Night Children

18

"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered. I glanced hopefully back at my closet, knowing clothes, in the least, would make me feel better about this situation—but I had to get Cal out of here first.

I stepped towards the window seat, Cal just watching me with that singular, raised eyebrow, her amusement written all over her face. "You're not going to see about anything, because you're leaving just the way you came—"

Her hand gripped my bicep, taking my words away. It wasn't like she hadn't touched me before, but I was regardless taken aback. Maybe it was the vulnerability I felt—the fact that there wasn't a shirtsleeve there, just my skin on hers.

My eyes trailed down to where her skin met mine, then up to her eyes. "Cal?"

She narrowed her eyes at me for a moment, before a smile twisted her lips. "That's an odd birthmark you've got there."

"Birthmark—oh? This?" I asked, brushing my free hand across my ribs, where an odd little marking, dark brown against my bronzed skin, had rested for as long as I could remember. "It's nothing. Just—I should really put on a shirt."

Her fingers slid from my arm, brushing across the birthmark instead. Her touch was slow, steady, respectful, her watchful eyes tracing every detail. As much I wanted to move away, I couldn't seem to make myself. So I stood there, Cal's hands on me, her eyebrows furrowed in question. "It's shaped like a flame," she observed, and it was, the lines bold and clear, like the fire in a hearth. "Most birthmarks are like, weird blobs."

"Well, the rest of me is a weird blob, so that makes up for it. Jesus. I should really put on a shirt—"

"Actually, I'm enjoying this."

"Cal!"

"You're so warm," she commented, her voice trembling and breathy, yet vacant, as if she didn't know she was speaking at all. Her smile broadened, and that was when I saw them: the retracted fangs in her mouth, gleaming sharp. I drew back, nearly stumbling. Surprised, she looked up at me, a red color I hadn't even noticed was there draining from her eyes. Her fangs sliding back into her jaws, she muttered, "I'm sorry, Theo...uh, that was super uncalled for."

"Cal," I began warily, turning to go to my closet. I swept a shirt over my head, pulling on a pair of pants beneath my towel. Cal was still watching me when I faced her again. "When's the last time you fed, anyway?"

The air in the room seemed to thicken then, Cal's eyes darting from mine. I didn't know why, but concern filled me. It wasn't something I was used to. Since when did I care if a vampire was feeding enough? And what could I do to fix a problem like that, anyway? A part of me said I was wasting my time by even asking, but the bigger part screamed at me to help her.

That's when I realized.

If it were any other person, I wouldn't care, but this was Cal.

I heaved a long sigh, depositing my towel on the floor and coming towards her again. I lifted my hands toward her cheeks, and she let me, her eyes burning into me as I tipped her chin up. "You do look paler than usual. Cal, come on. What are you doing to yourself?"

Her hand pulled at my wrist, but I didn't let go of her. "I've got this under control. I've got everything under control."

"How does starving yourself classify as under control?" I asked her, and only then did I let her swat my hands away, a frown forming at her lips. "If there's something, anything, you want to tell me, go ahead."

"You're not my mother, Theo Dacosta."

"Maybe not, but I...well, I still care...about you."

Cal stared at me, and I stared at her, and I realized my face was burning, and I realized that it had been something I'd been aching to say for who knows how long. Maybe since I laid eyes on her. Maybe since she told me she'd find a way for me to change. Maybe since forever.