Fate Forged

by B. P. Donigan

  “I found this where they murdered Marcel,” I said.

  It pulsed with magic in his palm. The father recoiled as if he’d been punched in the face.

  “Are you okay, Father?”

  He placed Marcel’s charm back in my hand and curled my fingers around it. His voice was rough. “Keep this safe and keep it secret. You may need it.”

  Dread built in my chest. He pulled me into a sudden hug, cutting off any further questions.

  “I’m so proud of you,” he whispered in my ear. “Be strong, Mae.”

  I swallowed back my fear before it overwhelmed me. Father Mike was the closest thing I had to family. But with Silas waiting impatiently, we rushed through our goodbyes, and I tried not to get too emotional in front of this stranger I was stuck with. I pulled away with a lump in my throat, clenched the keys in my fist, and headed for the rusty beige Taurus.

  “Where to?” I asked, buckling into the driver’s seat.

  “West,” Silas said with a frown.

  Rolling my eyes, I reached into my bag and tossed the various maps in his lap. “Can you be more specific?”

  He scowled at the papers for a few minutes. “Take Highway 90 West.”

  I put the car in reverse and grumbled, “The Pike? Are we headed out of state? For how long?”

  He narrowed his eyes at me but said nothing.

  “Are you going to keep everything top secret, because that’s going to get old real fast.”

  “We have several days’ travel ahead of us. I won’t tell you more than necessary so you can run off on your own.”

  I rolled my eyes at him but headed toward Storrow Drive and the unknown destination ahead of us. Spending an unknown number of endless hours trapped in a car with His Highness wouldn’t be good for my health. I sighed and reminded myself that I could deal with him for a few days if he could get me to the Fate. After I got rid of the unwanted magic, I could go back to my normal life and forget any of this had ever happened, assholes included.

  As we drove, I tried to relax, but it was impossible. Even several hours in, Silas radiated silent menace, and I was hyperaware of his every scowl. Obviously, he didn’t want to be on this journey any more than I did, and that bothered me almost as much as the silence in the car.

  I turned on the radio and flipped through the stations. Static and country music were the most popular options. I kept twisting the dial until Silas reached over and flicked it off.

  “Hey!” I protested.

  “That is irritating.”

  “You’re irritating!” I cringed at myself. I sounded like a child.

  He offered another of his disapproving frowns. The seat was positioned too close to the dash for someone his height, but he hadn’t slid it back, even though it forced his knees toward his chin. I chalked it up to karmic justice that we were both uncomfortable.

  I wouldn’t be able to make it several days in the car with him, and honestly, I would be lucky to make it another hour. My juvenile case file was proof that I didn’t do well with authority figures. I drummed my fingers on the wheel, full of anxious energy.

  “Would you stop fidgeting?”

  “Fine. Then we can talk. I have questions.” I needed to do something, anything.

  “Talk?”

  "Yeah. See, here in Earth, when two people are stuck together for a long period of time, they engage in conversation. First, one person says something, and then the other person responds. You repeat that, and it's called talking."

  “You don’t like me.” His lips pursed as though he found the idea amusing. I wondered if he did, in fact, have a sense of humor. Buried very, very deep.

  “I’m sure you’re used to people falling all over themselves to do what you say, but I’m not one of them.”

  “I am used to respect,” he replied. “Or fear. But I don’t know of anyone who finds me... irritating.”

  So he got his way all the time and thought everyone loved him for it. No wonder he was insufferable.

  WE PULLED INTO THE twenty-four seven burger joint four hours and a tank of gas later. The restaurant was empty except for the two bored teenagers behind the counter, playing with their phones. I plopped onto the green vinyl bench and dug into a number one combo meal, complete with fries and a Dr. Pepper.

  Silas grimaced at his food. “I have questions.” He poked his hamburger with his fingertip.

  “Join the club.” I stabbed my fries into a too-small paper thimble of ketchup. He hadn’t wanted to talk earlier, and I was ready to return the favor.

