Divorce, Divination and Destiny

by Melinda Chase

We all watched with bated breath as Deedee left through the front, on her way to have lunch. Annabelle was still ringing up a customer, a young woman buying a few new crystals. But as soon as the customer left, Annabelle was all alone.

  I sped the tape up a little, watching as our clerk pulled out her science homework and started to fill her dead time. The middle of the day on Sunday was normally pretty empty since most people were at church.

  I was just about to fast forward a little more when, suddenly, a dark, hooded figure appeared right outside the front door.

  And I mean appeared. As in, one second, the sidewalk was empty, and the next second, there was a lean, tall figure standing there.

  We were dealing with a magical being, that was for sure.

  The door opened, and even though the tape was silent, I knew the bell would have dinged, alerting Annabelle to the new customer. She had just barely looked up when the robber stuck out a hand, and a bright-magenta flash smacked Annabelle straight in the chest. Instantly, she collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

  “I know that spell,” Mom growled. “It replaces memories. That’s why she thought she’d been tossed in the closet. Poor kid.”

  Anger bloomed inside of me, but I kept my focus on the camera feed, working hard to see if I could make out a face. Or, at the very least, some distinguishing features.

  I couldn’t see any of that, though. The robber wore some sort of dark cloak, with a massive hood over its head that rivaled Obi-Wan Kenobi’s.

  The feed continued to play out, and the three of us watched in horror as the robber walked straight to the safe and placed his or her hand on it.

  Even the hand was covered in a glove, though. The front of the safe glowed white for a moment, and then hairline cracks started to appear over the surface.

  “They’re breaking my protection spell!” Grams gasped. “That’s powerful magic.”

  The veneer of the spell shattered like glass in front of the metal door, and then the safe slowly swung open. Our robber calmly reached inside and brought out a massive, leather-bound book, full of rough-edged paper. Some of it looked like it was bound to the book, while other pieces looked as if they’d been stuffed inside.

  I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting when Grams had mentioned the grimoire, but it definitely exceeded my expectations. I was suddenly really upset that this robber had taken away my opportunity to learn from it.

  As soon as the thief had all of our magical secrets safe in his hands, he quickly strode back through the store, throwing a careless glance toward the still-unconscious Annabelle. Then, the robber walked right to the center of the store, where a pentagram was embedded in the white tile floor and disappeared just as quickly as they’d appeared.

  Whoever had robbed us knew what they were doing. The DA inside of me took over, working to solve the mystery already.

  Perps who were clean like that—in and out within seconds—usually watched the place for a while before they pulled their job. They’d learn the ins and outs of the routine, who to watch out for, and the best time to rob.

  This person, whoever they were, had been waiting and watching. They knew that on Sundays Deedee and Annabelle usually handled the store alone. They knew that Annabelle was completely human and would have no defenses against a magical, knock-out punch.

  But most of all, they knew where we kept our grimoire. And unless they were one of those magic sucking witches Grams had spoken of, the only way they would have known where the grimoire was would have been if they’d seen it.

  “Anything?” I asked Mom and Grams.

  “Don’t recognize ‘em,” Mom groaned. “You can’t even tell if that’s a fae or a witch or…who knows what else? For all that video shows, we could be dealing with an alien!”

  “Elle, you know perfectly well aliens don’t have the same magic,” Grams sighed as if that were a completely normal thing to say.

  “I’m guessing I already know the answer to this question, but I feel like I’ve got to ask anyway,” I sighed. “Is there any chance you told someone else where we keep the grimoire? Someone in the coven, maybe?”

  “Shannon, we don’t accuse our fellow sisters of wrongdoing,” Mom snapped.

  “No, that’s not what I meant,” I replied defensively. “Just that if one of them accidentally talked, or even got it sort of pulled out of them…” I wasn’t trying to sound like an annoying know-it-all, but it definitely came across that way.

  Mom’s expression darkened, and she rolled her eyes in frustration.

  “No,” Grams stepped between us to try and cool the energy. “We’ve never told anyone where we keep that thing. Only three people knew, and none of us talked. So we’re left completely in the dark.”

  Mom whipped around and started pacing back and forth in anguished confusion. I actually thought she was close to punching a wall—not that I could blame her—until she finally rubbed her face with both hands and then just headed toward the door.

  “Let’s just get home,” she ordered. “I don’t want to be here another damn minute, not until we know what’s going on.”

  The three of us climbed back into the Mustang. Grams and I were silent as we prepared ourselves for Mom’s crazy driving, but not even that got a peep out of any of us.

  This wasn’t the first time we’d dealt with adversity in the last two months, and it wasn’t the first time we’d felt hunted. But for me, this time was different. Everything seemed personal now that I knew the truth of my heritage. I wasn’t sure if I was paranoid, or if I was right on the money. It felt like every single bad thing that happened was perfectly calculated to mess with me.

  I sent a text to Deedee, giving her a quick update, but I’d barely hit send before my phone rang, with her name on the Caller ID.

  “Hey, Auntie Deedee,” I said.

  Mom glanced up in the rearview mirror at me but said nothing.

