The dying embers in the can collapsed, nearly extinguishing the flames. She couldn’t see his face, especially since he continued retreating into the dark. “They were more husks than books,” he said. “I’m sorry for trespassing.” He waited a moment. “Uh, if it’s all the same to you, I’ll be on my way.”
Deciding he wasn’t a hoodlum, Fate dropped her arm. “Hey, before you leave, can you get this fire going again? I haven’t got a lighter.”
“Sure,” she heard him say just as the last flame winked out.
The sudden black made her anxious. What if he was pulling a Norman Bates on her? Still clutching the perfume in one hand, she hoped it would at least sting his eyes enough for her to get a well-targeted kick in. She groped inside her purse for the flashlight, her fingers fumbling through endless junk in the way. She went rigid as something brushed her arm. He was right next to her, rustling around, breathing. Just as she pointed the bottle, light sparked on, revealing him kneeling over the garbage can. He was holding a lighter under the corner of a book. A few seconds later, flames blazed high.
Fate whipped her hand behind her back before he could see how close he’d come to getting sprayed in the face with the flirty fragrance of candy and cupcakes. “Thanks,” she said, leaning into the heat.
“Happy to help.” When he stood, the warm glow illuminated the dark gold of his hair and stunning features.
Her heart lurched, a reaction that floored her. She dropped her gaze for a split second, but couldn’t resist revisiting the strong line of his jaw and the friendly curve of his mouth. Her pulse shifted into high gear as she followed the rising arc of his ruddy cheekbones to eyes that had the same luster and greenness of rain-washed leaves.
Wow, talk about bite-the-back-of-your-hand beautiful. And eerily familiar. So much so, she simply gawked as she tried to place him.
His expression closed and he swallowed hard as he diverted his gaze.
Oh no. She’d embarrassed him. Heat rose into her cheeks as she cringed inwardly. Even though she felt like a total loser at the moment, that didn’t stop her from peeking through a curtain of wet curls for a quick sweep over his braided leather necklace with its Celtic pentacle, long-sleeved shirt and olive army pants. His clothing hung loose over his tall frame, but there was no concealing the lean, muscular build underneath.
He turned away. “I should be off.”
She found herself grasping for a reason to stall him. “So where’d you find that big key? I’ve never seen it before.”
Without stopping, he nodded over his shoulder. “It was lying next to that big book.”
When he disappeared from the light, her heart lunged forward in her chest as if to chase after him. A bewildering sadness filled her as she stared at the fire, dumbfounded. She didn’t know him, yet she desperately wanted him to stay. And as crazy as it sounded, she suspected she was missing him the way she missed someone she was close to. A tear trickled down her cheek. She dabbed it with a finger, looking at the teardrop in surprise.
“Uh, I left my coat behind.”
She swiped at her watery eyes––mortified she’d been caught swooning––then promptly worried if she’d smudged her makeup.
He scooped the jacket off the floor, brushing at some brown powder that wouldn’t come off. As he shrugged on his coat, he asked, “Which way is out?”
“The same way you came in?” she said, her tone more edgy than intended.
“Right. It’s mighty dark back there.”
“Wait.” She couldn’t bear to see him go again. “It’s terrible outside. You should stay ‘til the storm passes.”
He flashed a smile that made her heart flip-flop. She bit her lip, baffled by the unfamiliar knee-jerk reactions she was having to him.
“I’d be grateful of that,” he said, stepping back into the ring of light.
Needing something else to focus on other than his overwhelming good looks, she glanced at the oversized key on the floor. “So what do you make of this key?”
He walked over and picked it up. “I’m certain it fits in the lock keeping this book closed.”
“It’s not actually a book,” she said, turning to look at the ten-foot tall Fables sign. She was well acquainted with how it was made to look like a book, with an elaborate oak tree carved in relief on its wooden cover. But being up close to it for the first time, she was surprised by the line of smaller words above the large gold-leaf letters spelling Fables, disclosing its true title: Book of Fables. Inlaid at the center of the trunk where the branches curved with an abundance of oak leaves and acorns spreading out to the edges, was a round starburst of tarnished bronze, patterned with leafy scrollwork surrounding a large keyhole.
