He had already ordered me to do that last one, and though he had retracted the command, I didn’t doubt for a second that he was just biding his time. He wanted me, and Evan Blackwood tended to get what he wanted.
Then came Friday morning, which was, apparently, the deadline to stop moping. I was sitting at the breakfast table trying hard to wake up – due to Kaitlin’s snoring, I had barely slept – when she shoved a piece of paper in my face.
“Do you know what this is?” she asked.
I tried to push it away. “Not when it’s pressed against my nose.”
“How about this?” Kaitlin shoved another piece of paper at my face.
“What is this about?”
“My credit card bill is due in a few days, and the electric bill was due yesterday. This is a shut-off notice, if we don’t pay by Tuesday.”
Bills. She was talking about bills?
“You can’t just sit here feeling sorry for yourself. You have to get a job.”
Oh. Real life. She was talking about real life. My parents had sheltered me from that for most of my life. Er, my former parents. They would willingly shove money down my throat if I let them, but I was too proud for that. If I wanted to prove my own worth and independence, then I needed to get a job.
Which was why, Friday morning, I walked into the sheriff’s department and asked to speak to Sheriff Adams.
Jane, the dispatcher, looked happy to see me. She smiled and gave me a tight hug when I told her I wanted my old job back. Not all the others were quite as friendly, but then again, I had always been something of an outsider at the department. Part of it was my youth. I was three years younger than the next youngest deputy, and most of the others realized – or suspected – a sizable financial donation from my parents had gotten me the job in the first place.
That’s not why I had kept the job, and it certainly wasn’t why the sheriff had spent six months practically begging me to go back to work after I quit. I knew things. Things that made some nervous. Things that left others in awe. Only a few had ever tried to befriend me.
It was as if I didn’t quite belong in either the magical world, or the normal one.
Sheriff Adams strode out of his private office. His eyes searched my face, though I noticed that otherwise his face remained oddly impassive. Hadn’t he begged me, multiple times, to return to work for him? Well, here I was, so what was that look about?
“Why don’t you step inside my office?”
I did, waving to Jane and to a few of the other, friendlier faces, before closing the door behind me and taking a seat.
“I suppose you know I’m here to ask for my old job back,” I said.
He nodded. “I figured. I’m just not sure if we have any openings right now.”
My jaw dropped. “What?”
“The budget is tight. We ended up putting in some overtime hours because of the recent vampire attacks, and the county trustees are stingy when it comes to paying for overtime. They’re telling me to make cuts.”
I had no doubt that what he said was true. His job as sheriff involved at least as much politics as policing, maybe more. But it was still just an excuse.
“I’m not saying something won’t come up, sooner or later,” the sheriff went on, “but right now, things are tight.”
“Are you doing this because you’re mad at me?” I asked. “Isn’t it good enough that I survived three vampire attacks?”
“Three?” He frowned. “I only heard about two.”
Belatedly, I remembered that the final attack, the one that had nearly killed me and which had left me impossibly indebted to Evan Blackwood, was not common knowledge. Most thought my cousin, Jason, the vampire hunter had killed Frank Lloyd. “Whatever. Isn’t it enough?”
“You also resisted arrest. Don’t forget the part where you resisted arrest.”
So that was it. “I had no choice. My family wouldn’t let me out the door.”
“It still makes me nervous. You’re unpredictable.”
“It’s not like they’ll be a problem anymore. They disowned me.”
Sheriff Adams leaned forward and met my eyes for the first time. “I heard something about that. Care to tell me what happened?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why did they do it?”
Since I didn’t know how to answer that question for myself, I couldn’t answer it for him. “It’s complicated.”
“It always is with you.” He shook his head. “Look, I just need some time to think about this.”
“And I need a job. What am I supposed to do while I wait for you to make up your mind?”
“Don’t tell me you never saved anything.”
A flush crept across my face, but I didn’t say anything. It had simply never occurred to me that I might need to put anything away for a rainy day. In retrospect, it seemed incredibly foolish and short-sighted. But it probably wouldn’t occur to you, either, if your parents could turn lead into gold.
“Look, Sheriff.” I bolstered my confidence. “You can think about it all you like, but one day soon, you’re going to beg me for help and I won’t be available.”
He gave me the sort of skeptical look clearly meant to remind me precisely how many jobs I’d had in the past six months, but I didn’t back down. I looked him straight in the eyes, and believed the words at him.
“I’ll think about it,” he said.
* * *
The next day, Saturday, I filled out an application for a job at Kaitlin’s Diner. All right, all right! It’s the Main Street Cafe, but I’d thought of it as Kaitlin’s Diner since my best friend, Kaitlin, started working there at the age of sixteen. Her mother owned the place, and to her credit, didn’t hesitate when I asked for a job. She just told me to go into the back to find a uniform in my size.
“Doesn’t this come in any color other than black?” I asked Kaitlin as I tried on my new shackles of independence – a waitress uniform.
Not only was it all black, but the skirt didn’t quite reach my knees. That made me feel incredibly exposed because my legs are not my best feature. Since I had been to the diner for years, I knew the uniforms were black, but somehow it had never looked so bad before. Then again, Kaitlin looked good in black and had great legs.
