The Fate of Destiny (Fates #1) (26 page)

Intent on the landscape, Farris didn't realize storm clouds were moving in until a gray pall doused the golden sunlight. She glanced up and back at the sun.

Or where the sun had previously been. A nasty bank of pewter clouds rolled across the sky, moving swift, like galloping horses. Thunderheads lead the way, billowing white against the darkness.

“
Wow,” Bee said, following Farris' gaze.

“
That sure came in fast.”

“
...yeah. We should go.”

“
We should,” Farris agreed, yet neither girl moved. It was impossible to see the storm come in and not think of the night the tornado swept through.

In the seconds they stood there, debating, the clouds passed overhead, cutting more and more light from the day.

A violent streak of lightning blitzed through the ominous bank, startling a yelp from Beelah. She huddled close to Farris, one hand flat on her back.

“
Just stay close, we'll take off in three, two--” Before Farris could finish her countdown, a spear of light cracked the ground to her right. She couldn't tell how far away it hit, she only knew it was close. The energy humming in the air felt hot and heavy; she screamed and stumbled forward when Beelah shoved her into motion.

Then they were running, bolting past the edge of the corn field while another bolt of lightning slammed into the earth somewhere behind them. Close enough to make the hair stand up on the back of Farris' neck.

“
Go, go, run!” Beelah shouted in panic.

“
I'm going!” Every yard seemed like a mile. Farris ignored the protests of her body to run faster. Halfway between there and the house, another flash of light blinded her. Shouting in surprise, she threw her arm up to protect her face and zig-zagged to the left, thinking to take a wide berth around the now blackened spot on the grass.

“
It's chasing us! It's trying to get us!” Beelah screamed.

After the tornado and the diner and the out of control truck—Farris almost believed it. There were so many strikes in such a small area. What were the odds? Determined to reach the house, she reached back for Beelah's hand. Clasping it, she pulled Bee with her, still on a leftward track.

What sounded like a bomb scared her so bad that she hit the ground, rolling from the rock onto the dirt driveway. Bits of a tree near the end of the porch flew out every direction, raining shredded leaves and bark over the ground. One of the heavier branches cracked in the wake of the lightning and snapped off.

“
Beelah! Run, come on!” Farris rolled over once more and jumped to her feet. Fear pulsed through her veins like an adrenaline drug, speeding her up instead of slowing her down. Beelah, she discovered, was sobbing as she tried to get to her feet. Sliding an arm around Bee's waist, she steered them toward the steps on the porch.

Twenty yards to go.

More lightning struck to the side of the house, missing the tree. Farris thought her skin was going to crawl right off her body. The rain came then, so hard and savage that it soaked through their clothes immediately.

Hair plastered to her skull, she tugged and pulled Beelah with her, panting for breath past the panic to reach safety. Glancing at Bee, who tripped over a rock, Farris caught a glimpse of something darker than the day around them back near the edge of the corn field they just left.

The silhouette of a man lurked there, staring straight at them. That was the impression Farris got through the storm. It was just like the glimpse she'd had out of the corner of her eye right before the accident; someone standing on the side of the road, watching—waiting—for the Chevy to go out of control.

Now he was watching and waiting for lightning to strike. Farris wasn't sure how she knew, but she did.

This man wanted them dead.

What a crazy thought.

“
Beelah,
come on.”
Farris surprised herself with the urgency in which she ushered Beelah the rest of the way to the steps. The paranoia in her tone must have gotten through to Beelah, who snapped a look at her face.

“
Up, up, inside. He's here.”

“
Who's here?” Beelah wrenched a look around behind them. When she too saw the eerie figure near the edge of the corn field, she gasped.

Farris dove for the spare key under the mat. If she didn't act fast, she was afraid fear would paralyze her into a statue, incapable of moving or breathing. Fumbling the key, she opened the screen and stabbed it into the lock. It took three tries before the bolt clacked over.

“
He's coming! Farris!” Beelah pushed from the side.

Farris grabbed the knob and rushed in, bringing Beelah with her. As she turned to slam the door closed, she saw the man walking toward the house. With the rain spiking down from the sky with such fury, all the fine details were hazy. She couldn't see any features or other defining characteristics.

Lightning continued to streak through the heavens and thunder crashed like giant war drums—all Farris could think about was that Death himself was coming; she slammed the door closed in his proverbial face.

So this was how it happened when it was your time to die. Death stalked you through storms and accidents and fire, determined to take your life whether you wanted him to or not.

Farris
wasn't
ready, not by a long shot, to say goodbye to everything she knew. In this extreme time of stress, Farris' mind clicked into another gear. Survival mode. Determination to live. She wasn't giving up, or giving in, without a fight.

“
Grab a chair!” Farris pointed at the sturdy chairs around the table while she used her body to brace the door. Lightning struck close to the sides of the house, bright illumination flashing through the windows inside.

Beelah grabbed a chair and hauled it across the floor. Farris snagged it from Bee and tilted the back up under the knob, making a temporary brace. The man, Death as she thought of him, had to have reached the porch by now.

Why wasn't he pounding on the door?

“
Bee, go check the back door. I'll check the windows down here, although I think they're still locked from last night.” Farris met Beelah's eyes and they parted ways.

As Farris thought, all the windows were locked. Not just locked, but braced with dowels. She checked the porch at each window but didn't see the man again. Where had he gone? If he
was
Death, he probably didn't need to worry about doors and windows. Death could simply sink through the walls or down through the roof.

What crazy thoughts. Her imagination was running away with itself. She didn't believe Death walked among people as a person like everyone else.

Get it together, Landry. You're not like your mother.

