by Kami Garcia
“I just wanted to—”
Amma scoffed. “We all know what you wanted, Macon Ravenwood.”
He shook his head. “You don’t. I only meant to check on her and see that she was happy. I heard…” Macon took a deep breath. “I heard she was engaged to someone from Gatlin. A Mortal.” He said the word as if it cut him, and Amma was pretty certain it did.
“She is.” Amma drew herself up, ramrod straight. “That someone is Mitchell Wate—a boy I raised. You understand? My. Boy.” The pocketbook swung dangerously close to the Incubus with every word. “And I swear to you right now that I’ll put one foot in the grave before I let you do anything to hurt him. That’s why I’m here. You and I need to come to some kinda understandin’.”
“What sort of understanding would that be?” the Incubus asked innocently.
Amma’s eyes narrowed. “Lila Evers might not be the girl we wanna see Mitchell end up with, but he’s my boy, and she’s the one he wants. So you’ll let him be.”
As Amma spoke, she knew that every single word she was saying was true. He was her boy—not Macon Ravenwood or Sulla the Prophet herself could stop it. Saying the words opened up a whole stew of feelings bigger and colder than Lake Moultrie in a wet winter, and there was nothing she could do to change them.
Amma scowled at the Incubus one more time for good measure.
“Do we understand each other?”
Macon nodded slowly. “Absolutely.”
He turned as if he was about to walk away, then glanced at Amma over his shoulder. “I loved her. I want you to know that.”
“That’s funny, seein’ how much I don’t want to know it,” Amma said.
He shrugged. “I thought you might find it reassuring. I’d never hurt her, or anyone she cares about.”
Amma crossed her arms. She didn’t believe him.
“It’s not easy,” he said, “having your fate decided for you. But you know something about that, don’t you, Miss Treaudeau?” He raised an eyebrow. “You’ve seen it in your precious cards, I would imagine.”
Before Amma had a chance to answer, Macon Ravenwood dematerialized—disappeared right in front of her—as if he’d never been there at all.
IV. Luck of the Draw
It had taken years—almost the whole length of the engagement—for Amma to get used to the idea of her boy Mitchell marrying Lila Evers. They had been engaged all the way up to graduation, but the moment they stepped off the stage with their graduate diplomas in hand, Mitchell and Lila had announced they were getting married in three months.
Amma had been sure they were messing with her. What self-respecting Southern woman would plan a wedding in three months? It turned out Amma could, with a little help from Mitchell’s older sister, Caroline; Lila’s best friend, Marian; plus the Sisters (Aunt Prue, Aunt Mercy, and Aunt Grace)—and the local chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution, which was headed up by Martha Lincoln, an uppity and altogether unpleasant young woman who drove Amma to her wit’s end but who controlled the use of the nicest reception gazebo in town.
The ceremony had gone off without a hitch, with plenty of net-wrapped Jordan almonds and the good punch for everyone. Lila had insisted on bare feet under her wedding dress (“No one will know, and I’m not wearing those three-inch spikes for myself”) and would only carry a bouquet of wildflowers fresh out of the garden (“I’ll pick the flowering weeds. Cut flowers are too sad”). In the end, even Amma had to admit the girl was her own force of nature.
Lila had grown on her, and Amma couldn’t help but love her, despite everything. Despite the cards and the Lunae Libri and her past with Macon Ravenwood. On the night of the reception, as Amma stood in her kitchen cleaning a spot of cake off her good dress, she felt the tug of the cards and, for the first time ever, she didn’t answer it.
The deck stayed in her pocket.
Amma refused to read a spread.
Mitchell worships her. Who knows? Maybe lovin’ someone enough changes everything.
Even fate. Even the Wheel a Fate.
After the wedding, things had finally settled down. Mitchell’s father had left to teach full-time at Columbia, and Wate’s Landing on Dove Street was empty for the first time in generations. Amma came by once a week to make sure the sheets stayed on all the furniture, but aside from that, she was back in her house in Wader’s Creek, reading cards—her other profession.
“Miss Treaudeau? Have you been listenin’ to a word I said?” the tight-faced socialite from Charleston on the other side of her table asked. “I drove all the way out here to the middle a this godforsaken swamp; the least you can do is pretend you’re listenin’.”
Swamp? That mouth a yours is the real swamp, Mrs. Arthur Beauchamp the Third.
“And I’m here to tell you that your rates are hardly a bargain.” She was still yammering. “I coulda gone out and bought ten a those Magic 8 Balls for what it costs to sit here and have you ignore me.”
Amma’s eyes narrowed. “Are you comparin’ my readin’ to a plastic toy?”
“Signs point to yes,” Mrs. Beauchamp said triumphantly before applying another layer of frosted pink lipstick to her already frosty lips.
