A Matter of Truth (Fate Series 3) Page 7

  “So you two broke up?” Will asks. He’s staring at me like I’m a stranger, which I probably am to him, now that I’ve shown him the real me. “And you didn’t end up with the other bloke?”

  I draw both lips inward, biting down hard before I slowly shake my head no.

  “No to . . .?”

  I am truly an awful, awful person. It’ll be a miracle if either Dane can even hear my words, my voice drops so low. “We didn’t break up.”

  Silence. These two are excellent at waiting a girl out.

  “I . . .” Am a coward. Selfish. “I left. Just left. No note, not . . . nothing.”

  Will’s eyes widen. “You just fucking left? No goodbye? No, ‘We’re done?’ No nothing?”

  I wouldn’t blame them if they’re judging me now, Cameron included.

  “That’s fucked up, Zo—Chloe.” Will’s frustration is tangible. “How long were you two together?”

  Officially? Nearly two years. Unofficially? “I’ve known and loved him my entire life.”

  Cameron lets out a melancholy sigh. Because he is another person who found true love at a young age, and he’d give anything to have his wife back. Here I am, admitting I’m a total whore who cheated on her lifelong love and then left him without a word.

  Will’s long, slow whistle fills the living room. “You cheated on this bloke that you claim you loved your entire life, and then just . . . left. Without the decency of a goodbye. Jesus, Chloe. I don’t even know what to say to that.”

  I can’t even look at Cameron. There’s got to be more disappointment there than I know I can handle.

  And yet, I’ve dug my grave, I might as well lie down in it. “It was with his brother,” I tell my best friend. Tell the man who has treated me better than my own biological father. “I cheated on my fiancé with his own twin brother. And they . . . they fought a lot. Because of me. I hated it, couldn’t stand being the reason they weren’t close, so . . . I thought the best thing to do was just leave.”

  I think I’ve stunned them both into an even more horrified silence. I can’t look up. I can’t.

  “I don’t expect you to understand,” I ramble on. I’m so nervous I feel like my limbs, my hair, my eyelashes—everything is just going to drop off with the next breath. “But I made the best choice I could at the time. Work was unbearable. They were fighting. I . . . I got sick. I didn’t know how to handle the mess I’d made. I lost a lot of weight from the stress. Got a bleeding ulcer that kept coming back. Had constant headaches. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t eat. They fought, and stopped talking to each other, and I hated hurting them, hated knowing I was the reason they were unhappy, and all I could think was—was—if I weren’t there, they wouldn’t have a reason to fight. And work was—I couldn’t deal with what I was being asked to do, so I left, and I did it in a way that they can’t find me, or work, or anyone from my old life, and I’ve tried to build myself a life that has more to do with what I want to do than what other people tell me I have to do. And . . . yes. I miss him. Them. I miss a lot of things, and it eats me up inside, and I break sometimes, and I want to give up or give in, and that’s why I called Jonah. But right now, I’m not sorry I left. I’m sorry that I hurt them, and I’m sorry if I hurt anybody else, but I’m not going to apologize for doing what I thought was best. Because I will do anything in my power to make sure that their lives are better. I’m not—”

  Will grabs my face between his large hands. “It’s okay. Jesus. I’m sorry. It’s okay. It’s okay.” He wipes away tears I didn’t know I was still crying with his thumbs.

  Cameron leans down next to me, too, and we do a three-way hug, and while it feels good—their love and acceptance are more than I deserve—I can’t help but think Will’s wrong. Because, it’s not okay. And I’m a fool for ever thinking it could be.

  After spilling my guts to the Dane boys and crying until I blacked out, the Tracker appears at the diner during my shifts for three days straight. He orders pancakes, inhaling them like he’s starving, swearing I’m a goddess for serving him the best things he’s ever eaten. I don’t doubt his honesty; once, while he raved about them, he lost his stutter.

  Being constantly on edge, waiting for the anvil to drop, or at least the Guard appearing and literally dragging me back to Annar at any moment, though, is too much for my rapidly unraveling nerves. I’m not lying when I finally break down and tell Paul I’m sick and need to go home. Once I’m there, standing in my small bedroom in a small house that has felt more like a home than the one I shared with my parents most of my life ever had, I debate whether or not to cut my losses and leave like I did before, with nothing but a handful of doctored paperwork and cash.

