Quickening

Chapter 1

Cassie Wilson stood up from her desk, picked up her report and started to walk towards the front of the class. Her long brown hair was pulled up into a ponytail and she could feel it sway with her movements. She hoped it made her look easygoing and confident. She blinked a few times, mostly to make certain that her brown eyes hadn't gone wide in fear. Inside, she was quaking. Her mouth was dry and her hands wanted to shake. She hated speaking to groups, hated speaking to strangers, hated speaking to anyone really. It wasn't that she was overly shy, she wasn't, at least she didn't think she was, although she did let others think that was what her general quietness meant. It was just that she always managed to say the wrong thing at the wrong time. There were so many things she couldn't say. Saying nothing at all was a much safer course of action.

'Most aren't even paying attention, ' Cassie reminded herself as she started up the center aisle. Geography was right before lunch and no one was particularly interested. 'Well accept me, ' she conceded. She always liked Geography, the way it made the world seem vast and yet oddly knowable with all its place names clearly delineated with carefully marked dots on a map.

Cassie loved maps, especially the topographical ones with the raised mountain ranges. She loved running her fingers over the landscapes, pausing now and again to read the names out loud. Certain names seemed to call to her and she often found her fingers searching those places out as though they were magnets and her fingers metal. In her bedroom at home she had maps on the walls the way others had posters of their favorite musicians. Some of her maps were quite old, or reproductions of older maps and she liked to see how the various place names changed over time.

'All I have to do is go through the talking points and hand Mrs. Garner my report, ' she reminded herself, swallowing back her nerves. Her report was on the Amazon River Basin and she was actually quite proud of it. Concentrating on her own jitters, Cassie made her way to the front of the class. 'I can't go wrong if I just stick to my talking points. I can't say the wrong thing then.'

"Freak, " she heard Kelly mutter under her breath as she passed, her surrounding cohorts chuckling nastily in a chorus. Cassie felt her spine stiffen, but didn't stop moving, knowing it was better not to acknowledge them. She felt the foot connect with her shin, but didn't realize what was happening until it was too late and unable to stop her forward momentum. Cassie gasped as she began to fall, her arms pin wheeling out in a desperate attempt to regain her balance. Her papers went flying. A soft sound of distress escaped her lips.

'I should have stapled them instead of just using a paperclip, ' she thought oddly as the pages fell like bizarre snowflakes. She crashed into something softer than the ground and found Eric Ellington, Elkdale High's star quarterback, caught her, preventing her from colliding with the tile floor.

"Nice save Ellington, " one of his friends called from the back of the room. Eric flashed his friends a grin as laughter filled the room. Cassie felt her face burning as he looked down at her.

"Are you all right?" he asked. Concern, or maybe puzzlement, creased his forehead.

Cassie nodded and pulled away from him to gather her scattered pages. To her surprise, Eric helped her instead of returning to his seat. As she gathered the papers, Cassie looked up and caught the look of hatred plastered across Kelly's face. Normally, Cassie wondered what she did to earn the rather single minded hatred of Kelly Larsen, head cheerleader, class president and nominal ruler of Elkdale High. Today she knew it was Eric's attention, no matter how generic, that put her on Kelly's radar. It was no secret that as head cheerleader she felt the school's quarterback should belong to her. To Kelly it was the natural order of things. The fact that Eric didn't necessarily agree was immaterial. People didn't tell Kelly no.

'Of course Eric doesn't exactly tell her no, ' Cassie reminded herself as she picked up the last of her pages. 'He just doesn't return her flirtations.' Or at least that was how it always seemed to Cassie. She wasn't exactly one of their inner circle and could only judge from a distance. Personally, she liked to think there was someone, somewhere who stood up to Kelly. Cassie was well aware it wasn't going to be her.

Papers finally gathered, she mumbled a 'thanks' to Eric who handed her the pages he collected and resumed his seat. Cassie reached the podium without further incident and somehow stumbled through her verbal report. When she rattled to a halt, Cassie realized she couldn't remember exactly what she said and hoped she managed to only cover the salient points instead of adding inappropriate details.

Looking out over the room Cassie saw glassy eyed stares. The amusement of her near collision with the floor tiles faded and pre-lunch apathy reigned. Inwardly, she sighed with relief. Cassie looked to Mrs. Garner who gave her a small smile of generic encouragement and allowed her to make certain her pages were in order before turning the report in. This time, if she said anything strange, no one noticed.

Cassie stepped off to the side and re-ordered her papers as Jeremy Farwell began his report on the Gobi Desert. By the time he finished his brief presentation, Cassie had her pages in order. She handed her report to Mrs. Garner as the bell to end class sounded. She let the others stream past her, filling the hallways with echoing noise before heading to her desk to gather her things rather than trying to fight the crowd. At her desk, Cassie stuffed her notebook in her satchel and swung the strap of her bag to her shoulder. She took a deep breath and left the classroom, hoping Kelly wasn't lurking outside the door.

Luckily, she wasn't and Cassie made it to her locker safely. She had no doubt that since she hadn't face planted on the floor and, in addition, committed the mortal sin of touching Eric, reminding one of Elkdale's social elite that she actually existed, Kelly would make a second run at her.

"With luck whatever it is will hold her for a while." Cassie muttered. While Kelly's animosity was strong, her attention was often diverted and Cassie only had to deal with her about once a week. As today was Friday and Kelly left her alone all week Cassie felt she should have known something was coming instead of foolishly hoping she'd moved on to tormenting someone else for a change.

Cassie shook her head at her own foolish thoughts. At her locker, she exchanged her books and grabbed her lunch bag. She headed to the cafeteria and slipped into her usual space at the table in the back. As was typical Kyle, John and Mike were comparing gaming stats, Carley was texting someone, her fingers moving at a blur and Sarah had her nose buried in a book. Today's book looked like a trashy romance. From experience Cassie knew Sarah alternated between fiction and non-fiction in her reading selections. Earlier in the week she had been reading a book by Stephen Hawking.

'I guess she finished that one, ' Cassie thought taking her seat next to Carley.

"Hey, " Carley said absently, her fingers still moving at a frenetic pace, never looking up from the screen.

"Hey, " Cassie replied with the daily greeting, wondering, not for the first time, what Carley actually had to say and who she was actually saying it to. Cassie placed her lunch bag on the table. She then took out the various components of her sandwich. The two slices of bread were in one plastic box, the crispy, fried chicken breast in another box and the jalapeno slaw she brought to top it with was in a third container. Cassie assembled her sandwich, sliding the empty containers back in the bag. She then took out her cookie and thermos full of lemon and mint infused iced tea. No one noticed her lunchtime assembly and she took a bite of her sandwich, happy with the way it turned out. She poured some of the tea into the cup to wash it down.

"Look who still has Mommy pack her lunch, " Kelly said derisively as she sailed by with her plastic tray of whatever the cafeteria was serving today. Predictably, her entourage snickered on cue. Cassie thought briefly of correcting her, but knew it would be more trouble than it was worth and kept her eyes on her sandwich until they passed instead.

The rest of lunch flowed by without incident and as the lunch period neared its end, Cassie tidied up her lunch bag and its various components, washing down her chocolate macadamia nut cookie with the last of the tea and tucking the now empty bag filled with equally empty containers in with her books. Knowing the routine, Sarah sighed and added a bookmark to keep her place, putting the romance novel into her book bag. Carley likewise completed her texting marathon and as per school regulations, turned off her cell phone. Cassie stood up from the table meaning to go to the bathroom to wash her hands before her next class. She made it to the trash cans by the large double doors when she was intercepted by Kelly and company.

'So close, ' she thought resignedly.

"Eric is so out of your league, freak, " Kelly hissed right before she tipped her tray and spilled its contents on Cassie, soaking her sweater, skirt and the right leg of her tights with far more marinara than one school lunch could account for dispelling any notion, however slight, that this was an accident.

"Oops, " Kelly said widening her eyes and pursing her lips, the expression on her face mocking. She dumped her now empty tray in the return and sauntered out, an exaggerated sway to her hips, her entourage fanned out behind her like geese in the sky. Cassie bit her lip and headed for the girls' bathroom. She got sympathetic looks from the girls fixing their hair at the mirrors and a couple of them slid over to allow her space at the sink to see what she could do with water and paper towels.

