Chapter 7
Callie
Nolan’s place looks nothing like my old home made of brick, white adobe, and Redland clay tile encompassed in the scrub of the Arizona desert, but the scale and opulence is enough to have me shivering. Wealth can hide many sins.
Nolan enters a code to open the wrought iron gate then drives through, the sporty engine growling as it climbs its way along the winding black lane. Driving up to his home feels a little like falling into a watercolor painting, the surrounding trees and foliage awash in vibrant, fiery hues with splashes of their leaves popping against the dark asphalt.
When we reach the top, the drive divides in two. To a hard right, there’s a circular driveway which appears to lead to the front of the estate. In its center is a huge fountain made of giant, rough stones. Waterfalls pour from its top, feeding into a contained pool that nourishes an array of waterlilies. The estate looks like it’s built from redwood trees and the same beige hued stone as the fountain, giving it a rustic feel that fits within the surrounding forest.
Nolan takes a slight left under a large arch into a courtyard with what looks like another front door, though less showy, as well as several bay doors. Parked out of the way, there’s a black Dodge truck and an old, blue Chevy Tahoe. He hits a button on the touch screen in his dashboard and one of the bay doors slides up. With a few revs of the engine, he rolls into one of many garage spaces.
As soon as the engine cuts off, I hit the button for my seatbelt and crawl my way out of the car. Nolan and I will have to agree to disagree on the merits of safe driving speeds. I don’t care if I currently can’t die; climbing out of a crumpled heap of metal is still not something I want to experience--again.
I throw my backpack over one shoulder and look along the long open garage; several classic cars in different states of repair await Nolan and Connor’s attentions.
“What do you do with the cars once they’re finished?” I ask, glad to be standing on something that doesn’t move. Mental note: Let one of the other boys drive me home.
Nolan unfolds from the car, grabs his messenger bag, and gives me a wry smile over the hood of the very fancy death trap. “Depends. The Shelby over there,” he motions with his head at the car behind me, “I’ll part with over my dead body, but a lot of these I’ll eventually turn over to collectors, museums, or traveling shows. As long as I think they’ll treat them right.”
“So there’s no hangar somewhere filled with more cars?” I challenged with one raised brow.
“Nope. The jet is too busy filling the hangar for me to stuff it with cars,” he retorts, the wry smile turns knowing. “My parents had to set some limitations.”
“Uh huh,” I chortle, trying to focus on the teasing banter between Nolan and I, and not the growing unease in my belly. This place is large enough to house a small village, which means the inevitable-- a shit ton of stairs.
Nolan rounds the car, loops one of my arms through his, and leads me toward a door that appears to go inside. As we walk, I notice engine parts disassembled on a back counter and on the wall, various tools mounted with chalked outlines. Massive tool boxes sit on wheels and are tucked away between counter breaks. There’s a very clear method to Nolan’s madness.
He lets go of my arm to open the door and waits for me to pass him before he closes it behind us. With a warm hand at the base of my spine, he leads me down a long hallway with a few closed doors along it. Doesn’t even have cold hands. I bet he has a reflection, too! Are none of the vampire myths true?
We enter a grand foyer with a large, wrought iron chandelier and a small sitting area with plush chocolate brown armchairs. Sure enough, a massive set of steps sits at one end that split and lead into two different directions. The measly staircase at home doesn’t seem that frightening anymore.
Nolan is digging in his jeans’ pocket when a middle aged woman with brown hair and a warm smile walks in from a door near the stairs. She’s dressed in a knit sweater, jeans, and a pair of comfortable sneakers.
“Nolan, dear, welcome home,” she smiles, wrinkles collecting around her eyes and mouth.
“Hello, Margaret,” he beams, kissing her on the cheek.
The woman looks at me, her warm expression not wavering. “And who have you brought home with you?”
“This is Callie,” he answers, throwing an arm over my shoulders. He squeezes me once to his side then lets me go. “She’s just moved here, and the boys and I thought we’d adopt her.”
She chuckles, radiating Hallmark grade grandmotherly goodness. Who is this woman? She doesn’t look anything like Nolan, so I don’t think she’s a relative.
“It’s wonderful to meet you, Callie,” Margaret tells me before focusing on Nolan again. “The others are already in your suite, and I imagine by now, have cleared a sizable chunk out of the afternoon’s offerings.” She winks at me. “Alicia would like to know if they planned to stay for dinner so that she’s sure to make enough.”
“Probably, but tell her I’ll text down when I can ask the guys,” he replies, pulling his cell from his pocket.
“And don’t forget to call your parents now that you’re home,” she chides good-naturedly. “You know how they like to hear your voice verses text messages.”
Nolan holds up his phone with a small wave. “Already on it.”
“Good boy.” She playfully squeezes one of Nolan’s cheeks then checks her watch. “Well, I’m here for another hour and a half or so if you need anything, otherwise have a wonderful evening. Again, it was a pleasure to meet you, Callie.”
“Your winning smile was all I needed,” Nolan croons, earning a chuckle as she turns back the way she came.
My eyes bounce from Nolan who is thumbing at his phone and the retreating back of Margaret. “Uh, who was that?”
