by Laura Legend
17
Miranda always drove fast and recklessly. Today, the problem was compounded by the fact that she didn’t normally drive a car that could accelerate from zero to sixty in less than three seconds. And, what’s more, she didn’t seem to feel the need to adjust her driving style to compensate. As far as Cass could tell—triple-checking her seatbelt as she hung on for dear life in the passenger seat—Miranda’s driving only had two settings: an “on” setting where the accelerator was pressed to the floor and an “off” setting where she slammed on the brakes.
From the backseat, as he leaned hard into a sharp turn, his seatbelt cutting into his bruised ribs, Richard politely suggested that Miranda might try the car’s self-driving mode.
Miranda’s only response was to step harder on the gas.
Richard’s face yellowed as they fishtailed again. Cass might have felt sick too if there’d been anything left in her stomach.
Neither Cass nor Richard dared ask where they were going. Miranda seemed to have that part covered. In just a couple of minutes they were out of the city and Miranda took one of the county roads that branched off the interstate. They drove for about twenty miles more until she found what she was looking for. The Model X slalomed into the parking lot of a seedy looking motel and slid to a stop under its broken “No Vacancy” sign. The “No” blinked on and off, sending mixed messages about the availability of a room. Cass took one look at the empty parking lot and the motel’s peeling paint and decided they weren’t going to have a problem getting a room.
The motel would do. They needed something off the beaten path and they needed a place that would take cash without asking questions.
Miranda banged through the office door and scared the clerk who’d been dozing behind the desk. He gave them a long stare, rubbed his eyes, and looked like he was trying to decide if they were real. Miranda arranged for the room, but when the clerk rang up the charges, Miranda put her hands on her hips, and pointed to Richard: “This asshole’s paying.”
Richard stepped to the counter, his suit bloody and in tatters. He fished a fat money clip out his pocket and pulled off a hundred dollar bill.
“I can’t break that, mister,” the clerk objected, waving his hand in the air. “I don’t have the change.”
Richard pulled an extra hundred off the wad of bills. “Keep the change. And as far anyone knows, we were never here tonight.”
The clerk’s eyes lit up and a sleazy grin broke across his face as he looked from Richard, to Cass, to Miranda, and then back to Richard. He winked at Richard and then whispered conspiratorially: “I can see that you like them sassy. Your secret’s safe with me, mister. Just try not to break the bed or make too much noise.”
Miranda groaned, grabbed the key from the counter, and headed for the door.
Richard exchanged an innocent look with Cass and shrugged his shoulders.
“Right,” Cass offered, rolling her eyes, “this kind of thing must happen to you all the time.”
The room was a disaster. Cass couldn’t imagine any circumstances in which she’d be willing to get into that bed. She could almost hear the bed bugs salivating. But it didn’t matter. They weren’t spending the night. They just needed a chance to catch their breath, clean up, and talk.
Richard and Cass were both a bit worse for the wear but Richard was in the worst shape by far. He slipped off his suit coat and tossed it into the trash. He peeled off what was left of his shirt and, wincing, tried to use the mirror to get a look at the cuts and bruises on his back. He couldn’t find an angle that worked.
Miranda stepped outside to make a call.
“Let me help,” Cass said.
Richard grunted and leaned against the sink, rolling his broad shoulders.
Cass wetted a towel and wiped away the blood. She gently poked a cut or two, gauging their depth. The bruises would hurt for days, but the cuts all seemed superficial. She was more shocked to see that his back was already covered in scars—very old, very deep scars—that weren’t immediately obvious from across the room. He looked like he’d been whipped. Without quite meaning to, she lightly traced the line of one especially long scar with the tip of her finger as it arced diagonally down his shoulder and across his spine.
Richard shivered.
“Thank you, Cassandra,” he said abruptly, obviously embarrassed. He grabbed his travel bag from the bed and closed the bathroom door behind him. Steam from the shower curled out from under the door.
