Nightwolf

“Fine,” she says with a drawn-out sigh.

“Did you ever find out why he left?” I ask, knowing full-well that I’m treading on dangerous territory. It’s just I feel compelled to know more about her than I ever have before.

“Oh yes,” she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “There were many reasons, so you have to take your pick. One was that he got another woman pregnant. Another was that he was in gambling debt and he didn’t want it to affect us. Yet another was that he was wanted by the police and had to go on the run. And finally that he didn’t love my mother anymore and I never mattered to him much, so he just split and tried to find a better life elsewhere. You can decide which one you think it is, but I know that only that last one is true.”

Fuck. “I’m sorry,” I tell her. “Really.”

“Yeah, well, I know my story isn’t unique. Happens to hundreds of kids a day.”

I reach out, putting my hand on her shoulder to make her stop. “It shouldn’t have happened to you. You, your mother, you deserved so much more than that.”

She swallows hard, her eyes going liquid and it makes my heart break. “Thanks.” She looks down between us, at the pine needles on the path. “I guess it’s just hard to reckon with when I’ve never really had an explanation, you know? Like, my mom, she’s tried so hard to move on. She fell in love again, when I was in high school, with this guy, Teddy, but it didn’t work. And I know he cared for her, he was a good guy. And sometimes I wonder if it didn’t work because she didn’t think she was deserving of it. Like she threw it away, because my dad threw her away. And if that’s the case, will she ever learn what her worth is? Will she always be second-guessing who she is, her value as a soul, as a human being?”

She rubs her lips together as she shakes her head. “I don’t know, I just hope that one day she finds someone that makes her feel like she’s worth everything in the world, someone that overrides all the damage that was done in the past. A girl can dream, right?”

I don’t know if Amethyst is even aware that she’s talking about herself, not just her mom. I’m not a psychiatrist, aside from personally knowing Sigmund back in Vienna (those were the days), but being around for centuries means you become pretty astute on picking up on people’s fears and shortcomings.

“And you?” I ask. “Where do you fit in all this?”

She runs her pink tongue over her teeth in thought. “I don’t know. I suppose I might have the same issues.”

“Let me ask you something. Where do you see yourself in ten years?”

Her eyes go wide, her forehead lined. “Ten years? Wolf, I can’t even plan for ten days.”

“Yes you can, I’ve seen your agenda. Come on. Where do you see yourself in ten years?”

She just shakes her head. “I don’t know. I really don’t.”

“Do you think you’ll be at the house? Be honest. Don’t worry about my feelings.”

She mulls that over, worrying her lip between her teeth. Finally, she says, “No.”

I know I just said for her to not worry about my feelings, but I have to say, that was a steel-toed boot to the gut. “Then where do you see yourself?”

“I don’t know,” she says adamantly. “And maybe I will be at the house. I just…”

“Just what? Tell me, Amethyst DeMille. What do you plan to do with your one and precious life?”

She stares down at the ground again in thought. Finally, she raises her shoulders, looking at me with bewilderment in her violet eyes. “I don’t know! I don’t know, Wolf, that’s the problem. Part of me has no problems staying at the house, because it’s larger than life, you know? I’ve always thought I was meant for something special, and maybe that something special is taking care of vampires. I mean, that’s a huge fucking deal. Most of the world doesn’t even know you exist, and yet here you are. And here I am, I’m let in on this secret, a secret that’s greater than anything. You’re a vampire, you’re this supernatural being with nearly immortal lifelines and superhuman strength and I’m the one who has been chosen to be a part of your world, me with my deadbeat dad background and food stamps and this repetitive, incessant urge to make something of myself.”

Against my better judgment I reach out and cup her face in my hands. Her eyes immediately close at my touch, and while I send her heart rate way up, I also calm her breath. “You don’t have to make something of yourself,” I say, my voice coming out ragged. “You already are something. Frankly, you’re everything.”