“Hmmm?” Nolan looks up at me, holding his phone up to his ear. I can hear the muted tones of the phone ringing. “That’s Margaret, our housekeeper. She’s been with the family for as long as I can remember.”
I nod slowly. I was by no stretch of the imagination poor, but the closest thing we had to a housekeeper was a team of women that came in once a week. Granted, my father probably wouldn’t have been able to get away with everything he did to me so easily if there had been someone like Margaret running around.
“Hi, Mom,” Nolan greets the feminine voice that answers the phone. He gestures for me to follow him up the stairs. “Because I made a new friend, and I was waiting to give her a lift after school.”
Nolan playfully groans over whatever his mother replies. “Mom!” he whines. “Yes, she’s here, and no, I’m not putting you on speaker phone. You’ll tell her embarrassing things about me. Where’s Dad?”
There’s a chime of laughter floating from the phone before a masculine voice takes over. I focus intently on Nolan while taking shaky steps up the staircase, relieved that he’s too focused on the phone call to notice how hard I’m holding onto the railing. Breathe. Just breathe.
“Hey, Dad.” Nolan’s smile is evident in his voice while he talks. “Yes, the new friend is a girl.” Another groan. “You’re as bad as Mom,” he laughs, his walk easy and body lax.
Envious longing dances with the anxiety in my stomach, and I do my best to bury both feelings. Shit, I’m a mess. Can I get an ulcer at seventeen?
“Probably,” he answers his father. “When are you guys getting back from New York?”
He hums affirmation noises, bobbing his head as he listens. He veers to the left at the split, climbing up the second set of stairs. “How’s the gala coming along?”
There are chirps of a feminine voice over the masculine one, which Nolan chuckles over. “That good, huh?” He makes more humming noises before cutting in. “Look, I’ve got Callie here next to me, so I’ve got to go, I’ll… Yes, her name is Callie.” More groaning. “I promise you’ll meet her, now I’m being rude…” He chuckles. “Love you both, and I’ll call again tomorrow. Bye.” He sings his farewell before hanging up.
Reaching the top landing, he spins to look at me and starts walking backwards. “So, in case you missed it, my parents are excited to meet you.”
I dig for a smile that I hope looks real. “Is that a good thing?”
He nods reassuringly while stuffing his phone back in his pocket. “Yeah, it’s fine. They can be over enthusiastic on occasion, but nothing to be worried about.” He points a finger at me. “Be fair warned, I was only partially joking about the adopting bit. My parents tend to look at my friends as their long lost children, so if you plan to stick around--which I hope you do, they’ll treat you like you’re theirs.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” I confess, the smile easier to hold.
Nolan’s call to his parents reminds me of my aunt’s declaration this morning. Could’ve had better timing, but the thought was in the right place. I quickly dig out my phone from my bag and send her a quick text letting her know I made it to Nolan’s safely. The reply is almost instant, wishing me a fun time and to let her know if I plan to stay for dinner. I smile, and put my phone away.
Nolan spins back around, once again loops his arm through mine, and guides me down a long hall of textured beige walls accented with beams of redwood and blonde hardwood floors. Whereas my old home was modern and sterile, Nolan’s home is full of warm colors and soft yellow lighting.
“I’ll give you the tour later,” he promises when we reach the end of the hall, “but first, food! I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”
Before I can make a joke about boys always being hungry, he opens one of two double doors and I’m floored by what I see. What’s inside can only be described as a loft apartment hiding within the estate. Straight ahead is a den section with a large black leather couch, two overstuffed armchairs facing an obscenely huge television with matching entertainment system. Some type of sitcom I don’t recognize is playing-- which isn’t hard since I haven’t watched television in years.
Further past the den looks to be a small kitchenette with a long counter that houses more empty platters than food and a black wood table where the rest of the boys are sitting in a flurry of books, paper, and plates with food. To the right is an open staircase that leads up to what looks like Nolan’s bedroom. Because what this place was missing was more stairs.
Nolan beelines it towards the food, shedding his bag, coat and tie near the table, but I can’t help but pause behind the couch and look out the floor to ceiling windows that have an amazing view of the back of the property. It’s partially obscured by the large balcony outside, but of what I can see, there are tiers of paved plateaus lining a lazy stream that breaks into small waterfalls as it makes its way into the surrounding forest.
“You coming?” Felix questions beside me, and I nearly jump out of my skin.
“Shit!” I put a hand to my chest and take measured breaths.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he apologizes, but it loses some of its sincerity since he’s clearly trying not to laugh at me.
“Casper, add popping up out of nowhere and scaring the crap out of me to the list,” I grumble, walking to where the rest of the guys are sitting.
“Yeah, no can do, pretty girl,” he replies with a shrug. “I’m a ghost. Popping out of nowhere is kind of our thing.”
I sigh, taking an empty seat next to Kaleb, who smiles a greeting. On my other side is Connor diligently working away at what looks like Algebra II, though his writing is nearly impossible to read. He looks up, nods hello, and goes back to work. Donovan is across from me, and Nolan is leaning against the table next to him.
