The Fate of Destiny (Fates #1) (12 page)

Theron flipped a salute from his brow for Beelah's offer.

Farris glanced at the menagerie on the lawn. There
were
several more items she would have liked to keep. But he'd spent five hundred dollars on the hope chest and she wouldn't ask him for one more thing. Guilt was already eating at her.

“
No thanks, Emerson. All I really wanted was the chest.” She shared a smile with him that she hoped conveyed her gratitude.

He didn't look convinced. Regardless, he cut her a wink and hustled Theron away from the Chevy.

“
See you girls later,” Emerson said.

Farris watched while he and Theron departed.

She didn't miss the way Larissa homed in on Emerson, tracked him all the way to the cherry red Charger.

A strange spike of jealousy hit Farris. Why should she care if Larissa was interested in Emerson?

Because Larissa snatched Palmer right out from under your nose,
a little voice whispered inside.

Emerson honked once as the Charger passed.

Farris waved, as did Beelah.

“
Gosh, that Theron is cute in a bad boy, musician sort of way, isn't he?” Beelah said, gushing a little.

Farris smiled in amusement. There went Bee, crushing on another boy.

“
He was pretty cute,” Farris agreed. “Maybe you should invite him out on Halloween.”

Beelah's mouth made an 'o' of surprised consideration. “Not unless we all four go. I'm not leaving you alone on your birthday.”

Farris could have hugged Beelah Bosley for her loyalty.

Once the Charger disappeared from sight, Beelah turned her attention to the house. “Are you really going to stay and watch them sell the house, Farris?”

Larissa and her group hadn't left yet, Farris noted. They were probably waiting around to see her reaction when the house sold.

Suddenly feeling like a bug under a pin, Farris shook her head.

“
No, let's go check in on O'ma then head to work. It's pointless to stay and watch.”

Beelah hugged her with one arm, a tight squeeze of sympathy, then headed around to the passenger seat.

Farris climbed behind the wheel of the Chevy and started the engine.

A moment later, with the auctioneers selling off her memories, Farris drove away.

. . .

Detroit was a city under siege. Fully half had become a scene from a post apocalyptic nightmare; the buildings that hadn't been outright demolished resembled structures in a war zone. Graffiti marked the crumbling brick and all the windows were reduced to jagged pieces like the teeth of fierce monsters.

Gangs, pimps and the homeless were the Kings of the street, striking fear into the heart of anyone daring to invade their territory.

Gardens had sprung up in vacant plots of land, a desperate attempt to feed an ever decreasing population. Murders and robberies occurred on a minute by minute basis. Trash and other debris turned a once thriving metropolis into an enormous skid row.

The situation was so severe that the district restricted police activity to just eight hours, always in the daytime, leaving the city extra vulnerable when the sun went down.

Devon would have preferred to do her business after dark, but time was a pressing issue. So she oozed out of the liquid-like pane of a window, stepping from obscurity into an alley. The glass rippled and became solid once more.

A bum, wrapped in five layers of coats, two beanies with a bottle of whiskey in his hand, stared as if he'd just witnessed a minor miracle. He blinked several times, looked down at his bottle, then swerved his attention the other way.

Devon smiled, even though the bum couldn't see it, then struck out for the opposite end of the alley. She traversed the maze of the city using every backwater thoroughfare she could, careful to stay off the main streets.

It was just three blocks she had to travel by foot anyway, not a long haul in the grand scheme of things.

Arriving at a corridor separating two derelict buildings, she cut into the opening and made her way to the first door on the right. Steel bars attached to a sturdy frame served as a 'screen door', an extra layer of protection.

Devon rang the dingy bell and listened for the chimes inside.

She rang it again three minutes later when no one answered. Devon knew Rowley was here.

Rowley Valero was a Weaver of Chaos. Like Emerson, Rowley could influence the elements. He had the ability to guide storms, cause the earth to shake, make electrical outlets surge and a multitude of other things that all wreaked havoc on the unsuspecting.

Un
like Emerson, Rowley had gotten into huge trouble with the Lord of Chaos, the overseer of all the Weavers, and suffered banishment from the brotherhood. Rowley, more often than not, created
too
much Chaos. His control over his own ability was so unpredictable that even the other Weavers steered clear.

His reputation had suffered irreparable damage.

And he was
perfect
for what Devon needed. She'd worked with him once before when he was still a part of the brotherhood.

She rang the bell again.

Rowley opened the inner door and leaned his arm against the edge, half a foot above his head. He looked a wreck: wrinkled blue tee-shirt, faded jeans, no shoes and the strands of his long, sandy blonde hair looked as if he hadn't brushed them in three days. He exuded something edgy, as all the Weavers did, making it seem like you could never guess what he might do next.

“
What do you want?” Rowley asked, as blunt and rude as he'd ever been.

“
To make a deal with you. Can I come in?” Devon tugged on the front of her brocade coat and slid her hands into the pockets.

“
What kind of deal?”

“
I won't tell you until you let me in.”

He exhaled. Loudly. “Look, chick. I--”

“
Devon.”

“
Devon. Whatever. I don't want whatever it is you're selling. Got it? I'm in enough trouble as it is.”

“
No, this will help you get
out
of trouble. Or at least be able to work again. The kind of work you
like.”
Devon smiled.

“
There's only one kinda work I like.”

“
Exactly.”

He eyed her skeptically. “What's in it for you?”

