A Matter of Fate Page 12

  The black streaks multiply faster than we’re able to outrace them. Karl’s driving at almost a hundred miles per hour, but these things are easily keeping pace.

  “What are they?” I scream.

  “I’m assuming,” he yells, dodging an attack, “these are the things that are killing our kind.”

  Cars everywhere are out of control, but in this game of chicken, all manage to move out of Karl’s way. “Hold on,” he orders. Cora and I grab the handrails above us as he does a one-eighty, tires squealing against the blacktop. Behind us, an explosion ricochets, thrusting us into the air.

  As I watch a wall of fire shoot sky high, the Hummer hits the ground. My head, on the other hand, hits glass.

  Karl’s massive hands struggle against the wheel to steady us. “Earn your keep, Cora. She’s got a head injury.”

  Everything tilts to the left when a touch to my head leaves my hand red and sticky.

  “Lean back, baby,” Cora’s saying. “Let me see.” Cool hands press against my head. My skin stings as it pulls back together, but it’s a distant pain. The kind which ought to make me scream but oddly doesn’t. “Get us the hell out of here!” my Cousin yells. Her words are barely discernable over the screaming outside. “I need to have a better look at her to assess the situation!”

  “What do you think I’m trying to do?” he barks back. A few black shapes dart dangerously close. Karl sends the Hummer across the traffic lanes, cutting off a big rig. It slams on its breaks, skidding until it takes up all lanes of traffic. This small action is just what we need, though. It’s enough to help us escape. Within minutes, the screaming subsides.

  Black spots appear before my eyes. Residual blood trickles down, landing on my nose. I wipe it off, staring at it against my fingers. All red and black and polka-dotty. Like ladybugs. “Are these things . . . coming af . . . after him, too?”

  “What?” Karl asks.

  “Canna lose ‘im.” But my own voice begins to fade in my head. “Not ‘gain . . . .”

  “Are you okay?” I can barely hear the worry in his voice, even though I know it’s there. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m fiiiiiiine,” I say slowly, each word feeling like it’s stretching out forever. “Don . . . donya let ‘em get ‘im. Seeeeeee?”

  “What . . . ? Cora. What’s wrong with her?” The words float above me as I sink into the pool below.

  “She’s got a concussion, Karl,” Cora says. Her voice is no more than a whisper. “And I can’t do much about it while you’re driving like a madman!”

  My head drops below the water line, ending my ability to hear anything else they might have to say about me.

  Chapter 17

  The room I’m in is sterile, beige, fairly dark, and screams crappy motel. “Karl? Cora?”

  “I’m here,” Cora says, coming out of the bathroom nearby. “Karl’s making a phone call outside.”

  “Where are we?”

  “Some motel about fifty miles up the coastline. That man drives like a maniac. How in the hell he got his license, I’ll never know.” I fumble for her hand. She slips it into mine, squeezing soothing comfort. “You had a pretty wicked concussion, but I fixed it while you slept.”

  Karl flicks on a light near the door. He smiles tightly and waves his phone around. “Had to call the wife, tell her the details. She’s disappointed she didn’t get to come out and play.”

  “Are you serious?” Cora asks, eyes wide.

  He shrugs. “My girl likes action.” But he seems happy about this. Proud, even.

  “So, those things . . . .” I struggle to sit up. “What happened to them?”

  “Don’t know,” he says, setting the phone on the table. “They disappeared after a while.”

  I’m groggy, but I remember what he’d said before. “You said there’d been an attack. What happened? Who was it?”

  Karl looks distinctly uncomfortable as he spins his phone around on the table. “Maybe we ought to save this for later.”

  I bite my lip so I don’t scream in frustration. “Karl, please! You know how I hate being constantly kept in the dark. Just tell me.”

  He takes a breath and straightens in the chair. “Okay, then. It was your father. He was on the way home to pick up some books before heading back to Annar. These . . . things, whatever they are, tried to kill him, but two Faeries and a Gnome found him mid-attack. They were able to distract the black things long enough for your father to get away. I’m sorry to say the rest didn’t make it.”

  My father may be a lousy parent, but he’s still my father. I grip the bedsheets. “Is he okay?”

