Twisted Fate

by Jessi Elliott

  Exhausted as I am, this is the perfect opportunity to look through the house for some answers. I have to be quiet; I don’t want to wake anyone and have to lie about why I’m searching through old family things.

  I tiptoe into the office, a small room with a couch, a desk, and chair. One wall is lined with bookshelves filled with old textbooks, some of my parents’ books, and our family albums. I cross the room, flicking on the lamp on the desk as I pass, and run my finger along the spines. I crouch and pull out an album.

  I flip through the pages. Nothing. This one is far too recent to hold any answers.

  I sigh, glancing at the shelf full of matching binders. They’re all too new. If I weren’t half asleep, I’d have realized that before I wasted my time in here. If I crawled into the attic, I might be able to find something that dates back far enough, but I can’t do that when I’m trying to stay quiet. I’m not going to get any answers tonight.

  With a yawn, I drag myself to my bedroom and fall onto my bed, hoping Tristan will leave me alone for the rest of the night.

  When I find myself in another dreamscape, anger swiftly rises, and I grit my teeth. My eyes focus on the ground beneath my feet. Cracked pavement. I frown as I lift my head, and gasp sharply when realization knocks the air out of me.

  I’m not in my dream anymore. I’m in Tristan’s.

  He’s standing atop a mess of rubble, staring right at me, but doesn’t see me. He doesn’t know I’m in his dream. How am I here?

  I shiver, coughing on the smoke that’s heavy in the air, and blink until my vision is as clear as it’s going to get in this war-torn environment. There’s nothing left for as far as the eye can see. Buildings are gone, nothing left but piles of concrete and metal, and leafless trees are fallen, scattered in the mess. It looks like a scene out of a dystopian movie.

  My eyes shift back to Tristan. He’s a mess. His dark clothing is torn, all but shredded in some places along his midsection, and his hair is darkened with dirt and ash. I walk closer, careful where I step, and watch his face pale. His eye are bloodshot and wide, rimmed by dark circles underneath. They’re bouncing all over the place, never stopping in one spot too long, but growing more and more frantic by the second. His chest rises and falls quickly, and his hands are balled into fists at his sides.

  “Tristan,” I whisper, my voice cracking, and suddenly I’m fighting this all-consuming urge to comfort him. The pain in his expression is hurting me.

  I say his name again, louder this time, but he still doesn’t hear me.

  My eyes burn as I watch the dark fae leader fall to his knees and stare at the ruins with an utterly hopeless expression that makes my blood run cold.

  Tristan wasn’t alive during this fae war, during the destruction of his people’s homeland, but he’s forced to experience it in his nightmares.

  My eyes fly open, and daylight streams into my room. I stretch my arms and legs, taking a few minutes to shake the scene I just witnessed. Once my heart slows to a normal rate and I stop sweating, I try to enjoy the fact I’m waking up in my own bedroom.

  There’s nothing like sleeping in your own bed at home. Compared to the old, twin mattress I sleep on at school, this bed feels like a cloud of comfort and warmth. Everything about my room makes me want to stay here: the Polaroid photos I have hung on one wall, the desk that’s covered with books on business and marketing, the window seat my dad built me the first summer I got into reading when I was thirteen. The giant bookshelves are the best thing about the room, though. They hold so many books that I’ll probably never read them all. I glance longingly at the keyboard set up across the room. If I could somehow make it fit in my room at school, I’d have it there. I’ve been playing piano since I was little. Playing always makes me feel in control and at ease. It helps make life less chaotic.

  With all of my belongings unchanged, my bedroom is one of the things I miss the most when I’m at school.

  I head down to the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee and find Mom sitting at the breakfast bar. “Morning,” I keep quiet in case Dad and Adam are still asleep.

  “Morning, honey. How’d you sleep?” She ties the belt on her soft blue robe and yawns.

  I shudder. “I slept okay.” I don’t want to think about the vividness of that dream. My stomach is still in knots.

  She takes a sip of her coffee. “Adam is happy you’re home.”

