Cadence of Ciar (The Fate Caller Series Book 1)

by Zoe Parker

  These things need going through, but I can’t do it yet.

  Turning away, I wander through the other rooms in the house, it’s not a large house so it doesn’t take me long. Peter’s room is strangely untouched and I merely stand in the doorway, staring into it. Shutting the door, I let the tears roll down my face unchecked. This grief needs to be let out, it’s time.

  When I’ve bawled myself out I scrub my hand over my face and continue on. The last room left is the one I dread the most, my mother’s. The door is locked, but a swift kick from Ciar takes care of that issue. The door flings open, banging against the wall, sending something made of glass tumbling to the ground to break in the silence in the room.

  Good, I hope it all breaks.

  Her bed is perfectly made with silk sheets and the most expensive down pillows. A comforter hand-made by some royal seamstress, is folded neatly across the end of the bed. The red silken dressing gown she’d pet like a dog is tossed artfully over the center of the bed.

  The closet is open showing rows of expensive dresses and shelves of shoes and jewelry. Those I can sell and will. Nothing of hers will remain here and I need the money to remodel.

  I know exactly who I can call for help with that. Calsis, a Leprechaun. He’s shrewd and greedy but incredibly honest. He’ll squeeze every penny of value out of these items.

  “Keri, you need to see this.” Frowning, I turn to Ciar who is looking at something on the vanity which is lined with expensive perfumes and cosmetics. Closing the distance between us, I look down to find a manila envelope with one sentence on it in an aching familiar scrawl, Peter’s.

  When the bitch is dead you must watch this Keri.

  How did Peter leave this? Hand shaking, I run a finger across the writing. There’s dust on the envelope so it’s been here awhile.

  “Fairies are a tight knit community, this was left by someone who knew him,” Ciar explains, rubbing my shoulders with warm hands.

  Picking it up I open it. Inside is a round DVD. What the fudge? They haven’t used these for decades. Good thing for us, my mother was against the times and kept all types of old technology. Marching to her closet, I dig through her useless dresses until I find the box in the back.

  Dusting it off, I leave the room and go in search of the TV in the family room. Ha, family. Finding it, I pull the cover sheet off and sigh in relief when the lights kick on and the TV blares to life. Ciar… reading my mind again.

  He joins me right as I plug the player in and push the disc into it.

  Laughter fills the room around us as the first image to pop onto screen. A young, smiling version of my mother—a very Fae version of my mother. Her hair is blue, a bright ocean blue and her eyes match. And the man she wraps her arms around—his hair is down the middle of his back, a dark purple that makes mine look even lighter. The camera is stationary, and his back is to it but slowly, so slowly he turns and vivid mismatched eyes crinkle as he smiles into the camera.

  Pain lances my chest and I sit back on the floor, shocked. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out he’s my father, I look just like the man. The same slope of my forehead, the same small nose, I even have the same mouth. And the eyes…

  Even those fade as I take in the entire face. Now I know exactly why they’re trying to kill me. There’s a symbol on his forehead, a hated one that can put fear in even the stoutest spine. It’s a Mark of the Moon, not just a mark, it’s the mark of a priest. My father is a high-priest of the Moon Clan.

  Faerie is only one part of the spectrum, she is the goddess of creation, but she is not the only god of Fae. No there is another the opposite of creation, of life. Donn, the god of the World of the Dead.

  Fudge. Fudge. Fudge.

  My father investigates the camera and it feels like he’s looking right at me. Black washes over his eyes before they return to normal—and I can see it there in his eyes—he’s old, so old. My father is a First Generation, I can tell by looking at him.

  He turns away from the camera back to my mother and the feast laid out on the checkered table cloth. “Hilda, what’s the happy occasion?” he asks her in a voice that can melt ice.

  My mother, smiles, showing the beauty that I saw the ghost of in her face, looking uncommonly happy and full of life she pulls his hand down to her stomach.

