Wicked Fate (The Wicked Trilogy)

by Tabatha Vargo

Is That A Dog or A Horse?

  It’s Friday, which means I get to spend my day hearing snippets of conversations about weekend plans. By the end of the day, I’ll know what girl is going on a date with which guy.

  I’ll spend most of my weekend writing or talking to Thaddeus. Perhaps I’ll be out in the gardens napping under an old oak tree, or actually having a conversation with my grandfather. These days, I’m happy if he remembers my name.

  That’ll be my weekend; that’s every weekend. It’s getting old, really fast.

  Sometimes I dream about being a normal girl. I’d love to know what it feels like to just do customary things—go on a date, maybe prom. But the thought of having a bucket of pig’s blood poured over my head, like in that movie Carrie, makes my stomach turn. It could happen. I wouldn’t put anything past the idiots I go to school with.

  These are things regular teenagers don’t have to worry about. It must be awesome to just live, to not have to worry about losing control and hurting someone with your mind.

  The dreaded lunch line once again looms in front of me. Today, I grab an apple and a bottle of water. I seem to be missing my appetite. I pay the gate keeper at the head of the line before I go to my table.

  I stop dead in my tracks.

  Someone’s already there. Brown eyes and bouncy curls stare back at me. Bernie’s sitting there like it’s what she does every day…it isn’t. I know this, because I’m the one who sits there every day, usually alone.

  This puts me in an awkward position. Do I go sit at my table with her, or do I walk outside and leave her be?

  Every eye in the cafeteria is on me—again.

  Thank you girl-named-Bernie! I adore the attention of the entire cafeteria…not!

  Instead of giving the people a show, which is what they’re all hoping for, I make a quick turn and change my course. Leaving my table and Bernie behind, I walk to the cafeteria doors. I feel her gaze on my back and guilt rears its ugly head. I consider for just a moment, turning around and joining her, but I push the door open and leave the room.

  Once I make it into the courtyard beside the cafeteria, I relax.

  The new girl’s definitely nuts.

  The silence that greets me, compared to the brain-abusive noise of the cafeteria, is a godsend. I find myself in the midst of a secret haven; a little courtyard with benches and tables. It’s reminiscent of my gardens at home, except it’s well manicured.

  A few quiet students with their faces stuck in a book sprinkle the silent zone. The air surrounding me is pleasant and calm. I decide in this moment that I’ll pick a bench and make the outdoors my new lunch spot. It’s a slice of heaven in an otherwise stressful place.

  I see a little alcove shaded by a dogwood tree; I walk over to it, toss my book bag onto the bench, and make myself comfy while pulling out my iPod. Pencil in hand and notebook in lap, I start writing as I nibble on my apple.

  He will always question what I already know.

  And the makings of a love story will soon begin to grow.

  I’ll let you lead me in the dark and close my eyes to light.

  With visions of only you, my love, that fills my head at night.

  The sunlight is beaming down on me. It’s not too hot out and there’s a breeze so it’s nice. If a day could be perfection then today’s that day. I finish my writing and stuff my notebook back in my book bag. The sun feels fabulous on my skin, so I lift my face and close my eyes.

  A shadow takes over and I feel the heat disappear from my cheeks. I miss the warmth as soon as it’s gone and silently, I cuss the person who’s blocking the sun.

  Maybe if I don’t open my eyes they’ll just go away.

  Against my will, my eyes pop open and Adam’s face comes into focus. My heart has its usual reaction when he’s near, which means it’s trying to burst out of my chest. It’s not a good feeling.

  My heartbeat is thumping in my ears, blocking out all of the other noises around me. It makes me paranoid that he can hear my rushing heart.

  A flash of adrenaline rushes through my veins as my sympathetic nervous system goes into over-time. But instead of grabbing my stuff and engaging in a fight-or-flight reaction, I sit there like an idiot.

  Again, he makes me feel like a deer caught in the headlights.

  My natural inclination is to run, but I need to know what he wants. I refuse to spend another night awake wondering why he’s all of sudden trying to talk to me. I get up the nerve and look him in the face.