  My chest tightens at the mention of his name. I’d give anything to have yesterday be a nightmare, to wake up and find out Adam isn’t sick again. I pour some coffee into my mug and smile. “Yeah, I’m happy, too.” I take a drink. “I’m guessing they aren’t awake yet?”

  Mom’s soft laugh lightens her eyes. “You know Adam is a monster to get out of bed before noon, and your father went out to run some errands.”

  I glance at the clock on the stove; it’s just after eleven. “Gotcha,” I say. “So, in class the other day, we were talking about things running in families . . .” Nice segue, Aurora. “Businesses and traditions and such,” I add. “Do you know if our family had anything like that, maybe a long time ago?” What a time to be completely not subtle. I don’t know how else to search for what I’m looking for. Hell, I don’t really know what I’m looking for. Maybe bringing this up was a bad idea. Maybe it’s best I don’t know.

  She glances at me. “That sounds interesting. I can’t think of any on my side,” she pauses, biting her bottom lip. “Your dad’s family was always more . . . eclectic than mine. Maybe you could ask him?”

  My lips part as if I’m going to respond, but no words come out. “Yeah,” I finally say. The back of my neck tingles, the hairs standing straight, and my arms break out in goosebumps. Was Tristan right? The thought invites too many questions, so I push it away and say, “What’s your plan for the day?”

  She sighs. “Grading, grading, and more grading.”

  “Oh.” I frown. “I was hoping we could all go out and do something fun if Adam is feeling up to it.”

  “I would love to, but I’m on a pretty strict deadline. Maybe the two of you can spend some time together. You can have the car when Dad gets home. He shouldn’t be too long now. He’s been gone for over an hour.” Does he know about the fae? I doubt it, considering Tristan said the fae in my family were hundreds of years old. My stomach drops. How could I not have thought about it until now? If my ancestors were fae, does that mean they’re still alive?

  I blink a few times. “Yeah, sure,” I answer.

  Mom was right. It’s almost one in the afternoon when Adam shows his face in the living room. At least he’s brushed his hair and gotten dressed. It’s hard to imagine him being sick again. He looks like the Adam I knew before he got sick the first time.

  “Good afternoon, sleeping beauty,” I tease.

  He sticks his tongue out at me. “You’re hilarious, Roar.”

  “Looks like it’s you and me today, kiddo. Do you want to do something?”

  He shrugs, yawning. “We can walk around the mall or go see a movie.”

  “Sure. Whatever you want.”

  When Dad gets back an hour later, he gives us the keys, and we head to the mall. It’s nothing special—not an ideal hangout place, even when I was in high school, but it’s something to do. Mapleville is tiny compared to Rockdale, but I have fond memories of hanging out with friends at the Purple Cat café down the street from my high school.

  My phone chimes with a text from Oliver, pulling me out of a memory as Adam and I walk out of his favorite clothing store.

  I’m in your room waiting for Allison and some dude was here looking for you.

  I frown. I’d told Grant I was going home this weekend when he asked to get together to work on our research papers. I hit reply and type, Grant was there?

  This guy said his name was Max.

  My throat goes dry, and I glance over at Adam. He’s looking at me with raised brows. Did he say why he was there? I send back.

  No, just that he was looking for you. Is ev
erything okay?

  Everything is fine. I’ll see you and Allison when I get back.

  Talk to you later.

  I pocket my phone. “Sorry about that.”

  Adam shrugs. “Want to get some fro-yo while we’re here?”

  “You bet I do. Lead the way.”

  While standing in line at the fro-yo place, I send Allison a message to tell her Max was creeping around. I don’t know why he was there, but I figure it’s best to let her know about it. As far as I know, she still isn’t on great terms with Tristan, so I want to make sure she’s safe.

  “Hello, Adam,” a pleasant female voice says.

  He turns toward the voice and smiles. “Oh, hi, Dr. Collins. Aurora, this is my new doctor.”

  I glance at the woman standing in line behind us. She looks to be in her mid-forties and wears a slightly wrinkled casual sweater and mom jeans.

