The Fate of Destiny (Fates #1) (5 page)

This tornado had been his doing. He was the creator, a Weaver of Chaos, bringing destruction and turmoil to the landscape.

Overhead, lightning split the sky in defiance. Thunder boomed and hail rained down.

The storm fought to stay unleashed.

Emerson chanted again, adding force to the order. The cloud cover shifted and the tornado wobbled. He saw the twisting cylinder start to come undone in the midst of all the flying debris and knew that it was spinning itself out.

A few seconds later, the tornado lifted off the ground, dissipating into thin air. Rain still fell and thunder still boomed, but the worst part was over.

Emerson dropped his hands and rubbed his face.

The entire town couldn't be sacrificed for one girl. That wasn't a part of the original plan.

“
Are you sure you're really a Weaver of Chaos? I mean, wasn't the point to let the tornado go and do its job?” a feminine voice said behind him.

Emerson didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

He turned around anyway, flicking wet hair away from his face with a jerk of his chin. Devon, who stood roughly five-five, with long dark hair and pale blue eyes, had recently become the bane of his existence. The burgundy brocade coat she wore over snug black pants was soaked from the rain. A few droplets even dripped off her eyelashes.

“
Well, well. Look what the wind blew in,” he said.

“
Didn't you hear my question?”

“
I heard it.”

“
Well?” She propped her hands on her slim hips and gave him an exasperated look.

“
My task was to create a system and guide it here. Obviously,
you
didn't do your job right, because it started targeting innocent townspeople, so I had to do something.”

“
I did too do my job right. It was supposed to target Farris' best friend, Beelah. Ugh, what a nasty name.” Devon made a face.

“
Yeah, and Beelah was with Farris...and a load of other people. Then they fled to the High School, where I'm sure there were even more. That's never the plan, Devon. Or at least, it's not my plan.” Emerson hated this part. Wreaking chaos was his job, it was a part of the natural flux, but intentionally guiding it to one specific place at one specific time was both difficult and
un
natural.

Devon narrowed her eyes. “You have to bring it back.”

“
Absolutely not. I don't owe you, Devon, remember that, and the more you push me, the more I'm not going to do what you want me to do.”

“
I hear you Chaos Weavers are good at that. Stubborn, headstrong, edgy, hard to control. Well heads up, bubba.
I'm
the Fate of Chaos now, and though I can't totally control you or what you do, I
can
control the people you interact with.” Devon smiled in a superior,
I have the upper hand
kind of way.

Emerson scowled. The Fate of Chaos was always asking for his and other Weavers help. Audrinne, the Fate he'd known for more than fifty years, was apparently stepping down or retiring or whatever the Fates did when they were done actively deciding the Fate of the world. He'd never known another before her, and being introduced to Devon four months ago had been nothing less than a shock.

Devon had the same unpredictable air Audrinne had, except she was...darker. Emerson didn't know how else to describe the vibe he got from her. Attuned to all things Chaos, he understood on a fundamental level that Devon thrived on it. She lived it, breathed it, embraced it.

Being threatened like this though—no. Emerson wasn't having it. He took a step closer, letting her see his scowl nose to nose.

“
Don't threaten me, Devon. You're still a baby at this game, too new to be throwing your weight around like this.”

“
Here's what I'll do if you don't make this right.” Devon looked him right in the eyes. “I'll have some hapless girl fall head over heels in love with you, and then, when you're so deep in love you see stars, I'll rip her life away like that.” Devon snapped her fingers next to his cheek for emphasis.

Emerson stifled the urge to snatch the girl up by the front of the coat. The most vicious place she could strike was his interaction with other people. It was the
one
thing he had that was untouched by his chaotic existence. Secretly, he cherished the few friends he'd made in his lifetime. To think someone could set him up like that, write it into an innocent girl's destiny and then shatter them both—was startling.

It upset him more than he wanted to admit.

Audrinne had
never
stooped to threats when she asked for his help.

“
There would have been too many victims. What don't you understand about that? You wanted Beelah, but--”

“
No, I want
Farris.
I can't target Farris directly, though--”

“
Why not?” There was something Devon wasn't saying here, Emerson felt sure of it.

Devon looked coy, batting her lashes angelically. “You're not privy to that information. Just know that Farris is the actual target. She's with that Beelah girl a lot though, so it's easy to use her instead. Get it done, Emerson.
Tonight.”

As if the storm itself was intertwined with his moods, the wind stopped whipping all of a sudden, the thunder rumbled to an end, and the lightning streaked away into the sky, far from their position. Emerson disliked orders. He didn't want to be told what to do. Trading favor for a favor was one thing; being manipulated wore his patience thin. If this whole sordid affair wasn't tied directly to Fate, to destiny, if it wasn't so
important
that this needed to happen, he would have walked away without another word.

But he knew how this worked. If he didn't help out, something worse would likely happen.

The thought of Farris having to deal with Chaos—be it a wrecked home, a lost car, or injury to her person—didn't sit well with him either, and he wasn't sure why. He'd only known her a handful of hours. Devon wouldn't tell him what kind of Chaos she had in store for Farris, either, only wanted him to bend nature to his will.

“
What do you want me to do? I can't call a tornado back here, you know that, right? It'll be too suspicious.” He shoved his hands in the wet pockets of his overcoat and glared at Devon.

Her peach painted lips tilted up in a smile that reminded him of a certain Cheshire cat.

“
Fire, Emerson. She'll be staying at Beelah's house tonight, so you'll need to drop a flame on her apartment. Here's her address.” Devon took a small piece of wrinkled old parchment paper out of her pocket and handed it over.

