A Matter of Fate (18 page)

“Nope,” Karl says. “All of them are Council ordered.”

Kellan motions to a nearby newspaper. “Speaking of, Iolani did a great job.”

Karl nods. “Ever expanding her growing island fleet.”

I hold my hands in time-out formation. “Who’s Iolani?”

“A Volcanic,” Kellan answers, as if it’s obvious.

“Iolani Popolohua is a descendant of Pele,” Karl adds. “Anytime a major volcano goes off, she’s the one triggering it.”

I’ve asked Karl a thousand questions about the Guard so far, but now the most basic one comes to me. “How does someone go about joining the Guard?”

Karl gives me a weird look. “Chloe. Are you serious?”

“Uh . . . yes?”

“The Seer at your birth tells your parents, just like they would about a Council placement.”

“Oh. Well, that makes sense. So you two have always known?”

“Chloe,” Karl says again. Both he and Kellan look surprised. “You do know, don’t you?”

“Know what?”

“You’re on the Guard, too,” Kellan says.

I sit up, startled. “I’m not on the Guard. I’m on the Council.”

“Well, yeah, that’s true,” Karl says. “But you’re also Guard. You’re like me. Didn’t your parents tell you this?”

Are they pulling my leg? My voice is shrill when I say, “No, no they did not!”

There’s an uncomfortable silence before Karl carefully explains, “All Creators serve both the Council and the Guard. It’s always been like this. Creators have the sort of job that requires the Guards’ protection.”

I leap from the chair, furious. This is so typical of my parents! Yet another thing they didn’t bother telling me about. I’m going to be on the Guard, and somehow, that was too much for me to know?

“Whoa,” Kellan says, standing up now, too. I feel like running again, but this time, Kellan grounds me with his presence and his arms.

Muffled against his shirt, I whine softly, “I’m so tired of being in the dark. I feel so dumb.”

Karl quietly leaves the room.

“You’re not dumb,” Kellan assures me, his words soft and sweet as his lips against my temple, but it doesn’t matter. How am I supposed to live up to my parents’ expectations, anyone’s expectations, really, when I don’t even have a clue what they are in the first place?

Raul Mesaverde is several things. First off, he is possibly the most exuberant person I’ve ever met. He simply oozes charm and delight. A smile perpetually shines on his face, laughter follows almost everything said or heard. He hugs both Karl and Kellan at least two times (although it would’ve been three had Karl not told him to knock it off) and me and Cora four times apiece. After he kisses both my cheeks twice, Kellan steps in and tells him to quit, which does nothing to dampen Raul’s good mood in the slightest.

Secondly, he’s flashy. He drove up in a cherry-red Lamborghini (explanation:
“What’s the point in driving if you don’t have fun doing it?”
), wears a diamond-encrusted Rolex (
“A simple gift from
mi abuela
when I Ascended.”
), and favors silk Tshirts as opposed to any other kind (
“Jersey is itchy and
muy bourgeoisie,
don’t you think?”
). He finds it hilarious when Karl and Kellan refer to him as a Spanish gigolo.

Third, he’s mind-blowingly gorgeous: tall and lanky, with stylish dark-brown hair and warm hazel eyes which twinkle more on the green side. His teeth are so white he nearly blinds me with every smile.

I’m beginning to wonder if the Guard only employs good-looking Magicals.

He is grossly disappointed when Karl informs him we can’t go to San Francisco for the weekend or anywhere else except the small town we’re already in. “This is a hamlet,” Raul complains as Karl gets into Kellan’s car. “What are we to do for fun around here?”

“Chloe has three close friends,” Karl says, nodding towards an outraged Cora who is hissing under her breath about sexist pigs. “And one of them is a Muse. Figure it out.”

Raul shifts back into radiant joy. “Is this true?”

“Keep your hands off my girl this weekend,” Kellan tells Raul before kissing me goodbye. Cora predictably huffs, irritated at the action.

“You are no fun.” Raul says, feigning hurt. “I swear. You steal all the girls in Annar and now you steal this gorgeous woman here, too. Where is your sense of sharing, Kellan?”

I try not to laugh.

“I’ll send my brother over here if you don’t follow my rules.” But it’s a tight smile Kellan offers when he says this.

My laughter dies pretty quickly. Cora’s interest perks right up.

