Fate Walks
Page 1
Table of Contents
Fate Walks
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Afterword
Also by Brea Viragh
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Fate Walks
Cavaldi Birthright Book 1
Brea Viragh
Copyright ©Brea Viragh 2018
All rights reserved. The moral right of the author has been asserted. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the publisher. This is a work of fiction. All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction.
To Jennifer
My biggest supporter
Table of Contents
Fate Walks
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Afterword
Also by Brea Viragh
Acknowledgements
About the Author
CHAPTER 1
She found the piece of amethyst on the way to her gig at the warehouse club. The toe of her boot jammed against something hard and unyielding, nearly flipping her ass-over-head. A tiny nugget of purple peeked out from the ground and with the slightest thought, Astix Cavaldi called the gem to her. It came willingly.
A warm violet light began to glow from the heart of the amethyst in response to her magic. She tucked the found gem into the pocket of her black bomber jacket and continued on. Marking each step. Trying to remain calm.
She was late, of course, a fact that her manager took great pleasure in stating the moment she walked through the backstage door.
“You’re late,” the short-tempered man told her unnecessarily. A cigarette hung from limp lips as though attached by lost hopes, forgotten at the corner of his mouth. Black hair was neatly combed over a growing patch of bald skin at the top of his head.
Astix ignored him and shrugged out of her jacket and scarf to reveal a glittering red halter top designed to show off her assets. She adjusted the material so that the sculpted muscles of her shoulders and tattooed forearms glowed in the dim light. There was an image to maintain.
She carefully transferred the amethyst from the jacket to her pants pocket and knew she could use the strength during the show.
“Do you make it a point to always arrive thirty to sixty minutes after you’re supposed to? Or do you do it just to annoy me?”
“I don’t do anything for you,” she said. “You know this.”
“People are going nuts!”
She moved past him, each stride radiating purpose. “They’ll wait.”
“They’ve been waiting almost an hour for you. They’re going to chew through the walls if they don’t hear some music soon. They’re like animals.” Bernardino ran his hands through the thinning strands of his hair in a gesture he’d done a thousand times. Already the waves formed patterns around his fingers as though they anticipated the motion, his careful comb-over ruined. “Ballistic,” he added for emphasis.
“Like I said. They’ll wait.” Her smoky voice was matter-of-fact as she made a final check of the setup, the recorder and equipment having been organized prior to her arrival.
“I hate how you keep doing this. Every time it’s the same song and dance. You want a gig, then you back out, then I find out you’re coming the day of. Does any of this make sense to you?”
“Then call off the show,” she replied with a shrug.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“As much as you’d like standing outside in the cold, rattling a cup and begging for help to pay your rent. You have me to thank for it, Bernardino. You paid off the mortgage on your house and bought this bar outright. Not to sound like a bitch.”
Bernardino scrubbed his chin. “Yeah, yeah. By the way, I put your family on the list, all five of them. The bouncer knows to let them in if they—”
“They’re not coming,” Astix responded dryly. She took a breath and prepared for her entrance. Her fingers brushed against the amethyst. “They never come.”
“You finally ready, your highness? Let’s do this before we have a riot on our hands.” Bernardino grabbed a backstage microphone and his voice suddenly boomed over the PA system. “Ladies and gentlemen! Boys and girls! Creeps and ghouls! For one night, and one night only, we are proud to present the incomparable, the delicious… Put your hands together and make some noise for DJ Tix!”
Intro music blasting, she paused long enough to pile sodden strands of auburn locks into a messy bun atop her head. Then she affixed the semi-transparent half veil, her personal exotic trademark. Her cat-like eyes—an odd mixture of blue, green, and amber—slashed across the faces in the audience, all blurring together under the glare of the spotlights as she strolled onstage.
They saw what she wanted them to see: an underground rocker, an icon. They didn’t see a witch. Didn’t know she lived in her own personal hell where everything about her was a lie and no one knew the truth except her.
DJ Tix was her cover. DJ Tix was everything Astix wasn’t. DJ Tix was fearless. She was infamous yet anonymous. She was human. And it was the perfect way to make money while hiding in plain sight.
The amethyst brightened under her touch and sent a warm wave of comfort coursing through her hyper-sensitive nerves, soothing the frayed edges.
“Hello, Chicago!”