Astonished, Fate stepped close and ran her hands over the dips and curves of the carven wood to the cold metal of the lock. “I always imagined this was a real book lost by a giant. Not the club-carrying kind with a face full of carbuncles, but the ones my grandmother used to call the chroniclers of old magic and history.” She moved to the side, looking at the pages pressed tight between the covers, touching them with eager fingers. They were thick, but definitely made of paper.
Fate turned to him. “It’s a real book!”
He nodded, obviously not surprised.
“What’re you waiting for? Let’s see if the key fits.”
“As you wish,” he said, hefting the key up to the lock. It slid in perfectly. He turned it, activating a series of gears and slide bars, all turning and sliding in clockwork fashion beneath the wrought ornamentation. Within seconds, the tumblers clicked and the cover sprang ajar. A cloud of dust wafted out from between the book’s covers as the stiff pages ruffled loose.
“I can’t believe it!” she said, waving away the dust and pulling at the heavy cover. As she pried it back, the book’s spine creaked like it hadn’t been opened for a very long time.
Fate could barely contain her excitement. She stared in awe at the first fable penned in old-world calligraphy upon yellowed pages spotted with age. She brushed her palm over the broad expanse of rough paper, feeling where the ink had raised the fibers.
The fire was dying down again. She shivered with the anticipation of reading the story, as well as a deepening chill.
“Here, put this on before you catch your death.” He held his coat open. “Sorry about the muck on it. Smells like some kind of herb. Anyway, it’s all around the book, almost like someone spread it about.”
Fate could care less about a little grime as she wriggled into the sleeves. The arms ended well below her hands, but the coat was still warm from the heat of his body. “Thanks.” She hugged it close, soaking up the warmth, the scent of soap and spice lingering within. “You know, I generally make it a rule not to wear strangers’ jackets without knowing their names.”
His lips curled into a smile. “Finn.”
Her mouth fell open. “What? Did you say Finn?”
He nodded. “Aye, I did. And what would your name be? Because you know, I generally make it a rule not to hand my jacket to every stray lass who shivers in my presence.”
“F-Fate,” she said, barely able to speak. His name kept ringing in her head. How was it possible that a complete stranger could look that amazing, have a Scottish accent and that name? The odds were infinitesimal at best.
Finn raised a brow in amusement. “Are you sure? You seem confused––”A noise from within the shadows had him staring into the dark recesses of the bookstore. “Did you hear that? It sounded like a voice,” he said, tensing with his arm held out in front of her in a protective manner.
“It’s probably just a cat I saw earlier.”
“I’ll have to differ with you on that.” He grabbed her hand.
The warmth of his touch caught her unaware, sending a surprising thrill through her. “Uh, y-you don’t want to go that way,” she stammered, thrown off balance. “There’s a rodent graveyard back there and it reeks like Bigfoot.”
When he didn’t say anything, she rattled on to
keep from focusing on her hand in his. “Not that I know what Bigfoot smells like, mind you. But from all the first-hand accounts I’ve read, it’s supposed to be seriously unpleasant.”
He remained intent on pulling her along behind him. Other than her aversion to the stench they were headed towards, she felt safe with him and wasn’t concerned with what might or might not be in the bookstore.
But just as they rounded a bookcase, something gripped hold, stopping them in their tracks. Fate couldn’t move. An unseen yet tangible force pressed in on her, locking her in place. Terror coursed through her veins as prickling sparks flared over her skin, thickening into a caustic fume that stung her unblinking eyes. Afraid to breathe it in, she fought to move her body, but her tightening muscles wouldn’t respond. She knew Finn was beside her. She could feel his hand, but he was also paralyzed. When she couldn’t hold her breath any longer, she inhaled. The taste of copper and heat filled her mouth, electrified air entered her lungs, scorching like an explosion of hot cinders. The fiery vapor spread, permeating her entire being with excruciating pain. Her scream came in the form of a strangled gurgle when it hit her locked vocal chords.
