Nightmare (22 page)

The jeans slide over my hips and settle low. They are too baggy for my liking. I put the shirt on. It's made of a soft material that makes me think of the shirts Ava wears to bed. It doesn't smell like her, but I hope in time it will. All the clothes carry the smell of the human that wore them last. They all carry the residue of blood. 

“Let me see.” On the other side of the curtain, Ava bounces up and down on her feet. I pull open the curtain and she beams.

“Not bad. Turn.” She swirls her finger in a circle. I am puzzled. “Spin around so I can see the whole effect.” I turn around.

“The jeans are a little baggy for you. Unless you want your underwear showing at the top like some badass rapper guy.” I have no idea what she means, but I do not like the bagginess. 

“No, I do not.”

Her eyes skip up and down and around my chest, assessing the shirt. “I didn't think so. The shirt's nice though.” She brushes a finger across my chest. “Okay, the shirt is a go, the jeans not so much. Next outfit.” I let her push me back behind the curtain.

By the time Ava is finished with me, I have more than a few shirts. In my arms are no less than ten shirts, six pairs of jeans, one pair of black pants, two jackets and one sweatshirt. 

She snaps her fingers as if she's remembered something. “Oh, pjs. You need those, too.” 

I assume she means pajamas. What would I need those for? “I don't sleep.”

“I know, but it's weird when we go to bed and you're still wearing jeans. I guess you could wear boxers.” Her face blooms with red and I understand her embarrassment. “You're going to be on your own for that stuff. But I could at least get you some comfy pants.” She adds a pair of soft gray pants that I don't try on to the pile.

“Is that it?” The shop is so small that I wish to get outside. The air is stale and old. I can barely smell Ava with all the other things crowded in the shop. 

There are so many hints of other lives, other people who have worn these clothes. The places they went, what they did seeps into the fabric. I'm not sure if I can wash it out. I hope Ava's scent will someday drown it out.

“I think so. Not too bad for a rinky dinky thrift store.” We go to the counter and Ava pays with her card. I want to protest, but she is determined. The woman looks from me to Ava and back, pressing her lips together as she puts my new clothes in a bag. We're about to leave when I see something hiding behind a naked mannequin that is missing one arm. It's a dress. Ava needs a dress. The only dress I have seen her in was Texas', and I hadn't seen it since.

“What about you?”

“What about me?” She turns, her hand on the door, the bag with my things in the other.

I gesture at the shop as a whole. She should get something. “Would you like something?”

“We came here for you.”

“You should get yourself something.” She lets go of the door and looks around. Her shoulders slump. I can tell she's tired. 

“I don't know. I'm not really in the mood.” Her earlier buoyancy has deflated somewhat.

I move toward the sparkle I'd seen behind the mannequin. “Would you let me pick something for you?” She smiles and looks at the floor. 

“Sure.” She takes the bag from me and sits in a chair outside the changing room. I pull out the item that had caught my eye. It's a green and black dress that would hit her right above the knee. I am not a good judge of women's clothing, but I know Ava, and this would fit her. It would also bring out the color in her eyes.

“This.” I hold it up so she can see it. She gets up and comes to feel the fabric watching it shift in the light.

“Wow, that's really pretty. Where did you find it?”

I point to the mutilated mannequin. “Over there. Will you put it on?”

She flushes before saying, “yeah, okay.” She goes behind the curtain and I hear her slide out of her other clothes and pull the dress on. Taking a deep breath, she pauses before drawing the curtain back.

I cannot speak for a moment, lost in her beauty. Her eyes shine bright, her hair tumbles down her back and the dress hugs her frame as if it was crafted for her alone. She adjusts the straps, a nervous tick.

There is only one thing to say.

“You look lovely.”

This time the smile reaches her eyes and a surge of pleasure runs through her, warm and sweet. “Thanks. It's a bit tighter and shorter than I'm used to wearing.” She pulls at the hem as if trying to make the dress longer. I like the length where it is. Besides, it is longer than the dress she wore the night we danced. I have thought about that night many times since.

“What about the gold dress?” I ask. She rolls her eyes again.

