and no one protests when I slip into the hall. Since Fred's in my room, I retreat to Oliver's instead. Daniel joins me, keeping on my heels like a lost puppy.
I find solace out on the balcony, squinting against the morning sun and soaking up the fresh air. Daniel slips up behind me and his arms wind around my shoulders.
"Your Noah. He is gone?"
"Yeah. He strolled off into the sunset, like any good cowboy would do." I lean back into Daniel, close my eyes, and try to let tonight wash away. Trying to remember that I'm not as alone as I feel.
37. Tuesday – 11:45pm
I spend the next twenty-four hours alternating between sleeping and talking to Daniel. Or rather, listening to Daniel talk to me. About everything from his life in Paris prior to meeting Oliver, to his and Cole's great adventure finding Maverick's body and the vampires waiting for them.
Cole told him the vampires were turned, locked up and starved, up until Joel had Ruby in custody. Her blood was the only blood they were allowed before he set them loose on us. No wonder they were ravenous.
Eventually, as I lay in the dark and listen, Daniel goes still and silent and touches my hair with a sigh.
"My darling... You have lost much in these last few weeks. I wish you would say something."
That's all it takes for me to start crying and not be able to stop.
Sherry. My friends, job, sister, home, boyfriend. Everything I've ever known is gone and I feel the entire foundation of everything I am has been yanked out from under me. I'm left falling, with no clue of where I'll land and what kind of state I'll be in when I do.
But we're leaving town soon. And when the tears stop, Daniel helps me realize I have three things I want to do before I go.
One:
After hours at Howell's Family Bar, I know Paul will be the only person there. He's bent over paperwork and hardly hears me when I come in and stand in the door to his office, waiting. When he notices, he bolts right out of his chair like he's just seen a ghost.
"Briar—"
"Don't talk. And please, please, for the love of God, don't scream."
Paul swallows thickly and slowly falls back into his chair.
"I just wanted to tell you that it wasn't me. I didn't kill Sherry." I pause, waiting for the look of pain on his face to pass. It doesn't. "But the guys responsible for it are dead. I don't know if that gives you some kind of closure on things, but I just thought..." I shrug, looking down. "I thought it might be something."
Paul opens his mouth, closes it. "What happened to you, Briar?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"Try me."
"A vampire."
Oddly enough, his expression doesn’t change. He looks at his hands. "I don't know what to say."
"Say you won't tell anyone you saw me. It's better if I disappear."
That's all I came to tell him. Paul nods, and I leave.
Two:
John's apartment is the part of my to-do list I debate all the way up until I'm actually standing at his door. Daniel agreed with me when I said I wasn't going to knock. I don't even know if his girlfriend is home, but I don't want her to see me. I don't want her to attribute my face to her boyfriend's death. Don't want it to haunt her for the rest of her life.
Instead I slip a note beneath her door. The thirtieth note I wrote when the first twenty-nine weren't good enough. Because what can I say that is good enough? What apology would do for taking away someone she loved?
It was an accident.
I'm sorrier than you can ever, ever know.
I acknowledge this is more for me because it isn't going to make her feel any better. But it's something. And it's all I can do.
Three:
A cab is waiting to take us to the airport. Despite Cole offering to let him come with us, Fred said he wanted to go off on his own for awhile and try to sort his head out after all this. How he must be feeling, venturing off alone, I have no idea. Maybe he's stronger than I am. Still, he did promise to come visit in a few months.
Daniel and I sneak away while Oliver and Cole are finishing the packing, and I dial out on the payphone outside the liquor store. Keeping hold of Daniel's hand with my free one, because his courage is the only thing that's gotten me this far. He's been doing a lot of hand-holding for me, the way Sherry would have if she were here.
After three rings: "Hello?"
The voice thrums through me, warming me to my core and I want to smile and laugh and cry all at the same time. But I don't say anything. All I wanted was to hear Dad's voice, to know for sure he and Mom were okay and that Ruby told the truth a
bout one thing. And as much as I want to talk to them and tell them everything that's happened, I know I can't. Not yet. Maybe one day, I'll be able to, but today is not that day.
I called to find out they were okay. But I also know I'll never let go if I don't say something.
"Hi, Daddy," I say, and his breath catches on the other end. "I just wanted to tell you goodbye."
