Fate Walks (Cavaldi Birthright Book 1)

by Brea Viragh

  Then she took a shower, came out cleaner if not warmer, and a good deal steadier than when she’d first undressed. Unfortunately, there would be no rest. Not when the clock was ticking and each day brought them closer to the end. Closer to the eclipse.

  Her cheek still burning from the rebounded magic, she hopped on the bike and drove to Lake Forest for the second time in a week, with her shoulders hunched and the low, leaden sky threatening snow. Her head pounded viciously and her eyes felt like someone had grabbed handfuls of lemon juice and given them a vigorous scrub. Followed by a salt teaser after.

  The bike pulled to a stop with gravel spewing everywhere. She bumped the kickstand into place, then climbed up the steps and pushed inside without bothering to knock. Burning the candle at both ends had left her exhausted. Tense. Impatient.

  Her boots slapped against marble, the sound drawing Karsia from the other room. “You’re here!” she exclaimed. “You’re all right.”

  “For all you care. You and Aisanna left me at the club to rot. Real nice of you.”

  “Your man-friend had it covered,” Karsia tried to explain, trailing behind Astix as she paced down the hallway.

  “My man-friend, as you so blithely put it, works for the Claddium, and you have no clue what he might have done to me.”

  “Ah, crap. Will saying sorry help? I’m sorry! Okay? I was frightened. I didn’t know what to do.”

  Astix stuck her head into the den. The formal living room. The library. Parlor. Kitchen. “Then maybe next time,” she said grimly, “you should stay home when I ask you to.”

  “Will you stop and talk to me?” Karsia pleaded. “What are you looking for?”

  Astix headed toward the stairs and her mother’s bedroom. “Later. We’ll talk later. Right now, I need to see her.”

  Her feet made no sound, sinking into the thick carpeting lining each step. Her hand gripped the polished banister until the wood warmed beneath each finger. As children, she and her brother and sisters had spent hours trying to slide down the banister and see who went the fastest. It was a game they played nearly every day until Aisanna landed on the newel post and knocked out her front teeth. Their fun ended too quickly. Thorvald forbade the polishing of the stair rail by anything other than a cloth. No rear ends allowed.

  Astix remembered her and her siblings’ frantic laughter as she rounded the corner, taking the next left into her mother’s private oasis. A deep breath had her inhaling the scents of flowers and an undertone of earth magic. The sort of magic that brought to mind warm summer days and green leaves overhead. There was a grounded peace to it that helped soothe the snakes in her stomach.

  When she pushed open the door, she found Varvara seated on a curved bench in front of her vanity, painting her face for the day. Beneath the powder were signs of strain. Fatigue deepened the lines around her mouth, and veins stood out in stark relief beneath paper-thin skin.

  Astix pushed her concern to the corner of her mind. Otherwise, she’d go mad. “Mom.”

  Varvara turned, her face lighting up in a smile. “You’re back.”

  “It’s not a social visit, sorry.” She fought a wave of melancholy as she took in the surroundings.

  She remembered the room from her childhood. At night, while Zenon busied himself with his comic book collection, the three girls would race from their beds down the hallway. Under the warm, safe weight of Varvara’s down comforter, they snuggled together with their mother. A book would appear from nowhere and they would take turns reading. Eventually Zee found his way to the room, lying on his stomach at the end of the bed with his chin in his hands while the lyrical notes of their mother’s voice colored the air.

  Varvara was ever fond of florals, and even now bouquets of pink roses graced various surfaces around the area. Astix tried not to notice one startling fact: they were all dying.

  “I’m not sure how much Karsia and Aisanna told you about—” she began.

  “Nothing,” Karsia interrupted from the doorway. “I was waiting. I had a feeling you would be by today.”

  “Waiting? For what? Tell me what?” Varvara dropped her powder brush and turned. “Did something happen?”

  Astix stared at the rug rather than at her younger sister. “We went to Constance last night, because someone had a lead on Zee and we…I…wanted to follow it through.”