Get a grip Jones. What do you think this is? An episode of The Bachelorette?
Richard returned in a couple of minutes wearing slim blue jeans and a white button-down shirt. Both looked like they cost more than her weekly salary.
Miranda returned after Cass had showered and changed. She’d come back with a pile of snacks and sodas raided from the vending machines and stacked them in the center of the room’s small table. They gathered all around and sat down to talk. Miranda sat on one side, Richard on the other, with Cass positioned in the middle.
Cass was sure this little summit would quickly devolve into name-calling if she didn’t take the reins. With pen and pad in hand and her hair pulled back, she put on a confident, scholarly look. Part of her wished she had glasses to nail the part and part of her thought this whole train of thought was bullshit.
I am a damn scholar! That’s why the whole world is chasing me in the first place! Time to inject a little rationality into … whatever the hell this is.
“You,” she pointed at Miranda, “you’re first.”
Miranda sat up a little straighter.
“You can shoot green lightning out of your fingertips?”
“Yes,” Miranda admitted. “Sometimes.”
“Why?”
“Ok, I know you need answers, but for right now the simplest explanation is …” Miranda paused, an uncharacteristic look of uncertainty flashing across her face.
“Magic?”
“Yes. That’ll work. For now.”
“And vampires are real?”
Miranda shot a look at Richard. “Indeed,” she said.
Cass rubbed her pendant. She knew exactly what she wanted to ask next—Did my mother know about all this?—but she was also pretty sure she wasn’t ready to hear the answer.
“And you,” Cass swiveled to face Richard, “you are a vampire?”
Richard hesitated but when Miranda looked ready to answer for him, he relented. “Yes.”
Cass felt her weak eye focus and clear.
Goddamn. They’re telling the truth.
Seeing her surprise, he went on. “I still breathe. I still sleep. If hurt, I bleed. I’m still very human, I’ve just been around for … for a long time.”
Miranda huffed, and after an irate glance Richard continued. “So I am, technically, a vampire. But I’m not what she says.” He stood up and paced to the bathroom door and back, rubbing the stubble on his chin. He sat back down. “I’m not like … them. I’m not like the ones who came after you tonight. It’s true that I’m not quite human anymore. I haven’t been for a long time. But I’m not quite a vampire either.” He paused, weighing his words. “I’m Turned, but I’m not … Lost.”
Miranda sneered at this but, again, Richard’s words rang true to Cass.
Now it was Miranda’s turn to pace. She stood up, went to the window, crossed her arms, and surveyed the parking lot through a crack in the curtains. Rain occasionally pattered lightly against the glass. It was a little too easy for Cass to imagine the trees out there filled with more vampires, hanging upside down like huge bats, just waiting for the right moment to strike. She shook the thought from her head.
They would need to wrap this up soon, and move on.
“What’s the difference” Cass asked, “between Turned and Lost? And is it a difference that matters?”
Miranda jumped in. “The only difference, Cass, is that he hasn’t eaten anyone—yet.”
“In part,” Richard responded, reaching out to squeeze Cass’s
hand. “But the differences are crucial. Only the Lost need to feed on human blood, are hurt by sunlight, fail to cast a reflection, et cetera. Only the Lost have abandoned their humanity. Only the Lost are beyond redemption. The rest of us persist, but out of our times. Animal blood is enough for us. And we—like every human being—must wake up every day and decide again whether we will use what life is left to us for good or ill.”
Miranda seemed to grudgingly grant the point.
Cass turned this over in her mind. She peeled the wrapper off a Snickers bar and ate the whole thing in three bites. She popped open a can of Coke Zero, drank half, burped, and drank the rest.
She looked at the two of them watching her.
“What?”
“Feeling better?” Miranda asked.
Cass sucked a smear of chocolate off her thumb and took her pen and pad back in hand. She knew what had to be asked next and frowned.
