Fate Walks (Cavaldi Birthright Book 1)

by Brea Viragh

  The burns on her back had already healed. It was another facet of her gift. Everything healed faster than a normal human. She’d take what she could at this point. Hyperactive healing was one of the only good things that had come from her magic.

  “They questioned me about you.”

  “What did you tell them?” she asked softly.

  Bernardino shrugged, a great heaving of his massive upper body. “I told them I had no way to get in contact. You always reach out to me, and always with a burner phone. Someone would have to wait until your next show. God knows when that will be.”

  He looked down at her for what felt like an eternity, and Astix hid a small smile. “Good. Thanks.”

  Her long, mahogany-colored hair was looped carelessly behind her head and a wealth of wisps had worked free to fall around her face. She wore no makeup except for heavy kohl eyeliner. Her heartbreaking beauty came naturally, a heady combination of Russian cheekbones, sculpted mouth, and Cavaldi eyes—a swirling mixture of blue and amber and green. There was something beyond the good looks, though. Something nebulous. Her face was a mirror of her underlying magic.

  Bernardino simply thought her a perfect ten.

  “You won’t be able to hold off the interrogation forever. Some fishy shit is going on. It’s only a matter of time until the police gobble you up.”

  Fishy was one way to put it. “I know. I need to hold them off until I can come up with a plausible explanation.”

  “Are you ever going to tell me what happened?”

  She crawled out from the tiny space, stretching until her shoulders popped and she came face to face with her friend, part-time manager, and full-time pain in the ass. “No.”

  What was there to say? She had no clue what had happened. It made explanations kind of complicated. They’d want the who, why, how…and when she came to the what, they’d have her locked away in a straitjacket for the next geological age.

  Nope, sorry.

  “I’m going home.”

  If Bernardino saw the way her arms shook, or the still-healing burns dotting the backs of her hands, he said nothing. “I can drive you home.”

  Astix shook her head. “I could use the air. I just needed a minute to clear my head.”

  “Sure you’ll be all right?”

  “Bernie, sweetie.” She swung around with a saucy grin falling a hair shy of her eyes. “You know me.”

  He let out a breath, the sigh of the disenchanted. “Yeah, I know you. Just be careful, okay?”

  It was one of the best things about Bernardino. He didn’t ask many questions. He hadn’t asked when she’d showed up suddenly at sixteen while he was tending bar, begging for a job. He hadn’t asked when she’d wanted to try her hand at a turntable a few nights a week. And he didn’t ask when unexpected things happened. Like the night when two bikers who thought it would be fun to corner her near the bathroom were knocked unconscious when a piece of turquoise flew through the window and rapped against their skulls.

  Bernardino never asked, and Astix appreciated the zipped lip.

  Tonight, she knew what she was supposed to do—get out of the way and let someone else take care of the trouble with the cops. Someone who was human. In this case, she had no problem slipping off when no one was looking. It made her life less complicated. Especially considering no one was hurt.

  She’d parked her motorcycle in the alley between the warehouse club and the next building. Although the paint no longer glistened and the tires had seen better days, the thing ran and she’d gotten it for a steal. Checking the gas gauge, Astix slid her leg over the seat and mounted her bike.

  She thought about the ruined amethyst, the new headset she’d have to buy, and wondered how long it would take her magic to recharge. Long enough to put her at a disadvantage for the while.

  Slapping the helmet over her head, Astix twisted the key in the ignition and the machine purred to life, bolting forward. She hadn’t used her power purposely in a long time. Years. She knew she needed to get the hell away from the bar and let the signature of her magic fade before the Claddium found her. If they knew what she’d done, it would be a one-way ticket to the Vault.

  And no one got out of the Vault.

  Chicago boasted a large number of magic users, with the majority being Earth elementals. All witches were associated with one of four categories, based on their kinship for earth, air, fire, or water. An elected representative of each element patrolled the magical hubs where the lion’s share lived and then reported to the high council: the Claddium.