  It’d be simpler, that’s for sure. Cameron and Will don’t deserve this. My baggage is too much for me to carry, let alone burden others with.

  At the door, I’m just about to leave my keys behind when I spot an envelope bearing my assumed name. Hands trembling, I rip it open.

  I’ve been accepted to the University of Alaska Anchorage.

  Part of me is elated, another is furious, yet another is incredibly saddened. I fudged my transcripts, but I ensured they reflected my true grades. To know that I got into a school of my choosing is fantastic—but to what end? It’s not like I’ll be able to go anyway. Not with Annar breathing down my neck.

  I was so naïve, thinking I could ever be something other than what I’ve been told to be.

  I shred the letter into tiny pieces. Then I shred the envelope. I collapse down into the ring of tattered, unrealistic dreams below me.

  So it only makes sense that this is when the screaming I haven’t heard for over eight months fills my ears.

  I’m on my feet and at the large bay window in the living room, searching the white neighborhood for any sign of the Elders. They’ve gone silent; it was more of a burst rather than the continual siren I’d grown accustomed to over the years. Although, come to think of it, the last time I was attacked, by a singular Elder no less, it was silent.

  If they’ve found me in Alaska . . .

  I snap the blinds shut and slide over to one of the walls, willing the house to become impenetrable. A massive earthquake could strike Anchorage and this would be the only building left standing, I’ve made it so sturdy. The windows melt into something better than bulletproof. The roof is hardened into a tough shell. If they’re going to get me, it isn’t going to be in this house.

  I weigh my options. If the Elders are here, and the Tracker knows it—well, the Guard is probably on their way. When I was last in the loop, capturing Elders was a high priority for both the Guard and the Council. Which means . . . maybe the Tracker isn’t here for me. Maybe he was scouting the region for Elders and stumbled upon me in some twisted sick joke of Fate’s. But if the Guard are coming, there’s an excellent chance Kellan will be with them, or even Jonah; the Guard had long believed the twins to be more effective working in tandem against the Elders. As much as I want them, miss them, need them, there’s no doubt in my mind that their lives have vastly improved in my absence. Letting anyone find me would be setting them back.

  I could run. It’d be the safest thing, especially since I refuse to let the Dane boys get caught in the crosshairs of whatever war the Elders are fighting against Magicals. The nons I love are painfully fragile, and I’m not exactly simpatico with any Shamans at the moment.

  But, if I leave the house, it’d be me against who knows how many Elders. I could maybe hold my own against a couple, but against a large group?

  Etienne’s words swarm my memories: as long as a Creator lives, the worlds will be okay. It’s the vacuum that will cause havoc. The last time there wasn’t a living Creator, the worlds fell into chaos.

  I need to stay alive.

  A strangled gasp of a scream sounds nearby. I jump, and then double jump when the backdoor slams shut.

  HOLY HELL. I made this place Fort Knox and then forgot to actually lock the doors.

  I refuse to go down witho
ut a fight, though. Two glowing balls of blazing energy materialize in my palms. The best defense is offense, or so I’d heard from all those sportscasters Jonah used to watch.

  Something bangs in the mud porch.

  I calculate my odds. I’ve got a wall behind me. The front door to my right. The hallway to the bedrooms to the left. The kitchen to my front. Another hallway to the laundry room and back door. I erase the entryway to the hallway and kitchen and bolt the front door. They can only get me from the one point of entry now.

  Goosebumps race up and down my arms, but they’re not from the frigid February Alaskan weather. My heart hammers in my chest. I can do this. I can do this.

  My eyes narrow on the entryway. My hands clench the balls. A controlled burst of a scream sounds somewhere behind me, outside, followed by a shadow leaking out of the hall. I hurl the ball in my right hand as hard as I can at the doorway, switching its properties mid throw to act like a gun silencer. No need to freak the neighbors out, after all. Plaster and wood explode in an eerily silent shower leaving the room hazy in dust and smoke.

