Fate Walks (Cavaldi Birthright Book 1)

by Brea Viragh

  The banishment stood no matter where she went. It had felt better to stay in Chicago at the time. Safer, somehow. Chicago was the place she knew, the place where she’d grown up. The Claddium reached farther than her own backyard, so why not stay? There was no place she could go to outrun her fate.

  The rest of the Cavaldi clan lived in the Lake Forest neighborhood, south of Waukegan, along the shore of Lake Michigan. Meaning old money.

  Her stomach did a flip as she signaled a turn onto the winding gravel drive. Mature maples lined the entrance on either side and shook their bare limbs in the winter wind. The trunks were old and so thick that two men linking arms would not be able to reach around and touch. Her mother’s magic helped them grow to staggering heights. It was the sort of power Astix should have had instead of gemstones.

  She slowed the bike to a halt when the driveway turned in a small half-circle. The massive Tudor-style gray stone house was the largest kind of family heirloom, outfitted with arched towers and traditional ivy-covered walls. There was a solid spike-tipped fence surrounding the entire perimeter of the grounds. All the trappings of a museum.

  Sleeping gardens fanned out from the house in all directions. Dozens of beds, each with their own secrets and delights, in summer would be full of riotous blooms. Shining pools of water dotted the gardens, with spears of reeds and bursts of lily pads, and winding slate paths connecting it all.

  She straightened her shoulders and stashed the helmet, taking her time walking toward the front door. Her steps were a toll leading her down the path to destruction. Her hand paused above the old brass knocker.

  The three-story monstrosity of a house was the grande dame of the neighborhood, passed down generation after generation. The land had been bought when the city was no more than a village with aspirations of growth. Each head of the household birthed their children there before passing on the estate to the oldest male of the line. As the current master of their lineage, Thorvald Cavaldi ruled with an iron fist.

  Which meant his middle daughter was no longer welcome, as per orders from above.

  She knew the family was aware of her presence, her arrival whispered to them on the breeze and carried through the roots of the hibernating plants. Otherwise, the Cavaldi estate was as quiet as a cemetery. She took an involuntary step back, her heel skidding on the wet stones of the front step.

  How much easier it would be to run back to her side of town and forget the flowers and message waiting for her inside. Obligation warred with and ultimately rose to conquer such cowardly thoughts. She didn’t dare acknowledge the fear.

  What could she possibly say to any of them? Nothing seemed appropriate. Over the years, she’d passed the time thinking of innumerable ways to tell her family to go to hell for choosing the Claddium over her.

  Now she couldn’t remember even one.

  Before she made up her mind to take the bull—or in this case, the knocker—by the horns, the massive door swung open.

  “It’s about time. I was starting to think you weren’t going to show.”

  The face greeting her could have been a mirror image had it not been for several slight differences. With the same thick head of dark auburn hair, matching turquoise and cognac colored eyes, and classical features down to the small mole on their left hipbone, they were an interesting duo. Cavaldi through and through.

  It simply looked better on Aisanna, the oldest sibling.

  Astix used to cringe when people said they looked like their father. Girls were supposed to look like their mother. Or fairies. Or princesses. Simple crap like that, before her life turned upside down.

  Aisanna’s eyebrows drew together, both sisters staring the other down and refusing to blink. Then, almost despite herself, the eldest’s expression softened and gave way to a small, expectant smile.

  The years rushed back and it was hard for Astix to speak. She didn’t say anything at first. She couldn’t. She was drowning. Finally, she managed a soft, “I got your message and came. What more do you want?”

  Aisanna nodded, as if she somehow understood. “I hope the flowers weren’t too vague. We’re not working with a lot of juice right now.”

  “I’m not stupid.” Somehow, the first conversation between the sisters after the passage of half their lives was not what Astix expected. She snapped her mouth closed, silent on the outside. Inside, she was practically squealing. Who would have thought? She wanted to rush forward, wrap her arms around her sister, and pretend nothing had changed between them. She knew that wasn’t possible. “Begonia. Star of Bethlehem. White poppies…you do the math,” she said at last.

