The Seventh Sister, A Paranormal Romance

by Z. L. Arkadie

  “I don’t know.” And he does look confused. “You’re just a very beautiful creation.”

  “Oh,” is all I can say as I stare into my salad.

  I can’t believe I’m falling for someone who calls themselves a Wek, and although I don’t know what being a Wek is entirely, I know liking him in a romantic way couldn’t be that smart on my part.

  It’s like because of what he did, we ran out of words to say to each other, although in reality we hadn’t. I have so many other questions to ask him, but I can still feel his hand on my cheek although he’s no longer touching me. This moment is beyond awkward and he hasn’t even started eating yet.

  “Don’t like the pizza?” I ask between bites.

  “I don’t eat human food.”

  “But you ate the candy apple.”

  “It’s not that I can’t eat human food. I just don’t. But the candy apples…” He nods continuously. “They’re good.”

  I sniff a chuckle. “We all have our vices, don’t we?”

  “What’s yours?” he asks.

  “A large, hot mochaccino at Macchiato Espresso Bar off Forty-Fourth and Lexington,” I answer with a faraway look in my eyes. “And Abraco too, they make a great cappuccino.” I sigh longingly. “Gosh, I miss New York. You know? The convenience of it.”

  When I look at him again, he’s smiling at me and I smile back at him. “But now that I’m here in Moonridge, I’m with you. All it took was one bite into that candy apple, and now I’m addicted.”

  We both laugh at that just as the bell rings.

  I ask Derek not to walk me to my next class because I don’t think I can put on an indifferent face while he chats it up with every single person in the school. Once again, he looks at me like he doesn’t understand why that bothers me so much and truth be told, I don’t really understand myself. Only that when it happens, I don’t feel like I’m being authentic.

  “I mean there are just some conversations I’d rather not have or listen to because I’m not interested,” I try to explain.

  “But it doesn’t hurt to listen.” He sounds too sensible.

  I roll my eyes a little. “Well, it kind of does hurt me physically if I’m listening to someone blab on about nothing interesting. I get a headache.”

  “Really?” He has this serious expression.

  “Really.” Not really, but I just go with it because although the headache is not literal it is figurative.

  We stood by the door having that conversation. He took one step closer to me. Our faces were close. His breath smelled faintly like cinnamon spice.

  “Do I give you a headache?” he asked.

  Of course, I said the first thing that came to mind. “Is this you flirting with me right now?”

  “I don’t know,” he replied.

  It felt rational to stare into each other’s eyes. I think I wanted him to kiss me. As I’m sitting in English Lit, all I can think about is remembering wanting him to do just that.

  “Any thoughts, Zillael?” Mr. Reynolds asks.

  That’s when I realize, I’ve been sitting here daydreaming while staring out the window.

  “On what?” I ask. I’m slightly peeved by him putting me on the spot like this.

  “Well, you would know if you were listening.”

  I feel my eyes glowering at him for trying to patronize me. I’ve listened to his boring lectures everyday up until now, and it’s as if all the other times I sat here pretending not to be bored out of my mind don’t even count. Instinctively, I’m preparing the most sarcastic comment I can conjure, but then, and strangely enough, I ask myself what would Derek do?

  When the answer comes to me, I sit up in my chair, look Mr. Reynolds straight in the eyes and say, “Sorry, I’ll pay closer attention.”

  The shock in the air is thick. I’m electrically aware that every single student in the classroom expected a snarky remark from me, including Mr. Reynolds.

  “Thank you,” he says, but it sounds like he’s questioning whether that’s the appropriate reply. So, “Thank you,” he says more assuredly after a brief pause.

  I almost shrink in my seat because I’m getting hit by stares. I do pipe up and listen to Mr. Reynolds talk about The Great Gatsby, which turns out to be this week’s assigned reading.

