The Hidden

by Jessica Verday

  “Yum! I’m going with the vegan hot tamale platter. And I want a Coke, like, now,” Cacey replied. “What are you getting, Uri?”

  “Tofu burrito.”

  “You don’t mind if we eat in front of you, do you?” Cacey asked Caspian. She didn’t seem to care that people might notice she was speaking to him.

  “It’s not like I have a choice, do I?” he said. “Be my guest.”

  The waiter glided over and took out a pen and pad. Cacey rattled off her order, and I could see that he was taken with her melodic voice, just like I’d been the first time I’d talked to her. He had a hard time paying attention to what he was writing as Uri and I told him what we wanted, and his gaze kept straying back to her colorless eyes.

  “I would absolutely love a Coca-Cola to go with my meal,” Cacey said, maintaining eye contact. “In fact, we all would.”

  A funny metallic taste filled my mouth, like burned toast, and I reached for the pitcher of ice water that was sitting on the table. After pouring a glass, I gulped some of it down quickly.

  “I’ll see to it,” the waiter murmured. “And I’ll get this order put in right away.”

  “Thank you!” Cacey called as he walked away.

  “Is she always like this?” Caspian asked Uri.

  “Every time. Worse when she really wants something.”

  “That’s enough from you.” Cacey pointed to Uri. “And you, too, dead boy.” She pointed to Caspian.

  “Don’t do that,” I whispered.

  “Do what?”

  I made some abstract gesture with my hand. “Point to Caspian. Bring attention to him. People might see.”

  She looked around us at the half-empty room. “Honey, these people in here have better things to do with their time than pay attention to us. They’re too busy discussing what will happen when they go home to their underground bunkers and assemble to conquer global hunger and world peace with hugs and teddy bears. They don’t give two shits about what we say or do.”

  “You’re eating here,” I said to her. “Does that mean you go home to your bunker and hug teddy bears?”

  Her smile turned sharp. “I don’t hug anything.”

  Then she winked at me, and I laughed. “Okay, okay. Tell me about this car, then. Why couldn’t you just get a new one if the bus was so crappy?”

  She leaned back in her seat. “Um, duh. Because we’re Revenants.”

  She left it at that, and I swear to God I could have strangled her. Instead I raised an eyebrow.

  “Neat trick,” she said.

  I waited for her to continue, but she didn’t. “Soooooo, are you going to give me the real reason?” I said.

  She just stared blankly at me.

  “Uri?” I pleaded, turning to him.

  “We couldn’t get a new car because that was the one given to us to use for our job duration,” he explained. “You take what you can get.”

  “So, wait,” I said. “Were you guys given the bus, or did you take it?”

  They exchanged a look.

  “A little of both,” Uri said.

  “Is that because of the mind mojo thing?”

  Cacey nodded, but Uri frowned.

  “How does it work?” Caspian asked.

  “Like all things wise and mysterious beyond your grasp,” Cacey said. “It just is. Accept it. Move on.”

  “Do I have it?” he persisted. “Can I do mind mojo too?”

  The waiter suddenly appeared, holding three cans of Coke and three glasses of ice on a tray. He sat everything down on the table with a flourish, and Cacey beamed at him. “Thank you, good sir.”

  He stuttered a “Y-you’re welcome” before fleeing.

  Cacey didn’t even bother with her glass, but chugged the soda straight from the can. “Deeeee-licious!” she crowed after a full minute’s worth of swallowing. “This really is the best stuff on earth. Trust me. I’ve been around.”

  Caspian drummed his fingers on the table. “Cacey,” he said. “Mind mojo? Do. I. Have. It?”

  “Why don’t you try?” she taunted. “Go ahead and lay one on me, big boy.”

  I couldn’t help the snort of laughter that escaped me. Honestly, she was so ridiculous at times.

  Caspian stared at her.

  She stared back.

  He screwed up his face and squinted his eyes. Nothing happened. Finally he wiggled his fingers. “Abracadabra?” he said.

  “Nope,” Cacey replied. “You don’t have it.”

