Shifting Fate

by Melissa Wright

  “How many?” Emily asked, steeling herself for what was about to come, for the numbers we’d be facing.

  Logan looked at her, jaw tight, and it was answer enough.

  Too many.

  The men in front of us turned, a dark mass of cargo pants and business suits. No one had expected this, not yet. They only needed a little more time; they weren’t ready. We weren’t ready.

  I glanced up and the vaulted ceiling seemed too far away, the crossing timbers creating lines and shapes that hurt my head. I had to close my eyes again, squeezing tight until the white washed walls from my vision were gone, until none of it remained. This was now. This was me.

  Emily bumped me with an elbow and I nodded, shoulders straightening as I focused anew. I scanned the room, a large, open area with tables scattered near the outer walls. Narrow windows sat high on the walls to our right, the atrium apparently taller than the rest of the structure, and a massive arched entryway centered the wall opposite us, where Morgan and his men would be coming in. The wood floor stretched toward it, dark birch planks stained with age, giving the room the feel of money, of power.

  The Council’s men and Division soldiers began to file in behind us. They knew what they were risking, what Morgan was capable of, and they knew the alternative, knew how it would end. The room was silent, each of them standing in wait as time crept away. He would be joined with the others now, all of them converging at once. It wouldn’t be long. Minutes. Seconds.

  There was a shifting in the crowd, a subtle brush of cloth. The sudden intake of breath. I glanced at Logan, searching for an answer, and could see that he was listening, that some news was coming through the device. His fist tightened, the corner of his eye flinched. A few of the others, random faces in the crowd and men that I recognized from the earlier meeting, looked suddenly sick, or in pain.

  “What’s happening?” Emily whispered.

  “Westlake,” Kara said, her tone even and filled with fire.

  Logan’s jaw flexed. A moment later he winced, reaching up to pull the device free of his ear and crush it in his fist. His gaze met Aern’s. It was over. That fast.

  Brendan.

  “Archer, front gate,” one of the Council guards shouted, and the crowd was suddenly back, fully alert and aware of this. Of what was had to be dealt with now.

  I wondered at the use of Morgan’s last name, when he had become a faceless enemy. These men had been raised with him, led to be loyal, faithful to Morgan. But Morgan wasn’t that boy anymore. He was something else.

  “Three minutes,” another voice called. The seconds ticked by.

  Would he turn the others, collect more men as they went? Or would he save his strength, somehow knowing this was going to be the battle that counted.

  I pulled my hand from Emily’s, whispered, “Stop sweating.”

  She smirked as I wiped it on my jeans. “It’s you.”

  I tightened my grip on her, tried again. Aern stood slightly in front of her, ahead of us all, his eyes only on the door. He owed Morgan, and I could feel how ready he was to have this done, to make things right.

  And then it was there, the steady click, click, click of the waiting guards, their weapons dropping to the ready.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Morgan

  The sound hit first; the echo of steps, too many treads on the ancient wood floor, the muffled shouts of their men ordering Council guards down, the swish of fabric as the scouts rushed the hall. Our hall. It rose up, marching high into the vaulted ceiling as an orderly mass filled the room. There was a throng of them, too many, and more waiting outside.

  It was an army.

  We scanned the crowd, waiting, but I could see no one I recognized, not the dark-haired man my visions had been warning me of. Not GQ. He’d led the other attack, then. The one on Westlake. My eyes fell to the front line; uniformed men, dark weapons in hand, waiting. They could have taken us right there, opened fire to begin a bloodbath on both sides, no one left standing. But they wouldn’t. They couldn’t fire without the order, and Morgan didn’t operate that way.

  He liked the theatrics of it.

  Emily’s fingers tightened in mine as the sea of men began to shift, parting near the center where three feet of space was visible on either side of Morgan’s approach. He didn’t want to be touched.

  My gaze slid to Eric, his fingers trembling over his gun, and I knew it took everything he had not to defy orders. One shot, and Morgan would be gone. But it would have to be the perfect shot, because he could heal, and because of the sway. And Eric would never take it. Because the prophet had instructed him not to. Because the visions had said we needed him.

