Nightmare

by Chelsea M. Cameron

  “Dad, you remember Peter, right?” Such a stupid question. “And you met Aj earlier.” He nods to her. She gives him a little wave. Oh dear. Now Dad knows that Peter was here earlier.

  “It is nice to meet you again, Mr. Sullivan.” Peter puts out his hand. Oh, well done.

  “Nice to meet you, Peter. Why don't you take a seat so we can talk.” He shakes Peter's hand, but the look on his face says he'd get more pleasure out of breaking Peter's fingers. He wouldn't stand a chance. Peter could crush his fingers without even blinking.

  Dad just thinks he has the upper hand. All the rest of us know he doesn't, but are willing to let him believe so. Unless he starts being a tyrant. Then he'll get shut down.

  We all troop into the living room for the Interrogation.

  Peter sits down on the chair next to the couch, leaving me no option but to sit on the couch next to Mom. Which is good, because I can give him subtle hints via my eyebrows about what he should and should not say.

  Dad gets right down to it.

  “I suppose I have you to thank for getting my wife so quickly to the hospital this week.”

  “You are more than welcome. I did what needed to be done.” He doesn't sound like an eighteen-year-old. This is the first problem.

  Aj looks like she wants to add something, but I give her a glare and she keeps her mouth shut.

  “So Peter, my wife tells me you play water polo. That must be exciting.” Peter doesn't even glance at me. Apparently Mom had given Dad some sort of backstory about Peter. Except she'd neglected to inform me what she'd told him. We hadn't had time to coordinate our stories.

  “Yes, it is.” This is the second problem. Dad's going to think Peter's monosyllabic answers are snarky, or rude or something. But even if Peter were eloquent and the most charming person on earth, Dad would hate him.

  “Peter loves to swim,” I add, trying to throw a life raft. It's probably too little too late. We're sinking and we haven't even left the dock.

  Dad leans back, doing that weird leg-on-knee thing guys do. I think he's trying to look grown-up and threatening. Little does he know Peter's got at least sixty years on him. Ew. Head in the game, Ava.

  “I didn't know there were many water polo teams in Maine.” Dad's eyes narrow, as if he's trying to figure out what water polo could be a euphemism for.

  “They have them at all the fancy private schools. I had a friend growing up who went to Galdon and she did archery,” Mom says, twining her hand with Dad's. Using her feminine wiles again.

  Peter looks as if he's fascinated by us. By the whole situation. I try to send him a mental kick in the shin.

  “I did archery at camp. Remember Sam? I never hit the target.” Aj tries to inject some humor. I think it's far too late. Dad isn't really in a laughing mood.

  Peter finally speaks. “I have done that as well.”

  “He's a really good shot.” Do I sound like I drank the Peter Kool-Aid or what?

  “I bet you are.” Dad's eyes narrow, trying to decide if that is some sort of sexual innuendo. At least I think that's why his face is like that. It's kind of debatable. I have no idea what goes on in my father's head. Say something, I telegraph to Peter via my mind and eyebrows.

  “I cannot eat, but I would like to sit with you. If that is all right.”

  “What's wrong with our food?” Dad snaps. I shoot him withering look. At least I hope it's withering.

  “He's lactose intolerant. I told you that.”

  “Hm,” he says, grunting. Of course Peter is unperturbed. There's the most awkward pause in the history of the universe which Mom finally breaks.

  “Well, we're all ready, for dinner. Shall we?”

  Aj and I serve as Mom, Peter and Dad sit down. I want to set another plate for Peter, but we wouldn't put anything on it, so I decide it's a stupid idea. His fingers brush my waist as I walk by him to give Mom a burrito.

  “Don't you at least want a glass of water?” Dad barks from the head of the table.

  Peter's eyes move away from me and focus on Dad. “No, thank you. I will eat at home later. I just wanted to come over and see Ava.” I sit down next to him and give him the briefest of smiles.

  “So what are your plans when you graduate?”

  “I'm going to college to study history.”

  “Hm.” Oh that was it. I had to say something.

  I give Dad a death glare. “Is there something wrong with history?”