  Uri leaned sideways and spoke to Caspian. “What were you trying to make her do?”

  “I was trying to make her tell us that she’s a pretty, pretty princess.”

  I laughed loudly. “That I would have paid to see.”

  “Hey!” Cacey said.

  “Paid. Like, a hundred bucks.”

  “I am a pretty, pretty princess,” Cacey said automatically. “Pay up.”

  “Doesn’t count. You already told us he doesn’t have it.”

  Uri, Caspian, and I burst into laughter while Cacey crossed her arms and acted all pissy.

  “Oh, get over it,” I told her. “Move on.” She stuck her tongue out at me, and I rolled my eyes. “Seriously, though. Is there a reason why Caspian can’t do the mind mojo thing?”

  “Because he’s a Shade, not a Revenant,” Cacey said. “He’s not like us.”

  “So only Revenants can do it?”

  She shook her head. “Sorry. I can’t tell you how everything works. That’s the way it … works.”

  I glanced at Uri and opened my mouth to ask him, but he shook his head too. “Sorry, kiddo. She’s right on that. No unfair advantages.”

  “But this whole thing is like an unfair advantage,” I replied. “How many people know that they’re going to die?”

  “Technically, everyone knows they’re going to die,” Cacey said.

  “I mean, how many people know they are going to die soon? As in having-lunch-with-the-people-that-will-take-their-souls-any-minute-now soon.”

  Cacey and Uri shared another look, and then Cacey shrugged. I was about to ask again, when she said, “Ooh! Here comes the food!”

  The waiter made his way out of the kitchen with a loaded serving tray and then passed around the plates when he got to our table. My tofu scramble actually looked pretty good, and it smelled delicious. I felt bad that Caspian was going to have to just sit there and watch us eat, but he gave me a reassuring nod.

  The food, as it turned out, was tasty.

  Cacey barreled her way through her tamale while Uri demolished his burrito. “Wow,” I said, only halfway through mine. “You guys were hungry.”

  “We’ve just come to appreciate fine food,” Uri replied.

  Cacey sighed in happiness as she drained the last of her Coke and reached for Uri’s. “Sleepy Hollow doesn’t have any place like this,” she said. He patiently nudged his glass over to her.

  I cleared the rest of my plate as they discussed ordering something to go. Ultimately they decided against it, and the waiter came back with our check. Luckily, I’d pocketed some money before I’d gone to the doctor’s that morning, and I pulled a ten from my back pocket.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Uri said. “We’ve got it covered.”

  “That’s okay. I don’t mind. Really, I—”

  “You can give me the ten if you want, Abbey,” Cacey interrupted. “But I’d keep it if I were you. If Uri said he’s gonna cover it, he’s gonna cover it.”

  “Are you sure?” I lowered my voice. “I didn’t know if you guys had any money.”

  Uri pulled out a wallet and opened it, flashing a billfold stuffed full of hundreds.

  “Oh,” I said meekly. “Sorry,”

  “No big.” He left enough money on the table to cover the tab, and we headed outside.

  We climbed into the car and pulled out of the parking lot. Cacey talked the whole way home about more weird stuff that they’d found in their circus mobile, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was
some important question I needed to be asking, or something I should know the answer to.

  I just couldn’t figure out what it was.

  Chapter Five

  REGRETS

  … he had various ways of rendering himself both useful and agreeable.

  —“The Legend of Sleepy Hollow”

  There were precious few days of summer vacation left, but Caspian and I settled into a routine that consisted of drawing lessons for me, perfume lessons for him (well, more like perfume watching sessions, where I made the scents and he told me stories from his childhood), and nights under the stars. It was an easy rhythm. Comfortable, and safe.

  The little things were what surprised me the most. Like how awkward I thought it would be having him around all the time. How uncomfortable getting undressed every evening, or using the shower every morning with him in the next room, would be. But … it wasn’t. He was a perfect gentleman.

  And a surprisingly good roommate.

  “You don’t have to keep doing this, you know,” I said, turning back the covers to get ready for bed one evening, and finding a pair of socks tucked by my pillow.

