Hollowed (Half Light)

by Kelley York

  But I can't tell Oliver that. I can't, because if I do, I'm going to burst into tears and I've done more than enough of that lately. Instead I shake my head mutely. He lets out an agitated sigh, but doesn't push the subject.

  We head back the way we came. At the creek, Blondie's body is gone. I search up and downstream for any sign of her, but I see the exact spot she was laying. Right next to where she had me pinned. Empty.

  "No way. He shot her through the head. Where is she?!"

  "Her friend probably dragged her off," Oliver mutters. "If the bullet didn't destroy anything too vital in her brain, she will heal from it."

  Shot point-blank at the skull, and she can recover? This is too surreal. If I cross paths with Blondie again, she's going to be majorly pissed. And this time, I won't have Noah to save me. If saving me was even his intention. Why not let the bitch finish what she started if he wanted me dead?

  I force the thought aside when Oliver looks at me again. I won't cry. I won't cry, I won't cry.

  "Did either of them say anything to you?"

  Nothing that concerns him. Ruby is my business, and I'm not so sure I want anyone knowing. I look away, eyes trained on the ground. "No."

  "They must have said something." He frowns. "Why else would they come after you? Vampires tend to leave one another alone so long as they are not causing problems. For that matter, you had to have known the guy."

  I shrug. Oliver sighs and thankfully gives up.

  "Fine. Whatever. You still need to eat. I'll stay with you this time."

  Food is the last thing I want to think about. But the sooner we get back to the hotel, the sooner I can start searching for the truth about what happened to my sister. The sooner I can scream and cry out every thought of Noah from my mind.

  12. Tuesday – 11:01pm

  Whenever Noah brought me flowers, it didn't matter if they were from a florist or a store or from someone's yard. In fact, the yard ones were my favorites because inevitably Noah had a story about surviving getting caught. Those were special flowers, because they were a reminder of everything Noah was. Determined, thoughtful, unafraid of old ladies chasing him out of their yards.

  Lavender was his favorite to bring me, even if it was hard to find. Sometimes he picked the wrong ones, little purple flowers that looked similar but were something else. I never had the heart to tell him he was wrong because it was the thought that counted.

  The first time he left town after we met, he tucked one single, tiny purple bud into my hair as I said, "Don't forget me, cowboy. Even if you don't come back."

  Noah gave me a lazy smile. "You'd be pretty hard to forget about."

  Now I wonder if he's wishing he could. Forget all about me, pretend I never existed. Especially if he knew I just had my first meal as a vampire, compliments of a late-night jogger in the park.

  I'm not sure if being forgotten would hurt more or less than him coming after me. As I'm standing outside the hotel, staring down at a cluster of long-stemmed lavender mingling with other winter-weary flowers, all I can see are Noah's cold eyes and his gun trained so carefully on me. If Oliver hadn't gotten in the way, that bullet would not have missed its mark.

  Speaking of—Oliver has to be injured. I tried asking him on the walk home, but he only grunted and waved me off. Payback, I guess, since I wasn't willing to tell him much of anything about my run-in with the vampires and Noah. Which sucks, because I would probably feel better if I told someone. But when your only real friend is dead, your boyfriend is trying to kill you, and your cat would sooner run into traffic than be in the same room as you...it kind of limits one's options.

  I flick one of the flowers, watching a few scattered petals drop to my muddy shoes. A little white head and big yellow eyes peers up at me from beneath the greenery and splotches of color. I stiffen, waiting for it to growl and hiss and run, like Chuck did.

  When it doesn't move, I nudge the kitten with my foot. "Boo. Go on, get out of here."

  Still nothing. I flick one more bunch of flowers and turn to head inside. My day has been long enough without someone else acting like I've murdered its mother.

  Halfway to the door I happen to glance back, and the kitten is two feet behind me.

  I stop.

  He stops.

  Sits. Watches me. He has a burr caught in his tail but hasn't seemed to notice it yet.

  This isn't funny. I know the second I reach for him, he'll take off, screeching bloody murder. I can't handle any more rejection today.

  "I told you to go."

