Chapter 7
Cass
It took Cass twenty minutes to pull her shit together.
Unlike what she’d told Grayson, it wasn’t a nightmare that had stalked her but a kaleidoscope of potential futures.
Most of them were centered on her family.
Maybe she should have expected it, considering the amount of stress she’d been under, but foolishly, she hadn’t.
She’d gone to sleep with the heavy shadow of grief over losing her yaya, worried about Sofia, angry at her parents, bemused by the man waiting in the other room, and haunted by ghosts of a past she didn’t want to deal with.
That had been enough to tempt fate into messing with her head.
She stood in the neat bathroom, hand under the running faucet, and stared at her reflection.
The warm water ran over her palm, but she barely felt it as she tried to recapture the images that chased her from sleep.
She edged around a jumble, trying to bring them into focus, but they remained indistinct.
The emotional resonance was easier to untangle—shock, hurt, then a strange sense of rightness—but it still wasn’t enough for an actual seeing, which left her beyond frustrated.
This was not an uncommon occurrence when it came to her Mystic-based abilities as an Oracle, especially after the stunt she’d pulled as a teenager, when her use of a second-rate hex to bind her clairvoyant abilities had broken something intrinsic with her magic and almost killed her.
But desperate times and all that. A desperation born of a soul-shattering loss, along with the unrelenting demands of her parents, especially those of her mother, had backed her into a corner where she’d finally considered death as an actual escape option.
If not for her yaya’s quick thinking, there was no way she’d be alive now.
She wouldn’t have met Isa and Des or chosen to make amends as best she could.
With age and hard-won wisdom, she knew if she could go back to her younger self and slap some sense into her, she would, but what was done was done, and all she could do was deal with the results, no matter how murky they were.
Granted, the magic that memory mages like Oracles played with was wildly unpredictable, which was why they needed mad skills and a titanium will, especially if they wanted to remain sane.
There were three classifications of magic: Elemental, Mystic, and Divine.
Memory mages were in the psychic-based Mystic class.
They further branched into four categories—Sage, Muse, Oracle, and the rare Divine version, Sibyl.
Each one required years of rigorous training for memory mages—even the gods-maddened Sibyls—to wield their abilities effectively.
Oracles could see all the various futures based on current decisions, a step up from Sages, like her mother and sister, who saw past events and accurately foretold future possibilities.
One of her friends, Shelby, was a highly respected Muse who’d spent years refining her work with magically manipulated or trauma-induced memories, earning a top spot in her field.
It was Shelby’s mentor who, at Yaya’s request, had shared the critical tools that allowed Cass to function in the maddening world she’d found herself in after the self-imposed hex had been broken.
“Cass?”
She jumped at Grayson’s voice and blinked, the sound of running water filtering back in along with a steady beep.
He stood behind her, frowning, her phone in one hand, the other on her shoulder. “You okay?”
Flustered, she dropped her gaze, yanked her hand out from under the now cold water, and shook it off. She turned off the faucet and grabbed the nearby hand towel. “Sorry. Kind of zoned out for a minute.”
“I heard this go off a few minutes ago.” He held out her phone. “I knocked when it kept going, but when you didn’t answer…”
She took it from him and hit the button to silence it as she did her best to ignore the urge to lean into him. He was radiating heat that slipped through the flimsy barrier of her sleep shorts and oversized T-shirt, leaving goose bumps in its wake. “Thanks.”
He let her go and shifted to her side, setting his hip against the counter’s edge. He folded his arms as he eyed her. “Our options for dinner include spaghetti, hamburgers, and tacos.”
She set her phone on the counter and adjusted her angle so she could face him. He was wearing a T-shirt and lounging pants, and she did her best to keep her eyes on his instead of roaming over his chest and lower, where his well-worn pants hung on his hips. “Tacos.”
“Tacos it is.” Instead of leaving, he stayed put, his attention focused. “I like it.”
Not quite following, she asked, “Like what?”
“You without the glasses.”
“Umm, thanks?”
He chuckled. “You’ve got beautiful eyes, Cass. It’s sad to have them kept behind glass.”
The corny observation made her laugh. “Dude, seriously?”
It was his turn to blush. He dropped his arms, straightened, and then ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry, yeah, that was cheesy.” He turned to leave. “I’ll just let you…”
Instantly, she realized he’d been genuine, so she caught his hand, stopping him. “Cheesy or not, thank you, Grayson, for the compliment.” He turned to look at her, his eyes holding an amber tint as the gold striations appeared to glow. “Yours are gorgeous too,” she said. It slipped out.
He grinned. “Good to know.”
Flustered, she let him go and gave him a slight nudge. “Go, make me tacos. I’m hungry.”
He pulled off a half bow. “Your wish, my command.” He was at the door when he asked, “Do you need your glasses? I can grab them from the nightstand.”
She shook her head. “No, I’m good.”
He stopped outside the bathroom door and cocked his head, his expression quizzical. “You don’t need them, do you?”
She met his gaze in the mirror. “What?”
“Your glasses,” he said as she continued to watch him. “It was something your mother said.”
There was a lot her mother had spewed. She gave him an honest answer. “No.”
He didn’t push for an explanation. “Leave them off while you’re here?”
His question, strung between them, was anchored in something deeper. She wondered if he understood what he was asking. When he continued to hold her gaze with an alluring steadiness, she took a chance and gave a hesitant nod.
His grin widened, and he tapped the doorframe with his hand twice before guiding their conversation back into safe waters. “Okay, you’ve got fifteen minutes, then I’m going to need you on lettuce and tomatoes.”
“I’ll be there.”