  The instant her power manifested, the Claddium had branded her a social pariah. Inheriting a man’s magic was unheard of, something a woman simply did not do. Did. Not. Do.

  She flexed her fingers at the stirring of power still lingering in each joint. It had felt good to call on her gems for big magic, even when she knew it was wrong. Oh, the relief they offered, the strength, the protection…

  The miles faded beneath the wheels of the bike. A shiver coursed through her as she made the final turn off the highway, and it scared her. It was a register lower than noise. A vibration she wasn’t supposed to enjoy. Enchantment in her blood.

  A few more miles and she could make it all go away, if only for a little while.

  Home. The money to support herself came from the growing popularity of her shows. Where at first there were only a handful, soon the masses grew suffocatingly large. Their patronage, helped along by positive word of mouth, allowed Astix to purchase a one-story brick on the edge of the Buena Park district. Shabby and in serious need of repair, yes. A burglar deterrent, absolutely. Also, hers. Bought and paid for in green.

  Vines crawled up the walls in an attempt to collapse the roof, their suckers reaching deep into the crevices between brick and mortar. Iron bars blocked the windows.

  She pulled to a stop beneath a lean-to and cut the key in the ignition, listening to the heavy boom of silence that followed. Her banishment from the magical community meant she had no business using her powers. Not even to save the people closest to the stage.

  She slapped a hand against the side of her helmet. Stupid.

  The icy rain that had threatened earlier came down now like knives. A low mist crept along the street and spread over the city. There was something in the air tonight, something menacing crooning with the wind and whispering to her. As though it knew all her secrets.

  Just my imagination, she assured herself.

  A ring of keys unlocked the three sets of deadbolts she kept on the backdoor. Protective gemstones clustered around the doorway, lit from within. Agate, jasper, obsidian, and tiger’s eye bunched together ready to guard Astix and her home from any negative influences or those prepared to do harm. The tiny amount of magic she allowed to protect herself and make sure no one could find her.

  She waved her hand and the glow died.

  “Hello, all,” Astix croaked out, winding her way through the back room into the kitchen. She felt calmer the instant she walked through the door. Breathing deeply, she dropped her jacket on the floor and the resulting thud of metal zippers on tile caused the pulsing in her head to ratchet up a notch into full-blown migraine territory. Without pausing for a glass, she stuck her entire head in the sink and turned the faucet on full blast.

  Her stomach reminded her of her overlooked dinner with a sudden cramp like a rampaging rhinoceros. The contents of her fridge were sparse. She needed to make a trip to the grocery store. The empty shelves held remnants of meals past, acting as agar gel for various molds and bacteria. Children could die by breathing in those spores.

  A rough-looking orange with a half-desiccated peel was the best she had. Goddess, she needed to do better. Her head and stomach agreed. She’d used too much magic to go without food.

  Astix took the orange and retreated to her bedroom.

  A large bed took up the majority of the space, with tangled sheets and mismatched pillows. She shrugged out of her rain-dampened outerwear before kicking her boots to the
side and flopping onto the comforter with a long sigh. In her underwear, she proceeded to peel the orange, letting the rind drop to the floor, as she began to peel away her undergarments and toss them along with the rest of her clothes.

  Each segment of fruit burst on her tongue with sweet–sour zest. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Juice spattered her face and made a sticky mess of her hands. The sugar would go a long way toward calming her nerves and soothing the tension beneath her skin.

  Grounding, her father had called it. Any large use of magic required a witch or wizard to ground themselves with food afterward to reinforce the connection to the earth.

  After consuming the orange in record time, she rolled under a knotted ball of covers, drawing the sheets around her in a mini-cocoon.

  She was twenty-seven years old and up until this point, her years had been a chaotic mishmash of disappointment and self-loathing. Now the police had a reason to look into her job, and tonight was an exclamation point on an adulthood spent in hiding. She supposed she’d been destined for distinction since birth. Once the full implications of what she’d been born with were evident, she’d thrown herself into hiding and any interaction with her family came to a screeching halt.