“Don't even get me started. That was all Tex. I wouldn't have worn that if I'd known that was what it looked like ahead of time. She knew that, which was why she knew I'd have no choice but to wear it.” She's shifting and twitching inside the fabric, and I can feel her discomfort.

“What is wrong with it?”

She finally meets my eyes. “I don't know. I just feel kinda exposed.” Crossing her arms, she moves closer to me, as if I'm going to shield her indecency. 

“You shouldn't hide your beauty.” I take her arms and pull them out. She resists, but lets me. 

“I'm not hiding it. I'm just, keeping it under wraps. Like a secret.”

I have an impulse and take one of her hands, holding it above her head. She giggles and twirls under my arm, striking a pose with one of her feet in the air.

“You should buy it and wear it on the date.”

She finally relaxes. “Yeah, and freeze to death.” I often forget that she gets cold.

“You should still buy it.” I like the dress, but I like it more when it's on her. Her hair look like a river of black ink rolling down her back as she turns to go back into the changing room. “Buy it. For me.” She could get away with anything in that dress.

She looks over her shoulder. “Fine.” One side of her mouth turns up in a smile. Effortless.

While she's putting her normal clothes back on I try smiling a few times in the mirror, butI need Ava to tell me if it looks right.

Chapter Eighteen

Ava

If I'd known wearing a skimpy dress would get Peter to look at me like that, I probably would have done it sooner and more often. True, I had worn one that night when we danced, but I'd forgotten a lot about that night, due to the craziness that ensued afterward. Oh no, I hadn't forgotten the dancing. I couldn't forget that even if I wanted to. And I very much didn't.

One look at his face when I came out of the changing room was all it took for me to want the dress. I thought it was nice when he held it up, but I like that he likes it on me more. It's got a cool swirly black and green pattern of leaves and there is a subtle sheen to it when I move. The straps are thin, so my shoulders are pretty naked. Although, my boobs look fantastic, so there is that. 

I try to forget that I'd been wearing a green dress that night at Bolero when my parents had shattered my world forever. That night had led to meeting Peter. And my mother would still be sick if they had told me or not.

I have absolutely no place to wear the dress. It's more of a formal dance kind of thing, what with the sparkles and all, but I don't think I'll be going to prom this year. The point of prom is to spend it with a big group of people. I just have Jamie and Tex and I can't bring the person I want to bring, so it would be lame. I might have to go anyway, to make my mother happy. Maybe I could smuggle him in. He's stealthy enough. I'd only have to dance with him once to make it worth it. But prom was a long way off. I couldn't see past this week yet.

After the thrift store I took Peter to the local equivalent of a department store so he could buy unmentionables. There was no way I was going with him to buy underwear, so I wrote him out a check and signed it. 

First of all, I'm not his mother and second, I would spend the whole time picturing him in said underwear and he'd know and that would be super awkward for me. Especially if he could sort of read my mind.

I can't even go into the store with him, it's that bad. I feel a serious case of the giggles coming on so I stand outside and stare at the window displays and hoping he can shop in a store without me needing to rescue him. 

He comes out a few minutes later with a bag. Phew. I don't ask to see what's in it and he doesn't offer to show me. Instead he shoves the bag in the back of my car along with the thrift shop bags. I really wish I was a fly on the wall to watch him check out, but alas. I was not.

“So where are we procuring this car from?” I have to change the subject so I'll stop thinking about whether he got boxers or briefs. Or those things that are in between. 

Shut up, Ava.

His stupid hair's in his face again, but I don't push it back. “A dealership.” 

“You're going to take a car from a dealership?” Is he insane? Of course they're going to notice a missing car. There's also the little problem of security cameras. I doubt even Peter's noctalis powers would work on those.

“If you take them from the back of the lot, most people don't notice.” Oh, he's definitely done this before. I don't know how I feel about that. I'm going to cover all my bases to make sure he knows what he's doing.

“What about license plates?”

“I take the temporary ones from the dealership.”

“What if you get pulled over?” I'm trying to poke holes in this plan because I really don't like it.

