Games of Fate (Fate ~ Fire ~ Shifter ~ Dragon #1)

by Kris Austen Radcliffe

  “Is my mom some sort of war criminal? Did she free Nazis or bomb villages?” Because the way he responded, the Fates must have had a hand in all the horrors humans inflicted on each other. “Tell me!” This was too much. Not her mom.

  Ladon released the brakes. “Your mother is Mira of the Jani Prime.” He looked back at Dragon. “Most likely.”

  Not that Rysa understood what the name meant. Or why it felt ominous. An image of her mother as an old-time silent movie villain popped into her mind, complete with a top hat and a huge mustache to twirl. Her mother cackled, but since she was in black and white, a dialog card appeared instead: Bwa-ha-ha!

  What the hell was her nasty showing her now? “What does that mean?” she yelled. She slapped the seat. The Burners were bad enough, but now her mother was some sort of super-villain?

  Rysa Torres, the subpar Fate, locked to ghouls and unable to control the flaming visions pirouetting behind her eyes, with a super-villain mother in a top hat and a handlebar mustache.

  Ladon slapped the steering wheel again. “Are you always like this? So volatile? Because it’s getting on my—” He stopped suddenly when a wave of light pulsed across Dragon’s hide.

  “I—” What should she say? Gosh, looks like I’m a super-villain, too? But me, I’m a spaz! “Sometimes I can’t pay attention. I get worked up. I don’t have my meds.”

  Ladon grunted. “You don’t need to yell.”

  She didn’t answer. How many times in her life had she run off a boy or a friend or teacher because she couldn’t calm down?

  “Do you know anything about your family? The Jani?”

  She shook her head. How many Fates could there be? What if the planet teemed with super-villains?

  “There aren’t many of your kind.” He leaned forward slightly and peered at the road. “Most triads aren’t Prime. Often, a new Prime triad will break off and start a new family line. But not always. Your family doesn’t. They consolidate power. It’s their context.” He looked her over. “Mostly.”

  “So my mom’s part of one of these Primes?” Who the hell called themselves Prime anyway? It sounded autocratic. Something despots did.

  “Your mother can read what-is. Make choices to optimize outcomes in the present situation.” He switched lanes. “Your aunt Ismene is their past-seer. You can’t hide anything from a past-seer. They know what-was. How you got to where you are. Your uncle Faustus is their future-seer. He’s—” Ladon grumbled. “They are not… nice, Rysa. They were once the Prime triad of the Roman Empire, until the Christian emperors decided they were satanic.”

  Dragon snorted.

  Her mother’s gold eagle. Her talisman. “My mom always wears this little eagle. Or I think it’s an eagle. It looks old. And well-worn, like it had been handed down to her. She said it was a family heirloom and one day I’d inherit it.”

  Ladon’s grip on the steering wheel intensified again. “The talisman of empire. The Jani Prime knew how to manipulate and control the flow of political information. They were very powerful, in their time. Kingmakers at a time when making a king meant controlling the civilized world.”

  Her mother controlled kings. And emperors. “Wait.” The implications of what Ladon said about Rome sank in. “How old is my mom?” She looked old enough to be Rysa’s mother, but just barely. People asked if they were sisters all the time.

  “How old are you?” She looked back at Dragon. Were they immortal? “Am I going to spend eternity with randomized burning visions?” Would she be sitting in some old age home in 500 years, her brain totally fried?

  Ladon’s brow furrowed. “You ask a lot of questions.”

  What did he expect her to do? “That exit.” Rysa pointed at the off-ramp.

  He pulled off onto the county road, heading east.

  “Am I going to turn into a Burner?” She bounced in her seat, unable to stop herself. “I don’t want to be a Burner.”

  Ladon exhaled and glanced into the mirror. Another surge burst between him and Dragon. “You’re not going to turn into a Burner.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he peered down her street when they turned.

  “That house, up there. The gray one.” Rysa bounced again, the need to run for the front door and pull out her mother almost overwhelming what little control she had left. They slowed, Ladon’s gaze steady on her home. His posture changed—his anger about the Jani resurfaced as he stared at the front door. “Your mother will not be happy to see me.”