  He took a deep breath, glanced at me. I nodded, assuring him the decision was right, and he looked back to the entrance.

  “That’s close enough,” Aern warned.

  Morgan smiled, certain of his victory, and said, “Brother.” His gaze raked the group, grin turning feral when he saw me with Emily, hands clasped. His smile was a promise of what was to come. He was going to take us alive. Our eyes connected, the pledge meant especially for me. This was a game for him, and he didn’t like losing, didn’t like that I’d escaped. A chill ran over my spine and I searched frantically for the link in my sister through the contact of our hands. I was too fuzzy, muddled from my earlier work. I’d needed rest.

  He held out a hand casually, pointed finger running down our line, and stopped on one of the Division soldiers. It was one of his, one that had defected to join with Brendan the year before. Morgan closed one eye, not quite a wink, and the man raised his gun, shot himself beneath the chin.

  The sound echoed through the silent room, a shock of noise and the crashing realization of what was happening. I could feel it through the crowd; the tension, the strain. It was all they could do to stay still, to not fight. Two soldiers knelt beside his crumpled body, though there was nothing to be done. Morgan had made certain it was a kill shot, something he’d probably learned from his incident with Aern. Learned because he’d failed, because I was still alive.

  “Just wanted to make sure we understood I was serious,” Morgan said coolly. He clapped his hands together. “Now, about this trade.” His eyes met Aern’s, waiting for some rebuttal, waiting to play this game. Aern only stared at him, unflinching. They were a contrast, Aern in boots and jeans, Morgan suit and tie. Everything about them was different, as if manufactured so, and Morgan was darker, from the black of his hair to the heel of his custom leather shoes.

  Morgan shook his head, slid a hand slowly into the pocket of his slacks. “Let me make this clear,” he said. “You,” he pointed at Aern, “are going to die.” My hand fell free of Emily’s; it was happening too fast, I had to do something to stop it, change it. Morgan’s gaze crossed our group, coming to rest on my sister and me. “And the two of you are coming with me.”

  Aern realized it, too. He knew that Morgan was too angry, his game proceeding too fast. He spoke, trying to delay him, mocking his tone. “Trade? Truly, brother, you can do better than that.”

  Morgan’s smile returned, but it wasn’t the same pleasure it normally held when the room’s fate rested in his hands. It was more a baring of teeth, a predator’s warning. “It’s nice to see you still have faith in me, brother.” This time the word was not a title. It was an insult, a threat.

  Flashes were hitting me, throwing my attention to chaos. It was coming. Morgan was about to cut down our men, litter the floor with bodies, with blood. I squeezed my eyes shut tight, drawing in. I’d done too much, fixed too many connections outside myself without rest to keep working. I had to do something different, something to slow him down.

  I had to keep this path from playing out.

  I fused another strand, joined another network inside myself, and something clicked in place. My hand pressed to my chest as I pulled in a deep breath.

  “Brianna,” Morgan whispered, his quiet words cutting through the crowded room. My eyes opened, head tilting to look
at him from beneath my brow. “None of that,” he murmured, warning me with a glance at Emily. I took her hand.

  There was movement behind me, a small shift, and I realized Wesley had taken his place there. To guard us. But if Morgan saw him, he wouldn’t attempt sway. He’d simply order the boy shot. Morgan had been trained to lead an army, and he learned from his mistakes. He didn’t make the same one twice.

  Aern’s shoulders rose in a calm breath and he took a step forward. He couldn’t let Morgan touch him, not again, but he was determined to give us the time we needed. Emily tensed, and I held fast to her hand, forcing her to remember what we were doing, to stay with me. It was her reaction again, that tug she’d felt when Aern was in danger that did it, that showed me the thread.

  Morgan laughed, apparently amused at Aern’s stand against him, but their words were lost to me, because I had found the line we needed. There was more talk, a shuffling behind us, and Emily’s fingers twisted. Something was happening, she was trying to pull free, but I squeezed hard, crushing her hand in mine. “One minute,” I breathed, “one minute.”

