The Problem With Black Magic (7 page)

By the next morning, the police had removed all of the yellow tape and other evidence of the double murder from the front of the house. Cassie had spent the rest of the day alternating between telling her parents she was fine every ten minutes, and studying for the PSATs. She couldn’t leave the house, couldn’t go on the internet, and now couldn’t read mystery novels either; the descriptions of the murder victims ravaged bodies were now another thing that struck too close to home for her.

Maybe at this rate, I will get into Harvard,
she thought. That is, if some demon’s underling didn’t snatch her first.

By Monday morning, Cassie was eager to go to school for the first time she could remember since she was a small child. She was tired of hiding in her room, tired of studying, and especially tired of the nightmares. She considered blaming Sam for them, but she didn’t honestly think he’d made good on his threat to give her bad dreams; he’d taken it back immediately, she knew she was entirely capable of doing that to herself. She couldn’t wait to immerse herself in a world where people worried primarily about things like skinny fit jeans and getting into their top-choice schools.

Though she wasn’t a huge fan of English in general-- she tended to do better in math and science-- she liked her first period honors English class. The teacher, Mr. Golding, was attractive in a way that she found pleasant instead of threatening. Though taller than Sam by at least an inch or two, the sandy-haired teacher had a mild-mannered demeanor that seemed to come out of another, more dignified era, and never seemed to resent her for being in honors English when she was so obviously a math person. If anything, he seemed to enjoy her often less than complementary responses to the classics they usually read.

She also enjoyed the class due to Mike
Trepkowski’s presence in the seat behind her, though for very different reasons. Mike, or Trep as he was often called, had become Jay’s best friend once they’d entered high school. At first Cassie had resented him (despite having told Jay for years that he needed to stop clinging to her so much), but eventually, she’d gotten used to him. Probably the smartest kid in school, and seemingly worldly beyond his years, Cassie often wondered why Mike put up with Jay and his naivety, but maybe that was his appeal.

At first she’d thought of him more as Jay’s friend and her acquaintance, but ever since they’d been in class together, the three of them had starting hanging out as a
group sometimes. Cassie was starting to feel almost, gasp, popular.

As she was laying out her notebook, folders and her pouch full of mechanical pencils before class, Mike poked her gently in the back.

“Hey,” he said, “You heard anything about some dead bodies showing up in your neighborhood?” Cassie dropped her pencil.

“No,” she said, feeling the blood drain from her face. Oh God, she’d come to school to get away from this. She leaned over and pretended to be looking for something in her book
bag.

She couldn’t see Mike behind her, but she could imagine him scrunching his brows together over his round glasses. “Are you sure?
Because I read some stuff about dead bodies being found in your neighborhood. They wouldn’t give an address, but I know it was your street.”

Cassie emerged from her book
bag, still not turning to face him. The bell rang, and the room began to quiet down, as Mr. Golding took the front of the room and began writing on the board. “I didn’t hear anything. It must have been on the other end of the street,” she whispered.

“Really?”
Mike said, sounding like he didn’t believe her. “Two dead bodies, in your neighborhood, and you didn’t hear about this? I thought the police would--“

“Mr.
Trepkowski, if your conversation with Ms. Tremblay is so important, would you care to share with the rest of the class?” said Mr. Golding, not turning around from the board. Normally Cassie thought it sounded pompous when teachers tried to get away with that old-school, call-you-by-your-last-name thing, but Golding made it work.

That would be enough to shut most kids up until after class, but Mike was not most kids. “Sure. I heard that there were two dead bodies found on Cassie’s stree
t this weekend, but she says she didn’t hear anything about it. Isn’t that weird?”

“Maybe she killed them,” said a voice from the back of the room in moc
k-horror, and a few quiet chuckles followed. Cassie found she had trouble catching her breath; she knew it was a joke, knew that no one in class had any way of knowing she had anything to do with the murders, but telling herself all that wasn’t helping.

Mr. Golding turned towards the class slowly, fondling his chalk in both hands. “Mike, unfortunately I heard the same rumor, but if Cassie doesn’t want to
talk about it, I certainly don’t blame her. I know you’d like to put off getting back to Hamlet for as long as humanly possible, but we’re starting now,” he said, finishing in a tone that brooked no discontent.

I love you, Mr. Golding,
thought Cassie, semi-sincerely. She didn’t know if she loved him, but at the very least, he’d said the perfect thing to get her heart rate back down to approaching normal levels.

She heard Mike exhale behind her over the sound of everyone turning to the proper page in their paperback copies of the play, and knew the conversation wasn’t over; if something puzzled him, he would stick with it until he found an answer. At least she had a reprieve for the rest of class though.

Just when Cassie was getting into the play, thinking that maybe Hamlet’s ghost-related problems weren’t nearly as stupid as she’d always assumed, the buzzing between her shoulder blades dialed up in intensity to uncomfortable levels. She jerked, dropping her copy of the play and a few mechanical pencils on the floor.

“Cassie?” said Mike expectantly, and Mr. Golding turne
d from the board to look at her, his hazel eyes widened.

Suddenly, all the ambient noise in the room disappeared for her, and all she could hear was a soft, crooning voice that seemed to fill her entire skull with its resonance.

Come to me
, the voice said, sounding like Sam’s and not like his at the same time,
Now.

Cassie jumped to her feet, her heart suddenly hammering in her chest. Go. She had to go to him, now. What was she doing here?

“Cassie?” said Mr. Golding. “Are you alright? Do you want to go to the--“

He never finished
, because she was out of the room like a shot, leaving her book bag and other belongings behind. Somewhere in the back of her mind she noted that Mike and other students made surprised sounds as she took off, but buried the thought; she had to go. She was needed.

