by Amanda Ashby
“But you speak French,” Cassidy reminded him.
“That is correct,” he agreed. “But I don’t speak this, which is why I’m thinking it’s Middle French. A bit like how Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales is written in Middle English.”
“If you say so,” Cassidy said, since while she’d vaguely heard of Middle English, she wasn’t really quite sure what it was. Then she paused for a moment as something finally occurred to her. “Wait, that crazy guy at the mall the other day. Didn’t you say he was speaking a weird language?”
“Exactly.” Nash gave a pleased nod of his head, as if happy that she’d finally figured out what point he was trying to make. “So while I have no idea why he gave it to you, I think we’ve solved the mystery of how you got it. Remember he knocked your bag over. He must’ve slipped it in then, and because of all the junk you carry around, you just didn’t notice.”
Cassidy let his comment slide, mainly because it was true. Instead, she took a bite of her squished sandwich and chewed it for a moment before frowning. “So what do we do with it? I mean, you know more about old books than I do, but I’m pretty sure it must be worth loads of money. Should we be taking it to the police or something?”
“I’m not sure whether a theft like this would even be reported to the police; there’s a good chance that the owner probably bought it on the black market in the first place. But you’re right about the value. Not only do the cover and the paper seem genuine, it really is in the most remarkable condition. Whoever owned it must’ve kept it airlocked to preserve it like this. Anyway, if you don’t mind a trip after school, I know an antiquarian bookseller who might be able to help us.”
“Of course you do.” Cassidy gave him an affectionate grin, since when it came to weird old stuff, Nash always seemed to know someone or other.
“What can I say?” He gave an unrepentant shrug as he turned the page and gestured for Cassidy to admire the black-and-white etching in front of him. At first, it looked like a big hot mess of spirally squiggles, with line upon line of tiny writing woven into it. But the more she looked at the diagram, the more the spirals seemed to shimmer and move in front of her. Cassidy’s stomach knotted, and the tattoo on her arm prickled.
If she didn’t know better, it almost looked like a pair of eyes. Cassidy immediately slammed her own eyes shut, but instead of cutting off the image, it seemed to bring it more intently into focus, until a pair of pale amber eyes burned in her mind, swirling like a torrential whirlpool, staring at her with such a searing intensity that Cassidy felt herself shake under the weight of it.
“Earth to Cass.” Nash’s voice caused the piercing eyes to vanish into a wisp of nothingness, and when she opened her own eyes again, the squiggle on the page was once again just a vague blur. She blinked once more and then shot Nash an apologetic smile.
“Sorry, I’m not sure what happened there,” she said, trying to shake away the eerie sensation that the strange eyes had left behind. “Er, so what were you saying?”
“I was just telling you that your cell phone’s beeping.”
Cassidy immediately pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and studied the screen to discover that she’d missed a call from her mom. Crap. Not that she normally wanted to talk to her, but today was different. There was no answer when she called back, so she was forced to go into her voicemail. However, as she listened to her mother’s efficient, clipped tones, she could feel her own face getting darker and darker; by the time she dropped her cell phone onto the table, Nash was looking at her in alarm.
“What’s up? Are they home from the hospital yet?”
“Oh, they’re home all right. But it turns out that Dad is feeling so well that my mom’s decided to go into the office for a few hours,” Cassidy said in a tight voice, still not quite able to process the message her mom had left. “He’s on crutches and is meant to keep his knee elevated and rested. What’s so important that she has to leave him alone in the house like that? Does she think the whole office building will fall down if she’s not there? And she even had the cheek to leave a list of things I would need to cook spaghetti for dinner. I mean, if she’s not going to bother coming home, why should I cook what she wants me to cook?”
“Yes, but you love spaghetti.” Nash’s face clouded over with confusion.
“That’s not the point.”
“Okay, so what do you want to cook?”
