Secrets and Lies (Cassie Scot) (7 page)

“I’ll be there.” I hadn’t been sure before, but seeing that look on her face, I knew I would go. “Will you be singing too?”

She shook her head. “No. The kids have been trying to... but no. This is just for the kids to show off what they’ve been doing all summer.”

I was about to comment on what a rare treat it would be to hear her sing, when Evan’s cell phone rang.

“Hi, Dad.” Evan listened for a while, his face growing darker with each passing second. I stared at his profile, trying to guess what was going on that had him looking so forlorn. When he hung up, he sat in silence, ignoring the rest of the food on his plate.

I glanced at Madison, who had also stopped eating. Actually, from the looks of it, she had barely started in on her salad. She would go through phases lasting up to a week where she would order salads instead of her usual cheeseburgers. I assumed she was trying to diet, though I had no idea if it ever worked. To be fair, I didn’t think she had gotten any bigger since our junior year of high school, but I didn’t think she had gotten any smaller, either.

“Are you okay?” I asked, finally breaking the silence, if not the tension.

Evan nodded, then turned to face me fully. “I need your help.”

“Now?” I asked.

“Yes, as soon as we’re done here.”

“She can’t,” Nicolas said. “She’s already got things to do this afternoon.”

The two men squared off, brown eyes locked on blue ones. I could see, even if they couldn’t, that each thought his own need the greater.

“Stop it, you two,” I said. “Evan, what’s this about? I’m sure we can work something out.”

“I’m not,” Nicolas muttered. His fingers had stopped their drumming, but his face was dangerously red.

Madison bit her lip, shot me an anxious look, and grabbed her fork. Suddenly, her eyes popped and her hand spasmed, launching the utensil across the table until it clattered against Evan’s plate. Then she let out a high-pitched squeak of pain, and clenched her hand to her chest as tears began to swim in her eyes.

“Oh, crap,” Nicolas said.

I knew instantly what had happened. Anger had caused his gift to get out of control and heat the fork, which had been right next to his drumming fingertips. From the look on Madison’s face, it had done a number on her.

“Let me see,” Nicolas said.

Madison shook her head, whimpering.

“Madison,” Nicolas said, more gently, “let me see.”

She looked at me for help, and I gave her an encouraging nod. “Let him. He’s an expert on burns.” He pretty much had to be.

Reluctantly, Madison lowered her hand and let Nicolas pry loose her clenched fingers. Even from across the table, I could tell that the nasty second degree burn was beginning to blister.

“I’ve got something in my bag to treat this.” Nicolas let go of her hand and grabbed the backpack he used to transport common tools he liked to keep with him at all times.

Madison looked like she wanted to argue, but instead she nodded, once. Then, in a rare show of bravado, she said, “You don’t make any sense. The guy saved your sister’s life, but you’re acting like a real jerk.” She immediately pulled her hand back and turned her face away. Of course, she didn’t understand the real issue, and since I hadn’t told her the whole truth, I had to feel a spark of pride that she’d stood up to Nicolas.

Nicolas paused in his search to give Madison a wary look.

“I can’t believe I said that,” Madison whispered.

“Somebody needed to,” Evan said.

Nicolas glared at him. “Oh, really? So are you going to rethink my offer?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so.” Nicolas found the jar of burn ointment. The pale green concoction smelled strongly of aloe vera, though I knew it contained much more, including a touch of magic.

Madison looked at it warily, but she allowed Nicolas to rub a generous amount of it into her hand and fingers. I could tell it started working the instant it touched her burned skin, because her mouth fell slightly open and her eyes widened in shock.

“Don’t wash this off for at least thirty minutes,” Nicolas told her. “This isn’t as bad as it looked so you shouldn’t need another treatment. Give me a call this evening if there’s still any redness.”

“Okay.” Madison began to inspect her hand. “It feels better. I think it feels better than it did before I touched that fork. Wish I’d had this stuff when I worked at McDonald’s and splattered hot grease all over my hand. I still have the scars.” She lifted her uninjured hand, the left one, to show him the faint pink discolorations on the back of her hand and her wrist.

Without missing a beat, Nicolas took her left hand and rubbed some of the burn ointment over the scars. When he wetted a napkin to gently wipe the ointment clear, the scars were gone.

“Wow,” Madison breathed. “You didn’t have to do that.”

I hadn’t realized the ointment would work on old scars, so even I was impressed. A short, betraying smile showed that Nicolas hadn’t been sure either.

“It wasn’t a big deal.” Nicolas put the lid back on the jar, and popped it back in his bag. It wasn’t a typical Nicolas move, but I thought I understood why he had gone the extra step to heal the years-old scars. Ever since he had sat down at that table, he and Evan had been frightening Madison with increasingly ugly displays of magic, and he wanted to make up for that by showing her the beautiful side of magic. It’s also possible that he wanted to show off a bit.

“Cassie,” Evan said, his voice low. “I don’t know what you and your brother have planned this afternoon. I don’t want to get in the way of it, but this is time sensitive.”

I held up my hand to forestall anything Nicolas might say. “What is it?”

“A distant cousin of mine went missing from a summer camp in Arkansas,” Evan said. “Her name’s Laura, and she and a friend...”

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “What a small world.” I glared at my brother. “Maybe, sometimes, you should stop and listen before you make snap judgments.”

He avoided my eyes. Good. At least he felt some shame for his actions.

“Cassie?” Evan frowned. “Will you help me?”

I slid out of the booth. “Let’s go.”

I
’M GOING TO NEED TO STOP
by my parents’ house before we leave
town,” Evan said when we were well on our way. “My dad’s got pictures, a hair sample, and he wants me to help him with one more location spell before we give up on that path.”