  His words vanished before she caught them, disappearing from her consciousness. Her mom was alone with monsters and the man who said he’d help was having second thoughts. Again.

  “It’s dark. Maybe she left. Maybe she’s okay.” Rysa pointed at the house. Maybe she wasn’t inside and Ladon’s oscillating attitude didn’t matter. “Do you think she’s okay?”

  He stopped the van a few houses away, up the cross street but still in view. “Please be quiet. No more questions. Let me concentrate. We need to know if Burners are about.”

  Was she still talking that much? “Can she get away from them? They caught me. Will she black out, too?”

  Ladon grimaced.

  “Do you feel Mom’s seer? Should I be able—”

  “Be quiet. Please.” A blast moved between him and Dragon. “We’re not close enough for me to feel her seer. I’m not sure about you.” He scrutinized every inch of the house and yard, and pointed at the front door. “The power’s been cut. The house isn’t on, like the neighbors’. No residual lights. No humming.”

  Rysa blinked. The nasty thing in her head sat up like a dog, sniffing around. She felt a distinct need for caution. “They’re here.”

  His stone face didn’t change, but his gaze darted over the windows and the areas on either side of the house. “You need to stay calm. Don’t run off. And try not to fire random seer bursts at us. Not when we’re dealing with Burners in close quarters. We know this is new to you, but if you focus, you can hold it in check.”

  She watched the house, not really listening. She’d heard this all before: Concentrate, Rysa. You can do it. It’s not that hard. You’re a smart girl. Use some of those smarts to pay attention.

  “Rysa? Did you hear me?”

  When she looked back, he’d started to slip on his armored jacket.

  “There’s another one in the back.” Ladon flipped a sleeve toward Dragon as if commanding her to put on the other jacket.

  “So, is that how it’s going to be?”

  Rysa knew Dragon wanted Ladon to be nice, but he’d dropped back into hateful anyway.

  He stopped, one arm in the jacket, the other halfway into its sleeve. “What?”

  “Just because my mom’s part of this Jani Prime, you decided not to be civil?”

  “Civil? You’re the one yelling.” He finished pulling on the jacket. “When this is done, you and your mother can go your own way.”

  Ladon had no desire to use her. She realized that now. He’d been friendly because helping was what he did. But she’d become the new face of this Jani family he detested and he clicked off any possibility to connect with her, as a friend or otherwise, no matter how much Dragon badgered him about it.

  She told him she had problems paying attention. She didn’t have her medication. With everything happening, he shouldn’t expect the most iron-willed person to hold it together, much less her.

  She’d try anyway. Her mom was in trouble. But Ladon’s words hurt more than his anger or his annoyance. They hurt worse than any time Tom rolled his eyes. Worse than any teasing by a classmate. Worse than her elementary school counselor’s disappointed sighs. More than her mother’s exasperations or the arguments between her parents. Worse than anything.

  This time, it vibrated into the future.

  Light burst from Dragon and he touched her shoulder.

  She was twenty years old, for Heaven’s sake. Twenty. This path through her life was well-worn. Her soul should be hardened and sh
e should threaten him with some plucky comeback and a Fate ninja ass-kicking because he acted like a jerk.

  But it wasn’t in her. Not with this man and this beast.

  Ladon’s eyes widened. His fingers grazed her forearm. “I know this is hard for you. I’m—”

  She didn’t hear the rest. It happened again: The sky stained sick with Burner fire. She felt disconnected, disoriented, like the shackles anchored her body to the underside of the clouds. She drowned in a wispy sea of acid rain.

  And so did her mother.

  A loud pop rocked the house. The entire building shook, the windows rattling. The house will burn, a fireball ripping through the entire block.

  Just like that mall in Chicago.

  “Mom!” Rysa sprinted for the front step before either Ladon or Dragon could stop her.