  “Are you three still at the shop?” I could hear the tension in my aunt’s voice, a clear indication that she was trying to hide her emotions.

  “We’re on the way home,” I said quickly. “Is everything okay?”

  “Someone came into the shop just a little bit ago,” she murmured. “Really pretty looking woman, with long, brown hair and bright hazel eyes. She was model-level gorgeous. She was asking for you, Shannon. And I didn’t like the energy I was picking up from her. She looked…”

  “What?” I breathed.

  “She looked unreal,” Deedee finally murmured. “As if she weren’t from here.”

  As if it hadn’t nearly frozen solid enough times that day, my heart went icy in my chest.

  That description sounded just like the fae woman I’d fought off in our backyard.

  The one who’d nearly killed me.

  8

  The cold words of the fae woman rang through my mind. “You are powerful,” she’d said. “You could be so much more.”

  I didn’t want to know what she meant by “more.” Call me crazy, but she didn’t seem like the type who wanted me to rid the world of crime and landfills. She seemed more like the type to want to add to the crime and landfills.

  I made it into the house before I felt it happen. That little rise of panic within me, the swelling in my chest, the tightening of my throat. I used to be fantastic at shoving it down. I’d feel it approach when I faced a particularly tough case, or when Kenneth and I got into a bad fight, and I’d just push it away. Somehow, I’d learned how to turn it off.

  But it was almost as if the stronger my magic grew, the weaker my defense mechanisms became. All of the little tricks and techniques I’d developed over the last forty years to help me stay calm were ebbing away, leaving the real, true me open to the world.

  Apparently, the real Shannon was raw.

  And panicking.

  “What was Deedee calling about?” Mom asked, stepping through the doorway behind me.

  But even her voice sounded like it was coming to me through water. I’d just taken a long dive into
the deep ocean, submerging myself in the cool liquid while every cell inside me grew hot. The sights of my childhood started to disappear around me, all of the charms and little statues, the wooden table where we laid our keys, the brightly colored furniture.

  All I could feel was the panic.

  I was vaguely aware that I had pressed my palms to the wall. It was a trick I’d told key witnesses to use whenever they were panicking before a big trial. I’d never understood the intense fear that came with knowing someone was after you. Even with Hunter, I’d only had about two seconds to register the fact that he wanted me dead.

  This was different. I’d been dreading this moment since she’d disappeared that night. Something inside of me knew she’d be back.

  I was too powerful for her to abandon.

  “Shannon! Snap out of it!” Grams’ shrill voice was the only thing harsh enough to bring me out of the deep.

  Just like that, I felt my body pop to the surface, breaking the last layer of cool water and shooting up into the air. I gasped like a fish on dry land, sucking in oxygen with ferocity.

  Grams bent down, appraising me with her smart green eyes. She pursed her lips and nodded toward the couch. “Sit down before you pass out,” she ordered.

  “I’ll get you some water,” Mom said, rushing off toward the kitchen.

  My feet moved automatically, doing precisely what Grams had said, but my head was still stuck. I was halfway in that state of panic, but now the logic was beginning to take over.

  We’d barely fought her off before. How could we expect to do it again? We’d only survived because my magic seemed to have a mind of its own.

  And lately, that mind had decided it didn’t want to work.

  As soon as Mom handed me the glass, I took in a few slow, even sips. Mom opened her mouth, about to demand answers, but Grams’s hand shot out quicker than lightning and silently told her to shut up.

  “Someone came into the soda shop,” I finally muttered when I’d managed to regain my breath partially. “They were looking for me.”

  “Well, the list of people who could make you panic like that is pretty freaking short,” Mom growled, suddenly angry at whoever was messing with her baby. “Was it Kenneth?”

  “Please,” I snorted. “I’m nothing but a distant memory to him at this point.”

  “Hunter?”

  I wish, I thought. But I just shook my head.

  “I’m out,” Mom shrugged, coming up empty.

  But Grams wasn’t. I could see the understanding in her eyes.

  “The fae woman.” It wasn’t a question.

  “I think so.” I nodded, averting my eyes so I didn’t have to watch the terror flood theirs. God, what I wouldn’t give to go back to being normal, human Shannon. I may have been a disappointment to them, but at least they never had to fear for my life.

  “Nope.” Mom was the one to break the silence first. That singular word shot out of her lips as sharp as a knife, holding a lifetime’s worth of anger with it.

  “Nope?” I asked, raising a brow.

  “Uh-huh.” She nodded seriously. “Nope. N-O-P-E. She does not get to come back here and start asking around for you. She knows where you live. Why doesn’t she just march on over here and try to do—whatever she wants to do—right to our faces? Because I will show her what happens when you mess with a McCarthy witch.”

  Mom cracked her knuckles, just like some macho, tattooed biker guy in a C-list gang movie. It would have been funny if the situation weren’t so serious.

  “Elle, we cloaked the house, remember?” Grams pointed out. “The fae can’t find it now.”

  That would explain why she hadn’t just come over here.

  “Oh. Right.” Mom sighed. “What does she want with her, though, Mama?”

  Suddenly, it was as if I’d disappeared from the room. Mom turned to Grams with wide, terrified eyes, asking the same question of her mom that I wanted to ask of her.

