Scales: Book 1 of the Fate and Fire Series

by Amity Green

  When it was time for me to get back to the dorms for morning classes, he walked me to my building. He leaned close, which I’ll admit, caused me to panic, briefly. But then he placed a soft kiss on my cheek that lasted a perfectly comfortable amount of time. His breath warmed my face. My senses filled with the scent of him. I closed my eyes and committed the feeling to memory. When I opened them, he’d picked up a strand of my hair, letting it fall through his fingers.

  “Like honey in the sun and shade,” he said, lowering his hand. “Beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” I’d never been referred to as “beautiful” before, even if he was only talking about my hair. “I’d better get going.”

  Perhaps, life was going to shift in my favor for once. I mentally flipped Fate the big ol’ bird and entered my first class of the day smiling like a dope, Kai’s kiss tingling on my cheek.

  Chapter 2

  The summer course session in London would come to a close in two days’ time and I was pissy. I’d found a new reason to want to stay in London. As if I needed another. Kai and I had met several times over the last two weeks. We kept conversation fairly light, not getting too deeply into each other’s lives, knowing I was leaving. A rogue wave of reality crashed the dreamlike state of my amazing, yet short-lived, life in in London, dragging my spirits into the black undertow of my impending return to St. Vincent’s.

  Being free from the Home fostered my spirit to grow. Upon returning, I’d get my business together and leave the place, pronto. I was out of high school. Not that big of a deal since I’d been emancipating myself in little ways for years. I didn’t know where I came from or where I was headed. I’d grown into a good-hearted, fairly pretty, intelligent girl. I was now-eighteen-year-old Tessa Marie Conley. The last time I’d been in any kind of trouble was when I was busted watching the Silva/Emerson Mixed Martial Arts fight in the media room. The nuns had loved that.

  I arranged my schedule perfectly, preparing for my last two days. My essays were written and emailed to Professor Douglas,—I’d be danged if I would blow my 4.0 grade point average so I could have a couple days of indulgence. I included a cheery explanation that I would finally, blessedly be taking the last weekend of the trip to myself. Sunday, I would take the Tube to the Covent Gardens stop and go in search of Cecil Court.

  Kai agreed to meet me for the last of our nearly ritual breakfast dates, but he hadn’t sounded too happy about my heading back and I didn’t love the idea of telling him goodbye. Maybe we could keep in touch. I really hoped I could visit him again someday or even talk him into coming to Austin for a while.

  * * *

  “Don’t go back.”

  I stared blankly for a moment. “I have to go back,” I said, sipping my vanilla tea.

  “No, you don’t. You just feel safe saying that.” Kai leaned back in his chair, stretching his long legs out and crossing them at the ankle. He folded his hands behind his head, to add the finishing touch to a completely kicked-back, comfortable look. His flaxen hair hung down past the back of his chair.

  He was partially correct in his assumption. “That’s an interesting thing to say.” I tried not to sound judgmental. Sometimes it could be hard to understand if someone was trying to be a little mean, or merely stating their opinion, no offence intended. His tone told me he was being a little mean. He wasn’t smiling, which was a new element in our conversations.

  “I have to go back. Austin’s where I live my life.” Not that I was too enthusiastic about returning. The new atmosphere had done good things for my soul.

  “Well thanks a lot.” He reached for his tea.

  “I didn’t mean it like I hadn’t been enjoying life here, Kai. I just have to go home now. School’s over and next semester will start soon. I need to get back and look for a job, too.”

  He had to understand, for simplicity’s sake. I didn’t feel I should give my life story to someone I’d only known for a couple weeks. Maybe if we kept in touch like I hoped, we could share more personal details sometime.

  “We should keep in touch,” I offered. “Do you Skype?”

  He gave a look of amazement. “Skype?” He snorted. “No, I do not do Skype.” He looked at me like he expected me to say something.

  I picked at my breakfast.

  “So that’s it then? I suggest you stay and you’re going to go back to the US anyway?”“Of course I’m going back. I can’t just up and stay here out of the blue like that. I would need to get back home and plan things out first. Be sure it’s really what’s best for me.” The conversation was staggering on the edge of going bad between us.

