by Kelley York
I already know the answer to that. They told me as much. Just a little crazy, right? Wouldn't the same thing happen to anyone that old? "So we're on your hit list. Why haven't you killed me yet? We've been out here for ten minutes, you've had every opportunity."
His expression tightens, struggling to keep his resolve. This isn't as easy for him as I initially thought it was. "I jumped the gun a little I wanted to put you out of your misery. Didn't want to see you change the way she did, even if it meant getting me in trouble with my own elders. But you said you didn't let them infect you on purpose, so I'm willing to wait."
"Wait for what?"
"For you to mess up. Like it or not, you will change, and you will hurt someone, and I'll be the one who comes after you when you do."
The final, crushing blow on any hope I might have had that we could work things out. I still even had hope? How much of an idiot am I? "How can you say it like that?"
"Because when it happens, everything I loved about you will be gone," he says quietly, the pain thick in his words. "You won't be my Briar anymore."
No. No, it's not fair. Have I changed at all? Aren't I the same? I can't stomach the idea of hurting someone. Even seeing Artie and Joel get mauled by Daniel, stabbing Artie in the chest...the idea of it churns my stomach. Noah has to understand that; I'm not going to change. I'm still me.
The sky splits open and spills the rain it's been threatening all day. The three seconds it takes for me to grab Noah, hands cupping his face, dragging him to me, we're already soaked. And I kiss him. I kiss him like I've never kissed him before, begging him to understand, to see and feel that this is still me and I'm never changing.
What's more, he kisses me back with all that familiarity and heat I've come to miss so much and his hands are on my shoulders, in my hair, torn between pulling me closer and pushing me away, as though kissing me—not kissing me—is physically painful.
This is how it should be. Me and him. I'm not as much of a freak as I thought I was, because he's different, too. I have a chance to catch up to him now, to exist in his strange world, in his life instead of always being left behind. No more secrets. He doesn't have to keep anything from me anymore. Why can't he see that?
I can feel every ounce of his struggle until finally, finally, he jerks away.
His breathing is ragged over the onslaught of rain. He steps back, shaking his head, turning for his car.
"Noah—"
The driver's side door swings open. He lingers there for half a heartbeat and meets my gaze one last time. Lost, uncertain.
"It'll happen, Briar. It always happens."
He gets inside. The car rumbles to life and he's gone.
22. Friday – 12:45am
Cars come and go from the parking lot. I wait for Noah to change his mind and come back. He doesn't.
I stand there for what feels like hours, letting the rain numb me to the bone, until Cole steps up behind me and tilts an umbrella above our heads to fend off the water. He doesn't say anything. Just stands there until I turn to face him. His eyes are soft, sympathetic. I wonder how much of my conversation he heard or saw.
"I feel he is not an immediate threat to us, for the time being."
"He said he'd be in trouble with his Elders, if he tried something? Do you know who he works for?"
"I have a guess, but that is all." Cole touches a hand to the small of my back. "Everyone has their own story and pain that others cannot comprehend, Briar. Noah isn't ready to share his story with you yet."
Guess that answers that. I duck my head into a nod. "Was he right, though? Does becoming a vampire change who we are?"
"Perhaps." Cole takes a heavy breath, and beckons me to come inside with him.
"But witches are no different. A child who learns they have the ability to use magic will change, too. The world becomes a lot bigger to someone who knows they have eternity."
I let him lead me back inside, but I'm not in any hurry. "Witches are immortal, too." Not a question. How old is Noah, then? As old as Oliver? Cole? How many more secrets will I find out before all this is over? That is, if it's ever over.
"Not immortal by nature, no. But many witches place spells upon themselves to slow or halt the aging process; it's fairly common." He holds the door for me. "Some find human partners and reverse the spell, choosing to live a normal life and grow old with the one they love. Unfortunately, vampires don't have the option to choose growing old or remaining young forever."
