The Vision (15 page)

Zander shook his head sadly. “What purpose did that serve, Cassie?” He waited a second, then reached out and gently put his hand under my chin, raising my face to his, oblivious to Ryan standing there, still holding my hand. “None, right?”

I felt the pinprick of tears. “Worse than none,” I whispered.

He nodded slowly, his lips pursed.

“Cassie?” Ryan asked, finally letting go of my hand and crossing his arms. “What exactly is going on here?”

Zander looked at him appraisingly. They stood at roughly the same height, but so different in every other way: Zander broad beside Ryan's lankiness, dark to Ryan's light. “Nothing that concerns you,” Zander answered.

Ryan shot him a glare, then looked back at me. “Cassie?”

“It's okay, Ryan,” I said tiredly. “I can't really explain, but Zander's right. You don't need to worry about it.”

“Well, I think we should head out. Are you ready?”

I knew Ryan already knew the answer. The way he looked from me to Zander told me he'd figured it out: I was leaving with this guy, whoever he was. I sighed, feeling like the world's biggest jerk, not just for right now, but for all of it. Making him a stand-in for Jack, even if he didn't know it. “I'm sorry, Ryan. I need to talk to Zander. He'll give me a ride home.”

Ryan nodded, barely meeting my eyes. “Okay,” he said tightly. “Guess I'll see you at work.”

“Ryan, hey—” I caught his arm. “Thanks for coming with me.”

“Yeah. Sure.” He glanced quickly at Zander again, then back at me. “Good luck, Cassie,” he said. “With … whatever.”

Ryan walked to his car without looking back.

After he'd pulled away, tires squealing against the pavement, I spun to face Zander. “Did you follow me here?” I demanded, incensed at the thought of it.

He shook his head. “Didn't need to. I knew you'd come.”

“How?”

“Oh, Cassie.” Zander sighed, smiling at me and shaking his head. “I can read you like a book.” He put on a falsetto. “I found her obituary and she has a family, worked at a bank …,” he mimicked, before returning to his normal voice. “You think I couldn't figure out where that would lead?”

I didn't answer.

He rested his hands gently on my shoulders, turning me to look him full in the face. His eyes were almost black, glittering and looking deep into me. I was ready for him to chide me about Lucy Edwards and how foolish I'd been. Instead, he said, “I saw you in there, holding his hand.” Zander hesitated. “Does he mean something to you?”

“Jealous?” I asked it lightly, though a secret thrill ran through me.

“No,” he said, glancing down and shifting his weight before meeting my eyes again. “I just wish you'd asked me to come with you, not him.”

It wasn't his words so much as the way Zander looked—uncertain in a way I'd never seen him look. It was as if he'd chipped away a tiny fragment of his shell to show me there
was
something soft and vulnerable behind it after all. Something capable of being hurt.

He slid his hands down my arms, my skin tingling in their wake despite the layers of coat and clothes between us. He caught both of my hands in his and pulled me close, wrapping my arms around his back, pressing my chest against his.

“You know he can't be for you what I can, Cassie,” he murmured, his voice drifting down, words encircling me. “He'll never understand you like I do. You and I, we belong together. We fit.”

I felt a bitter saltiness in my throat and my eyes teared so suddenly it caught me unprepared. I'd been a pretty good faker most of my life, but I wasn't sure I'd ever truly
belonged
anywhere. How could I when the most essential thing about me is so strange and secret? So different.

“Zander, with Ryan … it's not anything …”

“Shh,” he said, gently kissing my hair. “I thought I told you to tell him you were taken anyway,” he teased. And then Zander pulled me away, holding me at arm's length to see into my eyes, all teasing gone. “But about what you saw in there, Cassie? I want to be sure you understand that we did the right thing.”

I thought about it for a long minute, watching Zander's eyes and seeing a flicker of disapproval when I didn't answer right away.

“I'm not sure, Zander,” I said finally, trying to be both honest and appeasing. “I'd like to think we did. I can see that there probably wasn't a future for her and that she'd made her bed. But then I think about her sister and all those people in there—they seem like a good family. Like they really cared.” I shook my head. “I think mostly I believe it, but …”

“But you're not totally sure.”

“No. And I wonder if I ever can be.”