  7

  Rysa’s memory, long cherished, overrode her present:

  Her mommy stood outside the patio door of their California house and stared over the dry grass at the tent her daddy set up. “I don’t know about a fire, Sandro.”

  When her mom got this way, Rysa always thought of wind chimes. She didn’t hear them. She felt them. Her mom stared at the tent and Rysa felt angry chimes smashing together like they were trying to kill each other. Like the bells over the patio clanked when the Santa Ana winds blew.

  “Please?” Rysa hugged her stuffed dragon and made her best second grade pleading face even though she wanted to frown. Mommy’s chimes felt loud tonight.

  Her daddy stopped in the open patio door, one foot inside and the other out, his neck cranked to the side as if he was afraid that he’d smash his forehead on the top of the door frame. He was taller than all the other dads at school. Taller even than Mr. Donovan, and Mr. D was tall.

  Mommy made a face at her little dragon. “You know, honey, your other toys might like some attention.” She’d piled her blond hair on her head today in a twisty-braidy way that made Rysa think of all the statues at the museum her class visited on her school field trip last week.

  She hadn’t run off, mostly because her daddy came along. He took the day off work, which was really special, and made sure she didn’t get left behind. She’d get too interested in the statues of people who stood like ‘S’s and held fruit or arrows or wore funny helmets. When Rysa pointed at one statue with no arms and an eagle necklace and said she looked like Mommy, her dad almost laughed himself silly.

  Then he carried her back to her class and the other kids stared at him and his big arms and his brown eyes striped with the same green-like-a-leaf that striped the gray in hers. Sunburst, he’d said. Sunburst was a better description than striped. Then he chuckled and spoke to her teacher in Spanish.

  “Mira, she likes that toy.”

  Her mom blinked, frowning again at the little dragon, and pointed at the backyard. “Fires attract attention.”

  Her dad had promised a camping trip but Mommy frowned like she was frowning now and said not this weekend, Sandro. Please. It’s important. So her dad had hugged Rysa tight and said they’d camp in the backyard. He had lots of Spanish to teach her anyway, and lots of stories about Argentina. And, maybe if she was good, he’d tell her about Spain, too.

  She wanted to learn about Spain. It was in Europe. And Daddy came from a place called Cordoba in Argentina and Spain had another city with the same name, which was really neat. They were like junior and senior cities. And Argentina had a huge city called Buenos Aires that was as big as Los Angeles but everyone was packed tighter together, like the crayons in her coloring box. And it was much bigger than San Diego or any other place they’d lived. Rysa had thought Los Angeles was the biggest city in the whole world, but it wasn’t. She learned in school that—

  “It’s not good to attract attention.” Her mom pointed at the tent again.

  Her dad’s concentration snapped to her mom at the same time Rysa’s did. He winked and she giggled.

  “What kind of attention?” Her dad always asked her mom questions like that. What do you mean? What is happening? Please be more specific.

  “But Mom, we’re camping.” Rysa tried not to whine. Sometimes it happened anyway. She hugged her dragon.

  The chimes-in-a-storm flowed from her mom again and she knelt so they’d be eye-to-eye. The chimes always happened before her mom wanted to say something important.

  Mommy glanced over Rysa’s shoulder at her dad. “Camping with your father is precisely what you need to do tonight.”

  “Can we have the fire?”

  Her mom frowned again and her eyes went all distant like she was staring at the mountains. “A fire? What if the whole world burns?”

  Her father frowned too, but didn’t look at her mother. He’d been doing a lot of that lately. Rysa noticed. They didn’t think she paid attention, but she did. They didn’t touch each other much anymore, either. They used to touch all the time. Their elbows, fingers, toes. They danced in the kitchen and Rysa laughed and clapped and sung. Then her father picked her up and she danced with them, too.

  “Mom-my! You’re silly! The whole world won’t burn! That can’t happen. The ocean is over there.” She pointed over her shoulder. “Besides, we watched a movie about grass fires and how to be careful and Daddy knows what to do and we’ll put a bucket right next to it.” She stood up straight. “I promise.”

