by Laura Legend
Shit, Cass thought, dad’s gone nuclear.
Again, it looked for an instant like Miranda would respond in kind, launching her own salvo of missiles. But she didn’t. She stepped back and let herself absorb the force of what Gary had said, acknowledging some of the truth in it.
“Who? Who suffers, Gary?” Miranda echoed. “You do. Rose did. I do. Cass has and will.”
Silence. Even the birds stopped singing their early morning song. No one moved.
The look on Cass’s father’s face changed from anger to confusion. He hadn’t expected her to agree.
“I’m sorry, Gary. I’m so sorry,” Miranda continued. “But some things are bigger than us. And where this goes now isn’t up to us. And it sure as hell is no longer just about us. You’ve tried hard to keep Cass safe and you’ve done a good job. But Cass can only ignore what she is for so long. Eventually the cost of pretending to be something she isn’t will, all by itself, destroy her.”
Gary’s face had softened, like he had almost been ready to accept Miranda’s unexpected apology. But when Miranda didn’t stop there, when she circled back around to Cass again, he wasn’t in a place where he could hear what she was saying. His eyes hardened and his jaw clenched again.
“No,” was all he could manage, shaking his head. “No.”
He turned back to Cass.
“Dad, this isn’t Miranda’s fault. She’s not responsible for the trouble we’re in. She did stay away—mostly. And if she hadn’t shown up tonight, Richard and I would be dead.”
Cass pulled him back into a hug.
“She saved us, Dad. She saved us.”
Her father didn’t need any special powers to feel the force of this and to have it temper his fear and anger. He squeezed Cass tight, like he had when she was little, and only gradually let her go.
He looked at Richard, obviously not pleased by his playboy vibe, and then at Miranda. He paused for a moment as their eyes met and a beat passed between them with the force of a grudging thank-you. But rather than saying anything out loud, he settled for ushering their little group into the house.
“Come, come into the house,” he said. “It’s ridiculous to stand out here at this hour. Leave your shoes by the door.”
This invitation clearly didn’t mean that all was forgiven. But it did, at least, signal a truce.
They all filed through the door behind him and gathered in the kitchen. Cass got some coffee brewing. Then, around the kitchen table, Cass recounted the events of the last couple of days. She tried not to leave anything out, even the crazy stuff. She expected her dad to balk at the stuff about vampires—he did cock an eyebrow and shift uncomfortably in his seat, gauging the distance to the butcher’s block full of knives on the counter, when she revealed that Richard was a vampire—or at the stuff about her own powers. But he didn’t. He swallowed the whole story as if he’d known about such things all along and had been expecting to hear about it from her for years. Maybe he had.
What do you know, Dad? Cass wondered. How much do you know? Who are you under all those books?
Once Cass had finished, the conversation quickly funneled down to the only real question at hand: where, exactly, was their private jet headed in search of the One True Cross?
“Our best lead at the moment is Valencia, Spain,” Richard offered. “I think we’ll start there.”
“Yes, interesting,” Gary said, scratching his chin and pulling off his glasses to rub them clean with his shirt. “Saint Peter is reported to have traveled through Valencia. And, obviously, it is already the resting place of a famous relic, the Holy Chalice. Some believe that this chalice is the very cup used by Christ at the Last Supper.”
“Right,” Cass said, “and I’m Mother Teresa.” She held up the sugar shaker. “This sugar shaker is as likely to be the real chalice. Even if we ignore the the competing claims from other chalices, the material and craftsmanship of that relic in Valencia don’t fit the bill at all.”
Gary took the shaker from her and add a little extra to his coffee. He stirred the sugar in, making that thoughtful sound that comes from a metal spoon lightly scraping against the sides of a ceramic cup.
“Wait a moment,” he said. He got up from the table and went back to his office. They could hear him rooting around in his papers. He came back with a sheaf of loose notes and photocopied manuscript pages.
