Page 41 of Waysider
She did her homework. She attended all her classes. She spent time with her housemates. She made phone calls to Teresa and her dad. She bickered with Cal. Her brother’s mysterious absences stopped, and now he spent most of his time worrying whether she was eating, or that she wasn’t trying hard enough to make friends. Cass brushed off his comments as she always had, usually throwing in an insult for good measure. She almost felt… normal. Well, as normal as someone could be who was attending a university for ghost hunters and had their dead twin for a roommate.
As for their other roommate, well, there was no sign of him. Cass avoided going upstairs as much as she could, but her efforts to ignore Michael turned out to be unnecessary. He didn’t come back all week, and Cass told herself she was glad. Her room was crowded enough with Cal and his never-ending concern. But Cass felt an unsettled flutter in her stomach every time she thought of the ghost she’d apparently succeeded in driving away. She ignored that, too.
Basics of Untethering was her favorite class. Not because of the subject matter, or the professor, who somehow made a British accent unattractive with his high, nervous voice. It was the room itself—three of the walls were made of windows, and ivy had spread across most of the glass. Sunbeams slipped through all the green, casting all the faces, floors, and desks in intricate shadow and soft, buttery light. Professor Horn had filled every surface and corner with even more plants, making a scent cling to the air that reminded Cass of springtime.
In the past, she’d made a habit of sitting in the back during her courses. She had always been the last one to arrive and the first one to leave. For Basics of Untethering, though, Cass sat in the front row, where she could feel the sun on her skin and the clock wasn’t in her line of sight. She’d discovered that it actually helped her pay attention. Most of the time, at least.
“Are we ever going to learn how to actually untether a revenant?” someone asked on Friday morning, drawing Cass’s gaze away from the window. She lifted her head from her hand, blinking, and refocused on Professor Horn.
In response to the girl’s question, their professor reached into the pocket of his tweed jacket and pulled out a handkerchief, dabbing his forehead with it. This in itself was not out of the ordinary—Professor Horn was easily frazzled, and beads of sweat were always sliding down his temple or dampening the thin cotton of his shirt. But the handkerchief had made several appearances already today, and Cass noticed how Professor Horn kept glancing toward the clock, as if he couldn’t wait until the hour was up. Everyone knew about the silver flask he kept in the desk. He was probably counting the seconds until he could take another swig. Cass couldn’t help feeling sorry for the guy. At some point in his life, Professor Horn had almost died, just like the rest of them.
But apparently he’d never recovered.
Suddenly Cass wondered if she was in danger of the same fate. What if she was looking at her future? What if the hole in her chest never went away, and eventually she’d need to dull herself just to get through the day, too?
Realizing that she’d stopped paying attention again, Cass blinked and sat up straighter in her chair.
“…are not permitted to attempt an untethering until their second year,” Professor Horn was saying, tucking the handkerchief back into its hiding place. Then he paused and added, “But today, you’ll get to see them.”
A ripple of excitement traveled through the class. Cass’s stomach clenched. What did he mean, ‘them?’
“See what?” a boy with red hair called. The golden pin on his lapel was a bird. House Pennyseeker.
Professor Horn fell silent again. Slowly, he circled his long desk, and Cass couldn’t help but glance toward the figure sitting at the other end of it. Teddy Crane’s eyes met hers.
Most days, he spent the hour writing in a notebook, or correcting the assignments they’d turned in. Today, the class seemed to have his full attention. Teddy’s gaze lingered on Cass for a moment, and she knew he’d probably seen her fear. The corner of his mouth lifted, just barely, into what Cass thought might be a reassuring smile. His bright hair gleamed as he turned his head and refocused on Professor Horn.
The professor reached down and pulled something out of a drawer—a music box. There was a slight tremble in his hands, and though Professor Horn set the box down gently, he wasted no time pulling away.
Cass regretted her decision to sit in the front row now. She stared at the music box, fighting the urge to grab her books and move to the back of the room.
“As you’ve probably deduced, this item is haunted,” Professor Horn told them. He was even paler than he’d been at the start of class. “It belonged to a woman named Marie Clairmont, and she lost several children to miscarriage before dying in childbirth. She herself is not attached to the object, but the trauma of her final moments left an imprint on it. The music box was playing while she died.”