  He opened the top of his cheeseburger and glared at the single pickle and glob of ketchup. “How can you eat this?” he accused. “It looks disgusting, and it smells like...” He leaned in and sniffed at it. “It does not smell good.”

  I shrugged. “What’s not to love? It’s greasy and salty.” I demonstrated the appropriate attitude by taking a hearty bite of burger.

  “Enjoyment of grease and salt must be an evolutionary requisite for an Earthen.”

  I paused with a bundle of fries halfway to my mouth. I was pretty sure I’d just been insulted. I shoved the greasy, salty fries into my mouth and smacked my lips loudly.

  Golden light flashed around Silas, and Ripper appeared in his palm.

  I grabbed for it, but he pulled his hand back.

  “That’s my knife!”

  “I believe the Earthen saying is ‘Finders, keepers.’”

  “Only if you’re five years old!” I lowered my voice and looked around the nearly empty restaurant. “And did you do magic in here? Are you crazy?” The sudden flash had been like a lightning bolt inside the building.

  “Mundanes can’t see pure energy.” He indicated the bored teens behind the counter, still absorbed in their phones as he slipped the knife discreetly back to his side. “I propose a trade. Your knife in return for answering my questions.”

  I folded my arms across my chest and dragged my eyes from Ripper to Silas’s face. He watched me with a knowing expression I didn’t like at all.

  “My knife and a question of my own for every one of yours,” I countered.

  “Agreed.”

  He gave in quickly, making me realize I should have bargained for more. Another flash, and Ripper disappeared. “Where did it go? We had a deal!”

  “I’ll conjure it again when you’ve fulfilled your end.”

  I rolled the word conjure around in my head and tried not to think about how crazy this all was. “Is that what you did with your sword?” I hadn’t seen it since the street fight. I’d wondered if he had left it behind in Boston.

  “Yes. A sword would be conspicuous.” He pushed his untouched cheeseburger to the center of the table and folded his arms.

  I wished I could “magic up” Ripper any time I needed. “Why do you bother with a sword anyway?”

  “That’s a second question.” He raised one eyebrow smugly. “I’ve heard in a conversation you take turns.”

  I closed my mouth so I could better grind my teeth together.

  “How did you divert the Brotherhood’s power to yourself during their Transference ritual?” he asked.

  “I didn’t.”

  “Then how—”

  “That’s a second question,” I mimicked. “Why do you use a sword instead of magic? Or a gun?”

  His jaw clenched, and he exhaled through his nose before answering. Poking the dragon was stupid, but he’d stolen my knife and refused to talk unless I answered his questions first. I wouldn’t make it easy for him to get his way.

  “I am trained in offensive and defensive use of magic and weaponry,” he began. “Use of either depends on the situation and the size of flare you’re inclined to make. And even though it’s technically two questions—guns are useless against any magic user who can shield worth a shite. An energy-based projectile is more effective, faster, and limited only by the user’s own skill.”

  I got the impression he was trying to overwhelm me with too much information. “What’s a flare?�
�

  He started to shake his head.

  “That was a clarifying question. Your answer was vague.” I leveled a fry at him. “And you know it.”

  The side of his mouth quirked up. “A flare is comparable to a ripple in water, which others can sense. The more complex the conjuring, the larger the ripple.”

  His explanation made as much sense as all the other crazy stuff I’d learned about magic.

  “How long have you associated with Father Mike?” he asked.

  “Why?” I didn’t like him asking about the father, not after the way Silas had treated him.

  “He seemed... unsettled.”

  “Well, you have such a calming presence. I can’t imagine why he’d be nervous.”

  He cocked his head at me, apparently impervious to sarcasm.

  “I met him nine years ago. I was fifteen.” I was also starving, dirty, and homeless. Father Mike had just started his youth outreach program and gave me a safe, warm place to sleep. But Lord Uppity didn’t need to know all that. I lobbed another question at him. “Do all of your people do magic?”

