Nocturnal (The Noctalis Chronicles 1)

“Aha!” She pulls out a large wedge of chocolate, half-eaten, but still wrapped in foil. “Chocolate solves everything. Here.” She shoves it in my face.

“Uh, thanks.” I take it from her.

“Eat. You look pale.” I fold back the foil, remove some purse lint and bite off a corner. It's a little old, but still good. Tex has a soft spot for Belgian chocolate. I eat a little more while she watches me like I'm a bomb that's going to blow up.

She knows something is up. She just doesn't know that it's two Somethings, and I can't tell her about either of them. I make it through the rest of the day only falling asleep once in French, but I might have done that under normal circumstances. I have no idea how I'm going to make it through work, but at least it keeps me busy.

Tex and I get stuck unloading a huge shipment of books, many of which I put aside to buy. Using my employee discount, of course. At least Toby isn't there. I cannot stand his sounds of disapproval and his awful unibrow.

“I am so tired of books.” She stabs her knife into yet another box.

“You're the one who wants to be a librarian, explain that to me.” I grab another new release that I've been wanting for months. They might as well pay me in books this week.

“Easy. Same as if you were a male gynecologist you wouldn't want to have sex with your wife when you got home.” She yanks out some bubble wrap and starts popping it.

“Ugh, Tex! You are so vulgar sometimes.” I chuck one of those plastic pillows of air they put between the books so they don't rattle around at her. I miss.

“Look at you, using big words.”

“Pretty soon you're not going to be able to understand me. I'll be so smart that you'll have no idea I'm insulting you.” I chuck my empty box at her. I miss again.

“And then I'll just punch you in the face.” Of course she could. She'd taken karate a few years ago and I knew she still had her skills.

“I'll just continue to eviscerate you with my words.” I stick my chin in the air and speak in a lofty British tone.

“And then I will punch you some more.” I cross my eyes at her and we both laugh until her mother comes out of her office to glare at us for messing around when we're supposed to be working. There's always someone glaring at us.

Tex's parents are serious booksellers. They both wear glasses, even though neither of them need vision correction. They are just that serious. It was a great mystery as to where Tex's sharp-as-knives wit had come from. Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton are squares about everything except naming their children.

“Coby, what are you doing?” Tex's thirteen-year-old brother lurks in a corner, looking sketchy, as usual.

“Nothing,” he mumbles. I haven't heard him talk in a normal voice for years. I also haven't seen his eyes in a few years, since he never looks at anything above the floor. They're probably stuck that way. Tex gives him a glare of her own. Then, and only then, she looks exactly like her mother.

“You'd better get going. Mom wants these boxes broken up and put in the Dumpster ASAP.” He swooshes his hair out of his face, but it just settles back in the same place.

“Yeah, I'm going.” He takes a box and shuffles off.

“I swear, he gets more emo every day. I'm going to have to start checking his room for razor blades,” she says after she's sure he's out the door. Not that it really matters if he is there. I've seen their parents talk about him as if he isn't even there, which probably doesn't help with the whole emo thing.

“His hair is starting to get a tiny bit too long,” I say, holding my fingers up to show how much.

“The moment it completely covers his eyes and he starts wearing black nail polish and skinny jeans, I'm having an intervention.”

“What do your parents think?” Tex glances into the office, making sure her mom's on the phone.

“They don't. Mom still thinks he's her wittle baby. He could shove coke up his nose in front of her and she wouldn't see it. Honestly, it's sick.” Tex and her brother, full name Cobalt Harrison Joshua Hamilton, have clashed from the moment he was born. I think her parents hope that someday, down the road, they'll have one of those movie moments where they find common ground and pull together and hug and all that, but I don't see it happening anytime soon.

“He's just such a pain in the ass.” The back door slams, letting us know he's back inside.

“Aren't all little brothers?”

“Supposed to be, anyway.” She stops talking when her mother yells at her to go empty the trash cans. She rolls her eyes and makes a gun with her fingers, miming shooting herself in the head. I nod sympathetically, even though I don't agree.

I've never told her I'm jealous. Not of her having Coby, specifically, but that she has someone else, even a surly emo brother. I always wished I had big brother. Someone who would have taken over as the man of the house and would keep us together after we lost my mother. Someone strong that would never break, never crack. I guess I want a superhero, but they don't exist.

***

I'm shuffling through my books, looking for my copy of Dracula that I want to give Peter when there's a sound on my window. Unlike a normal person, who would assume it was a bird or something, I assume it's someone trying to kill me.

My eyes search for a weapon, and the only thing I come up with is an old dance trophy I'd won when I was five. Well, not really won. They'd given them to everyone, so it was kinda small. Deciding it's better than nothing, I pick up the trophy, holding it at the ready. Clearly, it's not a bird outside, because birds don't raise windows. I get ready to beat the daylights out of whoever it is. Screaming isn't really an option.

Instead of hitting the person who climbs through my window, I say “What are you doing here?” It's not the scary guy in a sky mask I'd pictured, it's Peter, which is almost scarier, in a way.

“I came to see you,” he says, as calm as if this happens every night. His hair's really messy, all blown around, like he's been in a wind tunnel. I'm still clutching the trophy, like my arms are frozen. My brain can't understand what he's doing here. In my bedroom, moonlight spilling all around him like liquid light.

“Why?”

“I came to see you,” he repeats. My curtains shiver in the breeze. I shiver too, and not just from the cold night air.

“Get out of my room.” Wait, how had he even gotten in? My brain starts to catch up to the situation. “How the hell did you get in here?” I want to go look out the window to see if he's got a ladder or something, but he's still standing in my way, so that's a no go. Unless he'd somehow climbed onto the overhang under my window, then it would be easy to get in. Still, it was at least fifteen feet to the ground.