“You will never use Klingon,” says the second.
“Don’t be so sure,” the first boy says. “I know some great pickup lines.”
I turn to Cassie. “I thought they were going to make sense.”
“As you’ll recall,” Cassie says, “I didn’t say either way.”
“Sorry.” The smaller kid flashes a grin. “Is there something we can help you with?”
“Rose needs an appointment with the sheriff when she’s back,” Cassie says.
“Of course! At your service, Rose.” Tall, Dark, and Handsome jumps up and shakes my hand. “Felix Sohrabi. And this is Allie—”
“Alex,” his partner interrupts smoothly. “Alex Harper.”
“How many times—” Felix demonstratively cuts himself off, as if he needs a steadying breath. “We can’t just rhyme, Allie—”
“Appointment, you said?” says Alex, drowning him out. “Let me pull up her calendar.”
Felix peers over Alex’s shoulder. “You could do tomorrow at twelve thirty, right after she gets back?”
“That’s her lunch,” Alex says.
“Then what’s the problem?” Felix says. “Because I seem to remember some very pointed comments to me this week about being able to work while you eat—”
Alex waves a hand at him, eyes still on the screen. “There’s a four fifteen?”
“Sure, if you want to give her five minutes.” Felix thinks on that for a moment, then looks up at me. “Do you need more than five minutes?”
Alex looks up at Cassie. “Is this urgent?”
“Mm . . .” Cassie hesitates. “Why don’t you tell me?”
Slowly, I see that same sense of understanding cross Alex Harper’s face. He hides it better than Deputy Jay did. But it’s there nonetheless.
“Ms. . . .” he says, turning to me.
“Colter,” I say, my throat suddenly dry.
“Ms. Colter,” he says. “Could you stay exactly where you are, just for a second? Try not to move.”
It’s a simple enough request. I almost say no, if only out of sheer frustration. But something in Alex’s voice keeps me still.
He moves to the edge of his seat and cranes his neck, as if looking just past me. And though his expression doesn’t change, his eyes widen.
“Felix,” he says, with the kind of excruciating, deliberate calm that I know by heart at this point. “Call Ms. Jones. Tell her that she needs to get back here as soon as she can. We’re starting.”
Felix looks like he’s about to ask—until he gets a good look at Alex’s face. And in the next second, he’s on the phone.
With a slightly shaking hand, Alex pulls out a Post-it note and slides it across the table to me. “Could you write down your number for us? We’ll have more information soon.” He pauses. “And if you could listen for that call . . .”
There’s blood thundering in my ears as I scrawl my number. Behind the desk, Felix hands the phone to Alex.
“Should we call Mayor Williams?” Alex says, his voice low.
“Don’t bother,” Felix mutters. “She’ll know soon enough.”
It takes a moment for me to realize that Cassie is guiding me away from the desk.
“Come on,” she says.
I look over my shoulder at her. “What’s going on?”
“Right at this very moment?” She shrugs. “We just got some time to kill. And I still want that milk shake.”
* * *
—
THE BELL RINGS as Cassie sweeps into the Sweet as Pie Diner, and in one smooth motion, every head in the place pops up.
There wasn’t much conversation to begin with—as packed as it is, everyone in the place seems to be dining alone—but when I step past Cassie and into their full view, the clinking forks stop. A few gazes widen as they sweep across me. This time, I’m sure it’s not my imagination.
A waitress in a peach uniform eyes us from behind the counter. “Cassie,” she says slowly.
“It’s okay.” Cassie’s own voice is firm, calm. “We’ll take a corner booth, please.”
“Cassandra.” A man in a tan suit stands up from his chair—my fingers twitch as it scrapes across the floor. “You know better than anyone—”
“I’ve made it very clear where I stand.” Cassie chirps. But there’s a chill in her voice. “I’m sorry if that disappoints any of you.”
A mutter runs through the diner like a current. Four others stand from their tables, swinging their coats over their shoulders as they make for the door.
“Fellas,” says the waitress flatly.
The men freeze by the door. And then, sheepishly, dig wallets from their pockets and double back to the tables. “Sorry, Adrienne,” one mutters as he passes.
“Who raised those boys, I don’t know,” Adrienne says. “Corner booth, you said?”
She leads us to a table in the glow of the neon sign, which casts the menus in a shade of icy blue. I almost don’t follow. Gaby wouldn’t have followed.
But Gaby also used to say that I’d give up a kidney if it was the polite thing to do. And Gaby was, as usual, excruciatingly right.
I slide into the vinyl bench with my back to the wall. The diner’s long, like a train car, with one front entrance, one back. Not the worst odds, if I can get to them.
I settle out of sight of the other patrons. And slowly, I hear forks begin to clink again.
“What can I get you?” Adrienne asks.
“The usual, please—with whipped cream and two cherries.” Cassie turns to me. “Do you want any pie? You have to try the blueberry mint. My treat.”
“No,” I say to my lap. “Thank you.”
“Let’s order a slice anyway,” she says to Adrienne. “I’ll eat it if she doesn’t.”
With a curt nod, Adrienne disappears toward the kitchen.