Looking up, I find the rooms haven’t ended. Just ahead appears to be some type of office space. There’s a desk and a computer anyway. Through the arched entryway, I can see bits of electronic parts. What else is he putting together? There’s definitely more to Nolan than meets the eye, though his car enthusiasm is evident everywhere, the major decor being artistic black and white photos of classic cars. At least it isn’t swimsuit models.
“So, are you all staying for dinner? Apparently, we eat like a pack of wild animals, so Alicia needs to know if she should slaughter a second cow,” Nolan asks, after swallowing a bite of a cobbled together sandwich, pulling me from my cursory snooping.
Startled, I look over at him then bury my head in my backpack when they all start chuckling over what he said. Heat radiates up my cheeks, and I pray none of them noticed. One of them can turn into a damn wolf. It’s not that crazy to believe he’s serious.
There’s a chorus of affirmations, then I can feel eyes on me. I peek up from my bag, and Nolan is looking at me expectantly. It takes me a moment for it to sink in that he’s asking me too.
I tuck my hair behind my ears. “Sure,” I mumble. “Just need to text my aunt.”
“Cool,” he answers, then with one hand pulls his phone from his pocket and begins typing away on it, still munching on his food with the other hand. “It looks like burgers for dinner. She says to put in how you want it, or you’ll end up with a surprise. I’m kind of curious what the surprise is.”
Nolan stands up and grabs a tablet that was hiding on the counter. He taps a few buttons then hands the tablet to Donovan
“Depends on how annoyed she is,” Donovan chuckles, entering something in. “I’m not sure I want to bet that it’s a good surprise.”
After he’s finished what I’m now assuming is his order, he passes it over to Connor, who then passes it to me when he’s finished. Sure enough, it’s an app that looks like a small notepad. I copy the others, typing in my name and how I like my burger before handing it over to Kaleb. And here I thought finding out about the supernatural would be the weirdest part of my day. Once Kaleb finishes, he passes the tablet back to Nolan, who hits a few buttons, closes the tablet, and puts it back on the counter. It’s like he lives in a resort with freaking room service and everything!
“Now that that’s settled, time for the boring crap!” Nolan cheers sarcastically, pulling out his Chemistry book from his bag.
I get out my Pre-Cal book and notebook from my backpack and begin the arduous process of solving thirty different problems. Mr. Harris is truly an evil man.
Donovan looks over at me and offers casually, “I’m done if you want to copy mine.”
“What?” I blurt, my eyes growing owlish. “Do you guys copy each other’s homework?”
They blink at me and then roar with laughter. Even Felix is laughing at me, the traitor. Kaleb at least has the decency to look mildly sheepish when I glare at him.
Donovan wipes tears from his eyes. “Yeah, we share the workload. Look, does it take you thirty problems to figure out whether you understand the material?”
“No,” I sigh, running a hand through my hair. This is starting to sound a lot like the logic that got Nolan out of doing the work for US History.
“Then do the first ten problems,” Donovan reasons. “If you feel like you understand it, then you can copy the other twenty from me. If you don’t, tell me, and I can help you figure out what you’re missing.”
I scrunch up my face and admit, “Our class is actually a month behind where I was at in my old school.”
Donovan groans and tosses his notebook to me. “Copy the damn problems, and you get Wednesday’s homework.”
I bite back a smile, nod, and begin copying his work. He has strong block-like penmanship that is easy to read. Once we reach material I’m unfamiliar with, I’ll definitely at least do what Donovan suggested, but until then, this is kind of nice. Saves time, and there’s a warm comradery in this approach. In less than a day, I feel like I belong.
Once I’m finished, I hand the notebook back to Donovan and switch out for my Psychology work. Kaleb sees my textbook and hands me a folder. Opening it, I find it’s filled with loose leaf sheets of notes, the writing neat and precise.
“Mrs. Mills is more of a fan of short essay homework assignments, so no splitting the load, but here are my notes for the chapter we’re on,” Kaleb explains. “Should help with the quiz at the end of the week. Keep them, I don’t really need them. I take notes so that Mrs. Mills feels like I’m paying attention.”
“Thanks,” I reply, taking the folder and putting it in my backpack. “Donovan mentioned nephilim have almost perfect memory. You’re nephilim too, right?”
Kaleb cuts a glance at Donovan, which he ignores. “Yes, I’m a light nephilim.”
“What’s the difference?” I ask, leaning my elbow on the table and propping my head on my hand.
“The angel who banged the humans we’re descended from,” Donovan grumbles into his textbook.
“Wait, really? But this morning it sounded like dark nephilim…” I inquire, trailing off when I notice the severe scowl growing on Donovan’s face. Sensitive subject?
Kaleb lightly places his hand on my shoulder to get my attention. Gently, he explains, “Physically there’s no difference between light nephilim and dark nephilim except the color of our wings, which we inherit from the angels that sired our bloodline. The responsibilities we’ve been assigned from the angels, however, are very different based on those bloodlines.”
He swallows heavily, his adam’s apple visibly bobbing in his throat. “Light nephilim, who descend from the angels remaining in heaven, are responsible for helping lost souls make their way to the afterlife. Dark nephilim, who descend from fallen angels, protect the mortal realm from demons that have escaped hell.”