He disappeared, and she waited until she heard faint noises of pans being pulled out before she blew out a long breath. Meeting her eyes in the mirror, she admonished herself, “Get it together, Cass.”
She sped through brushing her teeth, taming her hair into a loose bun, and putting on more substantial clothing. Then she finally checked her phone to find a text from Sofia.
11 at Broken Hen on Charleston?
She wandered into Grayson’s kitchen, where he was browning meat at the stove. He turned to her and motioned to the counter behind them with the spatula. “Got stuff out for you.”
Cass found a cutting board, knife, a half head of lettuce, and a couple of Roma tomatoes waiting for her. “On it.” She took one of the bar stools. “Sofia texted.”
“Yeah?”
“Mm-hmm. Wants to meet at Broken Hen on Charleston at eleven.”
“Not a problem.”
“You sure? I mean I can go rent a car while I’m here so you’re not having to play driver.”
He half turned so he could see her. “Cass, it’s five minutes away.
It’s fine. I’ve got nothing going this weekend since I was just going to chill until Monday, so I don’t mind taking you where you need to go.
Now, if you want to rent a car, I can take you there as well. You tell me what you want to do.”
Since she’d probably either have to rent a car to get back to Phoenix or get a last-minute flight, she preferred to take it easy on her checking account. Not to mention that she liked spending time with Grayson. “I’d rather have you drive for now.”
“Works for me.” He went back to the ground beef.
She added a thumbs-up emoji to Sofia’s text then got to work on the vegetables. Conversation stayed light as they finished making dinner, and it wasn’t until they were sitting side by side at the counter, tacos and napkins at the ready, that it veered back into personal matters.
“How do you expect this to go down tomorrow?” he asked.
She grimaced. “Awkwardly.”
“You mentioned you and your sister weren’t close, but she seemed relieved to see you when she answered the door.”
“I caught that too.” While on the one hand, she couldn’t stop the flash of hope that Sofia might be ready to meet her halfway, on the other, there was too much history for it to gain strength.
“But…?”
Cass used a broken piece of taco shell to move some diced tomatoes and shredded cheese into a little pile.
“I think the relief was just that there would be another target for Mother to aim at.” And nope, that wasn’t a crap ton of guilt still plaguing her about leaving her baby sister alone to deal with their parents’ shit.
“Yeah, your mom’s a piece of work.” Grayson sounded far from impressed.
“I did warn you.” She scooped up the bite-sized veggie pile with the tortilla shell and popped it into her mouth.
“You did. What’s the deal with the fiancé?”
She nudged her plate away, braced her elbow on the counter, and rested her chin against her hand as she looked at him. “So it wasn’t just me?”
He gave her a side-eye glance and shook his head.
She exhaled, grateful that she wasn’t the only one not feeling Russ.
“I know you’re worried,” Grayson added, and she raised an eyebrow. “You mentioned it when you were talking to Isa.”
Right. “I don’t know what it is, but something’s not right there. Sofia’s not normally so…”
“Jumpy,” he supplied helpfully.
She nodded. “She’s uptight, thanks to my parents and their need to be the picture-perfect family, but she’s never jumped at her own damn shadow.” And that discrepancy in her sister’s behavior left her with some dark suspicions.
Grayson cautiously asked, “Do you think he’s hurting her?”
Since he was the second one to ask that, she gave it serious thought. There were no visible signs, but Cass knew that some of the deepest hurts were invisible. “Physically, I want to say no.”
He studied her carefully. “But…?”
“But emotionally, I can’t.” Frustrated, she sat back, pulled her leg up, and wrapped an arm around it. “I’ve got a gut feeling that I’m missing something, and not just because I don’t like his attitude.”
“To be fair, he does give off heavy vibes of douchery.”
She appreciated his attempt to lighten things, but it didn’t ease the heavy knot of dread. “While gross, it’s not illegal to be a douche.”
“True.” Grayson pushed his empty plate away then turned until they were facing each other. He propped his bare foot on the rung of her barstool, his leg brushing against hers. “Do you think,” he said carefully, “you could get Sofia to talk to you if you two were alone?”
“You and Isa must be twins,” she muttered.
“No, I think we both know you’ll do what you need to save your sister.”
His comment curled around her like a hug. “I’d say my odds are fifty-fifty.”
He held her gaze for a long moment, something working behind his eyes.
She had no idea what he was thinking, but even though her mind was spinning with worries about Sofia, Cass couldn’t help but appreciate the fact he was willing to not only listen to her but let her talk it out as well.
There had been no judgment about her broken relationship with her family, just quiet support and unabashed honesty.
He brushed a strand of hair back behind her ear and then dropped his hand to her knee. “So, it’s worth a try?”
That two-step gentle touch went deeper than skin. Her voice was husky when she said, “Definitely.”
It would be easy to fall for him.
That realization didn’t scare her per se, but it left her a little off-kilter because Grayson Beck was the last thing she’d expected to walk into her life. But now that he was there, she really wanted him stay.
Oblivious to her ah-ha moment, Grayson’s hand tightened on her knee as he smiled. “Good.” He let her go and sat back. “If that doesn’t work, we’ll get his last name and whatever other information we can get out of him. Then we’ll run with that and see what we can dig up.”
A little bit of the knot loosened. “Your internet-stalking skills are that good?”
He chuckled. “Not as good as some, but I can get around. What about yours?”
She thought of the searches she, Isa, and Des ran on the regular. “I’m sure I can keep up.”
“That sounds—” A knock at the door diverted his attention, and he frowned. “Hang on a second.” He got up to answer.
Curious, but not wanting to appear nosy, Cass stood, collected their dirty plates, and rounded the counter to the kitchen, keeping her ears trained on the short entry hall.