  Something slams against the front door.

  And then, “WHAT. THE. FUCK?!”

  Will stumbles out from the gaping maw I’d just created, his clothes covered in plaster, his hair disheveled, his hands clutching a partially singed, white to-go bag from the Moose on the Loose. He’s white as a sheet, his eyes saucer wide, and it’s no wonder, because here I am, standing with glowing fireballs in my hands after destroying part of his house in an assassination attempt.

  I literally have NO IDEA WHAT TO SAY.

  Something slams into the door once more, nearly ripping me out of my skin. The Elders are right outside, and if they didn’t know I was here before, they do now. The situation has officially hit the fan now that Will’s trapped in here with me. Thank all the gods that Cameron is at work.

  We have to get out of here, stat. I collapse the remaining energy ball into my fist. “Where’s your truck?”

  His mouth falls open.

  “Your truck, Will! Where is it?” I stand on my tiptoes and peer out of the peek hole in the door. I swear, something smiles back at me. Smoky black shapeshifter? Present and accounted for. Just one as far as I can see, but one is too many when there’s a Human involved.

  But Will isn’t talking. He’s just gaping at me like I’m a monster. Fine. He can hate me and fear me, but I’m still getting his ass out of here.

  I grab his arm and drag him back from where he came from. From the back door, I can see the truck. It’s maybe two hundred feet from the door. A hopeful, quick scan leads me to believe the Elder is still at the front of the house.

  “Do you have your keys?” I whisper. When Will doesn’t answer, I do something that I’d never done to anyone before. I smack him straight across the face so hard fingerprints are left behind. I try not to cringe. “Keys, Will!”

  It must’ve been enough to snap him out of whatever stupor I’d driven him into, because he recoils, flushes bright red, and hisses right back, “In my pocket.”

  “Get them out.” I scan the area again. Another thump sounds from the front door. Once I hear the jingle of keys, I grab the doorknob.

  A hand drops on my shoulder “Wait.”

  “There’s no time,” I tell him in return. Realizing that the back door is creaky, I end up erasing it instead. Will’s breath draws in sharply, but I grab his arm anyway. “Don’t. Make. A. Sound.”

  His nod is quick and jerky.

  “On the count of three, we’re going to run to your truck. We’re going to get in and we’re going to drive as fast as we can. Do you understand?”

  Another jerky nod. “I’m driving, though.”

  Fair enough. I match his nod and hold out one finger. Two fingers. Three. We scramble down the steps, slipping on the icy path, but we make it to the truck in seconds. “GO GO GO!” I yell, and the truck swerves, sliding in an arc, but it shoots out the back of the driveway. I redesign the wheels so ice and snow are nothing to them.

  The Elder’s off the porch in a blink of an eye, slamming into the driver’s side. I immediately reinforce the metal and glass surrounding us. “Drive, Will!”

  “WHAT IS THAT THING?”

  Death, is what I want to tell him. His worst nightmare. How does one even begin to coherently explain what’s going on? As we speed away, the Elder hot on our trail, I notice the white to-go bag, sitting in between us. “What’s in the bag?”

  “ARE YOU KIDDING ME? YOU CAN MAKE DOORS DISAPPEAR AND SHOOT FIREBALLS FROM YOUR HANDS AND THERE’S SOME KIND OF MONSTER AFTER US AND YOU WANT TO TALK ABOUT THE SOUP I BROUGHT YOU? ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND?!”

  He has a point. Still, “You brought me soup?”

  “Chloe!” His eyes don’t leave the road, but they narrow into slits. “Priorities!”

  I eye the Elder in the side mirror. It’s fallen behind. “You need to take us out of town. I can’t fight it out in the open all by myself. We have to go somewhere where we’ll be isolated. Where there won’t be collateral damage.” Or, at least, I can hope. I snap my fingers. “Take us to Chugach.”

  The state park outside of Anchorage would be the perfect place. Plenty of wildernesses to hide in. Plus, as it’s February, it’s not like the park will be filled with hikers.

  “Fight it? Are you mad?”

  “Should we just let it kill us?”