“I don’t know.” Cassidy gave an impatient shake of her head. Out of all the decisions that she hated making, deciding what to eat was at the top of the list. Then she let out a sigh. “Anyway, I don’t want to fight. I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at my mom. But this means that I won’t be able to come with you this afternoon to see your book guy. If you want to take the book with you, though, then that’s fine.”
“Are you crazy?” Nash looked at her in shock. “Howard’s an antiquarian bookseller, not a Good Samaritan. There’s no way I’m going to take the book with me. It would be like walking into the mob with a bagful of cash and diamonds and expecting them not to want it. A big no-no. It’s much better if I just show him a few blurry photographs and then casually ask him some vague questions.”
Cassidy raised a surprised eyebrow. She hadn’t realized that the antique-book business was quite so cloak-and-dagger, but before she could say anything, the bell rang. She waited patiently while Nash quickly snapped a couple of photographs on his cell phone, and then they both hurried to fifth period. Besides, Nash would either find the owner of the book or he wouldn’t; right now she had bigger things to worry about.
SIX
“Do you ever get the feeling someone’s watching you?” Cassidy’s dad asked later that night as they sat in the living room eating their dinner. Her dad was resting on the couch, his leg out flat in front of him and his empty pasta bowl on the small table beside him. Her mom still hadn’t returned from whatever “work emergency” she was dealing with, so it had been just the two of them eating the spaghetti that Cassidy had grudgingly made. More because she couldn’t be bothered to decide what else to cook than because she thought her mom’s idea was a good one. However, at her father’s question, she immediately looked up.
“Why?” She put aside her own pasta bowl as she remembered the eerie sensations she’d been feeling lately, and the burning eyes that had been emblazoned in her mind. Just thinking about it made the hairs on the back of her arms stand up, and she gave a little shiver. “H-have you noticed something?”
“Actually, I have. It’s my daughter, and she seems to be watching my every move,” her dad retorted in a dry voice. Cassidy let out a private groan. Talk about getting her wires crossed.
“I’m not watching your every move,” she protested before raising her hands in defeat. “Okay, fine. But I’m worried about you.”
“Cass, you can’t keep looking at me like I’m made of cotton,” he said, and she saw the hint of the temporary tattoo peeking out from under his shirtsleeve. It should’ve made her smile, but she couldn’t quite muster one.
“Yes, well, if I don’t do it, then who will?” Cassidy retorted as she pointedly glared at the empty chair where her mom normally sat and then over to where his crutches were lying on the floor.
“We’ve talked about this. I’m fine. The surgery is over, and in a few weeks I’ll be crashing your school disco and embarrassing you in front of your friends with all of my slick moves.”
“I’m pretty sure that discos haven’t existed since 1985,” Cassidy pointed out before letting out a sigh. “But fine, point made. I’ll stop being so overprotective.”
“And stop giving your mom such a hard time?”
Cassidy went to open her mouth in protest. Especially when she thought of the large stack of printouts on the kitchen bench that her mom had left for her. There were dozens of articles on college applications and why it was good to show diversity. However, then she remembered that stress was the last thing he needed, and she let out a reluctant sigh. “And I’ll stop giving
Mom such a hard time,” she dutifully repeated.
“Thank you.” He nodded as he reached for his crutches. “Now, we should really do these dishes.”
“Don’t you dare!” Cassidy jumped to her feet and gathered up the bowls before he could even think about standing up. “You can sit there and reminisce about your glory days as king of the disco,” she commanded, before walking out to the kitchen and loading up the dishwasher.
It was almost eight o’clock, and despite what her dad said, she still thought that it was wrong of her mom to have not come home yet. Cassidy shook some detergent into the machine and tried to stay calm, but it was hard when she was so pissed off. After all, what was so important that her mom had to stay at work for so long? And if this was what it was going to be like from now on, then why didn’t her mom just stay in Boston? All she was doing here was bossing everyone around and giving orders.
