Secrets and Lies (Cassie Scot)

by Amsden, Christine

  I bit my lip, as frustrated as he, and with just as few answers. “I guess at some point we have to have faith.”

  “In what?” Evan asked.

  “The power of love?”

  “Now you sound like Master Wolf. He’d have told you the reason an anti-love potion would never work is that you can’t break a bond of love.”

  I groaned, remembering why I’d come. “Mr. Wolf wants me to forgive my parents.”

  It took Evan a few moments to switch gears, and when he did, he sank heavily onto the sofa. “Maybe we should sit.”

  I joined him on the sofa.

  “Will you forgive them?” he asked.

  “I don’t see how I can, but he wants to cast a spell to put me in my mother’s head so I can understand her.”

  “He probably knows something he’s not saying. He usually does.”

  “Maybe.” I shrugged, noncommittally. “But I don’t want to understand.”

  “That doesn’t sound like the Cassie I know,” Evan said. “You’ve always been curious.”

  “Yeah.” I bit my lip, trying to figure out what it was that I feared to learn. Perhaps that there was a good reason for what my parents had done? And that I had actually deserved what I got?

  “What’s the worst that can happen?” Evan asked.

  “Maybe I’ll find out I’m not really their daughter, after all.” I thought of Madison, discovering she was adopted during a heated argument.

  “You and your mother could almost be twins,” Evan pointed out.

  “I don’t look a thing like my dad, though. Maybe.... maybe I really don’t belong.”

  He put an arm around me and pulled me in close. “You belong with me, whatever else happens.”

  Unless he broke my heart, as Grace had prophesied. For a minute I let all the ominous possibilities run through my mind: That my parents would steal Evan away; that they would never be my parents again; that Evan and I would be together, but all my worst fears about being the wife and mother of sorcerers would come true.

  “Beware your heart and soul...” I began.

  “What?” Evan asked.

  “It’s what Grace Blair said when I talked to her.”

  “When did you talk to Grace Blair?”

  “Thursday. After I left your house. And before you say anything, I know it wasn’t a good idea. I don’t trust her. But she doesn’t lie about her prophecies.”

  “What did she say?” Evan’s arms tensed around me. “Word for word.”

  I took a deep breath. “Beware your heart and soul, for before he is done, Evan will have broken them both.”

  Evan was silent for so long that I wasn’t sure he had heard me. I had expected denials and reassurances. This non-response was unnerving.

  “Evan?” I said. “Say something. You’re scaring me.”

  “Those were her exact words?” he asked.

  “They’re seared into my brain. Does it mean anything to you?”

  “No. But it’s not good. I don’t understand, but it’s not good.”

  “She doesn’t lie, but it doesn’t necessarily mean what we think it means.”

  “I wish you’d told me sooner.”

  “I’ve been in denial. Would it have changed anything?”

  “Probably not.” He drew me closer, tightening his hold on me. He clearly didn’t want to let me go.

  “You can’t break my heart if I don’t love you,” I said softly. I wanted him to believe that, whatever else happened.

  “Or think you do.”

  “Is there a difference?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know.” Evan tucked my head against his chest, resting his chin atop my head. “Look, I need to think. And maybe ask my grandmother to see for me.”

  “Okay.” I would have preferred reassurances, but maybe he had a point. Something was out there. Denying it would serve no purpose. Neither would worrying about it right now.

  I wanted my worries to go away, at least for a little while, and I knew of one sure way to do that. “Kiss me.”

  Whatever reservations he had about my feelings for him, he didn’t hesitate a moment in complying with my request. I think the prophecy had him even more rattled than he was willing to admit. Maybe we both needed reassurance, and for now, this was all we had to give.

  I tilted my face upwards as his lips descended toward mine, capturing my entire being in heated oblivion. It felt as if every cell in my body started humming simultaneously. All at once I was more alive than I had ever been, and all that pent-up energy was focused on one thing: desire.

  I didn’t want him to be slow or gentle. I needed him. Now. Or I would explode from the inside out.