Enjoy a preview of
SHADOW VOICES
01. Noël
There should be a law against airplanes. At the very least, there should be a law about putting a girl on an airplane with her dead dad in the cargo hold beneath her feet.
Having him there isn't what bothers me, exactly. Though every time we hit turbulence, I squeeze my eyes shut and wonder if he's sliding around down there as the plane rocks.
No. What really bothers me are the looks. From the girl at the counter back in Florida who gave me my boarding pass, to the attendants on the plane... The people who were informed, That's her. She's the girl whose father we're shipping to Montana, so be nice. During my flight I've gotten three sodas, extra peanuts, and way too many pitying looks to count. I didn't ask for any of them.
I've never been so happy to get away from anything as I am to get off that plane.
At least in the airport, through the hustle and bustle of the lobby, I blend in. I am no one. I am anonymous. Here, nobody knows, and they're likely too wrapped up in their own lives to care even if they did. Except for Uncle Walter, who's waiting for me near the baggage claim, but he doesn't count seeing as he lost someone important to him, too.
Lost a brother, gained a niece, I guess.
It's been several years since I saw Uncle Walter last. Despite being three years older than Dad, they look (looked?) so much alike. Uncle Walter is thinner, his hair is graying where Dad's was still as brown as mine when I don't have it dyed, and his face is darker and has more lines from being out in the sun. But when he spots me through the crowd and grins, my heart crumbles into a thousand tiny pieces.
"There's my girl," he says, and gathers me up into his arms. He smells like hay and animals. The way a farm smells, I think, not that I would know from experience. It's strange. The last person to hug me was my dad. I got the feeling the lady from the police who handled me between the night Dad died and now wanted to hug me, but never knew how I would respond. So she didn't.
"Sorry I'm late," I mumble, hugging him back tight. I'm sad when he finally lets me go. "The weather in Florida was miserable."
"I imagine." His big, calloused hands brush my hair back. "Look at you. Gotten so big since I saw you last. You must be exhausted."
"A little." A lot. I didn't sleep on the plane. Actually, I haven't slept at all in two days.
"Let's fetch your things and get outta here, then, hm?"
I have only two pieces of luggage that we retrieve from the baggage claim. Uncle Walter frowns and asks, "Is that it?" but doesn't question me when I say, "That's all of it." It's not like I had much. I brought a few things of Dad's—pictures, mostly—but when CPS told me to go through the apartment and take anything I wanted, I got overwhelmed and only took the things I couldn't live without.
This is my life: two suitcases and a piece of carry-on.
Uncle Walter acts as a barrier between me and the rest of the airport crowd. No more am I getting lost in the shuffle. He's bigger and people move to get out of his way. Outside, the dark morning is blistering cold. My shoes really aren't made for snow and ice. Neither is my coat, for that matter.
"Ridley's got the truck parked right over there." Uncle Walter nods down the loading zone a ways.
My steps hitch.
Ridley. Ridley's with him?
If I haven't seen Uncle Walter in a long time, then it's been forever since I saw my step-cousin last. Ten years, to be exact, at Uncle Walter and Aunt Mary's wedding.
I don't have to ask which truck is theirs, because Ridley is standing outside of it, slouched against the passenger's side door. Ten years, but I still recognize him and that mop of dark hair and the hunch of his shoulders. It's wet and freezing all around us, but my throat has become a desert.
Uncle Walter nudges me along, puffing out little clouds of warm air as we go. Ridley straightens, moving away from the truck, and reaches out to help his step-dad with my bags.
"Noël, you remember your cousin, Ridley?" Uncle Walter says, heaving a suitcase into the truck bed.
"Um, yeah. Hi."
"Hey." Ridley turns to me and—good lord, he's got pretty eyes beneath those long lashes—holds out a hand. I stare at him stupidly for a second before realizing he wants my bag. I hug the strap protectively.
"Oh, it's okay; it's my laptop."
He shrugs and turns away again, and I bite back the disappointment. What was I expecting? A big hug and a warm greeting like I got from Uncle Walter? We've only met once, and it was only for a few hours, and I don't think we exchanged more than a handful of words the entire time. Ridley sat at a table throughout the reception, drawing on napkins, while I crawled up into the chair beside him and watched.
Uncle Walter rolls his eyes and smiles. "He's a talkative boy, that one. Don't let him bother you."