  Finally, it’s the last class of the day. When I walk through the door, Mr. Lux is at the front of the classroom writing on the chalkboard with his back to us. This is the first time I’ve seen him since that night. As I’m standing there watching him, Riley walks by and bumps me hard. The impact is like getting hit by a flea, but still I’m irritated.

  “Oops, sorry,” she says, but that snide smile tells me she’s not sorry at all.

  I’m debating about whether or not to take her by the collar and hem her up against the wall in hopes it will scare her enough to get the picture—I’m someone she doesn’t want to mess with.

  “Zillael,” Mr. Lux says as he quickly whips around and dashes over to a chair on the front row on the opposite side of the classroom. He slams his hands down on the tabletop. “Sit here.”

  Feeling hot under the black turtleneck sweater, I move over to the seat but Riley leaps in front of me.

  “So what’s going on between you and Derek?”

  “None of your business,” I say past clenched teeth.

  “How does it feel to screw around with another girl’s boyfriend?”

  “I don’t know, never done that before.” I’m snarling.

  “You’re such a bitch,” she barks.

  I’m trying to picture what Derek would do in this case as well, as it’s quite extreme.

  I look deep into her face to really see her, like see her. There’s vulnerability in her eyes. She’s really young too, probably the jewel of both her parents eyes with her light auburn hair and a button nose. She should be a Christmas ornament. Mr. and Mrs. Simms would never believe their daughter’s a bully. Here’s another thing I see. She really believes I’m unable to hurt her and thinks she can hurt me.

  I know this is a dire situation because it’s clear she’s not going to stop taunting me until something severe happens.

  “Yeah, I guess so,” I mutter and step around her. That’s when she pushes me in the back, but this time I’m prepared. She shoved me hard, but I don’t budge. My feet are planted muscles contracted.

  “Ouch,” she screams and cradles the wrist of the hand she did the pushing with.

  Morgan Slater and some girl whose name I think is Debbie rush over to see to her needs. I narrow my eyes at Mr. Lux as I pass him.

  It wasn’t my fault, I think, not sure if he hears me or not.

  I know, I hear in return, and I stop in my tracks, shocked. He did hear me.

  Morgan accompanied Riley to the nurse’s office and class went on as usual. Funny how light the air was without her there. I didn’t realize how much she tainted my peace of mind. I think my way would’ve worked a long time ago. She needed to realize that messing with me is detrimental to her health.

  It’s three o’clock on the dot, and I knock on Mrs. Lowenstein’s door as summonsed.

  “Come in,” she calls from behind wood and fiberglass, which has her name spelled out in black letters.

  When I enter, she’s wearing a genuine smile and the smell of coffee slides up my nose. Mrs. Lowenstein takes a sip of coffee contained in a white cardboard cup.

  “We have a Starbucks now.” She raises her eyebrows at me with delight and then motions towards another cup sitting on the desk where I’m to sit. “Would you like a hot macchiato?”

  I’m grinning from ear to ear, wondering if Derek mentioned my “vice” to her and if so, why would she supply it for me?

  Our meeting was brief. The condescending, smug smile was nonexistent. I learned that she hung new lime-colored curtains in her living room last weekend but afterwards realized they were too ugly and took them down. She’s also thinking about taking a job in Cleveland, Ohio but doesn’t want to leave Moonridge be
cause she thinks it’s an enchanting place. However, she’s turning thirty-five in February, and it’s time to recognize that she’s actually divorced and it’s time to start over.

  I must admit, I was stunned she revealed that to me. As a matter of fact, I said absolutely nothing the entire time. When she dismissed me, she said, “I’m sure I won’t have to see you in here anymore. It looks like Mr. Firth has been an excellent influence on you.”

  I clamped my lips tightly together to keep from exploding with laughter because that’s when it occurred to me that Derek’s influence over the crazy meeting went beyond the macchiato. It was like he was allowing me to be privy to the sorts of conversations he has with people, where they pour out their souls to him.

  When I get to the parking lot, I see a tall figure leaning against the driver’s side door of my jeep. When he senses me he turns to smirks at me. I sniff a chuckle and approach him.

