Nocturnal (The Noctalis Chronicles 1)

“Is Peter Hart your real name?” I'm seeing how many knots I can tie in one blade of grass. I'm up to four.

“No, I was Peter Henry Mackintire.” Five knots.

“That's a nice name.” I can't get a sixth knot, so I throw it away and pluck another blade. “Do you mind if I ask something?”

“You already have. You may continue.” His stillness makes me increasingly fidgety. For something to do, I roll over on my stomach.

“Why don't you want to drink my blood?”

“Ah, yes. That.” He pauses again and I pull at more grass, creating a bare spot. “I do want to. I simply choose not to.” I chuck the grass and start picking at my sleeve instead.

“Why?” I try to make my voice sound merely curious, but this is the answer I want most from him.

“Do you know why we desire blood?” I shake my head. Before last night I didn't think noctali or whatever even existed. Once again, this is something Tex would have thought about. She's nuts about Buffy. He makes sure I look up at him before he answers. Oh, he's got my full attention.

“Life. We desire life. In a way, immortality is the ultimate death. Instead of moving on to another place, we are placed firmly in the world of the living, but never a part of it. Humans want to be immortal. We only seek some of the light of humanity. We always want what we cannot have.” He's not just talking about blood. His eyes try to catch me again, but I pull away.

“Isn't that always the way?” I roll over again “I'm sorry to dump all those questions on you.” While we've been talking, my tears have dried up.

“It distracts me. And I like hearing your voice.” I glance back at him in surprise. He likes my voice?

“Distracts you from what?”

“Thinking about killing you.” A breeze blows some of his hair back in his face. His words have different meaning now that I know he has a reason for killing me.

“Then I'll keep talking.”

“You are not scared of death?” He tilts his head just a tiny bit, just enough to ask the question. If he wasn't so intimidating, I'd say it's cute. There's nothing cute about Peter.

“I guess not. You said I was reckless.”

“You are.”

“Is that a bad thing?” I go for playful, but it doesn't work out so well. It's hard when he's so serious.

“That depends.” I don't like talking about me. He's way more interesting.

“What's it like to fly?” I want to think about something nice. Flying is nice. I shut my eyes and try to imagine myself with a set of wings.

“It is one of the only pleasures of this existence. It is freedom. From everything.” He tilts his head back, as if he wants to be there right now, brushing the sky with his wings.

“I wish I could fly.” I'd go away from here. From my life. Find a deserted place. Anywhere. Just to breathe without facing anything. No dying mother. No friend issues. Just me.

“I wish I had a beating heart.” We look at each other and I let it happen. Get pulled into his eyes. The connection breaks when he's the one who looks away. A breath escapes my lips. It's more like he yanked the connection away.

“What is that?”

“Nothing.” He goes back to his one-word answers. A door closed. Sharing time is over. I get my feet under me and stand up. My legs are stiff and don't want to hold me up.

“I should probably go soon.” I don't feel better, exactly, but I feel ready to go home. To face semi-normal Thing One.

“How did you know I was going to be here?” I say, brushing off my jeans.

“I can smell where you are.”

“That's kinda creepy.” He blinks. It reminds me of one last question. The one I almost wasn't going to ask.

“How do you kill a noctalis?”

“You couldn't.” He says it quickly. Too quickly.

“There's no way? You've got to have a weakness. I'm just curious.” I need to know if I've got a chance in hell, if something were to happen. An insurance policy.

“It would depend on the human and the noctalis.” He pauses again. “You have power, Ava, and you don't even know it. If anyone could destroy me, it might be you.” I swallow hard around a lump in my throat. It seems like a weird note to end on.

“I should go.” My ass is cold and wet from the grass. I should have brought a blanket. I never think of these things until it's too late. “I'm going to be gone this weekend. Just so you know.” Why am I telling him this?

“Text me if you want. I know you still have my phone.” I add it at the end, and then write my number a corner of my list and give it to him. I don't ask if he knows how to text. He'll figure it out.

“Goodbye, Ava.”

I wave to him, which feels silly, but I do it anyway. I look at him for another second, trying to see him objectively. There's a... something about him. Maybe it's the immortality. I walk to my car, feeling him watch me.

***

We talked for a long time tonight. She was more open. Ava reminds me of a tulip. She bloomed at night in the cemetery surrounded by the dead. Their spirits whispered to me. I wondered if she could hear them too.

I'd flown tonight. It was cloudy and the droplets of water had collected on my wings and streamed down my body. I shook my hair out, thinking about her, Neil Gaiman, and my existence.

I ran my hands through my hair. I needed to wash it again. I scrubbed my fingers in it, hoping the rain would be enough to clean it.

Before I went to meet her, I changed my clothes. My hair had dried somewhat, and it smelled better than it used to. I pushed it back from my face. I'd seen her appraising me. My appearance. Taking note of everything. She kept trying to squint so she can see my eyes. They are a novelty to her.

She tugged and pulled and got the words out of me. I answered her questions. Not because I wanted to, but I had to. Once I started, it was easy, telling her. I watched her face, but I didn't tell her everything.

I would have given anything to go back and have died on that ship, or perhaps gotten into a lifeboat. I would have been with my mother. I would have married that girl from down the street. What was her name? Evelyn Peters. I would have worked at the bank, just like my father. We would have had a house down the street from my parents and Evelyn would have cooked pot roast and kissed me when I got home at night, holding a baby on her hip and another by the hand.

I never dreamed about those things when I was alive. I dreamed about being with Evelyn, but not in that way. All I wanted was to get her alone and peel the clothes from her body and touch her in places I'd heard about but hadn't seen.