“Valencia might not be a bad place to start. Cass is right that the Holy Chalice is a dead end, you won’t find any clues there. But there is a small town north of Valencia named Meliana with a small but extraordinarily old chapel that has, for years, been rumored to be associated with the One True Cross.”
Cass pulled out her laptop. Her dad had triggered a memory. Meliana sounded familiar. She clicked and swiped until she found what she was looking for.
“Yes,” she said, tapping her screen. “This is the place to start. A host of independent lines of evidence all intersect outside of Valencia. And if I take into account the new information Richard shared with me earlier tonight, it looks decisive. That old chapel in Meliana is ground zero.”
Cass’s eyes were bright. This is what she loved most of all.
Screw the swordplay, give me a library any day.
“Yes,” her father agreed. “I think you’ve got something here.”
Cass flushed with pleasure at her father’s agreement. She leaned back in her chair, ran her fingers through her hair, and absently pulled at her pendant.
Gary had started to say something else but, when his voice trailed off, Cass saw that he was staring at her necklace. He reached out to touch it.
“You still wear this?” he asked. “It was your mother’s. She wore it for years.” His eyes grew distant. “She was wearing it the first time we met.”
Everyone waited, silent, until Gary shook himself and rejoined them in the present.
When he did, he looked straight at Miranda: “Go. Go do what you must.”
Then, the fire returning to his voice, “But if you let anything happen to Cass, you’ll find that I have powers of my own that I won’t be able to control.”
20
While Richard made arrangements with his pilot and Miranda talked privately with Gary, Cass retreated to her old bedroom on the first floor.
She hadn’t lived there since her senior year in high school, but the room still looked exactly the same: heavy dark curtains, piles of books everywhere, trophies on shelves, cheap swords on the wall, and a closet full of goth clothes she’d tried out her senior year but abandoned as too much effort when she’d started her freshman year at Stanford.
She collapsed onto her bed and curled up with an old pillow, trying not to think about anything in particular. She took a look around the room.
So dark, she thought. What was I thinking? Even the curtains are black!
Had she been destined to get involved with vampires all along? Was her room evidence of this? Was Richard going to make her drag out her black leather jacket, draped with silver chains, and then buckle on the leather choker with studs that she was pretty sure was still in her jewelry box? If he asked her, would she want to?
She tried imagining Richard with some smoky eye shadow and the leather choker. Then, inevitably, she imagined him wearing just the eye shadow and leather choker.
Not helpful, Jones. Not. Helpful.
Shaking her head free of that thought, her limbic system defiantly tried substituting an image of Zach in eye shadow and choker—Zach! Shit!—but a wave of guilt shut that down before it had a chance to go anywhere. She’d promised to text to him if anything else happened. A lot had happened and she hadn’t called or texted him.
She’d better check in with him. She rolled over and pulled out her phone. She tried to figure out what to say.
Almost eaten by 12 more vamps. Richard a vamp, but not the bad kind. Aunt is a witch. Dad melting down. On the lam. Headed to Spain. How was your night?
That probably wasn’t the best approach to take.
<
br /> She settled for a ping: You there?
She thought he might still be asleep, so she didn’t expect an immediate answer. But before she could put down her phone, it buzzed.
Open your window, it said.
What the hell? What kind of advice is that? Cass wondered. Does he think I need some fresh air?
She tried a snarky response: No, open YOUR window.
Can’t, came the response.
Why?
Too far away.
What? Where are you?
Outside.
Outside where?
Your window.
Cass pulled back her curtain and almost fell off her bed: Zach’s crooked grin was pressed up against the glass.
What the hell?
She popped open her window but before she could say anything, Zach shushed her.
“Are you okay?” he whispered.
“What? Yes, I’m fine,” she said in her normal voice.
“Shhhhh.”
“What? Why are we whispering,” Cass stage-whispered.
Zach started to climb through the window, the wooden stake in his right hand complicating the maneuver.
