15

Ophelia

Breath fans out in a small, ephemeral cloud in front of my face as I keep my hood pulled up and my gaze carefully averted from anyone I pass on the sidewalk.

The college neighborhood is still busy a little before ten at night, mostly students coming to and from campus, heading to nearby apartments, or ducking into the handful of shops still open at this hour. I doubt I'll run into anyone who will recognize me, but it's always a good rule of thumb to stay under the radar when doing surveillance work.

Apparently Cas got the same memo, because he's driving an unremarkable grey sedan tonight instead of the sleek, ostentatious thing he drove me home in the other night.

We parked just across the street from the building Audra told me Devin likes to hang out at, and arrived minutes before we saw him step inside with a group of college kids around his same age. Despite making a couple circuits of the building, we didn't find any open doors or windows to let ourselves in to get a look at whatever he's up to in there. And since neither Cas nor I were particularly keen on doing any breaking and entering tonight, we've decided to wait until he comes back out to see if we can tail him and get any more information.

I approach the car, knock on the window, and Cas startles slightly, eyes jumping from where they'd been trained on the building's front door to meet mine through the glass.

Good to know this ancient, formidable vampire can still be surprised sometimes.

The doors unlock with a click, and I slide in through the passenger side before handing one of the black coffees I'm carrying to Cas.

"Any movement?"

Cas shakes his head and takes a long sip, letting out a soft hum as the cheap black swill apparently earns his approval.

"Do you feel it?" I ask, speaking before I think. "The caffeine, I mean. Does it affect you?"

He glances at me with one brow raised, and I almost blurt an apology for what might have come across as a rude, prying question, when he shrugs.

"Not really. But I like the warmth of it."

I nod, considering that. "Sorry. Just curious. Samuel—my stepdad—doesn't really care for human food and drink, but Cleo practically lives on espresso."

Cas takes another sip. "A personal choice, usually. Once a vampire is a few decades old, human food becomes less… disagreeable to the constitution."

"And you're more than a few decades old, I take it?"

I try to offer the question lightly, teasingly, but the long look Cas gives me makes me think it was a step too far. Breaking his gaze, I fix my eyes out the window, across the street to the door we're watching.

Stupid. So stupid. We're not here to get to know each other, and me prying into his past is probably completely out of the realm of anything he'd want to share with—

"Slightly more than a few decades," Cas says quietly. "As far as I know, I'm around four hundred years old."

As far as he knows? The obvious question bubbles up on my lips, but I bite it back. We fall silent, both lost in our individual thoughts.

Mine bounce from silent admonishment about getting too personal, to the meal I shared with Cas in his huge, beautiful kitchen.

Last night was… weird. Really weird. Like, abducted by aliens and plopped down in some bizzaro alternate reality kind of weird.

If someone had told me two months ago that I'd be in Casimir's house cooking pasta, chatting over dinner with him, doing dishes with him, I would have laughed straight in their face.

Though, that doesn't mean I had a bad time.

I enjoyed myself. With Cas. I enjoyed myself with Cas.

I have to turn the words over in my mind a couple of times for them to make sense.

The unexpected realization has brought a whole host of other feelings with it.

Confusion, for how quickly the dynamic between us has changed. Wariness, because I still don't know Cas, not really, and don't know how much I can trust him.

And guilt, because we still haven't talked about how everything went down between us seven years ago, and I'm really starting to think we should.

Hanging out with him last night in his house that feels so strangely empty, seeing a side of him I didn't know existed, enjoying his hospitality and generosity, reminded me again of how wounded he seemed when I made him think all I wanted to do was use him.

I've never apologized, not really, and the further we get into the investigation and this tentative friendship we've formed, the larger that elephant in the room becomes.

In some ways, being at odds with him was easier, simpler. But trusting him? Partnering with him and staying in his driveway? Wearing the fading mark of his bite on my throat? Reckoning with a past that still has the power to lodge a sour ball of shame squarely into my gut?

Not easy. Not simple. Not in the slightest.

"Your stepfather is a vampire?"

The question pulls me out of those thoughts, and I glance over at him. His face is cast half in shadow, half in the warm yellow glow of the streetlight we're parked under, and the focused crimson of his gaze makes me shift uncomfortably in my seat.

I tip my head back against the headrest and let out a long breath.

"Yeah, it's all a bit complicated. My mom is human, and so's my dad, but the two of them split before I was even born. Mom is bloodbound to Samuel, and they have Cleo together. Kind of a whole dramatic secret baby thing, but it worked out for them in the end."

He studies me for a few long moments, and I'm glad for the darkness. I'm glad for the tiny bit of protection it offers me as I keep talking.

"It's how I wound up in that world in the first place. At the Raven. With other paranormals. Through Samuel and Cleo. And my mom, too, since her bloodbond."

Cas still doesn't respond, and I mentally kick myself for rambling.

Again, stupid. So stupid. I'm not sure what it is about this vampire that rattles my nerves so much, but I make myself stop talking and wait for him to say something.

