Destiny's Dark Fantasy Boxed Set (Eight Book Bundle)

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  “I have to give a speech that the bank manager wrote for me,” Seth said. “Which I will shorten. And then we sit on the bandstand with the mayor and the preachers, the town council.”

  “Dr. Goodling’s going to be there?” Jenny said.

  “And Rev. Isaiah Bailey from New Calvary Church.” New Calvary was the black church, located on the southern outskirts of the town, not too far from Jenny’s house.

  “Yeah, but back to the Goodlings. Is Ashleigh going to be near us?”

  “We can try to avoid her,” Seth said. “Anyway, the mayor talks, and the white preacher and the black preacher give a blessing together. And then the kids hunt for eggs all over the square. The police block off the roads.”

  “What do I have to do?” Jenny asked.

  “Just sit by me until the hunt is over.”

  “How long does that take?”

  “One year it took three hours.”

  Jenny shook her head. She got to her feet. “I’m going closet shopping. If Ashleigh’s there, I want to look twice as good as her.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Ashleigh sat with her family on the front row of the white folding chairs arranged on the bandstand. Cassie was beside her, and then Mayor and Mrs. Winder. She watched as the people of Fallen Oak trickled out into the grassy square after church. Cars parked around the square, and black families in colorful Easter clothes emerged, having brought their kids to the square from New Calvary Church to participate.

  Ashleigh watched little knots of people come together to greet each other, shake hands and hug. Kids in their Sunday best ran everywhere. Lots of teenage girls were looking very big with their pregnancies, and they didn’t seem terribly happy about it. Ashleigh liked looking down on these little peasants who had done so much to advance her in the world. One day, some of these people would staff her first campaign for state office. Ashleigh had enchanted all of the unborn. She believed they would be of use to her when they grew up. When she eventually reached high office, she would have a devoted young staff to serve her.

  She was feeling cheerful and cocky from her string of victories. She’d strolled into the principal’s office on his last day and acted surprised to see him loading his pictures and framed degrees into a cardboard box.

  “Principal Harris, why on Earth are you packing your office?” Ashleigh had asked him. “It’s only April.”

  He had glared at her for a moment.

  “You know very well why, Ashleigh,” he said. “I’ve been suspended. Mrs. Varney will be acting principal for the remainder of the year.”

  “Oh, goodness, no!” Ashleigh said. Principal Harris just stared at her.

  “Ashleigh,” he asked. “Why do this? Why ruin my life? What did I ever do to you?”

  “Gosh, Principal Harris,” she’d said. “I guess I wasn’t thinking about you at all.”

  Then Ashleigh took a strawberry lollipop from Mrs. Langford’s desk on the way out. Ashleigh didn’t care about Harris one way or the other, though she enjoyed crushing somebody who had tried to stand against her. Of course, if he hadn’t done that, Ashleigh wouldn’t be where she was today. She was glad some people were so predictable.

  Most important, the real reason Ashleigh felt like a queen as she looked down from on high on the bandstand, was that Ashleigh had gotten the call from The Covenant.

  It had come, appropriately, on Good Friday, just two days ago. A lady named Beth Underwood, who called herself an “event coordinator” for The Covenant, reached Ashleigh at home to make the invitation. They wanted her to give a presentation in May, at the big monthly dinner meeting, not just a little prayer breakfast or a lunch seminar. Ms. Underwood, who didn’t sound much older than Ashleigh, offered to send a private jet to meet Ashleigh at the Greenville Downtown Airport. She said Ashleigh’s family was welcome to stay in the Magdalene Suite at Covenant Hall, or the plane could take them home after dinner.

  Ashleigh asked to stay. Covenant Hall was a beautiful forty-room Colonial Revival mansion in Georgetown, originally built in the early 20th century by a member of the Mellon family. It had later been an expensive hotel, before it was acquired by the private, tax-exempt religious organization known as The Covenant. She would be giving her presentation in the small theater there, then eating with the members in the dining hall. Staying meant more time to network. Maybe she could even stretch out the visit a few days. It would be Ashleigh’s first visit to Washington, DC, and she wanted to see everything. She especially loved the idea of touring around the center of world power with Cassie at her side.