  “Yeah. He’s good. He made it to the portal—hurt, but still functioning. People at the Transit Station found him and took him to the hospital right away.”

  “Here?” Cora asks, shifting into Shaman mode.

  “No. In Annar. The Shamans there have him all fixed up and knocked out comfortably for the night.”

  Her eyes are wide, scared. “Do you think this might have something to do with Chloe?”

  “It’s the Guard’s theory. Chloe is a big target. If someone is taking out Magicals, and lately targeting powerful ones, she’s the coup, you know?”

  “I haven’t even Ascended,” I protest, as if this will somehow make me less attractive as a victim.

  “Doesn’t matter. Right now, you’ve got to be ten times more powerful than the majority of the seated Council. Thus, the need for protection.”

  I ask, “Can I talk to my dad?”

  “He’s asleep,” Karl says, but it’s done kindly. “It’s best to let him rest.”

  “Listen,” Cora says, pointing at the television set playing in the background.

  “Sam Reigns is here to present today’s weather forecast. Sam?”

  “Yes, thank you, Dick. It’s being advised for everyone to stay indoors for the next couple of hours, as we’ve just had a freak lightning storm over our area. We are cautioning people traveling just south of the Bay Area to watch out, as there have been numerous reports of multiple strikes in that region.”

  “Is that her?” Cora asks excitedly.

  When Karl says yes, I ask, “Is that who?”

  Cora bounces on the bed. “The other Guard! She’s an Elemental. How cool is that? She manipulates the weather!” The weatherman is now showing photos of some of the lightning strikes. “What’s her name again?”

  Karl flips the television off. “Giuliana Arancionestella. She’s a good girl, great at her job.”

  “So . . . she found them?” I ask.

  Karl tilts his head, studying me carefully. “You mean Kellan and Jonah?”

  I nod, completely embarrassed.

  “Yeah, she found them.”

  I cannot look at him when I ask, “And . . . are they okay?”

  “For the most part,” he says casually. He leans forward, resting his arms against his knees. “Want to tell me why the interest in them? Other than the fact that they’re, in general, babe magnets?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Cora demands.

  His smile is sly and unsettling, like he knows something already. “I’m just curious. Chloe’s asking a lot of questions. She wanted me to go back and get them. Or was it singular? Him?” He pretends to search his memory.

  I chew on my lower lip, wondering how to address this. “Well, they are . . . Magicals, too . . . and if one . . . I mean, both are targets, then it’d only be . . . logical? To ask? To make sure he’s . . . they’re okay . . . .”

  He laughs. “Sure. Right. Want to tell me why I got separate phone calls from each of them, asking how you are, ordering me around on how important it is to keep you safe?”

  “They did?”

  “So I have to ask, is there something I should know about you and the Whitecombs?”

  Cora snorts loudly, giving me a pointed look.

  I’m floating in happiness, knowing that they both cared enough to check up on me. “Um . . . Well. See . . . it’s l
ike this . . . .”

  As I fumble for something to say—anything, really, that might explain the absurd situation I’m finding myself in—Karl’s cell phone rings.

  He holds out a finger, tells me to hold my thought, and then answers. “Giules! Talk to me. The Shaman make it out to you yet?”

  Whoa—a Shaman?

  Karl sighs. “You’re the one assigned to them. It’s not my fault if you can’t rein them in.” He pauses, laughs. “Don’t even try to pin the blame on them working their wares on you. You’ve known them almost all their lives. You’ve got to stop looking into their pretty blue eyes and . . . .” He pauses again, laughs some more. “Did you tell Jonah that this is what comes from disobeying orders? He’s lucky he only came away with a broken arm.”

  A BROKEN ARM? I leap off the bed, sick to my stomach. “Is Jonah okay? In pain?”

  Inappropriately amused, Karl winks at me. “Well, Kellan’s not alone with his concussion. Lilywhite got one, too. Granted, it was from smacking her head against the car window, not from rolling off a cliff.”

  THIS JUST KEEPS GETTING WORSE. “Off a CLIFF?!”

  “By the way,” Karl continues, ignoring me, “don’t go telling the boys about Chloe’s injuries. As far as they know, she’s fine.” He rolls his eyes. “I know. It’s rather entertaining, isn’t it? Considering they’ve only been here in California . . . what? A week?”