She turned the machine on with a thump and was just about to walk out of the kitchen when she caught sight of a large handwritten note stuck to the refrigerator: CASSIDY—TAKE TRASH OUT.
For a moment Cassidy glared at it. Especially since over the last five years her mom probably hadn’t even known what day the trash was collected. Then she caught sight of the wedge of paper sitting on the bench. The printouts she was meant to be reading, complete with color-coded Post-it notes attached to them. Suddenly, she smiled. Oh, she would take out the trash, all right.
She grabbed a plastic bag and gleefully scooped the offending articles into it, then hurried outside and down along the side of the house. The large tree in the neighbor’s yard threw Edward Scissorhands–style shadows across the concrete as she made her way along the path. Nash would say that she was being completely irrational and probably passive-aggressive to dump the articles her mom had left for her, but all Cassidy knew was that it also made her feel as if she had some small sliver of control. Plus, it would totally piss off her mom when she found out.
Cassidy grinned some more as she emptied the papers into the recycling bin. She had just flicked the lid shut and was about to open up the gate to drag the bin to the street when she heard a scratching noise from somewhere behind her. Her excitement at defying her mom disappeared as the hairs on her arms stood up, and fine tendrils of fear clutched at her heart. It was the same feeling that she’d had several times during the last two days. The feeling that someone was watching her.
Part of her wanted to believe it was because tomorrow was Halloween. But the other part of her—the part that her brain seemed to be listening to—wasn’t so sure.
This time the scratching was louder, and Cassidy unconsciously edged away from it. In the process she managed to stumble back into the bin; she watched in dismay as it fell to the ground with a thud, spilling plastic bottles and papers out onto the path in front of her. She ignored the mess, her breath catching in her throat. But apart from a soft breeze that was blowing against the surrounding trees, there was no sign of anything and—
Whatever Cassidy was about to think next disappeared from her mind as a violent flap of wings sounded in her ears and she looked up to see an enormous bird on one of the lower branches of a nearby tree. Its wings were spread out in an eerie silhouette against the crescent moon as it turned its pale heart-shaped face toward her. Inspecting her with a pair of dark, swirling eyes that sat above its noselike beak.
Cassidy shuddered as a single feather leisurely floated down to the ground. It was almost identical to the feather that had fallen into her lap the previous day, and Cassidy found herself helplessly following its progress until it finally landed just by her scuffed-up Docs.
Two feathers? The hypnotic amber eyes that she kept thinking were watching her? She wasn’t a genius like Nash, but she knew all these things had to mean something. It’s just that she had no idea what, and despite the fact that every single nerve in her body was screaming at her to go inside, she looked back up into the tree.
The owl spread out its wings and pushed its talons against the gnarled branch, and for one awful second Cassidy thought it was going to launch itself at her. But instead it sprang off the branch and glided down to the other end of the path, effectively blocking her path.
For a moment it just stood there, feathers shimmering and glowing in front of her very eyes; before Cassidy quite knew what was happening, the owl was gone and in its place was a body. A person.
A guy.
Cassidy was past screaming. She was past thinking. She was past taking any kind of action. All she could do was stand there and stare helplessly at the figure in front of her. He looked about her age, perhaps a year or so older, and his dark hair was cropped close to his head. His strong brow was knit in powerful concentration, and he was dressed in a coarse, collarless shirt, which reached well below his thighs and was ripped and stained.
As he walked toward her, she could clearly see a jagged, angry scar running down one side of his face. It was brutal, but then as he got closer, she discovered that even more compelling than the horrendous scar were his eyes. One was the palest of blues and the other a swirling brown color, and they were staring at her with such intensity that Cassidy felt incapable of looking away.
Then he spoke. “My name is Thomas de la Croix, and we don’t have much time.”
That was when she finally started to scream.