  Kitten cocks his head. He trots forward, placing his paws on my foot in order to rub his face against my leg. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes as I slowly drop to my knees. Miraculously, the cat doesn't bolt, but bumps his head against my hand, lets me pet him from nose to tail-tip. When I carefully pick him up, he doesn't protest. He doesn't care what I am. Doesn't care that I look like hell. He purrs noisily and I pluck the burr from his tail.

  "They don't allow animals in the hotel," I tell him. But...who would notice? Cole said he would have my own room for me when we got back. I have some cash, enough to buy a littler-box and food. After everything that's happened, having something to focus my attention on would be nice.

  Kitten is unbelievably patient as I pull off my sweater to bundle him up in it. Even the t-shirt I'm wearing under it is filthy. He doesn't care. I don't know why, but no way am I going to question it.

  There are more long looks from the person at the front desk when I slip inside. I tried wiping the mud off of me, but I can still feel it on my face and in my hair. Or maybe she's not looking at me so much as eying the bundle in my arms.

  I have a card-key for Cole's room in my pocket—thankfully I didn't lose it in the park—and let myself in. Just need to see if he did get me my own room, then I can disappear again. As soon as the door is cracked, I can hear him sighing.

  "You really ought to be more careful... You know I don't have the proper tools for this sort of thing."

  He's seated on a chair in front of Oliver, who is propped on the edge of the bed. Oliver growls in response and his gaze darts to me. He's shirtless, and while I can't exactly tell what Cole is doing to Oliver's shoulder, it's not hard to guess. I don't want to know how one removes a bullet without some kind of medical equipment. Guilt knots up my stomach.

  "You could've told me you got shot," I mutter.

  Oliver rolls his uninjured shoulder back into a shrug and turns his gaze out the window. "I figured since we were keeping secrets..."

  My jaw tightens. That isn't an accusation I can deny, so it's better not to say anything at all. Cole doesn't seem to want us arguing, either, because he wipes his bloodied hands off on a towel and rises to hand me another card key. "Your room is next door to Oliver's."

  The way he says it makes me feel twice as guilty. Here they are, helping me out. They rescued me, took me in, and now Cole is paying for my room... I take the key. "Look, I..."

  Oliver looks back at me, nose wrinkled. "Did you bring an animal in here?"

  As though summoned, the kitten pokes his head out from the bundle in my arms. He looks straight at Oliver. Thankfully, there's no hissing or growling.

  I refuse to let Oliver's hard stare make me feel nervous. "I'm naming him Algonquin. He's going to stay with me. I'll buy him what he needs," I say.

  Oliver gets up. The blood is drying on his skin, but the wound itself is already healing. I avert my eyes, hugging the cat a little closer.

  "No one will ever even know he's here, I promise."

  "His name isn't Algonquin." Oliver halts in front of me, leans over, and narrows his eyes. "What are you doing, Daniel?"

  The kitten blinks at Oliver, slow and lazy, then tips his head back to give me a look. The recognition in his gaze is so eerily human. And Oliver talking to him like the cat is his rubs me the wrong way.

  "Algonquin. And you can get your own cat."

  I should probably listen to what he has to say, but I'm not in the m
ood. Algonquin is the first non-vampire thing to not be terrified of me, and I won't let anyone ruin that. Algonquin doesn't even mind how tightly I'm hugging him as I whirl around and stomp out of the room.

  Oliver follows me into the hall, sighing. "Briar, that's not a cat. He's—"

  "Leave me alone." I can't swipe my card key fast enough to get inside. Oliver catches my arm and twists me around in the doorway and...stops. He doesn't say anything. Just stares at me like he sees the frustration in my eyes that makes him change his mind. Whatever the reason, he releases me.

  As much as I want to be angry, it's hard to stay mad. He's a big jerk, but he's trying. The guy took a bullet for me. That isn't something I can just shrug off. "Go get cleaned up before someone sees you and thinks you've been murdering the maids," is the nicest thing I can think to say without actually apologizing for being a bitch. Oliver says nothing. He walks away and leaves me to my room and my solitude.

