A Matter of Fate Read online

  “You must be very good, to be on the Guard,” she practically coos as we stroll around Old Town. I feel a bit like a third wheel as I trail several paces behind the two of them.

  “I do my best,” he says modestly, but there is no blushing. I don’t think Raul even knows how to blush.

  “Tell us what it’s like to be on the Guard,” she says, and then she shocks the hell out of me by looping her arm through his. “Karl tells us nothing.”

  I beg to differ, as Karl tells me plenty, but I keep quiet, wanting to hear what Raul has to say. “I know of nothing else,” he says. “I suppose you could say it’s in my blood. My parents were both Guard, as were my grandparents. And the Guard, of course, is like a family itself. We are all very dedicated to our work and to each other.”

  “Is that how it works, then?” I ask, jogging a few steps to catch up with them. Raul loops his free arm through mine so we became a merry, linked trio. “Are people on the Council or Guard typically there due to bloodlines?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes,” Raul says, flashing one of his most beguiling smiles. “Heredity always plays a big part in a Magical’s life.”

  “Neither of my parents were Council or Guard,” Cora says quietly.

  “While I certainly am grateful that I am on the Guard,” Raul says, leaning toward her, “I must admit it is not the lifestyle for just anyone. Being on the Council and/or the Guard is a lifetime commitment. You are . . . not a slave, per se, but certainly beholden to the responsibilities of the job. There are times I envy those who do not have to carry these weights on their shoulders, who get to practice their crafts without being under a constant microscope. Like you, mi guapita. You will get assignments, yes, but you will also have a much freer life than, say, Chloe or I.”

  “You think?” she asks in a weird, breathy, vulnerable voice.

  “I know,” he says, his smile and eyes soft. I don’t think he even notices when I pull my arm out of his so I can wander to a nearby window to check out pair of shoes.

  Part II

  Chapter 20

  Over the last few weeks, I’ve spent most of my free time with Kellan. Alex spends most of his in my father’s study, poring over books. He’s got free rein of the space, considering my father and mother only come back from Annar for shorts visits since the attack. Communication between my mother and me is at the bare minimum, consisting mostly of questions about school, homework, and whether or not I’m behaving appropriately for Karl.

  Lizzie and Meg have taken it upon themselves to help Alex with the research. Personally, I think Alex sees this as more of a bother than a help, but as he rarely ever tells any of us no, they’re put to work doing what he figures they can do.

  As for myself, when I’m not hanging out with Kellan—or rather, making out with him, because we seem to have a hard time keeping our hands off of one another—I work with Karl on weapons. I’ve never considered making them before, but he feels that, if necessary, I ought to be able to defend myself.

  “We’re all going to do our best to keep you safe,” he tells me in my backyard one evening. Caleb has joined us, serving mostly as color commentary on my burgeoning career as a weapons manufacturer. “But no one is invincible. You’ve got to have tricks ready in your arsenal to use.”

  “I’m not comfortable with the Destroyer aspect of my craft,” I admit. Caleb gives me a sympathetic smile.

  Karl sets down a knife I’ve created on a picnic table. “Don’t think of it like that. Think of it as a means for survival. Our society requires a Creator to function. The Council is like a machine built of multiple parts. Each part has a function necessary to keep the machine running. There are no extraneous parts. Each member of the Council is one of those parts, Chloe; each one necessary to keep the worlds functioning. Now—many of those parts are replaceable if they break down or fail. For example, I’m not the only Quake up and running nowadays. There are two Quakes per plane; each plane is represented on the Council. If I die, another Quake will take my place.”

  I touch the tip of the knife. “Even if they aren’t meant for the Council or the Guard?”

  “Even then. Fate will change their paths for them. This is the case with most of the Council. It’s not the case with you, though. There are two Creators in existence, and the other is very old and not very useful anymore. Throughout history, Creators are typically solitary creatures. They have a lot of power, more than most Magicals, and Fate doesn’t want too many über-powerful beings running around. You and Rushfire will overlap each other for only a very small slice of time. After he dies, if you were to die, we’d be up shit creek. The Council would begin to fall apart, because the machine wouldn’t have all of its parts.”