She was shocked by her utter helplessness.
The muscles in her legs convulsed, suddenly moving of their own accord, each limb thrusting stiffly like a toy soldier. She could see Finn doing the same out of the corner of her eye. They were turning around, marching robotically back to the Book of Fables. All the while, a spreading numbness replaced the agonizing pain. The relief was tremendous. But the numbing was becoming more like a horrible deadening, traveling up from her legs, into her belly to her chest. The moment it silenced her pounding heart, Fate realized a new terror.
She was dying.
Chapter 3
FATE WAITED FOR THE MOMENT OF DEATH, but it never came. Her heart continued to beat, despite the awful numbness throughout her whole body.
A splash of light appeared on the floor. It took every ounce of will power to bend her head enough to glance down at the haze of liquid gold pooling around her feet. She stared in disbelief as the light coiled around her legs–hot and electric against her skin–snaking its way up her paralyzed body.
As soon as it reached her head, her vision filled with a blast of white, burning away all thoughts. This left an emptiness, which then filled with a torrent of emotions. Desperation and fear churned together with rigid determination and a primal need to survive. A presence, strong and frightening, invaded her being, bringing with it a craving, burning desire for one thing: a tiny golden rod engraved with symbols held by a wise-looking old man in a white robe.
The light waned and the invasive presence withdrew, leaving Fate to float in a fog of forgetfulness. She could feel herself slipping deeper into the nothingness, but she knew if she didn’t fight it she’d be lost forever.
A stomping sound broke the quiet. “Useless bones,” someone said in a raspy voice.
Fate clung to the voice like someone drowning. Fighting to keep from sinking into unconciousness, she forced herself to look over her shoulder.
“Turn around,” the voice said.
Fate’s body tried to obey as the cloud of forgetfulness pressed in, but she pushed against the command with everything she had. Holding her position, she focused on who was speaking.
Sitting a few feet away, a withered old woman stared angrily back at her. Who was she? Did she have anything to do with putting her and Finn in this paralytic state? If so, how? Finn had said some sort of herb was scattered around the Book of Fables. They must’ve inhaled some of it.
The old woman struggled from her seat and shuffled across the floor, dragging a bent leg behind her. With her head pitched to one side like her neck was broken, she drew within inches of Fate’s face, squinting through eyes clouded with cateracts. A nauseating stench oozed from her. This wasn’t a musty old person smell, she reeked of rotting meat. Fate choked on the foul air between them as bile rose into her locked throat. She wanted to run but her body refused to budge.
Fate recoiled inside herself when the mummified crone touched her cheek. As she scraped her dry, skeletal fingers along Fate’s skin, her shriveled face twisted into a frightening, hateful expression. What could she have possibly done to make this stranger hate her so much?
The woman jerked her hand away. “I am Brune Inkwell,” she croaked.
Fate repeated the name over and over in her head. She was determined to remember it.
“I’m sending you on a very important mission, for which failure is not an option,” Brune continued. “You will die before you give up. Do you understand?”
Fate nodded her head as she listened in horror. Mission? Die? She tried to shake her head no, but her body wouldn’t behave.
“It doesn’t matter how long you take to accomplish this task. Time passes differently in the Book of Fables than it does here. I’ll experience a few minutes from the time you leave to when you return, whereas you might experience months, or even years. So there’s no need to hurry and make unnecessary mistakes.”
Fate’s heart thudded with panic. The paralyzing herb must be hallucinogenic. She had to be tripping out or something. There’s no way some stinky, hideous witch was trying to force her on some crazy mission inside the Book of Fables…it was ridiculous!
Brune’s creepy clouded eyes narrowed on Fate. “Tell me what it is you’re supposed to bring back.”
“The Rod of Aeternitis,” Fate replied, so fast it shocked her. What the–?
“And who has the Rod?”