If she wants a readin’, I’ll give her one.
Amma slapped her hand against the table. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Beauchamp. But don’t you worry—you have my full attention now.” Amma studied the spread. “I’m happy to tell you that your husband isn’t cheatin’ on you.”
The socialite smiled smugly.
“But he will.” Amma tapped a card. “Next year. With that blond secretary at his office. How old is she, anyhow? Twenty-two?”
The color drained from the socialite’s face, and she stood up, knocking her chair over in the process. “You are goin’ straight to Hell, Amma Treaudeau, as sure as I’m standin’ here right now! You hear me?”
Amma stood, her presence seeming much larger than her five-foot-one-inch stature. “Then I’ll be sure to tell the Devil to save you a seat at the dinner table, right along with your husband and his future lady friend and her babysitter.”
Mrs. Beauchamp stormed out the back door of the house. Amma watched as she trudged through the weeds and tall grass. When one of her high heels got stuck in the mud, Amma smiled. Then she caught a glimpse of something moving in the swamp grass—something big and black.…
Amma saw its tail and froze.
Boo Radley. Macon Ravenwood’s dog.
What the devil are you doin’ out here?
The dog trotted toward her, carrying a thick rectangular object in its mouth. When Boo reached the back steps, he dropped the book and ran off.
“You Macon Ravenwood’s mailman now? That’s right. You better run,” Amma called after him. As she bent to pick up the book, she noticed the title embossed on the front: RAVENWOOD FAMILY LINEAGE.
But why would Macon send me this? As if I wanna know any more about the monsters in his family than I do already?
For a second, Amma considered leaving the book outside in the mud, but the written word was important, regardless of who was doing the writing. She carried the book in, the smell of mothballs and age rolling off it in nauseating waves.
Inside, she dropped the book on her table and flipped through the first few pages. Maybe crazy Macon Ravenwood had left her a note between them, in the front. She turned the heavy parchment, and a suffocating feeling enveloped her, like her lungs were filling with smoke. The stench of ash flooded her nostrils, and two names jumped out at her as if they were written in darker ink.
Abraham Ravenwood.
The first Blood Incubus in the Ravenwood line. Murderous and sadistic and, thank the Good Lord Almighty—dead.
Sarafine Duchannes.
Macon’s twisted half-sister. A cursed Caster Claimed for the Dark at sixteen. Sarafine had run off as soon as she Turned. Every Caster in the Lowcountry knew the legendary stories of both the diabolical Ravenwood Incubuses and the cursed Duchannes Casters.
Amma’s fi
ngers itched. The cards were calling.
She shuffled the deck and pulled her cards quickly, propelled by a force stronger than anything she’d ever experienced before. Macon wanted her to read his family’s cards. That had to be the reason he was sending her his family tree. And those weren’t just any names. Those names meant something.
Fine. If you’re that desperate, I’ll do it. Even for you, Macon Ravenwood.
Amma tapped the top card in her deck.
Abraham Ravenwood and Sarafine Duchannes. What’s the connection? she asked herself. Show me what I need to see.
She thought about Sarafine Duchannes first and began flipping the cards.
The Angry Queen and the Tree of Life.
A baby. Sarafine Duchannes’ baby.
Then she thought about Abraham Ravenwood.
The Sleeping Snake and the Liar’s Song.
It can’t be.…
Amma’s hand kept moving.
The Fire and the Child of Darkness. The Caged Bird and the Wounded Heart.
How are they connected?
The phone rang, and Amma jumped. She flipped the last two cards without looking at them, and rushed to answer it. A feeling deep in her bones told her she had to take this call.…
“Amma? Are you there?” It was Mitchell.
Amma breathed a sigh of relief. “Of course I’m here, Mitchell Wate. Who else would be answerin’ my telephone?”
Two people laughing on the other end of the line.
“Hi, Amma. It’s Lila,” Mitchell’s wife said in her gentle tone.
“Why are you both callin’ me together? Is somethin’ wrong with one a the Sisters?”
Lila giggled. “Everybody’s fine,” Mitchell said. “Better than fine, actually. You’re not going to believe this, but we wanted you to be the first to know. Lila’s pregnant.”
Amma dropped the phone, the spread swirling in her head.
The Angry Queen and the Tree of Life. The Sleeping Snake and the Liar’s Song. The Fire and the Child of Darkness. The Caged Bird and the Wounded Heart.
The last two cards stared back at her, and Amma’s hand flew to her mouth.
The Endless Thread and the Fated Path.
It’s a mistake. It has to be. Mitchell’s baby won’t have any connection to the Casters, not from a Mortal bloodline. It’s impossible.
But Amma knew better. She could still hear Aunt Delilah all those years ago: The cards never lie. “Amma? Are you still there?” Mitchell shouted through the phone.