She was still blotchy and smelling of tomatoes when the bell rung and she had to leave for her next class. 'At least she'll probably be satisfied, ' Cassie thought resignedly, pushing open the bathroom door and stepping into the hallway. Shivering in her damp clothes, Cassie saw the hallway was already mostly empty and hurried towards her next class her footsteps sounding loud in the space as she raced through the corridor.

"No running, " she heard the vice principal, Mr. Babbin call from behind her. Cassie gritted her teeth and slowed her steps.

'He does not have tusks, he does not have tusks, ' she mentally repeated, steeling herself as she turned around. 'He does not have tusks.' She offered the vice principal a wan smile, the sight of the tusks she was pretending not to see curling up from his lower jaw to make half-moons of white ivory against his sun tanned cheeks fading after a second making him look like a normal, slightly pot-bellied, balding, forty something year old man.

Without tusks.

"Sorry sir, " she told him before turning back towards her classroom and moving at a more acceptable pace. She made it to class just as the bell sounded and slipped into her seat. Her heart was racing as it did every time she was forced to pretend not to see one of the things no one else seemed to be able to see. Her grandfather's words echoed through her mind as she took out her math homework and prepared to pass it forward with everyone else.

Don't let them know you see.

When she was little, she didn't realize that not everyone could see what she saw. Her parents called it over active imagination and ignored it for the most part, telling their friends that imagination was the sign of an intelligent mind. They trotted out her IQ scores to prove it. Then of course they dismissed her back to her room and continued on with more adult conversations. They only got mad when she insisted her imaginings were real and caused them embarrassment. The only one who realized she wasn't actually making things up, but merely pointing out what she saw was her grandfather. When he pulled her aside it was a relief when he told her that he believed she was telling the truth. Relief very quickly turned to fear when he made her promise not to tell anyone what she saw anymore, including her parents.

"Don't ever let them know you can see them, " he told her, his voice tight and his eyes worried. She could tell he was scared and that in turn scared her. Grown-ups weren't supposed to be scared like that. Even though he never explained who 'they' were or why she shouldn't let 'them' know, his fear convinced her to promise.

It was a promise she never broke, although she was beginning to think some of the odd looking people she saw suspected she saw something. It seemed lately any time she ran across someone like the vice principal, they made it a point to make her look at them. She knew from experience that if she hadn't turned around to face him when he called her in the hallway, he would have called her over and made her look at him as he lectured her on running in the halls. With him, and the others she occasionally ran into Cassie found it easier to brace herself and look at them before they required it. Many of them seemed to study her when she did and Cassie perfected the art of the blank stare, giving away nothing.

Or so she hoped.

Cassie shivered as a stream of air from the vents washed over her wet and clammy clothes. 'At least the day is half over, ' she thought. 'And Kelly is not in any of my afternoon classes.' The thought was some comfort. The rest of the day, Cassie moved from class to class, finally making it to the end.

'Thank God it's Friday, ' she thought as she went to her locker. She pulled the books she needed for homework over the weekend and put the ones she didn't need inside.

"Hey, its Cassie, right?" she heard a male voice to her left say. Cassie looked over and saw Eric standing there. This close she noticed his brown hair had a sheen of red highlights and his smile went all the way up to his brown eyes. She shook the thought away before she could find him any more appealing.

"Uh, yeah, " she replied. "And um, thanks for earlier."

"For not letting your brains splatter all over the classroom floor?" he added with a smile.

"Yeah, I kinda prefer them inside my skull."

"I've heard that might be useful, " he replied. "Hey, you going to Scott's party tonight? It's gonna be epic. Everyone will be there."

"Um, " Cassie began. Before she could get any further one of the other guys from the football team walked by moving as fast as he could without actually breaking out into a run. She doubted anyone would stop him if he did run. She was the only one who seemed to get the no running in the halls lectures from Mr. Babbin.

"Dude, you know coach will kill us if we're late, " he said in passing not bothering to slow down.

"Yeah, " Eric replied. "Coming." He turned back to Cassie. "See you at Scott's then." He said favoring her with a lopsided grin before turning to run after his teammate.

Cassie shook her head and closed her locker wondering why Eric thought she would be going to a party at his friend's house. As she headed to the parking lot, Cassie wondered who Scott was. "Probably one of the football team, " she decided as she reached her car and unlocked the door. She shrugged as she got inside, tossing her bag into the passenger seat. It didn't really matter anyway. If Eric was going to Scott's party then chances were good Kelly was too. Seeing Kelly on school property was bad enough. There was no way she was going to willingly place herself in Kelly's vicinity outside of class.

Chapter 2

Cassie pulled her car into the driveway and turned off the engine. For a moment she just sat behind the wheel leaning her head back against the seat. Her clothes were dry, but she still smelled vaguely tomato-y. The smell actually seemed to have gotten stronger in the confines of the car and Cassie grabbed her book bag and opened the door.

"At least's its Friday, " she reminded herself as she walked to the door. "And a three day weekend." The thought perked her up somewhat. She wouldn't have to see or even think about Kelly until Tuesday.

"And seniors don't have to take gym class, " Cassie added still looking for positives to add weight to the column.

Gym class adventures presented Kelly with innumerable opportunities for creating scenes of public embarrassment for Cassie. "Not that I don't already do that myself." She added, willing to be fair in that regard. She and gym class did not get along.

It wasn't that she wasn't athletic. She could run well and fast and when they practiced with the hurtles, the girl's gym teacher, Ms. Jensen was so impressed with her performance that she kept asking Cassie to join the track team. Cassie was likewise good with the discus and javelin throwing and even archery when they had a week of it. Anything she could do as an individual, she did well. It was only the team sports that tripped her up.

Along with occasionally seeing things like tusks and scales on people when no one else did, Cassie also saw strange things sometimes when she touched other people. Not all the time, but occasionally. The problem was that she couldn't always tell who was going to trigger her strange sight because those people didn't have any outward signs of oddness. They looked like everyone else until her skin touched theirs; an accidental graze of the fingers, a nudge with an elbow. The type of contact didn't matter as long as it was skin to skin.

As soon as she made contact her vision blurred and she saw somewhere ...else. What she saw varied from person to person, it was never quite the same and with some it was stronger than others, but it was harder to hide her surprise and reactions than it was with the more obvious sights like tusks and scales. Those she could brace herself against. Even though she didn't tell her grandfather about that aspect of things, she suspected it fell into the same basic 'keep it hidden' category.

Normally, it wasn't a problem, after all she didn't exactly touch many people in her daily life. She wasn't running around hugging strangers or shaking hands. The random bumping of strangers in a crowd, whether in school hallways or when out in public could be fairly easily ignored, all she had to do was keep her head down and keep walking even if her eyes were seeing something other than what was actually in front of her.

Gym class was the exception. In an effort not to touch her teammates, she often dropped balls when passing, fumbled catches and occasionally just stepped out of the way to avoid touching others. It did not make her a valuable team player and quite often even caused her to trip over her own feet injuring herself and providing Kelly with hours of amusement.

She pushed the door to the house open and shivered as a blast of cold air hit her. Despite the relative cool of the air outside, their house was always kept at a constant sixty degrees. It was the temperature that her parents' collection of rare books and ancient artifacts preferred. The people inside just had to adapt to suit the needs of the antiques.

"Of course, they're never here, so why would they care, " Cassie reminded herself. She closed and locked the door and crossed the living room to open the side door leading into the garage. Sure enough, her parent's car was gone.

"I wonder where they are off to this time, " she mused as she closed the door again. She moved to the kitchen, knowing any notes would be on the marble topped kitchen island. Like the rest of the house, everything in the kitchen was top of the line; tasteful and expensive. In fact, the kitchen looked as though it dropped straight out of a high end show room. It made a great back drop for the cheese and charcuterie platters her parents put out during the cocktail parties they held when they were actually home. Everyone always oohed and ahhed over it. The fact that her parents ate out nearly every meal, her mother holding the firm belief that things like cooking ought to be left for the professionals, meant that Cassie was the only one who used it on a regular basis.

Cassie reached the kitchen and sure enough a note, written in her mother's long loopy handwriting on monogrammed stationary was waiting for her. The note let her know her parents were off skiing for the weekend and wouldn't be back until Tuesday or possibly Wednesday. As always the note was signed, love Mom and both her grandfather's number and the number for the grocery delivery service were listed below.