  That caught Varvara’s attention. Her compact hit the vanity top with sharp reverberation. “You went where?” The last word ended on a screech.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does matter! What happened to being careful? What you did and where you went is the complete opposite of careful.” Varvara grabbed her brushes again and began furiously stroking her face.

  “We got more than we bargained for. Whoever cursed you…he was there.” Astix stalked forward, stopping just inches away from the vanity and the clouds of powder. “He tried to start a feeding frenzy in the bar.”

  “You saw him?” her mother asked.

  “I saw someone who decided it would be fun to try and send a curse my way.” Astix absently rubbed her aching cheek. “Needless to say, he didn’t succeed. We’ve got one angry wizard on our hands.”

  “Tell me you’re okay.”

  The concern was a bitter pill to swallow. “I’m fine. I’m not here to talk about the club. I’m here to talk about the crows. The three dead crows I found lying on my doorstep when I got home last night.”

  “How did you get home?” Varvara wanted to know.

  “None of your business.”

  A little harsh, maybe, but she didn’t want to talk about Leo, so she busied herself with moving to the window and pushing aside the curtains. She didn’t want her mother and sisters making friendly conversation either, prying into her life, watching her out of their sharp, oddly colored eyes.

  Her lips twitched.

  Varvara laid her brush on the vanity counter, staring at her daughter in the reflection. “Maybe one day you’ll feel up to telling us.”

  “How about we focus on the crows. Or the red eyes I see in the darkness.” She wiped her damp palms on her jeans. “The voices I hear when no one is around, the doors slamming shut by themselves.” She turned to stare over her shoulder. “I’m not crazy.”

  “No, you’re not crazy. Are you sure it’s not the Claddium, sending someone after you? They already have Zee,” Varvara said.

  “I’m not sure of anything.”

  “It could be the guy from the club,” Karsia put in. “The one with the gold hair who got us out of there. You said he works for the Claddium, didn’t you? Your man-friend?”

  Astix felt her face harden. “No,” she assured them. “He just happened to be at the right place at the right time.”

  Varvara’s knees nearly clacked together as she crossed the room to her bed. “Nothing is a coincidence anymore. You need to stay away from this man-friend of yours, whoever he is. He might be involved with the curse and using whatever happened to gain your trust.”

  “We didn’t really have a lot of choice at the time—”

  “There’s always a choice.”

  “Not when I’m trying to save your life. Dammit, Mom!” Astix slapped her hand against the wall. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

  A few days ago, she would have argued that the niggling feeling in her gut was paranoia. Now her head said differently.

  “I told you everything,” Varvara insisted.

  “Not when there are dead crows showing up on my doorstep. Crows. Do you understand the symbolism here?”

  Varvara scoffed. “I’d be a fool not to.”

  “Then tell me what to do! Someone is trying to push me away. From you. Which is absolutely fucking nuts considering I’ve been gone almost half of my life anyway. Tell me why. Why me, and why the crows. I don’t feel safe in my own home anymore.” She shivered. She liked her privacy, her music, her magic. There was routine and comfort to all three. The demands and chaos of the curse were wearing on her eve
n in that short of a time.

  Quiet stretched between them. Karsia volleyed her gaze between the two women, neither willing to bend. Both on the edge of a break.

  Finally, Varvara exhaled, the motion fluttering her hair. The red rune on her wrist flared once. “You’re right. We haven’t been entirely honest with you.”

  “Wait, what? I didn’t expect you to come clean so quickly.”

  Varvara started to answer, then shook her head. Then crossed once again to her vanity. “It was better for you not to know. Why don’t we go downstairs and make a pot of tea?”

  “Maybe you need to tell me right now. Forget the tea.” Frowning, Astix glanced at the open door. “And shut the door.” There was something in the air, she thought to herself. Electricity that hadn’t been present seconds earlier. Was someone watching them now? Here?