  Her eyes flick to me, and she smiles. “You must be Adam’s sister. I’m Richelle Collins.”

  We shake hands, moving up a bit as the line moves. “Nice to meet you,” I say. The timing is an odd coincidence. Yesterday, I found out about Adam being sick again, and today we run into his doctor at the mall of all places. A shiver shoots up my spine. No. I’m overthinking this. Had I not been recently kidnapped by the fae, I wouldn’t automatically be so suspicious of everything that seems a tiny bit off. I force the feeling down and smile.

  “You too,” she says.

  “What are you doing here?” Adam asks.

  “My daughter wanted to come look for some new video game she’s been saving up for.” She laughs. “I left her scouring the electronic store. She could spend all day there, so I thought I’d walk around a bit.”

  “Cool,” Adam says with a grin. The kid beams at the mention of video games. We step up to the counter and order our fro-yo, Adam picking his favorite cookie dough flavor, and I go for a tart green apple.

  Adam waves goodbye to Dr. Collins, and she says, “See you next week.”

  I haven’t asked him how he’s feeling about the treatment yet, and I’m not sure how to bring it up or whether I should, but I imagine he’s scared. Anyone would be.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” I ask him as we enjoy our frozen treat.

  He pokes at the fro-yo with his spoon. “Not really.”

  “We don’t have to, but I want you to know that I’m here if you ever change your mind.”

  He finally smiles, which loosens the knot in my stomach a bit. “Thanks, Roar.”

  Adam and I spend the rest of the day together, popping in and out of stores, chatting about my classes and his friends. We grab dinner on the way home—Chinese food from Mom and Dad’s favorite place downtown—and we all eat together in the dining room.

  I sit there, enjoying a chicken ball drenched in sweet-and-sour sauce, and smile at my family. My thoughts trickle back to Tristan and the mess that I’m going back to at school. I didn’t get any answers from coming home like I’d hoped. I can’t say anything about it, which makes it harder to bear. I doubt Tristan would take kindly to more humans knowing about the fae, not that I think my parents would believe me, even though my dad apparently has fae ancestors. They’d blame it on stress and sign me up for therapy. Adam would believe me, though. The kid has a killer imagination. He believes in almost everything.

  Looking at them now is making me want to stay. I wasn’t homesick much in the past, but I feel it now, even more so considering Adam’s new diagnosis. The urge to stay is strong, but the growing need for answers is slowly overpowering it. I don’t want to think about it, but it’s looking more and more like there’s only one person I can go to for those answers.

  “What time do you have to leave tomorrow?” Adam asks between giant mouthfuls of fried rice. Man, that kid can eat. He’s already on his second plate, and it doesn’t look like he’s going to stop anytime soon. I’m glad he hasn’t lost his appetite.

  “Early afternoon. I have some things I need to deal with before my week starts.” Things like figuring out why the hell Max was looking for me and how he knows where I live on campus.

  “Your sister is going to be busy over the next couple of months,” Mom says with a smile. “We’re all so proud.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  Dad cleans up after dinner, and Adam follows me to my room to hang out while I pack the few things I brought home with me.

  “I wish you didn’t have to leave,” he says.

  “I know. I don’t want to go back, either.” I peek over at him and smile. “But don’t worry, I’ll be home to visit as soon as I can.”

  If I survive this week.

  Monday mornings suck. Okay, Mondays in general suck, but this morning specifically sucks harder than usual. I didn’t get much sleep last night, and it isn’t because Tristan showed up—because he didn’t. Which is a good thing, considering there’s a high chance I would’ve punched his stupid, perfect face for invading my unconscious thoughts. Dealing with him when I’m awake is enough.

  Every time I came close to falling asleep, I would remember what was waiting for me this morning, and I would be wide awake again, filled with dread and nerves.

  When my alarm goes off at six o’clock, I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling. Should I drop out of school? If there were any other way to get this credit to graduate, I would be all over it, but my mentor is a dangerously charming, yet infuriatingly arrogant fae leader isn’t exactly a believable excuse to be exempt.

