Seeking Fate

by Brenda Drake

  Ramon and Bart.

  “Shit.” He seethed.

  She turned to see what he was looking at. “How did they know we would come in today?”

  He snatched up Daisy’s hand and towed her behind a group waiting for a taxi. “We’re going to cut the line,” he whispered. “You keep up with me. People are going to protest, but don’t stop. Okay?”

  “Okay.” She adjusted anxiously on her feet and grasped the straps to her backpack tighter.

  She’s scared. He had to admit, so was he. Ramon and Bart were getting closer.

  “It’s going to be okay,” he said, giving her a reassuring smile.

  Andrei waited for the perfect opportunity. A couple, maybe midforties, were arguing while gathering their suitcases. Andrei dashed for the cab. He slid in through the open door and towed Daisy in with him.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” the American man yelled from the curb.

  Daisy pulled the door shut as the man approached the taxi. Ramon and Bart were running for their cab.

  “Take off now, and I’ll give you an extra twenty euros,” Andrei said.

  The taxi driver gunned it. “Where to?” the man grunted.

  “Three Ducks Hostel.” Andrei glanced out the back window. Ramon stopped in the road by the curb. A taxi pulling up almost hit him. He didn’t move, staring at the back of their cab as if he could will it to stop.

  Andrei knew he had to come clean with Daisy. Tell her the truth. He was young. He thought it was a gang. A group he could finally belong to. How could she not believe him?

  He decided to wait until they were somewhere alone to tell her. Right then, a worry deepened the lines in her forehead.

  He wrapped his arm around her. “We’re safe now.”

  The sights of Paris played like a movie through the taxi’s windows. She nuzzled her head against his chest. He kissed her temple.

  Yeah, she’d be okay with it.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Daisy

  The taxi sped along the narrow streets of Paris, jerking and stopping with traffic. Daisy took in all the sights, wanting desperately to get out of the cab and explore the city. She had always dreamed of coming to Paris and here she was unable to experience it properly.

  The sun was setting, and the streetlights began to flicker on. As the taxi turned on a street, the Eiffel Tower came into view.

  “It’s so beautiful,” she said.

  Andrei stretched over her to see what she was looking at. “It’s early. We have some time. Want to stop?”

  Was he kidding? Do I want to stop? Hell, yes!

  She squealed and didn’t care how silly it sounded. “Yes. So yes. Am I dreaming? I have always wanted to see it.”

  “You’re not dreaming,” he said, chuckling.

  The taxi let them off at the curb. Daisy tightened the strap of her backpack. The sky was pink with the setting sun a bright circle just to the right of the tower. Daisy slipped her hand into Andrei’s as they crossed the park to the ticket office. The line was long, but Daisy didn’t mind. She was too excited to care.

  Normally, Daisy wouldn’t flinch at the expensive ticket to go to the top of the tower, but their funds were limited. “It’s too much,” she said.

  “We have enough,” Andrei said. “We only have the hostel to pay for tonight and meals, with plenty left over. Let’s do Paris right. Change Niels’s fate and spend a few days here before returning to Amsterdam.”

  They had made good time on their quest. She didn’t have to be at the Van Burens’ castle for another four days. But she couldn’t forget that Andrei was spending the money from the sale of his grandfather’s watch.

  “If we don’t go up, we can save the money. You could get your watch back.” There was a shift in the air behind Daisy and the hairs on the back of her neck prickled. She turned, searching the faces in line. No one looked familiar. They had ditched The Thorn guys at the station, and even though she was sure the men couldn’t know where Andrei and she got out of the taxi, she still felt uneasy.

  “We’ve spent some,” he said. “There’s not enough to get it back. Anyway, the man most likely will charge more than what he paid me.” A warm smile lit his blue eyes. “Listen, don’t worry. A watch isn’t a memory. It’s the moments spent together and what you hold in your heart that matters. My grandfather will live on because I will remember him.”

