“What do you want?” Rowley asked, as blunt and rude as he'd ever been.
“To make a deal with you. Can I come in?” Devon tugged on the front of her brocade coat and slid her hands into the pockets.
“What kind of deal?”
“I won't tell you until you let me in.”
He exhaled. Loudly. “Look, chick. I--”
“Devon.”
“Devon. Whatever. I don't want whatever it is you're selling. Got it? I'm in enough trouble as it is.”
“No, this will help you get out of trouble. Or at least be able to work again. The kind of work you like.” Devon smiled.
“There's only one kinda work I like.”
“Exactly.”
He eyed her skeptically. “What's in it for you?”
“Let me worry about that. It's an easy project--”
“If Driscoll attaches my name to a huge event? He's gonna wipe me off the face of the earth.”
“He won't have any idea. I promise,” Devon said. Driscoll, the Lord of Chaos, had made it clear that Rowley was not to engage in Chaos work any longer.
There was risk attached for both she and Rowley.
“What's in it for me? Work that I like isn't a big enough incentive.” Rowley still didn't invite her in.
“Let me in, and I'll tell you.” Devon wanted this more than she'd wanted anything in a long time. Her plans were in jeopardy of going awry thanks to Emerson—this was her chance to fix it.
Rowley scowled. He hesitated. Finally, he popped open the steel door.
Devon stepped inside. The space Rowley called his own was nothing more than a glorified basement. Concrete floors, brick walls, furniture that badly needed updating. A collection of old vinyl records, 8-track tapes, CDs and a big stereo with speakers as tall as she was lined the right side of the room. One wall was dedicated to work out equipment and two beanbag chairs sat adjacent to a flatscreen television. The bedroom and bathroom doors had hard rock stickers all over the outside and a lava lamp swirled on a mismatched end table.
There was a chaotic feel to the living space that was typical of Weavers. Their nature did not fall into alignment with orderliness.
Devon chose to pace instead of sit.
“So?” Rowley said, leaning a shoulder against the wall near the door. He didn't look comfortable, didn't seem happy she was here.
“I need you to influence Chaos in a town called Newcastle. It's in Oklahoma. A girl needs to die before the thirty-first, and it's really important, but I can't target her. I have to target the people closest to her.” Devon began explaining her plans.
“Why don't you just get someone else? There are a hundred Weavers to choose from and none of them will get you in hot water with Driscoll if he finds out.”
“I did try someone else. Emerson. He decided to save the girl and her friend, which threw my plans into turmoil.” Devon took her hands from the pockets of her coat and pressed the fingertips together, almost like a steeple.
“You know, I understand a little about how you guys work. You Fates. Targeting a specific person isn't the way this is supposed to go. You write in their death, sure, but you don't go after someone like it's a personal vendetta.” Rowley narrowed his eyes while he studied her.
Devon took a deep breath. This was the part that she hoped would hook him.
“The girl I'm targeting isn't just any girl. She's the next Fate of Destiny. Her birthday is in two days, on Halloween.”
Rowley's eyes widened. He straightened out of his lean. “...what?”
“Yeah. The next Fate of Destiny.”
“You can't do that. Can you?” Rowley frowned and paced near the door.
“I'm going to try.”
“What's—I mean, why? Why would you want to do that?”
“Think about it, Rowley. If I take her out, that means I have a shot of putting another Fate of Chaos in. That will throw the balance of power deliciously out of whack. Imagine what the world would be like with two Fates of Chaos writing Destinies instead of the other way around.” Devon had thought long and hard about it for months. The Chaos that lived inside her thrilled at the idea of taking control.
Rowley shoved a hand through his hair. He shook his head. “I don't know, I don't know. I mean, yeah, yeah, we could get away with a lot more if that was the case. There will be more war, more disruption, more disharmony. But what if Merwen and Faelynn find out?”
Merwen and Faelynn, the current Fates of Destiny, would go to war to prevent one of their upcoming Fates being replaced by a Fate of Chaos. If they knew about it.