“And what about me, Miranda? What exactly am I?”
Miranda turned from the window and sat back in her chair. She gently lifted Cass’s chin and turned her face toward her own. She touched the corner of Cass’s eye with the tip of her finger.
“You,” Miranda said, “are what you were born to be. You are your mother’s daughter. You have the power to see through the lies that cloud our world and cut to the heart of truth. Sometimes this power shows itself in your interactions with other people. Sometimes in your ability to sift information as a scholar. Sometimes in your skill as a fighter.”
Richard perked up at this, a look of recognition dawning across his face, as if several pieces of a puzzle had just snapped together for him.
“Of course,” Richard said, almost to himself. “Of course. Why didn’t I see it? You, Cassandra, are a Seer.”
Miranda didn’t object.
“Finding you was no accident,” Richard continued. “If the race to find the One True Cross with your help was urgent before, it’s doubly so now. You, Cassandra Jones, are the key a thousand-year-old mystery. And you can’t be replaced.”
18
“If all this is true,” Cass said, “then it’s time to go. It’s time to get out of the city and get to work. None of what I’ve learned tonight changes what I already promised to do. It doesn’t change any of the decisions I’ve already made.”
Cass stood up and grabbed her bag off the bed. She stuffed her pad, pen, and a couple of other loose items back into it and then surveyed the room for anything she might have forgotten.
Richard and Miranda were still sitting at the table. They looked at each other and then back to Cass.
“What are you waiting for? We’re going to the airfield,” Cass snapped.
“The airfield?” Miranda asked.
Cass turned to Richard. “Our private jet is still waiting for us, Mr. Bigshot?”
“Yes, of course,” Richard confirmed.
“Then let’s go,” Cass said, scooping the remaining candy off the table and into her bag. She zipped the bag closed, thought for a moment, unzipped it, fished out a Kit-Kat, and then zipped it closed again. Holding the Kit-Kat between her teeth, she laced up her worn leather hiking boots and slipped into her puffy down jacket. She flipped up the hood and tore the corner off the candy bar wrapper. She patted the hard rectangle of her phone in the pocket of her jeans and thought about Zach but decided again that he would have to wait for later.
Richard and Miranda were still frozen at the table.
Cass clapped her hands. “I said, let’s go, people!”
As if a spell had been broken, they both jumped up and gathered their stuff.
When Richard pulled on his leather jacket, Cass almost laughed out loud.
Ha! I knew it! They do have a damn dress code!
Richard caught her smiling at him and smiled back.
They loaded up the car. Miranda insisted on driving again. Both Cass and Richard blanched, but Miranda still had the keys and no one was going to fight her for them.
“We’ll go the airport,” Miranda said, “but we have to make one more stop before do, even if it’s a little risky. And that’s non-negotiable.”
Both the airport and their stop were on the far side of the city. Miranda’s driving settled into something approaching normalcy and the heat from the vents, combined with the hypnotic swish of the windshield wipers, forced Cass to recognize how tired she really was.
Richard had nodded off in the backseat and Cass was almost gone herself when Miranda squeezed Cass’s knee. Cass jerked back awake but calmed when Miranda reassuringly shushed her.
“I’m sorry, Cass,” Miranda started, keeping her voice low. “I’m sorry that I didn’t say more, sooner. But your dad … when your mom died, your dad didn’t want you to have anything to do with me.”
Cass just waited and listened, eyes focused on the black road ahead. She was wide awake now.
“He wanted to protect you. He wanted to close the two of you up in a protective shell made of books and green tea. And part of me wanted the same. And so I let him and I tried to stay out of the way.”
Cass nodded. This was true. And, mostly, it had worked. She and her dad had lived inside of that shell of books ever since her mom had died. And, until recently, they’d been living there together. They couldn’t have stayed there forever, but she was glad her dad had made it last as long as he had.
“Your mom was just about to start training you when she died. In some ways, she had already started.”
