It irked Emerson. In this instance, he wanted to fight back against Fate.
“Maybe. I don't like it though. I want to change it. Can I convince Merwen to step in?” Emerson, agitated, met Driscoll's eyes.
Driscoll hummed in consideration. “Interventions happen all the time, usually for more serious reasons than...what is going on with you. I do not think Merwen will intervene. Why should she? Unless you can figure out what exactly Devon wants Farris dead for, if you can prove it's something bigger than a regular turn of Destiny, I doubt there can be an intervention. Is there anything else you can think of that seems odd about the circumstances?”
Emerson tipped his head back to stare up into the cone shaped ceiling. “I don't know. Uh...Farris' grandmother warned her that something 'bad' would happen on her birthday. The girls have been pretty freaked about that.”
“When is Farris' birthday?”
“Tomorrow.”
“What else?”
Emerson scratched a spot on the back of his head that didn't itch and started pacing again. “She's got these stacks and stacks and stacks of papers in her loft. When the fire--”
“Wait.”
Driscoll's sharp tone stopped Emerson in his tracks. He glanced at the Lord of Chaos and frowned. “What?”
“Stacks of papers? Typical for a college student?”
“No, oh no way. Her entire loft was stuffed with them. Almost floor to ceiling. She's very...protective of them, too. I tried to read one--”
“Did you get a glimpse of what the paper said?”
“I'm not sure I remem--”
“Think, Emerson.” Driscoll's posture became tense.
The change in Driscoll's demeanor and the vague urgency Emerson detected put him on edge. “I just got a glimpse. It read like a story. You know, when people write books. There seemed to be like ten pages or so in the one I picked up.”
“Stacks and stacks?”
“Yeah. What? Why? What do you think it is?”
“Do you know anything about the Turning, Emerson?”
He frowned. “The Turning?”
“It is a rare, rare occurrence that only happens a few times in thousands of years. Audrinne, Faelynn and Merwen are at the end of their cycles as Fates. We have known their replacements were coming for a hundred years or so. No one really has any details because it protects the girls who will become the next Fate. When the chosen girls Turn, it happens on their eighteenth birthday. All three changes, both the Fates of Destiny and the Fate of Chaos, happen in the same year.”
“Okay, so the girls Turn—what does that entail?” Emerson frowned, trying to follow where Driscoll was going with it all.
“To become the next Fate of Destiny or Chaos, the girls must die.”
“What?”
“The girls. They die a natural death and then Turn. It is a rite of passage. They become immortal afterward and carry on the duties of the former Fate. It is a requirement, a necessity.”
“So what are you saying? That Farris is somehow connected to the next Fate of Destiny and Devon is getting payback?”
“No. I'm saying it looks like Farris is one of the chosen to become a Fate of Destiny. I'm saying that tomorrow, if this is true, she will experience a natural human death.”
Chapter Seventeen
Devon had not been able to locate Rowley on her visit to Newcastle. The trip had not been a total waste, however. She smirked remembering the friction she'd caused between Farris and Emerson. That had worked out even better than trying to get Larissa Miller to fall in love with him.
Back in the underground tunnels below Chaos Manor, Devon paced through the main room. Several candles flickered, throwing light across the floor and the ceiling. She tapped her lower lip with a finger in thought.
Rowley had two hours to complete his task before she became involved on a larger scale. Drawing in creatures from the darker realms of the universe still scared her, though she wouldn't admit that to anyone else. She was a new Fate herself, learning the ropes as she went. If she lost control of a slew of nefarious beings—it could go bad for her later.
Or could it?
She quirked her lips. The only way she could get into serious trouble was if she jeopardized too many other Destines in progress. On a scale like war—that had not already been arranged—it tended to throw the world into more Chaos than it could handle. Oh, she wanted Chaos to reign. There was no doubt about that. But she had to keep control. That was the critical part.
If only she had Audrinne's experience.
