Nightwolf

“But no matter what, we’re still going to sleep on it, okay?” She gets up and goes over to the fridge. “Bleh. Beer. Okay, I’m going to grab a bottle of white wine from my parents and then we’ll talk some more.”

Lenore leaves.

That hope flares in my chest again.

It was impossible to sleep on it—I didn’t sleep a wink last night. It had nothing to do with the fact that my sleep schedule is all out of whack, and everything to do with Lenore’s proposal.

I mean, I know I shouldn’t even be thinking about it at all, not in my state of mind. If I had a shrink, or a doctor, hell if I voiced this to anyone outside of the house, they would have me committed, I’m sure. Not just because I’d be yammering on about vampires, but because there’s no way I should even be considering doing this major, life and cell-altering thing, not after everything I’ve been through. I’m grieving, I’m not stable, not even a little.

So I think about what my mom would say. Even though she’s gone, her opinion is the only one that really matters to me, and it still holds weight. I can only guess at what she’d say though. I know she would want me to be happy, that’s it. And maybe she’d feel better knowing that I could have a long life without developing some disease or slipping in the shower or something like that. She’s seen firsthand the vampires in the house, and they do tend to be a fairly happy bunch.

Okay, so the ones I live with are a bunch of moody fuckers, but still.

Then there’s what Wolf would say.

You know, the whole reason why I’m doing this.

And there’s the fact that he would probably be pissed off. Probably happy in the long run (and what a long run it is) but pissed off all the same. Lenore is right in that neither he nor Solon would allow this to happen, the risk being too great. Thankfully, I don’t need them for this to happen. Only Lenore.

Lenore, who happens to be walking into the apartment, looking annoyingly fresh-faced. See, that’s something to look forward to—always looking like a million bucks for the rest of your life.

“So,” she says to me, and that’s when I notice she went to Starbucks. She hands me my Gingerbread latte. “I don’t expect you to have made a decision yet.”

“Thank you,” I say, raising my cup. “And I think I have. Didn’t sleep on it though, just thought about it all night long.”

“I see,” she says slowly, taking a sip of her coffee. She looks me up and down. “You sure you gave it enough thought?”

“You worried about my decision-making skills at the moment?”

“Well, yeah.” She reaches out and straightens the shoulder of my shirt before looking at my face. “You look a little strung-out. More so than usual.”

I shrug. “Just excited that’s all. It’s nice to finally have hope.”

She thinks that over, having another sip. Then she nods. “Okay. Well…you know, I wouldn’t do this for just anyone. If anything were to go wrong…”

“You’ll be fine. I believe in you.”

“And you’re totally okay with dying?”

“So as long as you’re okay with killing me.”

Her eyes go big and she lets out a nervous laugh. “I don’t know, Amethyst. I don’t know if I can do this.”

I reach out and grab her hand, giving it a squeeze. “I trust you. You can and you will.” I look around the apartment. “So where and when? Now?”

She balks. “What? No. Not now, I’m not ready, and definitely not here. I told you, we’ll do it at the house.”

“Why not here?”

She points at the ceiling. “My parents are witches, Amethyst. Vampire slayers. They’ll be able to tell if you pop up, and as much as they like you and feel sorry for you at the moment, I can’t guarantee they won’t try and stab you either.”

“They seem to tolerate Solon.”

“Barely. Solon’s only alive because he used to work with my parents years ago. That’s not another risk I’ll add to the pile.”

I sigh, not looking forward to going back to the house. “Okay.”

“We’ll do it tonight,” she says. “Soon as the party starts.”

If I wasn’t nervous before, I am now.

The rest of the day passed by in a dream-like state. Sometimes I’d be thinking about the whole vampire thing, my brain wrapping around it like a pleasant distraction. Other times I’d realize why I wanted the distraction to begin with, and it was to avoid my reality.

My loss.

That thing about feeling like a pond skimmer? That’s me all day long. My brain lets me move on just enough before I fall into my grief again. Up and down, drowning and then getting my head above water. And when you live like that, everything turns into a living dream, a waking nightmare.