Neither (The Noctalis Chronicles 3)

“No,” Ava says, refusing to look up. I take one of her hands. Her stress moves to me, and I want her to get it out so she will stop obsessing about it. I am uncomfortable with her stress.

“Yes, it totally is. You'd better tell me right now, or I'll sick my noctalis on you.”

“He can't touch me, moron,” Ava says, finally looking up. Her eyes are hard, determined. She takes a deep breath, and I can see the words in her mind before she says them. It takes a few seconds for her to arrange the words in the way she wants them.

“My mom is sick. Really sick. She's, um... she's terminal.”

Texas' hand flies to cover her mouth. “What?”

“She's not going to make it,” Ava says, tears forming in her eyes and spilling onto her cheeks. I want to wipe them away, but all I can do is hold her hand and give her strength.

“Oh my God. I can't believe it. I thought she was doing okay.”

“She's not.”

“Ava,” Texas says, shaking her head. She gets up and gives Ava a hug, pulling her to her feet and wrapping her arms around her. Ava finally breaks, sobbing on Texas' shoulder. Her pain rips through me, but I don't get up to comfort her. This is something she needs to do with Texas.

“I'm not mad. I just wish I could have been there for you. I've been so horrible to you, making you go to all those parties and everything. Why didn't you say anything?”

“I couldn't. I didn't know how. If I say it out loud, that makes it real, and it can't be real, Tex, it just can't.” She sniffs loudly.

“I know, Ave, I know.” Texas rubs her back in soothing circles, rocking her slowly from side to side, as if they are slow dancing. Ava's shoulders shake and her crying fills the room. It is all I can do not to seize her and try to fix it.

“Why does this have to happen to me?”

“I don't know, honey, I don't know. I don't have answers for you. But I'm here for you, you know?”

“Yeah,” Ava says.

“Bad things happen to good people sometimes and there isn't a reason for it.”

“I'm so angry,” Ava says.

“I know.”

“Why would God do this to us?”

“I don't know, honey, I don't know.” Texas doesn't have answers, but her words have a calming effect on Ava, and her sobs slow to just tears. She wipes her eyes and Texas looks down at the wet patch Ava left on her shirt. “What are friends for? To let you snot and cry all over their brand-new shirts.”

“Right,” Ava says, and they both laugh.

Viktor watches them, as if he's fascinated. They are rather fascinating. Both of them.

Four

Brooke

The next thing I knew, I was waking up in a dark place. My eyes cracked open, and my nose was punched with a musty odor. My body felt like it had been run over several times. Everything hurt, even my hair, although I knew that was impossible. I tried to move, but it wasn't going to happen.

“You're fine, love,” a British voice said. It was bright and sharp in the darkness. My eyes started to pick out details. I was in a stone room, about twenty feet square. The floor was dirt, and the ceiling was about twelve feet high. From the way his voice echoed, I could tell we were underground. I took a breath and heard an awful sound. I panicked, trying to get up. A hand touched my arm, pushing me back down. A face came into view. It was familiar, but not. I wanted him to make the pain stop.

“Do you know who you are, love?”

“Brooke. I'm Brooke.” My voice sounded different. It was clear and cold. I took another breath and heard the awful noise again. It was almost like a wheeze. As if the air was scraping the insides of my lungs.

“You don't need to breathe, Brooke. Your lungs no longer need the air. Do you understand?”

All at once I was assaulted by the room, him, the smells, and the sounds, and it was all too much. I closed my eyes, hoping it would go away. I just wanted it to go away.

“It hurts.”

“I know. It will be over soon.” A cool hand brushed my forehead. “Open your eyes, love. This is a whole new world, and soon you'll get to be a part of it. There are so many things I want to show you. We're going to see the world.”

“What happened?” The more I thought about the pain, the worse it got. I needed to stop thinking about it.

“I told you I was going to make you immortal. That's why you don't need to breathe. Look at your arm. It's healed from where I cut you.”

I glanced down at my arm. It was perfect as I turned it over. It also had a subtle glow in the dark of the stone room. I turned it over, marveling at how smooth my skin was.

“Just one more day and you'll be perfect. Then we'll see what you're made of.”

“What's your name?” I couldn't remember his name. I could only remember mine.

“I'm Ivan.” He stroked my face with the back of his hand. His eyes were two different colors. The left one a deep brown, the right green. They had flecks of other colors in them, subtle as a whisper. I stared at them and they stared back at me. I slowly sat up, putting my hands on the ground. The soil was moist and reeked of decay, dust and years.

“Steady, there.” He helped me to my shaky feet. His arms were strong, but so were mine. I felt his skin give beneath mine. “You're strong.” He seemed surprised. He tried to pull me into his arms, but I resisted. What was he doing? Why was he touching me like that? I moved away from him, slamming my back into the stone that encased the room. There was a bang, and little bits of stone and dirt rained down on us.

“Easy, easy,” he said, holding his hands up.

I wanted out of the room. I ran to the other side, which took less than a second. I tried the other. I just wanted out. Out of this room, out of my body.

“Brooke, listen to me. You can't go out or you'll die. Do you understand?”

I looked up and saw a trapdoor. It was high up, but with a jump I could do it. Ivan's words reached me.

“I want to get out,” I said.

“I know you do, but you can't right now. We just need to sit for a while.”

I looked at the door again, but his words scared me. I didn't want to die.

“Do you remember anything?”

“Anything about what?” I searched my brain. I remembered my name; I remembered him. But... nothing else. “What's happening?”

“Brooke, you're sixteen years old. You liked a boy named Dillon, and your best friend is Cara. Do you remember that?”

As he said the words, murky images swam through my brain, but as soon as I tried to grab them, they slipped through my fingers. I tried harder and I was able to hold onto them for moments before they slipped away again.