We don't linger in the lobby. Last thing I need is to be stared at some more by the girls at the front desk. I hit the button for the elevator and try to use Cole as my shield from their curious eyes. "I wish we did. I didn't ask for any of this."
"Not many of us asked for it. And those that did aren't always happy with the results."
There's something so distant, so sad in his voice that it makes me look up. But Cole's eyes are locked on the elevator door and impossible to read.
The doors ding and slide open. Before I can ask what he means by that, he gives me a nudge inside but lingers where he is. "I'll be up shortly; I have something to attend to." He gives me the ghost of a smile. "Check on Oliver. Get yourself dry."
No chance to argue; the elevator closes and takes me up to our floor, leaving me in relative silence to wonder at his statement.
Not many of us asked for it. And those that did aren't always happy with the results.
Did he mean himself? Or Oliver? I wish they would tell me. I want to know them more, I want to understand them in the way they seem to understand each other. To have that connection with someone. Once I thought I had it with Ruby and again with Noah, but maybe not. Maybe I've never known what it's like to get under anyone's skin.
Daniel lets me inside Oliver's room when I knock. He has a first aid kit and some wet towels, muddy red with blood. He's cleaned himself up and is in the process of doing the same to Oliver.
The gashes and scratches on Oliver's poor face and his mangled left shoulder are being carefully tended to and bandaged. I'm surprised how Oliver tolerates being fussed over. He catches my eyes and shrugs helplessly. Nevermind that Daniel doesn't have some magical healing ability as far as I know, and probably needs the attention more than we do.
When he finishes, Daniel draws back and graces me with a smile. "Now, Oliver needs food. I will be right back." He flutters out of the room, leaving the two of us in silence.
I shuffle my feet against the carpet. "Isn't all that kind of pointless? The bandages?"
Oliver looks at his patched shoulder and sighs. "Yes. But it makes him feel better, so it's fine."
Kinda sweet, in a typical Oliver-fashion. I sink down onto the bed beside him, drawing my legs up. "Was it Joel?"
"Joel and the big one." His eyes close. "Wouldn't have lost, but they caught me off-guard. I was too busy chasing the girl."
"Alex." I watch him rub absently at his scuffed and scratched knuckles. "I'm sorry for yesterday. Maybe if I hadn't opened my big mouth, we would've been with you."
Oliver cracks open an eye to watch me. "Unnecessary. I don't need your apologies."
I refrain from apologizing for...well, apologizing. "Why do you think Noah helped you?"
"Hell if I know. Guys like him with grudges against vampires...we run into them all the time. Vampires don't have the best reputation." He sighs. "Witches are tricky and underhanded about everything. They don't have the brute strength, so they rely on wit and traps. It wouldn't have been below him to kill me while I was injured."
But he didn't. Just like he had the chance to kill me. I don't want to read too much into that, so it's better not to think about it. "I don't really get it. If you guys all report to these Elders, why is it so common for people to go...rogue?"
"Does the government, the authorities, prevent all crime and murder in the world?" Oliver shrugs. "There will always be those who feel invincible. Those who might not even know the existence of the Elders until it's too late. It's impossible to fin
d every single witch, every vampire, every shifter, and get them the help they need."
Well, that sucks. And it's kind of scary, for that matter. "I'll consider myself lucky, then."
"Can I ask you something?" Oliver says.
"Shoot."
"If we cross paths with him again and he does mean us harm..." he hovers over those words, struggling with what he wants to say, "...if it comes down between one of us or him. What will you do?"
Would I fight Noah if I had to? That's what he means. If Noah went after Oliver seriously, if only one of them could survive...
I look away, staring at the carpet. "I don't want him to get hurt. But if he comes after you or Cole or Daniel, I'll do whatever I have to do to protect you." I mean it with every fiber of my being. I love Noah more than life itself, but loving him doesn't mean I'm going to stand by while he hurts the ones who've stuck by me.
