A Matter of Truth (Fate Series 3) Page 8

  His eyes refocus on the road. “You’re saying I’m a liability to you.”

  Yes. In more ways than he knows.

  He swears softly under his breath. “It doesn’t feel right, agreeing to that. I don’t leave my friends behind.”

  I nearly melt in relief. Angry as he is, he still calls me a friend. “I know.” He lets me touch him now, my fingers cool against his arm. “And that’s one of the things I love best about you. But you’ll need to do it anyway.”

  And yet, I get no promise from him in the end.

  After nearly an hour of driving, Will calls his dad and tells him not to go home, because there’s a problem at the house that needs to be fixed—if by problem, he means part of the house being destroyed and all. I’ll repair the damage if I make it through the next several hours, and then most likely pack Cameron and Will up in their trucks and insist they get as far away from me and Anchorage as possible.

  “So. These things.” Will cups the back of his neck and angles his head toward me. “What’s the game plan?”

  Yes, Chloe. What IS the game plan? I’ve spent much of the hour wondering that exact thing myself. “I guess imprisonment. I’ve done it before.” I shift; my butt has gone numb. I’ve never been one for road trips, even tiny ones that barely constitute the label.

  “When you say it’s immortal, do you really mean it?”

  I twist my neck until it cracks. “I’m pretty sure that immortal means immortal, Will.”

  He’s frustrated with my responses. “I’m just saying, how can we fight it?”

  “We can’t fight it at all. I will fight it.”

  He’s quiet for a long moment. And then—“Is that bloke you were engaged to like you?”

  “Yeah.” I want to lean my head back, but I won’t have a good view of the side mirror anymore. I haven’t seen the Elder in a long time, but I know better. They always come back. “I mean, not exactly like me—but he’s a Magical.”

  “You said you’re a Creator. I’m assuming it means you can create stuff.”

  I exhale a breathy laugh. “That’s the gist of it.”

  “What does he do?”

  I twist my hair up in a faux bun and then let it drop back down. “He’s an Emotional. He can . . .” It hurts to just think about Jonah, let alone speak about him. “He can make anybody feel whatever he wants them to feel.”

  Both of Will’s eyebrows shoot up. “That’s . . . incredibly fucked up, Chloe.”

  Now that I’ve opened the floodgates, worry and love and concern come crashing through. What is Jonah doing right now? Is he in Annar? Here on the Human plane?

  “And the brother?”

  Another pang, right against the tender valves that hold my heart in my chest as I snap my attention back to Will. “The same.”

  He pauses before he asks, “They make you fall in love with them?”

  A glance out the window shows trees and snow all around us. I give in and let my head fall back, staring up at the cab’s roof. “No. I mean—not like you’re thinking.” My finger touches the spot where my ring used to lay. I twist my head until I’m facing Will. “They rarely ever used their crafts on me, and when they did, it was usually with my full knowledge.”

  One of his long arms drapes across the steering wheel. “I sense a but.”

  By now, I have little left to lose. Will knows what I am. I’ve dug our graves. So I give him the Cliff’s Notes version of Connections, about how I have two, and how it’s torn me in two. About how I met Jonah. How I met Kellan. How I planned on marrying Jonah. Cheated on him with Kellan.

  When I’m done, he’s quiet. I pick at a popped stitch in the leather below me. “True love isn’t so shiny and desirable now, is it?”

  He smacks my hand away from destroying his seat any further. “Let me get this right. You are incapable of falling in love with anyone else?”

  I nod and resume my watch for Elders. “Well, I mean—I can love people. I love you and your dad, for example. I just can’t romantically fall in love with anyone else.”

  “What made you decide to pick one over the other?”

  I look away from the side mirror. “Huh?”

  “Despite how you felt about both guys—you picked one. You told Jonah you’d marry him. If I’m not mistaken, you were actually willing to elope. Why did you decide on him instead of Kellan?”

  I groan, rubbing the spot in between my eyes. “Ask the easy questions, why don’t you?”