  “So much for spontaneity.” He sneered.

  That last little retort was all it took to end the staggering and send it plummeting over the edge for the worse.

  “Are you being real right now? I mean, I can’t believe you’d think I’d stay only because you suggested it.” I sighed. “I have a bunch of things I want to do today since it’s my last weekend here. I’d better get going.” I dug in my change purse for Pound coins to help pay for breakfast, feeling terrible. And I was sure that’s how he was trying to make me feel.

  “I’ll get it, Tessa,” he said, setting down a bill.

  I left the coins I’d already put on the check and stood.

  “Let’s not end on such a note.”

  “It’s cool, Kai. I didn’t want to miss you anyway.” Ouch. But I didn’t need to allow anyone to make me feel that way. I headed for the door.

  He was there to open it for me. I looked away and kept walking toward the dorms.

  “I didn’t mean to get you all worked up, Tessa. I guess—” He pulled me to a stop by an elbow. “I guess,” he continued, “I just really don’t want you to go.” He tilted my face up so I had to look at him. He gave that smile that I loved so much. The playful, bright one that made his eyes sparkle.

  Nice try. “Well I’m going home and I’m sorry you don’t like it. Think what you want about me.” I was feeling like Orphan Tessa. Not Only Girl in the Room Tessa, like he’d made me feel before. He’d ruined it.

  “We’ll keep in touch then. Maybe I can change your mind, get you to come back for a visit. I’ll look at starting up a Skype thing, if you’d like that.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I really have to go, Kai.” It was for the best, less to lose later.

  He let my arm fall. I’d delivered a brush off and we both realized that. I had to wonder if I was going with the flow of my feelings a little too easily.

  No matter if I was angry or not, I would always miss Kai. He’d been the first guy who’d ever made me feel like I belonged. Anywhere.

  “Well take care of yourself, then.”

  “You too. Goodbye, Kai,” I said quietly.

  He was already walking away.

  I started for my dorm room so I could begin packing for the trip home. People window shopped, chatted on benches, and rushed to meet the Tube. A family passed, too close for comfort. Two wide eyed, grinning, blond toddlers chased around me, shrieking and giggling.

  I flinched. The Home’s intake picture of me as a toddler trembled in my mind’s eye, but in the other photo I’d found, I was standing with a similarly featured little boy. We both stood close, one tiny hand grasping that of the other. The boy was possibly five years old, maybe a little older. The resemblance between the two children left no doubt, just like the message on the back of the picture.

  Robbie and Tessa Conley

  Thanks for everything. Emma and Ben Thomlinson.

  Eleven scrawled words would never say as much again.

  I’d been lied to. The photo of smiling white-blonde baby Tessa and Robbie taunted me in rhythm to the tiny feet on the sidewalk as the children played. The only family I had, a brother, was adopted without me.

  The brilliant thing was, I had to return to that life. My jaw set in a scowl. The mother grasped her kids’ hands and led them away as the beginning of a fever burned in my chest.

  Looking through the recor
ds room was an idiot move. That was the day I’d stepped right across the line of demarcation that was, Change. There it was, life shaken, not stirred. No one saw or met my parents when I was brought in, there was no extended family to contact. That caused lots of problems with the adoption process. Everyone wanted to adopt a baby. Some wanted to adopt a toddler. Few wanted to adopt a five-to-ten-year old. No one wanted to adopt a teenager. Throw the freak fevers in the mix and I was at a loss. Some of us were unadoptable. That was me. I was defective. The symptoms slowed as I’d grown. Years went by since anyone saw my temperature climb over 105 degrees. Maybe I was healed.

  I forced my feet into motion.

  The timing of two life-changing events was bittersweet. The fact I’d missed out on having a brother ruled me and I didn’t know if I’d ever forgive the administration at the Home. Despite the way my soul trembled inside my body, I had to concentrate on the future. When I returned to Austin I could attend UT—good grades and grant money made me a shoo-in—and get my English degree. I could get a night job. Maybe at a Steak and Shake or a WhataBurger. The Home was a thing of the past, one way or another. My place in the world was unclear, but it wasn’t amongst liars in nun’s habits.