“
Fire? You can take care of that. Light a match and that's that.” Emerson's mood continued to deteriorate. The more involved he became and the more he knew, the less he liked the entire situation. He snatched the paper out of her hand and slid it into his coat without looking at it.

“
I already told you. I can't get directly involved. All this would be
so
much easier if I could.
Tonight,
Emerson. Do it tonight.” Devon took a step back, and another. With a whirl on her knee high boot, she marched away across the field and disappeared behind an old barn.

Emerson watched her until she was gone. Muttering under his breath about Fate and Destiny and the whim of women, he headed the opposite direction, intent on a walk to cool his temper before he went to Farris' house.

The whole ordeal left a bad taste in his mouth.

. . .

After the danger was past, and coach Finch could be persuaded to allow the girls to leave the High School, Farris and Beelah drove to the nursing home. The streets were littered with tree branches, copious amounts of leaves, and bits and pieces of homes, barns, businesses and telephone poles.

It wasn't the first time a tornado had struck Newcastle. A devastating one hit in 1999, tearing a nasty swath right through town. She didn't think this one was as big or as powerful—a fact she was thankful for even as she pulled the Chevy into the nursing home parking lot.

In one piece, with no fragments of roof missing or doors blown off or glass broken, it appeared the structure was undamaged.

The nurses only allowed she and Beelah a half hour with her grandmother before they shooed everyone out.

Farris agreed to drop Beelah at her house first, even though she was anxious to get to old man Henson's and see if the garage and her loft were still standing. Now that she knew her grandmother was all right, her next concern was for her stories.

She could take the loss of all her clothes and other memorabilia better than she could fathom the ruin of her stories. Years upon years of work that would be all but impossible to replace.

Beelah's parents were fine, as well as their house. They tried to get Farris to stay the night—Beelah insisted—but Farris couldn't sleep until she knew the fate of her loft.

In the end, Beelah packed an overnight bag and headed home with Farris. She wanted to be with her, wanted
someone
there in case Farris arrived to find the farmhouse and the garage gone. Farris thanked her lucky stars; she didn't want to endure the loss alone if the worst had come to pass.

When they arrived, not only was the farmhouse and the garage still standing, but it didn't appear as if the rain had reached this far to the outskirts of the city. Dry gravel crunched under the tires of the Chevy as Farris pulled the truck up in front of the garage.

“
Henson's not home. If he's home, he always leaves the back porch light on,” Farris said. She glanced up at the loft, grateful it was unharmed.

“
He's probably in town helping out. You know him. I'm so happy your loft is all right. I know you were worried,” Beelah said, collecting her bag and her organizer before sweeping Farris into a one armed hug.

Farris laughed and hugged her in return. Beelah knew her better than anyone and had, as usual, been correct in her assumption about the loft.

“
I might have died a little if it was all blown away,” Farris admitted.

In decent weather, she parked the Chevy beside the outside staircase. Tonight, with storms still in the area, she opened the garage door with an opener and drove the truck inside. Even though it hadn't rained, there was still a thick cloud cover that blotted out the moon, making the farmland stretching for hundreds of acres around them even darker.

She palmed her keys and got out.

“
What do you think happened to Emerson? I can't believe he ran back out into the storm,” Beelah said, getting out of the truck.

“
I don't know. I guess he just needed to help.” Frowning, remembering how Emerson had plucked her off the ground after she'd been hit by the barrel, she exited the garage by the side door and turned to walk up the steps to the loft. Her hip and shoulder ached like...well, like she'd been hit by a large, heavy object.

Despite that, a tingle raced down her spine as she unlocked the door, a familiar sensation when she came home to her stories. Stepping inside, she could see them stacked everywhere in piles. All safe.

For the nights she got home late from the diner, Farris had installed an automatic, motion sensor controlled nightlight. It flicked on, chasing the shadows into the corners.

Everything was just as Farris left it. Once Beelah was inside, she closed the door and engaged both dead bolts.

“
I hope he made it out of the way of the tornado all right.” Beelah dropped her bag and her organizer on the coffee table. It was one of the few places in the loft that wasn't covered with paper.

“
I'm sure he did. He seemed capable.” Farris peeled off her coat and her scarf and hung them on a peg by the door to dry. She toed off her shoes and left them below against the wall. “You want something to drink?”

“
Nah, I'm all right. Hey, what was Larissa's problem tonight?” Bee flopped down onto the couch, stretching her legs out, hands arching up behind her head.

Farris padded into the kitchenette and grabbed a mug from the cupboard. Too tired and sore to make tea the right way, she filled the mug with water from the tap and popped it into the microwave.

“
The same thing that's always wrong with Larissa. She holds grudges
forever.”
Farris retrieved a small basket from another cupboard and plucked a raspberry tea packet from the myriad assortment. The basket went back where she found it. With such minimal space, every single item in her kitchen had its own place.

“
She shouldn't be holding a grudge.
She
was the one who stole Palmer out from under your nose.”

Farris frowned. “It doesn't matter anymore. Palmer's the past. Right? If he's so shallow that he believes Larissa's lies, then it's his loss.”

“
Right. The next time Larissa does that, though? I'm going to punch her right in the nose.”

Farris paused and glanced across the small loft at Bee. The very idea that Beelah would hurt a hair on anyone's head was so ludicrous that she could only stare.

Beelah's lips twitched.

Farris burst out laughing when she realized Beelah was teasing. She pointed a spoon at her best friend, then took the mug from the microwave when it was steaming and dunked the tea packet in. With the spoon, she stirred it gently.