“No, I'm staying. Theron and I are both staying. I--” Emerson put the truck in gear in front of the stairs and turned the engine off. He glanced across the front seat. “Look, I know I haven't known you that long. But something just isn't sitting right with me, Farris. I'll feel better if Theron and I kind of hang out until after your birthday.”
No, they hadn't known each other that long. Farris maintained eye contact while she pick-pick-picked at the hem of her uniform. She hurt in more places than she could count, but refused to show it.
“You've been a huge help, Emerson. And yeah, we haven't known each other very long, but I appreciate everything you've done. Like at the Rocket, and the loft, and with my hope chest.” It was still sitting in the back of the truck. “I just don't expect anyone to stay here after everything that's happened.”
She didn't want Emerson and Theron to feel obligated out of pity, or some sense of duty to protect her.
Behind them, Theron cut the engine to the Charger and shut off the lights.
Emerson tapped his thumb on the steering wheel. “I know you don't expect anyone to. I don't have anywhere else I need to be right now, so I'd rather be here where I can help. Someone is going to have to fix your stairs.”
“I don't even know how long I can stay in the loft now that Mister Henson's gone. He gave me permission to stay here, so I know I'm welcome—up until whoever he left the house to in his will shows up. Or the bank.” Farris tipped her head back against the seat.
The bank.
She didn't think she could deal with them ejecting her out of another house.
Emerson doused the headlights and pulled the keys out of the ignition.
“That will be a while. Maybe a month or two, more if you're lucky. As long as you can keep the lights on.”
Farris knew he was looking at her. Could feel the weight of his stare. In the brief second of silence, she heard the tick of the cooling engine.
“Maybe. I still need to start looking for somewhere else to live though. I can't count on this forever.” It meant packing up all her stories—a chore in itself—so that Beelah's brothers and parents wouldn't see them when they helped her move.
Emerson didn't answer. After a minute, she turned her head to see why. He met her gaze. In his hand, the keys jingled faintly. The scrapes and scratches decorating his face added a dangerous appeal to an already appealing package. His hair had been finger combed away from his forehead and his eyes gleamed in the moonglow.
Farris noticed it all. Every tiny detail. How his coat fit snug across his shoulders, how his body folded into the driver's seat. She could see him stalking down a runway in Milan with his brooding good looks. He was edgy and driven and determined all at the same time.
“What?” she asked. Self conscious at the way he was staring. “What aren't you saying?”
He smeared a hand over his mouth and almost spoke two or three different times. Each time he fumbled the words, couldn't spit them out.
Two car doors thumped closed behind them. Beelah and Theron had gotten out of the Charger.
Farris became aware she and Emerson only had seconds to talk.
Emerson moved his hand and smiled in the end. “C'mon, let's go. I wonder if Henson kept any extra wood or anything in his barn.”
She was disappointed that Emerson wouldn't, or couldn't, say what was on his mind.
Maybe tomorrow.
A quick smile preceded her reach for the door handle. Beelah wrenched it open before she could.
“Hey, Farris, Theron had a great idea. Instead of trying to rebuild the steps to the loft, why not just move into the bedroom Henson designated for you in the farmhouse?” Beelah said.
Farris climbed out of the Chevy and closed the door. Her head hurt. Her back hurt. Everything ached.
“I don't know, Bee. It seems...weird. Like I shouldn't just move in now that he's gone.” Of course there would be more room. More room for her things. For her stories. All temporary until someone showed up to kick her out.
“It's safer than the loft,” Beelah argued. “Henson would have wanted you to stay where it was safest.”
Farris thought about it. She knew Beelah was right. Henson had told her time and again to use the farmhouse if she needed it. Had dedicated one of the spare rooms as her own.
“It doesn't sound like he would have minded,” Theron added.
“She's not staying in the loft,” Emerson said, coming around the front of the truck. He handed the keys to Farris.
She palmed them with a look at Emerson. He ignored it.
“Theron, help me get the chest out of the truck,” Emerson said.
Theron swiveled toward the gate, yanked until it opened, and pulled the chest over until he and Emerson could hoist it from the bed. They carried it toward the porch, climbing the stairs as easily as if they moved furniture for a living.
Beelah snatched the keys out of Farris' hand and went to unlock the door for the boys. They stowed the chest just inside against the wall.
“I guess you're right. I need to get some clothes from the loft though. The ladder is still where I left it. Later I can worry about fixing the stairs enough to get the furniture and stuff out.” Farris caved under the pressure not to sleep in the loft.
“I'll do it. You're in no shape to climb,” Emerson said, stepping back outside. He started walking along the front of the farmhouse with the intent to round the side and head back to the garage.
“You're not going through my clothes!” Farris, aghast at the thought of him in her dinky tiny closet, marched after him. It hurt to walk that fast.
“I'll just grab jeans and a sweater or something.” He glanced back. “And a scarf.”
So he'd picked up on her penchant. “I don't think so.”
“You're not climbing the ladder.”
“I'm not dead,” Farris pointed out. She saw Emerson's shoulder twitch.
“And you're going to stay that way.” He swung out of sight around the side of the farmhouse.