Oliver's eyes are on me and he's silent until I look up at him. He's smiling. Grinning, actually.
"What's so funny?"
"You protect me?" He lets out a short, barking laugh. "I would like to see that."
Scowling, I sock him in the arm. I'm nice enough to not go for his injured shoulder. "Yeah, well, not all of us can be tanks like you. It's your turn to answer a question." I force myself to keep eye contact. "Do you think being turned changes a person?"
Shrug. "Sure. They're human, then they're not."
I punch him again, harder. He chuckles and rubs his arm, though his expression sobers a little. "Changes us, yes. Makes us all raving lunatics? No. I assume that's what you mean." Another shrug. "Sometimes I think...it makes people better. It can be a second chance at life. What each individual chooses to do with that chance is up to them."
What Cole said downstairs... "Did you want to be turned?"
The last of the humor drains from Oliver's face, leaving a sort of wistful melancholy behind. "I don't know how to answer that."
"Seems like a simple question."
"Is it?" He twists to better face me. "If you had been conscious as you lay dying, and someone came to you and asked if you wanted to be turned... If you had ten seconds to choose, what would you have said?"
The thought sends a shiver rattles down my spine. If someone had asked? If I'd been given a choice? "I don't know." At that moment, I think I was so petrified I would have said anything to avoid death. "Is that what happened to you?"
Oliver studies me like he's trying to figure out what he should say, how much he wants to tell me. I want to know. I really want to know. I want understand him because he and Cole and Daniel are closed books so out of my reach. I need to know these people who have taken me in and helped me, these people who might very well be all I have to rely on now.
After what feels like forever, Oliver's hazel eyes drift shut and he turns his head away. "During the second World War, I was brought to one of the concentration camps."
"You were a..."
"A soldier." His voice is tight. "I'd managed to avoid the camps right up until the end, doing patrols on the roads."
I bite my lip. Wherever this story is headed, the strain in his voice tells me it's not going to be pretty.
"Nothing can describe it," he continues. "All those who were imprisoned, I never understood what made them different from us. I lived my entire life next to a Jewish family; I used to play with their kids. The way they were treated... The way they were killed... On my first day, the other soldiers brought me to one of the gas chambers, like some kind of demented initiation. People filed inside and I..."
Before he can say another word, everything clicks into place. His reaction the other night when I asked, Have you killed a lot of people?
Oh my God.
Oliver stares down at his hands. "I didn't know what they were going to make me do. But I knew it meant hurting people, killing people. I could have refused...but I didn't. I followed the orders I was given."
I feel violently sick. "If you said no, they would have killed you." My voice is just as forced as his, catching in my throat.
"My life for all of theirs."
"It wouldn't have saved them."
"But I should never have been the one to bloody my hands." He shakes his head. "A week later, I broke open one of the fences at night to let out as many people as I could. They caught us, of course. Chased everyone down like dogs. People already too weak and sick to run. But I try telling myself that maybe...I was able to save someone."
The way he says it tells me it's something he's held onto. The one thing he did that might have been right, that maybe he was able to spare even one life for the ones he was forced to take. Something to keep him going when the memories wake him up at night.
"What happened after that?"
"I was gunned down with the rest of them, though it took them days to find me." A bitter smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. "They left me in the snow to die."
"Cole found you."
"He was looking for survivors amongst the escaped prisoners. Instead, he found a stupid German soldier who didn't deserve much of anything, let alone the chance to live." His voice softens. "...But he asked me if I was the one who helped them. I told him I had not really helped anyone. He said, ‘You gave them the gift of dying as free people,' and offered to save me."
I can picture it so vividly it chills me. A world and time different from the one I know, and Oliver, scared and alone, bleeding out in the snow, wanting so desperately to fix the unfixable.
