Strange Fates Read online

  Ambrose noticed more than I had given him credit for. I was fond of my cousin, even though it made my plans for revenge more complicated.

  I gave him a sharp look, but he only smiled blandly.

  “What could cause such a shift?” I asked.

  He hesitated. “I’ve been hearing some disturbing rumors. There is talk that the Wyrd line is dying out.”

  “But what about Naomi? And she mentioned a cousin Claire.”

  “They’re young. And I believe that someone may be launching an attack against the Fates.”

  “To what end? And what kind of power?”

  “You’re not going to like it,” he said.

  “Tell me,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “They took a book.”

  I swore. “What kind of book?”

  “The Book of Fates,” he replied. “It’s Deci’s responsibility to keep the book and it’s missing. Every House has a book, but that one has information about a particular prophecy.”

  “What’s the prophecy about?”

  “In a nutshell, you.” He took a swig of his beer.

  “Me? What does it say?” I tried and failed to act like I had no idea what he was talking about.

  “A male from the Wyrd line will bring down the Fates,” he finally said. He cleared his throat. “‘He, born of Fortune, shall let loose the barking dogs as the Fates fall and Hecate shall rise.’”

  Ambrose knew who I really was and hadn’t used the information. I might as well cop to it. “Is that why the Fates want me dead?” I’d always thought they were out to get me because my mother had outwitted them and stolen time for me, but maybe there was more to it.

  “Maybe,” Ambrose replied. “There are certainly others who are betting the prophecy is true. But from what I can tell, they aren’t so keen on keeping you breathing, either.”

  “So there are two sides, both magic, waging war? And everybody wants me dead because of this prophecy?”

  “That pretty much sums it up,” he said.

  “And you? Which side are you on?” I asked.

  “I’m Switzerland,” he replied. “Not on either side.”

  “Why? Because I saved your life?”

  He nodded. “That, and because I think the prophecy is wrong. Prophecies are tricky things. The question is, what do you intend to do about it?”

  I met his eyes. “Whatever it takes.”

  After he left, I dug out the book I’d been reading. I stayed up for another hour, but it wasn’t looking good for poor Chance. I reluctantly shut the book and turned out the light. I dreamed of bloody wizard duels.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Working at Parsi Enterprises all week and then Eternity Road on the weekends left me with little free time, but I finally got a Sunday off. It was a tantalizingly warm spring day. The weather couldn’t be counted on to stay that way, though, and I had no intention of spending my only day off inside.

  I also wanted to investigate the lake.

  The water looked smooth and serene, but I could see dark shapes below. It reminded me of the water hag in the pool. Had Willow sent her?

  “I got your little present,” I called to a listening wave. There was no answer and I started to turn away when Willow appeared.

  “Come closer, Nyx,” she said.

  “When does the lake thaw, Willow?”

  “It is thawed now,” she said.

  “Only for water nymphs,” I said. “When will the water be warm enough for me?”

  “That would be foolish, even for the son of Fortuna,” she warned.

  I sat at the water’s edge and she flopped beside me and dangled her feet into the water.

  She saw me staring at her legs and gave me an icy stare. “Not all water nymphs have tails.” She snaked a hand through my open jacket and unbuttoned a button on my shirt. Her cold touch should have repulsed me, but my body responded.

  I captured her hand before it went into the danger zone. “Stop it.”

  “I am merely checking to see if you have a heart,” she replied.

  “I have a heart and it belongs to someone else.”

  “What does that mean?” she scoffed.

  “It means I’m in love with someone else.”

  I knew she was strong, but she gripped my hands so fiercely that I winced. “The mortal? You think she will make you happy?”

  “She does make me happy,” I said.

  “Wanting something to be true doesn’t make it so,” Willow replied. Her eyes held equal parts sadness and longing.

  I couldn’t help myself. I leaned in. I wanted just one taste of her lips. They’d taste cold and sharp. Her expression told me to come closer. There was less than a breath between us when I remembered Elizabeth and gained the strength to pull back.