  But a token is the match to spark the memory she wanted to say. Instead, she removed her backpack and said, “Okay, let’s do it.”

  The zipper on the front pocket of her bag kept snagging as she unzipped it. She pulled out the money she had made at the flea market.

  “Put it away,” he said, “I’ve got it.”

  “I can pay.”

  “I have more than you.” He winked. “And you might need that.”

  She had mixed feelings—excited to be there, but sad he’d given up an heirloom to help her out.

  He tapped her chin. “Hey, cheer up. We’re about to go on top of the world.”

  “You may have to pinch me,” she said.

  He bought their tickets, and they followed the crowd through security bag check and to the elevators. Her heart hit the floor as the glass-sided lift rose. Higher and higher, slowly revealing the dazzling city below them. Once they reached the top, the doors opened. Daisy’s legs were weightless, her head floating. It was nearly a thousand feet up.

  Twining his finger with hers, Andrei led her up a narrow staircase to the top level. The wind instantly assaulted them as they stepped onto the platform. Daisy stood at the railing and looked through the lattice fencing at Paris.

  It was Andrei’s fourth time at the tower. He pointed out landmarks and rattled off facts so quickly, she felt she was on a speed-tour.

  To their southeast, the lawns of Champ de Mars stretched to the many buildings of the École Militaire, used as military training facilities. Just beyond the facilities, a tall black skyscraper stuck out like a sore thumb among the smaller buildings.

  “That’s the Tour Montparnasse,” Andrei said. “Not many people like the building because they think it ruins the skyline.”

  “It really does stand out,” she said.

  “See there,” he pointed east at a stately gold-dome building. “It’s Les Invalides. It’s the burial site of Napoleon Bonaparte. And that’s the Seine River. That long land mass is Île aux Cygnes, which means Isle of the Swans. There’s a replica of the Statue of Liberty. It’s a fourth smaller than the one in New York.”

  They walked around the platform as the sun was making its final goodbye, went down to the second level, and got in line to buy a waffle to share. Waiting for the lift, they picked at the waffle drizzled with chocolate, eating bits at a time. Daisy fed a piece to Andrei, who acted like he’d bite her finger off before smiling and gently taking it into his mouth.

  Daisy’s fingers were smudged with chocolate, and she licked them clean.

  “You have chocolate on your mouth,” he said.

  She swiped her tongue around her lips.

  “No. Still there.”

  “Do you have a napkin or something?”

  “Sure. I kept some from our sandwiches. Check the front pocket.” He turned his back, so she could access it.

  She searched the pocket, removing his notebook and maps and switching them to her other hand. Wrapping her fingers around a small bundle of paper, her pinky slipped into a ring. “What’s this?” she said, removing it from the bag.

  Andrei tried to snatch it from her, but she pulled her hand back. She examined the ring. A ring of thorns. It slipped from her fingers and clanked against the metal floor.

  She was too stunned to think. The ring was exactly like the ones The Thorn men wore.

  Behind her, the doors to the elevator opened, and people streamed out and around her.

  “It’s not what you think. I can explain…” He reached for her, and she backed away.

  I can explain? She strangled the notebook and maps in her h
and. Whenever someone said that it meant the person was most likely guilty of something. A woman bumped Daisy’s shoulder on the way into the elevator. Daisy didn’t care that she was blocking people’s entry inside.

  The question burned on her tongue. She knew once she asked him, it would change everything. “Are you a Thorn?”

  If he weren’t one, he would’ve answered with a quick no. Instead, he repeated, “I can explain.”

  Anger burned like hot coals in her chest. She shoved him. Then pushed him again before darting into the elevator.

  “Daisy, wait! You can’t leave without—”

  The doors closed before Andrei could get inside.

  He tricked me. He’s a Thorn. What was he going to do to her? Kill her? Or was he there to make sure she died with the curse? Was Miri in on it, too? Did he fake liking her? So many thoughts pinged around her brain, making her head throb.

