by Ramy Vance
“But that was the kind of upset she was. I would never use that kind of misery to take advantage of anyone.”
I could tell he was serious. Boggie, for all his own extracurricular activities, was a really good guy. “OK, sorry. I didn’t mean it that way,” I said. “What was she upset about?”
“I have no idea. She kept saying something over and over again, but every time I tried to catch it, it was muffled by her tears or something would happen that drowned out her words.”
“What do you mean?” I said, leaning in close. “Be specific.”
“I don’t know,” he said, thinking back to last night. “Like when she was about to tell me what upset her, my phone’s alarm rang, but when I looked at it, I hadn’t set it to ring. Or one time she started telling me and my coat rack broke.”
“And you couldn’t hear her because your coats fell?”
“It didn’t just break—it shattered. Loudly.” He made an exploding gesture with his hands.
“Ahh, I see,” I said, not really seeing at all.
“After a while I gave up trying to figure out why she was upset and tried to comfort her. And before you make some crude joke … again, not that way. I made a joke. Something along the lines of if I was Underdog I’d carry her up, up and away, and—”
“Boggie,” a voice said, out of breath, “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
We both looked back to see Cassy walking into the common room and toward us in a huff.
And just when things were starting to make sense, I thought.
“What makes sense?” they both said in unison.
Me and my out-loudness. One day it’ll get me killed.
I Can’t Hear You … Let’s Go for a Walk
Cassy sat between us, which was no small feat given I had been basically holding Boggie’s hand in my let’s talk way.
“Boggie,” she said, “how are you feeling? Your head must be rattling like the bells of Pompeii when the volcano erupted.”
“Interesting reference,” I said, narrowing my eyes.
“We watched the movie together. You know, the one with Jon Snow in it.”
“Oh, I know Jon Snow well, I do,” I said in a tone a bit too creepy for my liking.
I know Jon Snow, I shuddered to myself (thankfully in my head). What’s wrong with me?
Being around Cassy threw me off, and it wasn’t just her beauty. Something else about her sent my internal compass spinning, and I didn’t know what.
“So,” Cassy said, “what are you two talking about? You mentioned that something made sense. What was it?”
“Ahh …” I stuttered, looking for a lie.
But before I could come up with one, Boggie sighed. “She knows.”
“Does she?” Cassy said, her face draining of any hint that we were friends. I’ve seen that look on mountain lions just before they attacked me (and yes, that’s happened to me more than once. Such is my life).
“I do.” I nodded. “But I don’t know why or how.” The words jumped out of me and I immediately regretted them, throwing my hand up in the air like I was trying to catch them before they reached her ears.
“One more thing,” Boggie said. “She’s the girl in the cherub mask.”
“Is she?” Cassy said. I saw her ball her hands into fists.
“Boggie!” I cried out. “That’s our little secret.”
“I know, I know,” he said in a defensive tone. “But I can’t help it.” Those last words were said as a meaningless defense, as if he was merely stating the truth.
Then it hit me. He’d said it that way exactly for that reason: he really couldn’t help it.
And neither could I.
“Cassy,” I said, “I think we need to go for a walk.”
↔
“So what are you?” she asked.
“I was about to ask you the same thing,” I said, resisting the urge to blurt out exactly who and what I was. I could sense myself being compelled to answer her question, but over three hundred years of sorcerers and mages and overpowered Others wishing to use my vampiric ass for their nefarious purposes, I had built a resistance to psionic magic.
I shook my head. “Your spell won’t work on me. Not now that I’ve become aware of it.”
“Spell? I’m not casting a spell,” she said, still in step with me.
I was leading her down the hill and toward campus. I might not have been able to understand who and what Cassy was, but I knew someone who would.
“Really?” I said. “You’re not using a little bit of psionic magic to get me to open up?”
“No.”
Her response was telling. The mere fact that she hadn’t raised a curious or confused eyebrow at the words “psionic” and “magic” told me she was more than just a girl with silver hair.
“I can feel the truth desperately wanting to wiggle its way out of me and into your ears.”
Cassy shrugged. “It is just my way.”
“Your way? What does that mean?”
“Nothing,” Cassy said, turning away and looking down the path.
“OK,” I said, stepping in front of her. “Let’s play a round of Twenty Questions. Only the truth. Deal?” I stuck out my hand.
Cassy looked at my hand for a long second before nodding. “Deal.” But instead of shaking my hand, she grabbed my wrist.
It had been a long time since anyone had done that to me. Two hundred years and change … but I remembered exactly what it meant. It was the old way of shaking hands between two knight or noble warriors. It meant that whatever palaver was to take place, it would be done in peace.
I grabbed her wrist back and gave it a firm shake.
↔
“Question one: How old are you?” I asked.
“Roughly three thousand, two hundred and thirty four years old,” she said. “Question two: You?”
My jaw dropped, and it took me a full three seconds before I could respond. “Three hundred years and change.”
“Funny how we get less and less accurate about our age as the years go on.”