“How noble you make my death sentence sound,” Donovan grunts, scowl in full force. “What he’s leaving out is neither of us have a choice. It’s do what the angels tell us to do or be killed by said asshole angels. Also, the likelihood of a dark nephilim living to their full 250 some odd years is pretty much zilch. Nope. As soon as I get my diploma, I’m out on my ass in the real world,” he says this with finger quotes, “to hunt down every pissed off demon that has crawled or conned their asses out of hell and send them back until one of them lucks out and kills me. Now, can we please get back to the boring bullshit that is homework?”
My heart feels heavy for him, and I sadly reflect on the irony that’s my freakish healing, since demon hunting, I guess, isn’t a witch thing. I bite my lip, attempting to absorb what’s been so casually thrown at me.
Everyone is quiet after Donovan’s outburst, and I feel compelled to do something about it. I turn to Kaleb and slyly ask, “So instead of a life coach, you’re like Felix’s afterlife coach?”
The pun gets the desired effect, and the air fills with gasps of wounded groans-- even Donovan gives me a head shake and a pained half chuckle. I grin, pleased with myself.
“That one cuts deep, pretty girl,” Felix yells from the den. He wandered over to watch television, his ghost status making him exempt from the demand of homework. “I’m so proud.”
“Thanks, Casper,” I chuckle.
I try to work on my essay, but I can’t help but think of lunch and all the half answers I got. I look at Nolan who’s bent over his textbook, bouncing a pencil against his mouth, and remember a strange distinction he made earlier. “What the hell did you mean by living vampire?”
“What?” Nolan sputters, rightfully surprised.
“At lunch today,” I elaborate, like I didn’t ask this right out of the blue. “You said you’re a living vampire instead of saying vampires are alive.”
“Uhhhh,” he stalls and trades glances with the rest of the guys, proving I’m on to something.
Instead of waiting for Nolan, I stare down Kaleb determined to get a real answer. He looks at Donovan who drops his pencil and scrubs at his face. What does he have to do with this?
“I’m not letting this go, so spit it out.” I point a finger around at them. “You all started this. Before today, the only thing I knew was ghosts were real.”
Lies! Oh, how I lie, but I’m not ready to share the truth about myself. I may feel surprisingly comfortable around these guys but that doesn’t mean spilling my tragic past yet-- or possibly ever if I can get away with it.
Kaleb sighs and meets my eyes. “You’re right. There’s a distinction, because there are undead vampires as well.”
“I knew it!” I hoot, which is probably the wrong response considering they all look at me like I was dropped on my head as a child. “I just meant that the myths exist for a reason, right?”
Nolan groans and drops his head into his hands, apparently deciding not to contribute to the discussion.
“Yes, some of the myths are true,” Kaleb continues carefully. “You see, one of the ways demons can enter into the mortal realm is by making pacts for host bodies. Since vampires aren’t human, their constitution is strong enough to still hold some semblance of self, though extremely warped by the influence of the demon. However, the process of the possession does use up all the life energy of the host body, killing the vampire. The demon then uses their own magic to keep the body functioning past death. The vampire gains the power of immense speed and strength, as well as an ageless immortality, and in return, the demon gets a sustainable corporeal form. Their magic does have to be replenished, which is why undead vampires must consume great amounts of blood to sustain themselves.”
“So, like Buffy the Vampire Slayer?” I question skeptically, which earns a snort from Felix and a groan from Donovan.
“They don’t turn to dust when you kill them, that’s for damn sure,” Donovan grunts.
I whip around to look at him, my eyes huge. “You have to hunt undead vampires, too?”
“Possessed by demon does fall under the umbrella of hunt down and kill all demons that I mentioned earlier,” Donovan declares sarcastically. “And yeah, they’re huge pains in the ass to kill since they can only be put down by sunlight, fire, decapitation, and a weapon blessed by a powerful witch-- and witches don’t really give a whole lot of shits.”
“Why the hell not?” I counter, surprisingly outraged. “You told me they’re the guardians of the realm? Demon possessed vampires sound kind of like something the realm needs protection from.”
Donovan shrugs wearily, his heavy shoulders falling in a resigned defeat. “Fucked if I know. Witches police supes, but they don’t mix with us. I guess since dark nephilim deal with demons, they don’t see it as their problem?”
“That sounds stupid and lazy,” I fume, folding my arms over my chest.
“Get no argument from me,” Donovan responds, rubbing his eyes.
“Alright, simmer down, Xena, warrior witch,” Nolan laments, looking up at me between his fingers. “The important thing to take away is I’m not undead, and therefore not a tool for great evil.”
Felix sucks in breath and then speaks in a stilted William Shatner voice, “Too easy. Must resist… calling Nolan… a tool.”
His joke breaks the tension, and I sigh in defeat. “Fine, I’ll lay off for now, but know more questions are coming.”
“I wait with bated breath,” Nolan mutters sarcastically. Guess talking about some of his kind being undead abominations makes him a bit testy.
We get back to our homework and time passes without incident, short of Nolan complaining about Connor’s “chicken scratch.” In a little over an hour, we’re finished and lounging in the den arguing over what to watch. I have little to contribute because everything they name is meaningless to me.