  He guns the truck around a corner; we skid for two heart-stopping seconds before he manages to right us. Huh. I redesign the wheels once more. “Start talking, Chloe Lilywhite. Who in the hell are you?”

  “This isn’t the time—”

  “Really? Because I’m thinking it’s the bloody perfect time. TALK.”

  I sigh, my eyes never leaving the twisting black shape behind us, even though it’s fading from sight. He’s not going to let this go, and it’s not like I have the ability to make him do so, so I do the unthinkable. “Fine. I’m . . .”—oh Gods I’m really telling him—“not quite Human. Not like you, anyway. I’m part of a race of beings called Magicals. More specifically, I’m a Creator, and that thing back there is what we call an Elder, which just so happens to be one of the first of my kind, if legends are to be believed. My ancestors went to war against them and sucked out all their essences. Since escaping from where they’ve been imprisoned for thousands of years, they make it a point to hunt us down and kill us out of revenge. I’m sort of a big get. I stupidly didn’t think about the Elders tracking me down when I ran away, because I’m clearly an idiot and really only thought about things like my broken heart, but here one is, and it won’t stop unless it gets me or I manage to get it first. Chances are, though, that guy who’s been stalking me at the diner has already called back home and a team is on their way to take care of it. Which means, if I don’t take care of it first, they’ll most likely find me, too, and I’m not ready to go back. Capiche?”

  I’d barely taken a breath, spitting all that out. I don’t think Will took one while listening, either.

  “I didn’t tell you before because telling non-Magicals about us is forbidden. Chances are, if they find me, they’ll find you, too, and they’ll punish you by erasing your memory. Which maybe you want after what’s going on. But I hope you can believe me when I say I was trying to protect you and your dad from my past.”

  The truck spins around another corner. We’re miraculously on the outskirts of town without more outright attacks by any Elders.

  He’s silent for a full minute before asking, “Are you an alien?”

  I nearly choke. My laughter borders on hysteria. “What?! NO. I am most certainly not an alien!”

  The truck slides across a lane. Why can’t I get these tires right?

  Another minute ticks off between us. “Was it all a joke then? Playing . . . what. Friends? With a lowly little peon who works at a diner in Alaska and his dad?”

  “Gods, no, Will!” I tentatively reach out a hand, but his arm jerks just out of reach. “When I left home, I th
ought I’d screwed myself out of any happiness in life. But I met you, and your dad, and Frieda and Ginny and Paul, and I realized . . .” I swallow. “You’re my best friend. You’re my family. No matter what else happens, I want you to know I will never regret meeting you.”

  He sucks in his bottom lip, eyes glued on the road. I can’t tell if he’s angry, disgusted, scared, or bored, and that worries me almost as much as the thing following us.

  “If we make it out of this,” I tell him quietly, “and you want to talk about who I am and what I’m capable of, then we will. Absolutely. I’ll tell you everything you want to know. But right now, we need to get this thing out into a less populated area so I can try to take it down.”

  This finally earns me a quick glance. “Have you ever done so before?”

  His question surprises me. “Uh . . . I’ve imprisoned some before. None of us have ever been able to kill them, though. They’re pretty much immortal.”

  “Are you?” When I don’t answer, he clarifies, “Immortal?”

  I shake my head. “These things . . . they’ve hurt me before. Last time, it took me by surprise. Broke a bunch of bones in my arm and one of my knees.”

  His head whips to face mine, eyes wide in horror.

  “Eyes on the road, Will.” I wait until he refocuses. “We . . . my kind. We have people who can heal others, like doctors. But you and I don’t have a Shaman with us today.” A quick scan shows we’ve lost the Elder for now, but I can’t find any optimism in the cab of this truck. “Whatever happens, if I tell you to leave me behind and drive away, I need you to do that, okay?”

  The horror in his eyes transitions to incredulity.

  “They’ve gone after people I cared about before. Nearly killed my cousin. Hurt—they hurt my fiancé. More than once.” I’m trembling all over. “It was—I can’t . . .” I slam my palms against the dashboard. “I don’t know what I’d do if you got hurt because of me, too.”