  “So do you have a headache?” he asks, still smirking.

  I burst out into laughter. I can’t believe he did that. It’s the funniest thing that happened to me since…well, ever!

  “No, I guess I don’t,” I admit. “But that was too weird.”

  “Well, it wasn’t a mochaccino from Macchiato, but hey, it’s Starbucks.”

  “Yeah, and you got her to get me the coffee? How did you do that?”

  “I’m a Wek.”

  I’m grinning at him, pondering that. He’s a Wek. He’s becoming clearer to me, falling into place like the blocks that built the mayor’s downtown.

  “So where do Weks live when everyone else goes home?”

  He looks at me for a long time before saying, “You’ll see where I’m from one day.”

  “Okay,” I nod, accepting that answer. “Do Weks sleep?”

  “No, I don’t sleep.”

  I study his face. He looks so normal. His skin is made of flesh as far as I can tell. How can he not need to sleep or eat? My mind goes back to earlier today after we ate lunch when he called me a beautiful creation. Now I wonder, can Wek’s love?

  “So you don’t eat, don’t sleep—what about the bathroom? Do you do that?” I’m very curious to know the answer to this because I too have strange biological workings in this department.

  “No, I never have to do that.”

  “Oh,” I say. I can feel my brows pulling again. I don’t know if I should reveal this to him. Then, everyone else seems to pour out their guts to him, why not me? “I’m pretty limited in that department too. I mean, I can go but barely. Not often at all.”

  “I know,” he offers up.

  “You do?”

  “I told you, you’re not human. Well not fully a human.”

  I nod consecutively, again pondering what he just revealed to me. I haven’t started my “period” either. The only reason I know I’m supposed to get one is because I’ve heard other girls talk about it. I’m supposed to bleed each month for five days. There are cramps involved, moodiness I heard and stomach bloating. I have none of that, and I’m a fully developed woman.

  I’m seventeen years old, but I’m not built that way or look that way. The girls at my school look so much younger, so girlish. Even Riley Simms. I’m sure that’s why I never take her serious. She’s like a kid who doesn’t know any better. I’m like a freak of nature who doesn’t belong in this environment with others who are my biological age.

  This is my last and final year of high school. After graduation, I don’t know what I’ll do. I’m not looking forward to college. I am looking forward to being in control of my own life, which will involve moving far away from Moonridge.

  Snow flurries start to sprinkle down upon us from the sky, which reminds me how cold it is out here.

  “I guess I should get home. Homework,” I say.

  “Okay,” he says, but there’s hesitancy in his demeanor.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Nothing—I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  I swallow hard. I’m not sure what I want right now. This is so very bizarre. I don’t want him to go away. I want to do something like touch him or kiss him.

  “Yes,” I quickly say and look away from him to hurry up and get inside of my jeep.

  Once I’m inside he taps on the window. I roll it down.

  “Are you driving or walking tomorrow?”

  I look down at the shoes on my feet and the fitted jeans I’m wearing. “Definitely walking,” I say, because I will never wear anything like what I have on ever, never ever, again.

  “I’ll see you in the morning then,” he says and walks off.

  I watch him through my rearview mirror.

  I wonder where he’s going.

  Chapter 5

  The Selell

  When I get home and walk through the front door, I half way expect to discover Deanna here, but nope, she’s still away. I go into the kitchen to see if there’s a message on the machine, there are two.

  I have to stop off in Manhattan. I’ll see you soon. It’s Deanna.

  I shake my head, disappointed. At what point should I dig deep within myself and confess that I miss my mother. My eyes tear up and since there’s no one around, I allow them to fall.

  After swiping the tears from my cheek, I check the next message. There’s nothing but static. I delete the second message and save the first.

  The machine tells me that’s the twentieth saved message and warns me to clear the box because it’s reaching the limit. That’s three years of saved messages from my mother, and I’m still reluctant to delete them. I guess I’m waiting until I reach the limit, wondering if I’ll ever reach the max.