  Algonquin makes himself at home on the foot of my bed, tiny paws kneading the covers. I leave him there while I slip into the bathroom.

  I scrub down in a hot shower before letting the tub fill to relax in it. The heat melts away the last bit of pain from my ribs. Can't say that's an injury I ever want to get again. I lean back, submerged to my shoulders, eyes closed.

  Noah and I once took a bath together. Sort of. He called when he was out of town, and I happened to be enjoying a bubble bath when I answered the phone. So, he did the same on his end. We talked for two hours. When the water got cold, we relocated to our beds. We flipped through television channels and made running commentary on the shows we came across.

  More than ever, I wish I could look forward to those moments again rather than reflecting on them as nothing more than memories. We weren't even together for a year, but it felt longer. I thought—just maybe—what we had might turn into something more serious. One day I could bring him home to meet my parents, maybe one day he would actually tell me something about his secret work life.

  I fling an arm across my burning eyes. I'm done crying over it. Painful or not, I have more important things to worry about now. Keeping myself alive. Finding out about Ruby. Avenging Sherry.

  Noah was just a guy.

  If I tell myself that long enough and hard enough, maybe I can make myself believe it.

  The bathroom door creaks open and Algonquin's little feet pad across the floor. I can hear him hop up onto the lid of the toilet, perhaps leaning over to inspect the bathtub. Despite everything, it makes me smile. I have something, no matter how small, and I'll hold onto that dearly.

  "You're going to fall in," I warn him, lifting my head to look.

  Just in time to see a baby duck wiggling its tail feathers and hopping into the bathtub. It makes the tiniest of splashes.

  "Uh."

  Not kitten.

  Duck.

  Complete with yellow downy feathers and a pint-sized quack as it treads circles in the water near my knees.

  I press my back against the tub, not sure whether to scream or throw it out of the water or what. Screaming over a baby animal seems a be excessive, though, so I opt for sitting and staring, completely dumbfounded.

  And again, the look in its eyes—

  "Algonquin?"

  No need to ask. I know it's him. This duckling is—was—my kitten. Algonquin stops swimming when I say his name, watches me, as though waiting for me to say something further.

  I sit up a little straighter. "...I have a magical duck-kitten."

  "Quack."

  All things considered, if vampires can exist, I guess something that can change shape isn't really that far-fetched. Is this what Oliver was trying to tell me? Do they know each other? "Can you turn into...something else?"

  Algonquin seems to consider this, feathers ruffling. He dips his head into the water. I don't know what I'm seeing, or how he's doing it. His body shifts, changes, so quickly there isn't even time for me to study it. Feathers morph into dark, water-slicked fur. He's bigger. Big enough it makes sharing bathtub space a little weird. Then again, sharing any kind of space with a baby otter is bizarre.

  He floats on his back, hands rubbing at his face. As though this were nothing. Just an everyday thing. Slowly, I reach out to poke his belly.

  "Either I'm really drunk, really crazy, or you're just...really cool."

  A shape-shifter. What did Oliver call him? Daniel? I'll stick with Algonquin for now. He doesn't seem to mind. Algonquin-the-otter swims around for awhile longer while I sink back down to my chin and watch. The steady lapping of the water makes me tired. Or maybe the entire day has made me tired, and it's just now catching up to me. As much as I want to see what other neat things my new pet can turn into, I'm guessing—hoping—he'll still be with me tomorrow to find out.

  I bundle up in one of the complimentary robes and wander out to actually look at my room. Big-screen TV. Comfy queen-sized bed. What I wouldn't give to help myself to a bottle of wine in the mini-fridge.

  Cole brought my things in when he got the room. My clothes are even unpacked and in the dresser and the closet. I would be annoyed at him going through my things, but he doesn't strike me as the sort to do much of anything without good intentions.

  Besides that, looking in the closet there are clothes I don't recognize. Nice clothes. Things I sure would not have had the money to buy. I collapse into bed with Algonquin—a kitten again—curling up on one of my pillows. I don't know whether to feel humiliated that Cole looked at my other clothes to get sizes, guilty he bought me stuff, or touched he went through the effort. I owe him a thank you.