Devon was willing to take the chance.
“They won't know until it's too late. See? This is why you need to keep this to yourself. I couldn't trust Emerson in the end but he also doesn't know what you know. He has no idea why I want to take Farris out. It's a perfect plan as long as she dies before her birthday.”
“If she doesn't?” Rowley asked, frowning. He paced, hands on his hips.
“It's much more difficult, if not impossible, to kill a Fate once they've died on their birthday and become a Fate in truth. Like me.” Devon's birthday—and her death—had come and gone in March. She was now a full fledged Fate.
“Hnn.” Rowley grumbled while he paced. He stared at the floor, obviously thinking it over.
“I don't understand why you're hesitant. I thought you, of all people, would love the idea. You're one of the most Chaotic in all the brotherhood.” Devon cocked her platform boot back on its heel.
“Of course you don't understand. You don't know Driscoll. If you did, if you knew that we are expected to face the consequences of our actions, you would be a lot more cautious about this.” He jabbed a finger her direction for emphasis.
“If it works? You won't need Driscoll. Me and the new Fate of Chaos will keep you so busy, and so happy, he won't matter.”
“The Lord of Chaos always matters! I mean, don't get me wrong. He thrives off Chaos—but there is still that underlying harmony. There has to be an equal balance, a level playing field--”
“You've got to be kidding me, Rowley! How is having two Fates of Destiny equal? There's nothing balanced about it!” Devon threw her hands up in exasperation and slapped them down on her thighs.
Rowley scowled. He flipped a long piece of hair away from his face. “What I'm trying to tell you, Devon, is that this needs consideration.”
“I don't have time for you to lolly-gag around. I need this done now. We only have two days.” Devon watched Rowley closely. She would do whatever it took to make this happen.
“Remember, Rowley, Driscoll can't hurt me. He can be as displeased as he wants, but he can't do anything to me or the new Fate of Chaos. I'll always be here to dish out work for you, to keep you busy making more and more Chaos. No more sitting around this apartment, no more fighting off the urge to wreak havoc--”
“Jeez, you're relentless, Devon. All right. All right. I'll do it.” Rowley flipped his palms up in a sign of surrender.
Devon flashed him a bad-girl grin. “Excellent. You won't regret it.”
“I better not. Because if I do, you will. Now tell me again where I need to go.”
Devon did better than tell him. She wrote out explicit instructions on a scrap of paper.
Ten minutes later she was back at Chaos manor, ready to reap her just rewards.
Chapter Nine
“I promise O'ma, Bee and I aren't going out on my birthday,” Farris reassured her grandmother for the tenth time.
Ada Landry, ensconced in her wheelchair with a blanket over her lap, patted Farris' cheek fondly. “Very good, dear. Just remember the danger.”
“I know. Bee and I will be safe. We'll stop by and see you, how's that--”
“Not on your birthday! Not that day. The next day.” Ada grasped Farris' hand and squeezed.
“The next day then. We'll stop by November first.” Farris, distraught over the visit with her grandmother, gave the old woman's hand a squeeze and bent to k
iss her cheek.
After a final round of goodbyes, Farris left the home with Beelah.
“She's not going to let it go, is she?” Bee asked. Frowning, she pushed her glasses up on her nose and clutched her organizer closer to her body.
“Doesn't look like it. Hey, Bee—you don't have to come over if you don't want to on my birthday.” Farris paused at the back of the Chevy. Keys in hand, she faced her best friend. “It's Halloween. I'm sure someone will host the party this year and you can't miss it because of this.”
Beelah scoffed. “Don't be silly, Farris. It's just dress up. Just a party. Besides, if I go without you, no one will talk to me anyway. I'll just stand in a corner eating caramel popcorn balls and be miserable.”
“Don't underestimate yourself, Beelah Bosley. Look at you, in jeans and a sweater with your hair all pretty.” She reached out to pluck at a loose, auburn curl.
Beelah laughed and lifted a shoulder. She had always been self conscious about her looks. “Doesn't matter. I'll be with you on your birthday.”