  Her mind replayed the events of the night, trying to recall every face in the crowd, because one of them had more magic than she’d ever felt from a single person. Whomever it was that set the bomb, she’d bet money they’d also held back on the range of the magic. Because what she’d felt tonight seemed like enough power to wipe out half of the continental United States.

  It was a long time before Astix could fall asleep, remembering the glint of red eyes and the screams of hundreds. So it was a surprise to wake hours later to the sound of a slamming door. Even more surprising to flash on the overhead light and discover her bedroom door was shut, when she always slept with it wide open. A dream? She didn’t think so.

  It took a bit to get her breathing back to normal and her heart to slow, though she was hesitant to turn off the light. She glanced again at the door. Minutes later she reached across the space and flicked the switch until darkness bathed the room. A sigh tore from her throat. What a night. Either she’d forgotten shutting the door in her exhaustion, or it must have been the night playing tricks on her mind.

  Sadly, it wasn’t magic that had her bolting upright in bed an hour later at the sound of a door slamming shut again.

  “Who’s there?” she called out, clasping the sheets to her chest. Her fingertips curled around something that definitely didn’t belong on her bed.

  With a small shriek, she flung the sheets from her, heart beating fast enough to break her ribs. Clicking on the light, her attention immediately focused on the perfectly formed iris poised inches from where her head had been on the pillow.

  “What…” She reached out to touch a single silken petal. Then ice froze her veins and her breath stopped. “No.” A tornado erupted inside of her at the sight. Astix eyed the blossom like it was a poisonous snake. She knew what it meant.

  It was a message. They’d found her.

  “It’s 4:30 in the morning.” She spoke aloud to fill the silence. Surprised when her voice remained firm. “You might have made contact, but I’m not obligated to answer.”

  She tossed the iris across the room, where it disappeared into a mound of laundry waiting for her attention. Moments later, after tucking herself back in, Astix felt a second flutter on her cheek, the flutter of petals across her skin.

  “I said no.”

  She grabbed the pillow and shoved it over her face, growling. A tremor traveled down the length of her body, shaking her insides.

  The steady weight of falling blossoms on her bed was as soft as snow. She scrubbed a hand through her hair with an uneven hiss of breath. The fucking explosion. Whatever magic she’d used to stop the damage had set off a domino effect and now her family had found her. She should be terrified, knowing that if the Cavaldis had the power to follow her magical signature, so could the Claddium.

  Her heart skipped a beat and seemed to rise in her chest. She should have taken the blast and accepted the consequences. No magic. Now she’d have to pack up and run. Again. Where would she go?

  Maybe it wasn’t as bad as her imagination made things out to be. Maybe her family had a stronger connection to her. Shared blood. Shared magic.

  One could hope.

  She bolted upright and gaped at the sight before her. Fresh blooms covered every available inch of the room and continued to descend in steady streams from the empty air. Begonia, white poppies, iris, and stars of Bethlehem vied for her attention in dozens of unnatural rainbow shades. Normally the flowers would disappear instead of accumulating, a product of enchantment. Instead, they piled in lightly fragranced mountains and continued to rain down on her.

  She fought a wave of panic and tried to swallow, throat surprisingly raw. She flung the covers aside, racing out of the room.

  “Leave me alone!”

  Charging down the hall, Astix locked herself in the bathroom. Fluorescent lights illuminated the black and white tiles, the newly renovated clawfoot tub and glass shower enclosure. This was her oasis. Her sanctuary. She wondered if it would be enough to sever the connection.

  Leaning over the sink, she turned the faucet on high and let the hot water run until it burned her palms. She brought her hands together so the water pooled between them and then splashed it on her face. The rest she ran through her hair to push the long strands behind her ears.