“Is he holding you hostage? Is your dad okay? What room is he in?” Zach whispered urgently.
Cass thought for a second that he was kidding. Then she registered the earnest look on his face and the wooden stake in his hand and couldn’t keep herself from laughing out loud.
It started with just a giggle, but after a night full of absurdities, this one was too much. Zach tried to shush her again, still deadly earnest, but this just pushed her over the edge. She sat down hard on the floor and laughed so hard tears streamed down her face. It was a great relief. Cass could feel all the tension she’d been holding inside—like she’d been holding her breath for hours—escape all at once with a pleasant whoosh.
Zach looked surprised by her reaction, then confused, and then a bit hurt. “Hey!” he whispered fiercely, “I’m trying to rescue you here! Why are you laughing?”
But before his face could turn too red, Cass, from her knees, pulled him into a hug.
“Thank you,” she said, “thank you, Zach for … saving me.” And she meant it. But before she could get the whole sentence out, she started laughing again, hanging from Zach’s neck. Before long her infectious laughter got Zach going too and they both fell back onto the floor into a heap of arms and legs.
At just that moment, Gary burst into the room with Richard right on his heels, both of them expecting trouble.
Cass tried to pull herself together and wave them off, stifling the old feeling that her dad just caught her alone in her room with a boy.
“We’re fine, we’re fine—” she said.
Her father raised an eyebrow, as if to ask about the identity of this mystery guest who’d climbed in through the window of her bedroom. Cass attempted to oblige through fits of giggles.
“Dad, this is my friend Zach. Zach, my dad,” she finally managed.
Zach tried to explain why he was there. When he hadn’t heard anything from Cass, he’d gone back to her apartment. And when he saw the wreckage they’d left behind in the street, he feared the worst. He hadn’t been to her dad’s house before but it wasn’t hard to find and it was really the only place he could think to look beside the coffeehouse. Seeing Richard’s car in the driveway, he thought he’d better circle the house and see if he could tell what was happening inside. When Cass sent her text, he’d just been crawling through the bushes outside her window.
This story may have been the least weird part of the last twenty-four hours. Nobody thought twice about it. Once Zach had said his piece, they explained their own plan to Zach.
His response was immediate.
“I’m coming with you,” Zach said.
Richard and Miranda immediately began to protest, but as soon as he’d said it, Cass’s eye twitched and focused. It felt right. And it felt good to have Zach here. Whatever they’d be facing next, her gut told her that she would need his help.
“Quiet,” Cass interjected. “Zach’s right. He’s coming with us. This isn’t up for a vote.”
Zach shot her a grateful look.
“We need him,” she said. “You’ve already got your team of people, Richard. Zach and Miranda are mine. We all go together or we don’t go at all.”
Leaving the country unannounced for who knows how long could mean the abrupt end of her and Zach’s shared dream to be baristas for the rest of their lives, but Cass was willing to risk it.
“Fine,” Richard reluctantly agreed, eyeing Zach distrustfully. “But it’s time to go. Our ride is ready and waiting.”
It only took a few minutes to gather their things and pack the car. Cass pulled an extra black t-shirt out of her closet and threw it in her bag—but left the leather jacket and the choker.
Richard, Miranda, and Zach piled into the car.
Miranda still had the keys.
Cass hesitated at the door, unsure how to say goodbye to her dad, unsure about when—or even if—she’d see him again. She sensed the same hesitation in him. But this was too important a moment to shrug off.
She stopped wavering and hugged him. He squeezed her back.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” she said. “I know this isn’t what you wanted for me. I love you. And I’ll be back. I promise.”
She expected him to say something in return but he didn’t. Or couldn’t. He squeezed her tighter and then just said, “Wait here.” He disappeared back into the house.
He returned in a minute, holding a long leather box with an ornate handle and clasp. It looked very old and very valuable.
“I see,” he began, his eyes wet, “that you still wear your mother’s necklace. And I’m glad. You are so much like your mother.”
