Nightmare

by Chelsea M. Cameron

  “No. I was thinking.”

  “Oh.” The blood rushes to her face, and I want to reach out and take it. I want it almost more than I want to promise her. Almost, but not quite.

  “I never felt that way about anyone when I was alive. There was a girl in town that I used to walk home. She lived across the street and her laugh was so loud, I could hear it from my porch. I used to try and peek in her bedroom window, but I never got a glimpse of her. The legend of the vampire, such as it is, paints us as lascivious creatures with a lust for sex as much as a lust for blood. That is another myth. While there are some noctali, who, I am sure, take part in those activities, I am not one of them.” Her face flames with color at the mention of sex.

  “Is this some sort of crazy way to tell me you're a virgin? Can you even, um, do that?” She's still holding my hands. Her's pulse with her heart. A ribbon of embarrassment runs from her to me. It took me a while to understand that was the uncomfortable emotion she had quite frequently. It is not an emotion I can feel for myself.

  “I am trying to tell you that I have never felt that way about anyone. But if it would be anyone who could make me feel it, it would be you. You would be worth it. So yes, to everything you asked. I promise to find a solution.” While this is not a binding promise, since Ava is not a noctalis, I still feel the weight of it settling over my shoulder like a cape.

  “Good.” She lets out a breath, expelling her scent all over me. I want to wrap myself in it and drown. She puts her hands around mine. They are so small, my fingers jut out above hers.

  “Would you stay here with me?”

  “I will always stay with you.”

  “I mean here.” She motions to her bed.

  “I don't know if that would be a good idea.”

  Her hand drops mine. “Oh, well. It was just an idea. You can go back to your book.” She turns her back, sliding back down under the blankets. The rejections stings her.

  “A few feet closer shouldn't do too much damage.” Surprised, she turns over. I have been working on my sarcasm.

  “Are you sure? You could have a little, if you wanted.” She pushes her arm toward me.

  “That would only whet my appetite.” I would kill her, if I took some now.

  “Oh, right.” She watches as I lay next to her, pulling one pillow behind my back. I am never uncomfortable, but I want her to think that I am comfortable. Her scent wafts up from the sheets, surrounding me in a cloud. She turns on her side, looking up at me.

  “Only if you're sure.”

  “I am sure,” I say, picking my book up. She lays as far from me as she can get without falling off the bed. I will bring her closer when she falls asleep.

  “Go to sleep. We will talk in the morning.”

  “Okay. Goodnight Peter.” She rolls onto her side, her back facing me.

  “Goodnight, Ava-Claire.”

  She falls asleep and I think about promises and how to keep them.

  Chapter Six

  Ava

  Even with Peter next to me, I have a nightmare. It starts out as a nice dream. I'm walking in the woods, barefoot. As it goes in dreams, my feet feel nothing even though the ground is uneven and covered in rocks and sticks and such. I'm walking toward something bright-greenish that shines out of the trees. Actually, it's two somethings. I walk further, and, once again, it takes me forever.

  I finally get to a clearing with grass so flat, I know it can't be real. Still, I want to know what's going on. Two fires, flickering in the darkness. Not like normal fires with smoke and wood. These are more like giant columns of light that flicker and burn. But the fires, or whatever they are, aren't burning wood. They're burning people.

  The light dims and I can make out my mother's face, and then the rest of her. The other is Peter. They're glowing like fireflies, which is totally weird, but I go with it. They both smile at me at the exact same second.

  “I love you,” they both say in unison. I hear each of their distinct voices before they are both consumed by a burst of light. And then darkness.

  “Ava?” Peter shakes my shoulder. Somehow I've migrated in my sleep so I'm practically on top of him. I want him even in my sleep. I shift over to my side of the bed, trying to be subtle about it. Hell, I'd just seen him in my dream going up in weird greenish flames. Part of me wants to touch him all over and make sure he's all in one piece. But that's silly. It was just a dream.

  “Sorry. Bad dream.” My room is dark, but I feel safe with Peter next to me, his thumb stuck in his book to mark the place. I notice he's nearly done. The book is about four inches thick. Stupid speed reader.