  He deepened the kiss, letting his tongue tangle with mine. I responded eagerly, but all the while my fingers were at the waistband of his shorts, fumbling with the button.

  “Not now,” Evan said, pulling back just enough to speak the words before claiming my mouth once again.

  “Please.” Was that my voice sounding so desperate? Good thing the kiss stole my pride, albeit temporarily. It would return later, in force, and I would remember that plea, along with the ones that followed.

  “I want you, Evan.” I said.

  Evan placed gentle kisses on my cheek, chin, and throat, all the while making little shushing noises.

  I couldn’t unbutton his shorts. Why couldn’t I unbutton them? Oh, to heck with it. I ran my arms up his torso, just trying to touch every part of him I could, to absorb him into myself.

  “Sh,” Evan said, “it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

  Gradually, I surfaced. My heartbeat slowed, my breathing became more regular, and the cells of my body hummed a little less.

  I still wanted him, though. It hadn’t been the kiss pushing my desire like that. At least, not entirely. But I knew him well enough that I didn’t have to ask why he’d stopped me. If he wasn’t sure of my words of love, then he also wasn’t sure about my desire.

  “Stop being so noble,” I told him.

  “Believe me,” he said, “it’s killing me. And the second I find a way to release you from this debt...”

  He let the thought trail off, but before I had a chance to argue, he kissed me, once again, into blessed oblivion.

  If only it could have lasted forever, but before long, reality had to intrude. Grace’s prophecy still hung over my head, my mother still awaited my forgiveness, a murderer still needed tracking down, and Evan was still determined to free me of his influence long enough to convince himself of the truth of my feelings. I felt the determination in his reluctance to stake a physical claim, though the effort cost him, and saw it in his eyes when I left that night.

  I knew what he would do as soon as I was gone, but it didn’t matter. I knew how I felt. And soon enough, he would know it, too.

  25

  THE NURSES WEREN’T HAPPY THAT HENRY Wolf and I wanted to visit my mother at the same time when they had a strict policy of one visitor at a time in the ICU, but my family had a way of getting what they wanted. This was no exception.

  The ICU was dimly lit, with the lights from the parking lot three stories below casting a strange orange glow across my mother’s face. She didn’t look quite real – more like a doll. I sat in the only available chair, scarcely noticing what Mr. Wolf was doing as he unpacked supplies and lit candles for his spell. I’m sure the nurses had not been at all happy about those, either.

  She looked so still, she might have been dead but for the soft beeping of the monitors offering their reassurances. Gently, I took her fragile right hand in mine, noting idly that our hands were very similar. At least, they would have been if she hadn’t been so underweight. We were so much alike, I thought, except in the one way that apparently mattered to her.

  This time, she didn’t react to my touch. Then again, I hadn’t offered her angry truths from the depths of my soul.

  “I assume you know how to put yourself in a trance?” Mr. Wolf asked when he seemed satisfied with his circle of cand
les.

  “Yes.” Being able to put oneself in a meditative trance is the first step in being able to find, grasp, and utilize personal magic.

  “I don’t know what you’ll see,” Mr. Wolf said. “Looking through a person’s mind isn’t exactly like watching a movie, but I think your mother will help you sort out what you find in there.”

  “Terrific.” I probably sounded like a spoiled child, but I didn’t care in the least. I just wanted to get this over with, find out whatever secrets she might be keeping from me, and then pretend to forgive her.

  “She’ll also be able to see inside your mind, of course,” Mr. Wolf said as an afterthought.

  “What?” I nearly choked. “B-but I don’t want her to read my mind!” Instantly, I thought of my newfound love for Evan, but I also thought of all my feelings of inadequacy that I sometimes hinted at, but generally covered with a slightly disconnected exterior and a bit of sarcasm. Then I thought of my plan to pretend to forgive her. She’d never be fooled, if she knew my thoughts.

  “It’s the only way this can work,” Mr. Wolf said. “You two need to understand one another.”