'Like I haven't already memorized those numbers, ' Cassie thought setting the note to the side. Even though both were programmed into her cell phone, she long since committed both to memory. For a second she looked at the note and Cassie wished she was the sort of teenager who would throw a wild party in her parent's absence. She squinted her eyes to slits and tried to picture her house filled with her classmates. The image was so far from her reality that it wouldn't come, so she opened her eyes and shrugged it off.

"I'd be too worried about something getting broken to enjoy it anyway, " She told herself. "Not that any of the people I'm actually friends with would be the sort to break things." She imagined Sarah would look over the books, pull one off the shelf and settle herself in a corner somewhere. Carley probably wouldn't look up from her phone the entire time she was there and since she didn't actually have any sort of gaming system, she doubted any of the guys would bother showing up. She knew however that if word got out about a party without parents, people she didn't particularly want to see would show up, even if her house was at the edge of town.

"At least the five acre lot would keep the neighbors from calling the cops, " Cassie said. "They might not even know a party was going on." Their neighborhood was carved out of old farm land and designed for people who wanted a rural-ish life without the inconvenient part of actually living in the country. Between each property, trees were thickly planted separating the houses and making each feel as though it was the only house in a vast forest. Or at least that's how it always seemed to Cassie.

Cassie reached her room. "Kelly would probably show up, " she said. Kelly seemed like she would go to all the parties thrown in the area and assume she was welcome whether invited or not. While she hadn't been terribly keen on the idea of throwing a party to begin with, that thought soured it completely and Cassie pushed all thoughts of a wild bash out of her head. "I'm not even thinking her name until Tuesday, " she announced as she entered her bedroom.

As always her eyes gravitated to the maps on her walls. Her eyes shifted from a modern map of the world to a map showing the town sites for Ancient Sumerian and Akkadian city-states. "Besides everyone is apparently all at Scott's house." She told herself as she shifted, looking to a map of ancient Mayan and Aztec ruins and settling on a replica of a nineteenth century map decorated with fanciful illustrations of sea monsters and mermaids. Her eyes automatically sought out the names she always looked to see. The familiar ordering of the world calmed her. Again, she wondered why Eric thought she would be there.

"He had to have noticed I've never been to any of their parties before, " she told herself. "Of course before today he probably didn't even know I existed." Cassie dropped her school bag by the desk, remembering at some point she had a take home math test to complete. She then removed her marinara stained sweater, skirt and tights, setting them to the side as she slipped on faded jeans, an old t-shirt and one of the cardigans she habitually wore around the house to ward off the chill. She pulled on thick fluffy socks, leaving off her shoes and took her stained clothing to the laundry room to set them to soak before putting them in the wash.

Hoping the soaking would keep the stains from becoming permanent, Cassie returned to her room. She walked over to the small seating area and opened up the doors to the armoire. Her winter coats hung on hangers and her heavy winter clothes were packed away in the drawers, lavender sachets she made when the plants were flowering in the herb garden tucked in between the various folds of cloth. The weather hadn't turned quite cold enough to need them yet. Underneath the coats lined up in a neat row was where Cassie kept a selection of books.

She knew they could have gone on the shelf with her other books, but somehow she never moved them. She kept them here, private. Only her grandfather knew about them and she trusted he would never give away any of her secrets. He didn't even question why she kept them secret. In truth, Cassie couldn't really say herself, except that she didn't really want to see the baffled and possibly condescending look on either of her parents' faces should they actually come into her room and peruse her books, as unlikely as that scenario seemed. She doubted her mother set foot in her room since the decorator she hired redid the suite, taking out the childish pink and making it a more grown up space. She also suspected her mother didn't know she took down all the framed art she and the decorator chose, replacing them with her various maps.

Looking at the row of books, Cassie could almost hear her mother's most likely comment. "Why on earth would you want those?" she would no doubt say with a dismissive little laugh before walking away shaking her head.

The books she kept here were cookbooks. Some were regular cookbooks put together by world famous chefs with Michelin starred restaurants. One featuring a selection of sandwich creations was the source for most of her school lunches. A substantial selection of her collections was of the baking and pastry variety. A couple of her early purchases leaned more heavily on the hors'd oeuvre side of things.

When she purchased her first cookbook, she dreamed of making a tray of professional looking goodies and adding them to her parent's cocktail parties, of seeing the surprise and pleasure in their reactions. She never attempted it though. Wanting to be perfect before she presented a tray for inspection and knowing her parents would never allow anything but perfection presented to their guests, Cassie practiced both her knife skills and culinary creations when no one else was around. By the time she reached a stage where she thought her creations would be passible, cooking had become a private thing, something she did for herself when no one else was in the house. The appeal of sharing it with her parents and their friends faded. Cassie liked to think she was pretty good, or at least good enough that when she followed the recipe provided, her food came out looking more or less like the pictures in the books and tasted good.

She liked the way separate ingredients could come together to make something new and the almost magical way a sticky dough could actually turn into bread in the oven. At some point she thought she might like to share her food with someone, she just wasn't sure the cocktail party was the place.

Currently Cassie was working her way through a thick book dedicated to the small cakes featured in the display cases of Parisian bakeries, but at the moment she felt like getting her hands in some dough. Somehow kneading dough for a loaf of bread always helped to smooth out the rough edges of a less than pleasant day.

"I finished the last of my bread with my sandwich at lunch, " she remembered. "I could make another loaf for next week and then maybe some pasta for dinner. By then I should be ready for cake, " she decided. Cassie pulled down the heavy tome of bread recipes from around the world, added an Italian cookbook and topped the stack with the French cake book. Happy with her selection, Cassie stood, nudged the door of the armoire closed with her hip and headed to the kitchen.

A short while later, Kelly, her band of cohorts, and the day's assorted indignities were washed from Cassie's mind and she was in considerably better spirits as she kneaded the dough for her sandwich bread. She made this particular style of loaf so many times that she never really gave the page more than a cursory glance, the measurements embedded in her memory.

She set the dough to the side to allow it to rise and flipped through the glossy pages of the Italian cookbook. Many of the items she made previously and several of the pages were spattered with various sauces. When the pages were stuck together she carefully eased them apart so nothing tore. Due to her earlier run in with Kelly's marinara filled tray, Cassie avoided the recipes featuring any tomato based sauces. She came across a tagiatelle with an herb sauce and decided she would go with that. Decision made, Cassie picked up the kitchen shears and went out of the back door and into the gardens.

Like the rest of the house, the gardens were designed to impress visitors. There were flowerbeds and winding picturesque pathways. There was also a small herb and vegetable garden bordered by fruit trees. At parties her parents and their friends talked about the benefits of organic vegetables, the evils of GMOs and the fabulousness of heirloom varieties. Cassie wasn't quite sure her parents ever visited the gardens. They never even cut the flowers for the vases inside, preferring to buy bouquets from a florist downtown.

Once a week a landscaper named Frank came to take care of the gardens. When she was younger, his wife Rita was often Cassie's babysitter and while Frank taught her about the various plants in the garden, Rita taught her how to use them not only in salads, but to make things like refrigerator pickles, apple butter and preserves. It tickled her to know that when she made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich she could use a jar of jam she made from the fruit gathered from trees in her own yard.

Cassie snipped the herbs she needed for her sauce and took them back to the kitchen, humming a little under her breath as she walked. As she began to make her pasta, she felt the last of the rough edges of her day smooth out. She set the pasta dough to the side to let it rest and pulled the book of small French cakes forward. She opened it to the bookmark she placed inside the weekend before and began to scan the next recipe. Satisfied it was within her skill level, she studied the piping work on provided image, imagining how each swirl of icing was piped onto the confection. When her bread dough was ready she put it into the oven to bake.

While her parents stocked the kitchen with all of the expected gadgetry a gourmet chef would require should said chef for some reason find themselves plopped down into the Wilson kitchen, since she started cooking, Cassie added a few things. Most of her additions were baking related; small tins for cakes and muffins, pie weights, bread molds and a complete set of cake decorating gear from flat spatulas to icing bags and decorating tips. These she kept in the kitchen doubting her parents would find the additions or even recognize them as additions if they did. Several summers prior, she even took a few cake decorating and candy making classes while her parents were visiting Greece.

Taking out her favorite set of mixing bowls, Cassie began to sift the dry ingredients into one bowl to set off to the side. In another bowl she then creamed the butter and sugar before slowly adding the eggs and flavoring. Gradually the dry ingredients were added to the wet and like magic a cake batter formed. She set the bowl to the side and put away the excess ingredients, wiping up a spill of flour. When the bread was finished, Cassie removed the hot loaf, setting it aside to cool. She then adjusted the oven temperature for the cakes. Cassie buttered and floured her cake pans. The batter went in the pans and the pans went in the oven.