  “Do you wish to talk about it?”

  “Not really.” I put my hand over my eyes, wishing I could block it all out.

  “It must have been frightening.” Thanks Peter, that's helpful.

  “Just a dream.”

  Just a dream, just a dream, just a dream. I'm going to keep saying it until I believe it.

  “I could feel your distress.” Can't he see that I don't want to talk about it?

  “What, I can't even dream now without you getting vibes?”

  “I feel what you feel, asleep or awake.” In turn, I feel his anxiety for me. Peter's emotions are easy to separate from my own. They're distant and foreign. Like having an invader in my brain. It didn't bother me as much as it should. Nothing about Peter bothered me as much as it should.

  “It's nothing. Just go back to reading.” I turn my back to him, and pull the covers up. He waits for a moment, for me to speak or change my mind. When I don't, he goes back to reading, the swish of the pages turning lulls me back into a much better sleep.

  I'm not big on dream interpretation, being as how sometimes dreams are just dreams and not a manifestation of your secret love for your English teacher. Before I finally decide to close my eyes and try to sleep again, I vow to do some research. In the morning.

  ****

  I think about the dream as I brush my teeth the next morning. It had been so clear, and I'd remembered every detail when I woken up. I usually didn't remember my dreams, so this was new. I wasn't sure if I liked it or not. I certainly hated the dream. It was probably just a manifestation of my fear of losing Peter and my mother. But I wanted to know for sure.

  I hated that I'd broken down in front of him last night. Generally, I tried not to be too emotional and needy in front of Peter. I think it kind of freaked him out sometimes. When we'd first done the Claiming, he'd even had jitters. All that had calmed down, but I still tried to hold it back a bit.

  Not so much.

  I didn't regret the promise I'd forced him to make about finding a way out of the curse. I'd decided to call it that, because it was a Curse. With a capital C. Promises were things that you made in wedding vows and to your children and to best friends. They were supposed to be good. To make you better. This was a Curse.

  I wasn't selfish enough to want Peter to break it just for me. I wanted him to be free, not chained to someone else.

  Viktor was Cursed, too. He was forced to come whenever Di called. Which wasn't very often, but when she whistled, he came, like a dog. He was better than that. I didn't want them to be slaves to this woman who had made them out of her own selfish need not to be alone. I wouldn't make the same mistake.

  Peter was unusually quiet, and that bothered me, but I wasn't getting any bad vibes from him, so I didn't say anything about it. Sometimes, Peter was just weird. I figured he was just thinking about who he could ask about breaking the curse. I hoped.

  I had to say goodbye to him in my room before I went downstairs to grab something to eat. Since my mother had gotten worse, wasn't making pancakes every morning, and I spent most of my time in my room with Peter, I usually just grabbed a bowl of cereal or a protein bar.

  “I'll see you after work, okay?” I give him the obligatory peck on the cheek, not letting my lips linger. “I know I made you promise to look for a solution, but you don't have to do it today.” I'm feeling guilty now about
forcing him. It was a knee-jerk reaction to the dream, and I should have just calmed the heck down and thought about things.

  “I will wait for you.” He's staring at his trunk. I automatically check to make sure the key is still firmly around my neck. It's become a nervous tick now.

  “Do you ever get tired of waiting for me?”

  “No.” He's so sure of things. So convinced that it will work out, or it won't. That it is black or it is white. I'm not like that.

  I want to really kiss him goodbye, but don't. I'm still not convinced that being close with him won't kill him. I'm such a hypocrite, because I made him sit next to me while I slept all night. What harm would a little kiss do?

  Well, Peter's kisses could do a lot of harm, I knew that already. They are Weapons of Mass Destruction. So I just looks at him without blinking for as long as I can. He touches my face and slides out the window. I feel the pull to go with him. It sucks so much that I can't. My poor neglected lips cry out as I drive myself to school, hoping today will be better. Better than the previous three.