“I never get pulled over.” He's super confident. I've never seen Peter cocky, but I can hear it in his tone.

“Yeah, I bet you don't. So which dealership?” I'll steer him away from the one where my parents bought their cars.

“It doesn't matter.” I really feel uncomfortable about this. We have to drive a little ways before we even get to one dealership, and I go right past the first one. 

“What about there?” Peter says as I drive by. 

“My mom bought a car there once. The guy is really nice. I couldn't steal from him.”

“We are not stealing. Simply borrowing.” Yeah, sure, it's just semantics. 

“Without permission.” I try to give him my best glare.

He is undeterred. “They loan out their cars frequently, but they will not loan one without identification.” He's patched all the holes I'd tried to make. And I was out of ideas.

“You're right. You're right.” I know he's right. And I know that he needs a car to pick me up in. Dad would never believe that he wouldn't, going to a swanky school like Galdon. God, I hope he doesn't want to go to the BMW dealership.

“What about there?” He points to another dealership. I've seen the owner on tv, jumping up and down wearing various ridiculous costumes. He seems too nice. I can't take from him, either. 

“Uh uh.” I keep driving until I get to the mega lot a half-hour away from Sussex. They've got everything from trucks to sedans to minvans. I pull in and go to the back of the lot. Bingo. There's a black Prius. Sure, it's not a very masculine car, but it's good for the environment. He wouldn't have to put gas in it.

“That one,” I say, pointing.

“What is it?”

“A Toyota Prius. It's energy efficient.” I shut the car off, but I'm too scared to get out. My eyes travel to the lights, looking for the red flash of a camera.

“I will find the keys.”

“Wait a second,” I say, looking around. “There are probably cameras all over the place. They're going to catch you.” God, why does he have to do these things that stress me out?

“I will disable the cameras. Viktor taught me how.” Well, he's just full of surprises. 

I really don't want to be around for that part. “I think I'm going to leave. I'll park over there.” I point to a church across the road. “When you get the car meet me.” I'm freaking out and trying not to show it. I was not cut out for this life of crime. The sooner I get out of here the better. How do I get myself into these things?

It was easy. I'd gone to a cemetery and met a noctalis. And hadn't run in the other direction. Because I was an idiot.

“You should probably wait a few minutes after I leave. So I should go now. So I'm going to do that. Right now.” He blinks and I get in the car and drive to the church. The irony that I'm waiting in a church parking lot for my vampire angel boyfriend to steal a car so he can impress my father, is not lost on me. 

A few lifetimes and gray hairs later, the Prius pulls up beside me. He looks pretty good in it. 

“All good?” I say, holding the steering wheel in a vise grip. 

“Yes,” says Mr. Cool-as-a-cucumber.

“Here are your clothes,” I say, handing the bags out the window, including the underwear bag. “I guess I'll see you later then?”

“It will be fine. I have a car now.” He runs his hands down the steering wheel as if he really likes the feel of it. The black color doesn't hold a candle to the color of his wings.

“How do you like it?”

“I'd rather I were riding in the passenger seat of yours.” 

“Yeah, me too.” With that I swing out of the parking lot of the church and head back home. I don't see where Peter goes, but I'll see him later. He'll probably just drive the car around for fun. I'm sure he prefers flying. I would too, if I had wings.

****

All I smell when I walk back into the house is blood. I thought my tolerance was getting better, but it slams me like a bolt of lightning. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Only that doesn't help.

For some reason, it gets worse at night, or when I've been away from it and then come back or I'm stressed. Or all three in the present case.

I start to panic, running up to my room and shutting the door. Of course Mom thinks something's wrong and I have to tell her that I'm just in a hurry to get ready for the date. I throw the window open and pace the room, gnawing at my thumbnail and praying Peter gets here fast. 

I'm tempted to send out an SOS, using our connection, but I'm trying not to rely on him so much. It's selfish. But I must have called to him anyway, because he's in the window five minutes later. And less than two seconds after that he takes my hand and does the calming thing, stroking my hair and saying things I can't understand in my current state.