As I glance up, Cassie flashes a thin smile. “Now. Why don’t you start by telling me what you brought with you?”
“What I . . .” Instinctively, I look over at my backpack on the bench next to me. “You’re looking at it.”
“What followed you here, then?” she says, unfazed.
“Nothing,” I say. “I came here alone.”
“You really didn’t notice anything?” she asks. “Anything strange or different.”
“Who was that kid back at the sheriff’s office?” I say. “Because you didn’t bring me to him to talk about an appointment.”
“Rose,” Cassie says, “it’s not like I want to pressure you or anything, but I’d really appreciate it if you could focus.”
“What is going on?” I say. “Why is everyone acting like they know what I’m doing here?”
“Because we know what you’re doing here.” Cassie narrows her eyes. “You’re serious. You really didn’t notice anything, did you?”
Now I’m the one who ignores the question. “Who are you? Where did you hear the name Nick Lansbury?”
She opens her mouth to respond, but before she can get there, Adrienne swings by with the strawberry milk shake and the slice of pie. Cassie looks away long enough to nod and smile, and as she pulls the glass toward herself, she slides the plate toward me.
“I think we might be talking past each other here,” she says with a contrite smile.
I don’t return the gesture. But I nod.
“So why don’t you answer a few of my questions first?” she says. “And then I’ll tell you as much as I know.”
“Why do you have to ask?” I say. “Seems like you know everything about me.”
“Nobody knows everything about anyone,” she says with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Now. You said your car broke down on the highway. You didn’t wait with it. Why?”
I shrug as nonchalantly as I know how. “I saw the blinking light on the broadcast tower.
Figured there must be a town here to go with it.”
“And that’s why you want to go to the station so badly?” she asks, stirring her milk shake. “To thank it in person?”
I flush. Yeah, that’s fair. “I heard something. On the radio,” I say. “A message no one but me should have. I’d like to know what it’s doing on a station that closed up shop fifty years ago.”
If she has questions about that, she hides it well. She nods thoughtfully. “And you’re sure you came here alone?”
“Of course I’m sure,” I say. “You saw me, right after I got into town.”
She takes a long sip from her straw. “And what is it you don’t want to get worse?”
“I’m sorry?” I say.
“When I met you this morning,” she says, “you were worried that something was getting worse. What, exactly?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
She slides the straw out of her glass and runs it across her tongue. “Curiosity.”
The weird thing is, I want to tell her. Just to see what it sounds like here, in a place where it wouldn’t change how everyone’s already looking at me. But my own parents don’t know. It doesn’t seem fair that some stranger should know first.
“Migraine,” I say. “Had it since this morning. Is it my turn yet?”
“By all means,” Cassie says. “But why don’t I start by answering your other questions?”
I wait, but she doesn’t speak at first. She twirls her straw. “You asked about Alex Harper,” she finally says. “It’s like I said. He’s not from around here. His father brought him here when he was a very small, very ill child. He heard that the warm, dry air would help his lungs. He found a . . . different kind of treatment.
“And I did bring you to him to book an appointment, by the way,” she adds. “He’s a very good intern. Very perceptive. He always knows exactly how urgent something is going to be.”
She starts looping one of her cherry stems into a knot. “And as for who I am,” she says, “my name is Cassandra Cyrene, and I’m the third-most accurate prophet in Lotus Valley.”
“Prophet?” I’m not sure I should be laughing. But once I start, I can’t stop. “Okay. So you’re psychic?”
“People ask questions. I find them answers.” She raises an eyebrow at me. “May I ask what’s so funny?”
“There’s, um,” I say, my voice still shaking with laughter. “Rankings?”
“I missed second by that much, too,” Cassie says, holding her thumb and index finger centimeters apart. “If not for John Jonas and that drought.”
I’m still smiling, even through the chill settling in my stomach. Theresa Gibson said that Cassie’s recommendation was an honor. The waitress said Cassie’s name like she was waiting for instructions. “Don’t sell yourself short,” I say. “That deputy did what you said without even asking.”
“Oh. That?” she says. “That’s not really because of me. That’s because the prophecy that’s about to come true is one of mine.”
The diner feels as if it’s gone quieter than before. I lower my voice. “How can you be so sure? Sounds like you’ve been wrong before.”
For the first time, she looks annoyed. “If you’re asking why I’m only third, it’s because I miss the big picture, from time to time. Sometimes I see so much that I make too many assumptions about what I didn’t see. But I’ve never been wrong wrong. Now, would you like me to answer your question, or would you like to be snide?”
It should be ridiculous. But I don’t have Gaby here to tell me not to apologize. I sit back against the bench. “I’m listening.”
As weak as the apology is, she seems satisfied. “Have you lived near the desert long?”
“My whole life,” I say.
“So do you ever get the sense that you’re not alone out here?” Cassie asks. “Is this really the first time you’ve heard something on these empty stretches of road that couldn’t possibly exist?”
“I’m not sure I understand,” I say slowly. “You’re talking about—”
“I’m talking about living things, like you or me. Things living out of the corners of our eyes, flitting in and out of the gaps in time. Things that exist separate from us. For the most part.”