  When Varvara turned, her long skirt swirling around her legs, she held a book. She lifted her free hand in a wave and the door closed by itself. The strain of the simple act showed on her face. “I’ve been meaning to speak to you for some time. At least now you’re settled around us, getting your feet under you. I wish this could be under happier circumstances.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  With a nervous chuckle, Varvara sat down on the bed and tucked the book on her lap. “There are certain things you need to know before we continue. Years ago, there was a foretelling. A prophecy. My great-great-grandfather was a seer.”

  The noise in the room receded for a moment, like echoes of a memory or a television left low in the background. It became white noise under a rising roar of blood in her ears. Astix stood across from her mother; she saw her mouth moving but heard nothing. Absolutely nothing. Then, like someone flinging open a window, it all crashed back.

  “…he was burned at the stake for his prophecies.”

  “Impossible.” It was her favorite word these days. Astix gripped her tingling hands together at her waist. She opened her mouth, and then closed it again in a long, terse line. “Seers and oracles don’t exist anymore. Their entire bloodline was wiped out.”

  “So they say. The Claddium wanted to believe the bloodline was wiped out. In truth, there have been nothing but women born to the Renaldi clan for the past three generations. Something of a quandary. Earth magic has dominated my family’s heritage. Still, the prophecy stood.”

  “I hate words like prophecy,” Karsia interrupted. “They carry too much weight.”

  “Indeed they do. Especially this one.” With a click, a secret compartment popped open from the book’s spine. From there she retrieved a small, yellowed slip of paper. “My great-great-grandfather, from all accounts, was a powerful seer. The last of his kind, the last one born to my bloodline. The vision came to him in fire and blood, and he managed to write it down before he died in both.” She glanced up. “Since you have your father’s gifts, I assume you can harness the gemstones in the foundation and walls to ensure we’re not overheard?”

  This was the first Astix had heard of gems buried in the walls, but it made sense. The instant she tuned in, the dull hum of thousands of minerals and crystals vied for her attention. How had she not noticed before? She nodded. “Fine.”

  Varvara kept the paper close to her chest. “Good. Proceed.”

  Astix went inside herself and harnessed her power. Mentally she began to recognize the energy signatures of the stones hidden in the structure of the house. With a push, she activated them, manipulating their inherent characteristics to ensure protection for the three of them. It was a simple matter to preserve the integrity of the room and keep prying ears away.

  Moments later, she let out a breath and nodded again. “It’s done.”

  “Then,” Varvara said flatly, “I think it’s time you read the prophecy. It was meant for you, after all.”

  Jittering inside, Astix put herself between her mother and the door. Ready to run if necessary. “This is ridiculous. Do you two really believe this garbage?”

  “Yes.” Karsia pushed away from the wall. “Because everything that’s happening is too big to be a coincidence. The eclipse ensures it.”

  “Ridiculous,” Astix repeated.

  “Sit.” Varvara angled her chin. “We don’t have much time.”

  It must have been something in her mother’s voice. A wisp of a memory where the tone and emphasis had her rushing to obey. Instantly contrite, Astix sat at the edge of the bed and twisted her fingers together. Each joint was rigid as steel.

  “I’m sorry. I know this is not what you want to hear. But now with the omens, I think it’s time you did.”

  “I don’t want to be in the middle of this anymore,” Astix said. “It isn’t fair.”

  “No, it’s not, my love. Something we can agree on. Now, please.” Varvara passed the paper to Astix. “Read. And tell me what you think.”

  Astix hesitated, cleared her throat. Stalled for as long as she could while staring down at the aged slip. The words written there were nearly illegible and rubbed thin. The ink was brown with age. She read aloud:

  “Ancient power in time eternal.

  Perpetual Love. Perpetual War.

  Fate to seal, fair and vernal.

  Power rise and settle the score.

  Eclipse to dawn, veil runs thin.

  Balance destroyed under shrouded pall.

  Fight the tide to never win.

  Harbinger come or world to fall.”

  Varvara smiled sadly as Astix let out a laughing, dubious exhalation. “Mom—”

  “The Claddium has never set eyes on this piece of paper.” She tapped the book’s secret compartment. “We want to keep it that way.”

  “Why would it be important?”

