9. Rescued Again
9
RESCUED AGAIN
It is you that are the lonely bird through the woods; and that you may be without a mate until you find me.
— ANONYMOUS EIGHT-CENTURY POET, “THE GRIEF OF A GIRL’S HEART”
T he man gestured for the bartender to pour me another glass of whiskey with a splash of water.
“You like the good stuff,” he said, maybe a little nervously when he realized they were pouring the top shelf selection. It was just Jameson—this bar didn’t have the greatest selection—but still, it was a bit better than the well offering.
“It’ll do,” I replied, then held up the glass to cheer with his. “ Sláinte .”
His bright white teeth gleamed against his ruddy skin as he grinned. “I’m Alex. Nice night, isn’t it?”
With some effort, I managed to smile back. “Certainly is. Although a bit cold,” I replied as I caught his gaze flickering to my gloves. “I’m Cassandra. Do you…come here often?”
“Oh yeah. These guys have the best selection of local brews in Portland. Their house IPA rocks.”
Well. I was right about the beer.
He commenced the game of dating geography that I’d only experienced a few times myself but had reheard hundreds through others. Where was I from, what did I do, why was I in town? I parroted the questions back, hardly listening as I focused more on the shape of his lips and well-formed shoulders. The more I drank, the better looking he seemed to get.
“So that’s when I started being really strict about grass-fed beef because you never know?—”
“Hey,” I interrupted. “Do you want to dance?”
Alex flashed another bright, vigorous grin that further loosened the steel vise that always seemed to latch around my stomach in situations like these. “Sure.”
I followed him out to the dance floor, where even more people were now spinning around. I hovered on the periphery as we began to sway vaguely in time to the music. Alex had a fairly decent sense of rhythm, if somewhat subdued, and the shanty was admittedly catchy.
“You’re a really good dancer!” he yelled, leaning in to be heard above the music.
It wasn’t true, but I blushed anyway. I had a decent sense of rhythm, but I was too clumsy to be called a good dancer.
“Thanks, so are you!” I called back.
He smiled, a bit too confidently. Then, before I could dodge it, he snaked an arm around my waist.
I jerked but calmed when I realized my leather jacket and sweater were still mostly doing their jobs, even with the added effects of alcohol. The desire coursing through Alex’s touch was reasonably muted. Nothing was coherent, and his attraction wasn’t unpleasant.
In fact, it felt pretty good.
As if on cue, the Bandits launched into a ballad, and I allowed Alex to pull me close enough his chest touched mine. I relaxed a bit more, to the point where a few of Alex’s conscious thoughts began to articulate, scattered and unfocused as they were. He wanted another beer. This song was kind of slow. He wondered if the pool table was going to open up tonight.
Eventually, his thoughts settled on me, ruminating on my scent and the fact that I was obviously fit. He wanted to get laid but wasn’t overtly thinking about it yet. And even then, as I enjoyed the unconscious stream of compliments, I wasn’t sure if I minded. Maybe I wanted the same thing too.
Maybe I wanted to do more than exist in books and watch from the edges of crowds. Maybe I wanted to be in a crowd for once without being afraid of losing my sanity.
Maybe I wanted to live.
“You’re really pretty,” he repeated for the fourth time, although it was the first out loud. “Your eyes are so blue.”
I smiled. “Thank you.”
His gaze dropped to my mouth. I didn’t need his hands on my back to know what he wanted, but it was interesting to See that desire paired alongside his insecurity. Will she let me kiss her? he was wondering. How does she like it? Mouth open or closed? A lot of tongue or a little? Should I ? —
I grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him closer.
“Alex,” I said softly, wishing he could read my mind back. “Just make your move.” Before I lose my nerve , I almost added.
That overconfident smile made another appearance. “No problem.”
I braced myself as he leaned in for a kiss, fully aware that bracing wasn’t exactly normal behavior between two consenting adults, but also aware that I couldn’t very well do any differently.
Maybe this time would be different.
Maybe this time I’d finally be able to relax and enjoy myself.
Maybe not.
As soon as his lips touched mine, his overall attraction was infiltrated by a steely jolt of lust—not a problem in and of itself until his conscious thoughts caught up, wondering what exactly he would have to do to get me into bed. Almost immediately, images of myself in compromising positions reeled through his thoughts and into mine, each more graphic than the next. A plan was quickly hatching. How many more drinks I’d need to be conscious but pliant. How hard it would be to get me away from my friend for the night.
I pulled away, my desire a ghost. Alex was no longer the cute guy with soft lips. He was as manipulative and shallow as the rest of them.
“Cassandra? You okay?”
Alex was staring at me with his brows furrowed, arms still firmly about my waist. Hope this doesn’t blow my chances…I really need to get some ass tonight.