  “Man,” Cora whistles. “Who knew that the Guard were gossipmongers?”

  “Oh, fine. I’ll talk to him.” Karl sighs. “How’s the arm, J?” He nods, making noncommittal noises for a good minute before saying, “For the ninetieth time, Jonah, no one will get through me. Lilywhite is safe as a kitten tonight.” He hm-hm’s. “No, you may not come here tonight. Why do I have to keep repeating this? Did you smack your head, too?” He then groans. “Oh, for gods’ sakes. I refuse to argue this point with you any further. Let the poor girl sleep, she’s had a rough day. Put Giules back on, why don’t you.”

  I’m buzzing despite the head pain. Jonah’s asking about me. He’s concerned. Worried! He wants to see me! But wait—his arm . . . I hope he’s not in pain. Is he in pain? I should be there. How can I get there?

  “Let me talk to him,” I squeak, reaching for the phone. Karl merely shoves me back toward the bed and waves his hand. He chats another minute with the Elemental before saying, “Put him on . . . . Kellan? What is this, tag-team bullying?” He drums his fingers against the table. “I swear to— Listen. How many times do I have to say it? She’s fine. Safe as a puppy—”

  “Kitten,” Cora corrects, way too invested in his conversation. “You told Jonah she’s like a kitten.”

  Karl gives her the evil eye. “Yes, she’s awake. No—she needs her rest. She doesn’t need to be interrogated right now, Kel. Why don’t you go rest, huh? Considering your concussion?”

  My phone beeps. Cora slides it toward me, rolling her eyes.

  Is Karl being nice to you? Are you really okay?

  I smile, the tingly bit blossoming in my stomach again. I tell Kellan: Other than putting me in a motel that I believe might rent by the hour, I’m good. You? Is your head okay?

  A moment goes by before Karl stands up, outraged. “It’s not like I had a lot of choices, Kellan! This place is safe! It’s got a good, strategic location!”

  Cora gives me a disapproving look. “You’re playing with fire, Chloe.”

  I’m well aware of it.

  My father is in the hospital.

  I try calling him when I finally get home, early the next morning, despite Karl’s warnings. I don’t get through on the first two attempts, but my mother answers on the third. She: a) reprimands me for interrupting my father’s recuperation, b) assures me that he’s fine and resting comfortably, and c) doesn’t bother to ask me how I am, despite my also having been attacked.

  I suppose I’d called in an effort to make sure my father’s doing okay, but I feel worse off when I hang up. This, on top of still having to go to school, makes for a bleak morning.

  Lizzie nearly chokes me when she delivers a two-punch of hugging and lecturing before school starts.

  “Geez,” I tell her once I free myself, “it’s not like I was maimed or anything.” But the truth is I’m warmed by her concern, coming on the heels of my mother’s apathy. All of the Cousins cluster around in various states of concern and outrage.

  Alex cuts to the chase. “Talk.”

  “This isn’t the time or place.” Cora motions to the students milling about. “How about we meet at Chloe’s tonight to discuss?”

  This doesn’t deter him in the slightest. “We had no idea what was going on, other than the gossip mill at school yesterday claiming Chloe had been yanked out of class and that you two had been seen with some guy practically running off campus.”

  Cora muses, “That about sums it up.”

  “Who was the guy?” Meg demands. “Everyone said you were with some giant.”

  “I wouldn’t call him a giant,” I say, but Lizzie smacks me. “Fine. His name is Karl Graystone. He’s a Guard—”

  “Why would you need a Guard?” Meg shrills loudly before Cora shushes her.

  “And,” I murmur, “Cora has a point. Let’s talk about this tonight, okay?”

  It isn’t what they want to hear, but all reluctantly agree.

  A few minutes later, I’m in the middle of trying to sound sufficiently sad about resigning from the cheer team with Meg when Cora tugs on my sleeve and hisses, “You better start thinking straight, Cousin.”

  She points into the parking lot. Jonah and Kellan Whitecomb are standing outside of another ugly Hummer, talking to someone through the passenger-side window. As far as I can tell, Jonah is fine; there’s no cast or any evidence that his arm had been broken.

  I have never felt more relieved in my life.