  Why me? What was so special about me?

  Grams tilted her head, rubbing her temples as if just thinking about this situation gave her a headache. I was sure it actually did.

  She’d loved Laslow. She probably still loved him. I couldn’t imagine how hard it would be to know the one person you loved also had, inadvertently, cursed your family.

  “I don’t know the answer to that question,” Grams replied heavily. “But, I do know who might.”

  “Who?” I demanded.

  “Hunter number 419.”

  The three of us had just about bolted toward my purse at Grams’ words. I don’t know why none of us thought of it before. Probably because we’d been so caught up with worrying about Annabelle and the stolen grimoire. Finding out the fae woman was looking for me was like the dirty icing on the top of a poorly crafted cake. Whoever was in charge of the bakery that day must have swapped out the flour for baking soda and sugar for salt because our cake was tasting worse and worse by the second.

  I yanked the diary from my massive bag and flipped it open to page one.

  “Are we going to read that things page by page?” Mom asked, staring at the messy scrawl and countless words like it was chemistry homework she didn’t want to do.

  “That was my plan,” I replied. I didn’t mind reading or research. It had been my favorite part of both high school and college.

  Plus, it would help pass the time and make me feel less useless than I currently did. Because, even though it seemed like it was my life on the line, I couldn’t help but feel like I was at the mercy of people with a lot more power and knowledge than I had.

  “Here,” Grams said, and before I could stop her, she spread her hands over the cover of the book and murmured, “Gearta.”

  Just like that, the book sprang up from the coffee table on its own and spliced itself into three equal sections, before each section flew off toward one of us. Mom got the front third, I got the middle, and Grams received the back portion.

  “You just spliced a centuries-old book,” I gasped, staring at the seemingly meager pile of aged papers in my hands.

  “Yeah,” Grams shrugged. “We’ll put it back together. No big deal.”

  “But…the binding…the history…” I stuttered, unable to take my mind off the fact that my grandmother had just ruined a piece of history.

  One that no one really knew about, of course, but it was still shocking to my little human brain.

  “Shannon, we’ve got magic, remember?” Grams chuckled, tossing a wink in my direction.

  “All right, let’s get reading,” Mom announced, eager to see if we could find any answers at all. “I’ll brew us up a pot of coffee. This is going to be a long night.”

  And it was.

  Even split into thirds, Rudolfo’s diary was still hundreds of pages long. The middle part, which was what I was reading, still began only a few years into his career as a hunter, so the first half held nothing that related to my partial fae-ness.

  But it did give me an awful lot of insight into what it meant to be a hunter. Firstly, I learned that hunters weren’t born into magical families like witches and fae. Instead, they were part of the human world. The Hunter’s Council then picked humans with very specific traits, such as killer instinct and high IQs, to become hunters. The men and women chosen were gifted magic, which meant that, unlike me, a hunter’s magic could be taken away.

  Rudolfo was terrified of the council. He often mentioned how they’d torture or kill hunters who didn’t perform to their “satisfaction.”

  Hunter’s terror back in the cottage in the woods was starting to make a lot more sense to me. He must have been terrified that I was lying to him about being innocent, and when the Council found out, they’d hang him by his toes over a roaring flame for the next hundred years.

  Until somewhere past midnight, I pored over pages that detailed Rudolfo’s missions. And, while they were interesting and insightful, none of them held information that was helpful to our situation. I learned that Rudolfo hadn’t be
en sent to hunt down just fae, though.

  Oftentimes, the Council tasked him with finding and capturing dissenters to the world of witches and magical folk. There was a mermaid who had fallen in love with a human, a centaur who wanted to assimilate into the world of humans and join the Renaissance, and a witch who decided to sell her services to the king of England in order to help him win wars and conquer more lands.

  I couldn’t complain too much about that last one, though. The idea of conquering had never sat right with me.

  Finally, though, I stumbled upon the pages that would really help me.

  The ones about Rudolfo and the half-fae witch.

  Rudolfo had been tasked with finding and disposing of the “half-bred mutant,” as he so lovingly described her. The Council had gotten wind of her presence—how, he didn’t know—and decided that, rather than learn about this new type of being, they wanted her dead.

  What people don’t know, they fear.

  At first, Rudolfo was completely enamored with the idea of killing Alessandra. He hunted her down in a little village in Virginia with the intent of capturing her and bringing her back to the Council where he knew they would torture her before killing her in what I assumed would be an awful and inhumane way.

  The very thought of it made my stomach turn over.

  However, when he’d found her, Rudolfo had discovered two things. One: Alessandra was a pure, kind soul. And two: she had absolutely no idea she was half-fae. She’d grown up an orphan, raised by an old woman

  It was as I was reading through these entries that I found the singular sentence that would stick in my head and give me nightmares for years to come.

  Fourth of May, Seventeen Hundred and Six

  Alessandra becomes stronger by the day. Her power has grown to such immense levels that it nearly terrifies me.

  I do not have much time to write. We are on the road, outrunning the Council while searching for others of her kind.

  So far, we know of three more.

  Alessandra is not alone in this world. There are other half-fae out there. There always have been, and there always will be.