“It looks fine,” Kaitlin said.
“Maybe I could add some ribbons or buttons or something?”
“Afraid not.”
“What about shoes?” I mentally cataloged my wardrobe. “I’ve got some red pumps that might help.”
“Black loafers.”
“I don’t own any black loafers.” I looked down at my multi-colored strappy sandals. “Will these work?”
“Only for today. I’ve got a pair I can loan you tomorrow. Trust me, you’ll want more comfortable shoes by the end of an eight-hour shift.”
“How much do I get paid, anyway?” Anyone else would probably have asked before accepting the job, but for me, the realities of making money and earning a living had not quite sunk in yet.
“Three fifteen an hour, plus tips.”
I paused, doing some quick mental calculations which included the cost of a bottle of shampoo. “Wait, isn’t minimum wage six something?”
She gave me an apologetic smile and a shrug. “Welcome to my world.”
I started learning my new trade during the lull between lunch and dinner. The first thing I realized was that Kaitlin hadn’t lied about the shoes. Three hours into my first shift, I tried to take my sandals off my tortured feet and walk barefoot, but Mrs. Meyers told me that constituted some kind of health hazard.
“And bloody, blistered feet aren’t a health hazard?” I replied.
She just smiled, shrugging. For my part, I tried to remember what was in my family’s blister ointment, and whether or not any actual magic was necessary. I didn’t think so, but I also hadn’t memorized the recipe. Blisters were not a common problem for me.
The worst part, though, was that if I asked my parents for the rec
ipe, they would give it to me. Their version of disowning me had made little sense from the start, when in the same breath, they had also sworn to love and protect me. They seemed to want it both ways.
But something more than pride kept me from letting them have it that way. For me, it was all about self-respect. Even on blistered feet, I felt more respect for myself earning a living with my own two hands than I ever could have felt accepting charity from parents who didn’t think I fit into their family dynamic.
Respect, but apparently not grace. I spilled three sodas that afternoon, one landing in a customer’s lap. I broke a tray of dishes when I tried to hoist it on my shoulder the way Kaitlin showed me. After that, I tried just carrying it in front, but my back protested loudly, and Kaitlin explained that I would have to get used to the shoulder trick if I didn’t want to end up with permanent back problems.
Finally, near the end of my shift, I managed to wait on a family of four with no problems at all. I went through the entire routine – got them drinks, took their order, refilled their drinks, brought out their order, asked them if they needed anything, refilled their drinks, asked them if they would like dessert, and handed them the check. I might not have smiled while I did all that, because it’s hard to smile and wince in pain at the same time, but still, I did my job perfectly.
They left me one stinking dollar.
“This is crazy!” I held up the dollar bill, practically shoving it in Kaitlin’s face.
“Yeah, I had that guy pegged as a lousy tipper.”
“How did you know?”
“You learn to spot them after a while.” Kaitlin shrugged. “Not that there’s much you can do about it.”
“This job sucks.”
“You’re telling me? I’ve been at it for five years.”
She drove me back to our apartment, where I gratefully peeled off my high-heeled shoes. Kaitlin, apparently having developed new mind reading capabilities, brought me out a basin of warm water to soak my feet. The water felt wonderful, even if I had to lounge somewhat precariously on an overstuffed bean bag.
“Just think,” Kaitlin said, “tomorrow you get to do breakfast and lunch, when it’s even busier.”
I threw a pillow at her. She ducked, then grabbed the remote control and started flipping through channels.
I pretended to pay attention to the TV, when in reality, in the privacy of my own head, I had returned to feeling sorry for myself – and not because I had taken a job as a waitress. I felt oddly proud of myself for that. No, that wasn’t it. Inside, I still mourned my parents’ rejection. The world may have set a time limit, but my aching heart had not received the memo.
At least work would keep me busy and give me something else to think about for a few hours each day.
* * *
By my second day at work, word had spread about my “fall from grace.” The locals lined up to get a look at me in my too-short black skirt. It made me feel like an exhibit in a zoo at first, although as more and more of the local practitioners wandered by, I had the odd sense of being hunted.
Around eight thirty, my eighteen-year-old brother, Nicolas, wandered in, his eyes immediately searching the crowd for me in an, “I won’t believe it until I see it” manner. Inwardly, I groaned, but outwardly I fixed a smile to my face and asked if I could show him to a table. He nodded, as if unable to speak, and followed me to a table for two near the back.
“Why didn’t you ask the sheriff for a job?” Nicolas asked.
“I did,” I said. “He’s thinking about it. In the meantime, I’m thinking about rent.”
“Here.” Nicolas pulled an envelope out of his pocket and slid it across the table to me. I couldn’t see its contents, but I knew it contained money. I also knew that it had come from my parents.
“No.”
“Cassie–”
“No,” I said, more firmly. “I won’t take anything from them.” Technically, I had accepted boxes full of my old clothes, but only after Nicolas and Juliana had driven to the apartment and said they would either put them in my closet, or take them to the Salvation Army.
“It’s not from Mom and Dad. It’s from me.”
