Secrets and Lies (Cassie Scot) (3 page)

“And bloody, blistered feet aren’t a health hazard?” I replied.

She just smiled, shrugging. For my part, I tried to remember what was in my family’s blister ointment, and whether or not any actual magic was necessary. I didn’t think so, but I also hadn’t memorized the recipe. Blisters were not a common problem for me.

The worst part, though, was that if I asked my parents for the recipe, they would give it to me. Their version of disowning me had made little sense from the start, when in the same breath, they had also sworn to love and protect me. They seemed to want it both ways.

But something more than pride kept me from letting them have it that way. For me, it was all about self-respect. Even on blistered feet, I felt more respect for myself earning a living with my own two hands than I ever could have felt accepting charity from parents who didn’t think I fit into their family dynamic.

Respect, but apparently not grace. I spilled three sodas that afternoon, one landing in a customer’s lap. I broke a tray of dishes when I tried to hoist it on my shoulder the way Kaitlin showed me. After that, I tried just carrying it in front, but my back protested loudly, and Kaitlin explained that I would have to get used to the shoulder trick if I didn’t want to end up with permanent back problems.

Finally, near the end of my shift, I managed to wait on a family of four with no problems at all. I went through the entire routine – got them drinks, took their order, refilled their drinks, brought out their order, asked them if they needed anything, refilled their drinks, asked them if they would like dessert, and handed them the check. I might not have smiled while I did all that, because it’s hard to smile and wince in pain at the same time, but still, I did my job perfectly.

They left me one stinking dollar.

“This is crazy!” I held up the dollar bill, practically shoving it in Kaitlin’s face.

“Yeah, I had that guy pegged as a lousy tipper.”

“How did you know?”

“You learn to spot them after a while.” Kaitlin shrugged. “Not that there’s much you can do about it.”

“This job sucks.”

“You’re telling me? I’ve been at it for five years.”

She drove me back to our apartment, where I gratefully peeled off my high-heeled shoes. Kaitlin, apparently having developed new mind reading capabilities, brought me out a basin of warm water to soak my feet. The water felt wonderful, even if I had to lounge somewhat precariously on an overstuffed bean bag.

“Just think,” Kaitlin said, “tomorrow you get to do breakfast and lunch, when it’s even busier.”

I threw a pillow at her. She ducked, then grabbed the remote control and started flipping through channels.

I pretended to pay attention to the TV, when in reality, in the privacy of my own head, I had returned to feeling sorry for myself – and not because I had taken a job as a waitress. I felt oddly proud of myself for that. No, that wasn’t it. Inside, I still mourned my parents’ rejection. The world may have set a time limit, but my aching heart had not received the memo.

At least work would keep me busy and give me something else to think about for a few hours each day.

* * *

By my second day at work, word had spread about my “fall from grace.” The locals lined up to get a look at me in my too-short black skirt. It made me feel like an exhibit in a zoo at first, although as more and more of the local practitioners wandered by, I had the odd sense of being hunted.

Around eight thirty, my eighteen-year-old brother, Nicolas, wandered in, his eyes immediately searching the crowd for me in an, “I won’t believe it until I see it” manner. Inwardly, I groaned, but outwardly I fixed a smile to my face and asked if I could show him to a table. He nodded, as if unable to speak, and followed me to a table for two near the back.

“Why didn’t you ask the sheriff for a job?” Nicolas asked.

“I did,” I said. “He’s thinking about it. In the meantime, I’m thinking about rent.”

“Here.” Nicolas pulled an envelope out of his pocket and slid it across the table to me. I couldn’t see its contents, but I knew it contained money. I also knew that it had come from my parents.

“No.”

“Cassie–”

“No,” I said, more firmly. “I won’t take anything from them.” Technically, I had accepted boxes full of my old clothes, but only after Nicolas and Juliana had driven to the apartment and said they would either put them in my closet, or take them to the Salvation Army.

“It’s not from Mom and Dad. It’s from me.”

“Oh? So you’re learning the family business?” I carefully did not mention the word alchemy in public. Very few people knew for sure how my parents made money, and for the sake of my siblings, I would help keep it that way.

“It’s from the others as well,” Nicolas added, ignoring my question. “They miss you. They think you’ve turned your back on them.”

My heart gave a twang of longing for the brothers and sisters I had not seen since leaving the house. I had seen Juliana once when Nicolas drove her into town, but the rest were young, each three years younger than the last all the way down to Christina, who was only three. It was hard for them to get away from Mom and Dad, and I didn’t want to see my former parents.

“I’ll try to see them.” I made it a promise, though I didn’t know how I would fulfill it. I didn’t even have a car.

“Things are bad, Cassie. The family’s falling apart.”

“It’s not my fault.” Besides, so was I.

“I didn’t say it was.” Nicolas took a deep breath. “Look, you can’t work here. People will think you’re unprotected.”

I had to fight the urge to roll my eyes. “Spare me the protection nonsense.”

“I’m serious.”

“Can I get you anything?” I asked. “Because if you’re not going to order, I really need to get back to work.”

“Coffee.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Since when did you start drinking coffee?”

“Since I started training.” Despite the earlier tension, he had a smile on his face.

“You’ve started?” I smiled too, despite myself. Nicolas had wanted to be a firefighter since he was two, but unlike many other young boys, he never grew out of it. Now, apparently, he was on his way. “Congrats.”

“Thanks. But we’re not done talking.”

“It will have to wait until after my shift. I get off at two.” Without waiting for a reply, I walked away.

Nicolas didn’t move from his spot for half an hour, nor did he order anything except coffee. Each time he tried to speak to me, I made sure to be too busy, which wasn’t difficult, with the number of customers in for breakfast. At this time of year, the tourists were out in force, but locals were making their appearance as well, including some locals I would rather not have seen.