Farris smiled and headed for the driver's door. Once she and Bee were in and they were on the road, she glanced across the truck.
“So, I've been thinking. Maybe I'm gonna go see my Mom tomorrow.”
Beelah gasped. She laid her hands flat over the Hello Kitty organizer sitting on her lap. “What? Farris, you haven't seen her in--”
“I know. A year. Last time, she didn't even recognize me.” After the day she'd already had, Farris was unsure that visiting her mother was a wise idea. But Ada's words kept echoing in the back of her mind.
The warnings.
The insistence that something bad would happen if she didn't stay home.
Farris and Bee had made a pact before going into the nursing home that they wouldn't tell Ada about the fire at the loft.
She'd been home, and something bad had almost happened.
“Your grandma, she's just...upset, you know Farris? She's getting old and she's probably starting to imagine things,” Beelah reasoned.
“Maybe. But it bothers me. Plus...I don't know. I feel bad for not visiting her more often.”
“No one can blame you, Farris. Not...with how things are.”
“But she's still my Mom.”
“Yeah. And look how long it takes you to recover when you do go see her.”
Bee had a point. Last year, after the visit, Farris had grown increasingly melancholy and depressed. It took more than six weeks for her to shake herself out of it. There was nothing she could do about the fact her Mother was crazy. About the fact that Charlotte Landry would never be a part of her life in the way other people's mothers were.
“I don't know. I guess we'll see tomorrow,” Farris said.
Pulling into the driveway of the diner, Farris parked at the rear of the lot. She grabbed the duffel bag from the back seat and walked with Beelah toward the back door.
Betty's Diner was a traditional style diner. It had black-topped stools parked along an eleven foot bar and booths lining the walls. Tall windows spanned the entire front of the building. Late afternoon sunshine poured in through the slats of venetian blinds and the linoleum floor, black and white checkerboard, was polished to a high shine.
Stepping into the kitchen, Farris diverted toward the employee bathroom with Beelah right on her heels. Within minutes, both girls had changed into their uniform. White with red lapels and a zipper all the way up the front, they were also traditional. Farris added her red waist apron and pulled her hair back into a free swinging ponytail. Removing the cream scarf, she replaced it with a red one.
She wanted to work like she wanted another hole in her head.
Distracted with thoughts of her mother, Ada's warnings, and her old house being auctioned, she clocked in and began her shift. The diner, almost always busy for lunch and dinner, didn't disappoint today. Many citizens of the town had been displaced by the tornado, causing the dinner rush to be busier than usual.
After knowing each other all their life, and working together at the diner for half a year, she and Beelah had their job down to a fine science. When one girl got caught at a table with a customer asking a lot of questions, the other ran food or took orders. Their timing was seamless.
The bells on the door alerted Farris to another customer just as the sun sank below the horizon. She glanced over to see a young man enter, hands folded in front of his mouth while he blew heat over the skin. A black derby hat sat low on his head, making it difficult to see all his features. A square jaw defined his face and a ponytail caught his hair at the nape. Not pale blonde, but golden.
“Welcome to Betty's Diner. Just have a seat and I'll be right over with a menu,” Farris said.
“Thanks. Take your time.” His eyes were hidden but his smile was easily seen. He cut away to a booth at the far end and sank into the seat, facing the window instead of the door.
Farris dropped off two dinner specials and two cups of coffee before snagging a menu from the holder and walking it over to the newcomer's table. She set it down.
“There you go. Do you want anything to drink before you order?”
“Yeah, uh. Just water for now.” He slid the menu in front of him and opened it.
“Sure thing.” Farris went behind the counter, filled a glass with ice and water from a filter, before delivering it. “I'll be back in five.”
He nodded. The water remained untouched.
The bells on the door chimed again.
Farris glanced over.
Larissa Miller and two of her cronies, Renee Prentice and Cait Jackson, stepped in. Already they wore smirks and knowing looks.