“O’Deldar,” Fate answered, the name coming out of nowhere. Who the hell is O’Deldar?
Satisfaction formed on Brune’s face, but as she stared at Fate her expression softened to what could almost be sympathy. “What’s your name?” she asked.
Fate gave her name before she could stop herself. Damn, the last thing she wanted to do was give her evil puppet master any personal information.
“You’ll be needing this.” Brune unpinned a Victorian piece of jewelry she was wearing and clasped it onto the waistband of Fate’s skirt. “You’ll know what it’s for when you read the warning at the beginning of the book. Do that immediately after you enter the first fable.”
The command buried itself deep in Fate’s mind, even as she tried to write off everything that was happening as a side effect of the paralyzing herb. But that was hard to do as she watched a fly skitter over Brune’s eyeball. Flies are drawn to dead things. What is she, a freakin’ zombie? Fate dismissed the thought as absolutely insane.
Brune batted at the fly, almost losing her balance. She teetered on her one good leg and frowned at Fate. “Time to read those fables you’re so curious about,” Brune snapped, her anger back as she limped out of the way.
Fate tried to keep her gaze from moving to the open pages of the giant book. She screamed silently against the action, but curiosity weakened her resolve as soon as she laid eyes on the ancient text.
“Don’t know about this one, but hang onto him if he proves useful,” Brune said as she studied Finn.
But Fate had no further thoughts regarding Finn, or anything else for that matter. The veil of forgetfulness had closed back in around her as she spoke the first fable’s title, “The Lonely Sorceress.”
The Lonely Sorceress
IN THE MORNING OF THE WORLD when the very air swelled with magic, an enchanted island floated against the currents of the ocean. Its captain was Elsina, a sorceress whose beauty was as cold and remote as a marble statue. She was capable of charming the winds and seas to her every whim, and there was no place she could not go by water. The island was not only her home, but the source of her power. Therefore, she could not leave her precious isle even once, or she would lose her powers of enchantment forever.
To protect her secret, she lived alone. Because of this, Elsina grew lonely and missed the companionship of others. She turned to the island’s animals, rocks and trees to fulfill this need. Under her magical touch, the animals were formed with
human-like qualities. She also gave them the gift of speech and clothed them like people. She delighted in how outlandish they looked, especially when it suited her to mix a bee with a lizard, or a fish with a bird. She brought boulders to life and shaped them into giant bulls, elephants and lions. The plants and trees were granted the ability to move so they could gather close to her, offering both beauty and protection. She even infused the water of her fountains and pools with song and music.
One day while the sorceress basked in the hot sun, Hatho, her closest and most trusted aide drifted down out of the sky and landed on the terrace. The soldier hawk told her the previous night’s storm had caused a fishing boat to crash on the rocks of the cove. Now a young man lay unconscious on the beach.
Elsina had her winged granite ox fetch the storm’s survivor. For three days and three nights he slept. While the sorceress watched over him, she could not help admiring the gentle curve of his lips and the coppery sheen of his wavy locks. When at last he opened his eyes and smiled at her, Elsina’s closed heart opened like a flower opens to the sun.
Torrin was his name and From one full moon to the next, he shared in the wonders of her island. Elsina grew to believe that he loved her. In truth, Torrin was grateful to her for giving him food, shelter and good company. But his first love was the sea, and as time passed, his gaze turned away from Elsina, back to the ocean. By and by, the time came when Torrin spent his days walking the beach and staring at the swirling tides as a prisoner might gaze past the iron bars of his window.
One evening he did not return to the palace. Fearing for his safety, Elsina sent her owl to search for him. The long wait seemed like days to her before the silent winged creature glided into her bedchamber. Torrin was quite well, the owl told her. He was in the cove, but not alone. A golden haired sea nymph with eyes as stormy as the sea had him wrapped in love’s embrace.
Fate's Fables Special Edition: One Girl's Journey Through 8 Unfortunate Fairy Tales (Fate's Journey Book 1) Page 3