  I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand, followed by my regular morning routine of showering and blow drying my hair before getting ready the rest of the way.

  Our door opens, and Allison walks in, holding a tray with two cups of coffee and a bag in her hand. “Morning,” she says, setting the tray on my desk. “I brought coffee and muffins. Today is a big deal for you, so I wanted to start it off right.”

  Despite the slight nausea in my stomach, I smile. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Of course I did.” She hands me a coffee. “I have class in . . . five hours anyway.” She presses her lips together against a smile.

  I take a small sip, hoping my stomach won’t reject it. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

  “Whatever I can do to make today a little less difficult for you.”

  I wrap her in a one-armed hug and squeeze her shoulders. “You’re the best.”

  She’s proven that many times. When I got back to campus yesterday and told her about Adam, she held me while I cried about it much like the first time. I don’t know what kept the tears at bay while I was home, maybe wanting to be strong for my family, but the thought of Adam enduring cancer treatments again makes my heart feel like someone is slicing it to shreds with razors.

  When it’s time to leave, my stomach twists, and my hands dampen as they shake at my sides. Get a grip. I clench my hands into fists, take a deep breath, and grab my bag before I head for the door.

  “You’ve got this, Aurora.” Allison shoots me a thumbs-up from her desk.

  My lips manage to form a smile as my chest loosens a fraction. “I’ll see you later.”

  The streetcar ride to the Westbrook Hotel feels like hours when in reality it takes fifteen minutes. Both the hotel and campus are in the downtown core, but traffic is a bitch in the morning.

  I step off with a crowd of people and shoulder my bag before I head for the building. The sound of my heels echoes against the concrete, and I focus on the repetitive click, click, click to keep myself from spiraling.

  The hotel lobby is as extravagant and posh as I remember it. My gaze bounces around the room. A few employees and guests walk around, chatting or watching the morning news on one of the many flat screens attached to the walls.

  Someone brushes past me, scowling. “Watch it, human,” the man says.

  My body tenses as I fight back a snide remark. He’s in a building full of humans. What the hell is his problem with me? How many of the fae know I’m working for Tristan? Working for Tris
tan. That’s a dark idea; it fries my nerves.

  I straighten, gripping my bag until my knuckles turn white, put on my best pleasant-yet-professional face, and walk to the reception desk. I smile at the familiar face. It’s the same girl as the day I stormed in, demanding to see Tristan. Marisa, her name tag says. “Hi there. I’m sorry if you remember me.”

  Her expression is bright, friendly. “Miss Marshall, welcome back to the Westbrook Hotel.”

  “Thanks. Again, sorry about last time. Tristan, er, Mr. Westbrook, can be . . .”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ve worked here for almost five years. I know what you’re talking about. Mr. Westbrook instructed me to send you to the office upon your arrival.”

  I nod. “Right, okay.”

  “Head over to the elevators. The office is on the twentieth floor,” she says.

  I glance at the clock behind her and sigh. I guess it would be too childish to whine about how I don’t want to go. Pretty unprofessional, at least. “I’d better make my way there. Don’t want to be late on my first day.”

  “I doubt you wanted to come at all,” she says with a little grin.

  I offer a tight-lipped smile. “Is it that obvious?”

  “Well, you look like you’d prefer to swim in a pool of rattlesnakes than spend your day here.”

  I grimace. “Perfect,” I say before walking away. How much does Marisa know about the man she works for?

  I tap my fingers against my thighs the entire ride, glancing at myself in the mirror that covers the back wall. At the twentieth floor, I approach the office reception desk.

  “Hi,” I say in the most cheerful voice I can muster.

  A black-haired man in an expensive-looking suit, who can’t be much older than me, lifts his head and nods. “Good morning. Miss Marshall, I presume.”

  “You presume correctly.” I try to stay pleasant.

  “Wonderful,” he says, but something in his voice makes me think he feels the opposite.