  The next big thing I have to do is strip out of the outfit I’m wearing. After kicking off the ankle boots, I ceremoniously peel off the jeans and sweater and throw on the first pair of pajama bottoms I dig out of the drawer and an old faded gray tee-shirt. Gosh, that feels freeing.

  I then prance off, heading back into the kitchen to mix up a salad. After pouring myself a glass of water, I take my dinner into the living room where I curl up against the arm of the sofa to eat and read The Great Gatsby.

  The hours tick away and by the time I reach page two hundred it’s midnight. Unfortunately, tomorrow’s there’s more school. I don’t know how long I can keep showing up there, going through the rigmarole of it.

  At first I’m lying in bed like usual, staring at the ceiling, abhorring the next morning even before it starts. At some point I close my eyes, maybe an hour later. Then my entire body turns real warm and though I’m unconscious, I’m sure there’s something or someone near me. My eyes pop open and blink to find focus. I know for sure that I just saw a white face looking over me, but now it’s, or he, is gone.

  I leap out of bed. Whoever it was moves fast, but I can too.

  Our house is built in a square surrounding an outside patio that has a sliding glass, heat activated rooftop, which melts snow during the winter. I’ve learned to keep it closed all season long.

  “Hey,” I shout while racing down one hallway before hitting the curve and zooming down the next, where I can see him standing in the patio, between the cushiony outdoor furniture circling the fire pit. His head hangs in surrender, arms limp at his sides. My feet stay cautious as I walk through the opened sliding glass door. I look up. The ceiling is opened.

  “Hey,” I say, this time much quieter.

  I’m looking at his backside. It’s extra dark tonight because the stars and moon are covered by snow clouds.

  “Hey,” he finally says back.

  “Who are you?”

  “My name is Vayle.”

  What a strange name but so is Zillael.

  “I’m Zillael. Or do you know that already?”

  “I know that.” He slowly turns until he’s facing me.

  It’s the guy, the one from the other night, the Selell.

  I take a few steps closer to him. He doesn’t look like a vampire, at least what I read about them. He is very pale, anemic looking, but his figure is healthy,
vibrant. Usually when you read about them, they’re extra beautiful in appearance. Now that we’re standing here face to face in this setting, a less dramatic one, he is very attractive, but the Wek is more beautiful.

  “What do you want?” I finally ask.

  “I need help, and this is the only place I can go.”

  “Why?” I ask, remembering what Derek told me. He’d gone undetected that night because of me.

  “I don’t know. But…” He hesitates like he doesn’t want to divulge.

  “But what? Please tell me?” I can’t believe I’m begging.

  “I haven’t been thirsty since then.”

  “You mean that night?”

  “Yeah.”

  He looks to be in his twenties. He’s definitely not a high school-aged kid, which is good.

  “Are you normally thirsty?”

  “Ever since this happened to me, yeah.”

  “When did this happen to you?”

  “November the eleventh, last year.”

  “Wow.” I am totally taken aback by that. “I thought vampires were like hundreds of years old.”

  He seems so fragile there, looking at me like he’s lost. I just realized what I said was so stupid and insensitive.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way.”

  He shakes his head and says, “That’s okay. I think I might live to be a hundred years old, but this is the worst way to do it.”

  I thumb over my shoulder. “Would you like to come inside?”

  After a long pause, he nods.

  “One second,” I say and walk over to push the button that slides the glass back across the patio.

  I lead him to the dining room, which is next to the kitchen and we sit at the table. I would’ve offered him something to drink, water perhaps, but from what I know, vampires only drink blood.

  We’re sitting across from each at the table. Inside, under the lights, he is quite remarkable looking in this setting with his black hair, black eyes and very translucent skin. I wonder if he always looked like this or did he change after what happened to him, happened to him. I would ask, but I’ve already shoved my foot in my mouth so soon already by remarking on his age.