Shifting Fate

by Melissa Wright

  I crossed the bedroom in the dim light from a small lamp on the table, leaving it on as I crawled beneath the charcoal gray comforter. The blankets were soft and warm, and the scent of Logan was everywhere. I lay still, listening for some sign of him in the front room, but there was nothing except the empty hum of silence. I tried counting. Reciting Latin. I even practiced breathing. But nothing worked. Eventually, I gave up, folding the blankets back to walk barefoot through the room.

  My eyes had adjusted to the light, and I followed the perimeter, trailing a finger over the edge of his dresser, across the top of a low side table, stopping midway to pick up a small metal sculpture. It was dull silver, like pewter, but heavier, with a rounded top that fit neatly into the palm of my hand. I cradled it there for a moment before reaching to place it back on its stand. My hand hovered over the table as the words came to me, welding themselves firmly in my mind. Another warning. Another version of the future.

  The words came less often than the visions, but they held more gravity. They hit with a force, and my hand trembled, fumbling the metal to thunk loosely on the table. I caught it before it had a chance to roll to the floor, setting it to rights just as the door swung open.

  Logan stood, hand on the lever, freezing as the sight of me unharmed prevented whatever rescue he’d been planning.

  “Sorry,” I whispered, indicating the sculpture with a vague hand motion as my apology trailed off.

  He looked like he’d had the wind knocked out of him.

  I met his eyes, concerned for a moment that my clumsiness had not been the cause of his reaction, but it was not fear that held him there. It was something else. And then I remembered I was wearing his shirt. Only his shirt.

  In his bedroom.

  Logan’s fingers were tight on the lever; he stood stock still. His gaze didn’t shift from my face, but there was no question he’d noticed.

  I felt my bottom lip draw in, but stopped, clearing my throat. “I, uh …” I ran a hand over the hem of the shirt, cringing when it hit the bare skin of my legs too soon. “Sorry,” I said again.

  His other hand tightened on the door frame, as if it was holding him there.

  “I was just …” His jaw tightened, and I couldn’t help but recall his words from the hall, wonder if those were the words running through his mind. Is it now? I cleared my throat. “… going back to bed,” I managed.

  He nodded, seeming to recover himself, and pulled the door closed behind him. The latch touched frame, but didn’t click shut. It was a full minute before his footsteps receded.

  My hip fell to lean against the table, heart pounding. Days, Brianna. You’ve known him for days.

  I’d eventually fallen asleep by placing a pillow over my head to smother the nonexistent sounds of silence. It had taken a while, given the new words of prophecy and my encounter with Logan, but he let me sleep until late morning, when the scent of pancakes made its way into the room. I splashed my face and pulled on a pair of jeans before hanging the borrowed shirt on the rack and replacing it with my navy blue sweatshirt.

  Logan didn’t look up at me when I came into the kitchen, so I took a stool at the narrow island behind him. He stacked three pancakes onto a plate and slid it across to me, not meeting my eyes as he turned back to clear the counter. He opened the refrigerator, and checked the date on a box of juice before pouring it into a short glass. I had a forkful at my mouth when he sat down and finally, deliberately, looked at me.

  His hand flattened on the countertop. “When you’re ready, there are some documents we think might help.”

  I swallowed the too-big bite. “We?”

  “Aern. We discussed the problem you were having, and he’s agreed to give you access to the secured texts.” Logan shrugged a shoulder. “There probably isn’t much difference in what you’ve already seen, but anything we can do to help.”

  “The prophecy?” I whispered.

  He nodded, and purposefully looked away. I took one last big bite before hurrying to get my shoes. Halfway to the bedroom door, I remembered myself and turned to thank Logan for making breakfast. He was watching me, a dishtowel wadded beneath his hand on the counter, and I stumbled over the words in my haste.

  He waved it away. “Get your shoes, Brianna.”

