Understanding Cassandra

“I HOPE WE’RE LEAVING BECAUSE YOU HAVE AN IDEA,” I said as we walked along the street.

“He doesn’t know anything.”

“How do you know? You barely prodded him.”

“What was I supposed to do? Rip out his fingernails? I’m over three hundred years old, Paige. I have an excellent understanding of human and vampire behavior. John knows nothing.”

I glanced back toward the row house.

“Don’t you dare,” Cassandra said. “Really, Paige, you can be such a child. An impetuous child with an overdeveloped sense of her own infallibility. You’re lucky that binding spell held John or I would have had to rescue you yet again.”

“When have you ever rescued me?” I shook my head, realizing I was being deftly led away from my goal. “Forget John, then. What about the other two? We should stop by the Rampart, see if you can pick up their trail—”

“If John doesn’t know anything, they don’t know anything.”

“I’m still not convinced John doesn’t know anything.”

She muttered something and walked faster, leaving me lagging behind. I took out my cell phone. She glanced over her shoulder.

“I’m not standing here waiting for a cab, Paige. There’s a restaurant a few blocks over. We’ll phone from there.”

“I’m not calling for a cab. I’m phoning Aaron.”

“It’s three A.M. He will not appreciate—”

“He said to call him when we finished talking to John, whatever the hour, and see whether he’s found any other leads.”

Cassandra snatched the cell phone from my hand. “He hasn’t. Aaron spent the last seventy years in Australia, Paige. He’s barely been back for two years. How could he possibly know anything about us? About the vampires here?”

“He knew about John and the Rampart.” I peered at her through the darkness. “You really don’t want me asking other vampires for information, do you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I took you to Aaron. I brought you here. I chased down John—”

“I chased down John. You walked right past him.”

“John doesn’t know anything.”

“But you do.”

“No,” she said, meeting my eyes. “I don’t.”

I knew then that she was telling the truth. She didn’t know anything…and that’s why she was blocking and snapping at me, because these were her people, she represented them, and she should have known something. Known about the Rampart, known about John’s anti-Cabal crusade, known who’d had run-ins with the Cabals. But she didn’t. That was the problem.

“Lucas and I can handle this,” I said, my tone softening. “You don’t need to—”

“Yes, I do need to. You were right. As council delegate I need to help solve this before the situation getsworse for all involved.” She handed me my cell phone. “Go ahead. Call Aaron.”

I shook my head. “It can wait until morning. Let’s go back to the hotel and get some sleep.”

Of course, I didn’t want to sleep. I wanted to plot my next move. I wanted to call Lucas and get his opinion. I wanted to call Aaron and see whether he’d uncovered anything. Most of all, though, I wanted to shake Cassandra until her fangs rattled.

I did none of this. I could hardly track fresh leads at this hour, so there was no reason not to phone Lucas and Aaron in the morning. As for Cassandra, well, let’s just say I was having trouble working up a good dose of righteous indignation. For once in my life, I think I understood Cassandra, or some minuscule part of her.

Aaron was right: Cassandra was disconnecting. A modern term for an ancient vampire affliction. When a vampire begins to pull back from the world, it’s a sure sign that she’s coming to the end of her life. I’d always thought it was intentional. You know you don’t have much time left, so you begin to withdraw, make peace with yourself.

I’ll admit, if I knew my time was coming, I’d throw myself into the world like never before, and spend every minute with those I loved. Yet it made sense that vampires might be more reflective, might isolate themselves, as they saw the end coming and realized the full cost of their existence. Even if they killed only one person a year, that added up to hundreds of victims over a lifetime. Hundreds who’d died so they could live. As that life draws to an end, they must look back and question their choice.

Seeing Cassandra deny her disconnection, fight to pretend that she’s just as much a part of the world as ever, I understood that the process must be as involuntary as any other part of aging. I’ve said that Cassandra didn’t care about anyone but herself, and she’d been that way my entire life. Although I was sure she’d never been the most altruistic person, if she’d always been as self-centered as she was today, she’d never have been granted a seat on the council. Perhaps, as she grew older, she’d begun finding it more difficult to care, as the years and the faces blurred together, her own self and life the only constant. Yet she’d told herself she wasn’t affected by it, that she was still as vibrant and vital as ever. Could I really blame her for that? Of course not.

What about my mother? Could I blame her? She must have seen the signs with Cassandra. Why didn’t she say anything? When Cassandra’s codelegate, Lawrence, had taken off for Europe, sinking into the final stages of his decline, my mother should have insisted on getting a second, younger vampire delegate. If she had, maybe none of this would have happened. We’d have known which vampires were having trouble with the Cabals. Yet my mother had done nothing. Why? Perhaps for the same reason I sat on the hotel bed, staring at the door, knowing I should go out there and confront Cassandra, yet unable to do so.