She sprinted down the school’s main hallway as fast as she could, faster than she ever had when they’d done the running unit in gym.
The blue lockers on both sides of the hall faded to a blur on the periphery of her vision. Nearly colliding with a custodian, she swerved at the last minute and burst outside the schools’ heavy oak double doors, teachers and students alike calling out behind her.

Once in the parking lot, Cassie quickened her pace even more, ignoring the angry honking of horns as she made cars jam on the brakes to avoid colliding with
her. In very little time, she was on the sidewalk straightaway, running towards the Daily Grind; that’s where he was, and he needed her.

The store was only a 15
minute walk away from the school-- one of the main reasons why Cassie and Jay had decided to work there-- but Cassie wasn’t walking.

Somehow, she managed to weave around angry pedestrians without breaking her pace, ignoring the resulting screams and swears. She wondered what their problem was: she was needed, didn’t they get it?

By the time spasms of pain had started in her side and her throat felt raw and abused, she had made it to the shop. She ran through the door, giving an elderly lady with a walker a fright, and slowed her pace, if only to take a look around the café area. Khalil stared at her from the front register in disbelief, but she didn’t see Sam. That meant Sam was in the back room: she had to go to him. It was very important.

Ignoring Khalil’s protests, she ran behind the counter and burst into the backroom, eventually collapsing in a heap at Sam’s feet. Once she was close enough to touch him, she felt a wave of calm, like every system in her body had suddenly relaxed. He was sitting at the metal table, taking little notice of her presence and keeping his eyes fixed on two men standing across the table from him. Struggling for breath, Cassie looked up at them.

Unlike the vampires, who had looked kind of like gothic rock stars, these men were polished. Their suits were impeccable; either one could have been on the cover of one of those hoity-toity business magazines that customers occasionally left behind in the shop. Their impeccable display made Cassie uncomfortably aware of her own appearance; windblown, and absolutely soaked with sweat. Still, despite the fact that she must have looked disgusting, the two men were looking at her with big, greedy smiles, like she was some kind of prize racehorse.

Sam looked down and met her eyes as she continued to gasp for breath. Her eyes widened as she heard his voice in her head once again.
Please, let me handle this-- don’t move, don’t say anything.
Seemingly dismissing her, he turned to their visitors.

“You’ve asked me to ca
ll my familiar and I’ve done it. What more proof do you need?” he said, in that icy calm voice he had that Cassie had come to realize meant he wasn’t calm at all.

“Ever heard of a
frickin’ phone?” Cassie wheezed almost inaudibly, and Sam shot her a warning look.

The man holding a briefcase, with perfectly tousled salt-and-pepper hair, answered Sam. “You’ve confirmed that she’s bound to you, but this provides
no confirmation for any of the court’s other questions,” he said, then turned to her with a smile. “Though, kudos to you for getting here so fast.”

Cassie’s mind whirred into action as her breathing slowly began to return to normal. Court? They were from court? If that was true, then
Serenus was right and Sam would have to defend his “claim” to her in some official venue. Not that she was exactly happy being bound to Sam-- especially after what he’d just done-- but the thought of possible alternatives made her shudder. The two men might be smiling, but the way that they were looking at her was setting off alarm bells in her head. Better the demon you know, and all that.

Sam leaned forward, putting his forearms on the table. Outwardly he looked serene, but Cassie thought she noticed
a certain tightness to his jaw that normally wasn’t there. “I’ve proved my claim, which falls within the court’s jurisdiction,” he said evenly. “Beyond that, what I do with my property is my business. I think--“

He never finished his thought
, because he was interrupted by Cassie standing up suddenly and slapping him in the face as hard as she could. It was even more satisfying to do it in real life than it had been in her dream.

“Let’s get one thing straight: I. Am. Not.
Your. Property,” she said through gritted teeth. She turned to their visitors, fixing them with a glare. “And I’m not yours, either.”

Cassie hadn’t known what to expect after she’d slapped Sam; she was hoping no one would hit her back, but she wouldn’t be surprised if one of
the men had; chivalry probably didn’t fly with this crowd. She’d done it impulsively, refusing to allow herself to be spoken of as a thing, regardless of the consequences.

However, what she hadn’t expected was for her action to make the dapper men
look at her with absolute glee. If she’d been like a purebred racehorse to them before, now she was apparently a racehorse who was favored to win the Kentucky Derby.

She looked at Sam, who was rubbing his jaw, where she’d hit him, with the back of his hand. His expression made her stomach lurch; she’d expected anger, but he looked completely despondent, like he was at a total loss for what to do. Cassie gaped at him; what had she done?

The other man, with sandy brown hair that was a painful reminder of Mr. Golding, safely back at school, spoke first after her outburst. “Obviously, you can’t control your servant,” he said in a business- like tone, like he was discussing a fall in the price of soy. “Standard procedure here is to take her to court until a proper guardian can be appointed.”

“No,” said Sam immediately, still rubbing his jaw. “You can’t take her. You have no right.”

Cassie crumpled back to the floor; she could be feisty and slap people all she wanted, but if they went to take her, what could she do? And would Sam even protect her now?

“And how would you know what’s within our rights?” sneered the salt-and-pepper h
aired-business man, who seemed to be in charge. “You, Sammael, have a reputation as an eccentric; when was the last time you even attended court? Maybe you should have made some attempt to brush up on legalities before you took a familiar.”

Sam looked down, as if conceding the point. Cassie looked down
at the floor. So, that was it; he was going to let them take her away. Vampires he could scare off, but now they had sent actual demons; even if he could fight them off, she couldn’t imagine the consequences for doing so would be pleasant. If she were in his place, she realized she probably wouldn’t do anything to stop them either. Silently, she felt tears begin to fall down her cheeks.