Page 72 of Waysider
She was so tired that she told him the truth. “I just haven’t been sleeping. A fucking ghost is tormenting me.”
Even though Cass had used the forbidden word, Sinister didn’t correct her. “Sounds like it attached to you. Sometimes all it takes is eye contact,” he replied, shrugging.
Cass’s voice was bright. “Great. Any ideas how I can get rid of her? I’ve tried ignoring her, and clearly that isn’t working.”
“Here’s a crazy idea.” Sinister leaned closer, as if he were telling her a secret. He paused dramatically before saying, “You could ask Headmistress Crane for help.”
Cass immediately shook her head. She didn’t want the headmistress anywhere near her or Cal. “No. Not Crane.”
Sinister straightened. There was a thoughtful look in his eyes, which meant he’d noticed her reaction. “Well, if you can’t untether her, there is another way,” he said.
“Another way to what?”
He reached down, almost absently, and pinched some grass between his fingertips. Sinister tossed it into a fresh breeze and said, “To free her.”
As the grass swirled away, Cass realized the two Airweavers had finished their game and left—she hadn’t even noticed. Cass returned her focus to Sinister and raised her eyebrows. “What is it?”
“You’re taking Hauntings 101, right? Have you gotten to the reasons a revenant sticks around?” Sinister asked.
“There are six.” Cass’s response was instant. She’d read that chapter backwards and forwards.
Sinister nodded and said, “You could find out why she’s here.”
“Unfinished business,” Cass murmured, remembering Professor Harkens’s lecture.
“Most of what the world believes about revenants is bullshit, but that part is true.”
“So if I figure out this spirit’s damage, you really think she’ll leave me alone?” Cass said slowly. Her mind began to race, her heart becoming the hard, fast beat of realization.
“What’s the alternative? Do nothing and let her torment you for the rest of the semester?” Sinister pointed out.
“True.” Cass fell silent. Sinister didn’t say anything else, either. He probably thought she was mulling over what he’d said. But Cass didn’t need to think about it, because she’d already figured out what Karen Watkins’s unfinished business was. It was obvious.
Cass needed to find out who had killed Karen and expose him.
Cass’s pulse quickened when she realized how dangerous it could be. Then she remembered that everything was dangerous. Cass knew that better than anyone. And as Sinister had just pointed out, what was the alternative?
There was one pretty big problem, though. How was Cass going to figure out who had killed Karen if she could barely make sense of her memories? There was never a face or a name in them. Not to mention that Karen’s visits were sporadic and unpredictable.
Maybe she shouldn’t depend on a revenant, Cass concluded. Maybe there was another way to learn about what happened. There had to be someone who knew more, like Professor Harkens or a voyant who’d been a student here at the time of the murder.
The thought was like a trigger, and an idea shot through Cass’s mind. She scrambled to her feet, then paused to look down at the Shadowripper still sitting beneath the shade of the tree.
“Thanks, Sin,” Cass said, touching her chin.
He looked startled, and it took Cass an extra beat to realize that she’d used his nickname. It just slipped out. They were friends, Cass thought as she turned away. It was normal for friends to use nicknames, right? She didn’t exactly have a lot of experience, other than Teresa.
Whatever. Cass put the moment with Sinister from her mind, and she began to form a plan for the evening ahead. Because there was someone who might know Karen’s story. Someone that had been here for a very, very long time.
Louis.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Cal’s lungs burned. For what felt like the thousandth time, he reminded himself that the pain wasn’t real. But he couldn’t suppress the rush of relief when he finally spotted the railing to Laura’s apartment up ahead, gleaming from a nearby streetlight. Cal jogged down the short flight of steps and went through the door, breathing hard. The sound of a squealing tea kettle filled his ears.
“You’re late,” Laura said without turning. She poured the hot water into her usual mug. Cal was relieved to note she was wearing jeans tonight, and a striped sweater that looked like someone hadn’t been able to choose what color of yarn to use, so they’d gone with all of them.
“I missed my bus,” he replied.