  Tears stung her eyes, and she swiped them away with her fingers before they could fall. She kept her head down so the others on the lift couldn’t see she was crying.

  At least she’d kept Andrei’s map and notes, so he wouldn’t know where Niels lived. That is if Andrei hadn’t memorized it. She could still help the cursed heir.

  There was just a little light left in the now purple sky. The Eiffel Tower lit up around her. Coming off the elevator, she spotted The Thorn men searching the long waiting line.

  How do they keep finding us? Andrei. He must be texting them.

  She stayed with a family, hiding behind a tall, wide man, most likely the father of the group. Whenever the man moved, Daisy stepped with him, keeping her shield between her and The Thorn men.

  “What are you doing?” the man asked when he finally noticed her.

  Safely away from The Thorn men, she dashed off down the lawn of the Champ de Mars. It was like crossing several football fields before she got to the end.

  When she felt safe enough, she slowed to a brisk walk until she reached the street.

  She stood there, trying to decide which way to go until a man of about thirty approached.

  “Excusez-moi. Parlez-vous anglais?” She used some of the French she remembered from a class she took in ninth grade.

  “Oui,” he said.

  “The Métro?”

  He pointed in the direction he’d come from.

  “Merci,” she said and sprint-walked across the street, darting glances over her shoulders, unsure what she’d do if someone were following her.

  Daisy slowed down to catch her breath. Light-headed, her weak heart protested against her chest. The doctor said that aerobic exercise would help, but it just sucked. Once she didn’t feel like she’d throw up a lung, she continued.

  Spotting the green railing surrounding the entrance, she scrambled down the steps and settled in an out-of-way place where she could watch the steps and read Andrei’s notes and maps. She found which train she needed and boarded it.

  Niels Beringer lived in a fifth-floor apartment with his mother in the Madeleine area of the 8th Arrondissement on a street named Rue Boissy d’Anglas. The first floor of the complex housed a small café with tables and chairs on the sidewalk in front of the building. The tall, narrow double doors on the left side of the restaurant led to the homes above.

  She went inside and climbed the circular stairwell to the fifth floor. A hint of a lemony wood polish scented the air. Holding her side, trying to catch her breath, she waited to knock on the apartment door. Running across the Champ de Mars, across city streets, and climbing had done her in. Once she stopped wheezing, she knocked on the door and waited.

  No one answered.

  Her hands were shaking. She hadn’t noticed them with the adrenaline rushing through her body. Dropping her backpack on the floor, she sat on the landing, her feet on the last step up. She hugged her knees and buried her head in her arms.

  Andrei had used her.

  He didn’t like her. It was just a ploy to trick her.

  Tears landed on the wooden stair. She wanted to go home. Needed her mom. How did she end up with the curse? All she longed to do was help people. Why did she believe she could make a difference?

  What did The Thorn want with her?

  Footsteps sounded in the stairwell and grew louder approaching her. It could be Andrei. Or The Thorn men. Daisy didn’t care anymore. She was done. Broken.

  “Bonjour.” A tall boy with light-brown hair and hazel eyes stopped in front of her.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” She stood and moved to the side to let him pass.

  The guy eyed her as he stepped around, pulling keys out of his pocket. “You American?”

  She picked up her backpack. “Yes.”

  “Are you lost?” His accent didn’t sound like the other French people she’d met in Paris.

  “Is this your apartment?” She nodded to the door.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you Niels Beringer?”

  “I am,” he said, giving her a curious look.

  She swung her backpack over her right shoulder. “I’m Daisy Layne. Do you have time to talk?”

  He smiled. “I always have time for pretty girls.”

  Pretty? Daisy had never thought of herself that way. She paled in comparison to her three older sisters. She was starting to feel attractive and less awkward with Andrei, but that was a lie. Everything about him was a lie.

  “There’s a café downstairs,” he said. “Would you like a coffee?”

  “I never drink coffee this late.”

  He clicked his tongue. “You’re in Paris. It’s never too late.”