Grinding her teeth, Farris greeted them. “Welcome to Betty's Diner. Sit any place you like.”
“Oh look, it's Farris Landry and Beelah Bosley,” Larissa crooned, as if she didn't know both girls worked there.
Farris turned around, rolled her eyes, and had a quick talk with herself to hold back any snarky comments. Grabbing three menus, she pivoted to face the girls again. “Yeah, hi. You want something to drink before you order?”
She held the menu in her hands since the three girls, all former cheerleaders, looked the diner over with critical, disapproving eyes.
“Well, it isn't the Rocket,” Larissa said. “But I guess it'll do in an emergency. We'll have Sprite, tea and Coke for me.” She pointed out which drink went to what girl, before all three saddled up on three vacant stools at the counter.
Fantastic. Now they could see every move she made back here. Farris slapped down the menus before each. “Coming right up.”
Beelah mimed sticking her finger in her mouth and made a gagging sound on the way by, hiding the action behind Farris.
“Amen,” Farris agreed with a mutter. She filled three glasses with the chosen drink and set them down on coasters in front of the girls. None had so much as touched their menu.
They weren't here to eat, they were here to antagonize.
“Let me know when you're ready to order,” Farris said to the girls, before she exited from behind the counter and walked down to the man at the far booth.
“Ready?” she asked, taking her order pad and a pen from her waist apron.
Slouched in the seat, the young man hadn't taken his coat off or removed his hat. He shut the menu and handed it over. “I'll just have a BLT and fries.”
“Coming right up.” She wrote it down, smiled, and took the menu.
“Thanks.” He picked up his water and took a sip.
Farris turned in his order, put the menu away and braced herself for more interaction with Larissa and her crew.
“Know what you want yet?” she asked, taking out her pad and pen again.
Larissa, who had finally opened her menu, perused it in the way people did when they were going to be difficult about their food.
Farris knew all the signs.
“How about...hm. The Dinner Special, with a salad instead of the fries—no wait. Make that the Number Five with fruit and a salad on the
side—mm, hold on...”
Farris started writing each time Larissa spoke, then drew a line through each order when she changed it.
Renee and Cait snickered. Neither had bothered to pick up a menu.
Farris waited Larissa out.
“You know, that was really cool of that guy—what's his name again? The one who bought your hope chest,” Larissa said.
“Emerson. Are you ready to order?” Farris' temper flared. She held it in check while Larissa continued.
“Emerson. Oh, nice name, too. Who is he, anyway? We saw him the other night at the Rocket. Didn't he like—help you and Beelah or something?” Larissa upturned her palm, elbow planted on the counter.
“I don't know who he is. Yes, he helped us escape the tornado. Are you ordering?”
“Just a minute. Don't get hasty,” Larissa chided.
Renee and Cait shared knowing grins and stared at Farris again.
“Look, Larissa, I'm busy--”
Larissa cocked a blonde brow. “Excuse me? Am I not a customer?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then treat me like one or I'll complain to the management.”
Gritting her teeth, Farris stood there with the pad and pen in hand, and waited. Bless Beelah's heart, she covered the other tables for the moment.
“What would you like?” Farris asked in the nicest tone of voice she could muster.
“I'm not done talking about Emerson yet.” Larissa flashed a broad smile and removed her gloves.
“I don't have a lot to say about him, I barely know him.”
“Well, tell me what you do know. He's pretty cute, huh?” Larissa glanced at Renee and Cait as if for confirmation. Both girls nodded on cue.
“I guess,” Farris said, forcing her tone to go bland.
The bells chimed on the door.
Speak of the devil, Emerson and Theron stepped in from outside.
. . .
Her day just couldn't get any worse. Farris excused herself from the girls while they were distracted looking over their shoulder.
“Welcome to Betty's Diner. Pick a seat and I'll be right with you,” Farris said to Emerson and Theron. She smiled, a faint curve of her lips, to hopefully distract the men away from the wild blush that colored her cheeks.
The Fate of Destiny (Fates #1) Page 9