  “Were you with him because of a sense of obligation?” Will asks. Both hands are back on the wheel.

  I shift to fully face him. “Whaaaat?”

  “You said you thought Fate or whatever meant you two to have a Connection. You guys met in your dreams. Grew up together. Did you decide to stick with him because you thought you should? Because it was expected of you?”

  I can actually feel my eyes grow so wide I fear my eyeballs are going to pop straight out. Pop right out and smack him straight in the face. If they do, I hope they explode and ooze gross eye juice all over him. It would serve him right.

  “No!” My voice rings in the cab.

  “He shows up at your school, and you had the perfect chance to reconnect with him. What do you do? You ignore him and fall in love with his brother. You hooked up with this other bloke multiple times. Pined for him. That’s very telling, Chloe.”

  “I . . . I! I EXPLAINED THAT! It was because we’re Connected!”

  “And yet, if I understand this correctly, you have a Connection to Jonah, too. One you were more than willing to ignore for the sake of being with his brother. Were you ever pining for this Jonah when you were with his brother?”

  Hell yes, I did. My fingers curl into fists, jagged nails digging into my palms. “You don’t understand.”

  “I disagree. I think I understand better than you think.”

  One of the tires explodes. Will jerks the wheel and limps us over to the side of the road. I don’t bother telling him that it was because of me. Or that I can make him a new one. Because, Jonah was never an obligation. I was never with him because I had to. I love him. He’s the best person I know. I’ve always loved him.

  He’s not an obligation.

  What I feel for him isn’t an obligation.

  It isn’t.

  Is it?

  The more I think about it, the angrier I get. The more frustrated. And feel all the more helpless.

  “Well, isn’t this just the perfect time for a tire to crap out on us,” Will mutters, getting out of the truck.

  Wait—is he planning on changing the tire? Does he not remember what I am? Or that we have a monster chasing us? I wrench open the door and throw myself out of the cab. I round the front of the truck, my fists still tight balls, ready to argue and fix the truck all at the same time. “You don’t know the first thing about how I feel about Jonah.”

  Will pulls a red beanie out of his pocket and tugs it over his now wavy, wet hair as he gets out the tools needed to change the tire from the back of the truck. “I know what you feel for him isn’t real.”

  Excuse me? I’m seething now. “Yes. It is.”

  He pulls out a wrench and bends down next to the tire. “Magic made you believe you love him. It’s not real.”

  That’s it. The wheel he’s working on disappears; a fuchsia one appears in its place with flowers, hearts, and rainbows swirling through the tread. When the wrench in Will’s hands freezes, I stomp closer. “Really? Is that tire real? Because I just made that with my so-called Magic.”

  He slowly stands up to face me. “Tires are not the same as feelings, Chloe.”

  “Why? Because you can’t touch them?” I shove a mittened finger against his chest. “Because you can’t see them?”

  “Because feelings ought to be organic,” he stresses, knocking my hand away. “People should fall in love because they want to. Not because something makes them.”

  Caleb, my Conscience, used to force me to count to ten before I said something I ma
y regret. I try this now and find myself needing to count to fifteen instead. “The joke’s on you then. Most of the so-called organic stuff you’re referring to has been either altered or created by Magicals. It’s what we do.”

  “Emotions are different. They’re personal. Nobody has a right to mess with somebody else like that.”

  My teeth grind together. “How do you know that my feelings for him aren’t”—I flash air quotes—“organic?”

  He crosses his arms. It’s brutally cold outside, but we’re both too stubborn to actually get back into the truck at the moment. If the Elder comes along now, we’ll be easy pickings. “Because you just told me that you have some shite voodoo called a Connection that ties you to him.”

  “Yes,” I stress, “but I also told you that I grew up with him. I know him. I fell in love with him. Me. With him. Not because Fate said I had to, but because I. Fell. In love. With him.” We’re toe-to-toe now. “He’s the best person I know. The best.” I poke Will in the chest again. “If I didn’t have a Connection with him, I’d still love him.”

  He scoffs. “Then why are you here instead of there?”