  “It’s a warning. The balance is shifting too close to the eclipse. The veil too thin. Our world is about to go through a great change, and the Harbinger will determine the outcome.”

  “The Claddium is charged with keeping the balance,” Astix argued.

  “No, the Claddium is charged with meting out justice,” Varvara rejoined. “There is a difference.”

  “If they’ve never seen this, then why are they dead set on finding the Harbinger?”

  “Because I think they want to control the outcome. Control one witch and it determines the fate of everyone.”

  “You think that’s why they have Zee?”

  “His manifestations were unorthodox. Not of this world. Something no one has ever seen before. They took him, and he’s being held for no other reason than his difference. If we were any ordinary family, it would be trouble enough. For a Cavaldi…it’s life-changing. They think Zenon is the Harbinger.”

  Astix shook her head. “And you’re sure he’s not.”

  “I don’t believe he is.” Varvara let out a shuddering sigh. “I want my son back. Unfortunately, the Claddium is looking at the wrong person, and until they find the one they should be looking for, Zee is as good as gone.”

  “And who exactly should they be looking for?” Astix hesitated to ask.

  “Oh, my sweet girl…it’s you.”

  Silence. Stunned silence. Astix could only hear the pounding of her own heart as she absorbed this revelation. And then suddenly there were voices in the silence. Unmistakable voices but Astix couldn’t make out the words. Had they been overheard? How was that possible? The gems should have been protection enough.

  A slight breeze stirred the room, strengthening until it rose up around them in a vortex of pressure and sound. The door opened on its own.

  “What the hell?” Karsia held a hand to her face to keep the hair out of her eyes. “You were supposed to protect the room!”

  Astix stared at the door as wild magic whipped her skin. “I did! They’re activated.”

  Then Varvara keeled over. The rune at her wrist flared and burned bright red. Astix didn’t think. She reacted, a gut instinct reaction to seeing her mother in agony.

  “Enough!”

  A wave of her hand gathered the energy from the stones in the
walls. In the very foundation. And farther down until she could feel the pulsation of every gemstone within a mile radius. She focused everything she had on the room, on her mother.

  Karsia surged forward. “Don’t!”

  Time slowed. Magic flowed along her bones, through her blood, and exited her body through her fingertips. Purple sparks snaked a line across the room, surrounding Varvara.

  One heartbeat.

  The magic curled around the older woman’s ankle.

  Two.

  Varvara took a gasping breath, her head dropping back and the scorching rune losing its luster.

  Three.

  The wind died down. The door slammed shut again. The purple aura faded away.

  Karsia stared at Astix with wild eyes. “What was that? What did you do?”

  Astix couldn’t breathe. She stumbled along the carpet until her shoulders slapped against the wall. “That was me saving her life.”

  “You…you’re the Harbinger?”

  It took effort to sound casual. “Because of a little spell? No way. Don’t you understand? I’m not supposed to exist.”

  “Or maybe,” Karsia said, “you’re the only one who can save us.”

  “You’re looking at the wrong person. I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you stay alive. But we need to drop this discussion.” Astix was insistent. “Before I lose my fucking mind.”

  The white-on-white bedroom was no longer a safe haven. No longer the place where she remembered coming for guidance on those nights when she couldn’t sleep because of the nightmares. This was a place to make her stand. To defend herself from whatever fate threw at her.

  She scooped her hair away from her face and schooled her voice to stay smooth despite the sudden hitching in her chest. “I will do whatever I can to make sure you stay alive. However—and it’s a pretty damn big however—I don’t know if I can win. I can’t promise success. But I’ll find the bastard responsible for that.” She pointed at the rune. “And I’ll make him pay. That I can promise.”

  CHAPTER 8

  The bastard responsible, otherwise known as Harry Dotes, was not available for comment, as he hadn’t been seen since his fifteenth birthday. The day of his Awakening. The day when his father had to come clean about his own heritage and the Missus flipped her lid. Harry made a quiet exit from the farmhouse on Kyle Lane and never looked back. It was better that way.