  “Don’t try your tricks with me,” I muttered.

  “Tricks? I used no tricks.” She seemed bewildered, but nymphs were good at pretending emotions they didn’t feel, to lure men to their doom.

  “But I wanted to kiss you.”

  Willow gave a disgusted little snort. “Men,” she said. “Blaming others for their own desires.”

  “You mean you didn’t…?”

  She met my eyes. “I didn’t have to,” she said.

  “I’ve got to go,” I said abruptly. I’d almost kissed her, had wanted to desperately, and couldn’t even blame it on magic. There was an angry splash as Willow left me.

  I waited until there wasn’t anyone around and then stripped down.

  I dove in and swam down as far as I could. I thought my lungs would burst. Nothing. I had gone back to the surface, gulping blessed air, when a slight movement caught my eye, but before I could investigate, a naiad appeared, then another. They moved so quickly. I was surrounded.

  I tried to swim away, but Willow caught me easily. “Shush, son of Fortuna,” she said. “You are in my domain now.”

  That name on her lips startled me for a moment. It had been so long since I’d heard it, except as a curse on my aunts’ lips.

  “What do you want?” I asked her, but it was pretty clear. The rest of her pack eyed me with hungry gleams in their eyes. A water hag past her prime wrapped a scaly finger around her seaweed hair and twirled it flirtatiously. She smiled, which revealed teeth like razors.

  Naiads were merciless, not anything like the shy water nymphs portrayed in legend. Whoever had spread that particular mythological rumor had obviously never met a naiad. They had one weakness, if you didn’t count the fact that they liked to suck the marrow out of their victims, preferably male ones.

  “Can’t we talk about this? There must be something you want.”

  She shrugged. “I have everything of yours that I want. Or I will shortly.” She bent to suck the breath from my lips.

  “Wait!” I gurgled. “I’ll grant you a boon.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Swear it!”

  “I swear that I, Nyx Fortuna, grant—” I looked inquiringly at her to make sure I was using the proper words.

  She nodded.

  “—grant Willow the Naiad a boon of her choosing,” I paused for breath. I wouldn’t put it past her to demand my soul just for the fun of it. “Such boon shall not require the loss of life or freedom of Nyx Fortuna or those he holds dear,” I added.

  She moved closer and whispered, “What you seek lies beneath, but be very sure you are willing to pay the price before you venture again into my domain. Next time, I won’t be so kind.”

  She wrapped her arms around me and dove into the black depths. I lost consciousness. When I awoke, I was on the shore, sputtering and coughing.

  I rolled over and vomited a stream of water. I gasped and filled my lungs with air. I’d had a lucky escape. That wasn’t going to stop me, however, from going back down to the dark depths. But next time, I’d be better prepared.

  I drove home, feet freezing in my beat-up Docs, and contemplated my next move.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  A week later, I hadn’
t gotten up the nerve to go back to the lake. Instead, Talbot and I were hanging out at my apartment, watching the tiny secondhand TV.

  “Your dad was asking about Naomi the other day.”

  He stopped, hand on the remote. “What did you tell him?” he asked softly, but his eyes shone silver. He was pissed.

  “Nothing.”

  The look on his face convinced me I needed to say something. If the relationship continued, he was going to get something broken. His nose or his heart. Or maybe both, if his dad was right.

  “Talbot…” My voice trailed off. What would I do if someone told me to stop seeing Elizabeth? The thought made me suck in my breath.

  “Yes?” He gave me an inquiring look, but there was a hint of bravado beneath it.

  “Be careful, okay?” I finally replied.

  “Love is blind, Nyx,” Talbot said. “And sometimes deaf and dumb as well.”

  What I really wanted to tell him was, to quote a sad country song, “Love’s a bitch.”

  Talbot talked incessantly about my cousin while I rolled my eyes.

  “Can we take a break from all this Naomi worship?” I asked.