Ridley grunts and opens up the passenger's side door while Uncle Walter circles around for the driver's side. I guess it's good to know Ridley's as short and scowl-y with everyone. I inch forward and crawl into the truck, taking the middle seat while the two of them settle on either side of me.
Trucks aren't exactly roomy for three people. I hug my bag to my chest, trying to keep my elbows from jabbing into anyone's ribs. Uncle Walter chats at me the whole way, keeping the conversation light and easy. Away from any mention of suicide and police and Dad. Ridley stares out the frosty window. I don't think he says a single word during the hour-long drive home.
Home, home, home. Is it really?
Maybe-home is a mini-farm in the middle of nowhere. Uncle Walter used to do some sort of business that required him to travel. Dad said Aunt Mary missed him when he was gone for weeks at a time, though, and they worked it so he could retire early. They get a bit of extra money from the few crops on the farm at the local markets, but it isn't much.
The paved road turns off into dirt-slash-snow leading the long way up to the two-story house. Snow covered fields stretch out in every direction, running into a jagged line of trees straight back. Uncle Walter drives to the rear of the house and parks beneath a covered spot by the back porch.
I was just starting to get warm. The second I get out of the truck, cold seeps back into my pores. Ridley and Uncle Walter get my suitcases from the truck, leaving me with only my bag to carry.
I have no idea what to expect about any of this. Not about Uncle Walter, or Aunt Mary or Ridley, or even the house itself. Dad and I moved around all the time, and the apartments we rented were small, sparse, and in big cities. Nothing like this. I can't remember ever having lived in an actual house.
The smell of bacon and eggs hits me full in the face the second we step inside. Aunt Mary is a plain lady and her dress is a floral pattern than nearly matches the wallpaper, but she has a sweet smile in place when she turns around to greet us. She all but ignores her son and husband, and hurries over to me instead.
"Noël, sweetheart. It's so good to see you again. How are you? How was the flight?"
Her hands are warm as she cups my face and kisses my forehead. What stupid questions, but I don't say as much. "I'm fine. It was all right. Um, thank you for having me."
The look on her face softens into something pained. "I'm sorry it wasn't under better circumstances."
I shrug, trying to focus my gaze on my feet. What do I say?
Aunt Mary clears her throat. "You must be starving. Come sit down and we'll get you fed."
"I ate on the plane," I protest feebly, but I don't know a polite way to argue as she ushers me over to the table. Peanuts may not count much as a meal, but I'm not sure I can stomach anything more than that.
Uncle Walt
er makes an amused sound as he pours himself a cup of coffee. "Why don't you let the girl get settled a bit first? Ridley, carry your cousin's things up to her room, would you?"
I glance at Ridley, who gathers both of my suitcases and raises an eyebrow at me with a nod for the door. I mumble a thank you to my aunt and uncle, and trail after him out of the kitchen and up the stairs.
Any time Dad and I lived with an apartment that only had one room, Dad always made sure that room was mine while he used the living room as his. He said, as a teenager, I needed my own privacy and space. Which was cool, I guess, but it's hard to get settled into a room when you know you'll be moving again in seven months or less. So I don't know what to think when Ridley opens a door at the top of the stairs and brings my things inside.
"Well, here you go."
It's the longest sentence he's said to me yet. Maybe we're making progress.
I move to the middle of the room and look around. A bed, dresser, nightstand, book shelf. Sans the tacky wallpaper I saw in the kitchen.
"It's nice," I say, turning to face him. He lingers uncomfortably in the doorway, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched. He might be the first guy I've met who can pull off a tattered flannel and paint-stained jeans without looking like a slob. It kinda suits him, actually.
His eyes scan the room rather than looking at me. "Yeah, well. It's yours, so. If you need anything."
As he speaks, a faint breath brushes the back of my neck. I rub at it absently. It spreads to a tickle in my head, like fingertips tracing the inside of my skull. Oh, not now, not now...
"No, I'm okay. Thank you." The sensation lures me over to the window, which is casual enough, so I can steal a glance outside. Snowy fields and trees and...a figure.
A tall, shadowy figure standing in the middle of the fields.
Ridley's eyes linger on me a few moments. Then he leaves, closing my door behind him. It's been days since I've really, truly been alone for any length of time, and now I'm sort of wishing I wasn't. My bedroom overlooks a portion of the fields, stretching toward the forest. I can see a barn, part of the covered parking and Uncle Walter's truck...and the ghost, standing in the snow.