The Fate of Destiny (Fates #1)

by Bourdon, Danielle

  “You did what?” Farris let go of Beelah and glanced at Emerson, shocked.

  “I stole her car.”

  “Man, that ain't the Sheriff. That's Larissa and her cronies,” Theron said. “And look how many of 'em have bats.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “EMERSON! Come out, we' know you're in there!”

  “Whoo, they look pretty mad,” Theron pointed out. He might have been grinning.

  “Seriously, Emerson?” Farris seethed at the thought of Emerson anywhere near Larissa. The girl was notorious for disregarding relationships between anyone—not that she and Emerson were in a relationship. Still. It rankled.

  “How many you see out there, Theron?” Emerson asked, ignoring Farris.

  “Like...eight, maybe? Eight guys, three girls. Hard to tell in the dark with the headlights blinding me.”

  Emerson glanced back at Farris. She met his eyes, hands on her hips. He had the audacity to grin. “You two stay inside. Let me see if I can diffuse the situation.”

  “I'm not staying inside,” she said.

  “Remember what we talked about earlier?”

  “I'm still not staying inside.”

  “Yes, you are. Step one foot out that door and I'll throw you over my knee the first chance I get.” He pointed a finger at her, then stalked to the door, removed the chair, snapped the bolts over, and went outside. Theron was right on his heels.

  Farris fumed. “C'mon, Bee.”

  “I don't think you should go out there just yet. What if Palmer's outside?”

  “He can't tell me what to do. But for now, I won't go out. For now.” Farris tugged Beelah with her to the big front window. There was no way this was going down without her at least watching. Dark silhouettes, outlined by the headlights of the cars, approached the porch. Most had bats in their hands.

  Larissa, Renee and Cait hung back by one of the trucks. Farris knew by their slimmer shapes and the gleam of Larissa's white-blonde hair who they were.

  “I can't believe he stole her Mercedes,” Bee whispered.

  “It's not here, though. I wonder where he left it.” Farris covered her mouth and gasped when one of the boys suddenly attacked the cherry red Charger, busting out a back tail light.

  “Hey!” Emerson shouted. He vaulted the rail to the ground.

  Theron landed right after.

  “Oh...oh, this isn't going to be good,” Farris predicted, gnawing on her lip. “What can we do to help them?”

  “He said not to go outside.”

  “He's not my Dad,” Farris scoffed.

  “I don't want to hear you complaining later when he puts you over his knee.”

  “He wouldn't dare.” Farris thought about what she and Beelah could do to make Larissa and her gang go away. Palmer was undoubtedly one of the boys carrying a bat.

  “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?” Farris glanced at Beelah. She was frowning.

  “I don't know. Something.”

  “You mean their argument? I can't hear what they're saying, exactly.”

  “Not the argument. I can't put my finger on it,” Beelah said, peering away from the fight toward the distant line of the corn field.

  “Every time you say you hear something, and we can't see it, something really bad happens,” Farris pointed out. She looked outside, too, but didn't see anything unusual. The rain had stopped, leaving puddles glistening on the ground. She glanced back at the group of boys in time to see one point his bat toward Emerson. Five bodies made a half arc around Emerson and Theron; the other three started to circle around behind them.

  With no more warning than that, one of the silhouettes swung a bat toward Emerson's shoulder. Emerson hopped back out of the way, agile for a man of his size and grabbed the barrel of the bat as it passed by. He gave it a hard yank, unbalancing his foe.

  The fight was on.

  A flurry of bats started swinging, arcing through the headlights from the parked cars. It became difficult for Farris to tell who was who after a few seconds, or whether anyone was getting seriously hurt.

  “I hate this.” She glanced at the door. “I can't see, can't hear what they're saying. I'm going out.”

  Beelah adjusted her glasses and pushed the sleeves to her elbows. “All right. Let's go.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Devon stared with satisfaction at the final burning paper. The bowl atop the pedestal, perimeter singed with soot, spewed wisps of smoke toward the ceiling. After finding Rowley and giving the order to mess with the truck, she had come directly back here to see to the rest of the rituals.