Audrinne. That was the other possible juggernaut. Devon suspected Audrinne would try to stop all Devon's current plans. Her mentor had spent hours upon hours schooling Devon on the importance of keeping balance. Audrinne thrived on Chaos—Devon saw it in her eyes—but Audrinne toed the line and obeyed all the rules.
Devon loathed rules. They were made, as the old saying went, to be broken.
She wondered if there was a way to block Audrinne—and Merwen and Faelynn as well—from taking action if and when they found out what she'd done.
Switching directions, she marched toward the bookcase against the far wall. From the rows of arcane tomes, she pulled one out with a leathery, faded violet cover.
Devon understood that the Fates, all three of them, had far more power than they used. Not that deciding everyone's Destiny wasn't power in itself—it was. But there was more. A lot more.
Things that no Fate had done in centuries. She knew because Audrinne had hinted at it in her sermons—lessons—after Devon took over her role as Fate of Chaos.
Taking the book to her desk, she brushed aside the other Destinies she'd been working on. Cracking open the tome, she straddled her chair backwards as was her wont and started poring over the intricate rituals.
In the back of her mind, an invisible clock ticked toward noon.
She wished there was another way to get at Farris if the Weaver of Chaos failed besides utilizing the nether creatures.
And then suddenly it struck her. Out of nowhere, an obvious, very simple answer presented itself. Before she could really get started on plans to block Audrinne, she reached out for a shorter stack of papers and yanked out one Destiny in particular. She always knew exactly what she needed and where to find it. On the top of the page it read: Beelah Bosley.
Oh, this was perfect. Why hadn't she thought of it before? She had been throwing Beelah under the bus, so to speak, to try and get at Farris that way.
Why not use Beelah herself as a tool of destruction?
Devon cackled.
She knew already that Beelah Bosley was not the type to turn on people, especially her best friend. Bee had one of those sickening sweet personalities, almost too kind for her own good. She was also somewhat shy and awkward.
Writing an act of mayhem too far out of the realm of Beelah's possibilities presented the problem of paradox. There usually needed to be something that led the person in question toward the act that would likely change their life forever. Envy, jealousy, greed, a lust for power.
Devon didn't have time to toss in a jilted lover or an abusive parent. Bee's parents were run-of-the-mill and boring, in Devon's mind, and to suddenly switch their personalities would create yet another paradox.
It needed to be something more subtle, yet effective.
Devon wanted Beelah to believe in the act so that she would be less inclined to fight the urge.
The last time she'd seen the girls had been in town after the bomb drop about Emerson setting the loft on fire. Farris had looked angry and Beelah had seemed scared. On the Destiny in front of her, Devon noticed that Bee and Farris had visited the institute where Farris' mother resided and would both wind up in the Chevy together.
Devon's pen hit the paper and she started writing. Beelah and her 'best friend' would get into an argument over reckless driving. If Devon could find Rowley and have him create a little extra Chaos with Farris' truck, then Beelah becoming irate and irrational could be blame
d on fear.
Beelah Bosley would become so fearful, in fact, that she would feel compelled to reach across the truck and snatch the wheel, sending the Chevy into a wild tailspin. Once the tires hit the side of the road, all control would be lost. The truck would flip three times and come to rest in a shallow ditch. Bee, judicious seat belt user that she was, wouldn't be killed in the incident.
With any luck, Farris, whose Destiny Devon had no control over directly, would perish thanks to a little Chaos and Beelah's panic.
Devon thought it was a brilliant plan. It cut down the likelihood of paradox and accomplished what Devon needed it to. All those nasty nether creatures could stay put for now—another bonus.
Finishing the Destiny, she slapped the other book closed for the moment.
She could get back to thwarting Audrinne when she returned.
Using a mirror inset on the floor, she sank through the surface, melting through time and space on her way back to Newcastle.
. . .