“Yeah,” I muttered, “funny. Question three: Are you human?”
“Half,” she said. “My Other side is more touch than parentage.”
Touch, another ancient word. In the old days, when an Other touched you, they gave you a bit of their magic. It was a literal transfer of their essence into you.
She looked at me with a curious eye. “So you understand?”
I nodded.
“Then your question four should be: Who touched me?”
We both giggled. Hey, we might have been ancient beings, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t giggle at double entendres.
“OK, who touched you?”
“Calliope and Leigia.”
“Holy shit!” I said. “A muse and a siren.”
She nodded. “Yeah, you could say they’re my fairy godparents.”
“Question six: Do you still see them?”
Her gaze went distant. “Calliope, yes. But Leigia drowned when they left.”
“Yeah, I heard the sirens all drowned on the day of the GrandExodus. But I thought that was just a rumor.”
“Sadly, no.” She shook her head to chase away the sad thoughts. “My turn. Question seven: Are you an Other?”
“Half-breed. But unlike you and your fairy godparents, mine was more like a creepy uncle situation.”
She understood what I meant. “Were?” she asked.
“Vamp.”
“Makes sense,” she said. “You move too fluidly to be a were.”
“Oh, how do you figure?”
“Weres are too reliant on their alternate selves. Vampires are essentially one form all the time, so they never have to practice moving in two forms. The way you dodged those guys’ attacks on campus shows how practiced you are.”
“Those guys—and this is my question eight—they’re human?”
“Yes.”
“Question nine: And you gave them superpowers?�
��
“Yes.”
“Ten: Why?”
She sighed and looked up and down the street. It was empty—no people walking, no cars puttering along. We were basically alone, with only a couple cars buried under the snow sitting silently on the road. Then she leaned in and screamed, “Because—”
But before I could catch what she was saying the car alarms went off, ringing with obscene loudness given that they were covered in about six inches of snow.
The timing was uncanny. Beside me, all Cassy could do was shrug in response.
“I think I know what’s going on here … and how to get around it. Do you trust me?” I asked, reaching out a hand.
She looked at it for a long, long time. Just when I was beginning to think she wouldn’t take it, she reached out, clasping her fingers around mine.
“Thank you,” I said, squeezing her hand and pulling her down the hill.
Some Truths Give You a Stomach Ache
I led Cassy to the alleyway between the bookstore and the Desautels building, where a man-looking creature whiter than snow sat on the ground reading a pile of recycled cardboard cereal boxes.
He looked pleased as he mumbled the words: “bulking agent,” “polydextrose,” “raising agent,” “sodium hydrogen carbonate,” “magnesium carbonate.” He ran a sensuous finger down a box of krispies. “Mmm … thiamin hydrochloride. Folic acid.”
“Tasty?” I asked.
He nodded. “Very. FDA requirements are so … delicious.”
“I know,” I said, “but do you know what’s even tastier than the back of the box? What’s inside.”
At this he groaned and shook his head in vehement disagreement.
“Never mind all that. Cassy, meet Mergen. Mergen, meet Cassy.”
“Hi,” Cassy said, giving the pale creature a wave. “Aren’t you cold?”
Mergen shook his head. “The truth keeps me warm.”
“Speaking of truth,” I said, “we wanted to see if you would hear some now.”
Cassy looked at me with confusion. “I’ve seen a lot in my days, and yet I don’t know who or what is before us.”
“The Avatar of Truth and Wisdom,” I said. “He eats truth. Think of him as a human lie detector, only better. And he works on Others—even touched ones.”
Cassy nodded in understanding.
I’m beginning to enjoy how easy it is to speak to someone who just gets all this stuff without needing an explanation. Like sharing a kitchen with someone who knows their way around one. You never get in each other’s way, you can anticipate each other’s needs. It’s just easy.
Not like with Justin. Cassy would have understood immediately how dangerous the dybbuk is and kept her mouth shut. And given how pretty she is …
“Excuse me?”
I knew I should’ve been embarrassed at my little out loud thought, but I wasn’t, merely adding (out loud on purpose this time), “Just thinking how easy it would be if you and I were a couple. You know, two ancient beings making our mark in this crazy GoneGod World.”
She giggled at this. “True, but given how young you are compared to me, it would be like cradle robbing.”
At this Mergen smacked his lips, evidently seeing her comment as truth.
“OK, shall we get to it? Question eleven: Are people compelled to tell the truth around you?”
“Not exactly,” she said. “But they are compelled to tell me their role in …”—she hesitated—“upcoming events.”
Mergen rubbed his tummy.
“Your turn,” I said.
“OK, this is my last question for you. Depending on how you answer, it’s possibly the moment I walk away. Got it?”
I nodded.
“Question thirteen: Are you here to help?”
I thought about the implication of the question. She wasn’t asking if I was a good guy or trying to do right. She was asking if I was here to help. Help who? Her? Others? The students? Knowing she would be particularly sensitive to my answer, I said, “I’m here to do what I believe is right. Often that means helping people. Sometimes it doesn’t.”