She steeled herself and picked up the receiver. “The phone dropped outta my hand,” she said.
“I told you she’d be excited,” Mitchell said. He must’ve been talking to Lila.
Amma walked into the hall, stretching the phone cord as long as it could reach, and yanked her suitcase out of the closet.
“You’re excited, aren’t you, Amma?” Mitchell asked expectantly. She could hear the need in his voice.
If I’m right, he needs me more than he knows.
“Excited? I’ve never felt anything quite like this,” Amma said, already tossing things into her suitcase. The next nine months would go by fast, and she had a lot to do if she wanted to be ready. “You could say I’m discombobulated. Fifteen across. Just did that one in my puzzles today.” She paused to yank the One-Eyed Menace from the ceramic jug she kept next to her gas burner. Better safe than sorry.
Amma made herself a promise right there in the hallway, holding that old wooden spoon in her hand.
I’ll be ready, no matter what it takes.
A child’s life was hanging in the balance—a boy.
She hadn’t even met him and she already loved him.
The rest was written in the cards.
V. Boxes
Ethan dropped the letter onto his rug and leaned back against his bed. “It was all for me.”
“You knew that,” Lena said, looking up at him. She lay her head on his shoulder.
“I didn’t know how much or how far back it went. Amma found my father because of me. She waited and watched over me, even before there was a me to watch.” Ethan rubbed his eyes with a fist. He didn’t care if Lena saw him cry, but he knew Amma would reach over from the grave and smack him if he carried on like a baby because of her.
“Amma lived with the cards,” Lena said. “She knew what was coming, and she pulled that string anyway. They say some Seers work across whole generations that way. Like time is a big tapestry, and they’re the ones doing the weaving.” She shrugged. “I guess destiny is a powerful thing.”
Ethan dropped his head in his hands. It was too overwhelming. “How do I live with knowing she made that kind of sacrifice?”
“It was her choice. She did what she wanted to do.”
I thought it was because she loved me, L. Ethan Kelted the words because he couldn’t bear to say them out loud.
It was, Lena Kelted back.
But how could it be? If it started before she even met me?
Lena smiled and climbed into Ethan’s lap before she answered. “Love before first sight? Do I really have to explain how that’s a possibility?”
It was what had happened between them, when Ethan was dreaming about Lena before they ever met.
She took his face in both hands, kissing his damp eyes.
Ethan smiled, tucking his face against her sweater and pulling her close. He’d keep the letter, just like he’d kept every one of Amma’s old crossword puzzles. They helped him understand her—and even more importantly, they helped him remember.
I’m still your boy, Amma.
I’m still here.
I’m listening.
The words were all he had left of her now.
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About the Authors
Kami Garcia and Margaret Stohl are longtime friends and coauthors of the #1 New York Times bestselling Beautiful Creatures novels. The first book in the series, Beautiful Creatures, is now a major motion picture. In addition to writing together, they have written solo series: The Legion Series, by Kami Garcia, includes the instant New York Times bestseller and Bram Stoker Award nominee Unbreakable and Unmarked; and the Icons series, by Margaret Stohl, includes Icons, which is currently in development as a feature film, and Idols. Kami and Margaret invite you to visit them online at kamigarcia.com and margaret-stohl.com.
MORE GREAT STORIES FROM KAMI GARCIA AND MARGARET STOHL
Beautiful Creatures
Beautiful Darkness
Beautiful Chaos
Beautiful Redemption
Dream Dark: A Beautiful Creatures Story
Dangerous Dream: A Beautiful Creatures Story
Dangerous Creatures
Dangerous Deception
ALSO BY KAMI GARCIA
Unbreakable: The Legion Series Book 1
Unmarked: The Legion Series Book 2
“Tense and deliciously twisty, Unbreakable is a breath-stealing midnight run through some of the creepiest locales I’ve seen rendered in fiction.”
—Ransom Riggs, #1 New York Times bestselling author of Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children
ALSO BY MARGARET STOHL
Icons: The Icons Series Book 1
Idols: The Icons Series Book 2
“Epic in scale and exquisite in detail—a haunting futuristic fable of loss and love.”
—Ally Condie, #1 New York Times bestselling author of the Matched trilogy
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Welcome
Authors’ Note
Dedication
Epigraph
I. Box of Secrets
II. The Cards Never Lie
III. Chicken-Fried Fiancé
IV. Luck of the Draw
V. Boxes
About the Authors
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More Great Stories from Kami Garcia and Margaret Stohl
Copyright
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 by Kami Garcia, LLC, and Margaret Stohl, Inc.
Cover photograph © Herbert Kehner / Getty Images
Cover design by Maggie Edkins
Cover © 2015 Hachette Book Group, Inc.
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
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First ebook edition: July 2015
ISBN 978-0-316-30316-3
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