  “Yeah Sam, is there?” Aj jumps to my defense. Dad looks up from his meal, unaware that he's being ganged up on. His eyes bounce from me to Aj and back to Mom. He seems to have forgotten that his sister has a degree in history and works as a research assistant at a University.

  “I guess not,” he mumbles. Point One for Team Peter.

  Mom chimes in, “so Jenny, I haven't had a chance to ask you about that project you were doing on the, uh, torture devices.” Aj's specialty was medieval torture devices. She was just a little bit twisted. Which was why we got along so well.

  Aj's eyes light up with a feverish glow.

  “Oh, it's going really well. We found this amazing set of thumbscrews that someone had in their attic. They had no idea what they were.” And she's off, going on about garotting and this thing that's called the Spanish Tickler which probably wouldn't make you laugh. It wasn't appropriate dinner conversation, but it was better than Dad verbally assaulting Peter. Or talking about Mom. Anything was better than that.

  So we eat our burritos and Peter watches and we talk about thumbscrews. Typical Sullivan house dinner. Except it wasn't.

  “Is this really appropriate?” Dad finally says.

  “Oh lighten up, Sam. You were always such a wet blanket.”

  “I just don't want to talk about ripping flesh while I'm eating dinner.” He wipes his face with his napkin and throws it back on the table. So much for a joyous family reunion.

  Mom tries again, bringing up the current political scandal. Something about a call girl and a married senator. Those were a dime a dozen. I take my head out of their chatter and focus on Peter.

  I've never felt weird eating in front of him, but now I do. There's a whole group of people scraping plates and chewing and he's sitting there with nothing in front of him. And then I have an idea. I pick up my knife and use it to cut part of my burrito. Because in the Sullivan house we can't eat burritos with our hands.

  My utensils scrape the plate and I slide my knife on purpose toward my hand.

  “Ouch!” I say as I slice my finger open. Luckily we had the fancy knives and not the butter kind, or it never would have broken the skin.

  “Baby, are you okay?” Mom's eyes fly wide.

  “No, I'm fine. Stupid knife. I'm just going to get a band aid. Peter?” Both Mom and Aj give me a look that I ignore. Dad makes a disapproving sound and I hear him mutter, “can't even get a band aid without him?”

  Peter follows me, saying low enough that only I can hear, “you did that on purpose.”

  I wait until we're upstairs in my bathroom.

  “Of course I did. I felt horrible that we were all eating and you couldn't. So I'm going to feed you. Here.” I hold up my dripping finger. It wasn't much, but it was something. An appetizer.

  “Take while it's still lifey.” I sit on the sink with him standing between my legs.

  “Lifey?”

  “Don't question, just do it.” He stays still while I shove my finger in his mouth. I didn't mean for it to be all sexy, but he takes my hand and runs his tongue all over my skin and the way he's looking at me... His eyes catch mine, like a butterfly in a net. Slowly, he pulls my finger out of his mouth. Sweet. Jesus.

  “Thank you. But you did not need to do that.” He holds my hand in front of his mouth, as if he's savoring it.

  “Well, I did. So there.” I sound all breathy. I feel all breathy.

  “We should get back. I am sure your father thinks I'm ravishing you.” He lifts me off the counter and hands me a band aid from the basket on t
he sink.

  “You can ravish me whenever you want.” I bite my lip to hide a smile. God, he was sexy.

  I shouldn't have said that.

  He doesn't answer. Except for a blink. Haha. I take advantage of the moment and ask him something I've been stressing about.

  “Why was Ivan here?” I say as Peter wraps the sticky part of the band aid around my finger.

  “I don't know.”

  “Well, could you find out? Because I thought we were done with him.” He makes sure the band aid's secure and cradles my hand to his chest. He's being very touchy-feely tonight.

  “It will not be over until he is destroyed.”

  “Or the fat lady sings?” He doesn't smile.

  “Not quite.”

  “What are we going to do about it?”

  “Viktor is protecting the house. If there is a problem, he will let me know.” I mash my head into his chest with a sigh.

  “I don't understand why all of these things are happening at once. Can't we just have a moment to breathe?”