  “Magic is a generic Earthen term denoting trickery and the things which Mundanes do not understand.”

  His eyebrow rose haughtily, and I had to bite my tongue to keep from snapping back. I reminded myself that I needed answers more than the very satisfying chance to tell him what an uptight jerkwad he was.

  “Fine. Does everyone in your realm have their own super powers?” I took a swig of Dr. Pepper and added, “That’s not a second question; it’s the same one. And I expect you to answer it this time.”

  “Very well.” He leaned back in the booth and crossed his arms. “Most Aeternals use one of two power sources: the familial or the Citizen Source. The Upper Houses of Aeterna each have their own familial source, while the Citizen Source is public.”

  “Do normal Earth people have the same magic through this Citizen Source?”

  “No. There’s no magic in Earth,” he said. “People without magic are called Mundanes. And the Council provides the Citizen Source for the less powerful Houses of Aeterna, not Mundane Earthens.”

  His mention of the Council brought back my uncertainty. I stalled, wiping my fingers on a thin paper napkin. I knew very little about the Council except that Father Mike had said not to trust them. As far as I was concerned, they were only slightly better than the Brotherhood in that they weren’t actively trying to kill me. Yet. “Why does the Council want the Brotherhood’s power if they have their own magic?”

  “That’s another question.”

  “Look, we could do this all day.” An exchange of information question by question would take forever, especially when he was being intentionally vague. I leaned back in the booth and folded my arms over my chest.

  His jaw flexed. “Are you breaking our agreement?”

  He’d intentionally avoided my question about the Council. His motivations for going against them were suspect, and I was relying on him for a hell of a lot. Even though I’d decided to trust him, an oath to protect me would only get us so far. I had to know why he was helping me.

  I stared at him, not willing to be the first one to break.

  He stared back.

  I leaned in and took a giant bite of his hamburger and chewed loudly. Neither of us spoke as I obnoxiously finished the whole thing. He watched without any reaction, his face parked in neutral like a professional poker player. It was a mask, but I couldn’t get him to break as he sat watching me chew and smack my lips. Full past the point of comfort, I drummed my fingers on the table. I glanced quickly at the clock on the wall. It was just past eleven in the morning. We had a long day ahead of us, trapped together in the car.

  He smirked.

  Damn it. “Fine,” I said. I would play his game if it got me answers. I needed information more than I needed pride.

  “Fine?”

  He wanted me to spell out my surrender. The bastard.

  “Fine. You win. You showed this evolutionarily inferior Mundane that you are the boss of all things conversational. I bow down before your infinite superiority. I can’t wait to answer your questions.” Okay, that slipped into sarcasm pretty hard.

  “Technically, you’re an Earthen, not a Mundane since you obviously have magic.”

  “Obviously. Or I wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  “Are you always this stubborn?”

  “Yep. And that question counts.”

  I rose and tossed our trash before we headed back to the car. Silas’s untouched food was a waste of the limited cash we had, but I let it go without comment. If he decided to starve, that was his problem. While I drove west, I focused on picking my next question. I didn’t want to waste a single one. Something didn’t add up about his story. I just couldn’t figure him out, and I definitely couldn’t trust him until I figured out what he had to gain from our arrangement.

  A few miles of uninterrupted road zipped by before I picked up the questions again. “Why are you willing to go against your Council?”

  He’d made it clear they would want the power inside of me. Father Mike had said Silas worked for them—it sounded as though they might even kill him for disobeying—yet he’d still agreed to help me get rid of the magic.

  “That’s a difficult question,” he said, his eyes on the road.

  “I’ve got nothing but time.”

  One corner of his mouth twisted. “The Council is weak and desperate. When they can occasionally agree on something, they make bad decisions based on short-term needs. Our people are suffering for it.”

  I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. Any good humor had disappeared, and his face was dark and furrowed. He seemed to care deeply about the Council and his people. The whole thing sounded messy and complicated, which solidified my resolve not to get involved with them. I needed to find the Fate before they came after me.