  I set a crossbow down next to a knife. Caleb pipes up with, “Jeez. No pressure there.”

  “Embrace the pressure, Chloe. It’ll keep you alive.” Karl runs his hands across the battalion of weapons I’ve created spread out on the table. “These are good, but they’re typical. Let’s work on something better. Something only a Creator can do.” He squats down and curls his fist. “I can use a gun, a knife; but my greatest weapon is my hand.” The fingers uncurl as he places his hand against the grass. A small shudder jars the weapons on the table. “I’m a Magical, Chloe. Just like you. Show me something that only you can do.”

  I stare at his hand, now twisting a few strands of grass. They snap easily in his fingers. His hand can move the earth. It can break it apart.

  My hands . . . .

  I hold them out, flipping them up so the palms face the sky. All around me, atoms bump and buzz against each other, invisible to the eye—to anyone, really, but me. I am constantly aware of them. I can draw upon them, use them, build with them.

  I call out to them. And then, as if I’m shaping pottery with clay, I round a ball of light between my hands. It crackles, the energy humming against my skin. I cup the ball in one hand and use the other to gesture in front of me. A large wooden crate appears twenty feet away. Then, I wind the ball back and heave it at the crate.

  Light explodes in front of us in a rain of splinters and fire. A gust of heat throws all three of us to the ground before sucking backward towards the epicenter. Karl rolls to his side. “Are you—”

  But his words are lost as the explosion begins anew. A firestorm rips high into the air, like a pillar of light straight into the clouds, heat pulsing all around us. And then everything stills as the pillar evaporates right before our eyes.

  Small gray flicks of ash rain down, whisper soft against my hot skin. I stare into the sky—it’s so blue and clear that I wonder if I’ve just destroyed the clouds that were there mere minutes before.

  Karl’s laughter starts small and grows rumbly, until he’s gasping for breath. Caleb joins in, his guffaws just as loud as Karl’s. The two of them are nearly crying, they’re laughing so hard.

  My own laughter surprises me. The three of us laugh together for a long time. Later, as he helps me to my feet, I catch the distinct look of awe in Karl’s eyes. A bit of envy, too. Because I’ve just bested a Quake, and it’s a tough thing to do.

  And that’s a really good feeling.

  I am in the kitchen, feeling domestic as I make coffee for Kellan and Karl. Although today was tough, with another painful snub by Jonah again in math where he refused to even acknowledge my presence but found the time to gift some red-haired bimbo his dimpled smile, I’m in a fairly good mood. Of course, this is solely due to Kellan.

  In the last month and a half, there’ve been a lot of changes to my life. I’m slowly but surely getting a foothold on my Magical powers with Karl as a guide. He works with me every day, both strategically and defensively. But perhaps the best gift he’s given me is his counsel. He listens to my questions and never teases or berates me for daring to ask them. He answers to the best of his ability, and the times he doesn’t know what to say, he finds someone who will. I’ve talked on the phone now with a number of Guards—including his wife, Moira—and rather
than being condescending about my woefully ignorant ways, people genuinely seem to want to help.

  Karl isn’t the only one to help me. Kellan does his fair share, too. He is the epitome of the perfect boyfriend: attentive, loving, nonjudgmental, and tolerant. He’s taken the time to get to know me—the things that make me tick, make me happy, make me sad. We spend hours talking, getting to know these things about each other. Each piece of knowledge makes the feelings we have for one another stronger, the bond we have tighter. When I’m with him, I’m walking on air. When he’s out of my sight, though, my thoughts head straight back toward Jonah.

  A month and a half has gone by and somehow or other, Jonah and I haven’t spoken a single word to one another. The more time I spend with Kellan, the less I see Jonah. Karl and I tend to pick Kellan up in the mornings now before school; Giuliana drops Jonah off mere minutes before the bells rings. I never see him at lunch or in the hallways during passing periods, nor do I see him after school. Math is my only chance, yet those are the most stressful fifty minutes of each day. He comes in at the last moment and refuses to look at me, like I don’t even exist, and leaves the very second the bell rings. His anger is palpable. And the times that Giules comes around my house, Jonah stays in the car, forcing the stunning Italian and Karl to talk outside, even in the rain.