He stopped for a moment and swallowed hard. Cass didn’t try to rush him.
“This,” he said, “was also your mother’s. Though, given what lies ahead, I suspect that it may be more immediately useful to you. She, I know, intended you to have it.”
With that, he opened the case and revealed an ancient katana, clearly priceless.
Cass lifted it from the box and tested its weight and balance. It was phenomenally light and strong. She took a practice stroke or two and the blade sang as it sliced through the air. The edge was supernaturally sharp.
Cass sheathed the sword and bowed to her father.
He carefully closed the case, bowed in turn, and, without another word from either of them, went back into the house and shut the door.
21
Miranda and Cass sat in front. Richard and Zach were in back.
Having already been through the wringer twice, Cass and Richard steeled themselves for more of Miranda’s driving. Cass scooted her seat up a little, braced her feet, and made sure she had a good grip on her door. Richard wedged himself into the corner of his seat. But Zach had no idea what he was getting into. He hadn’t even fastened his seatbelt when Miranda fishtailed out of the Jones’s driveway in a cloud of smoke and rubber.
Richard chuckled under his breath as he watched Zach struggle and fail for several blocks to just get his seatbelt fastened. Zach’s face was getting red, but there wasn’t much he could do. He couldn’t complain about Cass’s aunt. His personal code of chivalry wouldn’t allow it. Cass heard Zach start to say something and then bite his tongue a couple of times. And he definitely couldn’t complain about the car itself. Complaining about the car would be the same thing as acknowledging how amazing the car was—and there was no way he was going to give Richard that pleasure.
So when they slammed around another corner at thirty miles an hour and Zach ended up in Richard’s lap for the third time in five minutes, he had no one to get angry at but Richard.
Cass could feel the tension growing in the backseat. She knew that Zach and Richard had distrusted each other from the start, but she also knew—and couldn’t help but enjoy—that some of this tension was about her.
She’d had good frien
ds, and even a couple of boyfriends, over the years, but nothing serious. And her poor people skills, wobbly eye, walled off emotions, love of martial arts, and tendency to choose books over people meant that she’d never been the focal point of a love triangle. Clearly this wasn’t quite that, but it felt close enough to be flattering.
She pulled down her visor and flipped open the mirror. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail but also snuck a look into the backseat. Richard and Zach were a pretty stark contrast. Jet-set hedge fund manager versus local barista. Ivy league versus community college. English versus Latino. Suit versus jeans. Luxury car versus moped. Slick versus funny. Vampire versus … not a vampire.
The differences ran deep. And they were more than cosmetic. Richard clearly knew what he was talking about when it came to the historical and archeological details of their search but Cass couldn’t in a million years picture him cleaning the toilets at Java’s Palace.
Still, maybe these differences were why she felt like she was going to need them both. Maybe these differences were part of why her gut insisted that she bring Zach.
While she was running through this whole thread in her mind, Cass had zoned out and Richard caught her staring at him in the mirror. He smiled and winked. Cass, embarrassed, flipped up her visor and tried to stare out the window. But Zach had seen the smile and wink and it was just salt in his wound.
Richard, a little too pleased with himself, wasn’t paying close attention when they took the next corner and this time it was his turn to lose his balance and end up in Zach’s lap.
“Sit. Up. Asshole,” Zach grunted. “Get off me.”
Zach’s accompanying shove was a bit too strong and Richard ended up bumping his head against his door.
“Watch it, wanker,” Richard said, rubbing the bruise.
Miranda floored the accelerator again and pressed the whole lot of them deep into their seats.
“Cass,” Richard started, “do we really need to bring”— He waved his thumb in Zach’s direction— “him? I’ve got a whole damn team of professionals waiting to help us.”
Zach looked worried for a moment. But Cass didn’t hesitate to reaffirm her position: “We need him. He’s coming. That’s all there is to it.”