Strange Fates (Nyx Fortuna) (2 page)

On the way out, I didn’t see any surveillance cameras, which was a relief and another reason I gave holes like the Red Dragon my business.

The street was deserted, but it wouldn’t stay that way long. Bar fights brought the cops, usually with sirens blaring, so I took it as a good sign that it was quiet.

I looked younger than my driver’s license indicated, but that was to throw off the Wyrd Sisters or anyone else they sent looking for me. They’d managed to garner quite a bit of information about me, including the fact that I liked a lager now and then. My current driver’s license said I was twenty-five, but I wasn’t sure it would stand up to official scrutiny.

I’d grabbed a handful of cocktail napkins, but I had a feeling they wouldn’t be nearly enough to stem the blood flowing down my chest. Though I’d made it out of the bar without any problems, the girl caught up with me two blocks away.

“Wait up,” she called out. I kept walking, hunched over from the pain.

The original goal of the night was to meet my contact and get wasted, but now I just wanted to get the hell out of Dodge. Or Minneapolis. At least long enough to lick my wounds. I’d need every bit of strength for what I had planned. Meadow, or whatever her real name was, stayed close on my heels.

“I don’t know how to say this politely,” I said. “But get lost.” A strange girl who looked like my dead ex? That smelled like trouble.

I kept one hand firmly on my wound and tried not to think about how my blood was slowly soaking a cheap bar napkin. It had started to snow and I blew on my other hand to try to warm it. Minneapolis was cold as Hades, but I didn’t think my aunts would expect me here.

“I know a safe place,” she said, panting a little as she caught up with me. “You’re fast. It took me a few blocks to find you.”

I swayed and stumbled and she grabbed me to help me stay upright. I moved away from her. “I can walk on my own,” I croaked.

“Suit yourself.”

We walked in silence for a moment.

She was so close that our arms brushed and I could smell her fresh citrusy scent. It didn’t seem like her. I had expected her perfume to be something that suggested smooth whiskey and rumpled sheets.

“My car’s this way,” she said.

I wasn’t sure I could trust her, but I was definitely attracted to her. It had been a long time since I’d felt anything that strongly. I shook my head to clear it.

It was the floral barrette that decided it for me. It looked like it belonged on a third-grader. I went along with her, even though my instinct warned me against it. I could pick up my Caddy in the morning. I’d made sure no one would spot it and if anyone tried to touch it, they’d regret it.

“What makes you think I need a safe place to stay?”

“The fact that you only had fifty dollars, no credit card, fake ID,” she replied. She handed me my worn leather wallet.

I shot her a look. “I had a hundred in my wallet, not fifty.”

“I wasn’t going to keep it,” she said, offended. “I wanted to see if Nyx was your real name.”

I hesitated. She was cute, more than cute really, and I barely had enough money on me for a bus ticket out of there.

“So what’s your real name?” I asked.

“What gave it away?”

I’d surprised her. Good. “You aren’t as clever as you think you are,” I said. What gave it away was that she waited a beat too long before she answered to Meadow. “What’s the con?”

“It’s not a con,” she replied. “I’ll explain in the car.”

The distant wail of sirens made my decision easy. The scenery would be better with Meadow than where the cops would take me. I seriously doubted I’d find out her real name. I didn’t really blame her. Names had power.

For instance, Nyx wasn’t my real name, either, but I had taken it after the last time Gaston had found me, and I’d grown fond of it. I’d found myself reaching for that name more than any other, giving it out as easily as normal people did their given names. Regular Joes handed out their true names like verbal party favors instead of what they really were, secrets they should guard with their lives.

We came alongside a cherry-red Lexus with a license plate that read
ZOOM-ZMM
.

Meadow opened the passenger door and gestured for me to get in. I slid in cautiously.

“
I
don’t give people phony names,” I told her. A lie, but she didn’t have to know that. “You were Meadow earlier. What’s your story?”

She shrugged. “My name is Elizabeth. My real name.” She looked me up and down. “You should see a doctor.”

“No doctors,” I said. She didn’t seem surprised. Was she a poor little rich girl who picked up criminals for kicks? Not that I was a criminal, but I wasn’t the kind of boy you brought home to meet the folks, either.