  He searches her face for a moment and then kneels to rest his cheek against it. “My child shall be glorious,” he whispers. Standing, he kisses my mother once on the cheek and continues, “You have served me well, Hilda. This child shall be stronger than all my other children. You must be protected and moved.”

  The smile disappears off her face, to be replaced with a frown that I know from experience means something bad is coming. He continues to rub her still flat stomach, entranced.

  Apparently, that’s not what she was expecting to hear. Her eyes alight and focus on him like she’s going to shoot lightning bolts out of them any second. The love in them is fading to be replaced by hate.

  “What do you mean other children, Daya?” she demands.

  “You didn’t think you were the only one?” He laughs, and when she tries to pull away, he grabs her wrists, tugging her against him. “I’ve searched for centuries for the right woman to bear my fated child. You are that woman and as long as you carry the child I will protect you and cherish you.”

  “What happens after the child is born?” Right here is where my life became destined to suck. This is the defining moment of her hatred of me.

  “She is all that matters. You are merely the womb.” I see the second my mother realizes that he doesn’t love her, just as I see the moment her eyes go dead and empty. The eyes I remember.

  “You dare cast me aside for progeny?” Things start to fly as my mother’s true form emerges. Her blue hair darkens, her skin fades until it is a washed-out gray, her height increases, and long black claws grow out of her fingernail beds. Teeth as vicious as any piranha push out of her gums, bright white and razor sharp. Wow my mother is a flipping Graywalker.

  “I do not fear you forsaken child of Faerie, but I will not let you destroy the child.” Daya’s voice booms and I can darn near feel the magic of the spell I hear unleash as he uses his power word. Existence. So close to mine that it’s scary and there’s no way it’s a coincidence.

  Somehow, I know what the spell is, she can’t abort me from her womb. She can’t kill me. I don’t understand… I rewind the movie and listen to the seconds while he casts the spell. No mortal weapons, that’s what he mutters. The dagger wasn’t from a mortal, that’s why she needed it—and why she tried to kill me with it.

  The camera falls over and other than Daya’s laughter and my mother’s screeches of anger there are no other sounds. The the camera goes black and the movie stops playing.

  My mother is a Graywalker. They’re all evil, every single one of them. My father is a Moon Clan high priest, an elder to boot. I’m still not sure of his true heritage, but weakness doesn’t survive in the Moon Clan.

  I’m so flipping screwed.

  “Keri, I must—” With a growl of fury Ciar disappears, the Hunt calls.

  A knock makes me about jump out of my skin. Climbing wearily to my feet I go to the front door and peek out. Lucinda stands there smiling. Oh, fudge I forgot.

  Opening the door, I put as much of a smile as I can muster on my face and greet her. She breezes by me and immediately starts talking about the house. I try to be courteous and pay attention, but my emotions are all over the place and I fail. Instead, I walk back into the family room and take the disc out of the player. There’s no reason for anyone else to see its contents.

  “That’s ancient tech. What’s on it?”

  “Some old television program my mother liked to watch.” Lucinda, boldly annoying, tries to tug it out my hands. “Thank you but I’d rather keep it to myself.” She shrugs and smiles again. I might think she’s sweet but she’s also pushy and that makes me rethink the friend situation.

  In fact, becau
se of that pushiness I send the disc to my Blank Space, something I never use, but my gut is screaming at me to do it. Her smile broadens and she opens her mouth to speak and then something smashes into the back of my head with the force of a hammer.

  Black spots swim before my eyes as I stagger to the side and turn to the intruder. A flipping Elf smirks at me and raises the club in his hand to strike me again.

  Grabbing a candlestick off the mantle I block him on the downswing. Lucinda runs between us and the Elf knocks her out with one hit. I hope she’s okay! The fight is on. The Elf is good, better than I am, and he has something I don’t have know how to use correctly—yet, flipping magic.

  Diving behind the couch I barely miss getting toasted by a fireball. Why is it that everyone but me gets those? Zag roars outside and I feel him trying to get in, but there’s a barrier muting the feel of him. The Elf was able to throw up a barrier to keep everyone out of this room. I hear Gertie out there cussing him for all she’s worth. Wow, she’s creative with some of those names.