  I shove him until he stumbles back, not enough to fall, but just enough to skid on the salted roads. “I told you.”

  “Yeah, but that’s a load of rubbish. If you really loved him, you would’ve stayed and tried to work it out.”

  A tree falls down nearby, sending an explosion of snow to cover us. Will jumps, but I know it’s not due to the Elder. This is all me. And I’ve got to get myself under control. I count to twenty this time. “Did you not hear anything I’ve said?”

  “I heard you. I also heard what sounded like you two grew apart, and you were more attracted to his brother than him. And it was only when the shite hit the fan and got real that you ran back to what you thought was safe.”

  Another tree bites the dust. “That is not what happened.”

  Will stares at the shrinking grove of trees near us.

  I throw a hand out and the trees float back up, trunks stitching back together. “Look. I won’t deny I love Kellan. That I haven’t thought about what it’d be like to be with him. That I miss him still. But—”

  But that’s the thing. For the last several months, I’ve drowned in how much I miss Jonah. I’ve thought about Kellan, yes, but the pain of losing him has never cut me quite so deeply as Jonah’s. I love Kellan, I’ve thought about what it’d be like to be with him, but I never pulled that trigger. And I think I finally know why.

  It’s Will’s turn to look like a cartoon character with eyes ready to explode as the trees right themselves. Some of my anger eases, but not much.

  I let out a groan of frustration. “Yes, Will. The trees are me.”

  He snaps his fingers. “The laundry detergent! That was you, as well!”

  Now I’m flat out humiliated.

  A chuckle precedes his finger wagging. “My, my. Somebody has a temper.”

  A scream fills the quiet distance. I whirl around and peer through the white behind us. “You better hope I can keep it up.”

  He’s instantly by my side. “That thing—the Elder. It’s coming?”

  I nod. Still no sighting, though. “Get in your truck and go, Will.”

  “Fuck that. I’m staying. Besides, you think I’m going anywhere with a tire a four year old would’ve designed?”

  “This isn’t a game!”

  “Obviously.” He steps in front of me. “I’m not leaving, so you might as well make me as useful as I can be. What can I do to help? Can you make me anything to fight this thing with?”

  Fight? Like . . . hand-to-hand combat? I shudder. Is he forgetting the whole immortal thing?

  Will’s hands clamp down on my shoulders. “Whatever it is, it used to be like you. Living, breathing, whatnot. Living things can be hurt. Give me something to work with. If it can smash into my truck, it can hurt if I shoot it or stab it.”

  Is he joking? “No. I won’t risk you.”

  Another scream fills the air, closer still.

  His dark eyes bore down into mine. “I’m not asking. I’m telling. If I have to go get a branch from the woods to beat it, I will. No matter what, I’m staying.”

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath. This goes against my instincts, but . . . “Fine. Fine!” I open my eyes and whip up my favorite bow and arrow set and pass them over to him. And then I make another for me.

  He’s amused. “Are we hunting?”

  “Big game, my friend,” I tell him. My smile is vicious. “The biggest you’ll ever see.”

  Fighting on the open road isn’t going to happen. Not that many vehicles have passed us in the last fifteen minutes, but I can’t risk nons reporting anything going down. I’m already risking enough as it is; I’ll be damned if I leave Will out in the open. I convert our clothes to a waterproof, cold-proof fabric of my own making, plus switch out our footwear for sturdy snow boots and then take off into the woods with Will hot at my heels.

  “Do you think it’ll follow?” Will asks. Bastard is barely winded, but the stitch in my side reminds me that months of bowling and hanging out in a diner have done little to keep me in shape.

  The screaming swells sporadically, each burst like nails against the chalkboard lining the inside of my skin. But I need the advantage. I need to be the one to take a stand first. And I need to do it in the right spot. So I keep running, the bow bouncing on my back, until we get to a large clearing.

  Will stands next to me, surveying our location as I lean over, hands against knees, searching desperately for my breath. “Seems awfully open.” He squints, peering through the trees. A controlled shriek in the distance answers.

