Chapter 19 #2
He’s being protective, worried for me. Or, possibly even a little jealous. It sets off a swirl of emotions in me: joy, relief, but most prominently sadness. It won’t matter what he feels now after I’m finished.
“I know,” I say softly, touching his arm. “It’s okay.”
I pick an overstuffed chair at random and sit on the edge of the cushion. “Okay, look. I don’t exactly know where to start because I’ve never talked about this before.”
“Then maybe that means you shouldn’t,” Devon says, moving to perch on the arm of my chair.
I ignore him.
Carter takes the chair next to mine, shooting a hostile look at Devon, who mimes catching it like a kiss and blows it back to him.
These two. I wonder what they were talking about while I was gone.
Chessa remains firmly lodged in the doorway. “So, talk, then. I want to get back to Daan.”
I’m not human.
Everything bad on campus that’s happening is because of me.
So you know all the stories about gods and vampires and mythical creatures, well, a lot of that is actually based in reality, just not in the way you’re thinking …
This is a lot harder than I thought.
“My family is complicated,” I begin after a moment. “My father … has a lot of enemies. And now some of them are coming after me, I think.”
“You said your father was dead,” Chessa says, straightening up, and I can see the storm clouds brewing in her expression.
“My bio dad, my mother’s husband, died before I was born, yeah,” I say quickly. “But I…” In for a penny. “… I have two. Technically.”
Next to me, Devon exhales sharply and scrubs his hands over his face. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Jo.”
“Like a polycule?” Chessa asks, edging closer.
I stifle a horrified laugh. Just the thought of my mother and Death in that way … “Kind of?” I say. It’s as far as I’m willing to go right now.
She nods reluctantly, accepting the answer.
“My father is powerful, and he’s in a very competitive …
business.” I choose my words carefully. I know at a certain point my metaphor will break down and I’ll have to abandon it, and with it, Chessa and Carter’s willingness to listen with an open mind.
“Without my knowledge or acceptance, he’s named me as his successor. Which pissed a lot of people off.”
“What, is your dad a mobster or something?” Chessa scoffs. “Girl, please. You’re from the suburbs.”
That shouldn’t irritate me, but it does. “Well, he’s not running moonshine in the back of a Ford coupe, but something like that, yeah.”
“I said mobster, not time traveler,” she points out, rolling her eyes. But she comes into the room and sits down for the first time.
“So, some of these enemies of my father have decided to make a point about his strength and mine by attacking Beecher,” I say.
“By killing Lennie,” Carter says, speaking up for the first time, his face solemn.
“I think so, yeah,” I say, both relieved that he’s believing me and squeamish because I already know where this is going to go.
“You need to go to the police,” Chessa says, standing up and starting to pace. “You have to tell them.”
“She can’t,” Carter says. “They already suspect her—”
“So, get a good lawyer.” She stops pacing and bends down in front of my chair to be at eye level with me. “Jocasta, I’m serious, you can’t just let these people get away with—”
“It’s not just Lennie,” I say.
“What do you mean?” Chessa asks.
“Oh, hey, this is going to be fun,” Devon murmurs. He gets up and moves to stand by the water feature, leaning against the wall, as if hoping to move out of the range of fire.
“The attack on Daan. The sorority girl, Izzy, who jumped. It’s all connected,” I say, swallowing hard.
“I don’t understand,” Carter says after a moment. “What are you saying?”
Chessa shakes her head, the last of her anger evaporating under empathy.
“Jo, no.” She pats my hand. “With Daan … it was carbon monoxide or something to do with the gas leak. And that girl jumped. There were witnesses. The school just hasn’t said anything because they don’t want all that talk about Beecher’s suicide rate again.
It’s bad publicity, like the old rumors about the serial killer.
” She shrugs. “I mean, you know. That’s what Dr. Kelleher’s always freaking out about at your job, right? Getting money from alumni?”
She looks over at Carter for support.
He clears his throat. “It’s true. One of the defining factors for a university confronting a potential scandal is always how it will play in the press and therefore affect donations.
They hire and fire and expel based on that reasoning, no matter what the truth might be.
” His gaze holds mine for a few seconds too long, and I know then that we’re not just talking about recent events on campus.
Oh. My heart aches suddenly. He means us. He means me.
I want to stop right here. Just freeze this moment in time. Chessa’s not mad at me. Carter is admitting that it’s not his lack of feelings holding us back.