  I’d taken it too far. The names on the photo had enabled me to search them out before I left for London. The perfect adoptive family had been shattered by tragedy before I found them. I’d never meet Robbie. I was still an orphan. A survivor. Gotta love the constants in life. At least I knew where I stood.

  The resolve steeled me. I was renewed. My life would have new direction. I wouldn’t think of the Thomlinsons and I’d develop a warm place in my heart for my brother rather than harboring the feeling I’d been cheated. Eighteen-year-olds had to be resilient creatures. Still, life in Austin had been tainted. A whole new level of teen angst would accompany me back to the Home.

  * * *

  The forty-eight-hour countdown until I met the airport shuttle commenced and I decided to get out for one last run down Tottenham Court Road that evening. I’d grown to love running that busy street, and learned early on to mind what the street lights said when they announced “walk” or “don’t walk.” That was serious business. If a person was still in the intersection when the lights changed, the oncoming traffic wouldn’t slow down. Rather, the cabs would barrel into the road and blare their stuffy, snooty-sounding, little horns to announce they would soon smash me flat. No big. It’s your fault for not obeying the walking signals.

  I immersed myself in the experience because I knew it would be my last run in London, which also made me a little sad. Dusk settled quickly, and I knew I shouldn’t be out much longer. The evening air was brisk and my feet felt lighter than usual as I ran along the sidewalk. There weren’t many people out anymore. Mist-filled fog crept in from the bruised sky. Vendors packed their wares away for the night and shopkeepers pulled in awnings and flipped signs. Watching it all made it easy to lose track of time.

  A figure leaned against the dark bricks on the opposite side of the street. As I got closer, details formed. I coasted to a stop right before I got to the next corner. Definitely male, he was tall and well-built with broad shoulders and muscular thighs that showed through the dark pants he wore. His hands were thrust into the front pockets of a black hoodie.

  The air around me changed somehow. The sweetness of the cool, yet dampened afternoon I’d been enjoying melted away with the swift chill of nightfall. Sweat cooled on my skin. I shivered.

  The man looked right at me. He inclined his head in a brief nod that allowed hazy light from the street lamps to illuminate his face, revealing a lower lip surrounded by short outgrowth of a beard. He reminded me of Kai. They shared height and build, but from where I stood in the growing darkness it was hard to see clear facial details.

  “Kai?” I called. My voice echoed briefly, but was struck down in the dense fog.

  No answer.

  The longer I looked the creepier the situation became. He sulked, wearing his pullover like a cowl. I didn’t know him. Kai would’ve answered me, even if he was ticked off about our conversation earlier.

  I pulled my gaze away, slightly disturbed at my ability to stare at someone in such a way. Sure, I had been sheltered a bit during my childhood, but come on.

  I broke into a run once more and didn’t look behind me to see if he still stood there. Fighting the feeling that someone was following me, I considered turning around to check, but I didn’t. Although, I really wanted to. Not because I actually thought someone watched me, but because I was a little scared.

  Nightfall took over before I ran up the stairs in the dorm. I locked my door and chained it. The screensaver on my laptop cast dancing light around my room like a sick disco ball. I hit the light switch beside me, panting.

  Nearly an hour passed before I felt better. Not so freaked out. And I still didn’t understand why I’d gotten that way in the first place.

  Chapter 3

  The next day was the last Sunday of the trip and my afternoon to wander London on my own. Despite a lack of sleep, I wanted the day to be perfect and I didn’t want to think about packing up to go back to the States. Even thinking about enrolling in courses for the next semester seemed daunting. I did my best to shake it off, concentrating on enjoying the rest of my day. Thinking about checking out shops all afternoon was much more fun.

  I dressed in one of my favorite outfits, gathered my hair into a pony tail, and clasped it with a barrette. I pulled on a sweater, grabbed my backpack and headed out, making sure to lock the door behind me. I would act as though I didn’t have to leave, for one beautiful afternoon. Clicking neatly down the hall in my favorite peep-toe, sling backed heels helped. The last of my time in London had arrived and I figured I might as well dress up a little.