While Felix argues the merits of watching Spiderman Homecoming, Donovan squints over from one of the armchairs at Nolan who’s sitting next to me on the couch.
“You’re looking a little pale, dude,” he murmurs, his aqua eyes focused intently on Nolan’s face.
“I’m fine,” Nolan assures with a strained smile, earning a challenging grunt from Donovan. He sighs. “Really, I’m fine for now, and there’s a party on Saturday night I plan to go to so dial it back, mother hen.” He arches a brow and appeals, “You wanna be my wingman? I’ll let you drive the Audi.”
“You mean your bodyguard?” Donovan mocks.
“Wingman. Bodyguard. Semantics,” he replies with a smirk and a shrug. “Coming or not?”
A sinking feeling fills my stomach. They haven’t said it, but the implication is pretty clear that Nolan will be hunting to fulfill the requirements of his specialized diet. Is there no other way? In movies and TV shows, the ‘good’ vampires are always feeding from blood bags or animals.
“Sure, I’ll go,” Donovan answers then turns a wicked grin on Kaleb. “How about you? If anyone needs to spend a night acting like a real teenager, it’s you.”
Kaleb, seated in the other armchair, looks thoughtful against Donovan’s obvious baiting, and he turns to look at me. “Would you like to go, Callie?”
I’m shocked out of my musings at the invitation. Pulling on my sleeves, I mumble, “I’ve never been to a high school party before, so… sure?”
Kaleb nods, then replies simply, “Yeah. I’ll go.”
Connor, seated on the other side of me on the couch, looks down at me. His head is tilted in that way that makes me feel like he’s seeing more than I want him to.
“I’ll go, too,” he announces, his voice a low, smooth murmur.
“Holy shit, hell has frozen over!” Nolan whoops with a grin. “Kaleb and Connor agreed to go to a high school party. Sorry, Felix. Unless you want to mope at Callie’s, you’re coming too.”
Felix playfully groans from his position on the floor. “Fine, but one of you has to promise to be somewhere I can attempt to not spend my entire evening with random people walking through me. Not a fun experience--- And we’re watching Spiderman.” He claps his hands together. “Chop chop, corporeal meat bags that can operate the remote. Make the movie happen.”
Everyone laughs. There’s a knock at the door while Nolan flips through the screens to order Spiderman Homecoming off of Amazon streaming, and Kaleb hurriedly gets up to answer it.
Margaret is standing there with a silver rolling cart filled with covered dishes and a large pitcher of lemonade. “Thank you, dear,” she says to Kaleb as she rolls the cart in. “Alright. Dinner is served, and now Alicia and I are off. Be good.”
“Always,” Nolan croons with a smirk that implies the exact opposite.
Margaret shakes her head and sings a farewell before leaving us alone to our meal.
I didn’t have any of the snacks that were left out on the counter when we got here, so I’m quite hungry, but I’m surprised at the speed with which the others retrieve their food, settling with the plates in their laps and glasses on the floor next to their feet. It’s like they’ve swallowed tapeworms.
I pull the lid from my dinner, marked with a small strip of paper that has my name written on it in a woman’s curly script. Heavenly smells waft up to my nose from the artisan burger and thick cut fries, a wondrous collection of garlic, perfectly cooked beef and several different cheeses. If this dinner tastes as good as it smells, I’m going to have to find and kiss the hand of this mysterious Alicia.
Whereas I only ordered a single burger, Connor, Donovan and Kaleb have two, along with a mountain of fries.
“I thought you were joking about slaughtering the second cow,” I exclaim. “Where do you put all that?”
Connor gives me a patent shrug and mutters, “Shifter,” like I have any idea what the hell that means.
“It takes fuel to make these,” Donovan leers, waving a hand along his body to draw attention to the bulging muscles on display through his painted on Henley.
“Ah yes,” I bemoan sarcastically, “Can’t forget the distracting eight pack.”
He grins, winks at me, then takes a huge bite of one of his burgers. Boys.
Nolan grabs a remote from the small end table beside him, hits a few buttons, and then behind us thick drapes draw closed, blocking the sinking evening sun. Ceiling lights set to low turn on, allowing us to see while we eat and watch the movie. Apparently, this place is wired for optimal laziness. Also, that cart means there’s an elevator somewhere in this freaking house. Now how do I ask where it is without explaining why I need it?
Munching on one of the fries, I notice several Marvel heroes in this Spiderman film. “What’s Iron Man doing in a Spiderman movie?”
It’s the proverbial record scratch. Nolan pauses the movie, and all of them turn to look at me. Why didn’t I keep my mouth shut and watch the damn movie?
“Because this Spiderman was in Captain America Civil War,” Felix answers slowly, like I’ve transformed into some weird alien creature before his very eyes.
Embarrassment burns in my cheeks, and I want to pull the hood of my sweater over my head and hide the way toddlers do-- if I can’t see them, they clearly can’t see me.
Kaleb sends Felix a meaningful look that I really don’t like. It speaks volumes of the things I’m not ready for them to know.
“There’s so many of these coming out that if you’re not right on top of them, it’s easy to get lost,” Kaleb offers casually, attempting to cover my blunder. “What was the last Marvel movie you saw? We can start there.”