  We were in the car within minutes, and I had a hard time sitting still. It wasn’t that I didn’t know what the prophecy said; I had learned it by heart before I could write. It was that I was finally going to see it. To touch that document, the indisputable proof that the words were in place a thousand years before I was born. I scrunched my nose. It was silly of me, I knew. The prophecy had been spoken in my own head, after all. But still, it mattered.

  “Wait, shouldn’t we be headed that way?” I asked when I realized the car had been traveling in the wrong direction from the city.

  “We aren’t going to Council,” Logan said.

  “But I thought …” I trailed off as Logan glanced at me, his eyes hidden behind dark glasses.

  “The documents were moved. To keep them safe. We’ll find them at the Adair house.”

  I recognized that name. Aern had sent a team there, the day Morgan had attacked the Division at Southmont. Brendan had been angry, certain his own men could protect the occupants of the house. He’d said they couldn’t spare their best team, but Aern had insisted. My gaze found Logan. “The others don’t know.”

  His jaw flexed. “There were three who knew, before the fighting. The case at the Council building holds a replica, and that version has always been regarded as the original. But the true text was hidden, passed down between the elders for safe keeping for centuries.” He turned off the main road, taking a deserted lane lined with potted trees. “When the disputes boiled over, one of those elders was killed. And so, it was passed on to a new protector.”

  I stared at him. He wasn’t only Morgan’s protector, he was responsible for the prophecy. “You said Aern agreed ...”

  “Things went bad. There are only two of us now. He and I.” He wet his lips before continuing, somewhat reluctant. “I know what you are, Brianna. I know you’re trying to save us. But it was just something I couldn’t do without Aern’s accord.”

  I nodded. “I understand.” He hadn’t needed to apologize for hiding the prophecy from me. I had gone through my whole life keeping secrets. I was doing it still.

  Chapter Nine

  Prophecy

  We drove down a wooded lane, where the road turned toward a private park. Ivy climbed over a tall, wrought iron fence that ran parallel to the path and then opened into an ornate double gate to the Adair house.

  Logan pulled the car around the building and we went in through a side entrance. It reminded me of the Southmont house, but the colors were lighter, more welcoming, and the furnishings a bit more modern. And, like all Division houses, it was fully stocked with well-dressed guards and attractive young staffers, which we met right away. The guards, apparently recognizing Logan as a superior, simply gave us a small nod of acknowledgement before averting their eyes. A slim brunette in a business suit, however, marched directly toward us in her four inch designer heels.

  “Mr. Black,” she said evenly, “we were not made aware of your visit.”

  Logan slid a hand onto my lower back to guide me in an attempt to subvert her, but she adjusted course, determined to stop us in our path.

  She straightened the sleeve of her blazer without taking her gaze from us. “I’m certain Mr. Samuels will want to be informed of your itinerary. How long will you be staying?”

  “You can tell Brendan we’ll be here for two nights,” Logan said. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, Brianna has been suffering from a great lack of sleep.”

  The corner of her right eye twitched, but her expression did not change. “Miss Drake,” she said finally, tilting her head slightly as she stepped aside.

  Logan pressed me forward, apparently eager to be out of the main areas of the house. We took a wide staircase to the second level and
walked down a hall lined with doors.

  “We’re staying for two days?” I asked.

  One side of Logan’s mouth rose. “I said she could tell Brendan we’d be here for two days.” He glanced over his shoulder before stopping at the fifth door on the right. “I was trying to buy us some time.” He keyed the door open and ushered me inside. “We won’t have as long to work as I’d hoped.”

  A four-poster bed draped with sheers centered the large, windowless room. Two dressers lined the far walls, and a desk and reading chair sat near the entrance. Gesturing for me to stay there, Logan crossed to the smaller of the dressers and worked it across the thick silver-gray carpeting until it was clear of the wall by several feet. The second dresser, a low, six drawer antique model that looked to weigh about five hundred pounds, didn’t slide so easily across the pile. I bit my lip as he labored against it. It was unsettling how much I enjoyed watching that man move furniture.