Astix was alone onstage, with the utterly enchanted multitudes following her every move. They’d paid more for entrance to the show than for dinner at a fancy restaurant. It was part of the reason why she never gave in to the temptation to cancel at the last minute. To get as far away from the crowds as her feet and the wheels of her motorcycle could carry her. These people paid for what she gave to them. It may cost her more of her sanity with each performance, but she delivered nevertheless.
She was such a sucker.
“Who’s ready to rock?” she called out. The resulting cheer had the fine hairs on her arms standing on end.
She looped the headset cord around her neck and positioned the earphones snugly over her ears. Two bright chips of carbon were embedded in the headphones: diamond, for strength.
Diamond was the ultimate sign of strength, the king of all crystals. They stood for clarity, truth, success, and abundance. Diamonds were high-frequency energy. She’d need it tonight. Life thrived around her. Chaotic energy electrifie
d the air, the pressing desires of so many weighing heavy and filling the space.
Teenagers snuck out of their homes and lied to their parents all for a brief glimpse of the enigmatic DJ Tix. Men and women in their twenties and thirties had already called in sick for work tomorrow in anticipation of a wild night ahead. The promise of drugs and sex hung in the air like a lover’s whisper.
With the earphones in place, microphone positioned to catch her voice, and the semi-transparent half veil covering her eyes, Astix lifted her hands in the air.
Showtime.
“I can’t hear you! Who’s ready to rock!” she screamed into the microphone.
The amethyst gave her a burst of warm energy and she began her set. Astix trained her eyes on the floor, sticky from a multitude of spilled drinks and the butts of discarded roll-your-owns, while the crowd erupted, filling the enclosed space of the warehouse club with enough clamor to deafen an elephant. Strobe lights made patterns on the walls and ceiling as fog machines churned out a low-hanging mist that swirled around the feet of hundreds of people old and young alike.
Astix knew her music rocked the rafters of the old warehouse. She felt the reverberations in her bones. The bass knocked dust loose from cracks and spiders from their webs. The crowd screamed, wanting more. Needing more. Needing to feel the melody in their hearts, lungs, souls.
But it made her want to curl up on the floor with her hands over her ears. Maybe do a little rocking and crying and sniffling. Anything to escape the anxiety tickling her insides. It happened every single time she worked a show. Funny how the nerves never went away, no matter how many performances she’d done. How many tracks she’d manipulated.
A sudden chill ran up her spine and the force of a thousand staring eyes hammered against her skin, though when she turned to search the shadows, there was nothing out of the ordinary. Thick tendrils of fog slid between her legs as she stared out at the writhing audience. Her mind raced but she kept her pace steady, her fingers shifting deftly between knobs and dials on the turntable equipment.
Still…there was something lurking there just outside her peripheral vision.
The chill continued to turn her spine into a column of ice. From the corner of her eye, she caught the reflection of red in the darkness. Glowing eyes, there and gone in less time than it took to perceive them.
That was when she called on the diamond. More than ever, she needed the strength it could give her.
A flick of her wrist sped up the music, drums beating in time with the screeching, chanting crowd. They loved the music she provided. It was the one thing she’d ever been good at. They were transfixed and transformed by the song. They wanted to feel free if only for a night.
And she gave them that, her gift to them. There was love in her composition. And also a fierce desire to prove her worth through creating something new. Skilled fingers manipulated buttons and dials. As a result, the cadence changed once again. She could influence the mood of a crowd with a simple rotation on the turntable.
Who else in the world held that kind of power?
It was one of the only things she could claim as her own that didn’t bring a flash of shame. Every young witch cut her teeth on learning how to harness her magic, passed down from generation to generation along gender lines. Grandmother to mother, mother to daughter, and so on from time immemorial.
Except for Astix.
Her parents had once told her all witches were born with a special gift, something unique only to them. Since she was seven years old, she’d waited for the time when her magic would come. She had a gift, all right. But it was the wrong kind.
Concentrate. Don’t get lost in the past.
A sound caught her attention, a small click in the cacophony of music and improvised chanting. Head whipping around, she looked for the source of the sound. The hair on the back of her neck rose to attention. She gathered the energy to her. Heat welled around her. Power. Life. A gift she wasn’t supposed to have. It rushed over her skin like an electrical shock.
There was definitely something amiss, standing in a tempest of its own making.