  “You forgot the—”

  “I’m aware of the astilbe.”

  “We’re waiting for you. Still. Some of us—well, me at least. I’ve been waiting for you to reach out.”

  Astix snapped out a hand to push the door open farther. “I didn’t come here for you to test my knowledge. Begonia means betrayal. It’s the only reason I’m here. Are they inside?”

  “Everyone is there,” Aisanna said slowly.

  “I can’t wait.”

  “You look like shit.”

  “Oh, do I? Thanks for the endorsement.” Astix sucked in a rough-edged breath and held it. “Please, move.”

  Before she could push her way into the house, Aisanna grabbed her in a hug, wrapping her long arms around her sister’s frame.

  Astix stiffened at the contact. Soft feelings swarmed her and her arms began to rise of their own accord. Years of warning overtook her. Around them, the air was crisp. Cold. Normal. Inside, Astix was burning up. And damn tired of running.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, her voice low.

  Aisanna held on when her sister tried to pull away. “I’ve missed you,” she murmured. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to hold you.” She stroked a hand down the other woman’s hair, so like her own in its untamable waves, and stifled a laugh. “My gods, you still smell the same. It’s like nothing has changed.”

  Except everything had changed. “I’m sorry. You’re wrong.” Astix extricated herself from the uncomfortable embrace and strode into the house. Furious with herself for coming back, terrified of the implications and consequences, she tried to calm down before facing her parents. She breathed in and could taste her childhood on her tongue. There was the light fragrance of lemon polish and beeswax, peppermint, dried flowers.

  Home.

  Inside, the massive foyer was a mixed canvas of pale paint, mahogany wall paneling, and an incredible curved staircase cut through with a striped crimson stair runner. The furniture was rich and dense. Solid. It was everything she wasn’t.

  Each lungful held distinctive notes of wood and lavender, speaking to the history of the house and the identity of the inhabitants. Astix hunched in on herself, feeling smaller here. Overwhelmed. All the years of living on her own had made her incompatible with the space. Her feet seemed to grow roots and sink into the hardwood floor while she stared up at the chandelier dripping crystal. Memories flashed through her mind and she wondered if she’d ever truly belonged.

  She’d always loved the house, the elegance of every line. Everything in its place and kept that way through diligent organization. It seemed nothing had changed.

  A nugget of agate flew through the still-open door and came to rest against her palm before Astix was even aware of calling it. Magic swirled, and she drew strength from the hidden depths of the crystal. Strength and courage and whatever fortitude she could muster.

  She kept her back pole-straight, more unnerved than she’d thought possible. With the stone in hand and staring down the well-known halls, she could almost imagine the chasm of time had never happened. She could pretend her budding gift hadn’t branded her an outcast and forced her onto the streets. She could pretend her parents cared enough about her to fight the biases of the magical community.

  No, of course they wouldn’t have fought. No one went up against the Claddium.

  “Wil
l you turn around?” Aisanna prompted softly. “Please.”

  Astix shook her head, teeth gnawing down on her lower lip. “I’m here to talk to—” To whom? Who sent her the message? “I’m here to talk to Mom.”

  “They’re waiting for you in the parlor. I just…I want to look at you. I want to look at your beautiful face and see how you’ve grown up.”

  There were tears in Aisanna’s voice, and some time ago it would have made Astix feel much better, knowing her sister was agonized and miserable. Now she just wanted to leave.

  “This is hard enough without you being nice to me,” Astix said.

  “Why wouldn’t I be nice? This wasn’t my choice, you have to know.”

  “You never came to find me.”

  “And it’s a mistake I’ll regret the rest of my life.”

  “Stop, okay? Stop trying to make me feel worse.”

  Aisanna ducked her head. “I’m sorry. I can see you’re uncomfortable. What do you want me to do?”