  “Couldn’t we just try a body swap like they did in about twenty different movies?” I asked, helplessly.

  “She’s lying in a coma. Besides, I don’t think you want her in your body when you’re with Evan.”

  Flushed with embarrassment, I shifted a bit in my chair. “You know about that?”

  “Of course. That boy’s been wanting you for years. Knew he’d find some way to tempt you. Cleverer than I gave him credit for, saving your life.”

  “Clever, huh? You make it sound like he planned it.”

  “Just took advantage of a golden opportunity.” He hesitated then said. “If you marry him, there won’t be a debt no more. Family exception.”

  I’d just figured out that I loved him, but marriage was a whole different thing. Especially considering the fact that our families hated one another. “I think my Dad would have a heart attack.”

  Mr. Wolf grinned broadly, showing yellow, crooked teeth. “We’ll just see. Go on and put yourself in that trance.”

  Now he wanted me to put myself in a trance? After he’d just filled my mind with things to clutter it and keep me from concentrating?

  To my surprise, I found that as soon as I closed my eyes and began to take deep, steadying breaths, concentrating on my breathing and my counting, I found my center. It was black, like my old bedroom, the one I had called my fortress of solitude. Little flashes of color zoomed in and out of the black background, but for the most part the space was blank, like an empty hole where my magic should have been.

  Breathe in. Breathe out. There was no world. There was only me and the blackness and then...

  Cassandra. It was my mother’s voice, but it also sounded like my voice. I might have thought it was mine, but I knew my real name was not Cassandra.

  My breathing became more difficult. A strange sort of weakness stole over me – not over my body, which I could barely feel and only felt connected to by the barest thread – but my soul. There was no pain, but there was misery, hopelessness, and fear. Life had treated me so unfairly. Now, my family had been torn apart as a result of my own inadequacies.

  But they weren’t my thoughts and feelings. Well, they were, but they were someone else’s as well.

  Cassandra, is that really you?

  Mom? It was so dark. I couldn’t see, but I felt like I should have been able to. There was only me and the whirling emotions that were mine and not mine at the same time. If they hadn’t felt so familiar, I might have been better able to separate them.

  I’m so sorry, Cassandra. Then I was weeping. The regret I felt was nearly unbearable. My heart ached for forgiveness that I did not deserve. She was my responsibility and I had let her down.

  No. I tried to separate my mind from hers. I didn’t want to feel her regret over what she had done to me, I didn’t want to...

  Sheridan.

  Who is Sheridan? Curious despite myself, I set aside my desire to break free. I turned back to the guilt, the remorse, and the aching void in my – no, Mom’s soul.

  Then, suddenly, a flickering campfire drove away the blackness. Spinning, I found myself in a damp cave. A tiny underground spring gurgled its way along one wall, disappearing under a rocky ledge. The cavern seemed deep, but somehow not very old, as if the stream had recently cut it open. The stalactites gripping the ceiling were tiny buds, and I saw no stalagmites at all. The fire took up most of the center of the space, giving me very little room to stand. If I sat, I would have to choose between the burning fire or the icy stream.

  Where am I? I asked, though it might have been inside my head.

  My quiet place. This is where I come when I’m entranced. Mom’s quiet place. Mom’s source of magic and light. Suddenly, I felt an ache of longing for something like this, something with which I could paint the walls.

  Strange. I never would have pictured Mom in a cave. Even as I thought it, I realized that this quiet place was new, and that it had changed recently – when she’d become pregnant.

  Each baby brings me something new. She felt a raw ache that I couldn’t quite identify. This one is strange, though. I’ve never been inside a cave. There is no way out and it seems like without the light of the fire, it would be black as pitch.

  Of course it would be. What a strange observation. But I gathered that not even Mom entirely understood it; she only sensed that it was important.

  But there is one thing...listen.

  For a minute, all I heard was the gurgling of the stream, but then I realized that the gurgling wasn’t just the sound of the water. It was making music. Beautiful, wordless music that made me want to weep until my tears overflowed the banks of that tiny stream.