She scrapes up the last drops of milk shake with her straw. “I don’t know that you can lump them all together. Some communicate, some don’t. Some have shape, some look different from person to person—and some of them can’t be seen at all, except by the right people. Some of them want to be left alone. And some of them need us to survive, for better or for worse. They’ve only got one thing in common. When there’s a shift in the world that can’t be undone—from the greatest cataclysm to the smallest broken promise—that’s one of them, being born.
“Where you’re from, you might call them a feeling in the air, or an unexplained noise, or someone walking across your grave. Here, we call them our neighbors. The oldest of them was born right here, where this town was built. And now they’re coming home.”
She levels her gaze across the table at me. I stare back blankly. “Still doesn’t ring a bell? Then how about this. If you ask any person in this diner, they’d tell you that the most notable things about our town are as follows: The yearly quilting competition. The blueberry mint pie. And the massive flood that is set to wipe us off the map in three and a half days’ time. What do you know about that?”
I almost start laughing again. But she looks as serious as I’ve seen her so far.
“Three days as in New Year’s Day?” I start to reach for my phone. “But the weather says—”
“I know what the weather says.” She leans back. “I’d like to hear what you have to say.”
“Well, if it’s not going to rain, then how—”
“I have no idea how,” Cassie says. “But I think you do.”
What eventually comes out of my mouth isn’t so much a laugh as a nervous giggle. “How the hell would I know?”
Cassie’s lips curve a little, and she makes a twirling motion with her finger. “Turn around.”
I turn, deliberately, so she knows I’m humoring her. And behind me, as far as I can see, stretches the flat, burnt-yellow grass of Sutton Avenue.
I whip around to face front. Cassie’s still there, pooled in the icy-blue light of the Sweet as Pie Diner. Behind me I can hear mumbled orders, forks hitting plates, something sizzling from the kitchen. But when I venture another look over my shoulder, Sutton Avenue hasn’t moved.
It’s not there. It can’t be. But when I breathe in, my lungs fill up with cool, damp air that can’t possibly exist. And my body starts to remember again. All on its own.
“Now,” Cassie says, pushing the slice of pie onto my place mat. “Let’s talk about what followed you here.”
Five
THE FINISH AND THE START
“ON AN UNREMARKABLE day, a teenage girl crosses the city limits of Lotus Valley and sets off a chain of events she can’t reverse.
“The girl herself isn’t the problem. Visitors aren’t completely unknown to this town. But this stranger brings on her heels an ancient visitor, a visitor wrapped in loneliness and hunger. And its reach is vast, as long as the desert itself. It will take time to catch up in its entirety. But its arrival, in the early hours of New Year’s Day—it’s inevitable.”
I balance the takeout container on my knees and shift my weight against the hard steps of Sweet as Pie’s back entrance. Through the slats of the wood, the shadows look like they’re swimming. But when I blink hard and look closer, they’re still.
“Then what?” I ask. “That’s the whole prophecy?”
“Well . . .” Cassie takes a long sip from her to-go cup. “What came next is one version of events. The idea is to alter that. At least, that’s the hope.”
“But why three days?” I say. “I’m alr
eady here.”
“The way I’ve always pictured it,” Cassie says, “it’s like a hurricane. So tremendous that you start getting the wind and rain long before the worst of it comes. Think of that but bigger.”
“But it’s a living thing,” I say. “Like your neighbors.”
“Not like the ones you’ll meet here.” I must look nervous, because Cassie’s lips twitch when she looks at me. “I’m sure you’ve gathered that this place is different than where you’re from. Lotus Valley draws an interesting crowd. Strange things, for one. But strange people, too. We don’t always mesh. But we have an understanding.”
“Which is?” I say.
“That none of us could be anywhere else.” Cassie’s smile goes grim. “Something about this place draws you in. For us, and for the neighbors. Maybe you feel it, too.”
Strange, I think, my heart sinking an inch. Great. I think of Gaby’s voice, calling for me across the desert. Was Lotus Valley drawing me in, too?
“But the thing that followed you here . . .” I can hear Cassie swallow. “Ms. Jones, the sheriff, she’s combed through our town archives. Records, oral histories, anything the neighbors were willing to tell us. There was an ocean here once, thousands of years ago. And when life on Earth shifted, when that ocean dried up, something fathomlessly powerful was born.
“And this is where this thing is different from the rest of them,” Cassie continues. “Usually when the neighbors have such a strong interest in us—in humanity—it’s because we had a hand in creating them, intentionally or not. The death of an ocean couldn’t have had less to do with us. But through the ages, it’s us they’ve followed. Filled their currents, which once held waves and water and life, with our stories.”
It should sound ridiculous. Impossible. But the air of Sutton Avenue is still swimming through my lungs.
“Why?” I ask.
“That’s what we’re still trying to figure out,” Cassie says. “Why they followed us at all. What changed. But it explains what you’ve seen today, doesn’t it? We’ve been calling it a flood because it’s the closest word in our vocabulary for what I saw. But they’re a different kind of ocean now. An ocean of memory.”
The Valley and the Flood Page 4