“As long as we stay far away from the DC movies, I’m good,” Felix adds affably. “Wonder Woman was awesome, but the rest are just depressing and boring. How do you manage to make Batman boring, I ask you? How?”
“Stop him quickly,” Donovan demands around a bite of his burger, “or we’ll have to listen to Felix’s soapbox speech on how DC movies are literally destroying some of the best comic superheroes of all time.”
“They are!” Felix cries, arms thrown up in exasperation. “I was bored to tears watching Batman v Superman. Batfleck was alright, surprisingly so considering the disaster that was Daredevil, but…”
“I haven’t seen the Wonder Woman movie,” I chirp, saving us all from Felix explaining the merits of movies I haven’t seen. I’m also relieved I didn’t spout how I didn’t know they made a Wonder Woman movie until right this moment.
“Wonder Woman it is. Our Callie has spoken,” Nolan chimes, grabbing the remote and backing out of the current movie. I’d make a fuss since he just rented it if I wasn’t eating a restaurant grade burger made by his personal chef. I’m so not feeling too guilty over $4.99.
I settle in to watch the movie, taking a bite of the delicious burger. Yep, a hand is going to be kissed. I may also have to build a small shrine to the goodness that is this burger.
At the beginning of Wonder Woman, there are parts that are clear references to movies I haven’t seen, but thankfully, it quickly goes back in time to her origins which doesn’t require familiarity with any other film.
I quickly polish off dinner, softly moaning over my full stomach, and add my plate to the stack of cleared plates. Despite how fast I ate, I’m still last to finish.
I kick off my boots and curl my legs under me, trying to perch in the middle of Nolan and Connor in a way that gives them room, and I’m not leaning against either of them. For some reason, it’s starting to be okay when they make contact with me, but I can’t seem to initiate it myself. Well, ‘okay’ is a loose term for it.
Nolan glances over at me, shakes his head, then pulls the throw pillow next to him onto his lap. “Lie down,” he whispers in my ear. “You can’t be comfortable like that.”
I arch a brow at him, sure he can’t be serious. Oh, but he is, illustrated by him reaching for my far shoulder and tipping me over into him. I squeak, half falling into his lap, which earns snickers from the others. Oh great, my noises amuse them.
This tilted position is definitely uncomfortable, but I have half a mind to stay this way just to annoy Nolan. However, the idea of sitting in this awkward timber position for two hours makes me wince. I adjust myself so that my head is on the pillow in his lap, and I curl into a ball, my knees tucked tight against me. Apparently, this doesn’t work for Connor, because without warning, he tugs my feet onto his lap so that I’m now properly stretched out. This position is somewhat weird, but I do give it to them that this is more comfortable. Gives them more room too, I guess, because they both spread out further along the couch now that I’m lying on top of them.
Connor’s huge hands cup around my feet and feel like mini furnaces against my ice cold skin, and there isn’t even a tremble of anxiety over being touched. Warmth overrules the want for personal space. Good to know.
Seeing me still curled into myself with my hands hidden in my sleeves and tucked under my chin, Nolan reaches up and pulls a blanket from the back of the couch and throws it over me. He tucks it around me until I’m bundled up and snuggly, then begins absently playing with my hair. For the first time in my life, I feel safe and cared for, and I have to blink a few times to clear my vision. It’s more than I ever thought possible.
The movie is great, but my sleepless night and overwhelming day pull at me, and my eyelids begin to droop heavily. I try to fight the pull, but somewhere around Diana dancing with Steve, I drift off.
∞∞∞
“Is she asleep?” Felix’s warm timbre pulls me from my doze. The sound of an end credits’ score plays softly in the background.
Sleep still clings to me, and I hold onto the warm bubble of my nap, not letting on that I heard him.
Someone, I presume Nolan from the angle, gently pulls my hair away from my face. “Looks like it,” he whispers, confirming my suspicion.
There’s a pause, then someone clearing their throat. “This is going to sound like a weird question,” Felix murmurs, his words hesitant, “but what does her hair feel like?”
Nolan runs his fingers through my hair that’s spilled over his lap. “Soft,” he confides without judgement. “And weighty. Our Callie has some thick hair.”
A longer pause. “Smell?” Felix asks, embarrassment coloring his question.
I don’t know how I feel about this. On one hand, discussing me like this seems kind of creepy, but since Felix can’t find out these answers on his own, I have a hard time feeling too upset. I’m curious why he wants to know this stuff, but maybe this is his way of trying to stay connected to the world around him. He certainly can’t throw his arm around me like Nolan has no qualms doing.
Kaleb answers this time, his voice a soft rumble. “Pomegranate and orchids. It’s subtle. Only really detectable when you’re right next to her.”
“White orchid,” Connor corrects. I guess there’s a difference in orchid smells.
I love pomegranate, so along with my chapstick, my body wash is pomegranate, and I think white orchid is some type of extract in my conditioner. Can’t decide if it’s weird that they can smell it on me. There are worse things to smell like, I suppose.
“Skin is pretty soft, as well,” Nolan provides without being asked. “Her hands are freezing, though.”