  ****

  Tex nearly runs me over, she's so eager to talk to me. It takes me a moment to focus. The smells almost swallow me up. It's like being in a huge bakery filled with the most delicious cookies and pies and cakes in the world, but you can't have any of them. Only blood doesn't smell like cake.

  “Oh my god, where have you been? We need to talk date details. I need to know what Viktor's favorite color is so I can wear it.” Tex's blood smells sweet, like copper and salt and dark chocolate. Those don't sound like delicious things in combination, but somehow they are. My stomach grumbles, even though I just ate. This is a different kind of hunger. I rest my face on the brick of the main school building. The smell of the brick and the cool temperature helps me focus.

  “Tex, I don't know what his favorite color is.”

  “Then ask Peter.” She makes a pouty face and adjusts her purple glasses.

  Give. It. A. Rest. “I can't, he doesn't have a phone.”

  “Seriously? Vampires are always up on the new technology.” I don't know where she's heard this. Vampire chat rooms?

  “He's not a vampire,” I say, lowering my voice. “He's a noctalis. There's a big difference.”

  “Difference, schmifference.” She waves it off. I'm about to argue with her when Jamie walks by. I smile and he stops to talk.

  “Well, hello James, long time no see.” He looks like crap. Things must be bad at home. Still, seeing him is like seeing the sun come from behind the clouds. He envelops me with warmth and comfort. Jamie was like apple pie.

  “Hello ladies.” A shadow of his smile comes out and is gone as quick as we can blink. “How are you?” He leans against he wall in all his jock glory. His hair picks up all the spare sunlight and glimmers like gold. His blood is salty and... active. Bright, like him.

  “Never mind us, how are you?” He looks around, shifting his bag in his shoulder. Then he tugs his earlobe. That tells me everything I need to know. He's not doing well.

  “Cassie and Dad are fighting a lot.”

  “He hasn't, you know...” Tex trails off. She meant to say, he hasn't hit her, but she doesn't want to say it out loud.

  “No, he's been good. Just a lot of yelling. I keep telling both of them it isn't good for the baby, but he doesn't care. He wants her to lose it so he doesn't have to worry about it anymore.”

  Oh, god.

  “Jamie.” Tex and I hug him from both sides, wishing this hug could make it better.

  Sometimes I get wrapped up in my head and think that I have it the worst off. Then I talk to Jamie, and realize that both of my parents love me. I know they love me, even though my Dad and I don't get along that well sometimes. We used to. This whole cancer thing kinda screwed things up. But before that, there was no doubt in my mind that both of them would do anything for me.

  “I'm thinking about getting a job at Santina's so I can give her some money to get her own place. I think, once the baby's born, she'll qualify for assistance, but I don't know if she'll be willing to take it.”

  Tex and I look at each other, both thinking the same thing. That it isn't Jamie's responsibility to take care of his sister. He shouldn't have to. And if the choice is him taking a job, when he's already busy with sports and a sucky home life, or her going on assistance, we're picking the latter.

  “It'll work out.” I try to channel some of that Peter confidence. He's close enough that I can still feel him.

  “I hope so,” he says, sounding completely defeated. I give him another squeeze as the bell rings. I haven't even gotten to my locker to get my books yet, so I'm going to be late. Doesn't matter. There are some things more important than punctuality.

  “We should do something for him,” I say after he dashes off to class. Maybe I can rope Tex into pitching in. She definitely has more money than I do.

  “We could throw Cassie a baby shower. She's going to need all sorts of baby stuff. And it would be fun.”

  “You know there would be no boys or drinking, right?”

  “My dear, a party is a party. As long as I'm there.” She does a little hip wiggle and Trevor Hyasin's eyes almost bug out of his head as he walks by.

  “I was thinking about something for his truck.”

  “That's lame. A party is a much better idea.”

  “Thanks for stomping on my idea, Tex.”

  “No stomping, just suggesting it's not a great idea.” Same thing.

  Somehow I get through the rest of the day, even though I'm like a kid with ADD high on sugar. No focus. Too much blood. Too many people I picture killing. It's almost a relief my teachers sort of ignore me. They don't know about my mother's diagnosis, but just having a mother with cancer is enough of a free pass to slack off.