It was as if he had spoken aloud.
I stepped out of reach and just barely avoided bumping into someone else. The music blared, and the scents of sweat and alcohol felt as heavy as an impending rainstorm. “You know, I’m not feeling that great.”
“Oh, bummer. Let’s get you back to the bar and get you a glass of water or something.”
Over his shoulder, I spotted Reina in deep seduction mode with the pair of glasses from earlier. There was no way I was interrupting that now. Most likely I wouldn’t see her until we left in the morning.
Alex reached for me, and reflexively, I took another step back. “You know, I think I’m just going to go home.”
His brow screwed up. “Really? Okay, well, can I help you?—”
“No, no, I’m good. Thank you for the dance. And the drink.” I was already turning toward the door, pushing through the swollen crowd and mentally reciting “Ode to a Nightingale” to keep as many unwanted thoughts out of my head. But as I elbowed my way through, more and more thoughts pummeled through my layers and meager mental defenses.
Watch it!
Who does she think she is?
Fucking bitch!
Thoughts jabbed again and again until finally, I landed outside in the cool night air.
I took a deep breath and opened my eyes in relief. Peace .
Until everything began to spin.
This time it was even worse than the episode outside Gasson. Voice, images, and languages shot up through my boots, and when I reached out to steady myself against the brick wall, more memories rushed in, drowning out the actual sights around me. I couldn’t see the cars driving up and down the street. I couldn’t even see the streetlights marketing the corners or the outlines of buildings, much less people walking up and down the busy sidewalk.
I couldn’t even hear my own scream.
Water. I needed water. My lungs felt parched, and the world was spinning, but thankfully, I knew this neighborhood better than I knew most places in the world.
Three short blocks across the little peninsula at this southeast corner of Portland, and I’d reach the bluff trail I’d run so many times during college that I could manage it in my sleep. Through the tunnel under the train tracks, then weave my way through the alders and maple grove where coyotes and deer still congregated, even in the city.
And there it was, the Willamette River. Thick and dark with algae that tended to bloom in the summer heat, it was hardly a fount of clarity.
But even that was better than these visions that threatened to claim me.
Seconds later, I was in the water, scaring a pair of mallards sleeping in the rushes lining the bank.
The visions weren’t as bad as before—but my mind was still spinning, aching like it hadn’t. Everything seemed hypersensitive, the water pricking at my spirit.
Mentally, I sang the prayer I’d been taught.
Touch the water. Breathe the air. Feel the earth. Light the fire. Hear the silence.
I repeated the mantra to myself, hoping it would take root like Gran had always said it would.
Gran. Who was gone. Goddess , that hurt.
Touch the water , I willed myself, even as it surrounded me. Let it in.
Finally, the essence pooled through my being, washing away the visions and leaving me with just myself.
Ah, sweet silence, I hummed as I flattened myself on the surface, floating face down and giving myself up to the chill. Brigid , thank you.
Reina wouldn’t be particularly grateful when I tracked river mud into her living room later, but it was worth the silence. Calm and clarity pooled in the center of my mind, banishing the visions that somehow still haunted. The noise receded.
Even when grief struck through my heart all over again.
A voice shouted above the water’s edge. And then, something strange happened.
Something solidified under my body, as if my chest were touching the river’s floor even though I was floating like a dead man on its surface.
I scrambled, but the river wrapped around me like a hand making a fist. I kicked against it, but its grip only tightened as it lifted me clear off the surface, then crested in a wave that brought me back to the back and released only when my feet were firmly on muddy ground.
Then, something grabbed me by the waist.
“No!” I cried, trying to turn and beat off whoever was there.
“Hush, Cassandra. It’s me.”
The voice was familiar. Deep. Male. British—or maybe just a little Irish? That lilt was so familiar.
A broad chest was warm against my back as I was guided to the shelter of a large cedar. The visions had dimmed now—finally— as my rescuer propped me up against the tree and tucked me into the coat I’d abandoned on the shore.
Not that it did much. I was soaked through.
“Wh-who—w-what?” My chattering teeth prevented much articulation.
“Do you even know how to swim?”
I blinked and finally managed to focus my eyes. Standing in front of me was him .
The strange, handsome sorcerer, who had last rescued me from another spontaneous plunge, blinking with obvious irritation through eyes the color of a freshly cut lime.
“ You ,” I managed.
His surprisingly full mouth folded into a straight line. “Yes. Me.”
What—what are you d-doing here?” Also, why was I always forced to stutter around this man?
“It’s lovely to see you too,” he said dryly. “And you’re welcome for saving your life. Again.”