Mergen licked his fingers, and Cassy smiled.
“Did I answer well?”
“Well enough,” she said. “I believe you have a pertinent question to ask. One that was so rudely interrupted before.”
“I do, but before I ask that one, I’ve thought of a couple more. Do you mind?”
She shook her head. “Ask away. You have my trust.”
“Good,” I said. “Are you cursed?”
At this, Cassy’s already light skin lost all color. “I cannot speak of it,” she finally said.
Mergen was picking his teeth.
OK, I thought in my head. Most people who are cursed cannot speak of what happened, or how. So that will be as close to confirmation as I can get.
“Have you aged since they … you know … went bye-bye?”
“No,” she said. “As best as I can tell, not a day.”
“But you can burn time?”
“Yes.”
“Did you give those students their powers?”
She nodded.
“How many?”
“As many as needed,” she answered. “As of now … twenty-two.”
That was an interesting answer. Twenty-two. Why that number? And what did “as many as needed” mean? Why didn’t more—or fewer—need superpowers?
I really hoped my next question would shine some light on those questions as well.
“OK then,” I said with a heavy sigh. Looking up and down the alley and then above, I saw nothing. Only accumulated snow on the roofs of the two building we stood between. Still, given last time’s car eruption, I got myself into a position that would let me pounce at a second’s notice. I also kept an eye on Mergen to see his reaction. By my estimation, a creature who ate the truth could also hear it, no matter the limitations set on it. “Let’s address the elephant in the room, shall we? Tell me Cassy, why did you give those students superpowers?”
Cassy started to speak, and as she did, a sonic boom shook the ground and buildings around us. The snow slid off the roofs of the buildings, showering us in cold, white powder. And even though I couldn’t hear what Cassy was saying, I knew she spoke on.
In between watermelon-sized snowfall, I saw Mergen’s reaction. He gripped his belly, his eyes widening, his mouth gaping open. He looked like he was being waterboarded.
I charged at Cassy, covering her mouth. “Enough!” I said. “Enough.”
Cassy was crying, her lips still moving beneath my palm. She was telling the truth—her truth. Much as I was compelled to speak mine around her, she too, was compelled to tell all of hers.
But snow and sonic booms stopped me from being able to hear her. As I tried to get her to stop speaking, I saw Mergen continuing to writhe in pain.
This lasted for an eternity. In truth she probably only spoke for ten seconds, but ten seconds was enough. When she finished speaking her truth, the snow stopped falling and the sonic booms ceased their explosive noise.
Mergen was on the floor, eyes wide open and terrified.
I went to his side. “Mergen! Mergen, are you all right?” I tried to get him into a sitting position, but he wouldn’t be moved.
I was going to call for help when he grabbed the back of my head and drew me in close. “She has spoken the truth, and it is horrible.”
“Mergen, will you—” But I was cut off by Underdawg dropping from the sky and landing right next to us.
Boggie wasn’t wearing his mask this time. Terror had replaced it.
“The sonic booms—that was you,” I said.
He nodded. “Guys, thank the GoneGods I found you. There’s something horrible going on that you need to—”
But before he could finish, his youthful, unblemished face grew crows’ feet. They jutted from a pair of eyes that had become white with cataracts.
His hair grayed as his cheeks sagged. He was aging. He turned from young to middl
e-aged to old to ancient before he collapsed on the ground.
Behind him stood a kid wearing a metal helmet not unlike a medieval knight’s. On his body, chainmail and a shield with a large red cross.
“What the—?” I said, as the kid raised a hand and shot a fireball right at me.
End of Part 2
Prologue
How cruel the god Apollo had been that fateful day they met. Not that she had meant to draw in the sun with her song. It was not her fault that her voice attracted the god’s attention. Nor was it her fault that her beauty drove him mad with passion.
And so he came at her like a stray dog in heat, panting and begging. So distasteful. She rejected him, as was her right. Nay, more than her right—it was her nature. For when her father, King Priam, lay with her mother, Hecuba, they had enticed the muse Calliope to touch her soul and the siren Ligeia to gift her with song and beauty unmatched. And as the two divine creatures touched the newly born baby, they set her on a course to be something … more.
None could deny that Cassandra was the most beautiful girl in all of creation—even more beautiful than her sister Helen, whose face had launched a thousand ships.
But true beauty is oft accompanied by vile arrogance, and in this way Cassandra was not immune. Suitors would come from far off, lured in by Cassandra’s song, only to be turned away once the hook of her perfection had pierced their hearts, its metal infecting their souls with the rabies of rejection.
On the island of Troy there is a cliff called Cassandra’s Bluff, its name earned by all the failed suitors who jumped to a watery grave rather than live a life without the woman they loved with all their being.
And so that became Cassandra’s curse: to love her with undeniable passion, only to find that love unfulfilled and unrequited.
Cassandra might have continued this way had her song not been heard by the sun god Apollo. Disguising himself as a human, he too sought to win her hand.