  I call Mom several times to check in. Dad came home from work to watch her, so she's drowning in blankets and soup and TLC. Poor thing.

  Jamie has practice, so I text him asking if he wants to do something on Tuesday night. It will mean a night away from Peter, but Jamie's important. He needs a friend right now. And I owe him. I've been a pretty crappy one.

  Tex and I carpool to work, which is so close to school, we could walk if we wanted. I always mention this, but Tex is usually wearing impractical shoes, and throws a hissy fit about ruining them. So we drive, increasing our carbon footprint. Peter lurks nearby, trying to send me happy vibes. A for effort.

  After reprimanding us for being late, Tex's parents set us to making a display of the poetry books. April was National Poetry Month, and they were a little late getting a display up, so we pick out all the prettiest and most famous books and try to come up with an eye-catching way to showcase them. Usually Tex's mother doesn't let us do things like this, but she's so busy, since one of the workers quit, she doesn't have time to do it herself. Waves of scent caress me, and I can barely focus on anything but the blood smell. I focus on Tex's voice.

  “We could use that old velvet cloth from Halloween and put some glitter on it.”

  “What does glitter have to do with National Poetry Month?”

  She shrugs. “Nothing. I just like glitter.” Glitter it is. We stack the books on top of boxes draped with the velvet to create a little dimension. And then Tex sprinkles gold glitter over everything. To give it pizazz, she says.

  It makes me think of that night when I invited Peter to a party and we'd danced. Well, it was more like we'd mashed our bodies together and moved with the music. It had been totally amazing. I wished I could have frozen that moment so I could go back to it later. Go back to that moment when it felt like we were one person. I still felt that way with Peter, but I missed his physical touch sometimes. Or all the times.

  “Hello? Can you hand me that sign?” Tex snaps her fingers in front of my face. She does that a lot and it makes me want to bite her fingers off. And taste her blood.

  “Here.” I hand her the sign and she hangs it in the window.

  “I feel like it needs something.�
� She tilts her head back and forth and squints her eyes as if she's trying to see what's missing. “Aha!” She says, jumping down from the window. She's gone for a few minutes and then is back, hauling a giant quill pen that's about three feet tall. I don't remember why her parents bought it, but it's been sitting in storage for a while. Tex sneezes as she props it against one of the boxes.

  “I couldn't find the ink pot that goes with it, but oh well. This says poetry, doesn't it?”

  “I think so.”

  She bangs her hands together and I choke on a glitter cloud. I think Tex has a glitter addiction. She should join GAA. Glitter Addicts Anonymous.

  ****

  Later on, she catches me in the New Age section of the store. It's located right next to the knitting books in a back corner near the heater that is so loud you can barely hear yourself think. It was also perpetually dusty because no one really wants to go back there. Also because Tex's parents had contempt for anything remotely like that, so they hadn't ordered any new books in years. Or bothered to do anything about the ones they did have.

  “What the hell are you doing back here?”

  “Would you believe me if I said I was dusting?”

  “Yeah, nice try. No one's dusted back here since this guy was alive.” She holds up a book with a guy with a beard so impressive, it covers most of his face, a shirt covered in flowers and a pair of bell bottoms that looked like lampshades.

  I can't lie to her anymore. “I was just, um, looking for a book about dreams.”

  “And my next question is: Why?”

  “I had a dream and I wanted to know if it meant anything,” I mumble.

  “You should have just asked. I've got one of those encyclopedias at home. Aunt Bea gave it to me.” She rolls her eyes as she says it. She's Tex's mother's sister, Beatrice, otherwise known as Aunt Bea or the Crazy Lady. I've only met her once and my first impression was that she looked exactly someone who dressed as a cheap psychic for Halloween. Only she dressed like that all the time. Scarves and long flowy skirts and bracelets that jingled whenever she moved. She also brought a cloud of patchouli wherever she went. Tex said it was to cover up the smell of pot smoke, which wouldn't surprise me. After she'd told me my aura was cloudy I'd pretty much tuned her out.