Emerson stared at Driscoll. Outside the high room of the castle, the wind howled past the windows. It lent an eerie atmosphere to the moment that did not escape Emerson while he pieced the puzzle Driscoll laid out for him together. Understanding that Farris had to die to become immortal was not pleasant; on the other hand, knowing she would live far beyond normal years, as he would, pleased him immensely.
There was still something that didn't connect, however.
“All right, all right. So Farris is one of the next Fates of Destiny. I can see that. But what does this have to do with Devon trying to injure or kill her? Is she hurrying up the event--”
“No. The only reason Devon would want to take Farris out is if she means to try and put someone else in Farris' place.”
“Like a friend of hers? So they can do this together for however many centuries? Is that even allowed?” A trickle of fear inched along Emerson's spine.
Driscoll paced a few steps one way, then a few steps the other. He looked thoughtful, shoulders still tight with tension.
“I've never heard of an attempt on any Fate's life, either before or after the Turning. The thing is, even if she did want to bring in a 'friend' to perform the Fate of Destiny duties in Farris' place, that girl would need the same drive that the rest of them have. The stories, you saw them. They spend almost their entire lives writing. It's usually an ingrained reflex—though I suppose it's not impossible for a girl to be taught. Perhaps the lure of immortality would be enough. Did you see anyone with Devon? Another girl she appeared close with?” Driscoll asked.
“No. She was alone every time. That doesn't mean there isn't a friend out there somewhere, writing away to take over if Farris doesn't make it.” Infuriated at Devon's plans, Emerson pushed a hand through his hair. “Won't Merwen have something to say? We should tell her what's going on, Driscoll.”
The silence that stretched through the receiving room didn't set well with Emerson. There was something else. Something more. He glanced at Driscoll.
“See, the strange thing is...the Fates don't usually interact on interpersonal levels. Merwen, Faelynn and Audrinne all know each other, of course, so that they can work together if needed, but as far as I know? They do not 'hang out'. They each lead their respective lives and have their own friends or acquaintances and all that separate from being a Fate. That throws a wrench into the idea that Devon's trying to bring in a best friend. If Devon was a Fate of Destiny, I could better see it. The Fates of Destiny are closer. But Merwen and Audrinne do not see each other often. There is typically tension because keeping the balance is so precarious--” Driscoll cut his rambling thought off.
“Or, it just means that Devon is trying what's never been tried before. She thinks, in her naivety, that she can force the situation.”
“Or it means, Emerson, that Devon is attempting to flip the balance of power.” Driscoll's eyes glittered when he met Emerson's gaze.
“Flip the balance of power? Wait, you mean--”
“Yes. That's exactly what I mean.”
Emerson's mouth fell open. “Devon is going to try and have two Fates of Chaos, instead of two Fates of Destiny? Is that possible? Do you know what it would do to the world?”
Driscoll said nothing. Just stared at Emerson with an enigmatic expression.
“Of course you know what it would do to the world, you're the Lord of Chaos.” Emerson threw his hands up in exasperation. Deep inside, he knew he should feel a spark of excitement at the thought of more Chaos enveloping the earth. They thrived on Chaos, loved the hectic friction that came with natural and man-made disasters. Any prick of excitement faded at thought of Farris in danger.
“Should Devon be successful with this wild scheme, the state of this world will deteriorate severely in the next six months. Skirmishes will become all out wars. Men will start pushing red buttons. Murders and mayhem will increase like we have never seen.”
“Is there any way that Farris can fight for her position if Devon takes it away?” Emerson asked, grinding his teeth.
“I'm not sure what you mean.” Driscoll frowned.
“You know, if Devon succeeds in killing Farris now, is there any way Farris can plot to retake her position back.”
Driscoll arched a thick brow. “You're misunderstanding. Farris will only become immortal if she dies the death that has been writ into her Destiny. If Devon gets to her beforehand, and kills her, Farris will not become immortal. She will simply die like everyone else.”
Emerson didn't wait to hear anymore. Didn't stick around to theorize about what would happen to the world if two Fates of Chaos took over. He didn't wait to see if Driscoll was going to intervene or go find Merwen to warn her. He ran toward the door, aware of every second that ticked off Farris' life-clock.