"And where does that leave you?" he asks softly.

"What do you mean?"

"With a vampire father and a bloodbound mother. A half-vampire sister who has her own bloodbound, I believe? Where does that leave you?"

My stomach drops to somewhere near my feet.

So much for worrying about asking inappropriate questions. Apparently Cas has absolutely no problem going straight for the emotional jugular.

I make myself shrug. "It leaves me here. Human. Just Ophelia."

"Just Ophelia," he murmurs. "Somehow I don't think that's entirely accurate."

"Well, it is." Something heavy and thick and dangerous settles itself in my throat, and I cough it softly away. "Anyway. They're great. All of them."

Cas hums softly, and I don't know how to read the sound, though that same pang of urgency and guilt makes itself known again as the conversation lulls.

I see an opening, so I take it.

"I also wanted…" I say, clearing my throat and pushing ahead before I can think better of it. "I wanted to say I'm sorry. For what happened between us. Seven years ago, I mean."

He looks surprised, but not angry, with no trace of that bitter disappointment I remember with such terrible clarity.

"Is that what drew you to me?" he asks. "The promise of a life that might not take you from them so soon?"

"It's not… that wasn't what I…" I begin, then think better of it.

Some small, shameful, honest part of me knows it's at least a little true. Some part of me did want that, once upon a time. To meet a handsome vampire, fall in love, become bloodbound, and not have to live with the crushing dread that always settles itself firmly on my chest when I think about my life in comparison to theirs.

But that's not how life works, and trying to wedge my way into some vampire's life because I see them as means to an end—as Cas so aptly put it—was entirely wrong of me.

It's why I've never really blamed him for the way he coldly dismissed me, how he saw right through me and cut me down to size.

And it's the reason I owe him the truth now.

"Yeah, I think that was part of it. Even if I didn't want to admit it to myself. And I'm sorry for it, I really am, Cas." I take a moment to collect myself before continuing. One more truth lingers in the back of my mind, the darkness and the hush of space between us making me bold enough to give it to him. "But it wasn't… it wasn't the only thing that drew me to you."

The confession, as soft and halting as it is, draws another look of surprise to his face. He opens his mouth to say something, but movement from across the street catches my attention before he can.

"There," I say with a sharp nod to the building. "At the door. That's Devin."

Cas follows my gaze, eyes narrowing when he spots the dark-haired young man opening the building's front door.

I sit up straighter in my seat. "Is that… is that blood on his shirt?"

He's spattered with something , though it's hard to make out exactly what it is in the low light.

Glancing over at Cas, I find him with his eyes fixed in concentration, studying Devin. I'm glad to have his superior vampire sight in this moment, as I can't make heads or tails of what I'm looking at.

He shakes his head slowly, then juts his chin back toward the door Devin just walked through, where another two figures appear, carrying a large canvas between them.

"Paint, I think."

The whole canvas is covered in the kind of modernistic, abstract designs I can never quite fully appreciate or understand as art. Carried by two other people who also look young enough to be students, they carefully maneuver it through the open door before loading it up into the back of a van parked against the curb.

One of the students carrying the canvas—a young man with a mop of blonde hair—trips slightly on the curb. Though it's impossible to hear them from this distance, at least for me, it's easy enough to see Devin and the other student—a red-headed young woman—laugh and give him some playful ribbing as they finish loading up. All three climb into the van, and a few seconds later the vehicle starts and the taillights flash as Devin pulls it out onto the road.

We follow, staying a few cars behind as they return to the Northeastern campus and stop outside the Arts building, then scan themselves in before taking the painting inside. We sit and wait and watch, silent now and focused on our work, until they all reappear. They each go their separate ways, and Cas and I slip from the car to tail Devin across campus.

Keeping to the shadows, we follow him all the way back to a dormitory. He stops just outside the entrance, posture abruptly straightening, and Cas and I duck down in unison to hide ourselves behind the hedge running along the path.

He rests one hand on my back, and I try not to read too much into that touch. I try not to examine what it means that the press of his fingers echoes all the way up to his mark on my neck, even though it's been days since he bit me and the wound is almost completely healed.

Instead, I narrow my eyes and peer through the bushes. Devin looks right, then left, and then—apparently satisfied nothing's out of the ordinary—turns back to the building in front of him. He uses his keycard to scan himself in, and as the door shuts behind him, I turn to Cas.

"That's it?" I ask, standing with a huff of frustration. "A late night art project?"

Cas stands as well and shrugs. "Audra did say he was likely a student at the university, didn't she? Just some kid who's in over his head with all this?"

"Yeah. I suppose she did. Not sure how any of this is going to help us, though."

"Maybe it will. Maybe it won't. We can report back to Audra and see if there's anything useful here in getting him to talk."

"What now?" I glance up at the dorm. With dozens of windows—most of them dark or covered by blinds and curtains—and no way in without engaging in some creative entry skills, it's not likely we'll have much luck keeping an eye on Devin tonight.