“I’ll take you to the cottage.” She started the car and pulled out without bothering to look in the mirror. I winced, but it didn’t slow her down. She gripped the wheel tightly, and I noticed her long slender fingers had nails that were bitten to the quick.

She drove without fear, taking the turns on the icy road with cavalier abandon. I didn’t find it appealing, especially after she took a speed bump at fifty and my head went all fuzzy.

“Elizabeth, do you mind slowing down?” I said. I didn’t believe that she’d given me her real name this time, either, but I liked the name Elizabeth.

She didn’t answer, but she did slow down. When she turned a corner, though, jarring pain radiated out from my heart to my head. That was the last thing I remembered before I passed out.

Chapter Two

When I woke up, the car had stopped. Elizabeth was on the phone arguing with someone. I hadn’t known her long, but I could already tell arguing was a habit. She saw I was awake and hung up with an angry snap.

“Let’s go,” she said.

I moved too quickly and got a sharp reminder I’d recently been stabbed. “I’ll be fine in the car.”

“It’s twenty below,” Elizabeth replied. “You’ll freeze to death.”

She opened the car door for me and slipped an arm around my shoulders.

I shrugged it off. “I can walk.” I lifted my shirt and examined the wound. The amulets had done their job: The bleeding had turned to an ooze.

I climbed out slowly, stiff from being all scrunched up in the seat. I stood there on shaky legs and blinked in the cold moonlight.

The enormous three-story house in front of me must be the “cottage” she had mentioned. It was a mansion really. Only the wealthy would have the nerve to call it a cottage. Just beyond, a lake gleamed a silvery blue in the moonlight.

“Where are we?”

For a tiny second, it seemed as though she wasn’t going to answer me. Wild thoughts of abduction and murder flashed through my mind. I knew I was being paranoid, but with relatives like mine, who could blame me?

“Lake Harriet,” Elizabeth said, and when there wasn’t a hint of recognition on my face she added, “Where we live. In Minneapolis. Minnesota.” The sarcasm in her voice was hard to miss.

I shot her a dirty look. “I know where I am. I just didn’t recognize this part of the city.” Besides, I hadn’t been out that long, not long enough to leave Minneapolis completely.

I wondered what I was getting myself into. I was pretty sure it wasn’t going to play out like my new favorite fantasy, which involved Elizabeth, a bed, and a bottle of tequila.

I managed to walk inside without assistance, although it hurt to breathe if I moved too quickly.

The place was posh, with white marble in the entryway and long curvy staircases leading to what I assumed were equally luxurious bedrooms. I wondered briefly which one was Elizabeth’s, but turned my attention to my host.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” she said. I followed her to the kitchen. She gestured to a bar stool. “Sit down and take off your shirt.”

“Why?”

“So I can ravage you,” she said sarcastically. “Why do you think? So I can clean your stab wound.”

I took off my jacket and shirt carefully, but a piece of my shirt got stuck on a bit of dried blood and Red Dragon cocktail napkin and I winced.

She grabbed a clean dish towel and ran it under the hot water.

“This is going to hurt,” she warned.

“You don’t have to sound so happy about it,” I replied. She placed the towel on my chest gently, but I let out a whimper anyway. Not very manly of me. I couldn’t be killed, but I could feel vast amounts of pain.

She escorted me to the great room, which looked like it was decorated by someone’s rich old grandmother, but featured an outrageously expensive sound system and carpet so thick it felt like I was walking on pillows. I usually avoided places that smelled of money and smugness, and this place reeked of both.

I wandered over to the bookshelf and eyed the photos. Elizabeth as a debutante in a white gown, posed with a laughing older man and woman. Another one of a handsome young man with curly blond hair and brown eyes.

I picked up the photo of the young man to examine it more closely. “Attractive-looking guy,” I commented.

She took the frame out of my hands and stared down at it, her expression unreadable. “Yes, he is,” she finally said. She put it back on the shelf, clearly trying to tell me the subject was closed.

But I didn’t listen. “Who is he?”

“It’s my brother,” she said.