  There was a shattering of glass, another body falling, and time froze as I drew the ends together. I opened my eyes to find her. She glanced at me, unsure, and then the missing link was there, tied securely in that network of fibers, telling her what she could do. Suddenly, she was alive, eyes lit with shock, and something else, something foreign.

  “No,” she roared, turning toward the others, and I came back to the scene, realized that Morgan had been ordering his men to fire, dropping Council and Division guards for sport as Aern watched, helpless. He was moving for Morgan, going in for attack, and Emily’s words were the only thing that brought him pause, caused both him and Morgan both to hesitate.

  She stepped forward, suddenly too brave, and I caught her arm. Her eyes didn’t meet mine, but I could feel the tremor running through her. She needed to touch him, to lay hands on Morgan, and that was going to be impossible from where we were standing. Images flashed through my mind again, too many scenarios, all of them wrong. She needed a distraction, some way to reach him without coming to harm.

  He knew what she could do. He would kill her.

  My gaze flicked to Logan and he understood, saw what we had to have. When he moved my stomach twisted, a thrill of terror flooding through me. This was a mistake, it wouldn’t work. Logan threw his pistol down, striding toward the waiting group with a purpose that left none of them in doubt. For half an instant, I thought Morgan would simply order him shot, and I hoped it hit somewhere safe, somewhere he could recover. Instead, a bitter laugh rose through the room and Morgan said, “Ah, the traitor wants in the game.” His gaze met Aern’s, a depth of resentment and hatred I couldn’t fathom, and I suddenly remembered Logan’s place. He’d been meant to be Morgan’s protector, but he was Aern’s lifelong friend, most trusted ally. “Let’s make this slow,” he said, and it was another promise, this time for Aern.

  The crowd behind me swelled forward, unable to stay, to leave the gap that would keep them safe, and Morgan gestured toward three of his men. “Teach the treacherous dog a lesson.”

  Emily moved and I moved with her, but Morgan’s gaze flicked to us, a dare. He had Logan and Aern, and he had guns on every single man in this room. I had given them an advantage, they could heal faster than most, but Morgan still had the upper hand, and losing this battle would not be the end of the game.

  The three soldiers rushed Logan and he swung first, a powerful uppercut that knocked the closest man back a few steps. The second punched him in the ribs as the third dodged a cross, and Logan ducked, taking the smallest man in the side to throw him toward the crowd. They stumbled back, and he was suddenly one step closer to Morgan.

  He was good.

  I felt Emily beside me, holding her breath, both of us willing it to work, for Morgan to shift free of the group, to move out where she could find him. But he wasn’t a fool. He held the power, could sway anyone one he touched. Anyone but us.

  And Emily was the danger.

  Morgan tapped a finger to his lips, speculating. “No,” he mused, “I don’t think I like this.” He glanced at his watch, back at the men. “I’ve really got things to do.” Logan took one more swing, knocking the last man down, and was another step closer to the crowd. His nose ran blood, but it wasn’t deep and the wound had already begun to heal. His chest rose and fell with a composure I didn’t feel, but his gaze met Morgan’s with the next words.

  “You know what might be fun,” Morgan said, the tapping finger suddenly gesturing between Aern and Logan. He smiled, eyes connecting with Aern’s. “A much more pleasurable way to watch you die.

  “Bring him,” Morgan said, ordering his men to gather Logan. He was going to use his sway, turn Logan. The men started grasping at him, unable to get a solid grip as he fought, and the man nearest Morgan lowered his pistol, shooting Logan in the thigh.

  There was the sudden flash of a vision, the soldiers behind me rushing forward, an eruption of gunfire and death, and I screamed, “Enough.”

  Logan’s struggling ceased, all eyes on me, the prophet.

  “Now, Brianna,” Morgan said, “you’re taking the enjoyment right out of this.”

  I moved a step forward and he held up a finger, warning me.