  “Being back doesn’t exactly inspire warm and fuzzy feelings.” Astix shivered, wrapping her arms around her torso and staring at the ceiling. Staring anywhere except where her sister wanted.

  She walked down the hall into the parlor. Waterford chandeliers continued to stream prismatic light on wood, on glass, on comfortable chairs situated next to the fireplace. Flames danced behind an antique screen, protecting the room from errant sparks. Candles flickered from a side table lined with books and gemstones. Astix felt the power, tasted it, and then cut off her connection. Her father’s gems. Her father’s world.

  “Why don’t you sit down?” Aisanna asked.

  “I’d rather stand, thank you.”

  Suddenly, a masculine voice sounded from the corner. “You aren’t supposed to be here.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Blood drained from Astix’s face. Her emotions were all over the place and nowhere at the same time.

  The flash of hurt she pushed away, refusing to let it shadow her face. “It’s good to see you too, Daddy. What has it been?” She swallowed over the boulder in her throat. “Ten, twelve years?”

  “Bitterness doesn’t suit you, Astix. It never has.”

  On creaky knees, Thorvald rose. He brushed imaginary dust from his pants, the creases pressed to a sharp edge. The salt-and-pepper beard shadowing the lower half of his face was a recent addition. The hair on his head had also grown to flow down past his shoulders. Though still a bear of a man with the same intimidating presence, there was a stoop to his frame that hadn’t been there before.

  “Does my bitterness offend you?” Astix shoved her hands into the recesses of her pockets like a chastised child. The agate lent her the courage to stand there without breaking down, but it did nothing for the shaking in her legs. Or the bees buzzing inside her skull. “It shouldn’t. It’s one of the many things you managed to pass on to me. We’ve both always been good, too good, at holding on to our resentment.”

  Thorvald’s gaze crawled over her, snagging on her shoulder, the hint of inked skin showing there. Astix watched how his brows drew together and his lips tightened. “I don’t want to discuss your magic.” There would be no warm welcome. “You need to leave before someone finds you.”

  “Before someone finds me? Could you try to insult me a little more?”

  Her thin thread of fear snapped, twisting inside of her until she gave way to the anger she’d pushed aside. Anger with plenty of opportunity to build, grow, and change over the years of isolation.

  “I’m trying to uphold the laws, Astix. The Claddium will have our heads if they find us together.” He frowned in paternal disapproval.

  “Afraid to step up to the plate for me?” She scoffed. “Why am I not surprised?”

  “If only you knew, little girl.”

  They glared at each other, him a good foot-and-a-half taller than she was. Astix stood there with her temper flaring, chest heaving, and emotions at war. On some sick level, she’d actually missed arguing with her father; they were too alike for their own good.

  She bit the inside of her lip and stared at him. When she was younger, Thorvald had been her favorite person in the world. She suddenly wanted to tell him she was sorry—sorry for hurting him, for always doing the wrong thing. For being born. The words burned in her throat and refused to leave her mouth.

  “I have no business with you. For your information, I was called here,” she said instead, heart splintering.

  “By whom?”

  “By me.”

  A shuffle from the doorway drew both their attention. A woman, slight by most people’s standards, stood with her arms across her chest, willowy frame swallowed by the robes she wore.

  “Mom.” Astix fought to keep her emotions in check.

  The tension in the room thickened to suffocating levels. Neither Aisanna nor Thorvald said anything, and Astix preferred to think their silent treatment was the result of tension rather than because of her.

  Varvara Renata Cavaldi crossed the room on feet that seemed to float above the floor. She stopped inches away from her daughter, staring at her with an immutable gaze. She was a small woman. Tidy, pretty, well put-together. She was a woman who took great pride in her family and her magic. She ruled her life and everyone in it.

  Years may have passed, Astix thought, but her mother looked the same. Perfect. Her hair was a glossy black and swept away from her face in gentle waves. It was a face made for attention.

  “Sweetheart,” she said. “You came.”