  “Here is what our members will expect from you,” Ms. Underwood had said. Ashleigh had grabbed a pen to take it down word for word. “First, they want a full presentation of the abstinence program you created. They will want a recap of your tribulations. Finally, they will ask for your input on possible federal abstinence programs aimed at your age group.”

  “Okay,” Ashleigh said. “I can do that.”

  “Additionally, everyone in your party will sign a confidentiality waiver regarding all discussions and events inside the building. This simply allows everyone to speak his mind freely.”

  “Of course,” Ashleigh said. She was trying not to jump up and down, trying not to let out the excited squeal that so badly wanted to escape her. “Will I be able to meet people and shake their hands?”

  “Yes, at the reception,” Ms. Underwood said. “Several of our members are eager to meet you, Miss Goodling.”

  “Tell them I’m eager to meet them, too,” Ashleigh said.

  Afterward, Ashleigh had run excited, screaming laps around the house, frightening their dog Maybelle, who opened and closed her mouth uselessly, since Ashleigh’s mother had long ago grown sick of the dog’s occasional barking and instructed the veterinarian to cut Maybelle’s vocal cords.

  Ashleigh had spent months laying out the bait to attract an invitation inside The Covenant’s locked and guarded doors.

  The Covenant was a small, very specialized ministry, focused on makers of law and policy. Among its members were eight Senators and thirty-four Representatives, as well as assorted top officials, all of them men. Their main focus was promoting war against Muslim countries—any war, any country, as far as she understood. Ashleigh didn’t know much about foreign policy, but she had a simple strategy for that. She would simply agree enthusiastically with whatever they said.

  The Covenant sometimes took an interest in domestic policy, including abstinence education on religious grounds. When Ashleigh had read about them, she recognized this as an issue where her power could work for her, and she could actually portray herself as an expert on current teenage behavior, which was forever a mystery to most adults, anyway. She simply needed a scapegoat to oppose her abstinence campaign, someone to blame for the rash of pregnancies that Ashleigh could create. Principal Harris had been a perfect mark and walked right into it. Her daddy had taught her how to recognize a sucker.

  Now she looked forward to putting her hands on the Congressman and Senators at The Covenant’s May meeting. She would have the chance to talk to a room full of powerful men. She would enchant each of them, handshake by handshake, and a thousand opportunities would open up for her. She did not plan to leave Washington without job offers for the summer. She wanted to be somewhere she could shake a lot of hands, so that she would already be her own little power center by the time she started at Georgetown in the fall. The first door was wide open and waiting for her, and that was all she needed.

  From the bandstand, Ashleigh watched the brightly dressed crowd grow larger. They were like toys in her sandbox, and playing with them had helped prepare her for the world. Now it was time to leave her toys behind.

  Her mood darkened when she saw Seth and Jenny approach the bandstand. She studied the dangerous couple. Seth wore a simple black suit, with a tie and pocket handkerchief the color of a robin’s egg. Jenny had clearly gotten into the Barrett closets: her vintage cloche hat had a bouquet of red silk ro
ses stitched on one side, and she wore a long blue dress that nobody in Jenny’s family could afford.

  Ashleigh had gone for the simple look, with a white boater-style hat wrapped in a single purple ribbon, which matched the purple trim on her white dress. She found herself comparing herself to Jenny Mittens, and she resented that. Jenny had worked a pretty good scam of her own, taking Seth from Ashleigh so quickly. Seth had betrayed Ashleigh, after she’d invested so much time making Seth into who he was. He’d dropped Ashleigh cold. Ashleigh didn’t know who she hated more, Seth or Jenny. Her hate for Jenny was lifelong, etched deep into her identity. Her hate for Seth was recent and hot, a freshly opened wound she hadn’t expected.

  She smiled and waved her pastel handkerchief at Jenny and Seth as they made their way up the steps. They sat in the back row of folding chairs, as far as possible from the Goodling and Winder families. Boo-hoo. Seth ignored Ashleigh, but Jenny gave her a worried little frown. This brightened Ashleigh’s heart a little, knowing that Jenny Mittens worried about her, maybe even feared Ashleigh’s coming revenge.

