Antigoddess

of food. He looked frustrated. He must’ve asked twice already.

“It’s nice out,” she replied. “I think I’m going to walk.”

* * *

It wasn’t, truly, that nice out. But the chill on the tips of her nose and fingers felt better than the claustrophobia of Henry’s front seat. And she hadn’t been in the mood to deflect his worried questions. He would have known that something was off. Anyway, in that way she had of knowing things, she knew Henry was going to hit a chunk of concrete on Meyer Road and stop to check his car for ten minutes. Annoying.

Cassandra was showered and dressed, with her hair brushed and lip gloss on, but she felt vacant, distracted, like she might walk into traffic at any moment. When she’d gotten ready, first in front of the bathroom mirror and then at her antique white vanity, it had all been on autopilot, a lucky thing that she’d done it so many times and that she never varied her makeup and rarely her hair.

Her feet stepped along the sidewalk, quick and indecisive, the walk of someone running from something without knowing where they were headed. Kincade High School was only another ten minutes away. Maybe she wouldn’t go. If she took a right on Birch she would head farther into town. Left and she’d eventually find herself on the highway, and if she followed that as it wound northwest, she’d hit the state park. There didn’t seem to be enough ground in either direction. Her feet slowed, then stopped.

This was supposed to happen. The visions changing. All the little things led up to this.

What part of her thought that? What part of her felt it? But part of her did. And if she was honest, part of her thought it made sense. Something was starting. Something was happening.

Maybe this is the point. The reason I’ve been a little bit different all this time. Maybe this is the start of whyever I was given this—

“Curse,” she whispered. Curse. She didn’t know why that word passed through her head. She’d never thought of it that way before.

When she finally walked into the school, she was fifteen minutes late. The building was always kept at what felt like several dozen degrees too hot, and it melted the frozen tips of her fingers and ears too fast, so by the time she got to her locker on the second floor her face and hands tingled and stung. Aidan was there waiting and had the locker open before she reached it.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” She skinned out of her jacket and stuffed it inside.

“I was getting worried. Didn’t you get my texts?”

“Huh?” She pulled her phone out of her pocket but didn’t really look at it. “Yeah.” She flexed her fingers. “Cold hands. Figured I’d just see you when I got here.” Textbooks with frayed edges and laminated folders slid through her clumsy grip. The blood inside her hands hurt and felt slushy, like if you tore them open it’d look like a red ICEE.

“I shouldn’t have come.” She pressed the books back into the locker and let them drop; they boomed against the thin metal and fell in a heap of open covers and bent pages.

Aidan looked at the pile and cocked his brow. “Not up for English this morning?”

Cassandra shook her head.

“Music to my ears.” He took her jacket out and helped her back into it.

* * *

“You look better already.”

She smiled. “I don’t feel better already.” But she did, a little. With her hands curled around a mug of hot chocolate and a half-moon cookie in her stomach, she felt close to okay.

Aidan sipped his coffee. “Well, maybe if we got you something besides sugar. Do you want a sandwich?”

“Not yet. Maybe in a while.” Her phone buzzed but she ignored it. A few seconds later, Aidan’s buzzed as well. Angry texts from Andie, demanding to know why they’d ditched without telling her. Cassandra sipped her cocoa and looked out onto the quiet street. The sky was gray and overcast. Everyone passing by had their necks tucked into the collars of their jackets, eyes solidly on the sidewalk or straight ahead. No stopping to admire the scenery. Cold wind reminded them that winter was coming, and they were bitter about it.

“I dreamed the other night.” She looked down into her cocoa. “Except it wasn’t a dream.”

“Tell me.”

She told him about the Cyclops, about the boy with clever eyes and shaggy brown hair. Her voice sounded like someone else’s voice, monotone, and so even it might have been prerecorded. When she was done, her lips pressed together wearily. It had only taken a few minutes to tell.

“He died?” Aidan asked.

“He was screaming.”

“But did he die?”

“I don’t know.” She swallowed. “I think so.” Thinking about it again brought a whiff of caves and old decay. She covered her cocoa with her hand. Only the warmth of Aidan’s arm around her back kept her in the booth. It still felt like she should do something. Like she should stop it; as if that were possible. Aidan sighed: a sound of relief. He kissed her temple, her ear, her neck and told her everything would be fine, the way you’d calm a child, or a crazy person.

“It won’t be all right. This isn’t normal. Not even for me. It isn’t just calling coins, or knowing when it’s going to rain. I saw you cut to ribbons by feathers. I saw a Cyclops eat someone, and I don’t even know how I know what a Cyclops is.” She kept her voice low, even though they were in the back of the cafe, in a corner booth. The confession felt strange. The words clung to her teeth.

“You have to trust me,” he said. “Everything will be fine.”

“You should be the one trusting me. I know things. And what I know right now is that everything is not going to be fine.”

“But it is. I’ll make sure it is. I know things too.”

“Yeah?” she asked. “Like what things?” He was looking at her so intently. His mouth opened and closed on words. Aidan never hesitated, or sputtered.

It must be really horrible to be around me sometimes. I must’ve really freaked him out.

She sighed and he squeezed her tighter.

“I know I love you,” he said. “We’ll figure this out. I promise.”

* * *

The hockey arena stood on the outskirts of town, an enormous structure painted a bleak, pale blue with what seemed to be a mustard yellow racing stripe along the roof. It sat beside four outdoor rinks and across from the lot where the bus garage was. The town used it for all manner of events: birthday parties, senior skate nights, and figure skating lessons, but the presence of so many yellow buses stamped it forever as being part of the school, and the specter of tests and teachers hung over it in a perpetual cloud.

Cassandra and Aidan leaned against the hood of Henry’s Mustang while Andie and Henry stood on the sidewalk and talked about pucks and passing and goalies who couldn’t get their legs closed. They’d been lucky to get a close space. Even though it was a mid-week game, the lot was jammed. Andie was in all her gear except for her skates and helmet. Her black hair was back in a ponytail, her bangs kept off her forehead with a purple bandanna. Her shoulders and ass looked enormous in the padding. It was strange that something so awkward and full of bulges could be so graceful once you strapped blades to its feet.

“I’d better go play captain,” Andie said, and motioned to Cassandra. “Want to walk me back to the locker room?”

“So you’re not mad anymore about us ditching Monday, right?” Cassandra asked as they walked down the cement steps. Andie had given her the cold shoulder for the better part of Tuesday, but by Wednesday seemed to have forgotten all about it. “It wasn’t planned or anything. I got there late. You were already in class.”

“It was for the best anyway. If I’d have ditched, they’d have benched me tonight, and I bet your brother twenty bucks I’d get a hat trick.”

Cassandra smiled. Going to the cafe with Aidan had helped, and she was glad Andie wasn’t pissed. Afterward, they’d gone back to his house and spent the day curled up together, watching movies. Or not watching