If I could just have more time, stay in this in-between space a little longer—
“Code Blue, Code Blue, Room 317.” The woman’s voice over the intercom is calm but clear.
Everyone tenses. But that’s not Daan’s room number. This time.
There is no staying in this moment, freezing time. Every second is precious and they are just slipping away.
“I’m sure you’re right, Chess,” I say. I’ve read studies in class that indicate that people are more receptive to listening after you’ve conceded that they have a point. “But it’s more complicated than that.”
She makes an exasperated noise. “Jo, you keep saying that, but it doesn’t have to be. If you just—”
“I’m not human. Not fully,” I say. “My other father is what’s referred to as an Old One. They’re … entities that have been around forever. They have powers. Magic.”
My words come out rushed, climbing on top of each other, and it feels like the equivalent of lighting a match on a big pile of dynamite and then running away to wait for the explosion. All the while praying you’ll gain safe distance.
Chessa’s mouth falls open, and I’m afraid to look over at Carter.
“I’m sorry?” she asks, pulling back from me. She shakes her head as if she’s misheard me. “What did you … what?”
I take a deep breath. “I did not intend to keep it a secret—I mean, everyone keeps it a secret. It’s kind of a life or death thing—”
At this, Devon makes a tsking sound.
“But I didn’t intend to keep it a secret from you,” I continue, ignoring him. “It’s just part of who I am.”
I risk a glance over at Carter. His expression has gone cold and distant.
Fuck. Does he think I’m lying or insane?
He should know, professionally, that I’m not insane.
Psychotic episodes rarely come out of nowhere.
But then again, the stress of the last couple of days, coupled with my age, could mean I’m experiencing the onset for the first time.
Lots of mental illnesses present for the first time in their early twenties.
“Okay, I don’t know what this is,” Chessa says, pushing up to her feet. “I don’t know if you’re cracking up or if you think this is some kind of game, but—”
“It’s not a game, and I’m not crazy,” I insist. “These people are coming after me because my father has named me the new Death.”
She stares at me for a long second, then worry overwrites the irritation and anger in her expression. “Jo. You’re freaking me out here.” She looks to Carter. “Do we need to call someone?” she asks, in a lower voice, as if I can’t hear her. “Get her evaluated?”
Frustration pushes me to stand, forcing Chessa to step back. “Look, Francesca, just watch the plant, okay?”
She stares at me—mouth tight at my use of her full name—until I gesture toward the potted spider plant on the table across from me, its spiky leaves trailing over the polished wood.
It takes me a second to remember, to adjust. Pulling life from anything other than humans is tricky—it’s like trying to consume a smell. And I haven’t done this in years, not since I was first trying to find alternatives to killing people.
At thirteen, I was like a reverse Snow White, birds dropping out of the sky, squirrels falling off branches, grass and trees dying as I passed by. It was awful, super traumatizing, and hella indiscreet. Not to mention completely ineffective. I stopped after a few days and haven’t done it since.
Closing my eyes, I find the thin green flicker within the plant. I extend my hand in that direction and pull.
Chessa sucks in an audible breath, and I open my eyes. The poor spider plant is dead, wilted and shriveled, as if someone left it in the vicinity of a blast furnace.
Rubbing my forehead against the impending headache, I wave a hand at the plant. “There. Proof.”
“It’s a trick. Some kind of sleight of hand or something,” Chessa insists.
“Why?” I ask, incredulous. “Why would I make this up? What motive would I have to trick you?” Never mind that no one was anywhere within three feet of the plant.
But she’s not listening to me. “And you, what’s your role in all of this?” she demands, turning on Devon. “Are you the one filling her head with this bullshit?”
He straightens up from the wall, giving me a reproachful look. “It’s not that difficult to grasp,” he says to Chessa. “She feeds on death. I feed on lust. We both consume your energy, to one degree or another. End of story.”
I nearly choke. Oh my God, okay. Direct is one thing, but this is “arrow to the heart” territory.
He steps toward her, and I feel the brush of his magic against my skin.
Chessa’s shoulders go slack, her body language shifting to something more languid.
She tosses her braids over her shoulder and tips her head toward him in a flirty manner.
“I almost believe you,” she says, with a high-pitched giggle, one that bears no resemblance to her throaty guffaws. “You’re that good.”