  It’s beautiful. Like Sheridan.

  Sheridan. Who was Sheridan? Mom’s mind reeled from the question. For a moment, the cave scene began to withdraw. I was going to be sent back to my own, blank quiet place where nothing existed except vague, flickering colors.

  No!

  The light of the fire flickered in and out of focus. I could no longer hear the music, though I could sense it just out of reach, like the ghost of a song.

  Shame washed over me. Shame for the things I had done. Shame for the things I had kept hidden, even from my own children. Even from the precious child who needed to know the most. The first from my womb. The one most like me.

  Most like her? I didn’t understand. I looked quite a bit like her, but so did Elena, and Elena would be a gifted sorcerer one day. If Elena and I hadn’t been born twelve years apart, we might have been twins. No one who looked could tell that the pictures of me at the age of nine were not pictures of Elena.

  Or of my mother. Not that I’d ever seen pictures of her as a child. Was that strange?

  Mom?

  The most like me. The cave continued to fade.

  Mom?

  Shame. Guilt. Fear. A secret kept too long becomes a lie. And when it is told, it is just as devastating.

  Mom?

  She’ll never forgive me. She hates me. I can feel it. I can feel her hatred, her resentment, her hurt. Oh, God, the hurt! How could I have made her feel this way? Didn’t I tell her I loved her? Didn’t she know? Yes, she knew. She knew that, at least. Relief.

  The cave grew brighter.

  But she didn’t know that I blamed myself for her lack of magic, never her. She didn’t know that I was beating myself up when I tried again and again to help her find some shred of magic within herself. She didn’t know I was afraid she would be just like me. Temporary relief.

  The cave grew dimmer.

  She’ll never forgive.

  Mom, please! I wanted to know. I hadn’t wanted to know before, but I suddenly needed to know.

  Forgive me?

  Show me.

  I love you. I felt it. I felt angry toward her, but I knew that my own hatred was more a symptom of love mixed with anger. Two powerfu
l emotions combine to make the coin flip, and that is hatred. It is difficult to feel so strongly for someone you do not care about.

  Who is Sheridan? I asked.

  She was relenting. She would show me what she meant. Again, the cave flickered and dimmed, but this time we weren’t fading to the blackness of my own quiet space. Instead, I found myself inside the kitchen of a modest home, staring at two teenage girls who looked just like my mother would have at that age – just like I had a few years ago.

  They were twins down to the dusting of freckles on their noses. They had auburn hair, blue eyes, tiny noses, and small, indistinct breasts that would suddenly blossom when they were sixteen or seventeen.

  I was looking at my mother and her twin sister, Sherry – Jason’s mom.

  Sheridan.

  Confused, I looked from girl to girl. When realization suddenly hit I gasped. I was Mom. We were one and the same and we were looking out at two identical mirrors of ourself. These were Mom’s sisters. She wasn’t a twin, as she had always told us. She was a triplet. Or had been, at one time.

  Sherry and Sheridan. If I weren’t inside my mother’s head, I wouldn’t have known which was which, but to Mom it was obvious. Sheridan’s pattern of freckles was much different from Sherry’s. Why, Sheridan had three more freckles than Sherry did, and they were slightly more concentrated on the bridge of her nose.

  I was excited. I had barely been able to contain myself all day at school, bursting to tell my sisters all about the new high school guidance counselor, Mr. Hart. He’d asked me to see him during second period to talk to me about my academic future. He had been so interested in my nearly perfect test scores, and even more fascinated when I’d told him about my eidetic memory.

  “It’s a gift,” he’d told me. “You should treasure a gift.”

  But the conversation hadn’t stopped there. I had missed my entire second period English class and half of my third period P.E. class (which I didn’t mind in the least). Mr. Hart had wanted to know everything about me. He’d seemed so genuinely interested, especially when I told him that I could sometimes...do things.

  “What sort of things?” he’d asked.