As Cassie closed the oven, she heard a knock on the back door leading from the kitchen to the gardens. Two taps, a pause, one tap, another pause followed by three more taps. Cassie smiled recognizing her grandfather's signature arrival. She went to the back door and opened it. As always her grandfather smiled wide and pulled her into a hug.

"You eating okay? Getting enough?" He asked, his customary question upon arrival.

Cassie smiled at the routine of it. "I'm eating enough."

When he let her go, Cassie noticed there was a metal dolly behind him, the kind used to move large objects like refrigerators. On it were placed three wooden boxes. Each was about three feet long, two feet wide and about two feet deep.

"What's that?" she asked as she stepped aside to let him in. Instead of simply walking in, he turned around and slowly dragged the dolly over the door's threshold and into the house.

"Good thing the door is extra wide, " Cassie observed. The box laden dolly barely fit through the oversized barn-ish looking door the decorator thought would look simply darling leading from the kitchen to the gardens. Personally Cassie thought it looked like a slightly larger regular door where the surface featured an x rather than rather than the paneling on the rest of the house's interior doors, but was informed it was country chic rather than rustic country. Cassie wasn't quite sure it was a valid explanation, but her mother was frowning heavily at the interruption to their planning meeting at the time, so she stopped asking questions.

"It certainly is, " he replied. Cassie followed him as he wheeled the dolly down the hall and into her bedroom. Once in her room, he moved to the small television stand. He took her television off of the stand, setting it out of the way. He then picked up the somewhat rickety stand she was using and placed it by the door. "This will be much better, " he assured her. As the stand she was using was designed to hold a potted plant rather than a television set, she suspected almost anything would be better.

With what seemed like an effort, he slipped the first of the boxes off the dolly and placed it on the floor where the stand stood previously. The box seemed awfully heavy and she wondered if they were in fact boxes and not just decorative blocks of wood. While there were lines that looked like they delineated lids, the lines looked more like carved lines rather than actual lids.

"Do you want some help?" Cassie asked as he bent to lift the second box.

"No, " he told her shaking his head. "Almost done now." The second box was placed atop the first and then with a grunt of effort the third box was placed on top of it. The stacked boxes were much taller than the plant stand and looked a little like a dresser, albeit one with no handles. Cassie had the feeling the designer would have approved of it more than her plant stand.

"Do you still have the shawl with the burn mark on it?" he asked.

Cassie nodded and he sent her off to fetch it from the closet. The silk shawl was something she came across in an old junk store several years back. It was made of a light pink silk and embroidered with deep pink and blue flowers, swirls of green forming leaves and vines. She used to drape it over her head and pretend to be a gypsy fortune teller. An unfortunate incident with a candle burned a hole in one corner, but by then she was too old to play dress up anyway. She still liked the feel of the material though and occasionally took it out of the drawer to run the embroidered silk over her fingers. She liked the way it seemed to whisper as it shifted over her skin as though, like her, it had a secret.

Her grandfather took the shawl and used it to cover the boxes. He made sure the burned part was hidden in back and adjusted it so that the fringe nearly swept the floor. Satisfied, he set the television back in the center of the stack of boxes. He then turned to her.

"Now, this is very important, " he told her. His eyes held the same sort of worry as when he told her not to let them know she could see 'them' and Cassie felt a shiver of fear run through her belly. "Don't let anyone know these are here. No one, not even your parents."

"Like the things I see, " she asked in a small voice, feeling like she was suddenly only half her age, her heart beating in her throat.

He nodded. "Just like that. Although not for the same reasons."

"So you're hiding them?"

Again he nodded. "They can't be found at my shop. They must remain hidden." Cassie thought of her grandfather's imports shop. It was small and filled with exotic goods from around the world. The air even smelled different, more exotic than the air she was used to breathing, as though the goods he brought there carried the memory of the spices from their home country even if the actual scent faded during travel. A thought occurred to her and before she could stop herself, she found the question tumbling from her lips.

"Are you hiding me?" she asked, not quite sure where the question came from.

He blinked at her in surprise, then sighed heavily. For a second, she thought he would lie. She could see the shift of his eyes and knew he thought about it. He opened his mouth and then shut it. His shoulders slumped a little almost in defeat. "Yes, " he said simply.

Her heart thumped loudly in her chest. "Because I see things?"

"Partially, " he replied. "I should have expected you'd figure it out sooner or later."

Cassie didn't think she actually figured anything out, but she kept her mouth shut. He sighed again and rubbed his temple.

"Soon we will have a conversation, I promise you, " he told her. "But now I must leave. I've been here too long as it is, no one must know that I was here. No one must know that I have ever been here." He looked at her hard for a moment, eyes narrowed in thought. "Carolyn and Alan generally leave you notes when they are out of town."

"Yes, it is in the kitchen, " Cassie told him.

"Show me." Cassie led the way back to the kitchen. Her grandfather picked up her old television stand with one hand and dragged the dolly along behind him. He set them on the tile of the kitchen floor and went back, towards her room as she went to pick up the note. She watched as he used his foot to obscure the tracks the dolly made as it brought the boxes across the carpet. When all signs were erased he took the note from her and looked it over.

"You have the number for the grocery store elsewhere?" He asked. Cassie nodded and he walked the note over to the sink. She watched as he took out his lighter, flipped the metal cover open, struck the flint and held the resulting flame to the note, obliterating her mother's handwriting. He held the note over the sink and burned it until only fragments of charred paper remained. He washed the few remaining bits down the sink and turned on the garbage disposal to chew up whatever managed to survive the fire. Satisfied, he turned off the garbage disposal and tucked his lighter away.

"I know I am your emergency contact when your parents are away, but for now I need you to not call me, to stay away from both me and the store until it is safe. It is better if they think we've never met."

"Safe from who?" Cassie asked. She shook her head. "And of course we've met, you're mom's father. Why wouldn't we have met?" Cassie felt a bubble of panic rising to her throat and swallowed hard.

"I'll explain everything when it is safe. Just promise you will wait for me to call you."

"I promise, " Cassie said feeling shaky. He kissed her on the forehead and went to pick up the stand and dolly. Cassie watched as he exited the house, closing the door behind himself. A deep sense of foreboding filled her and Cassie raced to the closed door. She tugged it open and looked outside. Shadows filled the yard and her grandfather was nowhere in sight.

"That doesn't mean anything, " she told herself. Somehow she never seemed to see her grandfather arrive or leave. His car was never parked in their driveway or in front of their house. He just sort of appeared as though dropped from the sky. Every time she asked him about it he would just tap the side of his nose and wink at her, but never offer any explanation.

She stood for a moment, eyes straining to see anything of him in the growing darkness. Finally, Cassie forced herself to close the door rather than run around the darkened yard looking for signs of him. His words echoed through her brain.

It's better if they think we've never met.

Better why? Better for whom? She shivered. The oven timer dinged, startling her from her thoughts. Automatically, Cassie moved to the oven. She inserted a cake tester into each of the pans, noting they came up clean. She took the pans out of the oven, turned the oven off and set the cakes on the rack to cool.

Figuring that it was not only close to dinner time, but she would do better with a task for her hands to complete, she moved to the pasta dough. As her mind swirled with thoughts of who would be after her grandfather, the boxes or her for that matter, she rolled out the dough and cut it into ribbons. She set the water on to boil, salted it, chopped up her herbs and began making her sauce.

Who were they and what did they want?

Everything from black SUV driving government agents to secret societies with members dressed in long hooded robes swam through her thoughts. Each one seemed absurd, but then what was right? The hooded figures wouldn't look out of place in her grandfather's shop, but she supposed there were government agents who kept track of stores featuring imports in case they brought more than home décor into the country.

"Neither would be interested in me, " she told herself. The water began to boil and Cassie added her pasta. If they, whoever they were, wanted her then they would probably want her because of the things she saw. She couldn't see anyway the government could find that trait useful.

"It's not like they keep track of people with tusks, " she said shaking her head. "But no one knows about that, " she reminded herself.

She was six when her grandfather explained that she needed to keep her sight to herself. She remembered the terror of her kindergarten teacher Mrs. Edwards who had horns like the pictures in her Three Billy Goats Gruff book, red eyes that were slitted like a snake's and thin tongue that tended to curl out impossibly long when she surveyed the class trying to decide who to ask a question as though testing the air to see who hadn't memorized their ABCs.

