Prophecy of the Most Beautiful (25 page)

*****

XVIII. Chloe

Swindle's cottage, located in what they called the
Village
, was one big living space with a tiny bedroom and a bathroom the size of a broom closet. Since Swindle was nomadic, there wasn't much furniture except for a bed and some dining chairs. Chloe was surprised. She had expected that every place in New Elysium would be beautiful like the Prince's Tower. But it turned out that some things in this heavenly province were no better than in the mortal world. She couldn't decide if that comforted or disturbed her.

She had talked with Dropper all afternoon and had discovered
nada
. His memory really was shot and before falling out of the sky, he didn't have a clue as to where he had been or what he had been doing. He still didn't know his name or how old he was, or even
what
he was. It was crazy creepy. The physical evidence suggested that he was an
icey
, but as to anything more than that, it was a mystery.

Everyone insisted that she take the one bed for the night. So after she had eaten the delicious dinner Swindle had cooked, some kind of African sausage, biscuits and pickled okra––and where Strafford had filled Swindle and Ace in on what Chiron had told them––she had showered and gone to bed. Exhausted and feeling safe knowing the demigods were right outside her door, she fell asleep right away.

Hours later, she woke with a start, feeling like something was wrong. It was a strong nagging in the pit of her stomach that flitted upwards into her chest. She felt a tug in her brain, like one of her thoughts was trying to get her attention, and then she felt another. She heard a familiar rustling in her mind and sat up in the bed.

The first thing she noticed was that Strafford was sleeping in a chair by her door.

And his left hand was glowing, and not bronze.

"Okay guys, what's going on?"
She asked.
"Why is Strafford glowing like that?"

Take a look for yourself,
Trophy said.
It's about time that you learned more of what you are to become.

"What do you mean? Am I going to be something more than the Oracle?"

Trophy sighed.
The Prince was right. You do ask too many questions.

What Atropos means is that knowledge is best discovered by your own doing, dear,
Madame Cee said.

That is not at all what I meant, Clothos, and you know it.

Go look, Pythia!
LaLa chimed in.
You will like this!

"You want me to go
examine
him?"
She just had to be sure she was hearing right.

Yes, Pythia,
Trophy pushed.
No more talking now. Go.

She felt them leave her conscious thoughts and realized she was beginning to physically feel the void in her mind whenever they did that. It was like a tight pressure was being released, one moment there was a weight there, in the next it was gone.

But now was not the time to think about how the Fates moved around in her head. Strafford was still getting his glow on, and she had to admit, the idea of finding out why was beguiling.

As quiet as possible, she slipped out of the creaky bed and tiptoed the few feet to where he slept. She still didn't understand how the demigods managed it. Though she had attempted it often, she had never been able to sleep an entire night in a chair and still be worth something in the morning. These guys did it and woke up with swords swinging. It was impressive to say the least.

Strafford's grip was firm on his dagger, but with slow and meticulous care, she pried each of his fingers away from the handle and slipped it out of his hand. She knelt by his leg and used one hand on the ground to steady herself. She placed the dagger down beside her and shifted so that she could get a better look at the glowing.

She stifled a little gasp. There were
words
, like,
real words
, written in the curving palm lines of his hand. Each glowing word was clear as day, written in a foreign script she had never seen before, yet could easily translate. She searched around for words she understood, not believing it was real.

When she found some, her lips muttered each word carefully. "
Shattered but restored, from the dark and the marrow gates abhorred, he will rise for the divine one's plight, they who was once adored
–––"

"Wha' the hell are you doing?"

The bedroom light flickered on all by itself, but only to a dim glow. Chloe scrambled to stand up, but Strafford's hand clamped down on her wrist, freezing her in place. She looked up into his face and met his fierce eyes.

"Wha' are you doing, wan?" He was calm as a breeze and that was scary as crap.

She tried to look as innocent as possible. "Your hand was glowing. I just wanted a better look. There were words and I could understand them––"

Strafford shushed her with a finger to her lips. "Quiet, wan." Adjusting his hold on her arm, he made her stand with him, and his thumb replaced his finger and ran softly over her lips. She trembled, a helpless victim of the chills hightailing it down her spine.
Gods,
he smelled good.

"I didn't take you for someone who was down for invadin' the privacy of others against their will, Red." He let go of her wrist. Guessed he knew she wasn't going anywhere.

"Against their…will…?" She could barely get a grip on his words. His fingers were stroking her cheek, then flicking her hair out of her face, and trickling down the bridge of her nose on the way back to her lips.

"Aye. Did I give you permission to read my Kismet?"

She frowned, despite the fact that his fingers were tracing patterns on her neck now. "What's Kismet?"

His gaze locked in on hers. "Sit down."

No way, dude.
"I think I'll stand."

An eyebrow raised. Then, he brought his powerful body forward and pressed it up against hers. Thank the gods for the sweats she was wearing, because if his skin had made contact with hers in any way in that moment, she could not have been held responsible for her reaction.

"Park it, wan." His hands grabbed her hips and pushed down. Her body complied, dropped to the bed and stayed there. Only then did he give her a little space to breathe. Thing is, she couldn't.

"It's clear now tha' you're a
Divination
Oracle, which means tha' you read
Kismet
." Still holding her gaze, he held up his left hand. "Tha's wha' you saw."

She coughed once, cleared her throat. "What's Kismet?"

"It's the language of the Fates. Left hand palm lines are really Kismet lines, and within those lines is your future. Well, the parts tha' you're supposed to know abou'. You can read tha'. It's a rare talent for an Oracle to have. There hasn' been an Oracle in at least forty years, but there hasn' been a
Divination
Oracle in at least a century, so plan on readin' a ton of Kismet lines, wan. The
heroes
are gonna be all over you for definite when they catch wind of this because truth is, you're the only one who can read this crap."