Zander pursed his lips. I knew he was disappointed and it didn't feel good. “I hope you learn, Cassie,” he said, letting go of me, all but the one hand he used to lead me to the car. “Or you're going to have a very hard road.”

chapter 24

It was just past eight when Zander dropped me at the apartment. I watched his taillights fade away. On the ride, I'd tried to think about the good things—the way he'd said we belonged together, the thrill of his claiming me that way—but I couldn't shake his disappointment in my uncertainty about Lucy Edwards, and worse—couldn't shake the uncertainty itself. Zander was what I'd been looking for, a guide for this strange power. So why did I have such a hard time trusting him? Even in the face of the most obvious of marked people like Lucy Edwards?

Why—if I belonged the way he said I did—did I still feel alone?

Maybe because the only thing connecting us was our morbid abilities. And a physical attraction. Nothing more. Nothing
real
. He'd never asked what I was like as a kid or what I did at the holidays or how I celebrated my last birthday. He didn't know what I hoped to do or be next year or ten years from now. And he hadn't volunteered any of that about himself either.

After all the stuff that had happened this week, what I really wanted—yearned for—was someone who could tell me it would be okay. That whatever I saw and whatever I decided,
I'd
be okay. Someone who knew me well enough for that to be believable.

I opened my phone before I chickened out, my hands shaking as I pressed buttons, scrolling through my contacts for the one I needed. The one I'd pulled up a hundred times since leaving Pennsylvania but never mustered the courage to call. It had been easier to fool myself with texts.

I had so many memories of Jack scattered across the years; like happier counterpoints to the mark. I've replayed them like favorite songs, sometimes imagining I could feel the scratchiness of his wool sweater against my cheek or smell the smoke from his living room fireplace.

I'd spent almost every Sunday with him and his mom before I left, snuggled against Jack's chest while the three of us watched a movie or sprawled on the living room floor around a game of Monopoly. I was still living in the apartment where I'd grown up, the one I'd shared with Nan. But it was stripped of personality, most of our things packed, though I hadn't been sure for what. It felt bland and impersonal, no longer like a home. Not like Jack's house.

“I'm glad you're spending so much time with us, Cassie,” Jack's mom said one Sunday while we worked in the kitchen together. It was mid-October and we were cutting apples from a bag her neighbor had dropped off and tossing them in a pot of simmering water.

“Thanks, Mrs. P.,” I answered, smiling. “I am too.”

“It's been a tough couple months for you.”

I nodded. Jack's mom had come to Nan's funeral, like most of my classmates and their parents. But she'd actually known Nan, having lived so close to us back when Jack and I were kids.

“You seem like you're in a good place now.”

“I am, mostly,” I said, adding with a smile, “Always, when I'm here.”

She smiled back. “It's good to see Jack with you. I'd always hoped …” She stopped, a little embarrassed. “What I mean to say is that he seems very happy, too.”

We ate dinner later, sat by the fire, the smell of cinnamon and apples crisp like fall. His mom went to bed around nine.

“Early shift tomorrow,” she said, heading for the stairs and giving us a wave and a wink. “Be good.”

Jack and I lay on the sofa, not talking, totally content. I felt so small—my just-over five-feet beside his just-under six. Upstairs we heard the water run, toilet flush, doors close.

It was so warm and comfortable I must have dozed. The next time I looked at the clock, it was after ten.

“I should go,” I said, sitting up lazily and looking at the dark windowpanes. “Walk me home?”

“No.”

I smiled, still staring at the cold outdoors. “C'mon, sleepyhead, before we're too tired.” I turned to face him.

Jack shook his head, reached for my hand. “Stay with me.”

“Oh, Jack, I'd love to, but your mom—”

“What about her?” he interrupted. “She loves having you here. She loves you.” He paused, searching my face, then said it. So softly. “
I
love you.”

Everything stopped. My breath caught, trapped somewhere between my throat and my chest where there was an ache so sudden and sharp. No one had ever said that to me. Except Nan. And I'd never said it to anyone except her. When she was gone, it had hurt so much some days I couldn't function.

“Jack …” It was all I could squeeze out, the rush of too many feelings, too much knowledge making more impossible.

Jack must have seen it. He leaned over, kissed the top of my head. “It's okay, Cass,” he said, unconditional as always. “Just stay.”

So I did, balanced between happiness and apprehension, almost wanting not to sleep just so I could feel him beside me all night.

It's the best day I can remember.

I could picture the phone in his house, ringing now as I stood on the sidewalk outside my apartment on a freezing March night, very far from that day.

“Hello?”

The sound of his voice—his actual voice, not the one that played in my memories, but the real him, right now—paralyzed me. I could barely breathe.