“Feet, too,” Connor chips in.
Okay, now it’s getting weird.
As if Donovan can hear my mental complaint, he chides, “If she wakes up and hears you guys, she’s going to think you all are a bunch of crazy stalkers-in-training. She’s already dealing with the crazy shit we told her this morning.”
“Which she’s handling surprisingly well,” Kaleb observes, not realizing for the past two years I’ve had mutant powers-- or I guess magic powers.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Donovan counters.
Kaleb exhales a weighty breath. “It’s not, I just worry we’ve given her too much too soon.”
“Well, she’s here asleep on the couch,” Nolan whispers dryly. “Clearly, she wasn’t thrown enough to run in the opposite direction.”
“Speaking of,” Donovan mutters. “Probably should wake her up, crazy-stalkers-in-training, before she does on her own and hears us all talking about her.”
Too late.
A gentle hand slides from my hair to my shoulder and gives me a subtle shake. “Callie, love,” Nolan croons. “Time to wake up.”
Despite being already awake, I don’t want to get up and burrow deeper into the blanket wrapped around me, my hands tucked tight under my chin. I make a noncommittal grumble noise.
Nolan chuckles. “As enjoyable it is to have you passed out on my lap, we should probably get you home.”
I sigh the heavy sigh of the painfully weary and sit up, my hair falling into my face and the blanket pooling around my waist. Somehow I slept without dreaming, and I don’t look forward to the inevitable nightmares tonight.
I squint and carefully open one eye at a time, the low lights still hurting my eyes, and give Connor grade grunts of dismay at being conscious. This earns soft chuckles from the others.
“Welcome back, pretty girl.” Felix is standing in front of me and smiles sweetly. “Enjoy your nap?”
I shove my hair out of my face and nod, covering a wide yawn with my hand. With my arms stretched over my head, I twist at the waist, and I’m rewarded with a few loud pops of my vertebrae.
“Think it’s time to get our Callie home,” Nolan murmurs, amused. “We’ve worn her out.”
“I’ll give you a lift,” Connor surprisingly offers, and I’m extremely grateful. No nighttime death trap for me.
Everyone quickly gathers their things, and we all head out. As we walk down the hallway, I attempt to search for anything that looks like a damn elevator, but alas, nothing but nondescript doors. Taking a fortifying breath, I try to prepare for the stupid, never ending staircase round two, making sure to hang back so they won’t notice me white knuckle gripping the banister. One way to get over your fears is repeat exposure, right? At this rate, I’ll be taking stairs like a champ by next week. My thoughts are little too sarcastic to be reassuring.
They’re wood, not carpet, but I can still hear the heavy thuds of my body being dragged down the stairs. I can feel the sharp jabs as their edges slam into me. I grit my teeth, my jaw already aching from the pressure and carefully make my way down, watching my feet hit every step. Consciously, I keep my breaths controlled and even, desperate for the others not to see. Thankfully, they’re all chatting as we go down and don’t turn to look for me until we’re at the bottom.
I slap on a brittle smile and relax my jaw. Connor’s eyes narrow at me, proving I haven’t fooled them all. Now I’m nervous about being alone in the car with him and pray he isn’t chattier when one on one.
“Can I stay here tonight?” Felix asks Nolan as we veer down the hallway I followed Nolan up earlier. “Callie’s not a huge fan of the Edward Cullen treatment.”
Donovan snorts loudly, and under his breath I’m pretty sure I hear, “Creepy-stalkers-in-training.”
“Sure, man,” Nolan chuckles, cutting a side glance at Donovan. “What do you want to marathon tonight?”
Felix folds his hands behind his head. “Hmmm. I’m thinking Brooklyn 99.”
“Solid choice,” Nolan replies.
Now I know how Felix spends his evenings. Late night television.
We get about halfway down the hall, when Nolan opens one of the doors. On the other side it appears to be some kind of mudroom which features the less fancy front door I saw earlier. The boys are huge, and I have to wait for them to file outside before I can enter. The room isn’t large enough to house us all, and it’s not a small room.
It’s full dark now. The square is lit with bright outdoor lights, and the air is even colder than this morning. I flip my hood up and pull the strings tight around my face, then bury my hands in my pockets.
Nolan, dressed in his thin button down shirt and bare feet, waves a quick goodbye and hurries back inside, his arms folded tight over his chest. Kaleb and Donovan nod their goodbyes with off-handed later’s shouted over their shoulders, as they head towards the black truck. I offer a wave in return. There are no “It was nice to meet you” type farewells, which I like-- as if I’ve been their friend for a while instead of meeting them this morning.
I follow Connor silently to his car, trying not to shiver through my three layers of clothing. He unlocks the passenger side door with a key and opens it for me. The Tahoe is high off the ground, but before I can attempt to hoist my way into the seat, Connor picks me up by the waist and plops me into the chair like I weigh less than nothing. Then he closes the door without comment and makes his way to the driver’s side. Oh good. Still sticking to the strong, silent approach.
Connor settles into the driver’s seat and starts the car, the engine a more gentle rumble than Nolan’s sports car. He flips on the headlights and begins the journey back towards the front gate, the lane lit with hidden street lamps. They cast a muted yellow light inside the car, highlighting the sharp slope of Connor’s nose, the soft curve of his lips, and the hard jut of his chin.