  He looked around at the bare walls, the pile of stuff Ambrose had given me that I still hadn’t organized, and my packed duffel in the corner. “I love what you’ve done with the place.”

  “You’re a funny guy,” I said.

  “It wouldn’t take much to make it into something cool,” he said.

  “I’m not big on interior design,” I said. I was trying to joke, but something in me resisted the idea of trying to make the apartment into anything besides a place to crash at night.

  “No, I’m serious,” he said. “Let’s paint this place.”

  I gave him a friendly shove. “Better than listening to you yammer on about young love.”

  He finally convinced me. A trip to the hardware store later, I had picked out an ocean blue for my bedroom walls.

  A couple of hours later, we had finished painting.

  “It looks good,” Talbot said.

  I stood back to get a better look. “It reminds me of Capri.” The thought sobered me. “Let’s get out of here,” I added. “Go do something.”

  Talbot surveyed at our paint-splattered clothes and grimaced. “Mind if I clean up first? I’ll meet you back here in half an hour.”

  We spent the evening at the Red Dragon, playing pool and drinking beer. It was around midnight when Talbot sank the last shot and won. Again.

  “You know what you are?” Talbot asked. “A bad influence.”

  “Me?” I repsonded with pretended outrage. “You just cleaned me out.”

  “You know what we need? Eggs and bacon. Let’s go to Belle’s.”

  “I could use some coffee,” I said. “And some food. Maybe it will help me sober up.”

  “It’s worth a shot.”

  Hell’s Belles was empty, but there were lights on. We slid into a booth, exchanging a look. It was a twenty-four-hour joint and there was usually someone around.

  Bernie finally came out of the back. “What would you like?” she asked. She fidgeted with the ties of her apron.

  “He needs about a gallon of coffee,” Talbot said.

  Her smile was noticeably absent. “Anything else?”

  “We need a few minutes,” Talbot said. He didn’t seem to notice Bernie’s odd behavior.

  She came back with two cups and a carafe of coffee and put it on the table.

  “What’s the deal with all the horseshoes?”

  “What do ya have against horseshoes?” Bernie asked.

  “Nothing,” I said mildly. “Just wondering why so many.”

  “I like ’em,” the demon in woman’s clothing said. “Got a problem with that?”

  The old Nyx would have been up and behind the counter, fists swinging. Instead, I shook my head. “Nope.”

  Her face softened. “A horseshoe is a symbol of luck. There was a time I was sorely in need of some.”

  “Luck? Sounds good.” Was she one of the few remaining Lady Fortuna worshippers or just superstitious?

  “Now, what can I get you?”

  I looked at Talbot in inquiry. “What do you recommend?” I’d been there before, but it was a habit not to reveal anything about myself.

  He handed me an oversize paper menu that looked like a fifth grader had drawn the illustrations. “Work your way through the specials.”

  I took his advice and ordered the blue plate special and another pot of coffee.

  Bernie came back with my order, which turned out to be one perfect egg, crisp bacon, and buttery toast. But the unusual part was that the egg was served in its own brightly decorated shell.

  “It’s too pretty to break.” I marveled at the delicately painted animals, gilded with touches of gold. “It reminds me of a Russian glass egg my mother used to have. She loved that egg.”

  He gestured to my breakfast. “Eat your egg. It opens just there.”

  I spooned some of the scrambled egg onto my plate, careful not to ruin the fragile shell. I asked Talbot, “What did you want to talk to me about?”

  He avoided my eyes. “Nothing.”

  “Are you sure? You always bring me here when you want to talk without being overheard.”

  He shrugged. “It’s not important,” he said casually. “I was just wondering about your family.”

  “I don’t have any.”

  Talbot grabbed a pen and began to doodle on the paper place mat in front of him.

  “Nobody? Where are you from anyway?”

  Before I could answer, something lurched into the room. It was a thing of nightmares, rotting flesh, and graveyard stench. It moved swiftly for a dead thing and managed to wrap its corpse-cold hands around my neck.