  Reaching for Lucinda’s prone body I drag her behind the couch and then roll to another piece of furniture. She did try to help me, silly Mage. Why didn’t she use her magic?

  “Why are you here?”

  “Someone paid a lot of money for me to be here,” he answers, a laugh in his voice.

  “But why?” Unless it’s related to what I very recently discovered.

  “Dunno, but I don’t get paid to ask questions. Shut the fuck up and die already.” He’s not very nice.

  A knife whizzes by my head, embedding itself into the wall a foot in front of me, where it vibrates from the force of the throw. I grab it and, aiming for the last place I saw him, toss it back, smiling in satisfaction when he curses. A smile that’s yanked right off my face when magic latches onto me and drags me out of my hiding place. The invisible force holds my upper body against the floor. I struggle but nothing frees me. I hate when Ciar is right. Hate it. Hate it.

  A solid boot to my stomach takes the breath right out of me. Scrambling for purchase on the old rug I try to pull myself away from him. Kicking out, I catch something soft with my foot and take advantage of his magic suddenly releasing me.

  I can’t win against his magic.

  Crawling behind the chair I duck my head to look at him around the edge of it. The bracelet burns my wrist and the violin materializes in my hand. With it there something else happens, magic. I can see his fate, it plays above him like a movie. Well, this is pretty neat after all. This Elf is destined to die when he trips and lands on his own knife. A fitting end to someone like him.

  On instinct I sing out a few notes, watching his face, and then my Word comes out in a lyrical phrase, leaving my throat raw from its passing. His brown eyes widen as he is pulled up straight by invisible strings and the knife laying on the floor beside him moves on its own. The handle against the ground and the blade sticking straight up.

  Eyes wide, he falls forward, the knife sinking into his flesh with a squishing sound. I see the minute the magic releases him and his life is no more.

  The tears are hot and scalding as they slide down my face. Staring at his body I start to hyperventilate. I’ve hunted food, I’ve defended myself against others, but I’ve never taken a life. His dead eyes stare at me accusingly.

  “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” I repeat over and over and when Zag finally breaks the barrier and curls around me, I let it all out. The whole flipping day I cry out right there on his back, while his wings hide me from the rest of the world.

  When the last of the sobs leave me with hiccups, I climb to my feet to see Lucinda sitting on the chair, having a cup of tea. She smiles at me, completely ignoring the Elf’s body in the middle of the room.

  What the fudge?

  “Glad to see you’re all cried out. Are you okay?”

  I shrug.

  “So, when do we start cleaning?”

  “Go home, Lucinda.” My voice is hoarse and hard. I don’t want her here, especially as calm as she is under the circumstances. It strikes an odd chord in me and I can’t deal with anything else weird right now. She doesn’t move, just continues to sip her tea.

  Ciar runs into the room, his face thunderous, immediately he takes in the broken furniture and the dead Elf.

  “Go home, Mage.” His tone leaves no room for argument. This time she puts the teacup down on the coffee table and, with a dirty look at Ciar pats my arm and leaves.

  “I fucking killed someone.” Saying it out loud makes it even worse. My guts are being ripped out of me by the emotional hurricane inside me.

  Ciar wraps his arms around me and although I thought I was all cried out, it starts all over again. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here, monster girl. The Hunt was a false Hunt, a spell summoned us.”

  Several minutes later I’m quiet again, resting my face against his wet shirt.

  “A set up, all of it. As soon as I can get you a little settled I’m going to start setting wards. When the other two fuckers join us, they can add their own and when you learn how to wield your magic a fourth ward.”

  “We’ll get this mess out of here and into storage for selling.” Gertie says out of nowhere and as she speaks the furniture starts popping out of existence, the body is already gone. I knew Brownies moved fast but this is amazing.

  Within twenty minutes the room is empty, even the rug is gone.

  “The bedrooms will be done as well. Which room will you be choosing for your own?” she asks hovering level with my face.