  “Better open than trapped,” I gasp.

  “I’ve been thinking.” He taps his fingers against his thigh. Why is he so calm? He ought to be freaking out. Sane people would be, especially nons who’ve just learned monsters are real. Is that it, though? Is Will truly insane and I just never caught on until now? “I need a sword.”

  Yep. Full on INSANE. I straighten, my eyes widening. “Oh, you do, huh?”

  “Paul tried to take me hunting once. I was shite at it.”

  “And yet, you’re a master swordsman?” I let disbelief coat my words.

  He grins. “I’m Scottish. Highlanders have been wielding swords for centuries.”

  “You’re from Glasgow. Isn’t that like, sacrilegious or something to call yourself a Highlander when you’re a Lowlander?”

  “You’re just being picky now. Would it help if you made me a kilt or something to go along with the sword? Also, why is this taking so long? Do you need to create a forge as well?”

  I sigh and hand over a lightweight yet indestructible sword. “Be careful. It’s sharp—”

  “Swords normally are.”

  I consider it a victory that I don’t bop him on the head with the butt of the sword. “Just keep it away from me.”

  “No stabbing Chloe. Note taken.” His grin diminishes some. “What’s the plan?”

  I wipe sweaty loose strands away from my face; they’ve begun to develop ice crystals. And then I make myself a super warm white beanie. Upon consideration, I switch all of our clothes to white to match our surroundings. Will jerks in his boots, like the color change shocked him. “Don’t be a baby. All I did was camouflage your clothes. Keep it up and I really will make you a kilt. Didn’t they wear those without underwear?” I leer. “Gosh, can you imagine that in this weather?” He protests, so I talk right over him. “I’m kidding. The plan is simple: take the Elder down before it kills us.”

  “Oh, yes, that sounds quite simple,” Will mocks. He pats his pants, clearly making sure I didn’t switch them out for a kilt after all.

  A scream fills the clearing. My knees spasm, but I know that I can’t let Will down. I must stay calm for him.

  He slides an arrow out of the black leather quiver I made. “What kind of arrows are these?”

  His voice is still calm, filled with a hint
of amusement. Seriously. What’s wrong with him? Any sane person, Magicals included now, ought to be scared shitless in a situation like this. “They’re like little suns,” I say, pointing to the glowing arrow tip.

  He jerks his fingers away from the shaft. “The fuck . . .?”

  This freaks him out more than the monster coming to hunt us down? “Well, I took away the gravitational pull, and altered the properties so it doesn’t, you know, blow up the planet or anything, but technically it’s a concentrated bit of hydrogen.” He stares at me with growing horror, so I add, “It’s not like I’m a scientist or anything. They’re probably not even technically suns. It’s just what I call them. I made them up. They’re effective. Unless you get shot with one, you ought to be fine handling them.”

  He’s still horrified.

  “Oh, gods,” I groan. “Just give me the damn thing. Stick with the sword.” I probably shouldn’t tell him that I made the blade out of a metal found only on the Goblin plane that can cut through anything, including stone, like it’s a sheet of paper. I take the bow away from him. I keep the arrows, adding them to my quiver, but erase the rest.

  “You’re a wee bit terrifying,” he finally says.

  A shriek follows, the closest one since the house. I will my courage to not fail me. “Let’s hope I stay that way. Get ready.” I slide an arrow into the bow.

  Will holds his sword up, looking for a brief, snowy moment like the warrior from the past he’d joked about. Like metal in his hands was second nature. If I were truly smart, I’d knock him out and hide him, but the truth is, it’s sort of nice to know I’m not alone right now.

  Because . . . there it is. Right at the opposite edge of the clearing. It’s found us.

  I nearly started screaming in terror. This Elder looks, for the first time ever, humanish. Still smoky, still distorting, but damn if it doesn’t actually mold its shape into a person with eyes—glowing ones that can’t seem to decide on a color. I don’t know which is worse—the shape-shifting creature, or the choice to look like it does now. No, wait. I do. This one. This one looks far more frightening than any of the others.