“
Let me worry about that. It's an easy project--”

“
If Driscoll attaches my name to a huge event? He's gonna wipe me off the face of the earth.”

“
He won't have any idea. I promise,” Devon said. Driscoll, the Lord of Chaos, had made it clear that Rowley was not to engage in Chaos work any longer.

There was risk attached for both she and Rowley.

“
What's in it for me? Work that I like isn't a big enough incentive.” Rowley still didn't invite her in.

“
Let me in, and I'll tell you.” Devon wanted this more than she'd wanted anything in a long time. Her plans were in jeopardy of going awry thanks to Emerson—this was her chance to fix it.

Rowley scowled. He hesitated. Finally, he popped open the steel door.

Devon stepped inside. The space Rowley called his own was nothing more than a glorified basement. Concrete floors, brick walls, furniture that badly needed updating. A collection of old vinyl records, 8-track tapes, CDs and a big stereo with speakers as tall as she was lined the right side of the room. One wall was dedicated to work out equipment and two beanbag chairs sat adjacent to a flatscreen television. The bedroom and bathroom doors had hard rock stickers all over the outside and a lava lamp swirled on a mismatched end table.

There was a chaotic feel to the living space that was typical of Weavers. Their nature did not fall into alignment with orderliness.

Devon chose to pace instead of sit.

“
So?” Rowley said, leaning a shoulder against the wall near the door. He didn't look comfortable, didn't seem happy she was here.

“
I need you to influence Chaos in a town called Newcastle. It's in Oklahoma. A girl needs to die before the thirty-first, and it's really important, but I can't target her. I have to target the people closest to her.” Devon began explaining her plans.

“
Why don't you just get someone else? There are a hundred Weavers to choose from and none of them will get you in hot water with Driscoll if he finds out.”

“
I
did
try someone else. Emerson. He decided to save the girl and her friend, which threw my plans into turmoil.” Devon took her hands from the pockets of her coat and pressed the fingertips together, almost like a steeple.

“
You know, I understand a little about how you guys work. You Fates. Targeting a specific person isn't the way this is supposed to go. You write in their death, sure, but you don't
go after
someone like it's a personal vendetta.” Rowley narrowed his eyes while he studied her.

Devon took a deep breath. This was the part that she hoped would hook him.

“
The girl I'm targeting isn't just
any
girl. She's the next Fate of Destiny. Her birthday is in two days, on Halloween.”

Rowley's eyes widened. He straightened out of his lean. “...what?”

“
Yeah. The next Fate of Destiny.”

“
You can't do that. Can you?” Rowley frowned and paced near the door.

“
I'm going to try.”

“
What's—I mean,
why?
Why would you want to do that?”

“
Think about it, Rowley. If I take her out, that means I have a shot of putting another Fate of Chaos in. That will throw the balance of power
deliciously
out of whack. Imagine what the world would be like with
two
Fates of Chaos writing Destinies instead of the other way around.” Devon had thought long and hard
about it for months. The Chaos that lived inside her thrilled at the idea of taking
control.

Rowley shoved a hand through his hair. He shook his head. “I don't know, I don't know. I mean, yeah,
yeah,
we could get away with a lot more if that was the case. There will be more war, more disruption, more disharmony. But what if Merwen and Faelynn find out?”

Merwen and Faelynn, the current Fates of Destiny, would go to war to prevent one of their upcoming Fates being replaced by a Fate of Chaos.
If they knew about it.

Devon was willing to take the chance.

“
They won't know until it's too late. See? This is why you need to keep this to yourself. I couldn't trust Emerson in the end but he also doesn't know what you know. He has no idea
why
I want to take Farris out. It's a perfect plan as long as she dies before her birthday.”

“
If she doesn't?” Rowley asked, frowning. He paced, hands on his hips.

“
It's much more difficult, if not impossible, to kill a Fate once they've died on their birthday and become a Fate in truth. Like me.” Devon's birthday—and her death—had come and gone in March. She was now a full fledged Fate.

“
Hnn.” Rowley grumbled while he paced. He stared at the floor, obviously thinking it over.

“
I don't understand why you're hesitant. I thought you, of all people, would love the idea. You're one of the most Chaotic in all the brotherhood.” Devon cocked her platform boot back on its heel.

“
Of course you don't understand. You don't know Driscoll. If you did, if you
knew
that we are expected to face the consequences of our actions, you would be
a lot more cautious about this.” He jabbed a finger her direction for emphasis.

“
If it works? You won't need Driscoll. Me and the new Fate of Chaos will keep you so busy, and so happy, he won't matter.”

“
The Lord of Chaos always matters! I mean, don't get me wrong. He thrives off Chaos—but there is still that underlying harmony. There has to be an equal balance, a level playing field--”

“
You've got to be kidding me, Rowley! How is having two Fates of Destiny equal? There's nothing balanced about it!” Devon threw her hands up in exasperation and slapped them down on her thighs.

Rowley scowled. He flipped a long piece of hair away from his face. “What I'm trying to tell you,
Devon,
is that this needs consideration.”

“
I don't have time for you to lolly-gag around. I need this done
now.
We only have two days.” Devon watched Rowley closely. She would do whatever it took to make this happen.

“
Remember, Rowley, Driscoll can't hurt me. He can be as displeased as he wants, but he can't
do
anything to me or the new Fate of Chaos. I'll always be here to dish
out work for you, to keep you busy making more and more Chaos. No more sitting around this apartment, no more fighting off the urge to wreak havoc--”