That's when her grandfather began teaching her to hide her emotions and to look directly at the thing that was scaring her without showing fear or recognition. Even though she learned, Cassie had to admit she was relieved when Mrs. Edwards was involved in a car accident. Although she created get well cards along with the rest of the class, she was pleased when Mrs. Edwards decided to retire rather than return. She felt a little guilty, but reminded herself that she hadn't actually caused the accident and was not happy about the injuries, just the retirement.

In the almost twelve years since, she kept the things she saw, both those seen through touch and those not, to herself. She didn't even really discuss them with her grandfather even though she knew he'd believe her. She merely added them to a journal she kept in a hidden drawer in her desk. The journal held short paragraphs about each sighting interspersed with various drawings. Somehow she doubted government agents or secret societies had been raiding her bedroom while she was at school, thus finding out her secret.

Cassie tested the pasta and scooped it out of the pot of water, adding it to the sauce pan. She tossed it with the sauce and let it finish cooking. She then put it into a bowl. "Good food deserves a proper setting, " her mother often said. Carolyn of course meant a three Michelin star restaurant; although it was also the directive she gave the designer when turning over the formal dining room. Cassie couldn't bring herself to eat alone in the formal space, but she did like to give her food some respect.

She placed her bowl on the breakfast bar and took one of the cloth napkins from the drawer where they were kept between events. Cassie folded it into a triangle next to her bowl and then set a fork on the triangle. She poured herself a glass of her favorite mint tea, using one of the crystal wine glasses and set the glass next to the bowl. Everything in place, Cassie settled herself on the bar stool in front of her meal. She picked up the fork, shifted the napkin to her lap and began to eat.

Usually, she could ignore the empty house around her. Tonight, with her grandfather's hasty and dramatic departure, it seemed to loom around her like a hollow shell. She tried to ignore the cavernous emptiness around her and concentrated on the food.

Each bite she took she evaluated her efforts. Was the pasta cooked correctly? Was the water salted appropriately? Did she add too much finishing oil to the dish? How did she feel about the herbs? The portion size? Her plating? What could she do better or different the next time she made the dish? Would she make this again?

The emptiness faded as she focused on the food and Cassie decided she did like the dish. "I think I'd tone down the oregano and add a little more thyme and basil next go round, " Cassie decided feeling more settled.

Later, she would add the notes to her own personal cooking notebook, a thick leather journal where she copied out her favorite recipes, adjusting them to suit her palate. That way once she made her way through a cook book, if she didn't want to keep it she could take it down to the used book store to make space available on her small shelf in the armoire for new books while still keeping the recipes she liked. Lately, she'd even been experimenting with her own recipes, making up her own combinations. Sometimes her efforts worked out better than others. The successful ones went into her notebook as well and she got a little thrill seeing them written down on the pages next to those recipes created by professionals.

Once she finished dinner, she cleaned the kitchen, washing and drying the dishes and placing everything back in its assigned spot, lest anything look out of place when her parents returned. The napkin she added to her laundry and after washing it, she would fold it and return it to the drawer. By this point her cakes were cool enough to work with. The small pans she worked with were only about four inches in diameter. She sliced each of the rounds in half so she had four layers of cake. Following the provided recipes, Cassie mixed up the filling that went between each layer and then in another bowl made a batch of chocolate buttercream. She filled a pastry bag with the buttercream.

Cassie set the first cake layer on her decorating turn table. She piped a ring of buttercream around the edge of the first layer and set the bag aside. Using her offset spatula she then added the raspberry filling to the center of the buttercream ring. The second layer of cake went on top and she repeated the process with the butter cream and filling. The third layer was added, complete with chocolate and raspberry and then she topped it with the fourth and final layer of cake. She smiled as the cake sat up straight on her round turn table. Her first cakes wanted to slip and slide creating at best a leaning tower, at worst a cake and icing avalanche. Now, halfway through the book, she had her balance right and did not fear an eminent sugar coated disaster.

Layers put together, she covered the cake with the remaining chocolate butter cream and smoothed it flat. "Not too bad, " she decided inspecting her work with a critical eye. "Now comes the fun part." Cassie cleaned up her filling and butter cream and mixed up some thinner white icing to use for piping. She added a touch of almond extract thinking it would go well with the chocolate and raspberry. Cassie then shifted the book she was working with into clear view and concentrated on replicating the delicate swirls and curlicues the author used in the example given. Everything else faded as she focused intently on the cake. She forgot the emptiness of the house and her grandfather's fear. Nothing mattered but the pressure she put on the bag of icing and the steadiness of her hands as she drew her lines of white on the chocolate coated cake.

When she was done, Cassie smiled, satisfied with her efforts. "Of course I'm always biased at this point, " She reminded herself with a smile. By the time she finished, Cassie knew she lost all objectivity. To really see what she did, she would need to put the cake in the refrigerator and look at it in the morning. Since she was never excited about demolishing her new creations right after completing them anyway, she was fine letting it wait until the next day.

Cassie transferred the cake to a small white plate and placed the plate in the fridge. She then cleaned up everything in the kitchen, making certain all of the counters were wiped down and not a trace of her culinary adventures remained. She then gathered her books and moved to her bedroom. All but the Italian cookbook went back into the armoire. She would decide tomorrow if the cake recipe would go into her permanent file as she thought of her notebook. She took her notebook out of her desk drawer and brought it to her bed with the cookbook, preparing to copy down her dinner recipe with some basic modifications. To provide some noise in the quiet house, Cassie reached for the remote control for her television.

As Cassie aimed the remote at the screen, her gaze dropped down to the shawl covered boxes. She stared at them thinking of her grandfather. "He said not to tell anyone about them, " she told herself. "He didn't say I couldn't look inside." She looked at them a few minutes more, tapping the pen on the blank page in front of her. "It can't hurt to look, " she decided, unable to ignore her curiosity any longer.

Cassie dropped the remote on the bed and walked over to the stacked boxes. She lifted the television down and removed the shawl, draping it over the bed post. She tried to lift the top box and realized it was really heavy. There were no hand holds and the sides were polished wood she couldn't get a grip on. In addition, the stacked boxes were taller than she. Cassie managed to pry a corner of the box up, but feared she would smash her fingers if she tried to move the box from the stack.

'And I'll certainly make a mess of trying to get it back on top, ' she thought deciding to try and open it where it was. She moved her hands above the line that looked as though it was the divide between the box and its lid and tried to push up. Nothing happened. Cassie pushed again. The lid didn't shift as though she were pushing against a lock, it didn't shift at all. There was no wiggle room, nothing.

Remembering thinking that the lines looked carved on solid chunks of wood, Cassie moved to her night stand and took out a thin metal nail file. She poked the pointed end into the line that should be the separation of the lid from the box. The triangular point of the nail file only went in a little ways before it was stopped. Cassie moved the nail file around the edge, but it would go no deeper. It was just a carved line made to look as though this was a box with a lid.

Cassie frowned and stared at the boxes wondering if they really were just chunks of wood and who would actually want them if they were. She returned her nail file to the night stand. Beyond the idea of a mad sculptor, nothing came to her.

"Maybe he'll explain that later too, " she said. 'When he explains hiding me.' She thought, but couldn't bring herself to say. Realizing there was nothing more she could do, Cassie made sure the boxes were lined up, put the shawl back over them, adjusting it as her grandfather did, and placed her television set back on top. She then crawled onto her bed, turned on the television and began copying her modified version of her dinner recipe into her notebook.

Chapter 3

The next morning, Cassie woke up early and frowned at the new television stand, for a moment wondering why it was there. She thought of her grandfather and immediately wanted to reach for the phone to call him. Remembering he asked her not to, she sighed, feeling sad and more alone than usual.

Refusing to wallow, Cassie slid out of bed, showered, dressed and went to the kitchen to figure out breakfast. She still had one English muffin from a batch she made earlier in the week and the garden still had some healthy looking spinach plants since they favored the cooler weather. Deciding on eggs Florentine, Cassie collected the spinach and set to work.

Outside the clouds were low and gray like the sky was thinking about rain, but hadn't quite made up its mind. Somehow it made the house seem even emptier and colder. After eating and meticulously cleaning up from breakfast, Cassie decided she didn't want to stay inside the house. Her first thought was to go to her grandfather's shop.