  More than that, I guess I owe him the truth.

  13. Wednesday – 9:00am

  Room service wakes me up with breakfast. I have no idea who ordered it, but I'm guessing it was Cole. Maybe to keep up our normal appearances or something. I nibble at it but don't trust myself with much. Cole was right, though; it doesn't leave me feeling full at all. In fact the sensation is almost an uncomfortable one, and the food tastes bland and heavy on my stomach. Too bad, I used to love omelets.

  Algonquin eats from a plate of sausage and gravy I couldn't stomach looking at, much less put in my mouth. At least he's enjoying it.

  "I guess this means no more shoving my face with chocolate when I'm depressed, huh?" I say.

  He tips his head back, licks his mouth, and goes back to eating.

  While he finishes up, I get dressed in some of the new clothes. Everything fits comfortably and by some miracle, Cole didn't get me anything hideous. Dad ruined me on thinking guys could pick out decent clothes for a teenage girl. Once I hit thirteen, he didn't seem to get that I wasn't into Disney Princesses and sequin-covered Christmas sweaters. He learned to let Mom do the shopping.

  It feels good to be clean, healed, and in new clothes that don't smell of blood and dirt. I can walk down the hallway feeling...human. Ha.

  Algonquin trails behind me, occasionally batting at my shoelaces. It isn't until I'm standing outside of Cole's room that I realize he almost seems to be trying to stop me. He puts himself between me and the door, paws on my foot.

  "What's wrong? Did grouchy Oliver scare you yesterday?" I lean to scoop him up, and barely make out the voices on the other side of the door.

  "...Until we find out what it is that boy and the others want, you can't be letting her run off on her own. That was foolish."

  I straighten slowly. They're talking about me? I guess that's a duh; who else would it be?

  "I got it, I got it. I thought she would do better on her own, that's all. And I can't watch her twenty-four hours a day, she'll start asking why." Oliver's voice fades in and out. He's pacing, I'll bet. Toward the door, away from it. "She's already asking questions I don't know how to answer. If we could just tell her the truth–"

  "Not yet. I don't want her overreacting."

  My skin prickles. The truth about what? What aren't they telling me? Or more importantly, what are they telling me that isn't true?

  The logi
cal thing would be to leave. Get out of here before they notice me. If I confront them and they don't react well...then what? I can't imagine them hurting me, but I also hadn't thought they would lie to me, either.

  One untruth after another. Noah's betrayal. The truth about Ruby. Now this.

  I swipe the card key and shove open the door, nearly slamming it into Oliver in the process. He whirls, staggers back. Like a deer caught in the headlights. That's right, Bambi. You are so busted.

  They stare at me, tense. Both silent and waiting to see how much I heard. Arms crossed, I lean against the doorframe.

  "Truth about what?" When neither of them say anything: "You have ten seconds to start talking before I walk out."

  They exchange looks. Cole stands slowly.

  "Briar. It's very important that you tell us the truth about what happened last night. It's the only way we can help keep you safe." In such a smooth, comforting voice. Like that's going to calm me down.

  "Me tell you the truth?" It hurts so much because I'd planned on it. I came over here for that exact reason. "Yeah. You first."

  Oliver's eyes narrow. Not at me, no, but at Cole. "Briar..."

  Cole shoots a hand out to grab his shoulder, mouth drawing into a tight line and willing him to silence. Surprisingly, Oliver ignores him. He looks right at me and shakes Cole's hand off.

  "You weren't turned by accident."

  Not what I expected to hear. Kind of takes the wind out of my sails, actually. How do I respond to that with anything other than, "Sorry?"

  Oliver drifts closer. He braces himself on the doorframe, leaning in so he can speak like he has a secret to tell.

  "In the old days, a vampire would feed their blood to someone in order to infect them. These days, it's usually done through a direct injection of blood from the vampire to the human."

  "What about the biting?" My voice comes out shakier than I mean for it to. Even as I'm saying it, I remember the look on Oliver's face when I asked him about it last night. How trapped he seemed. Like he didn't have an answer. "You lied to me."