  Not only had she barred the Fates of Destiny and Chaos from wielding their magic in Newcastle, she had—she hoped—blocked them from the ability to interfere and change any Destinies of the people directly involved.

  Like Beelah.

  Devon smiled when she thought of little Beelah Bosley fighting for the wheel on the out of control truck. Rife with optimistic energy at the turn of events, she stepped away from the pedestal and approached her desk. Atop, she'd left the pertinent Destinies that mattered for today.

  One glance proved that Rowley had succeeded with the truck, and Beelah had made an attempt at the wheel—yet Farris still lived.

  “What is it with this girl?” Devon, furious that her fail-proof plan had failed, toppled the chair with an angry shove. It fell backward to the floor with a bang that reverberated through the main room and into the long corridors that held the rest of the Destinies.

  Devon couldn't believe that Farris had escaped yet again. It almost seemed as if someone else was over riding everything, had taken control from another angle she couldn't see.

  Pacing around the desk, hands on her hips, Devon scowled and contemplated the use of unnatural creatures once more. It was a last, desperate attempt, one that might have severe repercussions if she didn't plan it just right. As before, she was a little worried she wasn't strong enough or experienced enough to take this on. Rowley was still out there and she knew he wouldn't stop until Farris died her natural death or until he managed to bring her down with a volatile act of nature.

  “What are you doing, Devon?” Audrinne said behind her.

  Devon spun around on the gutted sole of her boot. Audrinne looked...displeased.

  You're the Fate of Chaos now, Devon. Tell her how it's going to be. This is your job now, not hers.

  Devon lifted her chin and faced Audrinne head on. “My job. I'll thank you not to interfere.”

  Audrinne narrowed her eyes. She took a step closer, swishing the edge of her dark cloak around her ankles. There was something frightening about Audrinne in this moment that Devon had never seen before. It was the sinuous way she moved, the calculating gleam in her gaze.

  Devon stood her ground.

  “What have you done?” Audrinne asked, glancing at the pedestal then back to Devon.

  “What I had to.”

  “Which is? You have used the pedestal against my express order.”

  “But you're not the Fate of Chaos any longer—”

  “I am your mentor,” Audrinne said, and although the words were quiet, they carried with them a menace that couldn't be denied.

  Devon fought down unease. It started tying her stomach into uncomfortable knots. “Yes, and you have taught me well. It's my turn to do things as I see fit.”

  Audrinne snapped her cloak across the front of her legs. A sharp gust of air hit Devon square on, blowing her hair away from her face. It was so strong and sharp that Devon took a step backward.

  “Tell me exactly what ritual you have performed,” Audrinne demanded.

  “No. I won't. It is set in motion and cannot be undone.” Devon hoped she had performed the rites correctly, or Audrinne would over turn them with a stroke of a pen.

  Audrinne stopped ten feet in front of her. She stared, a hard, examining kind of stare that made Devon squirm inside.

  All she had to do was stick to her guns. The former Fate of Chaos, as s
trong as she was, could do nothing to stop the events in progress. Devon clenched her fists at her sides, wishing the waves of nausea would cease.

  “You have made a grave mistake, denying me information. Because I will find out what you have done, and there will be consequences.”

  Devon said nothing. In her mind, she went over all the steps of the ritual, reassuring herself that she had done everything right. If so, if she'd left nothing undone, Audrinne wouldn't be able to do a thing to save Farris Landry.

  With a crack of her cloak, Audrinne turned and disappeared through a vague ripple in the room. It was such a seamless, effortless departure. Devon, irked that Audrinne had so much grace compared to herself in that area, smeared the heel of her hand against her brow and turned back to her desk.

  She could do this. The new Fate of Chaos wouldn't fail in her attempt to overthrow the next Fate of Destiny.

  The question was—would she unleash the nether creatures, or not?

  . . .

