She laughed again, louder than before. "I doubt that very much," Cassandra said, looking him dead in the eye. The mirth dropped out of her voice in the next instant, faster than whiplash. "There's no one left alive who can tolerate me."

Unhappily, Cassandra turned around, walking back to the bed and sitting down. With a slow exhale, she wilted, lying down on her back, closing her eyes. What a thing for him to suggest: Falling in love. That was something Cassandra was no good with. Nor did she want to be. Everyone she loved had the nasty habit of dying. Or disappearing. Or both.

"I'm dreaming of you, you know," she murmured. "Almost every night. When I'm not having seizures and visions, that is."