Cass thought about all the games they’d used to play, games her mom had made up. And she thought about how, almost as soon as she’d been old enough to walk, her mom had wanted her to be able to stand up for herself, to defend herself and fight for herself. When she was just three, her mom had enrolled her in her first martial arts class. Cass had a rainbow of belts and a collection of tournament trophies in her old room. Once her mom was gone, Cass had channeled of lot of her anger and grief into honing those very skills her mother had wanted her to have. Her lean body and lethal skills were, in many ways, a living monument to her mother’s memory.
“But your dad was reluctant, and your mom waited … and then it was too late.”
Cass turned her face toward her door and wiped the corner of her eye.
“I don’t have time to explain this all now. Your mother was powerful and well-known in the world of magic. But the one thing you must understand about your own powers is that they have a clearly defined limit. As a Seer you have the power to see the truth, but this power to see the truth depends on you’re being truthful. Lying, even to yourself, will weaken that power.”
Cass thought immediately of what had happened earlier tonight when, she had lied about trusting Richard and her power had faltered, putting them both at risk.
Note to self, Cass thought, brutal honesty is no longer optional.
Cass nodded and squeezed Miranda’s hand.
“Thank you, Miranda,” Cass whispered. “Thank you for being there tonight. And thank you for being here now.”
“Oh, girl,” Miranda cooed, “I will always be there for you.”
The sun would be up in another hour, but for now the streets were still dark. Cass had been so absorbed by her memories and her conversation with Miranda that she hadn’t realized where they were going until they’d almost pulled into the driveway.
When they got to the door and rang the doorbell, she knew they didn’t need to worry about disturbing anyone. She knew he’d already be awake.
A balding man with soft edges and a sweater answered the door. His Japanese ancestry was obvious.
Before he could take in the scene and register Miranda’s presence, Cass took the lead. She wanted to make the first impression. She hadn’t known for sure how she’d feel when he opened the door but, once he had, her response was spontaneous. She rushed into his arms, hugged him tight, and buried her head in his shoulder.
“Hi, dad,” she whispered in his ear. “I’m home.”
19
Gary Jones returned
her fierce hug. Although he’d seemed surprised to see her, he was obviously glad she was there. He went stiff, though, when he saw both Miranda and Richard hanging back. He immediately assumed the worst—and he wasn’t far off. Cass really had had a pretty harrowing night.
“Are you okay, Cass? Are you hurt?”
He held her out at arm’s length, trying to get a good look at her on the dark doorstep.
Cass held up her hands and turned them front and back as if to say: look Dad, I’m fine! But even the dim light from inside the house was enough to show the bruise spreading across her cheek. Cass let her hair fall to curtain that side of her face but it was too little, too late.
The same dark expression that had crossed Zach’s face when he’d seen the bruise now crossed her father’s. He transformed from mild mannered librarian to protective father in an instant. But, rather than aiming his anger at Richard, he was already primed to go after Miranda.
What am I, a porcelain doll?
Cass was getting tired of the men who cared about her reacting that way.
I’m the one with a car trunk full of swords!
It was easy to see that Miranda’s first instinct was to fight fire with fire. But when she saw the pleading look in Cass’s eyes, she held off.
“I told you to stay away from her,” Gary said through clenched teeth. “I asked you to stay away. I knew this would happen. I knew where this would lead.” He stepped off the porch, closing the gap between himself and Miranda.
Cass tried to redirect his attention.
“Dad, wait!” she said, touching him on his shoulder. “Dad, it’s not what you think.”
But he couldn’t hear her. The angry words came pouring out him, like he’d had them bottled and ready to go for years, just waiting for the right moment.
“It always the same thing with you, Miranda. It always ends the same way. You’re big on adventure, but the roads you travel all lead to the same place. You’re playing with powers you don’t understand and can’t control. And who suffers, Miranda? Who?” His voice rose until he was shouting.
