Night Children

38

I could see everything.

There were a million, a billion of them, and I could see them all, twinkling like candles left unattended in the night. Of course I'd seen stars before—Nell, Alfie, and I used to lay out in the grass and watch them when we were kids—but never like this. There were just so many. I could hardly breathe.

The sky was clear in Arizona. It always was. The clouds were minimal, the air was clean, the view was stunning. I was going to lay here in the dust of this vacant plain for the rest of my life, just staring, marveling at everything I'd been missing. It wasn't like New York. There was space, and endless bounds of it. It was just me, the dust clinging to the back of my shirt, and the starry night in my eyes.

Oh, and Cal. "You're getting your clothes all dirty," she called, and I craned my neck back to look at her. She was standing in the door of the RV she'd bought for—severely—discount price, a black silhouette against golden light. There appeared to be some sort of ladle in her hand, but from here it looked more like some sort of bludgeoning weapon.

"I just bought you that shirt, too," Cal said. "There's not a laundromat for miles, either. You're an idiot, Theo."

"But there's so many of them," I replied, drawing my eyes back to the sky. "I don't think I've ever seen so many in my entire life."

"God, we need to get you to civilization. You're turning into a hippie. Richie hates hippies."

I rolled my eyes as Cal's footsteps scuffed the dry grass beneath her. I sat up, and she came to a halt, settling beside me. I confirmed she was holding a ladle and not a large hammer. "Richie hates everything," I reminded her, glancing back in the RV's window to make sure he was still asleep. "I'm pretty sure we're all well aware of that."

It had been a week since I'd said goodbye to Nell on my front porch, telling her I'd be back in a moment when I really wouldn't be back at all. Had I lied to them, all of them? Yes. Did I care? No. They had done the same to me, so I felt no remorse. They didn't have the right to, either.

Cal had driven to an old dump and bought an RV that same night, then she'd swung by and we'd picked up Richie and drove away from the neighborhood, from New York, from it all. We were exactly where I wanted to be: far, far away.

Reese had tried to call me more than once. I left my phone in a ravine near the Mississippi River.

I didn't need my family anymore, because I had a new one, one that would always protect me, yet never keep the truth hidden. Cal, and yes, even Richie, were all I needed now. I couldn't help feeling that they were all that I'd ever needed, and I just hadn't realized it until now.

In the distance, a field mouse skittered, a toad letting out a loud belch. I closed my eyes, bathing myself in the dark, feeling for the wind.

"Theo," Cal said. I didn't open my eyes. "I think we should talk."

I opened my eyes. "Why would you say that? Do you know how scary that one sentence is? That's not how you start a conversation."

Beside me, Cal hugged her knees to her chest, resting her chin upon them. The stars were in her eyes, black tinged with alabaster. "I'm sorry," she replied. "I didn't mean it that way. I just mean...okay, okay fine. I'm worried."

"Worried?"

"About you."

"About me?"

"Are you just going to repeat everything I say?"

I stopped. "No," I told her, letting out an exhale. I wasn't sure if I liked where this was going. No—I was positive I hated where this was going. I wanted to be in silence for just a few moments, but my previous solitude had long since slipped away. "Go on."

"You're different now...now that you've changed. Not just because you left your family, but in general. You don't talk the same way, don't act the same way," Cal answered. "It's like you're scared of yourself, somehow, and I don't like it. I miss the old Theo, who, yes, was extremely self-deprecating, but at least he had some sense of pride in there somewhere."

I paused, fighting the words that were bubbling up inside of me. I wanted to explode, to yell at her, to tell her she had no idea about the seriousness of my situation. She didn't get it, because she hadn't been there. She hadn't seen all the blood, seen Lee's cold, dead eyes, seen the destruction I'd committed in just a few short minutes—minutes I didn't even remember.

The stars were a bit less bright all of a sudden. "I left to retain my dignity, not lose it," I finally said. "I would have been more of a coward to stay there in that house, where I couldn't trust anyone, where I would've stayed shackled. Out here, away from my family, I'm free. So maybe I am different—but that's just because I'm thinking for myself now."

Cal turned her head, her eyes round and grim. "Theo—"

"Don't," I ordered.

I got to my feet, my heart pounding in my chest. There were two beats: my own, and my wolf's, both hand in hand now that all I'd been struggling to find had finally been recovered. I knew it was going to take practice, and lots of it, to be able to retain my thoughts in my wolf form.

But here, with her, I had all the time in the world.

When I reached my hand down to her, Cal eyed it warily. "Cal," I said. "Let's pretend."

Her face twisted in surprise. "What?"

"Let's pretend the world doesn't exist," I elaborated. "Let's pretend everything's nothing and it's just us. We can be here and hold each other and not have to think about anything."

I could taste salt and dust on my tongue, the cool night breezes sweeping around me. The stars had faded, and now it was only Cal: the awry curls of her hair, the milky tone of her skin, her big brown eyes as she stared at me in pure disbelief. I remembered the first night I'd seen her, the deep maroon of her dress, her easy smile. She'd been every other vampire back then, seductive and untrustworthy.

Looking at her now, I couldn't believe such thoughts had ever crossed my mind.

She let me pull her up to her feet, and I stepped forward, slipping my arms around her and burying my face in her hair. Her chest was still against my own, as unmoving as the rest of her.

Slowly, her arms trailed along my back. "I'm sorry. If only we could have—"

"Please," I told her. "No. I don't need to hear this."

Cal waited.

The crickets were chirping at our feet, a dissonant, arrhythmic song.

She asked, "When are you ever going to go back?"

I'd be lying if I said the thought hadn't crossed my mind. I was worried that I couldn't run forever, that my past would win this war within me and I'd come crawling back to them, apologizing and throwing myself at their feet.

But I was so much stronger than that.

I pulled back, resting an arm on Cal's shoulders as I turned my eyes towards the desolate yet ornate plain. "When I decide they deserve me."