Everyone in the room watched the small object as if the lid were about to spring open. Professor Horn didn’t move to open it. “In order to untether a revenant,” he continued, “you must first be able to see it. Thus, how this compound got its obvious name. See.”
With his pale, thin fingers, Professor Horn pulled a small bottle out of his desk and held it in the air. The liquid within glittered in a ray of sunlight. It looked like water. “It’s perfectly harmless,” their professor said, “but it can only be made in small batches and there’s high demand, because of all the other institutes. That’s why it can only be used on official Hauntings, at the aptitude tests, and this class.”
He bent over, and they all heard the sound of another drawer opening. When Professor Horn straightened, he was holding a silver tray, its surface covered with over a dozen glasses that were the size of a thimble. Once he’d set it down on the desk, Professor Horn retrieved the vial and began to pour the liquid into the glasses, putting barely more than a drop or two in each. He continued his lecture while he poured, the top of his bald head gleaming. “It should be noted that some voyants don’t need the See. It enhances the abilities you already have, which is why it’s used at the Tests. Many students have been able to determine their specialties because of this,” he concluded.
No one moved or spoke. Cass looked from the vials to the music box, her pulse quickening in a way that was becoming all-too familiar. She didn’t want to enhance her abilities or see whatever was attached to that eerie, wooden box. Her heart was so loud that she barely heard their professor as he prompted, “Well, come on, then.”
Chair legs screeched over the floor as everyone stood. The class formed a line and shuffled toward the desk. Teddy had gotten up, as well, and he started handing the vials out, nodding his bright head as one of the other students said something. Cass hung back, intending to wait until there was less of a crowd before she approached. But then someone gasped. A second later, someone else made a sound of surprise. Within a minute, murmurs filled every corner of the room. They were all staring at the music box. No one seemed afraid, Cass noted, and the realization made some of her own fade, just a little.
Less than a minute later, Cass reached the desk. Teddy flashed her his golden boy grin as he handed her one of the last vials. Quietly he told her, “Don’t worry, it doesn’t last long.”
He was trying to comfort her again, Cass thought, taking the tincture with the tips of her fingers. She nodded her thanks at Teddy, not trusting herself to speak, then moved out of the way so the nervous-looking kid behind her could get his See. Slow with reluctance, Cass returned to her desk. She briefly considered only pretending that she’d drank it, but Professor Horn was watching her intently, as if he knew what she was thinking. Cass looked down at the clear, glistening liquid in her hand, her stomach churning. Before she could talk herself out of it, Cass tipped her head back and downed it.
It was sweeter than she’d expected it to be, with a bitter aftertaste that lingered on her tongue. A couple of the other students were making dramatic gagging sounds. Cass ignored them. Holding the empty bottle tightly in her fist, she sat back in her chair and waited. She concentrated on her breathing so she didn’t think about all the things she’d encountered without any enhancement. Maybe she’d be lucky and it would have no effect on her. But Cass had never been very lucky.
Within seconds, she realized why everyone was gaping at the music box—there were white, glowing threads all around it. Almost like spider webs, if spider webs were luminescent.
Professor Horn was speaking again, but Cass wasn’t listening anymore. His voice was a low, meaningless hum as she studied the threads. Distantly, Cass felt her fingers twitch. She could already see how she’d begin. What path she’d take to undo the knots and tangles. It would be so easy. Child’s play, really. Suddenly Cass felt a fierce, urgent compulsion to reach for those bright strings. Clear the mess away. She watched them shift and move with rapt focus, and it was as if they had a mind or a life of their own. It almost felt like they were… calling to her. Communicating with her, somehow…
“Don’t touch it!”
The words penetrated the haze around Cass, and she jerked her hand back, turning to see who’d spoken so sharply. Everyone was staring in her direction. Another jolt went through Cass as she realized that she’d stood up and approached the music box. It was Professor Horn who had snapped at her, shockingly. Cass’s face flooded with heat, and she avoided looking in Teddy’s direction. For some reason, the thought of him witnessing her mental breakdown was particularly humiliating.
“Sorry,” Cass muttered. “Sorry.”