Emerson had to get to Farris before Devon did.
Chapter Eighteen
On their way through town, the girls stopped at the Chicken Express for food. Even though she was disturbed by her visit to her mother, Farris couldn't go another hour without sustenance. She choked down a chicken sandwich loaded with pickles (she loved those as much as she loved scarves) and finished off a chilled bottle of water.
Beelah chattered the whole time, gesturing with her hands. At one time in her life, several years ago, Bee had struggled with her weight. To get control back, she forewent chicken sandwiches and ate salad instead. Stabbing the plastic spork into the greens, she ate with gusto while they talked.
Farris told Beelah everything that happened with her mother, leaving no detail out. Beelah probably knew as much about Farris' life as Farris did.
Beelah lamented and crooned sympathetically, and, as usual, tried to find something optimistic about the episode.
It was one of the things Farris loved about Beelah. Even faced off against extreme adversity, Beelah would somehow find the light in the tunnel.
“Are we still going to try and meet the boys out at the farm?” Beelah asked, closing the lid on the demolished salad.
“You think Emerson was able to get out of jail?” Farris asked, glancing aside at Bee. She gathered the trash and stuffed it into the bag the food came in. They were still sitting in the parking lot of the Chicken Express.
“I don't know, but we should probably go out to the farm anyway, just in case. Let Emerson say what he has to say without all the distractions of town.”
“All right. Let me throw all this away.” Farris cracked open her door and climbed out of the truck. After throwing the bag into a provided trash can, she got back inside and cranked the engine.
Several minutes later, on impulse, Farris cruised by the police station.
“See anything?” She asked Beelah.
Bee peered out the window. “Nothing. Hard to see in the lobby. Well—hey. We could just stop and ask, right? Tooley won't care. If Emerson's about to get out, or if he just got out, then it'll save us a trip to the farm. We don't even know if those wild dogs are still there.”
Farris shuddered at the tho
ught of the dogs. It was what convinced her to swerve into a parking spot and kill the engine.
“Okay, c'mon.”
Inside the police station, Farris, with Beelah at her heels, approached the desk. She knew the dispatcher sitting next to the phone. “Hi Missus Garcia. We were wondering if Emerson had gotten out of jail yet.”
Beelah stood right at her side, staring curiously around the lobby. “Hi Missus Garcia!”
“Hello, girls.” Missus Garcia, a dark haired, dark eyed woman with a kind face and an athletic figure, greeted them both. “He got out a while ago. Maybe half an hour. Finch came by and spoke for him.”
“Did the girl who said she saw him start the fire show up?” Farris asked. She fiddled with the edge of a new scarf that she'd gotten from a stash at Beelah's.
“She never did. There was no evidence to hold him. You girls want to talk to Tooley? He's out on another call right now, but you can wait here until he returns if you'd like.”
“Oh no thanks. We just wanted to see what was going on. Have a great day, Missus Garcia!” Farris tugged Beelah out of the station.
“See! I knew it. I'll bet he's with Theron out at the farm,” Bee said.
“We'll head there next. Emerson and Theron can help us get inside if the dogs are still around.” Farris let go of the scarf and jogged around the truck to climb inside.
After they were both in, she started the engine and drove toward the edge of town. She was relieved that Emerson got out of jail, that there didn't seem to be any evidence to suggest he'd done what that girl said he did. Still, Farris wanted to hear what Emerson had to say from his own lips.
“He's totally innocent,” Beelah said, turning the radio station knob until a pop song poured from the speakers. She bopped in the passenger seat, snapping her fingers. It never took much to get Beelah Bosley back on common ground.
Farris, on the other hand, was the warier of the two. Growing up with a mother who constantly fretted and worried and acted obsessed, then got hauled off to an insane asylum took its toll. Farris tended to reserve judgment until she had more information, more answers.
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