  “My mother’s.” Serves her right, she never let me in there and now I’ll make sure every single piece of her is out of it.

  Dealing with it all is a little easier. Graywalker, gods—it explains so much. At least I know why she hated me. All because of a man—knowing is much better than not, at least in this case.

  Looking around the house I decide right there that I’m going to obliterate every single piece of her from this place. I earned this house simply because she was my mother.

  “We’re going to get rid of this ugly wallpaper too. All of it, I want none of her left here.” Gertie kisses my cheek and is gone. “Let’s get some tea. I need tea or alcohol—but tea works for now.” Saying this, I head into the kitchen.

  Ciar follows quietly behind me, supportive without being suffocating, although once in the kitchen he steers me to a stool at the kitchen island and starts opening and closing cabinets looking for the stuff he needs.

  He’s being incredibly calm about things considering… wait his knuckles are white on the cabinet handle. My eyes move up to his face, his jaw is flexing rhythmically which means he’s clenching his teeth off and on.

  The calm is a sham and it’s all for me.

  “Right of the sink, third shelf.” He pulls the tea bags from exactly where I said. “Left cabinet, top shelf.” Cups join the tea bags on the counter. “The kettle is bottom left.”

  Singing under his breath, he washes out the cups and kettle and gets it filled and on the stove. “Who’s been paying for the utilities?”

  “You have from the small stipend Mada provides specifically for it,” he answers, then goes back to singing.

  I know what he’s doing but I’m not going to complain. My nerves are shot, my emotions are raw and bleeding, and my stomach is killing me. Pulling up my shirt, I look at the mottled bruising of where he kicked me. That’ll take a while to go away, but there’s another mark towards my hip. It’s an old rune and a fresh wound but I know what it is.

  It’s the brand Faerie spoke of, it’s throbbing dully but constant. The pain isn’t intolerable, which makes me think that calling his fate wasn’t too far off from the real deal happening. It’s the only explanation I can come up with. Faerie doesn’t strike me as someone who exaggerates or understates something.

  Ciar is at my side in a heartbeat looking intently at the brand.

  “You called his fate?” Meeting his eyes, I nod. “Good.” He bends and kisses the brand. The pain eas
es, not going away completely but not the ache it was. Then he goes back to making the tea like nothing was out the norm.

  A tear runs down my cheek and I try to swipe it away before he sees. This is one of those moments in life when you realize just how much someone means to you and it hits me like a truck.

  I love Ciar.

  Once upon and enchanted evening, fireflies danced, and Fairies made wishes come true.

  ~Author Unknown

  Sleeping on the floor isn’t as comfortable as I hoped it’d be, wakefulness brings a weird crick in my neck, a stiff back and a reminder that my butt was whipped hard by an Elf the day before.

  Bacon is a smell that grabs you with invisible hands and pulls you towards the source. After a quick bathroom trip, I go in search of that glorious smell’s source. Gertie is at the stove, singing a little while she flips scrambled eggs around in a pan bigger than her.

  On the counter is a plate stacked high with Brownie Baked Bacon. Without an invitation I seat myself at the island where a paper plate is waiting, with clean shiny silverware beside it.

  “Hope you’re hungry, I made enough for an army,” she says, smiling over her shoulder.

  “Where is your family? I’d like to meet them.” She pauses at her task and then picks it up again.

  “You really want to meet them?” Why does she sound so doubtful?

  “Well, you’re family now so they’re family too.”

  A male Brownie, her husband, I assume, and four kids pop right into existence. The kids are in their teens, if not older, but Brownie families tend to stay together forever.

  “Hello there,” I say, in greeting. A chorus of hellos spoken at the same time make me smile.

  “I’m Ralphie, the oldest and this is Mary, Will and Benjamin. And of course, our Dad, Henry.” He leans towards me conspiratorially. “He doesn’t talk much, cos Ma does all the talking.” I like them all instantly and laugh out loud when a piece of scrambled egg smacks him right upside the head.