Page 78 of Waysider
Victoria Chen came through.
Three days later, Cass came home from her last class and found a vial of See on her nightstand. She flung her backpack down and crossed the room, Prince’s voice singing from the radio on her desk. Cass had taken to leaving it on even when she was gone—she hated how silent the house got every time her roommates were gone.
She stared down at the See she’d blackmailed Victoria for. There was no note, so there was nothing to explain the sense of menace that filled the air around the small bottle. You’re getting paranoid, Cass told herself as she picked it up. She watched how the liquid inside shimmered in the lamplight, her lips twisted in thought. Should she take it now, where there was no chance of anyone seeing her?
No, Cass decided. She didn’t want any more ghosts in her room. She’d go to the Hissing Gardens, maybe. But what if something went wrong? There would be no one to hear her cry for help. Cass stood there, wavering while “Purple Rain” faded away and Paul McCartney filled the stillness.
“This is a bad idea, Cass,” a voice said from behind.
She jumped. It was strange to hear the words her brother usually said come out of someone else’s mouth. Cass turned instinctively, and she couldn’t hide a flash of guilt from her expression. She fought the urge to put the See behind her back. Michael had already seen it anyway, Cass reminded herself.
“Oh, look who’s back. My friendly neighborhood stalker,” she said.
Michael didn’t react. His dark eyes were fixed on the bottle in her hand, and a frown hovered at the corners of his mouth. “That tincture is dangerous, Cass. I have heard it can change people who drink too much. This is one rule you shouldn’t break.”
“And how do you know that?” Cass challenged, bending to pick up her backpack. “Are you following me around campus, too?”
This time, Michael didn’t say anything, and Cass felt a pang of remorse. She didn’t know why she was being an asshole. She slung her bag over her shoulder and faced him, mussing her bangs. “Look, I just need to access more of her memories. On the off chance I do get answers, I don’t plan to actually confront anyone. I’ll just give the information to the police, and that should be enough to send Karen on her way. Okay?”
A muscle in his jaw flexed. “It’s not okay. The dead are unpredictable. We’re not fully human anymore. You’ve seen this with your own eyes. We don’t have to fear consequences, and we don’t get to experience things like kindness or love. We are alone.”
Something in his voice changed. Watching the play of emotions cross Michael’s face, Cass felt something else within her stir—compassion. She’d been so focused on herself that she hadn’t really thought about how much it must suck for Michael, being connected to her. Being dead. He’d been a revenant much, much longer than Cal, and he’d spent that time not being able to talk to anyone. Probably tormented by a thousand questions he didn’t have the answers to.
“Karen could’ve hurt me, more than once, but she hasn’t. Not on purpose, at least,” Cass amended, remembering those big hands around her throat. She kept her expression neutral, knowing Michael would keep arguing with her if he knew how terrified she actually was.
But maybe he still saw something, because he shook his dark head. “You can’t trust her.”
Cass’s eyebrows rose. “Are you saying I shouldn’t trust you either, then?”
“That’s different.”
“Why?” Cass asked bluntly. When Michael didn’t answer, she stepped closer. “No, seriously. Why is this any different?”
“Because I will never hurt you.”
His voice was soft, but there was steel in it, too. His dark eyes were hard. Cass’s first instinct was to mock him, or tell Michael no one could keep a promise like that. But she couldn’t bring herself to do either. Cass searched his gaze, struggling to name the tight feeling in her chest. Hesitantly she asked, “Hey, will you stay with me? While I try to communicate with Karen, I mean?”
Michael’s jaw tightened again—he still didn’t like the idea of her drinking the See—but he nodded. He looked down at the bottle clutched in her fingers.
“Not here,” Cass said, her eyes darting around the dim room. She liked it here. If anything bad happened, she didn’t want the memory of it to ruin this place. “I was thinking the Hissing Gardens.”
For a moment, Michael was silent, his dark brow furrowed. Then he said, “I know a place.”
“Okay. I’ll meet you outside.” Without waiting for his response, Cass strode to the door and opened it. She saw that Michael was gone before she’d had a chance to close it behind her.
Downstairs, Finch was absorbed in a TV show. Cass slipped past the doorway, hoping to avoid questions. She always felt bad lying to Finch. But a moment later, her roommate’s voice floated through the air. Cass halted, swallowing a curse.
“Hey, Cass,” Finch called. “Where are you off to?”
I have no idea, Cass wanted to say. My ghost friend hasn’t told me.
Yeah, she definitely couldn’t say that. At the same moment Cass opened her mouth to make something up, the sound of the fire alarm shrieked through the entire house. Cass immediately dove for the kitchen. She drew up short at the sight of Bradley, who straightened from the oven with a smoking pan between his two pink oven mitts.
Finch appeared at Cass’s side a moment later. Her wide eyes went to Bradley, who dropped the pan on the stovetop. The clattering sound was barely audible over the smoke alarms. Bradley’s eyes were bright with distress as he started batting at the air. “I’ve got it, I’ve got it—” he started.
Then the stove caught fire, and Bradley started screaming. Cass was about to launch forward, but Finch beat her to it, leaping for the towel hanging over the oven handle. She snatched it up and hit the small flames with it. The fire went out in seconds, and Finch stood there, her chest heaving. Bradley stared at her, completely silent. The fire alarm went silent, too.
“Jesus, what happened?” Justin asked, his voice a stark sound in the smoky room.