Astix switched the melody again, upping the bass and using the change as a cover to search. She’d been noticing strange things lately. Owls in the trees watching her every move. Unnatural clouds with a hint of crimson at their edges dotting the horizon. And of course the eyes. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say she was a target.
But for what? For whom?
Concentrate. She closed her eyes and didn’t dare move from her post, not even when every instinct screamed for her to bolt.
Concentrate! Get a grip!
There was another magic in the room with her. Something dark, fierce, and raw. The wielder was furious, but she had no clue why. Protective magic spilled out of her body in response, crackling around and through her in a deep-purple nimbus. The crowd screamed in delight at these new “special effects.”
“No, no,” she muttered and tried to tamp down her gift.
The world around her changed. Slowed even as she continued to move at the same speed. Continued to please the crowd, shouting to them over the music. Or maybe they were normal and she’d somehow managed to speed up. The air thickened as though each molecule had grown fat and large, too large to draw into her lungs.
She reached for the amethyst but jerked her hand back; the gem was burning like a fiery ember against her thigh. A white-hot glow poured out through her pants pocket.
Uh-oh.
She gathered the power to her and threw it out and over the crowd a split second before the room erupted in an earshattering blast.
Magic exists, Astix thought for a brief moment as the power drained from her body. There was no doubt of it. Magic touched lives, took someone from simple to extraordinary. There were those who were given more than others, legacies birthed and extinguished every second. Through her blood ran the might of generations. Witches born in secret and living in shadows. The Cavaldis were old power. Ancient power. As a child, her family had taught her to understand the importance of these things. She’d had loving parents who wanted her to accept her uniqueness without knowing the cost. Parents who were not ready to pay the price.
And right this moment, the price was heavy. Fire burned her back and seared through the first layer of skin. Still she held on, using every drop of magic within the amethyst to dampen the blow before it reached the crowd below her. In a dim and distant part of her brain she heard them screaming, only now realizing the pyrotechnics were not part of the show.
As a woman, Astix knew who she was and what she preferred: a quiet life at home with the constant loneliness for company.
As a witch, she had spent years refusing to acknowledge her gift and the responsibility it entailed. Even when she used the magic she wasn’t supposed to have to protect the innocent crowd from the explosion of fire.
CHAPTER 2
“I knew I would find you here.”
Bernardino leaned an arm against the polished pine bar top, peering down at the redheaded woman scrunched up beneath the counter. She spared a glance in his direction before focusing on the floor, arms laced over her knees.
“Look who’s suddenly psychic. I needed time to breathe before heading home. I’ll be out of your hair in a minute.” She drew in a lungful of air, held it, and then released it in a long sigh. “Promise.”
“And you couldn’t have picked a better spot?” Bernardino pointed over his shoulder. “You know you can hide in my office anytime you need it. You don’t have to scrunch into a tiny ball. On the other hand, did you want to eavesdrop? Think you’ll catch some juicy tidbits of conversation?”
She snorted. “You know me.”
The answer was cryptic at best and confusing at worst. Bernardino knew better than to push. Nothing good ever came from pushing her. They maintained a working relationship for one reason—he didn’t ask questions he knew she wouldn’t answer.
“The police are looking for you,” he said instead. “
They have questions about the explosion. So far, they’re calling it a freak accident. Seems no one can find any accelerant.”
Bernardino wore all black, and his shirt had silver buttons down the front, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, bringing to life images of old-time Chicago mobsters and racketeers. He fingered the chain around his neck and stared at her. Wanting her to speak and reassure him. To tell him the crazy shit the first responders had spouted wasn’t true.
“They won’t find any accelerant. They’ve already spent two hours speaking with the crowd and doing their tests,” Astix said. “Can’t find what isn’t there.”
The fire squad was intent on discovering the cause of the blast, but they’d come up with little evidence. There were people in black bomb suits sniffing out the source of the explosion, searching for anything that may help them solve the mystery.
She had made herself scarce.
They would come for her eventually with their endless questions, wanting to know how she was so close to the site but had no injuries. She could imagine their faces if they learned the truth.
Yes, sir, it was my magic. I used the metaphysical properties of the amethyst in my pocket and the diamond in my headset to send out a protective wave of energy. That’s what saved the crowd. Why my back healed so quickly, too. Go figure.
She fingered the burned lump of carbon in her pocket.
What a joke.
The first rule of their society: Tell no one. Astix may not be part of that world anymore, but she remembered the laws. Tried to follow them as well as her exile allowed.