  Stepping from the Leicester Square Tube stop to the cloud-covered afternoon, I shouldered my pack and made my way along the bustling sidewalk. I toured little markets and took lots of pictures of the beautiful buildings. My gaze swept the sides of architecture along the way, reading placards attached to the bricks high above my head. To the left of a shadowed lane, my eyes came to rest on a plain sign fixed to the stone wall there. Cecil Court, the sign announced. After travelling nearly six thousand miles, I then stood at the gateway to the best mix of old bookstores and antiquities shops I could hope for.

  I took a deep breath of sweet-damp air, scanned the court, and ripped the vision like a CD to my memory. Tall buildings blocked all but a few hours sunshine in the brick lane, adding a chill to the air and a dark tint to the stone paving and storefronts. Converted gas lights lined the center of the narrow walk, flickering to life in the midafternoon. Musty scents of old things swirled atop the herby fragrance of potted lavender. Shingles hung on ornate, wrought-iron brackets anchored in stone and brick. Not many people strolled the quiet cobbles, so I meandered freely.

  I’m really here. I want to remember it, just like this, forever.

  History called to me from door to door. The court was a small place of thrilling but murky history, the buildings there each lending stories of seedy barber shops, unhealthy eateries, and houses of ill-repute to London’s colorful past.

  The next shop I encountered had an especially long sign that didn’t match the rest. Rather than the typical brackets, a huge, crouching gargoyle held the sign, one arm extending two-thirds the length along the bottom of the wooden plank, the creature’s chin resting on the top corner in an oddly human way. The thing’s skin shone like a muted oil-slick in the fading light of the narrow alley.

  Old English lettering announced the name of the store below as Librorum Taberna, and I quickly translated the words from my small knowledge of Latin as “small shop of books,” or something closely related. The elongated plank was darkened across the bottom portion, matching the upper half of the wooden storefront perfectly; both somehow winning the battle against the damaging effects of time, flame, and weather.

  Only a few intact facings remained after the trend of a
rson amongst the residents of Georgian and Victorian London. A similar facing hung at the Victoria and Albert Museum, where I spent hours on end reading descriptions, writing in my journal, and filling memory cards with photos of Gothic architecture. The one before me remained in remarkable shape for its age, all the way to the top of the two-story building where tell-tale burn marks licked at the right side. Modern gutters were installed atop the building beside security lights.

  I smoothed a hand over the age and soot darkened wood. Ornate carving twisted throughout the thick facing. Two craggy faces were carved on either side of the gargantuan double doors. Darkened to pits by time and weather, their sightless eyes stared at the dwindling patrons of Cecil Court.

  Such a shop could take hours to thoroughly enjoy, and it would be dark far too soon for me to stay. The sign said it was still open.

  A defiant grin tugged at my dimples as I walked inside. A delicate set of replica bard’s bells hung by the door, tinkling their Faery song into the room as I arrived.

  The heavy door clicked shut after I stepped through, taking with it a portion of the light in the place. I had to wait a moment while my sight adjusted to the dim lighting and my senses burst to life. Aromas of aged wood and leather blended sweetly behind a top note of Earl Grey steeped with a hint of nutmeg. The only sound that greeted me was the gentle hum of a dehumidifier. I sucked in an exhilarating breath in anticipation of touching the wonders shelved inside.

  The store yawned before me like a cavern. Darkness swallowed towering shelf-lined walls leading beyond my sight, so tall that wheeled ladders rested at the junctions of rows. Occasional, gilded wall sconces added dusty light in delicate beams, casting perfect spots on labels to announce the names of writers and playwrights. I walked the aisles, perusing authors, neck craned slightly to the right as I read title after title from leather bound spines on shelves so impeccably organized, any librarian would feel envious. Librorum Taberna not only offered books, but also stored a mixture of trinkets, like letter openers, bookmarks with sad angels that would rest atop the pages of a read, and a variety of clunky bookends.