  “We have a moment right now. A human moment.” His hand pulls my chin up. His lips meet mine for a sweet, slow kiss. Of course I go overboard and try to make it crazier, but he pulls back. Smart noctalis. I shouldn't have let him. Kisses are dangerous. As are longing looks and the brushing of fingers across skin. They lead to no good.

  “We have to go see your friend. As soon as possible.” I'm not taking no for an answer.

  “We're human, at least for a few more hours.”

  If my family wasn't waiting downstairs, I'd say the hell with it, let's go. Even if there is a tiny, microscopic part of me that's scared of what we're going to find. Or who we're going to find. I know very little about Peter's life as a noctalis before me. I know it wasn't pretty, and I can't imagine what kind of friend he'd have. But it can't be worse than what we've already gone through. I hope.

  The rest of the dinner goes uneventfully, and soon it's time for Peter to “go home and eat dinner with his own family.”

  I say goodbye to him at the door, pretending that I'm not going to see him until Monday.

  “Bye, Peter.”

  “Goodbye, Ava-Claire.” He brushes my cheek with the back of his hand. I miss him already. I close the door on him and I'm instantly zapped of energy and it can't be my imagination that the smell of blood from the humans in the other room intensifies. What is this? I can't even be a few rooms away from him?

  “Well, I'm going to head out.” Aj interrupts my thoughts. Good timing. She holds her arms open and I fall into them, while trying to hold my breath. I mean, it's not like I'd actually bite her. That would never, ever happen. Blood is gross. It may smell good, but it's gross.

  “Don't do anything stupid,” she hisses in my ear. “I can see you're in love with him.” She can see that?

  I guess it was kind of obvious.

  “I know. But it's not what you think.”

  “I just want to make sure you know what you're doing. Because I don't think you do.” I finally pull away from the hug.

  “I know. I'm not a child anymore.”

  “No,” she says, plucking at my hair, “you're not. But that doesn't mean you should take up with, ah, boys like that.”

  “I know what I'm doing,” I say again. She gives me a sad smile and punches my shoulder again.

  Dad slinks out to say goodbye. True to form, he gives her an awkward hug and tells her to take care of herself. She says she'll be back to stay the weekend in two weeks. This is news to me, but I'm relieved. I like having Aj around. Even though I'd freaked out when she'd showed up, having her around broke up some of the tension. And she made me laugh.

  “Bye Jenny,” Mom says, giving her a rib crushing hug. Or what would be rib-crushing if she had the strength.

  “Call me,” she says to Mom, taking her face in her hands. “Anytime. My phone is always on.”

  “I will.” But we all know she won't. Mom wouldn't bother Aj. She'd never bother anyone, if she could help it. And by bothering, she meant anything she'd see as being needy. Which was total crap.

  If Aj really knew what was going on in this house, she'd move in this second. That wasn't a half-bad idea. She could keep Dad in check and help with Mom. Not that she was a burden, but with everything that was going on, I knew I was neglecting her. For my boyfriend. Yes, he was immortal, and yes, we were fighting for something, but still. She's my mother. She should come first.

  I watch as the tailights of Aj's car fade. Part of me wants to run and call for her to come back. To help us so we can try and keep this family together. Because I'm doing a crappy job of it.

  “I'm going to bed,” I say, turning from the window.

  “It's only eight thirty. What, are you sick?” Thanks, Dad. Mom gives me a knowing look.

  “No, just tired.” I must look tired because he doesn't snap back at me. Instead he touches my shoulder in a surprising gesture. Mom seizes the moment and wraps us all up in a Sullivan family hug. I sink into it and remember the days when things like family hugs happened every day. Of course that was before cancer decided to take everything away from me and an immortal boy walked into my life. I can't go back. I can only go forward.

  “Goodnight, baby. Sleep tight.” Won't be doing a lot of sleeping, but I kiss her cheek anyway.