I shuddered, not at all thrilled with the idea of seeing Evan’s father again.

“You’ll be okay,” Evan said, noting my reaction.

“Hmm. Is this the part where you tell me he’s not as bad as I think he is?”

“How bad do you think he is?”

I hesitated. Discussing our fathers had been a well-understood no-no almost from the first. Then again, having the discussion had never seemed so important before. Perhaps if I told him exactly what his father had done to mine, and then he told me what mine had done to his, he wouldn’t want me anymore.

“Well, he destroyed the house I lived in when I was a baby,” I began. “Something about a tornado on a sunny day.”

Evan rolled his eyes. “Your father burned down his house.”

“At least no one was in the house when he did. Your father killed our cat.”

“We had two hamsters and a snake trapped inside.”

“Your father keeps pet snakes? I suppose that explains the strange poison that ended up in our drinking water. Mom would have died if she hadn’t been....” I trailed off. Mom had been pregnant with Juliana, and the unborn baby had healed her mother, but even though Evan now knew there was a healer in the family, I didn’t want him to know which one.

A quick glance at Evan told me that he had worked out the truth for himself. He looked entirely too smug. “Not a smart slip. I can do math. It’s Juliana, then? I guessed as much. Her or Isaac, since your family tries to pretend neither one has an active gift.”

I closed my eyes, silently cursing myself for my stupidity.

“Besides, my father had an antidote. He wouldn’t have done it if your father hadn’t stolen a rare book he needed.”

“My father didn’t steal that book. It was his.”

“You know we could be at this all day, right?”

I hesitated. “Yeah.”

“It’s why we don’t usually talk about it.”

“Is that why?”

“That, and because it doesn’t have anything to do with us.”

“Doesn’t it?” It’s what I had told myself and my father for years, and as long as we had simply been friends, I was right. Now, though, Evan was taking me to see his parents.

“It doesn’t.” Evan spoke firmly, and finally.

I didn’t know if I agreed, but I let the conversation lapse into silence until we reached his parents’ house, only about half a mile from Evan’s new house. The home was well-kept, stylish, and elegant, but, I thought, a little on the small side. Then again, Evan was an only child, so perhaps they didn’t need or want much space.

Laura Blackwood, Evan’s mother, opened the door. She motioned us both inside, her eyes giving me a thorough appraisal as she told Evan that his father was in the attic. Evan squeezed my hand and told me he’d be down in a few minutes, then left me alone with his mother.

“Can I get you something to drink?” she asked.

“No, thank you.”

“We may as well have a seat in the living room while we wait.” She led me down a short, welcoming entrance hall to a living room that somehow managed to look comfortable and pristine at the same time. Earth tones dominated the room, with a lovely view of the woods through a pair of French doors completing the woodsy atmosphere. Nothing was out of place, nor did it appear overly crowded. Everything seemed to have a place, including me, and my place seemed to be in the recliner by the fireplace.

“You have a lovely home, Mrs. Blackwood.” It was polite, and true, which meant she would probably never know if I was being sincere or not. Although since she was a respected interior designer, perhaps she would.

“You may as well call me Laura,” she said.

My face paled, and I determinedly looked away from the dark-haired beauty, whose face reminded me strongly of her son’s.

“I think I’d feel more comfortable with Mrs. Blackwood right now,” I replied.

“Have it your way.”

I turned back to face her, and noticed her still looking at me. “What?”

“You look just like your mother.”

“I know.” I scowled at the reminder. In fact, since my mother took rejuvenating potions that made her look twenty-something, we were beginning to look like twins.

“I guess you don’t want to talk about her right now. Although if it helps, she was always a self-centered bitch.”

My mouth dropped open slightly at hearing the coarse language coming from such a refined-looking woman. She made no apology for her comments, and irrationally, I felt a moment of resentment at the attack. Who was this woman to say such things about my mother? But of course, Sheila Scot wasn’t my mother any longer, and perhaps Laura Blackwood had as much invested in our families’ rivalry as her husband.

“Is that why you don’t like me?” I asked. “Because I look like my mother?”

“What makes you think I don’t like you?”

I didn’t know, but I felt sure of it, so I shrugged.

To my surprise, Laura smiled. “My mother likes to call that sort of thing common sense magic. Shouldn’t be magic at all, but it eludes so many people that it can seem magical at times.”

She made me laugh, and also, momentarily made me forget that she had basically admitted to disliking me. Only for a moment, though. “So you don’t want me to marry your son?”

She shrugged. “No, but he wants you. Maybe if you’d let me color your hair, the resemblance wouldn’t be so strong.”

I wasn’t sure I had ever met anyone so matter-of-fact, and I wasn’t sure if I found it refreshing or disconcerting. Maybe both. At least, with her, I knew exactly where I stood.

“Darker or lighter?” I asked, gesturing toward my hair, which I had no intention of coloring for anyone’s benefit, least of all hers.

“Redder, perhaps,” she said after a moment’s thought.

“With bright green streaks?” I suggested. “That way, I can scare away your son.”

She smiled. “You’ll look like a Christmas present, and besides, he loves green. Better to go for orange.”

“And take a freckling potion.” I tapped my chin thoughtfully. “Although, now that I think about it, I’m not sure if there’s any such thing.”

“I’m sure there is, somewhere. I’d be happy to brew some for you, if you’re interested.”

“How kind of you. Do you suppose it will work?”

“At what? Making you look less like your mother? I would hope so.”

“Repelling your son.”

“Oh, that.” She shook her head. “Not a chance. I think you and I will just have to find some way to get along.”

That idea sobered me. Did everyone think, then, that Evan and I were a foregone conclusion?

“Why don’t you want to marry him?” Laura asked.