  Adam Westcott is gorgeous—plain-and-simply put. He’s tall, dark, and handsome, the epitome of a teenage girl’s dream. His lofty frame towers over me and his wide muscular shoulders engulf my tiny width. He makes me feel smaller than I actually am.

  His carelessly disheveled chocolate-brown hair falls over skin the color of creamed coffee. The natural gold highlights in his hair flickers in the sun. A perfect, arrow-shaped nose centers his face and his high cheek bones balance him out.

  I find myself staring at his full mouth. His tongue peeks out at the corner for a minute giving me an actual physical reaction. The light layer of dark hair above his perky top lip begs to be kissed. A sexy smirk develops letting me know I’ve been busted staring at his mouth inappropriately.

  My eyes search for a neutral place to land, but when it comes to Adam, every part of him invokes lust. In the end, the only safe place to look is his eyes.

  Beautiful eyes—emeralds that are large and deeply set, bordered by thick lashes that fan his cheeks. They’re sweet and seductive at the same time—innocent and sinful. They make me forget I’m awkward—make me feel feminine.

  His smile grows like he can hear my thoughts and the little dimple on the side of his mouth becomes more defined. My fingers ache to trace the lines of his face, dimple included.

  Maybe I’m not so different from other girls. I see the way the females around school pant after him like a pack of bitches. And look at me, standing here panting as well.

  He’s not the most popular boy in school, but I think that’s more by choice. He definitely has the qualifications. Still, as the invisible girl, I get to hear all the secret conversations that include him. Just this morning, he was the topic in my chemistry class.

  “Adam Westcott can have his way with me any day!” A cute redhead whispered to the girl next to her.

  I hear things like this about him all the time and I think he hears them, too. But unlike most guys his age, he doesn’t bask in their glow. I appreciate that about him.

  He’s a lot like me, as far as being a loner goes. Occasionally, I’ll see him talking with someone, but most of the time he’s alone.

  But the strangest thing about Adam is that fact that he doesn’t have a girlfriend. He has his pick of any girl in Summerville, yet he’s never picked one. He flirts, and I’m sure he does a lot of other things with them as well, but no steady girlfriend. It’s kind of a waste.

  “You’re not going to run off again?” his voice is deep and thick. It makes me feel tingle all over.

  “No.”

  My scary girl act is my shield. My toneless voice is meant to be intimidating, but it doesn’t affect Adam. If anyone should be afraid of me, it’s him. He’s seen with his own eyes what I’m capable of.

  His eyes dip to my mouth and again his tongue peeks out for a brief second, “Why not?”

  “Curiosity, I guess.”

  “Oh,” his expression drops.

  “What do you want?” I sigh.

  “You dropped this in gym yesterday,” he holds out a piece of paper caught between two slender fingers.

  Our skin touches when I reach for it and a zing shoots through my hand. I snatch my tingling arm away and cocky amusement flashes in his green gaze.

  Opening the folded paper, I see that’s it’s covered in my familiar handwriting. Fire takes over my face, red heat licking at my cheeks. The warmth of embarrassment flushes me and mortification fills me. My pulse speeds even faster and I begin to feel my blood pressure rising
. Light fairies enter my vision and I think for a minute that I might faint for the first time in my life.

  Right in the center of the paper is a huge drawing of Adam’s name bordered by angels and hearts.

  I ball the paper up in my fist and squeeze it tight. My humiliation slowly melts away and leaves space for anger. The thought of being put into this uncomfortable position has me furious.

  “Is it yours?” he asks.

  I take a few deep breaths trying to calm my wrath. The last thing I need right now is for a trash can or something to go flying across the courtyard and knock someone out. I take one more deep breath and exhale slowly. When I feel myself start to relax, I’m able to return his gaze.

  “This isn’t mine,” I toss the balled up piece of paper into the closest trash can.

  He knows I’m lying, I can see it in his penetrating gaze. It permeates me—allows him access to my hidden secrets. When he looks at me this way, I feel it in my stomach.

  He crosses his thick arms over his chest, “I saw you drop it yesterday.”