"But he told me not to, " she reminded herself glumly. She went and brushed her teeth. "I could go to the bookshop, " she said to her reflection as she screwed the cap back on the mouthwash. True it was on the same street as her grandfather's shop and she would have to actually drive by Imports Unlimited to get there, but the bookshop was actually a few blocks down from the shop.

"Which is technically not the same thing." Feeling pleased with her rationalization, Cassie grabbed her keys and purse, making certain her wallet and cell phone were inside.

"Not that anyone is going to call, " she told herself. "But I promised." When she was given the phone, it was with the caveat that she would keep it on her at all times in case of emergencies. The phone she mostly used to call out. Only occasionally her parents called to let her know if their plans changed or her grandfather called. She knew Sarah and Carley had her number because of a group project they worked on for their Western Civilizations class the year before. During the project was the only time either of them ever used it. "And even then Carley just texted me."

Shrugging it off, Cassie went to the car and slipped behind the wheel. As soon as she was old enough for a driver's permit her parents hired an instructor. When she managed to pass the exam and get her license, her parents celebrated by buying her a sturdy and reliable hatchback and taking themselves on an extended trip to France. Once they knew she could reliably get herself from place to place, their number of trips escalated, their visits home merely an excuse to gather friends to talk about both the last trip and the next one, as well as to deposit new acquisitions in the climate controlled environment.

As Cassie backed out of the driveway she wondered if her parents would really be home on Wednesday as planned or if something would call them elsewhere. At the end of the school year last spring they took off for a summer holiday, sending back a steady stream of books and art from around Italy. At the end of the summer they had been home for about a week before heading off to Buenos Aires. Since then they only took shorter weekend trips which led her to believe that a larger one was just around the corner. At times it seemed her parents had a fear of staying still for too long, as though something might happen if they weren't constantly on the move. They both seemed to get twitchy if they were in town too long.

Pushing thoughts of her parents to the back of her mind, Cassie continued towards the section of town where she liked to shop. While regular things like clothes and shoes she tended to order on line, and groceries she called to have delivered from the store nearest their house, for everything else, Cassie tended to go down to the Plaza.

At some point the Plaza was a commercial district several blocks long that was turned into a pedestrian mall. It had a large parking lot on the east end and wide sidewalks along its length. The sidewalks were a stream of white concrete that flowed towards a wider square of equally white concrete in the center of the district, like rivers emptying into a lake. This was the plaza for which the shopping district was named. It had concrete benches that no one ever seemed to use and to Cassie looked cold and uncomfortable, a fountain that had since been filled in with dirt and used as a flower bed by one of the local garden clubs, and skinny little trees that were placed in large wooden barrels as though waiting for someone to move them around to new locations. The entire thing, sidewalks, parking lot and plaza were lined with old fashioned looking street lights with large oval glass lights attached to metal arms.

Cassie drove down the street towards the parking lot, passing her grandfather's shop along the way. The lights were on and she could see him through the large storefront window talking to a customer. It looked like an average Saturday and Cassie found herself relieved that nothing happened to him after he left. If anyone was watching him, she couldn't tell.

As she pulled into the parking lot and circled, looking for a spot, Cassie glanced up at the streetlights. Once, she asked her grandfather why they weren't all the same. Although they were all of the same basic design, some of the streetlights had arms that held the glass light fixtures upright as though they were balancing them. Others had the glass globes hanging down from the arms like bizarre fruit. She thought it odd that they weren't all turned the same way.

He told her the design committee for the district couldn't reach a unanimous decision as to which way was preferable so they alternated, screwing in half right side up and the other half upside down. "I'm not sure if they meant to try and make everyone happy or make certain that no one was happy, " he told her with a chuckle. "Either way, it is a fine example of design by committee."

Cassie got out of the car and began walking towards the book shop. It was located just past the central plaza and between a shop that sold fabric and quilting supplies and the high end cookware shop where Cassie purchased many of the items she secretly added to the kitchen. She passed through the plaza. As usual the large sea of white concrete was bare and empty, people crossing the expanse without pause like explorers heading to a new world. At the edge of the plaza was a white concrete concession stand with a gray asphalt shed roof, as always, Cassie felt her eyes drawn to it. Occasionally civic groups used the space to hold bake sales or raffles. She knew from peeking in when she was younger that at the back of the concrete concession stand was a four foot square metal plate bolted into the floor.

Her grandfather told her that underneath was an old bomb shelter, thus explaining the metal sign attached to the side. The fact that next to the bomb shelter sign was another sign forbidding skateboarding in the area always tickled her. From overheard conversations and arguments she knew many of the merchants thought the skateboarders would tear up the area. Personally she wasn't sure what kind of damage kids on skateboards could actually do to an area designed to withstand an atomic blast, but didn't really think it was her place to say anything.

Cassie reached the bookshop, pulled open the door and smiled at the musical sound of the bells the owner placed above the door. The owner looked up from the counter where he sat reading. As usual his hair looked as though he woke up and rolled out of bed without bothering to do anything with it. It wasn't the stylish messy occasionally found on actors and rock stars, but looked more like he couldn't be bothered to remember he had hair. Spotting her he smiled, gave her a nod and turned back to his book.

She smiled at him even though he was no longer paying her any attention. Even though she had an e-reader and often downloaded books to read on it, Cassie liked the bookshop and was in fact a regular customer. Despite coming here for years, she never learned the owner's name. The sign on the front of the building was merely 'Books' in bold black letters providing no further information and the only words he spoke to her, or any customer for that matter, involved relaying the price of their purchase. The middle aged, shaggy haired, bespectacled owner never even added the 'come again' most people in retail seemed compelled to add before sending a customer on their way.

Cassie inhaled deeply, smelling the scent of paper and dust. The store was long rather than wide and the entire space was given over to books. Here, there were no accoutrements, no add-ons to encourage impulse buying. No bookmarks or clip on reading lamps, just books. Metal shelves were bolted to the side walls, running from the floor to the top of the fourteen foot ceiling, the top row of books turned on their sides and stacked because there wasn't space to set them upright. The center of the space was lined with additional floor to ceiling shelves, similarly overloaded. A rickety step ladder on squeaky casters was provided for those who wanted to reach the upper shelves. Cassie had never been brave enough to try it.

The width between the shelves was wide enough for one person to peruse the offerings and every patron had to be aware of those around them to prevent traffic jams, although Cassie never saw more than two or three people in the space at a time. Given both the height of the shelves and the closeness of the rows, much of the light was blocked and the narrow corridors were dimly lit even on the brightest of sunny days. With the sky threatening rain, today was especially shadow filled.

In addition, patrons had to watch where they stepped. Stacks of odd shaped books were often fitted into corners and a haughty looking Siamese cat could often be spotted slinking between the shelves. Cassie assumed the cat belonged to the owner, but never asked the cat's name any more than she asked the owner's. The cat was slightly more personable though and on occasion rubbed against Cassie's ankles at which point she stooped down to scratch between its ears until it grew bored with her and moved on.

In no particular hurry, Carrie strolled down the first aisle. Her eyes scanned the mystery section of paperbacks, nothing really calling her to read, but liking the sound of the titles as she read them to herself. They always sounded so dramatic and hinted at lives much more exciting than hers. Halfway down the aisle the cat appeared like a ghost in the poorly lit aisle, tail curled in the air like a twist of smoke. The cat rubbed itself along Cassie's shin and she bent down to scratch between its ears, feeling the purr of contentment through her jeans.

"He likes you, " Cassie heard someone say in a tone of surprise and looked up, startled to find another person in her aisle. The cat sidled away. "I didn't think he liked anyone, " the stranger continued. He was an average looking man in his early twenties. He had short brown hair and brown, almost chocolatey looking eyes. Those eyes seemed to focus on her in a way that sent a shiver of unease through her. He smiled and the cat hissed at him before racing off. "See?" the man said. His smile seemed composed of sharp edges.

While Cassie didn't hiss at the man the way the cat did, she agreed with the Siamese that something about him seemed off even though he looked perfectly average.

"Yeah, " she said trying to decide if she should back up to let him pass or not. Normally when one patron wanted to move past another, one of them pressed into the shelves to allow the slide. One generally said 'excuse me' while the other said 'thanks' and everyone involved continued on their way with no further interaction. It was one of the reasons she liked it here. No one expected nor wanted small talk. She could be around people for a bit without being expected to interact. Looking at the man, Cassie wasn't quite sure she wanted him close enough to pass her. "Um, do you need to get by?" She asked taking a small step back intending to back down the aisle to let him out.