  Her mother scratched at her twisty-braidy hair and mumbled something that sounded like Spanish but Rysa knew it wasn’t. “Sweetie.” She still stared and didn’t look at Rysa. “One day you’ll remember this, so what I say and what your father says to you right now is very important.” She touched Rysa’s chest. “Always remember that your mommy and daddy love you, my dearest heart.”

  Rysa nodded, hugging her mom. Her dragon bounced against her mom’s shoulder because she held him by his back leg and her mommy sighed really deep when Rysa kissed her cheek. Sometimes her mom was weird.

  Mommy touched the toy’s head. “He’s a good dragon.” Her gaze focused on the seams where his wings used to be. Wings on a dragon were stupid. Real dragons didn’t have wings. She knew it. Her daddy helped sew up the holes.

  “But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

  Rysa nodded. “He’s the best dragon ever.”

  Her mom nodded again. “Always remember that, okay?”

  Daddy sniffed and shook his shoulders like he did when he was surprised. The look vanished and he smiled, but he still seemed sad, like the surprise reminded him of fun times that he got in trouble for.

  “We can hope.” He winked at Rysa again as he lifted her up. “Well, I have something very important to say: Do you want s’mores, mi risa?”

  She clapped so hard she lost her grip on her dragon’s leg. “Oh!”

  Her dad caught the little beast before he hit the ground. “Have you given him a name?” He carried her toward the tent and the log he’d set out for their camp.

  “Dad-dy!” she whined. “You know his name is in dragon. No one can say dragon!”

  Her dad laughed. “Well, I wouldn’t know. I’ve never met one.”

  “And he’s special.”

  Her dad stopped halfway between the house and the tent. “Both dragons are special, aren’t they, honey?”

  Dragons. The concept of beasts reverberated within Rysa’s memory, overriding what had been, always, an instance of family love. A younger time when she had both parents; a time when they wove her world together.

  The texture of the memory changed: Tentacles grabbed its edges and stretched. Depth flattened. Sound vanished. And what had been for Rysa a treasured moment became something wholly different.

  Memory was a jigsaw of vision and hearing and touch and emotion. Sometimes pieces were enhanced, sometimes minimized. Recall bowed to the story.

  Not now. Rysa’s memory of camping with her dad took on an intelligence a simple story could never have. It carried more in her vision than it had before she activated. Much more. Her childhood clicked over to high definition and she felt the
increased pixel density, the new information.

  But she didn’t understand.

  In her vision, Rysa was sure her father asked her mother his question about dragons, not her. She stared over his shoulder at the fire ring next to the tent as an adult, no longer a child in his arms.

  The fire will blaze all night, hot and blistering and acidic.

  Her mother muttered something from her place in the patio door. He’s special because he’s Rysa’s dragon. Mira stared into space, her eyes wild and angry and very scary.

  Fear crept from Rysa’s belly into her throat, like when she thought the monsters would get in, before her father put the nightlight in her room, long, long ago.

  In the vision, she hugged her dragon closer.

  She looked first at her mother, standing in the patio door of their California house, then at her father, standing between her and the fire ring. Her mother’s eyes darted from the toy Rysa clutched to the fire ring, then back. Each flick of her gaze cinched her face tighter. Her cheeks tensed. The corners of her mouth pulled farther back.

  Something was wrong with her mother.

  Rysa tried to speak, to make a sound, to tell her father she needed his help, but he didn’t hear. He left, but not until she started middle school, and then her mother hurt every day. She hurt so bad that she rubbed her knuckles every morning when making Rysa’s breakfast. And she cried a little bit, but not so much Rysa noticed.

  But she did, even if she couldn’t pay attention. She saw it in high school, before she ran to catch the early bus outside their new home where it snowed. She’d always know. She knew.

  In the vision, her mom blinked, her twisty-braidy hair a sudden halo of chaos.

  One parent blinked. The other vanished.

  And somewhere behind Rysa, in the real heat, the real Mira of the Jani Prime screamed.

  8

  “Mom!” Rysa tasted ash and acid. Her body rebelled, demanding she run away as fast as she could.