  “You don’t even have gym with me,” I say with a sharp tongue.

  He moves closer and his minty breath strikes my cheek. “And?” he challenges me with an arched brow.

  “It doesn’t matter, it’s not mine.”

  As quickly as possible, I collect my things. Without sparing him a glance, I walk away. I’ll make sure from this point on to never be caught in a conversation with Adam again.

  I skip the rest of my classes. It’s not like anyone will miss me.

  I walk the same path home every day. Stopping by Tasty Freeze, the local ice cream shop, I grab a vanilla cone dipped in chocolate. The girl at the counter takes my money, but never looks at me.

  I enjoy my frozen treat as I pass all the usual things. When I get to my driveway, which is more like a long gravel road, I stop and stare down at the old southern plantation house that’s my home.

  The sight from this vantage point could inspire a great Jim Booth painting. The drive is lined with huge, historic oak trees. Spanish moss cascades from the branches like water and sways in the breeze.

  The house itself used to be a beauty, although I personally think the run-down quality it has now gives it more personality. The white house, which is now dingy and gray, has huge columns connecting the top balcony with the bottom front porch. The dilapidated porch houses an old swing and broken, empty planters. I can’t count how many nights I’ve spent on the swing with just my notebook, a glass of sweet iced tea, and the sounds of the crickets.

  Most of the property’s overgrown. Vines cover the exterior of the house, covering some windows completely. The parts of the property that aren’t taken over by broken down trees and endless vines are covered in enormous ancient oaks, beautiful willows, and azalea bushes of all colors. Strands of wisteria dangle from every old piece of rusted iron fence or broken porch, which gives the area a magical quality and fills the air with a sweet fragrance.

  I spend a lot of time in my favorite of the gardens, the one closest to the house. I relax on the aged, marble bench reading or writing. There’s a peaceful air about the secluded garden. It’s void of noises, with the exception of birds and splashing water in an old cherub fountain, which amazingly still works on occasion.

  Taking my time, I walk down the long, gravel driveway with my face turned towards the sky and my eyes closed. Shining through the foliage of the lofty oaks, the sun covers my face and hair with rays of light. I hear the birds singing and the rustle of the trees dancing in the warm breeze.

  It’s too beautiful outside to go inside so I opt to relax in my favorite garden. After the day I had, I just want to be alone.

  The air turns crisp and a middle-aged woman with an old-style dress and bonnet walks by. I pretend to look right through her as I pull my notebook out. I catch her gray eyes as she peeks over at me.

  The historical lands surrounding my home are full of spirits of different ages from different time periods. They’re all familiar to me, even though I never converse with them. Avoiding contact with them comes naturally since I ignore everyone anyway. They usually go about whatever it is they’re doing and ignore me too—not much different from the living, now that I think about it.

  I tap my pencil against my lips in thought and then the words come…

  I feel a being brought to me.

  A magical being to set me free.

  A friend to follow to love and protect.

  A loyal heart and kind eyes to watch my every step.

  “Thankfully, no one reads this crap,” I say out loud.

  Slipping the full bag under my head, I get comfortable on the broken concrete next to the cherub fountain. The rushing sound of the water has a calming effect that helps me to unwind. Soon, my entire body is relaxing and I begin to fall asleep.

  Suddenly, I’m awake. Not sure how long I’ve slept; I look up at the sun and notice it’s in a different spot in the sky. Shadow has engulfed the garden making it look dark and creepy. My keen senses hone in on a rustling noise from one of the azalea bushes. I jump up onto my knees in a defensive stance.

  Over the years, I’ve developed a bit of paranoia. Glaring at the moving bushes, I sit and wait for something to come blasting out and straight towards me. It’s early November, so there are no blooms on the azalea bush. Because of that fact, I can see almost completely through it.

  A massive gray paw emerges from under the bush. The breath catches in my lungs and I can’t swallow the lump rising up my throat. This isn’t the paw of any animal I’ve ever seen. No, this isn’t an animal, this is an enormous creature.

  I’m determined to stand strong and not be overcome by this colossal being. I’ve seen enough in my almost sixteen years of life. Nothing can shock me anymore.