  Astix jerked back from the hand that reached to graze her cheek. “Don’t touch me.”

  Aisanna moved to sit on the loveseat. Her eyes volleyed between the three of them, taking it all in and keeping silent.

  “I’ll cut right to the chase, then.” Varvara’s gray eyes were dagger-sharp. “We used the last bit of our magic to call you here. We need your help.”

  “What? You must be joking. After the way you’ve treated me? No way.” Astix scoffed and watched as her mother moved around the room, closing doors and drawing curtains. Entombing them all in privacy and secrecy. Her answer had come without thought. She knew the consequences for this visit. Whatever trouble her family had, they would have to solve it without her.

  “You won’t at least hear me out?” Varvara asked, sparing a glance over her shoulder.

  Thorvald stood by the fireplace mantel with his eyes trained on the floor, his arms crossed over his chest, and his eyebrows drawn down and together. It was the same look he’d had the last time she saw him. Twelve years ago.

  Astix jerked her chin to the side and continued mechanically. “I have no reason to. We’re forbidden to have contact, and your drawing me here puts us in danger. I shouldn’t have come.”

  “We’re already in danger, Astix.”

  “Yeah, from the Claddium. If they find me—”

  “It’s not the Claddium,” Thorvald snapped. The way he said it made it sound insulting. Mocking her with her own words.

  “Then whatever you have to say, I don’t want to hear it. There’s nothing here for me except more trouble.” Shaking her head, Astix straightened her jacket and tried to regain her composure. Furious with herself for falling under their spell for even a minute. Her thoughts turned inward and dark. Surely they showed on her face. “No, I’m sorry, but no.”

  “We need you to help save our magic,” Varvara said as if she hadn’t spoken. “Our magic and our lives.”

  The sincerity of her tone almost made Astix falter. Almost. “Bullshit.”

  Thorvald crossed to a time-worn sideboard. There he poured two fingers of scotch from a crystal decanter, the glass catching the firelight. “Varvara, don’t involve the child. She can’t help us. I already told you, we can solve this mess on our own. Moreover, even if she could help…I don’t want her involved. Period.”

  The contents of the glass disappeared instantly before he went back for seconds. Astix wished for a sip of the stuff herself. Drown her sorrows? Or melt into a puddle on the
floor? Sadly, it seemed both of those desires were beyond her considerable powers.

  “She’s been involved since the day she was born, Thorvald.”

  Thorvald took a deep breath in preparation for a comeback. His wife stilled the retort by holding her palm between them and calling for peace. Varvara commanded enough magic in her own right to have everyone go still. Her calm pervaded the space in an almost tangible cloud.

  Astix let out a long-suffering sigh, the best weapon in her arsenal. “I should leave.”

  “You, young lady, will stay put until you listen to me. There are certain things you’re blissfully ignorant about. That’s about to change.”

  “Leave me to my ignorance. It’s safer for everyone involved,” she said.

  “Not anymore.”

  Now she was intrigued. “All right, I’ll bite. What’s going on?” Astix spared a look between them. “Tell me.”

  Varvara exhaled loudly. “Your magic.”

  “What about it?”

  “We…we need your help.”

  She scoffed. “What could I possibly have to offer you?”

  “You have something none of the rest of us have.”

  “Self-esteem issues?”

  “The ability to go undetected,” Varvara said. “Our lives are at stake. Tell me, have you used your magic lately?”

  Astix removed her hands from her pockets and crossed her arms defensively over her chest, hands gripping her biceps. “No. I haven’t used gem calling in years. I can’t help you. Call someone else.”

  “There is no one else. We felt it, last night.”

  Astix shook her head. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Young lady,” her father began.

  “Thorvald, sit,” Varvara commanded, pointing at the chair. “And behave. I mean it.”

  “So, what? You think I have the ability to save your life? Whatever jam you’ve gotten yourselves into, you can get yourselves out of.” She paused mid-stride to the door, a quiver of denial shuddering through her.