"I didn't think I deserved it, but I had a mother and sister back home; I couldn't die not knowing if they were all right. So, I said yes. My transformation went by quickly. Two, three days. But during that time I didn't want to stop to rest; I forced Cole to let me return to my city. By the time we arrived, I was fully changed, but there was nothing left for me." His hands curl into tight fists. "Mother took in the Jewish family living next door and hid them in the basement. When they were found, they had her hanged in the middle of town to set an example of what would happen to anyone harboring Jews."
I swallow hard. "And your sister?"
"Sophie." A smile. Distant. Longing. Sad. "She was only ten. I don't know what the soldiers did to her, and I don't think I want to know, but she was...sick. Hurt. Mangled. She'd been alone for weeks, no doctor for her injuries, eating spoiled food. Cole tried to warn me about seeing her, and I wouldn't listen, I just...wanted to save her, protect her, and all she could do was scream and cry. Couldn't even look at me, she was so terrified. After that..."
Oliver tips his head back, eyes falling shut.
"I wanted to die."
There's nothing I can say. Compared to Oliver, my transformation was a cakewalk. I can't wrap my mind around it, and I don't know what to do with the pain in his voice, so tangible I can almost wrap my fingers around it.
No words. But I put my arms around him, hugging him, holding him, even though I don't know what good it does. Oliver is still. He says nothing, and I wonder if he's reliving those days and weeks all in his head behind closed eyelids. Still crushed under the guilt of not only taking lives, but being unable to save others.
He touches my arm, exhaling some of the tension in his shoulders. "I'm all right."
I take that as my cue to let go and sink back. We sit in silence, me watching him, him watching the floor. Finally, he lifts his head and clears his throat.
"I like to think the infected become more of their true selves when they're turned. Our innermost wants and feelings brought to light. Less reason to keep them bottled up, I guess." He shrugs. "Those who were bad to begin with will get worse, without the fear of death or repression by human law to restrain them."
The real Oliver? His true wants and feelings? The reason he's protected me despite not wanting to get involved is because he has always had a good heart. Because he isn't the sort who can sit back and watch someone hurt if there's something he can do to help. In that moment, I think I can understand him a little better.
This atmosphere is w
ay too heavy for my liking. I nudge him with an elbow. "Soooo...your innermost self is a stubborn, pushy jerk?"
Oliver blinks at me, like I've said something confusing rather than insulted him. Was he expecting a different reaction after everything he told me? Tough. His mouth twists into a smile.
"You're moody, and your sense of humor is terrible."
"My sense of humor is terrible? Yours is terrible!"
"Oliver does not have a sense of humor," Daniel says as the door opens and he steps inside. What timing. On his heels is petite blonde girl who looks like she might be part of the cleaning staff.
"Exactly, that's why it's terrible." I eye the girl, who is purposely trying not to stare at me and my messy clothes and hair, or Oliver's bandaged body. Daniel shuts the door behind himself and gestures to Oliver, who rises from the bed.
"Where did you say the mouse was...?" the girl says, glancing around. So that's how he got her here. Talk about room service. She turns away and Oliver moves. Before she can even comprehend what's going on, his teeth are at her throat. She lets out the faintest little "Oh," and sags limply in his arms.
Jealous. I wish I were capable of being so quick and clean about it. Though watching him is almost embarrassing, especially with the way I can see some of his color returning, giving him an almost flushed appearance, and the content expression on his face. The cleaning girl hangs in his arms, blissfully unaware. I look down at my hands in my lap.
"You need to eat, too," Daniel says, plucking a dark strand of hair from my eyes.
With the scent of blood permeating the air, I can honestly say I really want to, but—"Later." Not here. Not with people watching. Besides, I don't think the girl can stand to feed more than one of us.
Oliver pulls back after awhile. Already the wounds on the maid's neck are stitching shut. Creepy how that works. Neat, but creepy. She stands up on her own, shaky, and looks at us with a dim, dreamy expression. "Yeah, the mouse," she says. "I'll...alert management." And she wobbles out of the room like she's tipped back one too many drinks.