David McClellan came by for a coffee to go just before his nearby shop opened at nine o’clock. He dealt largely in dark or cursed artifacts, and a few months before he had nearly killed an investigator hired to find a sceptre he had stolen. He had walked away the victor from that encounter, and I had never forgiven him for it. So when he smacked me on the bottom, I poured scalding hot coffee in his lap.

“Bitch,” David roared loudly enough for the entire diner to turn and stare. He leapt to his feet and started dabbing frantically at his crotch. “You’re going to regret this.”

Nicolas chose that moment to abandon his table, walking toward the front of the store to stand by my side – my younger brother and knight in shining armor. He puffed out his lanky chest to twice its normal size, and glared at David in obvious challenge. I felt like saying, “Down, boy,” but wisely kept my mouth shut.

“I’d take you on in a heartbeat, boy,” David said in a low voice.

“How about me?” The new voice came from behind me, though I had not heard the accompanying jingle of bells to indicate that the door had opened. I didn’t recognize the voice, but when I turned, I saw the absolute last person I would have expected to walk into that diner, let alone defend me: Victor Blackwood.

Victor Blackwood and my father had been enemies since before my birth for reasons I had never understood. His son, Evan, on the other hand, had been my best friend at times, much to my father’s dismay. Evan didn’t look much like his father, except, perhaps, in build. They were both tall, with lean, muscular bodies. Evan’s face and eyes had come from his mother, though. Victor looked harder, meaner, and far less trustworthy – or perhaps I had inherited some of my father’s prejudices toward the man. After all, while I had been friends with Evan for a long time, and determined in my insistence that my father couldn’t blame the son for his father’s sins, the man himself could definitely be blamed for his own sins.

I had never spoken to Victor, though I had seen him with Evan at plenty of school functions. The man had never looked at me or acknowledged me before, which had always suited me just fine. And now, suddenly, he was in my face. Well, in David’s face. He still didn’t look at me or speak to me directly, but his posturing was clearly on my behalf.

What, if anything, had Evan told him? And if Evan had mentioned something about the life debt or what he wanted from me, shouldn’t Victor have felt outraged at the thought of his son with a Scot? I took several nervous steps backwards, trying to force the world right side up again.

David, for his part, didn’t seem to think challenging Victor was a good idea. As he left – without his coffee – he muttered something under his breath about, “Scots trying to have it both ways.”

I’m not sure how long I stood there, frozen, but by the time I came back to myself, customers at six tables needed me. I spent the next few minutes running from one task to the next, barely able to catch my breath.

When I did, I found Victor seated at one of my tables, patiently waiting for me to take his order. Nicolas sat across from him, shooting daggers at his father’s oldest rival. Victor looked entirely unperturbed, despite the fact that the glass of water in front of him was boiling and steaming.

Questions flew through my mind for both Victor and Nicolas, but all I managed was a choked, “Hi,” without meeting Victor’s eyes.

I turned to Nicolas. “Don’t you have to get to training?”
“Yes.”

“Go on,” I said.

He looked up at me, shaking his head as if coming out of a trance. “I still need to pay for the coffee.”

“Fine.” I held out my hand, and Nicolas pulled the money-laden envelope out of his pocket.

“Keep the change,” Nicolas said, pressing the envelope into my palm.

I withdrew my hand, and the envelope fell to the table. “Coffee’s on the house. Just go.”

“Cassie–”

“Go!”

Throwing one last, angry look at Victor, Nicolas left, grabbing the envelope on his way out.

I didn’t feel the tension ease at all after my brother left. In fact, as I looked at my father’s arch-nemesis, I found myself wondering what he might do to keep me away from his son.

“What can I get for you, Mr. Blackwood?”

“What’s good?” he asked. “I’ve never eaten here before.”

I hesitated for only a moment. “The blueberry pancakes. The blueberries are fresh this time of year.”

“That sounds great.” He folded his menu and placed it behind the napkin holder. “I’d also like to talk to you.”

Yeah, to tell me to stay away from his son. Although, a rational part of me said, that didn’t explain why he’d frightened off David McClellan on my behalf. Whatever it was, did I even want to know?

“Hey, Miss,” one of my customers called from another table.

“I don’t have the time,” I said. “We’re really busy.”

It didn’t take much to prove how busy I was for the next half hour, but around nine thirty, the crowd began to thin, and at nine forty, Mrs. Meyers insisted I take a break.

“I still have three tables,” I said.

“Kaitlin can handle them.” Mrs. Meyers looked uneasy. “Besides, I’ve been told in no uncertain terms to let you have a few minutes to speak to Mr. Blackwood.”

I bit my lip and turned to look at Victor, whose dark brown eyes were fixed unwaveringly on me. Quickly, I weighed my options. Victor wasn’t the sort of person you said no to, unless you had something to back it up. Once upon a time, that something had been my parents. Now, though I hated to think about it, let alone use it, that something was Evan. Not that I wanted to start a fight between father and son, but I couldn’t imagine Evan standing for his father taking any hostile action toward me.

More importantly, I didn’t want to gain a reputation for being easy to push around. That’s why I had poured hot coffee in David McClellan’s lap, and why I wouldn’t obey Victor’s orders now. I might not have any choice when it came to his son, but he was another story. If he wanted to talk to me, he would have to find a less arrogant way to do it.

With that in mind, I grabbed a muffin and a glass of orange juice from the kitchen, and sat on a bar stool at the counter. Not surprisingly, Victor joined me barely a minute later.

“Is this your way of testing boundaries, Ms. Scot?” Victor asked.

That rankled. It was also the second time in less than a month that someone had likened me to a toddler. “That assumes you have any authority over me, which you don’t.”