“Your brother?” I wasn’t going to get any more information from her, so I let the subject drop.

She was cute and I was definitely attracted to her, but a few hours earlier she’d been making out with the guy who stabbed me. It should have been a turnoff, but my libido didn’t seem to realize that. I was reacting to the resemblance to Amalie.

“Nice place,” I commented. “Is it just you here?”

Elizabeth hesitated. She took a seat on the comfy-looking sofa and I did the same. “No,” she said. But she didn’t elaborate.

I sat next to her, close enough that our legs bumped.

She changed the subject. “Would you like a shower? Something to eat?”

One of the rules of living on your own was to never turn down free food. The other was to watch your back. I had a feeling there was nothing free about my supper or this situation. She wanted something from me, but what? I decided to play along, for now.

My stomach growled and Elizabeth giggled. “I’ll take that as a yes. I know a place that makes a mean burger.”

She ordered the food and then said, “I’ll show you where you can clean up before you eat.”

The guest room was as luxurious as the rest of the house and had a killer view of the lake. The landscape hanging on the wall looked like an original Turner, and the four-poster bed had to be a couple of hundred years old. She handed me a towel and a robe and left.

I hung my jacket on the back of the chair—within easy reach—stripped off my jeans and shirt and threw them on the floor, and took a shower to get some of the crusted blood off me. I mumbled a quick little spell to further assist in the healing process.

Magic is hereditary. All the books in the world can’t teach you magic if it’s not in your blood. There was magic in my blood, strong magic. The magic of the great and powerful Wyrd family. My family’s thing was that there were no boys born into the Wyrd line, only girls. Strictly matriarchal. Until me.

People in my family lived longer than most. And I would live longer than anybody. Whether I wanted to or not.

I was toweling off when there was a knock on the door. Elizabeth entered without waiting for a response. I grabbed a robe and put it on. I wasn’t a prude, but I didn’t want any questions about the scars that studded my body.

“Dinner’s here,” she said. “But I thought you might appreciate something clean to wear.” She handed me some sweats and a T-shirt.

“I guess you can order anything for delivery these days,” I joked, but I was wondering where they’d come from. They were well used but clean.

She cleared her throat. “They belong to my brother. He’s…out of town.”

“That’s very hospitable of you.” Very hospitable. Suspiciously so. Why would a young woman invite a total stranger home?

She seemed to read my mind. “I can take care of myself. Just because I’m friendly doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”

I nodded to let her know I understood. I waited, but she didn’t show any signs of leaving, so I finally shrugged on the sweats and took off the robe.

She was staring. “Enjoying the view?” I asked.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, I am.”

I felt too exposed, so I grabbed the tee and put it on. She was a complication I didn’t need, but my body responded, even while my brain told me to run.

I needed to get out of that room and fast. “You mentioned food?” I said. “I’m starving.”

I followed her down the stairs, enjoying the view the whole way. I finally remembered to check my libido at the door and make sure I wasn’t walking into a trap.

“I thought we could eat in the family room,” she said. “The dining room is so stuffy.”

“Nice place,” I commented. There were no signs of any magical allegiance. I had pegged Elizabeth as a mortal, but I’d been wrong before.

There were four Houses in the magical world, and all members were descended from a god. The old gods had faded away when Christianity took hold, but their progeny lived on, less than gods but more than mortals.

They eventually organized into the House of Fates, the House of Zeus, the House of Poseidon, and the House of Hades. Nobody knew where the old gods were now, but there were plenty of rumors. All that was left were the magical creatures, concealed from or ignored by the ordinary world.

There were bagfuls of delicious-smelling greasiness on the coffee table, but my gaze kept returning to Elizabeth.

She still wore that ridiculous floral barrette and I had to stop myself from unfastening it and running my fingers through her hair. She had a body it would take me a long time to get to know. She caught me staring at her.

“You look hungry,” she said. “Eat. I ordered plenty.”

If she only knew what I was really hungry for. I was instantly attracted to her, but I knew getting involved would be a bad idea. It wasn’t love at first sight. I didn’t believe in falling in love, especially not the first time you got a look at someone.