"Now we call it a night," Cas says, already turning to head back down the path.

I trail after him. "That's it? We could still try to track down the other two students he was with, maybe go back and try the building they were working in and see if they left something unlocked, or stake out the dorm and—"

"By all means, Ophelia, feel free to stay and keeping working. I, for one, am heading home."

Irritation sparks at the lazy drawl in his voice. "Great work ethic. I can see exactly why Blair has you as his ringer."

Cas gives me an indulgent smile over his shoulder, never breaking his stride. "Blair trusts my instincts and my intuition, and both are telling me we've learned what we need to tonight."

"And that would be…?"

"That this boy, Devin, is just that. A boy . Living his life, in too deep with Haverstad and the campaign. Or, at the very least, not doing anything nefarious on campus with his late night art project."

It's hard to disagree with that when my own instincts are telling me the same thing, but I can't quite drop it as we make our way back across campus to where we left the car.

The closer we get, the more I want to keep arguing with him. I want to stall, to keep working, to avoid getting back into that car and the possibility of continuing our quiet, bitingly honest conversation from earlier.

Work is much easier than facing all of that again.

"But that doesn't mean we still couldn't—"

"Ophelia." Cas stops walking in the middle of the path and turns to face me. "It's late. It's cold. We got the answers we came for. And since you were up and off for your run with the sunrise this morning, I assume you could use an early night, if this still qualifies."

"How do you know when I left for a run?"

The fact that he's paying that close attention to me is… unsettling, to say the least.

He gives another careless shrug. "I don't always sleep. And you weren't exactly quiet when you slammed your van door shut."

I huff an irritated breath, but Cas is already moving again. "I didn't slam anything." Part of me is well-aware how childish I must look protesting and chasing after him, but again, I can't ever seem to get myself to shut up around him. "And if you're going to be a creep and keep tabs on me, I'll take my van back to the industrial park."

"No, you won't." He doesn't even look at me this time, just keeps up his brisk stride until we're all the way back to the car. "You like my kitchen too much, and my bathroom. You're not going anywhere."

I really, really don't like how right he is, and, with no way to avoid the inevitable, I give up my bitching and climb into the passenger seat.

I try to ignore the slight, triumphant smile on Cas's lips as we start the drive home, and I try to be a better person and stop arguing with the handsome vampire who's being more generous with me than I probably deserve.

Try. And fail.

"You can stop gloating, you know."

That smile grows even wider at my grumbled complaint. "I'm doing nothing of the sort."

"You are."

"Never," he swears with mock-solemnity, and the unlikely tug at the corners of my lips makes me want to fight him even more, if just for the sport of it.

"So, where do you watch me leave for my morning run? The front windows, or up in that tower of yours?"

"The second floor landing. There's an exceptionally comfortable set of chairs in front of the window that overlooks the drive."

"Oh really, and what do you—"

"Ah, not so fast. It's my turn to ask you a prying question."

Despite my best efforts, I snort a laugh. "Fire away."

"Have you always been a runner, or is it just my home you feel the need to flee?"

"I've always been a runner. All-state track and cross-country back in high school, and marathons starting while I was in college. I try to do at least one a year, if I can."

Cas cuts me a look. "Impressive."

"Well, when you grow up with a family who are all extraordinary, you kind of have to be."

It's a slip I didn't mean to make, a comment that wades back into the deep, murky waters we were navigating earlier. I silently curse myself for not being able to keep the conversation light when we've still got at least ten minutes to go until we make it home.

Cas falls silent for a few long moments before he answers, and though I don't dare look, I swear I can feel his eyes on me as we roll to a stop at the next intersection.

"Have you ever considered you are extraordinary, in all your wonderful humanity?"

I swallow hard, unable to answer, but Cas isn't finished.

"I certainly thought so, even back when we first met. And that opinion hasn't changed all these years later."

Silence falls again, but it's filled to the brim with a terrible, aching sort of tension that makes me want to throw open the door and hurl myself out of the car.

What the hell am I supposed to say to that?

My breath is too shallow in my chest, and I can't make myself look at Cas, even when we start moving again and I sense his gaze slip away from me.

"Forgive me," he says quietly. "That didn't exactly match the tone of the conversation, did it?"

I laugh softly, but the sound is wrong, forced, and there doesn't seem to be much air left inside the car as we continue on for a few more blocks.

My lungs get smaller and a good breath becomes harder and harder to come by with each streetlight we pass beneath. When I sneak a glance at Cas, his face is set in tight, tense lines, his eyes determinedly fixed on the road ahead.

Why would he say something like that?

The idea that it might be true, that he might actually see me as someone different than the ordinary, unremarkable person I've always felt like rings through me like a broken bell. Discordant, off-key, grating against my nerves, which already feel raw and shaky after the last few days.

I don't know what to make of it, what to do with it, so I take my cue from Cas. I turn my gaze back to the road and keep it there, stubbornly looking onwards, always onwards, counting the blocks, the minutes, the seconds, until I can get out of this damn car.