"I think I can squeeze past, if you'll just..." He gestured towards the shelves as he let his words taper off, apparently coming up with no polite term for asking someone to bodily hug the bookshelves.

"Sure, " Cassie said, knowing it would be less awkward if she just let him pass quickly. Then they could both get back to perusing the titles. She turned sideways towards the set of shelves to her left and moved close to them, her nose so near the spine that its title blurred into incomprehensibility.

"Thanks, " He said and she relaxed slightly at the familiarity of it. He moved past her and as he did, his fingertips grazed the back of her hand. Suddenly, Cassie was standing on the edge of a river bank. The water was deep and slow moving and she could see it was choked with weeds. They dragged along under the surface, waving gently in the slow moving current. The air was thick with humid heat and the fetid stench of rotting vegetation. She felt a shiver of cold menace.

Then his fingers slipped from the skin of her hand and she was once again staring at the spines of used paperbacks, the words too close to read. Her heart was racing and she took a steadying breath before moving, dropping her politely pleasant mask in place. He was past her and she backed away from the shelf. Turning she found him studying her. She smiled politely and then turned to continue looking at the bookshop's wares. Even though she wanted to quickly leave the aisle and man behind, she forced herself to only take a few slow steps away from him, still perusing the shelves.

"Do you come here often?" he asked from behind her. Cassie frowned thinking it sounded like a bad pick up line. She turned to face him. Instead of the flirtatious or even lecherous grin she expected, he wore a look of concentration. Cassie felt a flutter of fear in her belly and she doubted the question was aimed at getting her to go out on a date with him.

"Excuse me?" she asked, her voice flat.

"To the district, I mean."

"Sometimes, " Cassie said, not really wanting to tell him anything.

"Do you know where Imports Unlimited is located?"

"Imports Unlimited?" Cassie repeated as though she never heard the name of her grandfather's store in her life. Somehow, she wasn't surprised by the question.

"Yes, it's a store in the district, " he told her, still studying her with his too intense chocolate eyes.

"You should probably ask the owner then. I think he has a map of the district on the counter, " she shrugged, proud of her casual sounding response. "Even if he doesn't, I'm sure he'd know what shops are around." Cassie turned away and hoped he couldn't hear her heart hammering in her chest.

Was this one of the mysterious 'them' who was searching for the boxes, searching for her grandfather, searching for her? Should she warn him? Should she run?

She continued walking to the end of the aisle and turned the corner. She moved into the next aisle over and was relieved to be out of sight of the strange man. Surprisingly, this aisle also had an occupant. It was a girl a few years younger than herself. She looked up as Cassie moved to one of the shelves and smiled.

"Hi, " the girl said.

"Hi, " Cassie returned, smiling back.

This was one of her favorite aisles and in addition to cookbooks, the aisle was packed with all manner of works on food. Some were based on the culinary arts, others singled out ingredients and dedicated their pages to that singular element. Books simply titled, Salt, Rum, Vanilla, or Cheese could be found here. Some fell into the historical and cultural side of things rather than practical application, but Cassie found them quite fun to read. Most of the authors proclaimed that their chosen ingredient was the one that changed the world and Cassie liked to imagine them sitting in a classroom arguing on behalf of their chosen food, each surrounded by supporters holding placards as though it were a demonstration or a rally.

Cassie spotted a book on cupcakes and slid it from the shelves. Normally, she didn't bother with cupcakes as they never really appealed to her. They reminded her of the overly sweet treats her parents would pick up for her to take to school on her birthdays when she was much younger. Showing up with the box of primary colored cupcakes always made her feel conspicuous and it was the one day out of the year where her classmates seemed to realize she existed, if only for a brief second. She could remember the strange sensation as she watched her classmates' eyes focus on her as they picked up the treat before sliding away, once again dismissing her presence. She was relieved when she was deemed old enough for that tradition to die off.

Even though she knew there were things that could be done to them other than just baking a single cupcake and slapping on a swirl of icing, Cassie liked the depth of flavor she could get from her small layered cakes and wasn't inclined to switch, especially since the cakes didn't hold the same oddly squidgy memories. She did, however, want to look over the book's various icings to see if there were any ones she hadn't seen before, even if she didn't buy the book.

'Besides, I could use something sweet in my brain right now, " she thought. Even though the stench of the reed choked river baking in the hot sun faded once the contact was broken, the memory remained. Swirls of fluffy icing seemed as good way as any to push the thought way, especially since she had nowhere else she needed to be any time soon. As she opened the book, Cassie saw the other girl move towards the end of the aisle as though preparing to move past her and possibly go into the one she just vacated. Cassie thought of the man and decided she couldn't just let her walk into him unprepared. Conscience trumped her desire to remain silent.

"Hey, " she said softly. The girl stopped before reaching her and looked up. "There was a man in that aisle, " Cassie told her, keeping her voice low. "I think he's a little, " she made a face. "You know. He asked me if I came here often." She finished.

The girl lifted an eyebrow and Cassie shrugged. "Just thought I'd warn you, " Cassie added, as always feeling as though she had to monitor her words as they came out of her mouth. The girl nodded and Cassie pressed into the books to let the girl pass behind her. Her elbow grazed her back and Cassie had a shadowy impression of a windswept mountain range covered with snow so deep she doubted it ever truly melted. For some reason it left a bad taste in her mouth.

The image was hazy, barely there because the girl's bare elbow grazed Cassie where the dual layer of her shirt and sweater covered her skin. She had the feeling it would have been as intense as the man in the other aisle, if not more so, had the contact been skin to skin. As it was, Cassie's eyes didn't flicker and her expression never changed as she looked at the girl. Like the man in the other aisle, the girl studied her a moment, her eyes looking somehow much older than her face, before her smile returned and she looked average again.

The girl moved to the end of the aisle and leaned out, looking around the corner. "I think he's gone, " she told Cassie pulling her head back. She looked Cassie over for a minute as though trying to find the appropriate response. "Thanks."

"Welcome." The girl left the aisle and Cassie turned back to the cupcake book. She frowned at the cute pastel image the book presented. While there were occasions where she came across someone who made her see other places, she never encountered two at the same time in the same place. Even then it was rare to come across anyone that sent images as strong as either of these to her.

"You idiot, " she heard the girl whisper. Cassie frowned for a second thinking the girl returned and was talking to her. She looked around but the girl was still in the other aisle. Curious, Cassie leaned towards that side of the narrow aisle. "Do you come here often, " she repeated her hushed tones still managing to drip with derision.

"What? I did what you told me, " she heard the man whisper hoarsely.

"You tested her?"

"Yes, " he said, sounding almost defiant.

"Did she react?" The girl demanded.

"No, and she didn't seem to know of Abraham's store. But she left pretty quickly, that has to mean something, right? Maybe she ran off to warn him."

She heard a heavy sigh. "She thought you were a predator, " the girl told him.

"A predator?"

"Of young girls, " the girl clarified. "She warned me about you."

The man let out a short laugh. "She warned you about me?" he scoffed. "You're at least twice the predator I am."

"True, " the girl replied sounding pleased by the acknowledgment. "But I tested her and she didn't respond to me either. And she was reading a book about cupcakes." She snorted. "What kind of Walker reads a book about cupcakes?"

Cassie glanced down at the book she held and realized that the pair might realize she could overhear them. She had the feeling that would not be good. Inside she debated the merits of staying longer to learn more or leaving before being caught listening in. Somehow, despite the danger, she couldn't quite bring herself to move.

"Cupcakes?" the man said sounding puzzled. "That doesn't sound like any Walker I know. And the cat liked her."

"The cat liked her?"

"Yeah, so she can't be one of the Walkers. She has to be one of the decoys. I mean cats hate Walkers right?"

"Yeah, " the girl said thoughtfully. "Especially that one. And you said it liked her?"

"He went up to her, rubbed her leg and got her to scratch its head."

"He wouldn't do that if she were a Walker. She must be one of the decoys. Damn him. I was sure one of them would have been here. That he wouldn't just have one of the decoys."

"That might be why he only has one of the decoys, " the man suggested. "Because everyone would think he'd have one of the Walkers. He could probably make one of the decoys smell like a Walker too."

"Did she smell like a Walker?" The girl demanded, still keeping her voice low.