  Emerson took a hit to the middle of his back. He took another whack to his arm. In a tug of war with someone, the bat between them, he wrenched sideways and ripped the weapon out of their hands. He couldn't exactly call up Chaos in the midst of so much commotion.

  Or witnesses. That was closer to the truth. Farris and Beelah already knew. That was enough. Theron hadn't used his Chaos either, battling it out fist to fist like he was. The other Weaver was known for street fighting and skill in beating back attackers; it was why Emerson wasn't surprised when two men grunted and pitched backward onto the ground.

  Swinging the bat he'd confiscated, Emerson whirled and whacked another bat aiming for the back of Theron's head. The contact of steel on steel sent painful reverberations up his arms all the way to the elbow. He recovered before the attacker and brought his bat down close to the handle on the other, forcing the man to drop it.

  He kicked it away and grunted when the man who lost his bat tackled him. They went down, scrabbling for purchase on the wet ground. Emerson butted heads, stunning the other man long enough for him to jump to his feet.

  “Em!”

  Theron's shout caused Emerson to automatically duck. A bat whizzed a few inches above his head. He swung for the side of someone's knee; the bat connected and bounced off, resulting in a shouted curse.

  “Show you not to steal Larissa's car!” another boy growled, throwing a fist instead of using his bat.

  Emerson took a roundhouse to the jaw. It snapped his head to the side. With a well placed kick to the stomach, he knocked the attacker onto his back. Bodies flew through the headlight beams, creating strange, puppet-like shadows that made it hard to keep up with everything.

  He caught a glimpse of Farris with Beelah on her heels marching toward Larissa and ground his teeth together. He'd told her to stay in the house. The insufferable wench never listened.

  Before he could order her out of the way, one of the remaining attackers pivoted and ran toward Farris. He hit her like a linebacker, catching her around the waist. Up over his shoulder she went, small fists battering his back.

  “Put me down! Right now!” she screeched.

  Emerson, driven by fury that anyone would put their hands on her, knocked another boy out of the way with an elbow to the jaw and shoved someone else in the chest.

  Beelah stuck her foot out and tripped the man holding Farris. Wobbling, stumbling, the duo went down hard. Emerson watched Farris scramble, working to free a leg stuck beneath the man's hip.

  Punching his way free of the melee, Emerson threw the bat down and tackled the man on the ground. In one split second, he met and held Farris' eyes. Then he was flipping-rolling-tumbling, throwing punches and taking a knee in the thigh. In periphery, he saw Farris and Beelah recover. Both girls ran out of his line of sight while he threw another punch.

  He didn't become aware of the whipping wind until a clod of dirt sprayed into his eyes. Emerson was in the wrong position for the man he battled to have done it, and everyone else seemed too far away.

  Right after that, he heard a roar that reminded him of a freight train.

  “FARRIS!” he shouted. Kicking his way free of tangled limbs and arms, tasting blood on his mouth, Emerson jumped to his feet.

  The entire group was on pause. Theron and two remaining attackers had stopped dead in their tracks. Five more on the ground were propped up by an arm, all looking in the same direction. Farris and Beelah had started walking backwards, slowly, as if they expected something nasty to come around the side of the farmhouse. Two snaking twisters tore out of the corn field, throwing broken stalks, leaves and heads of corn in all directions. Skinny tornadoes, but damaging nevertheless. They were heading right for them.

  Rowley. Emerson bolted into motion toward Farris. A huge piece of flying debris forced him back, forced him to dodge the deadly shrapnel the funnel picked up and hurled their way.

  Like roaches when the lights come on, everyone scattered. The last glimpse he got of Farris, she was at a dead run away from the farmhouse, debris keeping her separated from the group. Emerson could do nothing but get out of the way, and the only direction available was at a hard right angle to the twisters.

  The opposite of where Farris was headed.

  He had no time to place Theron or Beelah, no time to do anything but duck, dive, roll and get to his feet to start running again.

  Everyone else was screaming or shouting in terror, the girls' voices rising above the roar for a second or two.