She frowned. "So…are you saying I'm like a palm-reader or something?" She shivered. "Seems creepy and evil." She knew her mother would be appalled. Beth had been adamant in steering Chloe and Benjy away from anything dark growing up. They hadn't been allowed to dress up as witches or vampires for Halloween, and they couldn't go anywhere near the fortune-telling booth at the Adel City Fair. Her mother would flip her wig if she knew that her own daughter was a
real
fortune teller now.

Strafford's head had been bowed as he stared at his hand. Now he was looking up at her from underneath those gorgeous eyelashes. "I wouldn' call it evil," He continued, "It's not like you're
actually
predictin' the future. Our destinies are already decided––"

"––And our actions and decisions will determine how they'll play out. I know."

Strafford looked surprised as he raised his head, but only for a moment, then he was all Mr. Cool, Calm, and Beautiful again. "Kismet isn't really evil 'cause it only works if you make the right decisions. Well…it only works
properly
. If you make the wrong decisions or act on a bad conscience, Kismet will screw you good. It's our version of karma."

"What do you mean?"

Slowly, Strafford walked around to the other side of the bed, and like a guy who had perfect control of every muscle in his beautiful body, poured himself back across her bed without any support, leaving his head resting right next to her leg. His scent drifted right up into her nose.
Ahhh.
She fought the urge to reach down and run her fingers along his strong jawline, down his neck, and across those fabulous abs hiding underneath his shirt. She sat on her hands.

Strafford seemed oblivious to her fidgeting, or pretending to be so. "Kismet is a privilege, Red, not a right. You mus' have good intentions or Kismet will not give you wha' you're lookin' for. Either it will give you a prophecy so hard to figure out tha' you may
never
figure it out. Or," His voice became low, "it will change your destiny all together."

"I thought once the Fates decided your destiny, it couldn't change."

Once again, he seemed surprised that she knew this. "The
Fates
can't change it, but
you
can. Your choices can."

A lightbulb went off in Chloe's head. "It's your subconscious, the part they can't touch. That's where your destiny goes after it's decided. I guess your subconscious knows your true intentions and it accommodates them––good or bad."

Strafford looked thoughtful. "Tha' makes sense. Never knew it was all of tha', but it makes sense." He looked at her. "How did you know all this?"

"Oh…I just do. I
am
the Oracle, right? I should know these things." She could feel his eyes on her, but pretended to be distracted by the fragmented moonlight shining in through the window.

“So does Kismet come from the Fates, or Apollo?” She asked. It was all sort of confusing.

“Destiny is the Fates business.
Always
. They decide it and we live it. But Apollo governs it. He decides whether you get to live in the know or not. At least when it comes to Kismet.
Absolutes
are granted by the Fates alone.”

She thought on this a minute.

"Can I ask you something else? About Kismet?"

"If you insist."

She did. "Why don't you want to know what your Kismet says? Why did you stop me?" She couldn't get what she had read out of her head.

He sat up, bringing them shoulder to shoulder. "The past is hard enough to deal with, Red. I don't need knowin' the future makin' things any more difficult for me." That answer was full of holes, but she let it slide, happy he’d even bothered to reply.

A silence fell between them.

He was staring at her with even more intensity now. Gods, she loved his eyes. They were so fierce and gray, like daggers stabbing straight through her soul. Nope, this was definitely not a guy she should be having sweet dreams about. She should have already shut her heart down on his account. She should have turned away and never looked into those impassioned gray eyes again. The Dropper might have been dangerous, but Strafford Law was like acid. Searing and consuming, leaving nothing but bones behind.

Suddenly, without warning, he angled his body to lean across her, transferring his weight to his right hand for support. He tucked the tips of a few of his fingers under her thigh. Definitely on purpose.

With his face close and his breath sweet, he said, "Why didn't you tell me about your future voice?"

She felt her breath catch for a minute. "I…it wasn't intentional…I…didn't know..."
Gods. Did he really expect her to
speak
right now?

And did the fact that Strafford knew about her future voice and absolute prophecy mean that he knew the Fates had taken up residence in her mind? What about Apollo, did he know too? She hoped not. She really, really hoped not. Somehow, she knew that keeping this secret meant everything. No one could know about the Fates. Not even Strafford.

"Secrets will only keep me from protectin' you the way I've sworn to, Red." His eyes were roaming her face, as if he were searching for the perfect spot to kiss.
My lips.

"Nothing will keep you from me," she replied, not realizing what she had said until it was too late.

But he had heard every word, every single mortifying syllable, and because of it, did something she hadn't expected.

Strafford
smiled
. A true one, not a smirk, and she realized in that moment why they were so rare.

His smile was
killer gorgeous
.
Deadly
. Downright
toxic
with perfect, white teeth set behind full, kissable lips. It should have been illegal for him to have such perfect lips. Her heart beat like a drum inside the hollow of her chest, instead of stopping cold like she had expected it to. He had, without a doubt, the most beautiful smile in the world. All hope of ever being okay with not seeing his face everyday for the rest of her life evaporated with that smile.

"I mean––" she began.

"You said wha' you meant, Red."

"I did?"

"I think so."

He smiled again and she felt part of her brain become soggy. His fingers found her neck again. "You were pretty good in the battle today," He said and she blushed. "I mean it. You were a total bad ass. I'm
glad
to know tha' you still love a good fight, 'cause we're gonna be doing a helluva lot of fightin', Red."

She nodded. She had figured that much out on her own. Demigods
were
killing and war. They were born to annihilate their foes…and anyone else that thought to get in their way. Plus, they were
clearly
trouble magnets. "So does this mean I get my own sword now?"