"No, " he replied firmly. "There was no touch of the gates about her and she's old enough that if she were a Walker she would have at least practiced crossing through them by now."

"Maybe in the end they didn't trust him any more than we do."

"It would explain why he only has a decoy even if he is skilled, " the man said.

The two on the other side of the wall of books grew silent and Cassie decided she probably wasn't going to hear any more that would help her. The risk of staying and letting them realize she might have overheard them was greater than the likelihood of getting more information.

She kept the cupcake book in hand since the girl seemed to think a Walker, whatever that was, didn't like cupcakes. While she knew she didn't want to get caught listening to their private discussion, she had the feeling being the person they were looking for might actually be worse. If they thought she wasn't that person because she liked cupcakes, she would take the cupcake book with her everywhere she went.

Silently, she hurried to the far end of the aisle, moving around the corner and into the next aisle. She stood there, cupcake book in hand, staring at the shelf in front of her without actually seeing any of the books. Her heart was racing and she wasn't quite sure what to do. Words swam though her mind.

Walkers. Decoys. Gates. Cats. Abraham.

Her grandfather, Abraham, told her not to call him or stop by and it looked as though those two expected her to run directly to him.

'He knows people are looking for him and he knew they knew where his shop was, which is why he hid the boxes or whatever they are with me. Maybe going there would be a really bad idea since they don't seem to know who I am.' She thought, trying to talk herself out of running directly to him. From their conversation it sounded like whatever this was, he was knee deep in it and would know what was going on. 'But he told me to stay away, ' she thought.

'And he promised to explain, ' she argued with herself.

'When it was safe, ' the more grown-up part of her brain reminded her.

Cassie ground her teeth. As much as she wanted to run to him for safety and security he told her not to. 'Which means it would be neither safe nor secure.' She let out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding and let the grown up part of her mind win. 'If I can't see him then at least I know my blank face works so that's something anyway.'

The bells over the door jangled and Cassie looked towards the door, watching Sarah enter the shop. She knew Sarah picked up her random book selections here and she often ran into her in the store. It was one of the reasons they both sat at the same loner's table at lunch instead of joining one of the other bands of misfits scattered around. From where she stood Cassie could see Sarah walk to the counter. She had an armload of books and placed them on the counter in front of the owner. He favored her with the same smile he gave Cassie and began to look through the books, checking their condition. Satisfied with them he shifted the pile to the side and picked up a slip of paper. He jotted down a figure on the slip and handed it to Sarah.

"Thanks, " Sarah said with a smile. He nodded and swept the books off of the counter and into his arms, piling them on the floor to be added to the inventory later. Like Cassie, Sarah often brought used books to the store, receiving store credit in return so she could pick up new books.

Cassie didn't find any of this strange. What was strange was everything else that happened around this rather mundane scene. While Sarah was dealing with the owner, the man moved out of the aisle, sliding past her. Sarah glanced at him, but dismissed him quickly, turning back to the owner. He paused behind Sarah's back and took a deep breath through his nose, leaning forward a little as though inhaling her scent. Whatever he smelled did not please him because he wrinkled his nose in distaste. A second later he was moving past her, towards the door. As Sarah moved away from the counter, her attention diverted from the owner, he looked at the strange man. For a second Cassie saw the store owner's eyes glow gold. His shaggy hair suddenly seemed more like a lion's mane than bedhead.

"What was that?" the strange girl said, spotting Cassie at the end of the aisle and stepping over.

'Does she smell like a Walker, ' Cassie mentally heard the girl asking the man. She pushed the thought away.

"I think he was sniffing her, " Cassie said, making a face of disgust and pretending she saw nothing unusual in the owner. "I told you he was a perv." The girl looked at her as though unsure what to say in response. She seemed slightly disappointed with Cassie's response.

"Cassie?" Sarah said spotting the two of them and walking over.

"Hi Sarah, finish your romance novel?" Cassie said. This was generally more conversation than she and Sarah usually exchanged, but as Sarah moved over, the other girl moved away. Cassie was more than willing to chat if it meant the other girl would leave without attempting to touch her again. The bells over the door jangled as the man left the book store. The owner was once again reading, looking like an average, slightly messy bookshop owner and in no way like a lion. The girl edged away far enough not to be involved in the conversation, but placed so Cassie was certain she could still listen.

"I did, " Sarah confirmed with a nod. "Eric was looking for you last night, " she said somewhat unexpectedly.

Cassie blinked in surprise. "At the party?" she replied somehow having a hard time picturing Sarah at a party with Eric and his friends.

"Yeah, he's friends with my brother Scott."

"Oh, " Cassie replied nodding. If her brother Scott was the one throwing the party, Cassie figured it explained why Sarah was there. If Eric spotted her sitting with Sarah at lunch it also might explain why he expected her to be there. She felt relieved by the rational explanation, although she still didn't know why Eric was looking for her.

"I wanted to ask you before I gave him your phone number. I tried calling, but you didn't pick up."

"Oh, " Cassie repeated. She fumbled in her purse for her phone and pulled it out. She pressed a couple of buttons. "I accidentally turned the ringer off, " she told Sarah. She blinked at the message that she had three missed calls; a record for her. "It looks like I missed a lot of calls."

"So can I?" Sarah asked. "Give him your number that is?"

"Sure, " Cassie replied. The other girl, clearly bored with their conversation rolled her eyes and moved towards the front door, quickly exiting the building. Cassie sighed with relief when she was gone.

"Friend of yours?" Sarah asked, seeing the other girl leave.

"No, " Cassie said shaking her head. Figuring she needed some explanation, she continued. "She was following me around the store, it was weird. I thought she might be a friend of Kelly's or something."

Even though they rarely exchanged more than a few words at a time, Sarah knew of Kelly's growing dislike of Cassie. Like Sarah, the first part of freshman year, Kelly ignored Cassie as merely part of a moving backdrop. Sometime after winter break Kelly seemed to realize Cassie existed even though Sarah continued to remain mostly backdrop. As Kelly's attention escalated from the occasional shove in the hall to the current senior year once a week harassment level, Sarah and the other invisibles watched hoping that Kelly would not grow bored with Cassie's lack of response and choose one of them as her next target.

"Kelly heard him ask about you. She was not pleased." Sarah warned.

"Great, " Cassie said with a sigh. Sarah shrugged. Message delivered, she moved off to replace her stack of paperbacks. Cassie moved back to the row of cookbooks and shelved the cupcake book in its proper place. As she continued looking over the other books, she wondered what caused Kelly to wake up one day and decide Cassie was an enemy whose threat could no longer be ignored. Cassie pulled a book on Moroccan cooking down from the shelf and figured that since she knew nothing of Morocco or its cuisine it would at least be an interesting read. She flipped through a couple of pages and thought the pictures looked pretty good, especially since winter was on its way and the images reflected warm looking stews. She tried not to think about how cold the house felt in the winter when her parents were away.

'I don't have a tagine though, ' she thought looking at the almost Hershey kiss shaped dish featured on the 'recommended equipment' page. She thought she remembered seeing a row of something similar in the cookware shop next door.

'I could always go there after I leave, ' she thought. While she wasn't sure she would enjoy the dishes featured since most of them were unknown to her, not leaving and going directly home had some appeal. Somehow she wouldn't put it past the strange man and girl to follow her. The idea of leading them to her home was not an appealing one.

'Especially if they think I am one of the people they are looking for. Running home might be as bad as running to Grandfather. If I stop in the store, I'm continuing with my shopping as though nothing bothered me.' She pulled a book on the cultural history of cheese off the shelf and scanned the back of the book. Thinking it might be interesting, Cassie added it to the cookbook she already carried. A third book simply entitled Spice joined them and Cassie decided three books was enough and that she remained in the store long enough that she didn't look like she was running. As she turned towards the front of the shop, a though hit her causing her to stop in her tracks.

'Walkers and decoys, ' she thought. 'Plural. They both used plurals. They aren't looking for just one person.' Cassie didn't know if she really was one of those Walkers or decoys, but if she was it would mean she wasn't the only one like her. She wasn't the only one who could see things. 'Others who would see Mr. Babbin's tusks and Mrs. Edwards' lizard tongue. There are others like me.' Cassie blinked as she thought about it. 'An entire group of people I don't have to hide from.' It sent her mind reeling and she felt as though she needed to grab onto something to keep from spinning. Somehow it never occurred to her that there were others like her, that there could be others like her. The thought was a fascinating one, she just didn't know what to do about it.