  A whine of metal, followed by a groan, was an ominous portent. Emerson glanced back in time to see one of the trucks parked haphazardly across the yard get picked up by a twister. Beams of light whirled through the night, pitching and rolling like a strobe gone wild. The spears of illumination highlighted blowing debris, caught in snapshot like glimpses as Emerson tried to figure out where the truck was going to land. He shouted—and couldn't hear anything except the growl of the tornadoes and the snarl of steel as rivets popped from the pressure.

  The truck hurtled toward earth. Emerson dove out of the way just in time. It crashed into the ground, flipped twice, barely missing his legs. On his way to his feet, he caught sight of a dark figure standing apart from the Chaos.

  Rowley. He had his hands directed at the sky, feet braced apart. Emerson couldn't hear the chanting he knew must be coming from the Weaver's mouth.

  He glanced back across the land to see if he could find Farris. She was nowhere in sight. Another truck wobbled, then flew into the air. Shingles on the roof of the farmhouse whipped through the air like discs, slicing open someone's arm.

  Over the roar, Emerson heard someone scream. Faint, female.

  He hoped it wasn't Farris.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  All Farris wanted to do was get out of the way of the tornado. Every ache and pain she had suffered over the last several days disappeared with the infusion of adrenaline that coursed through her system. Running for all she was worth, Farris put some distance between her and the mayhem. She heard horrible sounds through the roar of the wind: shouting, screaming, ripping metal, thunderous crashes that sounded like vehicles falling from the sky.

  Aiming for the corn fields, praying that the wild dogs weren't waiting somewhere beyond in the swaying green stalks, she heard something pitiful in her wake that stopped her fifteen feet from the edge of the field.

  Looking back, she saw Larissa Miller's pant leg stuck on a piece of rebar near the well pump. Beelah, whom she thought was right behind her, was nowhere in sight.

  Farris met Larissa's eyes. She read fear, pure and agonized, as the tornado closed in. It had cut between the house and the garage like it knew which direction she wanted to go and intended on cutting her off at the pass.

  Years upon years of Larissa's torment should have made Farris colder on the inside than she actually was. The Crazy, as Larissa called her, should have been able to leave Larissa to her fate and save herself instead. Down deep, Farris just wasn't that person. She wasn't the type to tur
n her back on someone in need—even if that someone had treated her horribly the better part of her life. In a life or death situation, Farris wouldn't leave Larissa to die.

  Running back, she skidded to a stop and knelt down, one hand up to block the debris from hitting her face. She yanked and tugged on the denim while Larissa screamed and pulled with her leg.

  “Lift up! Lift your leg up!” Farris shouted. A sliver of wood pierced her palm. She ignored it, teeth clamping tight with the effort of trying to free Larissa.

  “It's stuck! Farris, the tornado!”

  The change in Larissa's tone from fear to sheer terror brought Farris' gaze up. Bearing down, the base of the tornado headed right for the water well. If it had been going any other direction, even by a small fraction, Farris would have hunkered there with Larissa and held onto the metal frame of the well for all she was worth. Coming right at them, she didn't think they had any chance to survive.

  With a desperate yank, the denim tore. Farris grabbed Larissa under the arms to propel her off the ground and into a run. They were pelted with stinging debris, the wind so vicious it almost knocked them off their feet. Something larger, made of metal, hit Farris in the back. Stumbling forward, she released Larissa's arm and caught herself before she could fall all the way down. At least it hadn't been a sharp object.

  Nevertheless, it knocked the wind out of her. Breathing in felt a lot like inhaling fire. Larissa reached back and hooked an arm around her waist, surging forward as another round of debris hit.

  “C'mon! Don't stop!” Larissa urged. They were almost to the corn field.

  From between the stalks, Farris caught sight of glowing eyes. Down there in the darkness, peering out from the field, predators stared. Predators who did not seem to be afraid or affected by the tornado.

  It couldn't be. They had the tornado at their back and wild dogs at their front, ready to rip them apart. Larissa must have seen them at the same time; she stopped all of a sudden and screamed.