  When both dressers were clear of the wall, he drew a folding knife from his pocket and cut a long strip of carpet free. He tucked the loose end of it under a knee and dug at the wood flooring beneath with the knife to reveal a pair of dark metal fasteners. I had to stand on the tip of my toes and crane my neck to see how he released the plank that revealed the cubby hole.

  He glanced up at me as he removed a few small containers, and I dropped my heels back flat. He took them to the desk and I moved to stand beside him as he opened the first case and unrolled a canvas on the dark glossed wood before us.

  My hand went to my chest, air suddenly hard to come by. I looked at Logan, unsure, and his solemn nod confirmed the parchment’s authenticity.

  I was seeing the prophecy.

  I reached out, knowing I shouldn’t touch the ancient material, but unable to resist being closer. As my hand hovered above the fine script, so different than those that I’d been studying for the last days, I was overtaken by a giddy, child-like excitement. I glanced at Logan, uncaring that I had flushed cheeks and a too-wide grin, and he smiled back at me.

  “Go ahead and take a look,” he said. “I’m going to close things up a bit.”

  He tucked a pair of thin white gloves into my hand and returned to the space beneath the flooring.

  I meant to thank him, but wasn’t sure I’d said the words out loud. As I tugged the gloves on, I glanced about the room, but there were no cameras in the bedrooms of the Division houses. No one was watching. No one would see my gloved fingers tracing the worn edge of a thousand-year-old document.

  But the moment they contacted parchment, the trembling in my hands ceased. It was real. All of it. The visions, the prophecy, the coming destruction. Too real to deny anymore. There was no more room for doubt. No more uncertainty or possibilities.

  This was it.

  These words were for me. I was the prophet. It was all there was.

  Vaguely aware of Logan’s movements across the room, I recited the words in the old tongue; the words I’d known by heart before the first time they’d even come to me through a revelation. It took several minutes, but they seemed to move at a drawn-out pace, each one cementing themselves once more in my consciousness. The gravity of them had somehow changed. The import shifting from burden to substance. Power. These would be the words that saved us.

  As I came to the end, I realized Logan was standing behind me. I took a deep breath, and for the first time in a very long while, it didn’t ache.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, sliding off the gloves as I turned to Logan. He noticed the change in me, I could see that, but before he had a chance to speak, his phone vibrated.

  He pulled the device from his pocket, pressed two buttons, and tucked it back away. “Looks like we’ll have to finish this up later.” He moved past me to roll the prophecy into a tube, and placed it and a few other documents in a satchel before looping the strap over his shoulder. “Ready?” he asked.

  I was. I didn’t know what for, exactly, but there was no doubt left in my answer.

  We exited the room to turn the opposite direction we’d come in, and Logan led me by the elbow at an even faster pace, not stopping to round the corners before me. I glanced behind us, but the halls were empty. He took us down a set of narrow stairs, pausing only briefly to check the screen of his phone. From my vantage point one step above him, I saw not a text message, but a small red dot on a blackened grid. Like a tracking signal.

  “Is that Brendan?” I hissed, more out of shock than anything else.

  He glanced at me, surprised, and the corner of his mouth drew back, despite an obvious effort to still it. He turned his upper body toward me as he watched me, leaving his face inches from mine while the step made us closer to the same height.

  “Brianna,” he said, and I thought he was going to tell me his reasons, explain why it was necessary. I was fully prepared to tell him I understood and it didn’t matter, until he finished. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Is it now?”

  My breath caught in my throat. Oh God, was he serious? His eyes never left mine, and all I could think was that he was thinking of kissing me, that he was asking because it had crossed his mind to do so right then. The image of that kiss from my visions came swiftly to me, and I fought hard to not focus on it.

  Though I was sure he’d see the flush that colored my skin, Logan didn’t budge, only waited for my answer.

  I swallowed hard. “No.”

  His gaze stayed on me one full second more before he made a gesture that might have been a nod and turned to take the last few steps.