Beelah and Theron followed in their wake. Theron was snickering.
Farris walked around the side of the house, heedless of the chill in the air that bit at her bare legs.
“Emerson...Emerson...what is your last name, anyway?”
“Why, so you can use it as a weapon?”
“Because I should know it.”
“It's Ferrera. Emerson Ferrera,” Theron said from somewhere back there.
Emerson scowled at Theron over his shoulder but didn't stop walking. “Thanks, man. Thanks a lot.”
Beelah hid a laugh behind her hand.
“Emerson Ferrera!” More amused than annoyed, she wielded his name with a wealth of haughty emphasis behind it.
Emerson sighed melodramatically.
Farris thought it felt good to release some of the tension with harmless teasing, even if she hadn't meant to go here to begin with.
Halfway between the house and the garage, the night lit up with growls. Farris was so surprised that she stopped dead in her tracks and swung a look toward the corn field. Tall, green stalks swayed in a gentle breeze.
She noticed that the others had stopped walking as well.
“What was that?” Farris asked. She didn't hear the growling any longer.
“I'm not sure. Did it sound like growls to you?” Emerson asked.
“That's what it sounded like to me,” Theron chimed in.
“Ew, that was scary.” Beelah crept forward until she crowded close to Farris.
“Whatever it is, maybe it's just passing through since it went quiet.” Farris glanced from the immense corn field toward the farmhouse. She judged they were twenty yards from the back porch and thirty from the garage.
Through the stalks, a cacophony of menacing growls rose into the air. Glowing pairs of eyes, too many to count, blinked into existence.
Emerson turned around, slowly, and began walking toward her.
“Everyone move. Back toward the farmhouse. And whatever you do,
don't run. Not unless they break cover and charge.”
The words were barely out of Emerson's mouth before an explosion of howls and barks preceded a stampede from the corn fields.
. . .
Farris caught a glimpse of matted, grungy fur and sharp teeth just as she pivoted on the ball of her foot to start running for the farmhouse. In that second, the glow from the moon illuminated a hoard of hurtling bodies. The pack burst from cover, lips peeled back, saliva dripping from their jaws.
Shock made it difficult to function at first. Farris bounced off Beelah who stood there with her mouth hanging open, eyes wide.
“Go, go, go!” Emerson shouted. He grasped both sides of Farris' shoulders and propelled her forward, forcing Beelah to stumble or run.
Theron yanked on Beelah's elbow to help galvanize her.
“What is it, what is it?” Beelah wailed. She staggered from the impact of bodies, then got her balance and ran.
Farris didn't have time to answer. Not with Emerson pushing and shoving and using his chest to block her back. His breaths came in harsh rasps, hands guiding her toward the porch stairs. He released her once she recovered from the tangle with Beelah and Theron.
Gaining momentum, she hit full stride. Any aches, pains, dizziness and muzzy headedness instantly vanished in favor of the fight to live. Adrenaline surged through her veins, making her scalp tingle.
Theron hit the porch first. Leaping the stairs, he landed and yanked the screen door open.
“Keys, where are the keys?” Emerson asked.
“Beelah has them!” Farris started to pat her pockets when she recalled Beelah snatching them out of her hand in the driveway.
“I dropped them back there!” Beelah pointed back the way they came.
“We need keys!” Theron shouted.
Behind them, Farris could hear the grunts, growls and snarls of the pack.
Closer. Too close.
“Kick the door down!” Emerson all but flew up the steps on Farris' heels.
“No time! They're coming!” Theron swiveled Beelah away from the door and shoved her to the right just as a furry body hurled through the air.
It landed with a crash and a thump against the bottom of the screen.
Beelah screamed and toppled over one of several chairs lining the porch.
Emerson picked up one of the other chairs and threw it behind him. A yelp sounded shortly after.
Farris bolted down the porch the other direction, dodging furniture. One of the wild dogs veered away from the pack and took three great strides before leaping into the air. She could see it from the corner of her eye, about to attack.
With chaos ensuing behind her, Farris hit the deck. Straight down, banging her elbow, knee and chin. It got her out of the way of the dog, however, which slammed into the wall of the farmhouse. Scrambling forward, she scuttled behind Henson's favorite rocking chair and then had to use it as a weapon.
Another dog, this one half white half black, jumped the railing with more cunning than the last one showed. She banged the rocker forward, connecting with the dog's muzzle. It yelped and stumbled back.
Tripping over the hose, Farris regained her balance and bent down to pick it up. Connecting a palm with the spigot, she turned the water on as high as she could. The attachment at the end of the hose had several settings; mist, spray and stream. Depressing the lever, a stream shot out the end, driving back three hounds that had vaulted the railing onto the porch.
In periphery, she saw Bee, Theron and Emerson fighting the pack in different places along the porch. They used what they had at hand to avoid the snap of sharp teeth and raking claws.
Beelah screamed. The sound terrified Farris but she didn't dare look away from the three mangy beasts looking for a way around the stream of water to get at her. They snapped and snarled, baring their teeth, darting away from the water when she shot it straight at them.