  “Stop,” I pleaded.

  He sighed. “Fine. The game is over.” His head jerked, indicating Emily, and said, “Bag the girl, kill the others.” A soldier stepped from behind him, a black head sock and restraints at the ready, and Aern jerked, twisting to go for him without thought. Another round fired and caught him close range, throwing his leg out from under him. He caught himself, half-up, and I launched my own body in front of Emily, her attempt nearly knocking me forward. If she went for Morgan too soon, she would die. We would all die. Without Emily, there was no one to stop the prophecy, no way to end the fire.

  “No,” I said, “Morgan, if you—”

  He held up a hand, voice calm, deadly. “No more threats, Brianna. I know the truth. There is only one way this ends.”

  My eyes stayed on his, all of us hanging in the balance, and he only had two words. An order before he turned to walk away, wholly unconcerned with the carnage that would follow.

  “Do it.”

  A rush of men attacked, bodies and bullets suddenly filling the narrow space between the crowds, and I was hit, knocked out of the way by two men colliding. Emily’s form was struck mid-waist as one of Morgan’s men tried to lift her bodily. They were too fast, it was too unnatural, and I looked up to see Aern and Logan moving for Morgan.

  They were the three most powerful men in the room, but when Morgan’s fighters converged, they took Aern and Logan with a strength that seemed wrong, relentless and unwavering. Logan’s elbow jerked as he twisted one man’s head, threw two more punches. He’d lost the use of his leg, but it was already healing, the repair surely sapping his strength. Aern had made it farther, closer to his brother, and Morgan stopped, turning to watch what surely would be the last attempt Aern ever made.

  Wesley and the others fought beside us, tearing Emily free from Morgan’s men as she landed a blow or two of her own. She didn’t have her knives, unprepared as we were, but she wouldn’t need them for this. She would only need her hands.

  My arms lifted, almost of their own accord, and I was aware, in the back of my mind, that there were too many of us here, that everyone would know.

  There would be no more secrets. But it didn’t matter now, it didn’t feel unsafe. It felt like the only option.

  My only choice.

  The air moved around me, slowly at first, and it gave the impression that time stood still. It grew, my gaze finding Logan, still fighting as several men tore him down, and Aern, both of them so close to our target, so close to Morgan. The debris of fighting, bullet casings and broken glass, scraps of nothing and everything, floated around me and the torrent rose, widening to brush against everything in its path.

  Emily was the fi
rst to see, her form still, motionless in the stream that surrounded me, and then the others, Brendan’s soldiers, Morgan’s, every single man that stood before us. It was like a wave of consciousness, spreading through the crowd, and the men on the opposite side did not only freeze. They stepped back.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Fire

  It happened quickly, in the scheme of things, but time seemed to crawl as I stepped forward among the current of power enfolding me. I’d not made all my connections, not completed the network, but I’d made enough, the ones that counted. It had caused a hesitation, given us the seconds we needed. I could feel the tide turn, crashing against itself before shifting back in our direction. It was now. We were going to win.

  Morgan was the first to come to his senses, the moment of stunned silence all he needed to realize what it meant. He’d known I was a shade, a shadow, but he hadn’t seen me use the power, hadn’t thought I could do more than free him. My gaze caught Emily’s, standing solidly beside me, and in the storm, my voice sounded deadly. Lethal. “Break him.”

  The room erupted into chaos as Logan ordered, “Move!” the same instant Morgan opened his mouth to call out the command, “Shoot her!” I thrust the air circling me toward Morgan, his order meeting with a gale of power that threw him backwards, knocked him off his feet, and seventy men converged upon the group, bullets and fighting filling the spaces on either side. Wesley was the first to go, his body in front of me before Logan’s words were even out, and his shoulder swung back as he took a bullet intended for either me or Emily.

  But she was gone. She was running, her feet moving swiftly through the few feet of space that was left from Morgan’s position, dodging resolutely past the soldiers to her target. She wasn’t just a girl. She was a warrior; she had been trained for this.