  Talbot broke a ketchup bottle over its skull, but it didn’t even slow it down. It swatted him away and he flew across the room.

  Its grip was relentless and black spots swarmed in front of me, like pesky flies. I fumbled for the knife I kept in my boot.

  I took aim at its upper arms, hacking away until its arm fell away and I could breathe again.

  The thing slithered away, but trailed a dark noxious liquid as it went. Corroded blood.

  The only sound I heard was my own wheezing. “What the hell was that thing?” I finally got out, but I knew what it was. A wraith, called by a necromancer to do his or her dirty work.

  Talbot grabbed a hold of a bar stool and pulled himself up from the floor. “Bernie!” he bellowed, but there was no sign of her. We searched the entire restaurant, including the basement and the walk-in freezers, but she’d vanished.

  After we’d cleaned up the blood, I sat in the booth, willing my legs to stop shaking.

  “I thought you said you knew nothing of necromancy,” Talbot said.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “That’s an athame,” he said. “From the House of Hades.”

  “A what?”

  “A necromancer’s knife,” he replied. “Athames are used in rituals, but yours belonged to a necromancer.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “The obsidian handle, the engraving on the blade.”

  “My mother gave it to me for my thirteenth birthday,” I said. “In a carved wooden box.”

  His gaze sharpened. “Necromancers receive their first athame on their thirteenth birthday. It’s tradition.”

  “My mother was not a necromancer,” I said.

  “Do you have the box?”

  “No, why do you ask?” I reached for my coffee, but it had gone cold. Some of the liquid sloshed from the cup. My mother had taught me much about magic, but she had brushed over the House of Hades and had never even mentioned necromancy. Or my father’s name. She’d always said I was better off not knowing, but now I had to know.

  “I need to talk to your dad,” I said. I didn’t want to wait until morning.

  Talbot trailed behind me as I left the diner and went straight for Eternity Road. Their a
partment was dark, but I pounded on the door anyway. Talbot shoved me aside and unlocked it. Ambrose was in the hallway wearing pajamas and a scowl.

  “I’m going to bed,” Talbot said tersely.

  Ambrose was pissed off at me, but I had other things on my mind. “Do you know anything about my father?”

  I watched him closely, looking for a reaction. A bland mask slipped over his face.

  “Your father?”

  “Yes, my father,” I replied. “Do you have any idea who he was?”

  There was a telling silence while he struggled to think of something to say. Something I would believe. “Why do you ask?”

  “I think you know something about him.”

  “I know nothing,” he said.

  “I read the book,” I said flatly. “Your novel.” I didn’t know who my father was. My mother had never told me his name, only that she loved him, but it wasn’t meant to be. Ambrose’s book told another story.

  He flinched, but his face didn’t reveal his thoughts. “Did you enjoy it?”

  “Right up until it disappeared,” I said. I’d torn the apartment apart looking for it, but it was gone. Ambrose had keys to my place, but why would he take it?

  “That’s unfortunate,” he replied.

  “Cut the bullshit,” I said. “You wrote a thinly veiled story of my family. So which one were you? The dumped fiancé or the one who got her?”

  He met my gaze. “The dumped fiancé,” he said. “So you’ll understand why I’m reluctant to discuss your father, since he betrayed me and stole the woman I loved.”

  “Is that why you’ve been so nice to me? To get your revenge?”

  My question enraged him. I could see it in his eyes, but he only gave me a tight smile. “I befriended you because you are the son of the woman I loved. You look so much like her that it hurts. You remind me of all that I have lost and why.”

  What could I say to his controlled summary of a lifetime of pain? I should have dropped it, let him lick his wounds in private.

  My throat closed, but I pressed on. “He sounds like a monster,” I finally said.

  Ambrose shook his head. “He wasn’t,” he said simply. “That made it all the worse. Didn’t your mother ever speak of him?”

  “Only to say that he had abandoned us,” I told him.