“Hello?”

“Jack?” My own voice sounded totally unnatural.

“Who is …” He stopped. “Cassie?”

“Yeah.” I laughed, trying for casual. “It's me. How're you doing?”

He paused. The silence was huge. I could hear my heart pounding, everything in me willing him to say something, anything, that would make this okay. “Why are you calling?”

He sounded utterly perplexed. Like we were strangers. “Um … I …” I'd thought he might be angry or surprised, but not this. So distant it was like I'd imagined the few months we'd had together. And the years and years before. “Just to say hi,” I finished lamely.

“Oh.” Another pause. “Well. Hi.”

My whole body felt weak. I leaned on something, a sign or lamppost. It was like I'd been holding my breath and someone came by and kicked me in the gut. I didn't even feel the sting of tears, they came so quickly. I wiped them with my free hand, but didn't know what to do about my nose. I couldn't sniffle or he'd know I was crying so I just let it run.

All this time I'd been sending these texts and thinking about Jack and refusing to admit how much I hoped—no,
believed
—that when I was ready, we could pick up where we'd left off. His voice, offhand and unyielding at the same time, told me now how completely wrong I'd been.

I tried to pull it together, at least enough to give him an equally casual “hi” or “see ya,” but I couldn't. I lowered the phone, watching the screen wink to black when I pressed End.

chapter 25

In some ways it was easier after I locked Jack away. After the phone call I wished I'd never made. Zander and I were a recognized couple at school. I could stop looking for Jack in every Tom, Dick, and Ryan I saw, put my hopes and memories in a tiny box in some dark recess of myself, and just focus on Zander. My boyfriend.

He waited for me at my locker. We held hands. Sometimes he ate lunch with us. It was weird. Not just him at our table—though that was really awkward because of Hannah's crush on him—but pretending to be normal when the thing that bound us was our history—both the ancient ties and the more recent one of having been at that woman's death together. Having helped her die.

We went on dates, mostly to the mall. Of all places. I'd suggested bowling or the city or even the diner where I'd seen Nick Altos's dad with the mark, but somehow we always came back to the mall. Whatever. Zander dressed well and I can't say I really minded seeing him try on clothes, especially because he'd pull me into the room with him any time the clerks weren't looking. It was easy, then, to forget that there were too many people at the mall and hard to keep my hands to myself in that tight space with him half dressed. Sometimes I didn't bother trying.

When Petra was at work, he'd come to the apartment and we'd lie side by side on my bed, ostensibly doing homework. Often doing other stuff, though I always put a limit on how much. I was outrageously attracted to Zander. There's no question I wanted him. But not yet. I knew his deepest secret and he knew mine but—crazy as it sounds—I felt like I didn't know
him
. Not the way I'd known Jack. Or even Lucas, for that matter. I don't think Zander realized how every conversation we had—about friends, books, movies—skated on the most superficial surface.

I'd tried anything and everything I could think of, hoping to capture that feeling of intimacy without being intimate that I'd always had with Jack. Of course, I'd never had to ask what his favorite childhood book was or if he'd had pets growing up. Sometimes Zander would answer those questions. Mostly, he sidestepped anything that scratched too deep. Or just flat out shut me down, like the day we were lying on my bed, ignoring our history homework.

“What happened to your father?” I asked him in the middle of a backrub. My voice was partly muffled by the pillow, but I knew he'd heard because he froze, his thumb digging into my back a little too hard.

“Why are you asking me that now?” he said.

“Well, I—” But he didn't let me finish.

“You're kind of ruining the moment, Cass.” He stood up. I felt bad but also frustrated. When was he going to tell me something about how he
felt
? Something that actually touched him?

“I'm just, you know, trying to get to know you, Zander.”

“Well, that's not the way to do it,” he said bluntly.

A week later—two or so after Lucy Edwards's wake—we were at the mall again, on our usual route past Sears, the bookstore, the pimply kid at the movie theater. A quick recon visit to Abercrombie or Gap, then on to the food court, where we shared a dish of ice cream. Zander liked vanilla, but it was my turn to pick so we had rocky road with Heath bar on top.

He fed me a spoonful, which made me smile, though I felt sort of ridiculous too. Zander seemed to have no internal censor for sappy couples' behavior because he followed it up with a kiss, then another, things heating up a little too fast.

“Shouldn't we be doing this, um, somewhere else?” I asked, disengaging him as best I could.