SEVEN
Cassidy clamped a hand over her mouth to try to muffle the sound of her scream, because whoever or whatever this thing was, there was no way she wanted to make her dad come out to check on her when he was supposed to be resting. Instead, she used her teeth to bite down hard on one finger, in the hope that the pain would cause the vision in front of her to disappear. It didn’t work, and when she looked again, his disconcerting gaze was still fixed firmly on her.
He looked annoyed, and strangely enough, it was that which finally helped Cassidy to get herself under control. She dropped her hand back down to her side and took a deep breath. There had to be a logical explanation for what she’d just witnessed.
“What are you?” she said, her whole body still shaking from the shock.
“I told you”—his voice was laced in an accent that she couldn’t quite place—“I am Thomas.”
“I didn’t ask who you are. I want to know what you are,” Cassidy repeated, as she unconsciously took a step backward to try to avoid his uncompromising stare. To try to give herself some space in which to think. “I mean, you were an owl, and then you were . . . Well, then you weren’t an owl. Are you some kind of shape-shifter, werewolf thing?”
“I am not a beast,” he said in a low voice, and it was obvious from the way his jaw was clenched that patience wasn’t one of his virtues. “I’m a knight of the Brotherhood of the Black Rose.”
Black Rose?
The tattoo on her arm burned in response, and once again she heard a voice calling out to her. Pick me. Pick me. She took another step away from him until the rough plaster on the exterior of the house was rubbing against her sweater and into her spine. She thought of the crazy guy at the mall. Armand. His accent had been almost identical to Thomas’s, and he had kept pointing at her temporary tattoo.
She let out a small gasp. “He gave me the book on purpose?” Her mind was spinning as she tried to connect the dots, but it was a puzzle that didn’t want to be solved. Where was Nash’s brilliant mind when she needed him?
“Oui. Armand would have been desperate. He came here to protect the Black Rose, and when he discovered his mistake, he would’ve been looking for another guardian who could handle the burden. There must have been something about you that called out either to him or to the grimoire.”
“Wh-what’s a grimoire?” Cassidy was almost too scared to ask.
“It’s the most important book that the Brotherhood possesses, and it is the heart of our magic.”
Cassidy was silent.
She had been forced to sit through more than her fair share of strange conversations with Nash, most of them full of names and places
that she’d never heard of before. But right now this Thomas guy was making Nash’s conversations sound like watercooler stories. It was ridiculous, and she’d heard quite enough of . . . well, whatever it was. She edged her way along the wall, hoping to slip past him, but Thomas quickly blocked her way, his mismatched eyes cold and clinical.
“You must listen carefully,” he said, a guarded expression on his tense face. “Perhaps if I start at the beginning, it will make more sense.”
Doubtful, Cassidy thought as her mind raced, trying to decide if she could get out through the gate that led through to the front yard. Unfortunately, her gate-jumping skills weren’t what they should be, and she doubted she would have time to unlock it. She took a deep breath and tried to stay calm.
“The Black Rose is an essence. A very powerful essence that offers immortal life and unlimited power to whoever inhales it. It was created by alchemists before they realized that everything comes at a cost, and that the Black Rose also brings madness, pain, and destruction. That is why the Brotherhood has sworn to protect it from the men and demons who desire it.”
Essences? Immortal life? Demons?
Cassidy, who was still struggling to deal with the owl-transforming-into-a-guy thing, blinked. He had to be kidding, but when she inspected his face, she got the feeling that he never kidded. About anything. Ever. She hugged her arms around her chest.
“As yet there has been no way to destroy the Black Rose, and those who covet it are growing ever stronger.” And still the disarming eyes were staring intently at her.
“A-and what’s any of this got to do with me?” Cassidy croaked, ignoring the way the fake tattoo on her arm was blazing. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep things together.
“The Black Rose is currently residing in an unknown vessel. A corporeal body. A virginal human body. The vessel and the Black Rose need to be protected from those who desire it. That is where you come in. You must be the guardian. I need you to find the virginal vessel and the Black Rose and protect them until the moment of the next solstice, when you will send it back.”