Antigoddess by Kendare Blake Page A

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 café, 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