Zander raised his eyebrows. “Where did you have in mind?”

“I … That's not what I meant exactly.” I could feel the blush on my cheeks. “I mean, should we really be making out in the middle of the mall?” Just saying it made me squirm. “Let's talk,” I said, trying to redirect. “Tell me about … your first day of school here. How old were you when you and your mom moved to Bellevue?”

Zander rolled his eyes. “This again? What a
girl
you are, Cassie,” he teased, leaning back. “Should we talk about our
feelings
?”

“That's insulting, Zander.” It wasn't wrong for me to want to know something about him like a normal girlfriend would. Stuff not about death or fate.

He smiled affectionately. “I'm tempted to see if I can make you angry enough to stomp your feet,” Zander said. “But I have an idea. Why don't you come over for dinner this weekend? My mom's been bugging me to bring you. You can ask her all the questions you want, talk about feelings, have a good cry if you like … maybe I'll even join in.”

“Sure,” I said. “That'd be nice.” Finally, I thought. Kind of like the dinners I used to have with Jack and his mom.

Calliope Dasios wasted no time making sure it was unlike any dinner at Jack's.

“Cassandra,” she breathed, almost reverently, as she embraced me at the front door. “Welcome. I'm so pleased you and Zander are fulfilling your destinies together.”

“Uh …”

“Mom,” Zander said, grimacing. “Maybe take it down a notch?”

“Did I get carried away?” Calliope's smile was warm and self-deprecating. She linked her arm through mine. “I'm just thrilled you two have found each other. We've been looking for so long.”

I heard Zander sigh behind me. I guess even Death isn't immune to parental embarrassment. His mother led me to a velvety armchair in the center of the living room. Zander sat in a matching one across the coffee table from me and Calliope was between, on the couch. She poured us each a glass of water from a pitcher with slices of lemons and limes floating among the ice.

“There was so much I wanted to ask on your last visit,” she said, “but Zander told me you didn't know yet. About him.” She laughed. “You have no idea how hard it was for me to bite my tongue!”

I smiled back, surprised how comfortable Calliope was—how comfortable she made me—about a topic I was so accustomed to hiding. As if our gifts were not only normal, but good. “I was a little surprised to find out that Zander was who—what—he is.”

She nodded. “I want to know everything, Cassandra,” she said, leaning forward. “Everything you're willing to share. About how long you've known, how you found out. About your people.” She glanced toward Zander and I did too. He nodded, a patient resignation on his face. “It's been years,” Calliope continued, looking back at me, “since we've had someone Zander could pair up with. And what a beautiful match the two of you make.”

I lowered my eyes, both thrilled and troubled by Calliope's enthusiasm. It was like she was already planning our wedding.

“Mom …” Zander couldn't hide his exasperation.

She laughed again, a light, musical sound. “I'm sorry, Cassandra. I don't mean to be overbearing. I'm sure you know how unique your gifts are and how hard it is to find another like yourselves. I'm just so happy for you both. And it must be such a relief for you, on your own before.”

“It is,” I agreed, feeling it was mostly true. “I've been …” Confused? Lonely? Afraid? “It's been hard,” I said finally.

“I'm sure,” she said sympathetically. “Tell me your story, if you don't mind. I'd love to hear it.”

So I did. Starting with how I figured out what the mark meant through my time in Kansas, learning about my mom. Calliope was an attentive listener, leaning forward, rarely taking her eyes off me.

“So your mother saw it, too,” Calliope said decisively, refilling my water glass. “What about your grandmother?”

I shrugged, looking down at my hands and feeling the sorrow that still came when I thought about Nan. “I don't really know. She never said anything about it, even when she could see I was trying to figure it out.”

“But with your mother having it she must have known at least? Even if she didn't have the gift herself ?” Calliope asked it gently, clearly understanding what I was struggling with.

I sighed, looking up. “Yeah. I think so.”

She patted my knee, her eyes kind. “We all make mistakes, Cassie. It doesn't mean she loved you any less.”

Zander had been listening quietly, but I'd seen him growing increasingly restless. He seized the small break in conversation. “Mom,” he said bluntly, “is there anything we should be doing for, you know, dinner?”

Calliope glanced at the intricately carved clock, then stood, smiling fondly at him. “Hungry?”

“Starving,” he said. “And the smell of food is just about driving me crazy.”

“It's probably ready. Why don't you and Cassandra set the table and I'll finish it up?”