  I’ve slowly gotten to know Giuliana Arancionestella over the course of these visits. She is, as are the majority of Guard I’ve met so far, beautiful. She’s got a thick Italian accent and is prone to breaking into her native language at the drop of a hat. She’s warm, though, and funny, and it’s obvious she adores Jonah and Kellan and would do anything to keep them safe. She’s taken a shine to me, too, often calling in the evenings to discuss with me a variety of topics, ranging from different missions she’s been on to the latest fashions she’s coveting from Milan.

  But Jonah . . . .

  He’s the one I want to talk to. He’s the one I ache for so much that it literally hurts. And when he ignores me, it’s the same as a blow to my stomach. I completely realize that the situation, complex and murky at best, is one of my own doing. I need to fix it, make things better for him, but I’m not sure how.

  I’m thinking about these things as I measure the coffee grounds into the filter. Karl and Kellan are in the living room, talking. They spend a lot of time together, considering that where I go, Karl goes. Their friendship runs deep, and it makes me happy to see it in motion.

  “So,” Karl is saying, almost hesitantly, “I’ve got to ask, bro—what’s up with Jonah lately?”

  There’s a prolonged silence, one that I don’t shatter by moving. “I’m assuming you’re asking why he’s there and I’m here so much.”

  “Partly. I’m also referring to how he nearly bites off anyone’s head when they try talking to him. And how when Giules comes over here, he won’t get out of the car. And how he goes to Annar most afternoons when you and I both know he’d rather gouge out his eyes than spend quality time with your dad.”

  The good mood I’d been precariously clinging to evaporates.

  “Jonah is not acting like Jonah,” Karl continues. “What gives?”

  Another bit of silence. “He’s mad at me.”

  “Why?” Karl asks, sounding stunned.

  Kellan answers slowly. “I don’t know really what to say other than I know he’s so pissed off he can barely be in the same room with me anymore.”

  “You tried talking to him about it?”

  “Of course,” Kellan sighs. “For weeks, I tried asking him what was wrong. But it only made him madder. He blocks me at every turn, so there’s nothing I can get from him. So . . . I’ve stopped asking.”

  I peek around the corner; Karl is absolutely boggled by this. “You think it could be the move?”

  “I don’t think so. Believe it or not, he was happy about it. No—he was beyond happy. He tried to block me from knowing it, but I got bits and pieces. I was the one who was pissed to move to this hellhole of a town. But then, right after you and Giules came to town, he began to shut down. He barely speaks to Giules unless she specifically asks him a question. And he’s taken a few swings at me when I’ve dared to demand any explanations.” He laughs under his breath and touches the skin under his left eye. “Caught me off guard once.”

  I knew that surfboard story was a lie, the little voice snorts.

  Karl is shaking his head. “That’s not your brother.”

  “Tell me about it.” Kellan slumps down on the couch. “I wish there was something I could do, but anytime I reach out, it makes things worse. It’s like . . . he hates me.”

  “Kel, I don’t think . . . .”

  “I feel it when he lets me.”

  My stomach churns violently. “Do you think it could be that he’s being watched?” Karl asks after a long moment.

  “I used to think so. But, he never had a problem with Giuliana before. In fact, he’s always rather liked her. I mean . . . .” Kellan blows out a hard breath. “Karl, Jonah is shutting down right before my eyes and there’s nothing I can do about it. He’s the reasonable one of the two of us. I can’t believe that the Guard sending someone out would piss him off this badly. It’s got to be something more.” He pauses, pulls at his hair. It’s a nervous tick I’ve noticed of his. “Would you be willing to talk to him?”

  “Dude. Last time I tried to even ask how school is going, he threatened to put me in a coma.”

  “I know . . . but . . . .”

  More silence. The only sounds in the house are those of coffee dripping into the pot. Finally, after what feels like forever, Karl says, “I’ll try.”