  The white choir and black choir assembled in the shade of the gnarled old trees in front of the courthouse, where, Ashleigh had heard, men had once been lynched. Her family wasn’t local; her father was from Arkansas, her mother from Texas. Her father had moved to Fallen Oak over two decades ago, after completing his six-month “accelerated learning” theology doctorate from McGimmell Bible College, P.O. Box 2038B, Tampa, Florida. Ashleigh’s mother, who’d been some kind of dancer, wanted to settle down somewhere nice. The old Fallen Oak preacher had died, and there was hardly anybody willing to work for the meager salary—except her father, who had heaps of cash to launder but open arrest warrants in three states, under the name Waylon Humphries. The statute of limitations had since expired on those, and anyway it was no longer his legal name or Social Security number.

  Ashleigh had not learned all of this information directly from her father, but she had learned it.

  The event opened with the joint blessing by her father and the Rev. Bailey, Neesha’s father. The churches in Fallen Oak were segregated, but the preachers got along well, and had supper together frequently. Between themselves, they viewed segregation as a matter of not poaching on each other’s territory.

  The white choir sang “The Old Rugged Cross” and the black choir sang something upbeat that Ashleigh didn’t recognize, but judging by the frequent refrain, she would guess its name was “By the River Jordan.”

  Then the event turned secular when Seth Barrett took the podium with Jenny Mittens at his side. Ashleigh had finagled a copy of the speech prepared by the bank manager. There was nothing unusual or threatening in it, just platitudes.

  But Seth did not give that speech.

  “Hundreds of years ago,” Seth said, “Our ancestors arrived in this wilderness and carved out a place to live. Our families share a common history. Nobody remembers it now. We have suffered together. And survived together. And here we are, a great town of thousands. Our ancestors would never have believed it. That was a big city in those days.” There were a very few chuckles.

  “Our families have built a great place to live together. People in big cities dream of living in nice little towns like this. And we owe a great debt to all our ancestors, who made this town for us.”

  Ashleigh wanted to snicker. When people saw Barretts in public, the last thing they wanted to hear about was debt they owed. Big mistake, Seth.

  “And I think we will continue to grow in the future. This is the great settlement built by our ancestors. And I think we should keep working together, to keep making this a better place to live. And I was supposed to say some words on behalf of the Merchants and Farmers Bank, but I’m not going to bother you with that. Happy Easter, everybody.”

  There was a little smattering of applause as Seth and Jenny returned to the back row on the bandstand, but not much. Ashleigh saw a lot of stony faces in the crowd, especially among the regular religious crowd. Little rumors about devil worship and black magic had actually spread, thanks to a bored, willing audience and a preacher with time to fill. Ashleigh’s father hadn’t had much choice but to thunder about the immorality of the young, given the outbreak of pregnancies among his teenage congregants. And the young in question were happy to point to Seth and Jenny as the source of their corruption, the instigators of the “sex parties” that the media had invented, and the parents had consequently believed and interrogated their children about. Gabby little Shannon McNare had rapidly spread the rumor that Jenny and Seth did such things as part of their witchcraft, that some other kids she knew had definitely gone to one. So when the parents grilled their kids, everyone knew who to finger. There was a lot of blame to go around, and not many targets beyond Principal Harris. People needed more.

  All of this had evolved without much effort from Ashleigh. It was just the beautiful way things came together sometimes, and you got the sense that you were secretly one of God’s favorites, and that’s why He bestowed such great powers upon you.

  Then it was Ashleigh and Neesha’s turn. They went to the podium together.

  “Hi, I’m Neesha Bailey, from New Calvary Holy Land Church—” Neesha said.

  “And I’m Ashleigh Goodling, from Fallen Oak Baptist Church—”

  “—and we’re seniors!” they said together, and embraced each other, to laughter and applause.

  “The town Easter Egg Hunt was officially desegregated in 1983,” Neesha read from her stationary. “By Mayor Jebediah Lowrence Guntley.”