“And why won’t you be here to watch my progress seducing your lovely?” Raul teases. I turn beet red and attempt to stammer some kind of
In your dreams, buddy
protest.

Kellan gets into his car. “Zthane wants to see me.”

Raul and Karl smirk at one another. “Ah yes. Such is the life of the golden boy.”

I shoot Kellan a questioning look, but he doesn’t offer any clarification. “I’ll call you later tonight,” he says instead. And then they leave.

Lizzie and Meg do not come over that night. Instead, Raul spends a good deal of time on the phone with Giuliana as he cooks us paella, discussing what’s been going on back at Guard headquarters plus what’s going on here locally.

I still haven’t officially met Giuliana, but I’ve caught glimpses of her in the mornings when she drops off Jonah and Kellan. I wait for those small windows of time in which I can wear dark sunglasses and watch Jonah walk straight from the car to the building without anyone knowing I’m blatantly staring.

He never talks to any of us. Alex once asked Kellan about this, but all Kellan would say was that Jonah has a lot on his mind lately. I can’t help but wonder what Jonah’s telling his brother, what explanation he gives for his distance.

While Raul is talking to Giules, I surreptitiously type in Jonah’s number over and over on my cell as Cora watches a movie. Kellan’s given it to me, just in case. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Raul or Giules, he’d said. It’s just that if I was in trouble, and he was still in Annar, he trusted his brother best to keep me safe. How’s that for irony?

I come close to calling Jonah several times. Each time I press
call,
I end up just as quickly pressing
end call.
Because . . . what would I say? How do I even start this conversation?

Oblivious to my internal struggles, Cora leans in and whispers, “What’s the deal with this guy?”

Raul is animatedly gesturing with a spatula, like Giules can see him over the phone. “You mean Raul?”

“Shhh!” she hisses. And then, “Spill the beans, why don’t you?”

I glance back again at Raul, a European model resplendent in a frilly apron. And then I look back at my punk-rock Cousin and her magenta hair. “He’s a member of the Guard.”

“I know that,” she says. “What else?” I briefly relate the facts I’ve learned about Raul so far. She waves a hand at me. “That’s biography stuff! I want the dirt.”

Before I can ask what she means, she shushes me again, and I’m thankfully saved by Raul cheerfully announcing that dinner is ready.

Giuliana shows up Sunday morning, Jonah in tow. He doesn’t get out of the car, but then, I don’t leave the house. I watch him from my bedroom window upstairs. At one point he looks up and catches me staring, since I have no sunglasses to protect me. He’s the one hiding behind sunglasses now.

My heart slams around so hard my chest hurts.

I ought to run downstairs and out the door, straight to the car. Beg his forgiveness, declare my love. But I don’t. Fear keeps me rooted to my spot. Fear of his rejection, fear of his anger, fear of possible hatred.

I don’t think I can live with him hating me. Ignorance is better than actually knowing. If he hates me, at least I don’t have concrete proof of it yet.

As Raul and Giuliana talk to each other in my front yard, Jonah and I stare at each other through our respective windows. I raise my hand and press it against the glass, wishing it’s his hand I’m touching.

I expect him to turn away, to pretend my motion means nothing. But he surprises me. After an excruciating minute, he lifts his hand up, too. And places it exactly in my line of sight.

The moment is broken when Giuliana gets into the car. His hand drops and his head turns so they can speak. I pound on the window, desperate for his attention, but it does no good.

“Interesting,” Cora murmurs, studying me over the top of the books she’s reading.

I hold back tears of frustration.

She sets her book down and comes to hug me, telling me for the millionth time that Kellan’s not for me. That Jonah is. I simply cry on her shoulder.

For the rest of the day, Cora baits Raul with various taunts or giggles hopelessly at his poor excuses for jokes. I’m baffled by her behavior, because Cora’s not the sort to flirt. Men, she’s repeatedly told us Cousins, are good for only one thing: furthering the continuation of the species. Alex, oddly, has never taken issue with this concept.

But it seriously appears as if she’s flirting now.

“You must be very good, to be on the Guard,” she practically coos as we stroll around Old Town. I feel a bit like a third wheel as I trail several paces behind the two of them.

“I do my best,” he says modestly, but there is no blushing. I don’t think Raul even knows how to blush.

