It takes minutes to get to her house. I approach slowly, as the building appears like a ghost from behind the trees that line the backyard. I hear two heartbeats. Ava and her mother. Both of them are strong, but her mother's is tired. She has cancer that will take her life shortly.
With our connection, emotions course through me like liquid fire.
Hers, mine.
Ours.
It is amazing to me how often they coincide. Sometimes I will feel one way and I receive another from her and we both realize and shift to try and fit the other person. She laughs and I attempt to. We are still working on that. So far, she has told me my laugh sounds like a creepy clown mixed with Lord Voldemort. Having read the Harry Potter series, and also seen a circus, I know this is not a good thing.
I can't practice laughing without her. Things aren't as funny when she isn't here.
I knock politely on the door, waiting for Ava to bound down the stairs. She opens it, face flushed with exertion. A piece of myself that she'd taken with her falls back into place, and it is easy to move my face into what I hope is a smile.
“Not bad.” Her smile shines nearly as bright as the sun. I often wonder if it is the Claiming, or something greater than makes me think these things of her. It doesn't matter, either way.
Ava's mother steps in behind her and gives me a smile as well. Not as warm as Ava's, but it is still a smile.
“Hello, Claire.”
She makes sure her wig is straight before saying hello. Human vanity is a mystery.
“Hello Peter, it's been so long since we saw you last.” I have grown used to her and Ava's sense of humor which borders on dry.
“Mom,” Ava says, giving me an apologetic look. “Come on.” She doesn't wait for me to follow her into the living room. I am only allowed downstairs when Ava's father isn't home. Claire winks at me as I walk behind Ava to the room where we spend most of our time under her watchful gaze. Ava is wary of being alone in her room. Either worried her mother will get the wrong idea, or she might get too close to me. I am not sure which she is more concerned about. The residue from the night I hurt her hasn't worn off completely. I regret it now, but at the time I thought it was for the best.
“My pick,” she says, going to a cabinet filled with games. We'd played Monopoly, Clue, Battleship, Life, checkers and I'd taught her chess. This time she picks a deck of cards.
“Know how to play War?”
I have seen wars, but I have never played the card game. “Not exactly.”
“It's super easy.” Her delicate hands open the box and her fingers flutter through the cards. Music plays in the background, streamed from her music machine I can never remember the name of. I can also not remember the name of the artist currently singing. But Ava likes her, so I don't mind. I like when she hums along with the song because she does not know she is doing it.
Ava explains the rules of the game, which are easy to grasp. We start playing and she has to remind me to slow my movements, should her mother walk in. It is a struggle to contain my noctalis instincts. The more time I spend with Ava, the more my natural movements come out. My natural noctalis movements, that is. In a way, she makes me both more human and more noctalis at the same time.
We don't speak much as we play, the only sounds are the slide of the cards on as we lay them down, the music and Ava's breathing. I could listen to her breathe forever. I look up and see her concentrating, her forehead wrinkling. I want to take my hand and smooth it away, as cute as it is. I have never used the word cute in my existence. But she is.
Like clockwork, her mother comes in and asks us if we need anything. We always say no. Claire doesn't know about my status as a noctalis, but Ava wants to tell her. Claire looks disappointed as she says that she baked some banana bread. The mention of bread makes Ava smile, but she looks sad as soon as her mother leaves.
“I'm so tired of lying to her.” She leans back against a pillow, her cards fanned in front of her face.
“Then don't.” She lays down a five. I put down a seven and scoop up both cards, adding them to my pile.
“I don't know if this is the best time.” Her eyes are on me, and not the cards.
“Will there ever be a best time?”
“You do have a point.” She lays her cards down and taps her chin with her pointer finger. Her thinking posture. I know Ava well enough to not interrupt her thinking process. She pulls at the key around her neck. The key to the trunk that contains everything from my human life that now sat on her bedroom floor. After I had brought it to her bedroom one night, she had strung it on a cord so she would never lose it. I had been right to entrust it to her care.
“Would you like me to leave?”
She sighs, expelling the air from her lungs all over me. “No, I think we need to do this like Tex. Only less, you know...” She waves her hands. I know what she means. Less swearing and sarcasm. Somehow I knew Claire would take it better than Texas.
“Ready?” I say, standing and holding my hand out to her. There is no time like the present.
“Why not?” She stands and takes my hand without hesitation. I try to send her strength for what is to come. She will need it.
Chapter Two
Ava
“Uh, Mom? I,” I turn and look at Peter, “we have something to tell you.” I liked to think of the secrets I kept as Things. With a capital T. Thing One was my mother's terminal cancer. Thing Two was Peter being a noctalis. Which had turned into Thing Two-and-a-half with the Claiming. It was time to tell her Thing Two's. I hoped I wouldn't regret it.
Her eyes immediately zone to my hand holding Peter's. Her eyes go wide and flick from me to him and back again. She holds onto the counter like she's going to pass out and it finally clicks. She thinks he's knocked me up.
“Oh god, not that!” I drop Peter's hand like a hot coal. Although, teenage pregnancy might be preferred to me being the First National Blood Bank of Peter, along with the other stuff.
“I hoped not.” She wipes her forehead with the back of her hand.
“No, it's um, it's a little complicated. You should probably sit down.” We should all probably sit down. We need to get this done before Dad gets home. I glance at the clock. I should be good, we've got at least an hour. He's at some business lunch thing. Only he would have a business thing on a Saturday. At least it gives me a chance to not smell his blood. Not that I'm thinking about that.
We go into the dining room and pick chairs, Peter and me on one side, Mom on the other.
“Ava, you're scaring me.” Her eyes go wide in her pale face. Ugh, what am I doing?