  There was applause. Deputy Guntley, the obese nephew of the late Mayor Guntley, raised his hand and waved, grinning with his big buck teeth. He wore a peach suit with a pink tie, which made him look larger than ever. His pregnant teenage daughter Veronica rolled her eyes.

  “Since then,” Ashleigh said, “Fallen Oak has a proud tradition of both churches coming together for Easter. Last night, the police blocked off the roads around the square. The teen groups from both churches hid plastic eggs full of candy, dollars and toys. This year, there are also five American Eagle coins made of real gold, donated by the Merchants and Farmers Bank.”

  The children oohed and aahed over this. Some of the adults, too. Ashleigh flipped her hair as she turned her head to look at Seth. She blew Seth a kiss, and much of the crowd laughed, as did most of the people on the bandstand around them.

  “But there is one problem, before the hunt can begin,” Ashleigh said. “And here to take care of that is Mayor Hank Winder.” Ashleigh and Neesha stepped back and applauded while Cassie’s dad took the podium, then they returned to their seats.

  “Ever since 1921,” Mayor Winder said, “All forms of hunting are illegal within the town of Fallen Oak proper, except by special decree of the mayor or his authorized deputy. Therefore, as mayor of Fallen Oak, I declare Easter egg hunting season open!”

  This was the cue for all kids aged six to twelve to run around screaming, waving their empty Easter baskets, and spread out across the square. They stormed in all directions, looking for eggs among the roots of trees, the bandstand, the courthouse lawn and steps, the church gardens, the narrow sunken windows of the bank, the shops and benches, the potted flowering plants that had been brought out to decorate the square.

  Gradually, the crowd on the bandstand began to break up, going off to speak to their relatives or watch their grandchildren hunt.

  Ashleigh waited until the crowd trickled out, then she stood. With Cassie and Neesha behind her, she strolled to the back row, where only Jenny and Seth remained. Jenny and Seth were whispering to each other and smiling, as if oblivious to how much the town hated them.

  “Hello there, Mr. Barrett,” Ashleigh said. “And Miss Mittens.”

  They both looked up at her. Jenny glared right into Ashleigh’s eyes.

  “It looks like somebody helped themselves to the Barrett closets,” Ashleigh said. “I never gave into the temptation myself. A little too Seth’s-mom for me, you know what I mean?”<
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  “You look lovely, Ashleigh,” Jenny said. She said with just the right inflection, the one that made it an insult, which Southern ladies could do.

  “As do my friends,” Ashleigh said, and Cassie and Neesha snickered behind her. Ashleigh turned to them. “Go ahead. I’ll catch up.” Cassie and Neesha left, with suspicious looks at Jenny.

  “Seth, congratulations on completely demolishing your own reputation,” Ashleigh said. “It was almost a work of art how you brought yourself all the way down. Even with all that money.” She tsk-tsked. “Or maybe because of it, am I right, Seth? A little something there for everyone else to resent. You know?”

  “School’s almost over, Ashleigh,” Seth said. “We don’t have to worry about this stuff anymore. The world isn’t high school.”

  “Maybe it isn’t,” Ashleigh said. “But we’re all still tied up together by this town, aren’t we? You own it. And little Jenny the pauper isn’t going anywhere without you—because she can’t, can she? Because you’re the only person she can touch, in the whole world.” Ashleigh looked at Jenny and laughed. “You’re stuck with his bumbly little ass for life, aren’t you? Because it’s him or nobody. No matter how he treats you. Good luck with that. Just wait and see how he really is.”

  “I’m not interested in your advice, Ashleigh,” Jenny said.

  “And I still have my girls to think about,” Ashleigh said. “And my little babies. My little army. I can’t just abandon them. No, the three of us are stuck together. I think we all understand each other now. So why should we fight? We each have our separate lives. Why can’t we have a truce?”

  “Have we had a war?” Seth asked.

  Ashleigh scowled.

  “A peace agreement,” Jenny said. “You don’t bother us and we don’t bother you. Let’s agree to that, Ashleigh.”

  Jenny held out her hand. It was sheathed in a cream-colored, elbow-high glove, but Ashleigh still didn’t want to touch it. The girl was a bag of pestilence.

  “We can do that,” Ashleigh said.