  “What’s this?” Alex asks, following our attention.

  “It’s the new guys,” Meg whispers loudly. “Aren’t they cute? Ohmigods, I forgot to tell you guys—rumor had them leaving campus yesterday around the same time as you guys!”

  Cora mutters something under her breath.

  “They don’t know,” I remind her.

  “Know what?” Meg asks.

  “They’re Magicals,” Cora explains. “Emotionals, to be specific.”

  “What?” Meg squeals, alternately gaping at us and at the twins.

  “Why didn’t someone tells us?” Alex barks. “How long have you known?”

  Lizzie shrugs and smiles faintly while Kellan makes a beeline for me the moment he spots me. Jonah, on the other hand, stays at the car, in deep conversation with whoever is driving.

  “Thank gods you’re okay,” Kellan says when he reaches me. “Where’s Karl?” And the next thing I know, I’m in his arms and being kissed.

  I can barely breathe, but I love the sublime sense of protection I feel in his arms. And that kiss . . . Wow. Just, wow. It takes me a good ten seconds before I can tell Kellan, “He’s gone home for now.”

  The Cousins rubberneck, especially Cora and Lizzie. Cora goes as far to mouth: What are you doing?

  And . . . she’s right. Because Jonah is here . . . .

  He’s stopped about halfway toward where we’re standing, looking utterly shell-shocked. A riot of confusion and guilt slam around me alongside the beautiful things Kellan’s presence is triggering.

  There’s no doubt in my mind that I’ve just hurt Jonah more than I ever thought I could. I don’t know what to do. Oh my gods. What should I do? What should— Alex coughs politely behind me, demanding an introduction. I barely manage to tear my eyes away from Jonah. “Guys, this is Kellan.”

  “Indeed,” Alex says rather coolly.

  Kellan ignores this unnecessary posturing, flashes a smile that appears to weaken both Meg and Lizzie’s knees, and turns his focus back on me. “Karl wouldn’t tell me anything last night, which leads me to wonder exactly what happened. And I can tell you’re disoriented today. Mind fill
ing me in?”

  Disoriented, the little voice snorts. That’s a good way to put it.

  “She’s fine,” Cora snaps. “You neglect to remember she was with a Shaman when she scrambled her brains.”

  He gives her a brief, annoyed look before asking, over the same question the Cousins are asking, “Scrambled?”

  It is wrong, so wrong, but I am deliriously delighted to know just how concerned Kellan is about me, especially in light of what I’ve just done to Jonah. Oh, gods, Jonah. He’s right over there, still as a statue. And the look on his face—it’s like I’ve kicked him in the stomach. “It was a concussion,” I murmur, nauseated. Then I remember, “And you? How are you feeling?”

  He dismisses this, insists he’s fine. Behind him, Jonah is finally moving past us with long, purposeful strides. His expression is now unreadable, and the panic in me wells up significantly. Should I go talk to him?

  Yes, yes, you should.

  “It’s okay,” Kellan murmurs in my ear. “You don’t have to panic. They’re long gone.”

  I am worse than nauseous now. Kellan is an Emotional; he can sense all this in me!

  Cora nearly snarls at Kellan, “Shouldn’t you go with your brother?”

  He glances after Jonah and frowns. “He definitely doesn’t want to be hovered over right now.”

  “How do you know?” she presses, making me want to kick her.

  Kellan simply looks at her, eyes narrowed. Then, to me, he says, “Let me walk you to your class.”

  Cora starts to say something, but Meg manages to do the kicking for me.

  “That’s weird,” Kellan says when we’re out of earshot.

  “What?”

  “Cora’s hostility.”

  I chew on my lip. “She’s sort of overprotective sometimes—”

  “No,” he corrects quickly. “Not toward me, toward you. Have you two been fighting?”

  Realizing it’s going to take me a while to get used to Kellan’s craft prompts another round of panic, because how in the worlds am I going to be able to hide the mass of tangled emotions I’m feeling toward both him and his brother?

  “Sort of.” He takes my hand in his, our fingers knotting together, and the anxiety eases. “Let’s not talk about her. I want to hear about what happened to you yesterday. Karl said you went over a cliff, which is . . . .” I fumble for a worthy enough word. “Terrifying, really.”