  “Goodnight, Ava-Claire Bear.” Dear god, Dad hasn't called me that since I was ten. It makes my heart hurt to hear the nickname. I nearly crawl up the stairs, but the closer I get to my room, the better I feel until I open my door and there's Peter and he's all gorgeous and waiting for me and I want to kiss him. The calm settles over me, and I'm ready for anything. Even though we now have to worry about Ivan and Di. It's time to go see this friend of Peter's. Whether he likes it or not.

  I shut my door with authority, taking note that he's already got his shirt off, wings out. He must have read my mind.

  “When are we leaving?”

  Peter

  Her eyes are bright with anticipation. I felt her resolve all through the dinner, and I know that I cannot talk her out of it. We need answers and it is time to get them.

  “Are you sure?” I know what she will say before she says it.

  “I'm not taking no for an answer.” She smiles and I want to press those smiling lips to my own, let her smile dissolve on my lips and become part of my skin. As if I could swallow it and hold it inside me.

  She holds her arms out, begging for me to pick her up.

  “Beam me up, Scotty.”

  “What do you mean?” There are many modern phrases Ava uses that I do not know the meaning of. This is one of them.

  “Never mind. We need to get you watching Star Trek. And Star Wars. But not at the same time.” I still have no inclination as to what she is speaking of. So I pick her up and she smiles up at me as if she's the happiest girl in the world.

  She brushes some hair from my eyes.

  “Happy?” She's asking me. I consider for a moment. I turn the word around in my mind. It is bright and shiny and soft. It glows. I am not sure I am capable of feeling happy in myself without her. The happiness she exudes swells and floats in her soul, elevating it. A soul was required for happiness. But I was as close to happy as I could ever get. With her.

  “Yes.” I allow myself that.

  “Good.”

  Her arms twine tighter and she puts her head to my chest. Right where my heart would be. Well, my heart is still there, I suppose. It just does not beat. Not like hers, which goes like a delicious drum.

  “You should put a blanket around you. It will be cold.” I set her down, going to her closet for a blanket. She puts on a coat and another pair of pants. I wrap her torso and legs in the blanket.

  “Too tight,” she gasps. I unwind it and re-wrap it.

  “Better?”

  “Yeah, I can breathe now.” She rolls her eyes and I pick her up again. She is like a little fire burning next to my skin. A torch I'm carrying to illuminate the dark.

  She lets ou
t a little gasp as I leap off the roof and into the air. Her little thrill flows along our connection and I soak it into my skin with her heat. Her energy is like a drug.

  “How far is it?” The wind tries to steal her voice, but I would hear it in a hurricane.

  “Over an hour.”

  She settles back into me, her hands twisting in the hair that comes from my neck. Her little warm fingers are so familiar with my hair. I wash it nearly every day for her. I like the smell of her soap on my skin.

  I had not seen Cal's house, but I knew I could find it now by following his scent. It surprised me that he would choose to settle down in a human-made buildings. He had never had a permanent dwelling when I knew him. He moved about. Nomadic like me.

  I was certain of two things about Cal. One, that he always wore human clothes. Suits, ties, shoes. Always pressed, always clean. Second, that he had saved me. Twice.

  Cal was a part of my other life. My life before Ava. The life where I killed without thinking, where I existed from one day to the next with no reason to keep going other than my immortality.

  Before Ava is not a time I would like to think about anymore. But I have no choice. It is either go to Cal, do nothing and wait, or make Ava a noctalis. The last two options are impossible. So I must go with the first.

  Even with the blanket, Ava is shivering. The air is thicker and warmer the farther south we go, but her body is vulnerable to chills.

  “How much longer?”

  “A few minutes.” We have made it into Florida. Palm trees dot the landscape like pointing fingers, reaching for the sky. Nearly all the buildings are beige or rust or red-colored. I dip lower so she can feel the warm air closer to the ground.

  “I've never been to Florida.”

  “Welcome to the Sunshine State.”

  “Why don't you live down here? With the sun and all?”

  “I have lived here before. Now I live where you live. Wherever that is.”

  “The palm trees are weird. They kind of look fake. It's strange seeing different kinds of trees everywhere.” Sometimes I forget how young she is. How little she has seen.

  Soon I pick up Cal's scent. It leads me to a residential area with houses in varying shades of brown stucco. This, I did not picture.