  Astix glanced up at her reflection in the mirror. Exhaustion hung over her like a shroud. She’d never seen the look that was on her face now. There was fear around the wide eyes. Pain and panic marking the press of her lips. And concern for her safety, for her future.

  There was something else there too. A determination, a sparkling determination to survive.

  “I don’t want to listen to you,” she said, trying to convince herself it would all go away. Water gathered in the basin until she released the plug.

  The universe conspired against her. When Astix looked down, a single sprig of feathery red astilbe lay on the shelf next to the sink, the only spot of color in the stark interior.

  With a second drawn-out sigh, she lowered her mental guards, shields like metal grates against a storm drain, and considered the flower, holding it between two fingers and studying each lacy panicle. The blossom taunted her with vibrant crimson clusters and glossy green leaves. Astilbe, symbolizing patience and dedication to a loved one. Its meaning?

  We’ll be waiting.

  The message whacked the outside of her skull, trying to get through.

  The way she saw it, there were two choices. She could live with the flowers until the person or persons on the other end grew tired of trying and gave up. They’d lose her scent, lose interest, and she could get back to her life. Or she could confront them head-on.

  The way she felt right now, there was only one clear option.

  Finally, she lowered her forehead to the mirror and felt the cool glass on her heated skin. “You win, damn you,” she murmured.

  Her family would be expecting her to come immediately. To jump in line as if no time had passed. There was only one problem. Time had passed. She wasn’t the same little girl they’d banished from the house. Banished from their lives.

  She cleared the mass of flora from her bed and settled back under the covers. Sleep, an elusive bedfellow at the best of times, chose to keep its distance as she tossed and turned.

  Every beat of her heart thudded against her ribs, and adrenaline coursed through her. No matter how hard she tried or how many selenite crystals she drew to her side, she buzzed with energy. Insomnia won out in the end, and still she refused to leave the house unless it was on her terms.

  They would have to wait.

  Her mind sped, doing what it did best—conjuring up the worst possible scenarios for this twelve-years-in-the-making reunion. Whatever the family clan wanted, it wouldn’t be good, and there w
as a chance the Claddium would be waiting there for her with their handcuffs. Ready to subdue, beat down, drag her off kicking and screaming and—

  If nothing else, Astix believed in her sisters. Contact was forbidden, but if they had reached out now, it wouldn’t be on the Claddium’s orders. That was something to consider.

  Gradually, bright morning sunlight poured through the skylights, singeing her half-shut eyes. Astix rolled over with a moan and still refused to hurry.

  She donned fresh albeit wrinkled clothes from the closet. The woman reflected in the full-length mirror looked a hot mess. No matter how much makeup she caked on, it only worsened the effect. Astix ran her hand along her right arm and the half-sleeve tattoo. Symbols for protection. Before the banishment, her mother would have blown a gasket if she’d come home with ink. Not to mention the gold circlet pierced through her nostril.

  Astix hardened her heart. Her mother’s opinion didn’t matter. Not anymore.

  A white iris burst to life in the air in front of her, floating for a split second before plummeting to the floor. If she didn’t hustle, there’d be more.

  Magic like that knew no boundaries.

  **

  Astix took extra time leaving her home, the deadbolts flung behind her, the stones near the doors reactivated with a flick of her fingers. If only it could be so easy to calm her heart rate. To keep the butterflies from attacking the lining of her stomach. Magic couldn’t help her there. Each step toward the motorbike seemed to last a lifetime.

  Something felt wrong. Again. She recognized the stillness, the lack of traffic rumbling down the two-lane street. Nothing except the sweet howl of the wind and the cry of a bird riding the frigid thermals overhead.

  She shoved the helmet on her head roughly and hissed when it pinched her. With a flick the visor was snapped down, and she gunned the engine, backing the motorbike out of the driveway. Tire lines drew across the wet pavement as the bike ate up the miles between her house and the old neighborhood. It had been stupid, she knew, to buy a house in the same state. The same area code. Thirty minutes and half a lifetime of distance.