“Tell us what it’s like to be on the Guard,” she says, and then she shocks the hell out of me by looping her arm through his. “Karl tells us nothing.”

I beg to differ, as Karl tells me plenty, but I keep quiet, wanting to hear what Raul has to say. “I know of nothing else,” he says. “I suppose you could say it’s in my blood. My parents were both Guard, as were my grandparents. And the Guard, of course, is like a family itself. We are all very dedicated to our work and to each other.”

“Is that how it works, then?” I ask, jogging a few steps to catch up with them. Raul loops his free arm through mine so we became a merry, linked trio. “Are people on the Council or Guard typically there due to bloodlines?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Raul says, flashing one of his most beguiling smiles. “Heredity always plays a big part in a Magical’s life.”

“Neither of my parents were Council or Guard,” Cora says quietly.

“While I certainly am grateful that I am on the Guard,” Raul says, leaning toward her, “I must admit it is not the lifestyle for just anyone. Being on the Council and/or the Guard is a lifetime commitment. You are . . . not a slave, per se, but certainly beholden to the responsibilities of the job. There are times I envy those who do not have to carry these weights on their shoulders, who get to practice their crafts without being under a constant microscope. Like you,
mi guapita
. You will get assignments, yes, but you will also have a much freer life than, say, Chloe or I.”

“You think?” she asks in a weird, breathy, vulnerable voice.

“I know,” he says, his smile and eyes soft. I don’t think he even notices when I pull my arm out of his so I can wander to a nearby window to check out pair of shoes.

Over the last few weeks, I’ve spent most of my free time with Kellan. Alex spends most of his in my father’s study, poring over books. He’s got free rein of the space, considering my father and mother only come back from Annar for shorts visits since the attack. Communication between my mother and me is at the bare minimum, consisting mostly of questions about school, homework, and whether or not I’m behaving appropriately for Karl.

Lizzie and Meg have taken it upon themselves to help Alex with the research. Personally, I think Alex sees this as more of a bother than a help, but as he rarely ever tells any of us no, they’re put to work doing what he figures they can do.

As for myself, when I’m not hanging out with Kellan—or rather, making out with him, because we seem to have a hard time keeping our hands off of one another—I work with Karl on weapons. I’ve never considered making them before, but he feels that, if necessary, I ought to be able to defend myself.

“We’re all going to do our best to keep you safe,” he tells me in my backyard one evening. Caleb has joined us, serving mostly as color commentary on my burgeoning career as a weapons manufacturer. “But no one is invincible. You’ve got to have tricks ready in your arsenal to use.”

“I’m not comfortable with the Destroyer aspect of my craft,” I admit. Caleb gives me a sympathetic smile.

Karl sets down a knife I’ve created on a picnic table. “Don’t think of it like that. Think of it as a means for survival. Our society requires a Creator to function. The Council is like a machine built of multiple parts. Each part has a function necessary to keep the machine running. There are no extraneous parts. Each member of the Council is one of those parts, Chloe; each one necessary to keep the worlds functioning. Now—many of those parts are replaceable if they break down or fail. For example, I’m not the only Quake up and running nowadays. There are two Quakes per plane; each plane is represented on the Council. If I die, another Quake will take my place.”

I touch the tip of the knife. “Even if they aren’t meant for the Council or the Guard?”

“Even then. Fate will change their paths for them. This is the case with most of the Council. It’s not the case with you, though. There are two Creators in existence, and the other is very old and not very useful anymore. Throughout history, Creators are typically solitary creatures. They have a lot of power, more than most Magicals, and Fate doesn’t want too many über-powerful beings running around. You and Rushfire will overlap each other for only a very small slice of time. After he dies, if you were to die, we’d be up shit creek. The Council would begin to fall apart, because the machine wouldn’t have all of its parts.”

I set a crossbow down next to a knife. Caleb pipes up with, “Jeez. No pressure there.”

“Embrace the pressure, Chloe. It’ll keep you alive.” Karl runs his hands across the battalion of weapons I’ve created spread out on the table. “These are good, but they’re typical. Let’s work on something better. Something only a Creator can do.” He squats down and curls his fist. “I can use a gun, a knife; but my greatest weapon is my hand.” The fingers uncurl as he places his hand against the grass. A small shudder jars the weapons on the table. “I’m a Magical, Chloe. Just like you. Show me something that only you can do.”