We talked about more normal things over the lasagna and salad Calliope served. Vacations they'd taken, an eccentric client she was working for, the car she needed to replace. I glanced around the room, the objects on the walls taking on new meaning: a photo of a Greek temple, a framed shard of painted pottery, a tarnished dagger.

“You like them?” Calliope asked.

“Interesting,” I said. “Do they have any special meaning?”

“Mementos of Zander's heritage, mostly,” she said. “There are no temples to Thanatos. The picture is one of Athena's temples, from our first trip to Greece. That vase fragment”—she pointed at the pottery—“is an ancient depiction of Thanatos.”

“And the dagger?”

“One of his tools.” She smiled, adding, “A replica, of course. Not the original.”

It sent a little shiver up my spine.

After dinner, Zander offered to do the dishes. I asked if I could help, but he shook his head. “I'm making good on my promise: time to talk about you and me and our history and feelings,” he teased.

“I'm enjoying it,” I said, defiantly cocking an eyebrow at him. “At least your mom tells me something.”

“Oh, she'll talk your ear off,” he said. “That's actually my strategy. I figure after tonight, you'll never want to hear another word about me.”

“Ha-ha.”

I settled back into my seat in the living room and Calliope took hers. The occasional clank of dishes from the kitchen was not unlike it had been at Jack's house, he and I nestled on the sofa by the fire while his mom cleaned up. There was something cozy and familiar and comforting about this scene.

“Thank you so much for having me over,” I said to Calliope.

“Are you kidding?” she said. “I expect to see you here often, Cassandra. You're far more than a girlfriend.” My heart leapt at her calling me that. I wasn't sure I'd ever get tired of hearing or thinking about it. “You're a missing part of our family.”

She leaned in then, taking my hand. “I want you to know I really feel for you and understand how conflicted you must be about your past, especially your grandmother.” She lowered her voice slightly. “I doubt Zander's shared much about it, but we—especially he—has had his own troubles with his father.”

“What happened to him?” I asked, eager to hear what Zander was so unwilling to share. “Where is he?”

“He's dead.”

“Oh.” I felt terrible, even though this was the answer I'd half expected. “I'm so sorry.”

“No need to be, Cassandra,” she said evenly. “We all have our time. Immortality is a myth.”

“Right,” I said wryly. “Just like the Greek gods and goddesses?”

She smiled. “It was years ago, Zander had just turned ten, but he's still working through it. You've probably noticed.”

I nodded. “I've asked about him a few times. I guess maybe I shouldn't have.”

“No,” she said immediately. “On the contrary, perhaps
you
can get him to open up. I think it'd be good for him. I never imagined he'd have such difficulty.”

“Mr. Ludwig, the owner of the funeral home where I work, says people don't finish grieving until they start talking about it,” I said. “Death is hard for lots of people. Even ones like us, who see an awful lot of it.”

“True.” Calliope paused, the silence between us comfortable. “He's always been so strong and decisive about his duty. Even as a little boy. I never imagined his father would affect him so much.”

The words rolled over me harmlessly at first, but as I sat there, the meaning of each sank in, one by one, like rocks dropped into my consciousness. Calliope leaned back on the sofa, languidly sipping her tea, looking toward the darkened window. I stared at her, sitting so casually, and played back the sentence in my mind, hoping it would sound different.

“You don't mean …” I hesitated. If I was wrong, what would she think of me that I'd even consider it? But if I was right, what would I think of her? Of them? “You don't mean that he had a role in his father's death, do you?”

She turned back to me, a mild frown knitting her brow. “Well, of course, Cassie. What else would I mean?”

We stared at each other, Calliope puzzled and me letting what she'd admitted steep: Zander had been ten years old and not only a witness to his father's death but a part of it.

He came back into the room then, immediately stopping short as if the air were thick with something too heavy to breathe. It felt that way to me. Zander's eyes narrowed, darting from Calliope to me. I felt like crying. Hearing it had put me right back at Nan's bedside the day she died. I'd tried to help until she'd asked me to stop. But the awfulness and—truly—the guilt of that day had never fully left me. I knew why Zander didn't talk about his dad and wanted nothing more than to give him a hug.

“What?” he demanded.

Calliope opened her mouth, but I stood before she could speak. “It's been a long night, Zander. A lot to take in for me. So … informative.” I smiled weakly, rushing on. “I think I should head home.”

He glanced back at his mother, who smiled placidly. “Yeah, okay,” he said.