  “Thanks,” Kellan murmurs quietly.

  I turn back toward the kitchen and busy myself with getting cups down from the cupboard and creamer from the fridge. When Kellan appears next to me, my heart nearly breaks at the look on his face. I wrap my arms around him tightly and he buries his head in my hair. We don’t say anything.

  Because how can I tell him the reason his brother is so angry at him is because of me?

  That night, the pressure inside builds up so strongly that I have no other choice than to do something to help relieve it. Yet, this isn’t an easy task. Cora and Lizzie have made their positions clear—Kellan is a mistake. Cora’s outright hostile to him in some perverted sense of indignation, which he ignores the best he can. Lizzie, on the other hand, has made an effort to get to know him—she and Graham think he’s great, but privately, she still tells me she thinks I’m meant to be with Jonah.

  Meg and Alex are useless to even attempt to talk to. Alex is so wrapped up in his research that he can’t be bothered with anything other than schoolwork. And Meg . . . well, Meg is Meg. Talking to her about such an emotionally fraught topic would be like kicking a puppy. Joys don’t do depression. When Meg is sad, a kind of malaise settles over the school. It’s just not worth it.

  A mother-daughter chat is out of the question. Caleb is in Annar for work. That leaves Karl.

  Even though it’s well past midnight, I still creak down the hall to his door. The TV’s on, which isn’t unusual—Karl often falls asleep with it on. So I knock softly, just in case he’s already gone to bed.

  But he’s not. He’s awake, albeit rubbing his eyes, and surprised to see me at his door. “Why are you still up?”

  Suddenly it doesn’t seem like such a good idea to talk to him anymore. “Never mind. It can wait . . . .”

  But he reaches out, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. “If something’s wrong, let’s talk.”

  We head downstairs to the kitchen. Karl makes me hot chocolate—not the kind from a packet, but the real kind. A mixture of three different melted chocolates and thick milk, the kind of hot chocolate that could warm the cruelest of hearts. Being a diehard chocoholic, I can safely attest his version is the best I’ve ever had.

  “What’s on your mind?”

  I’ve been imagining what to say to Karl for several hours tonight, but all my words fail me. I si
mply stare at the mug of hot chocolate as embarrassing tears drip down my cheeks. This alarms him, of course.

  “Did something happen?” he asks, shifting into defensive-big-brother mode. “Did someone hurt you? Did you talk to your parents tonight?”

  I want to laugh over how he correlates my parents and hurt together. Karl’s been around long enough to know that I am the least of their concerns as long as I toe the line they’ve drawn for me. I sniff, wiping at the tears with my robe’s sleeve. “I’m really confused, Karl. I don’t know what . . . who to turn to.”

  “You can turn to me. You know that.”

  Ironically, Karl’s been the best gift my parents ever forced on me. I try not to break down in front of him. “I hope you know that, even though I’ve only known you a short time, you’ve . . . well, I’m very grateful for you.”

  He waves this off dismissively, but I know he cares a lot about me, too. “Does this have to do with your craft?”

  I wipe my nose with my sleeve again. “Actually . . . it’s about Jonah.”

  He repeats slowly, “Jonah.”

  It’s funny what you notice when you’re upset. There’s a crack in one of the island’s tiles which looks like a winking cat. There’s also a stain in the grout resembling New Zealand. I focus on these small details as I say, “I overheard you and Kellan talking about him today. I . . . I know why Jonah’s upset.”

  “Oh?”

  My eyes shift to the mug. I’d made it in first grade—it says #1 Mom! It’s bizarre that she’s kept it all these years, considering I’ve never seen her use it once. I nod, tracing the words I used to hope would prove true. How nice it would be to sit here with my mother, pouring my heart out to her and getting advice, not because she feels it’s necessary to give, but because she loves me enough to want to help. Instead, I’m sitting here with a surrogate brother/father figure barely three years older than me who I’ve only known a couple months. Not that I’m ungrateful or anything, it’s just part of me really would like that mother-daughter experience.