  Silas didn’t wait before he fired his next question at me. “Tell me everything you know about how the Brotherhood’s power transferred to you.”

  I kept my eyes glued to the road. “That wasn’t a question.” When he didn’t react, I sighed. He might be able to help me figure out what happened if I told him the truth. And with Father Mike headed to Aeterna, I didn’t have anyone else to ask. I took a deep breath and decided to trust my gut. “There was a man. Titus. He tortured me, well him—he tortured a man named Marcel. Whatever Titus wanted, Marcel wouldn’t give it to him.”

  The memories threatened to surface again. Marcel’s pain and fear were too much. My stomach ached with a hollow feeling that forced me to stop talking and focus on breathing as we sped down the highway. I couldn’t lose control again.

  Silas’s eyes were on me. “You speak as if you experienced it.”

  “It felt like I was there. I have these memories from him.” I wasn’t sure how to explain Marcel’s memories in my head. I wasn’t ready for someone else to think I’d lost my mind. “Marcel was murdered,” I whispered, terrified just talking about it would tip me over the edge. “He was a real person... with dreams, a future. I can’t help feeling sorry for him.” I snuck a peek at Silas, but his face remained unreadable, all sharp angles. “Marcel gathered the power and sort of gave it to me. Everything. I think he knew it would kill him.”

  I rubbed my hand over my neck, remembering the sense of purpose that had driven Marcel until the end. He’d tried to find me right up until Titus had slit his throat. He’d wanted me to have this power, but I couldn’t guess why. Maybe he was searching for someone else, and I got in the way somehow. I had no way to know.

  “Titus leads the rebels who call themselves the Brotherhood,” Silas volunteered.

  I chewed the inside of my lip, thinking back to the fight on the street. “It sounded like Titus knew you.”

  “Lots of people know me,” he said evenly.

  I rolled my eyes. “Okay, Mr. Popularity. It seemed personal.”

  “We have a history.” I could tell from his tone I wasn’t going to ge
t more out of him, so he surprised me when he kept talking. “The capacity for horrendous acts of violence is universal and usually inflicted on those least able to protect themselves. Marcel will be remembered.”

  “I don’t even know who he was. He might have a family looking for him. God, I don’t even know his last name.” I swallowed hard, unsure how to respond to Silas’s unexpected understanding of my feelings about a complete stranger’s murder. He was overbearing and pushy one minute then unusually sympathetic. Even the strange way he spoke, with his slightly formal word choices and strange expressions, intrigued me. I was curious about him, and I wanted to change the subject. “How old are you?” I asked.

  One eyebrow rose. “That’s your question?”

  I kept my eyes on the road. “Yep.”

  He shifted in his seat, stretching his cramped legs as best he could. I took pity on him and told him about the seat adjuster. After he pushed the seat all the way back with a relieved sigh, I reminded him he still hadn’t answered my question.

  “I am roughly equivalent to a thirty-year-old in terms of an Earthen life span.”

  “Okay... that’s not an actual answer.”

  “Time in Aeterna is measured differently. Passage of time is not an important measure that we track like Mundanes do. Not to mention, I spend most of my time in other realms, some of which move at different speeds. If I were to track linear progression of time, it would be roughly thirty Earthen years, give or take.”

  With his thick head of dark-brown hair, strong jaw, and fit, broad shoulders, he appeared to be in the prime of his life. It was the perma-scowl and the air of authority he radiated that made me think he’d had a lot more life experience than me. But he was just five years older.

  He met my gaze, and one eyebrow rose. Heat flushed through my face, and I focused my attention back on the highway.

  I could feel his eyes on me for a long time before he spoke. “Aeternals are not immortal, but we live longer than Mundanes. Our Healers theorize that the constant influx of magic slows the aging of our cells at a molecular level. Compared to your life span...” He shrugged and let my imminent death roll casually off his shoulders.