“Stop,” I say to Devon sharply. “Enough.”
“She wanted proof,” he says with a shrug. But he closes his open hand at his side and the sensation of magic cuts off.
Chessa sways on her feet—like we’re on a bus that abruptly stopped—before recovering her balance. “You. You were the one in the bar the other night,” she says faintly, rubbing her palms repeatedly against her leggings as if trying to wipe off some terrible sticky substance. “You … you did that?”
“I did. It’s how we feed. How we survive,” he says flatly.
I’m afraid to look over at Carter, to witness his reaction. But even from the corner of my eye I can see him, frozen in place in his chair, elbows braced on his knees, shoulders stiff.
“Carter…” I begin. “I know this is not what you were expecting.” A tortured half laugh escapes me. “I mean, how could anyone expect this? But—”
His gaze shoots up to meet mine, and the fury in those cold, cold blue eyes forces me back a step.
I flinch. It’s nothing less than I deserve, but I can feel the gossamer thin ties between us snapping, one by one.
Chessa turns toward me unsteadily. “You feed on us?”
Thank you so much, Devon. “It’s not as straightforward as that,” I say, not wanting to get into the whole “feasting on your depression and rejection” aspect of it. “I tried not to. Except for Lennie because it never seemed to affect her and I didn’t want to—”
Carter is on his feet and halfway to the doors before I even register what’s happening.
“Wait. Please. Just…” Fuck, fuck! “Please, leave town,” I call after him. “Being … close to me has put you in danger and I can’t protect you!” But he’s gone before I’m even halfway through that last sentence, and I have no way of knowing if he heard me or understood.
Shit. I take a breath against the stabbing pain in my chest. So I guess that’s it.
“Lennie,” Chessa says, wrapping her arms across herself defensively. “And Daan. The kids in his house. Was that you?” Her throat works as if she’s trying to contain a scream.
“No, of course not!” I say. “I told you. My father has enemies, enemies that, I guess, are now mine. I’m doing my best to stop it, them. But I can’t figure out—”
“Why?” she asks.
It’s my turn to be confused. “What do you mean, why?”
“Why are you trying to stop it? So you can keep skulking about, pretending to care about us, when we’re really just sheep in your pen?” Her voice rises to a shout on the last words.
“No! No,” I repeat in a quieter voice. “You’re not … that’s not how it is.” Though is she completely wrong? If I could go back to everything the way it was before, I would. Until this moment, that’s what I’ve been aiming for. But now …
Chessa seems unmoved, and frankly, I don’t blame her.
“I didn’t even have to say anything,” I point out. “I’m trying to protect you. I want you to leave town so you can be safe until I—”
“Safe after you put us in danger in the first place?” She shakes her head, the motion jerky and tight. “Remind me to send you a thank-you note.”
I push back against the rising tide of anger in me. “You’re right, and I can’t do anything about that now,” I say levelly. “But if you leave—”
“I can’t leave!” she snaps. “A weekend is one thing. But leaving town? Indefinitely? My scholarship is dependent on my grades and attendance, remember?”
I do, yes.
“And unless you know something I don’t about sick days, my parents can’t exactly call in ‘trapped in a supernatural nightmare of epic proportions’ for work,” she continues.
“I don’t think it’ll take that long,” I hedge. Which is some pretty spectacular self-delusion, given that everything I’ve tried so far has failed. Then again, failing utterly and dying would probably end this fairly quickly, albeit not in the direction I want.
“Fuck you, Jo,” Chessa says. She spins on her heels and stalks out, fists clenched at her sides.
Head sagging, I drop back into my chair. I sense more than see Devon approaching. “You want to yell at me too?” I ask.
“Nope. Just remind you that you’ve just broken the one inviolable precept of the Old Ones by telling your friends the truth,” he says.
“I didn’t have a choice,” I argue, looking up at him.
He sighs. All traces of humor have vanished from his face. “But when one of the Old Ones shows up here to punish you for it, how many more humans are going to die? How many of us who’ve taken your side?”
I don’t want to have a side to take! I don’t want any of this! I keep the words in, but just barely.
Because it doesn’t matter what I want. It’s what is.
Shit. I squeeze my eyes shut tightly. “I told you, this is why I can’t do this. I can’t be the new Death.”
“And yet, you’re the only one we have,” Devon says.