As we make our way out onto the city streets, the only sound in the cab of the car is the soft hum of some classic rock station. It’s a companionable silence, probably because this is Connor’s natural state of being, though I wonder why. Does it have anything to do with the shadows I see within his deep set, amber eyes? Part of me wants to ask, but more of me doesn’t want to invite return questions about my past, so I let the silence hold and gaze absently out the window.
Connor drives completely differently than Nolan, which I appreciate. He gradually accelerates and decelerates with an unhurried pace, patiently making his way down the road. Honestly, everything about Connor speaks to this methodical, steadfast approach to the world, sure in his actions and unperturbed by the speed at which others whirl around him. He offers a different type of calm than Kaleb, one where it’s okay to just be, and I try to take some of it inside myself. The quiet leaves me alone with my thoughts, and I can feel the stress of the day begin to crawl from my gut, but I have to wait. I can’t lose it now.
It takes about twenty-five minutes to get from Nolan’s home to mine, most of the drive cocooned in darkness and the beams of car headlights. I spend the entire time counting my breaths and mentally fighting for control.
When we make it up my driveway and Connor stops behind my aunt’s Mercedes, I chirp a quick thanks and hop from the car, grabbing my backpack by the top loop. He nods in acknowledgement and waits until I’m through my front door before driving away.
My heart begins to thunder in my chest, the shit storm ‘Later Callie’ needed to deal with is fast approaching. Just a little longer.
“Is that you, Callie?” Mildred shouts from down the hall near the staircase.
Crap. I shuffle my way over, a tight smile lining my lips. I find her in a small office with a slanted ceiling from the stairs above. There are papers and old books scattered on the barely there desk.
She turns in her chair and looks over at me in the doorway, a pleasant expression warms her face and tugs at the corners of her eyes. “Did you have fun?”
“Yup,” I answer, nodding my head. My fingers dig into the walls on either side of the doorframe, the giant tsunami still fast approaching. “Going to head up to take a shower, then I think I’ll read in bed.”
“Oh, okay,” a small hint of disappointment lingers in her voice, and I think of the happy way Nolan talked with his parents.
I chew on my lip and tap out a nervous tattoo with my fingers. I want to give her something. Show her that I don’t want her to give up on me.
Without thinking, I blurt, “There’s a party on Saturday I’ve been invited to, and I was wondering if maybe we could, I don’t know, go shopping or something? I don’t really have high school party clothes.” As an afterthought, I add, “If it’s okay with you that I go?”
Never having friends meant I’d never really needed to ask permission to do anything. I never did anything, period. The claws of memories dig into my heart, and I know I’m a ticking bomb that’s running out of time.
A brilliant smile lights her face. “I would love to take you shopping. How about tomorrow after school?” she beams. “And yes, you can go.”
“Great!” I confirm, then motion my thumb over my shoulder. “Gonna go take that shower now.”
She waves me off and returns to whatever project she’s working on with all those books. When I’m not fighting my own meltdown, I’ll remember to ask what she’s working on.
I leave my backpack at the foot of the staircase and sprint up the stairs, losing my shit taking priority over my hatred of stairs. Running into the bathroom and slamming the door behind me, I flip the lights and fan on, then quickly twist the shower on to scalding hot. My whole body shakes with my disjointed labored breaths, and I rip my clothes off with a panicked frenzy. Almost there.
The agony has worked its way to my throat, blocking air from reaching my lungs, and the first silent scream contorts my face into an ugly exclamation of the broken person inside. I scramble into the shower, nearly tripping over the lip of the tub, and slide the glass doors behind me.
The hot water heater works fast, and my skin is instantly a vibrant, burning red. I curl into a ball on the floor of the tub, the high pressure of the shower beating into the top of my head. Tears, finally free, stream down my face hidden among the raining water.
With an aching heart, I open the straining locks, and it all comes pouring out. I let all the pain and fear overtake me. Slapping a hand over my mouth, I scream, using the sounds of the shower to swallow the sound.
Too much. It was all too much. My thoughts scramble around everything I experienced today. I’m a witch. Vampires are real. Werewolves are real. Fucking demons are real! There’s a whole world that supposedly I’ve always been a part of and I knew nothing! Where were these guardians of the realm while my father tortured and abused me?
I gasp and choke, drowning in the clutches of memories. I try to weave bandages made of the laughter and slices of joy I found today, desperately attempting to cover over what feels like never ending bleeding wounds. It’s over, I beg the violent monsters roaming my mind. He’s gone. There are people that care about me now. I’m not alone anymore!
They ignore my pleas, twisting and raging the frantic cries of a shattered girl, and it’s only with exhaustion that my nightly ritual finally ends. However, I can’t move, my muscles are weak from the contortions of my misery.
I sit under the burning water staring at the tiles with sightless eyes. Eventually, I wash up and make my way out of the shower not knowing how much time has passed. Curling up on my bed, only wearing a towel, I fall into what I hope will be a dreamless sleep. I don’t have to wait long before the nightmares start again.