  We’d been turning the corner three blocks from the property when we passed a line of dark, expensive looking cars. I’d glanced at Logan, but he’d not acknowledged the event, simply watching the road as he took the scenic route to Council. To Aern and Emily.

  My sister gave me a sad, half-smile and I knew Aern had told her we’d seen the prophecy. She must have thought it would upset me, bring up the painful memories of our mother, but it hadn’t.

  Aern released his grip on Logan’s forearm and moved to touch my shoulder. “How are you, Brianna?”

  It was clear there was more to his question than a simple inquiry on my health, but I let it slip this time. “I’m good, Aern.” I let my gaze run over his face, but there didn’t appear to be much sign of the stress he’d been under to put things back in order. I wondered if that had something to do with his bond to Emily. “How are you?”

  He smiled, unconsciously moving toward her as he dropped his arm. “I haven’t had a moment to think about it.” He glanced at his watch. “We let the kitchen staff go early today, they’re going to start the upgrades on those rooms this afternoon, but we’ve still got some time to whip up a little lunch.”

  Emily raised her brows when his gaze met hers. “Don’t look at me, Brianna’s the cook.”

  I felt Logan stiffen at her comment, and I bit my lip as I glanced over at him, knowing he was thinking of the meals he’d stumbled through as I watched. “Actually,” I said, “just a sandwich would be fine.”

  Emily smiled. “I can do sandwiches.”

  Logan seemed to gather himself. “Brianna didn’t get a chance to look through all the documents,” he explained, “so we’ll get started on that.” He handed the container that held the prophecy to Aern. “For the Seven.”

  “For the Seven,” Aern repeated.

  It was oddly formal in the midst of our conversation about lunch, and the slight flinch in Emily’s expression made it clear that she’d not quite acclimated to their role at the head of Council. But Aern’s hand found the small of her back, and it was as if, suddenly, none of that mattered to either of them.

  I watched them go, leaving us to our business. To find the clue that would lead them away from the path in my visions. When I turned to get the documents from Logan, he narrowed one eye at me. “Brianna’s the cook, huh?”

  I laughed, taking the proffered bag without giving him the unpleasant details of Emily’s culinary disasters and my subsequent education in the
matter. I removed a leather bound journal from one of the containers, its binding tattered and peeling, and laid it carefully on the table before me. Logan pulled up a chair, and when Emily returned with food, they talked idly about security updates and what was left of the remodel work.

  I faded in and out of their conversation while I read, searching the old documents and notes for any details that could help. It still surprised me how easily Aern had fit into Emily’s life, how central he’d become so quickly. She’d kept to herself more often than not, and it knew it wasn’t simply the prophecy or their bond that connected them. Emily had a way of making people trust her. What I didn’t know, was if she could be so comfortable with Logan because Aern had faith in him, or if he shared his life-long friend’s talent as well. Because Aern also had that ability to make people trust him.

  I remembered the first day I’d met him, when he’d come for me the way my mother had said he would. He’d been fully prepared to have to convince me, to take me with him by any means necessary. But it didn’t come to that, because I knew. I didn’t let on to Aern or the Division, not everything at least, but I had known I’d no other choice. The visions had gotten stronger, warning me.

  I’d had to leave Emily, give her every chance I could to keep her out of Morgan’s hands. Even Aern didn’t know about her then, because there was only one chain of events that wouldn’t end badly. I placed a hand absently at the scar on my stomach. Well, not too badly, I thought. But that hadn’t been his fault. That was Morgan. Aern had taken great care to keep me safe. And whether I’d had the visions or not, I would have trusted him. I was almost sure of it.

  When I realized the room had fallen silent, I glanced over at Emily and Logan to find them watching me, both wearing some mixture of concern and curiosity. I dropped the hand I’d been holding to my midriff instantly. Aern walked into the room at the same moment and I cringed, hating that they were going to ask about my injury with him in earshot.