“Oh? So you’re learning the family business?” I carefully did not mention the word alchemy in public. Very few people knew for sure how my parents made money, and for the sake of my siblings, I would help keep it that way.
“It’s from the others as well,” Nicolas added, ignoring my question. “They miss you. They think you’ve turned your back on them.”
My heart gave a twang of longing for the brothers and sisters I had not seen since leaving the house. I had seen Juliana once when Nicolas drove her into town, but the rest were young, each three years younger than the last all the way down to Christina, who was only three. It was hard for them to get away from Mom and Dad, and I didn’t want to see my former parents.
“I’ll try to see them.” I made it a promise, though I didn’t know how I would fulfill it. I didn’t even have a car.
“Things are bad, Cassie. The family’s falling apart.”
“It’s not my fault.” Besides, so was I.
“I didn’t say it was.” Nicolas took a deep breath. “Look, you can’t work here. People will think you’re unprotected.”
I had to fight the urge to roll my eyes. “Spare me the protection nonsense.”
“I’m serious.”
“Can I get you anything?” I asked. “Because if you’re not going to order, I really need to get back to work.”
“Coffee.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Since when did you start drinking coffee?”
“Since I started training.” Despite the earlier tension, he had a smile on his face.
“You’ve started?” I smiled too, despite myself. Nicolas had wanted to be a firefighter since he was two, but unlike many other young boys, he never grew out of it. Now, apparently, he was on his way. “Congrats.”
“Thanks. But we’re not done talking.”
“It will have to wait until after my shift. I get off at two.” Without waiting for a reply, I walked away.
Nicolas didn’t move from his spot for half an hour, nor did he order anything except coffee. Each time he tried to speak to me, I made sure to be too busy, which wasn’t difficult, with the number of customers in for breakfast. At this time of year, the tourists were out in force, but locals were making their appearance as well, including some locals I would rather not have seen.
David McClellan came by for a coffee to go just before his nearby shop opened at nine o’clock. He dealt largely in dark or cursed artifacts, and a few months before he had nearly killed an investigator hired to find a sceptre he had stolen. He had walked away the victor from that encounter, and I had never forgiven him for it. So when he smacked me on the bottom, I poured scalding hot coffee in his lap.
“Bitch,” David roared loudly enough for the entire diner to turn and stare. He leapt to his feet and started dabbing frantically at his crotch. “You’re going to regret this.”
Nicolas chose that moment to abandon his table, walking toward the front of the store to stand by my side – my younger brother and knight in shining armor. He puffed out his lanky chest to twice its normal size, and glared at David in obvious challenge. I felt like saying, “Down, boy,” but wisely kept my mouth shut.
“I’d take you on in a heartbeat, boy,” David said in a low voice.
“How about me?” The new voice came from behind me, though I had not heard the accompanying jingle of bells to indicate that the door had opened. I didn’t recognize the voice, but when I turned, I saw the absolute last person I would have expected to walk into that diner, let alone defend me: Victor Blackwood.
Victor Blackwood and my father had been enemies since before my birth for reasons I had never understood. His son, Evan, on the other hand, had been my best friend at times, much to my father’s dismay. Evan didn’t look much like his father, except, perhaps, in build. They were both tall, with lean, m
uscular bodies. Evan’s face and eyes had come from his mother, though. Victor looked harder, meaner, and far less trustworthy – or perhaps I had inherited some of my father’s prejudices toward the man. After all, while I had been friends with Evan for a long time, and determined in my insistence that my father couldn’t blame the son for his father’s sins, the man himself could definitely be blamed for his own sins.
I had never spoken to Victor, though I had seen him with Evan at plenty of school functions. The man had never looked at me or acknowledged me before, which had always suited me just fine. And now, suddenly, he was in my face. Well, in David’s face. He still didn’t look at me or speak to me directly, but his posturing was clearly on my behalf.
What, if anything, had Evan told him? And if Evan had mentioned something about the life debt or what he wanted from me, shouldn’t Victor have felt outraged at the thought of his son with a Scot? I took several nervous steps backwards, trying to force the world right side up again.
David, for his part, didn’t seem to think challenging Victor was a good idea. As he left – without his coffee – he muttered something under his breath about, “Scots trying to have it both ways.”
I’m not sure how long I stood there, frozen, but by the time I came back to myself, customers at six tables needed me. I spent the next few minutes running from one task to the next, barely able to catch my breath.
When I did, I found Victor seated at one of my tables, patiently waiting for me to take his order. Nicolas sat across from him, shooting daggers at his father’s oldest rival. Victor looked entirely unperturbed, despite the fact that the glass of water in front of him was boiling and steaming.
Questions flew through my mind for both Victor and Nicolas, but all I managed was a choked, “Hi,” without meeting Victor’s eyes.
I turned to Nicolas. “Don’t you have to get to training?”
“Yes.”
“Go on,” I said.
He looked up at me, shaking his head as if coming out of a trance. “I still need to pay for the coffee.”
“Fine.” I held out my hand, and Nicolas pulled the money-laden envelope out of his pocket.
Secrets and Lies (Cassie Scot) Page 2