I startled, enough that more of the water fell off my hair like a dog when shaking its fur. “You didn’t save my life. I was just?—”
“Having a mental attack in the river? Yes, that would have turned out perfectly, especially on the walk home, had you even survived. You’re a vision in black, and half the drivers are over the blood alcohol limit.” The man snorted. “You Yanks really can’t hold your liquor, do you know that?”
I stared, still dumbfounded. It wasn’t just the fact that he was just as—or maybe more—attractive than I remembered him, in a pressed sage-green button-up and jeans that hugged his long legs. He was wearing glasses again, sleek and frameless ones that, along with the shirt, only magnified the color of his eyes. And their arrogance.
But he was here . In Portland. Three thousand miles away from Boston, and not only that, standing on the deserted bank of a river that no one in their right mind visited at this time of night.
Except a seer, of course, desperately in need of clarity.
“Are you stalking me?” I blurted out.
He snorted, as though I’d asked something truly preposterous, like whether the moon was made of green cheese or if he was on his way to Oz. “Shockingly, no. I…live here. I was driving home from work when I saw you spiraling down the bank.”
This time my jaw legitimately dropped. “ You live in Portland? In Sellwood?”
The stranger nodded. “Well, that is where…we are. I was only in Boston for a symposium and happened to catch Rachel’s talk. And pull you out of a frozen pond, of course. And now the river.”
By this point, he was looking at me like I was genuinely crazy. And while I understood the befuddlement, I had also been raised by one of the most suspicious women on the planet. Coincidence is a trap for the mind, right? Gran had told me again and again. It didn’t exist. Which meant?—
“So where are we going?” My rescuer checked his watch, which had a brass face and looked like an antique. “I’d prefer not to stay here all night if it’s all the same to you. I’ve a warm bed waiting for me, and you look rather cold.”
I swallowed. “I—what?—”
“Your friend’s address, Cassandra. Unless you’re staying at a hotel. I suppose we can go to my house if you’d prefer?—”
“I would not,” I said emphatically. “And I’ll walk, thanks.”
“That’s not going to happen.” His face turned hard, like the cement on the streets. “My car is parked up at the top of the bluff.”
I glanced back at the water, which was as flat as ever. No sign of the enormous hand or wave or whatever it was that had grabbed me and carried me to shore. “Did you do that?”
“Did I do what?”
I turned back to him. “You know what. I was floating one moment, and then the water carried me back to shore. On a river. Without waves.”
His eyes didn’t waver, that stony expression not even flickering with recognition as the man shoved his hands into his pockets. “I am a sorcerer. We are capable of many things.”
I took it as a sign he wasn’t going to expand. “I. Was. Fine.”
“It appeared otherwise.”
I opened my mouth to argue with him again. “I—ahhhhh!”
The wind swept up from the river and seemed to course right through my sodden bones, reminding me that while we were standing here, it was still, in fact, the middle of winter and approximately thirty-four degrees outside.
A shiver took hold of my body and wouldn’t let go.
The stranger’s eyes blazed, and his lips moved with some unintelligible statement.
Immediately, my clothes dried. I even felt…warm as I jerked toward him in shock. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”
“No, you only shivered so hard I thought you might crack a tooth.” He nodded toward the trail. “Shall we, or must I ask the wind to carry you up as well?”
I blanched. Could he even do that?
I decided not to take the risk and followed him back up the bluff to his car.
Once inside, whatever spell he’d cast to dry my clothes seemed to wear off, and I was wet again. And irritable.
Odd.
“Put your hands over the heater,” he said as he started the ignition, and we took off into the night.
He was quiet on the short drive, which was fine by me. The visions were gone, but voices still rumbled in the back of my mind, incoherent and angry. I focused on quieting my mind as the man steered through the backstreets of Sellwood and eventually pulled up outside Reina’s house. Warm lights glowed inside. The shower awaited, along with her fireplace and bundles of sage.
I opened the door but turned after I got out.
“I suppose—would you like to come inside?” I found myself offering. “Seems like the least I can do since you’ve?—”
The door shut swiftly behind me before I could finish my sentence.
“Must go,” called the man through the open window before the engine revved, and he shot off again into the night.
I stood outside the house for a good five minutes wondering what in the hell had just happened.
For the second time in a week, I’d had a spell of visions bad enough that the world lost all coherence.
For the second time in a week, this man had saved me.
And I still didn’t know his name.
Amid all the questions, my mind still swam, and the entire block seemed to spin in a long, elliptical orbit. I took a heavy step to my left.
“Oh, gods,” I muttered as I turned back to the house, clutching my head.
All suspicions flew out of my head as another wave of images crashed through me. This spell wasn’t done with me yet.
The fireplace and showerhead called.
Touch the water.
I’d worry about the rest in the morning.