Theron shouted, Emerson cursed. A crack of wood and a yelp came a moment later.
Then another boom; Emerson kicked the back door in.
“Farris! Work your way over here!” Emerson called. Cut off from her by five dogs, he battled back from their lunging attacks with the screen and the broken spindles from a rocking chair.
Using the strong stream, Farris inched her way down the porch toward the back door. Just another ten feet.
The other five dogs scrambled around, darting in for Bee and Theron, who stood in front of her best friend with a chair thrust out so the four legs would keep the teeth away from their skin.
More animals meant more places to spray, which left Farris temporarily vulnerable on one side for a few seconds at a time. The dogs knew it and waited for the right time to strike. One particular snap came so close to her shin that she felt the rush of air past her skin.
Jumping back, she turned the water on the dog. It scrambled away.
Beelah and Theron managed to squeeze past Emerson and the final dog to get inside the farmhouse.
“Five feet, Farris! C'mon!” Emerson shouted.
“There are too many!”
“You got it, Farris. Just drive them back and get to the door.”
Three feet.
Two.
With an arc of angry beasts around her, Farris made one last sweep with the stinging stream then threw the hose and ran.
Emerson was right there; he pulled her inside and behind him, closing the screen and then the door with a bang.
Farris leaned against the wall while the furious beasts clawed and snarled. She heard them race up and down the porch, looking for a way in.
“Oh my gosh. What just happened out there. Why are there so many?” Farris asked, out of breath from the fight.
“That was nasty,” Theron declared. He had several long scratches along one forearm, proving the dogs got a little too close.
Beelah, shaking like a leaf, crowded next to Farris. “W...why...why did they attack? What's g...going on?”
Farris patted Bee's hand reassuringly, when she didn't feel reassured herself at all. She caught Emerson giving Theron a hard, unhappy look that she didn't understand.
“I don't know, Beelah. Emerson, what is it?” Farris wanted to know why Emerson looked so...angry.
He thrust a hand through his hair and reached out for the light switch. When he flipped the lever, no lights came on.
“You've got to be kidding me,” he snarled, ignoring Farris. “Theron, help me check all the windows down here. Grab a chair to block the back door with, too, as well as the front.”
“Emerson, what's going on?” Farris asked again.
He stopped in front of her and peeled his jacket off. The arms and hem had several torn segments. “I don't know, Farris. But something is way wrong here. We've got to secure the house. Right now.”
She nodded, not about to stop the men from making the farmhouse a sanctuary. “What can we do?”
“Look for flashlights, candles and matches. You know this place better than anyone.” Emerson hung his damaged coat off a peg and stalked away with Theron to begin the process of securing the windows and doors.
Dizzy from the sudden cessation of action, Farris hugged Beelah and released her. “Let's go.”
Chapter Thirteen
Just before dawn, Devon set down the quill she was using to write and stretched her arms in the air. Hours had gone by since Audrinne's visit, and she had spent the time working on Destinies.
The drive and desire to write was as strong as it had ever been; she could no more deny herself the work than she could stop breathing. Standing up, she bent side to side to get the kinks out of her spine and snatched up Farris' Destiny.
Surely by now Rowley had taken care of the thorn in her side.
There on the page were the details, magically filled in since the last time she looked, about the close call with the wild dogs.
Devon scowled and slapped the sheets of paper down.
If she didn't know better, she would have thought Merwen was counteri
ng every action with one of her own. Merwen, the current Fate of Destiny, couldn't know of Devon's actions to get rid of Farris, however. Merwen didn't have the power of ESP, couldn't read Devon's mind. What Devon was attempting had never been done before, as far as Devon knew, in the history of the Fates.
There was no reason for Merwen to expect foul play of this magnitude.
It was Devon's ace in the hole.
Irritated that it was taking so long to get rid of the girl, Devon left her desk and headed across the room to a carved bookcase situated between two tables. Ancient tomes filled each shelf, the spines ranging in color and design. They smelled as old as they looked. On a middle shelf was an array of bottles and bags filled with various non-perishable items that might be needed for a ritual.
Devon bypassed all that for a book on the highest shelf. One with a turquoise spine and a leather cover faded with use. It felt heavy in her hands and was quite large. The same set of runes marked in black around the base of the pedestal lined the perimeter of the front cover.
Taking the book back to her desk, she plopped down in the chair and cracked the tome open. The yellowed pages, some with warped and fraying edges, were thicker than typical, modern paper and almost felt like a thin layer of pliable skin.
Each page was filled with diagrams and handwriting and symbols. There were rituals to invoke lesser Gods, to over ride Destinies and to change almost every aspect of how Fate in general worked. Most of these were only to be used in utter emergencies, Audrinne had informed her, not in day to day Destinies.
Devon spent hours upon hours reading each book, memorizing the easier skills should she ever need them.
But there were more complicated rituals, too. Ways to call upon forces that lurked in the world that most humans never knew existed. Devon had been cautioned, extensively, about these rites.
Audrinne had expressed the dire consequences that might occur if some of those forces were ever unleashed on humanity.
Unleashed...period.
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