  I told him he didn’t have to do it, but a shiver of happiness went through me that he had.

  “Your feet get cold at night. You’re always getting up to go get another pair.” He brought over an extra blanket, too, and placed it at the foot of the bed.

  “You’re going to spoil me,” I said. “But while you’re at it, could you turn off the overhead light?” I climbed into bed and pulled the sheets up over me.

  He obliged, and flicked the light off. A second later the bed dipped slightly under him as he came to sit next to me.

  “I still don’t know how you can stay here with me when I fall asleep,” I murmured, trying to get comfortable. “Don’t you get bored?”

  “Time passes quickly for me, remember?”

  I closed my eyes and nodded, snuggling deeper into the pillows. “If you’re sure.”

  “Don’t you want me to stay? I can always leave—”

  “Don’t.” I yawned. “Don’t leave. I like it when you stay with me.”

  “Then, that’s enough for me,” he said. “Sweet dreams, Astrid.”

  And that was the last thing I heard before I drifted down into the dream.

  Around me glass crunched, and sharp edges bit into my hands. I was on the floor, kneeling among the bits and pieces of my life. Scattered dreams surrounded me.

  “Pay attention, Abbey. This might just save your life.” Vincent Drake leered down at me, and I felt sick.

  “No … Don’t …”

  He grabbed my arm and hauled me to my feet. My knees screamed as glass slivers ground deeper and deeper into my open skin.

  I reached for a piece. Slid my fingers around that cool, sharp edge and held on. Then swung.

  A spray of blood erupted from Vincent’s cheek.

  I looked down at my hands covered in blood. His blood. “This isn’t …” I dropped the glass to the floor. “This isn’t how it goes. It didn’t happen like this. I didn’t stab you.”

  My eyes turned red, and I realized that blood was dripping down into them. Hot and sticky, it stung as I tried to rub it away.

  “Isn’t this how you like them?” a voice whispered in my ear, and then he was pushing me toward the bed. Horrified, I tried to get up. Tried to see.

  The bed was surrounded with flowers. And candles.

  Vincent appeared in front of me, a rose clenched between his teeth. “For you, a dance!” He crossed his arms in front of himself, and kicked his legs high. Around us the candles flickered. They looked strange, and I noticed that they were thick and heavy. Old-fashioned. And covered in cobwebs.

  The stench of dying flowers overtook me. It’s too much … I can’t breathe … Can’t … breathe …

  All the while, Vincent danced. Crazy, jerking moves at first, but then his pattern changed and he acted like a puppet on a string. Stiff, and controlled. “Want to jerk my strings?” he taunted. “Oh, wait. I forgot. You like the dead ones.”

  He stooped. Head bowed, arms splayed wide. And waited for my applause.

  “This didn’t happen!” I screamed inside my head. “None of this happened. This isn’t how it goes!”

  He moved closer. In his teeth the rose was no longer a rose, and I stared at it before I realized what it was.

  A bone.

  Vincent brandished it like a prize, then tossed it away. “Too much?” he asked. “You didn’t like my performance, I see. No clapping. I’m upset by this, Abbey.”

  He planted a hand on my back. Forced me toward the bed again. His features changed. Eyes turned huge and black, as craggy, dark wings sprouted from his shoulders and his teeth grew long and sharp.

  “And now, the pièce de résistance!” he shouted.

  He threw back the covers. The candles swelled, the flowers were overwhelming, and there … was a body …

  I sat straight up in bed, my blood racing and my face covered in sweat. My heart was thumping so hard, it felt like it was going to burst right out of my chest. The clock said 3:12 a.m., but that couldn’t be right. I’d been asleep for only a couple of minutes.

  I kept staring at it. Blinking. Trying to bring it into focus and force it to make sense.

  “Abbey?”

  I heard Caspian’s voice, but I couldn’t see him. My eyes weren’t adjusted to the dark yet, and I had the strangest feeling that he was floating all around me.

  “Are you okay?” he whispered.

  My dream came flooding back, and suddenly the room seemed smaller. The air thinner. My chest tightened painfully, and I tried to suck in a breath. “Caspian? Where are you?”