  “Okay, sounds good,” she agreed, only wanting to get him comfortable enough to read his fate.

  They went downstairs, out the door, and found a table away from the street. “I always take this table,” he said. “It’s away from the street and not so loud. The espresso is strong here. May I suggest a café au lait? It has milk.”

  “Sounds good,” she said.

  He told the waiter their order in French. The waiter nodded and went inside the café.

  She pushed her backpack behind her legs on the ground. “I’m surprised you agreed to talk to me. You don’t even know me.”

  “You look as though you could use a friend.”

  She forced a smile. “I guess so. Listen, you’re going to think I’m strange.”

  “Aren’t we all…just a little bit?” Niels was so put together. If he were in America, they’d call him preppy. He wasn’t as good looking as Andrei, but his confidence made his rating climb. If she had a rating system.

  Daisy folded her hands on the table, hoping to keep them from shaking. “You have cousins—the Van Burens.”

  “Yes,” he said. “On my mother’s side of the family. We aren’t close to them. They’re distant relatives.”

  She swallowed hard, gathering up some courage to ask him her next question. “Have you heard of the Van Buren curse?”

  “I have.” He pinned her with his stare, rubbing his chin, probably wondering where she was going with her question. “Why do you ask?”

  This was hard. She wasn’t sure how to put it so that it didn’t sound like she were punking him or something. The waiter placed their drinks down, and she welcomed the interruption. Her thoughts went to Joost Van Buren. She was going to do an interview with him. It was going to be about chess, but maybe she could use the same tactic, except about the Van Buren curse.

  “Well, I’m visiting Europe because my sister is marrying a Van Buren. I have a summer project I have to do for my college. Sort of like a documentary.” She tried to come up with a name quickly. “Um, its title is Seeking the Van Buren Curse.”

  “Interesting. I rather like it.” He took a sip of his espresso. “I’d be happy to assist in any way. Will you be filming? I’m taking a few production courses.”

  “Yeah, I was, um, gathering information first. Then I’ll figure out the stories I want to include in the piece.” It was her turn to sip her coffee. “This is so delicious.”


  “We don’t water down our milk as you Americans do.” He placed his cup down. “Shall we start? What’s the first question?”

  “Okay. Being a firstborn Van Buren descendant —”

  He raised his hand to stop her. “I’m not a Van Buren. I was adopted. My mother is one, though.”

  “I see,” she said. Her mind went blank.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, sorry.” She blinked. “But, are you sure?”

  “Almost certain,” he said. “Who knows what bloodline one really has? I’ve wanted to do one of those genealogy tests.”

  Who knows what they really have? Daisy always took it for granted that she did. It had to be difficult not to know your roots or the people whose DNA you shared.

  She didn’t like the odds of “almost certain.” There couldn’t be any doubt. She had to test him anyway. But how could she fit her tarot cards into the conversation? Get him to pick one. And then it hit her.

  “You should do it,” she said. “I had mine done. I’m Romanian on my mother’s side, and I come from a long line of tarot readers.”

  “You don’t say.” He took another sip from his cup.

  She leaned over, unzipped her bag, and fished for her cards. A notification lit up her screen, and she read it.

  Andrei.

  Because her phone was on silent, he’d blown up her phone with texts and there were three missed calls from him. A few messages were from Iris. She turned on the volume in case her sister tried to contact her and dropped it back in the bag, then picked up her deck.

  He eyed the purple box with the green vines twisting on them. “What do you have there?”

  “My cards. I’ve been learning how to give readings.” She opened the box. “I can do your fate. You just have to pick one card. Want to try it?”

  He rested his elbows on the table. “I don’t believe in that stuff. My mother says its devil’s work.”

  Shit. Now what? She didn’t know what to say to that.

  “Ha! I’m only teasing you.” The corners of his mouth lifted. “You should have seen the expression on your face. Certainly, I’ll give it a try. What do I have to do?”

  Funny. She mentally rolled her eyes.