  I stand straight up, and because of my movement the gray paw disappears back into the bush. It’s then that I notice the two dark eyes staring back at me. Fear sets in and I wonder if I should run or stay and face a horrifying death.

  I tilt my head for a closer look at the gazing eyes and notice that they aren’t scary at all. If anything, the mysterious eyes that stare back at me through the azalea bush are scared. These aren’t the eyes of a killer; these are the eyes of a friendly and afraid creature.

  With bravery pushing at my back, I take a step closer and the bush rumbles a little. A loud whining noise sounds and I realize that whatever this creature is, it’s more afraid of me than I am of it.

  “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you,” I say to the bush. “You can come out,” I coerce in a light calming whisper.

  The big gray paw emerges once more. My heart skips a beat as fear shows its face again.

  Soon, another large gray paw appears. I make a few coaxing noises mixed with some whispered calming words to get the beast to come forward completely.

  A huge head appears over the top of the bushes. Then slowly, the animal fully emerges, never taking his eyes off of my face. Shock is the only thing I can feel. This isn’t some massive fairy tale creature; it’s just the largest, most enormous, gray dog I’ve ever seen in my entire life. I had no clue dogs came in this size. It’s easily the size of a small horse—seriously.

  The gigantic dog looks powerful and muscular. His velvety fur ripples as he moves closer. His massive head looks heavy and his face is large and square with a short muzzle. There’s a mask of black fur surrounding his eyes and nose. None of those take away from the beauty of his amazing silver fur. It’s short and has the look at crushed velvet. My fingertips beg to touch him.

  Suddenly, the dog seems to smile and I can see his large razor sharp teeth shining back at me. With caution, I slowly walk closer to the unbelievable beast. His body tenses as I near. Taking small steps, I get close enough to touch him.

  Up close, he’s taller than me—even on all fours.

  I gradually lift my hand and hold it out to his soft fur. Bit-by-bit, my hand gets closer and closer to him. I can feel his body starting to relax as I lay my ha
nd on his back.

  Not only does his fur look like crushed velvet, it’s just as soft.

  Once I’m comfortable enough to pet him, I start saying sweet encouraging words. His face comes closer to mine and for a minute the fear of being decapitated comes back.

  I’m in the middle of backing away slowly, when his sloppy wet tongue springs from his mouth and lands on the side of my face. I laugh out loud, a strange sound even to my own ears, as he bathes my face with doggy kisses.

  “You’re a good dog, huh?”

  Leave it to me to baby talk a massive beast.

  He continues to lick my face and pant at me before dropping down on his hind legs and bowing down to me. I bow back and laugh out loud again.

  “It’s nice to meet you too, big guy! My name’s Mage, what’s yours?” I giggle.

  Checking around his neck, I see that he doesn’t have a collar or anything to distinguish his name or home. I decide that I’ll put out posters for the dog and then spend my weekend trying to find his owner. If no one claims him, I’ll keep him as my own.

  For the first time in a long time, I’m spending my weekend with someone other than my grandparents or Thaddeus. Having a pet is a new thing for me, but honestly it feels like more than that. It’s as if he’s always been a part of my life. He seems to laugh inside when I make a joke or get sad when something’s bothering me. I can’t put my finger on it, but this is no ordinary dog.

  He fills a space in my life, a friend who doesn’t judge me and a protector, not that I need protection. But I feel like nothing could come near me with this dog around. Maybe it’s his size that makes me feel so safe, but somehow I know that no matter what, he’ll protect me from anyone or anything.

  I spend Saturday at the county library researching his breed. I find a few dogs that look like him and come to the conclusion that he’s an English Mastiff—one of the largest breeds around. By the time the weekend comes to an end, I decide that it doesn’t matter where he came from; I’m keeping him.

  After making the big decision to keep him, he follows me up to the nearest pet store where I buy him a huge bag of dog food. He’d eaten a whole small bag already since Friday. He’s going to be expensive and knowing that makes me think maybe a part-time job wouldn’t be such a bad idea.