  A faint tingle on my arm flared, then died.

  “I’m here,” he said softly. “Right here. It was only a dream. Are you okay?”

  “I don’t know. … Stay with me.”

  “I will. I’m here.” Moonlight filled the room, and I could see the worried look on his face. “Was it about Vincent?”

  “Yes.”

  Caspian got up and turned on a small lamp. Instantly I felt better as the shadows receded and light flooded the room.

  My T-shirt was clammy, and I pulled it away from me. Swinging my feet to one side of the bed, I stood up. “I’m going to change. I’ll be right back,” I said.

  I padded over to the closet and pulled the door shut behind me. My stuffed animals were piled up in one corner, and I sat beside them, looking blankly at the wall. I must have been lost in my thoughts for a while, because a soft knock eventually came on the door, and then Caspian said, “Abbey? Is everything okay?”

  I struggled to my feet and peeked out at him. “I’m okay. Just thinking about everything. I’m going to get changed right now. Be out in a minute.”

  He nodded and closed the door. I went over to the pajama section of my closet and reached for a pair that was light blue and covered in white fluffy clouds. I slid them on, and then returned to bed.

  Caspian sat down beside me. “Want to talk about it?”

  “Yes.” I shivered. Then changed my mind. “No.” Drawing my feet up under me, I hugged my legs to my chest. “I don’t know.” I wound the sheet around my fingers. “I don’t even …” I shook my head.

  “What?”

  “It doesn’t do any good to talk about it. It was just a stupid dream. It doesn’t mean anything and it doesn’t change anything.”

  “Sometimes it helps to talk things out.”

  “But my dream didn’t make any sense.” I told him what I could remember of it. “In real life I didn’t cut Vincent with a piece of glass. Or even try to defend myself.”

  “Maybe that’s why you had the dream,” he said. “To act out a different course of action.”

  I laughed. “Yeah. Right. Because I have a hero complex.”

  “It’s not a hero complex to want to defend yourself, Abbey. He came into your space and hurt you. You didn’t get the chance to do anything about it then,
so let yourself do something about it now. Even if it is only in your dreams.”

  “What I’d really like is to dream about saving Kristen,” I mused. “To stop her from meeting Vincent. Or going to the river.” I thought about it for a minute. “Actually, you know what’s weird? I haven’t dreamt about Kristen at all lately. Not in the hospital, or here at home. The only thing I’ve dreamt about so far is Vincent. Violence. And death.”

  “Maybe that’s a good thing,” he said.

  “Dreaming about violence and death?”

  “No. I meant not dreaming about Kristen.”

  “Why would that be a good thing?”

  “Because aren’t the dreams you have about her sad? They seem that way.”

  “Yeah. But I don’t know …” I shrugged. “It’s a way to keep her close to me, you know? I’d rather have sad dreams about her than not have any dreams at all. At least that way I still get to see her.” Then I shuddered. “Although, I’d like to not have the dream about her dying again. That one I’ll gladly skip.”

  Caspian nodded sympathetically.

  “What was it like when you died?” I said suddenly. “I know you told me what happened right after your car crash, but did you feel any pain?”

  He sat up straighter and glanced down at his hands. “Abbey, I—”

  “Please? Please tell me? I want to know if … if I’m ready.”

  “You can’t be ready,” he said with an exasperated look on his face. “No one is.”

  “I know, but I can try to prepare. Right? At least be more ready than the average person who doesn’t know it’s coming.”

  “What are you going to do?” he asked. “Set your affairs in order? Write notes to your family?”

  “Maybe I am,” I said. “So?”

  “So don’t you think that might freak them out? If you start giving them ‘Dear Mom and Dad, I won’t be alive much longer’ letters, they might think you’re going crazy.”

  “It’s not like I’m going to give it to them now. Just, you know … Get them ready. For after.”

  He shook his head. “It’s not healthy, Abbey.”

  “Why? What’s so unhealthy about it? How different is it from someone knowing that they have a terminal illness and getting everything ready for when they pass on?”