“
Do you see him, Farris?” Beelah called from the other room.

“
No. Nothing. It's like he just disappeared.” Farris ran into the hallway and into the other room where Beelah was checking windows.

“
He's still out there somewhere,” Bee said. Finished with the windows, she came to stand next to Farris.

“
I know. He can't get inside though without breaking a window or bashing in a door, so we'll hear him. Maybe we should call the police,” Farris said. In periphery, she saw a dark shadow flit across the window.

“
Did you see that?” Beelah asked with a shaky voice.

“
Yes. We should find weapons and check the phone line, see if it's working yet.” She didn't want to part from Beelah again, not with someone stalking them around the perimeter of the house. Fighting off panic, she tried to keep a clear mind.

Clutching Bee's arm, she tried the phone first. Attached to the wall in the kitchen near the back door, it was an old rotary kind with a cord linking the handset to the receiver.

Farris plucked the handset up and put it to her ear.

Nothing. No dial tone, not even any static.

“
It's dead. We have no way to call anyone.” Goosebumps spread down Farris' arms. They were out here alone, cut off from town, with no way to contact the police.

“
Look, there are kitchen knives, and I know Henson has guns somewhere in the house. Let's each get one,” Bee said, gesturing toward a wooden block with handles of many knives sticking out.

“
Maybe we should make a run for it. Are the keys in the Charger outside?” Farris asked. There was something frightening about holing up, loaded with weapons, while they waited for the intruder to try and get in. She and Beelah both knew how to shoot, thanks to Bee's dad and brothers, but it was the waiting that Farris hated. The waiting, the listening. The wondering. Was he inside yet? What did he want?

Beelah stopped to consider it. “I don't know if the keys are in it. Wait—I think they are, because when we pulled up behind you guys in the truck, Theron shut the engine off and got out of the car right away.”

“
It's a big risk we're taking if we run outside and they're not there,” Farris pointed out. She realized she was clutching Bee's hands as hard as Bee was clutching hers.

“
I know. But it's not a bad idea. Maybe we should get the guns and
then
make a run for the car. That way, if the guy comes for us, we can at least defend ourselves.”

“
Okay. All right, let's do it.”

. . .

A hundred miles an hour on the back roads just wasn't fast enough. Not only that, the curves and turns slowed his progress considerably. Every time he wanted to pull over and travel the rest of the way by Rift, there were other vehicles or houses that prevented him.

Witnesses, he didn't want.

Finally, twelve minutes from Larissa's house, he came upon a stretch of road with no homes on either side and no cars ahead or behind.

Perfect.

He yanked the wheel and pulled from asphalt to gravel. Cutting the engine, he tucked the keys under the floor mat and got out. It wasn't like half the town (or probably the whole town) didn't know the Mercedes belonged to Larissa.

Someone would see it and call in.

Overhead, the sky had turned an ominous slate gray. In the distance he saw lightning, heard thunder, and warning bells went off in his head.

That was the direction of Henson's farm.

Emerson glanced along the road; no cars in sight. He scanned the flatlands for signs of life and saw no one. Opening a Rift in broad daylight, without any kind of cover, was risky. Just because he couldn't see anyone didn't mean someone couldn't see him.

There wasn't even a tree within fifty yards to hide behind.

Emerson 'parted' the air with his hands, as if time and space were merely a physical thing to be moved aside so he could travel from one place to another more expediently. Through the crevice, he saw rain. Rain and lightning and Henson's Farmhouse as a hazy silhouette through the downpour.

Stepping through was like stepping from one part of the world to another; he left a dry, cloudy day behind and encountered a lashing, furious storm in the blink of an eye.

Arriving not far from the garage, he had a view of the back and left side of the farmhouse. A streak of lightning hit a tree, and the post of a fence. These were not random strikes of nature; they were Chaotically enhanced. Emerson could feel the ozone on the air, taste the work of his brethren in the atmosphere.

Another Weaver was on the property.

From around the corner of the house, a man stalked into view. He wore dark clothing, that was all Emerson could discern from this distance through the rain.

Peeling off his overcoat, he let it fall into the mud. He wanted his arms and hands as unrestricted as they could be. Emerson didn't know what kind of power this man—Rowley he guessed—had. According to Driscoll, Rowley was unpredictable, which made him more dangerous than usual.

Among the brotherhood, Weavers did not attack each other for no reason. There was an unspoken code that they leave their differences aside and walk away from confrontation if it sparked up between them. Their edgy natures made them either the best of friends or wary acquaintances, with a select few ostracizing themselves from the brotherhood as a whole.

Rowley wouldn't adhere to any code now that he had been stripped of brotherhood status.

The knowledge didn't deter Emerson in the slightest.

Rowley made another circuit of the house, apparently unaware of Emerson out near the garage. Following the porch, he walked in circles, a steady pace as if he needed to burn off excess energy.

Emerson wasn't fooled. Rowley was Weaving Chaos. Not only the storm raging overhead, but some other sinister plan that he couldn't immediately figure out.

Drenched from head to toe, Emerson took stock and decided on his best course of action while he was still undetected. The way Rowley circled the home suggested that the girls were inside. It was almost as if Rowley was making the home a target with his incessant circles, guiding the Chaos to the place he needed it to be.

So far, it didn't appear that the lightning had struck the home directly. Several trees sported obvious damage as well as a few black spots on the ground.

He would have to be careful himself lest any Chaos he conjured accidentally affect the house when he was trying to take down Rowley. Stepping away from the garage when Rowley disappeared around the far side of the house, Emerson broke into a jog. He was now all the way in the open, directly in Rowley's line of sight whenever the Weaver completed his current circuit.