Shifting Fate (9 page)

Aern released his grip on Logan’s forearm and
moved to touch my shoulder. “How are you, Brianna?”

It was clear there was more to his question
than a simple inquiry on my health, but I let it slip this time.
“I’m good, Aern.” I let my gaze run over his face, but there didn’t
appear to be much sign of the stress he’d been under to put things
back in order. I wondered if that had something to do with his bond
to Emily. “How are you?”

He smiled, unconsciously moving toward her as
he dropped his arm. “I haven’t had a moment to think about it.” He
glanced at his watch. “We let the kitchen staff go early today,
they’re going to start the upgrades on those rooms this afternoon,
but we’ve still got some time to whip up a little lunch.”

Emily raised her brows when his gaze met
hers. “Don’t look at me, Brianna’s the cook.”

I felt Logan stiffen at her comment, and I
bit my lip as I glanced over at him, knowing he was thinking of the
meals he’d stumbled through as I watched. “Actually,” I said, “just
a sandwich would be fine.”

Emily smiled. “I can do sandwiches.”

Logan seemed to gather himself. “Brianna
didn’t get a chance to look through all the documents,” he
explained, “so we’ll get started on that.” He handed the container
that held the prophecy to Aern. “For the Seven.”

“
For the Seven,” Aern
repeated.

It was oddly formal in the midst of our
conversation about lunch, and the slight flinch in Emily’s
expression made it clear that she’d not quite acclimated to their
role at the head of Council. But Aern’s hand found the small of her
back, and it was as if, suddenly, none of that mattered to either
of them.

I watched them go, leaving us to our
business. To find the clue that would lead them away from the path
in my visions. When I turned to get the documents from Logan, he
narrowed one eye at me. “Brianna’s the cook, huh?”

I laughed, taking the proffered bag without
giving him the unpleasant details of Emily’s culinary disasters and
my subsequent education in the matter. I removed a leather bound
journal from one of the containers, its binding tattered and
peeling, and laid it carefully on the table before me. Logan pulled
up a chair, and when Emily returned with food, they talked idly
about security updates and what was left of the remodel work.

I faded in and out of their conversation
while I read, searching the old documents and notes for any details
that could help. It still surprised me how easily Aern had fit into
Emily’s life, how central he’d become so quickly. She’d kept to
herself more often than not, and it knew it wasn’t simply the
prophecy or their bond that connected them. Emily had a way of
making people trust her. What I didn’t know, was if she could be so
comfortable with Logan because Aern had faith in him, or if he
shared his life-long friend’s talent as well. Because Aern also had
that ability to make people trust him.

I remembered the first day I’d met him, when
he’d come for me the way my mother had said he would. He’d been
fully prepared to have to convince me, to take me with him by any
means necessary. But it didn’t come to that, because I knew. I
didn’t let on to Aern or the Division, not everything at least, but
I had known I’d no other choice. The visions had gotten stronger,
warning me.

I’d had to leave Emily, give
her every chance I could to keep her out of Morgan’s hands. Even
Aern didn’t know about her then, because there was only one chain
of events that wouldn’t end badly. I placed a hand absently at the
scar on my stomach.
Well, not too
badly
, I thought. But that hadn’t been his
fault. That was Morgan. Aern had taken great care to keep me safe.
And whether I’d had the visions or not, I would have trusted him. I
was almost sure of it.

When I realized the room had fallen silent, I
glanced over at Emily and Logan to find them watching me, both
wearing some mixture of concern and curiosity. I dropped the hand
I’d been holding to my midriff instantly. Aern walked into the room
at the same moment and I cringed, hating that they were going to
ask about my injury with him in earshot.

But the buzz of Logan’s cell phone saved
me.

“
That would be Brendan,”
Aern said. “He’s already called me.” Aern shared a look with Logan
before his eyes came to mine. “He seems to think you’re being
reckless with our Brianna.”

Emily shifted, and I knew if Brendan were
here, she’d give him a piece of her mind.

“
He’d like to have her back
at Southmont,” Aern continued. “Under his protection.”

Emily glanced at Logan. “Well, I guess you’re
doing something right.”

“
Brendan isn’t that hard to
hide from,” he said after a pause. “It’s easy to deceive a man who
thinks he’s above it.”

Logan’s gaze didn’t travel back to Aern’s,
and I could see that there was some unspoken message between them,
something purposefully left out. It only took a moment to realize
what it was—if Logan didn’t have me at one of the Division
properties and Council wasn’t yet prepared, then where were we?

When my eyes came back to Aern, he changed
the subject. “So, any luck?”

I had all but forgotten the book beneath my
fingers. “No,” I said. “Not yet.”

He nodded. “There were a few things we found
among Morgan’s belongings. You’re welcome to look at those as
well.”

“
That would be great,” I
answered.

Emily slid her chair back to stand. “I’ll
take her now.” She glanced at Aern. “If it’s safe.”

“
Yes,” he said, barely
managing to mask his relief that she was finally verifying her
safety before making a move. But I had a pretty good idea she’d
been checking for me, not her. As far as Emily was concerned,
chosen or no, she was still my protector.

Chapter Ten

Discovery

I followed Emily into a small office off the
main library. The library was different than the archive, not only
in its reading material, but in its openness and warmth. The room
was flooded with sunlight from three large windows, the bookshelves
only shaded by a pair of bright patterned curtains on either end.
The furniture was pastel and, by all appearances, soft, scattered
with an eclectic but somehow balanced collection of pillows that
made me want to curl up there for the rest of the afternoon. So, I
was a bit snow-blind when she closed the door on the tiny, dark
room where Morgan’s things were stored.

She moved two large boxes from the floor onto
the polished black desk. “Most of it got thrown out, but there were
a few things we thought might be of some importance,” Emily
explained.

I stepped forward, shifting a couple of
notebooks on top of the pile aside. “You’ve already looked through
it, then?”

“
Not really,” she said.
“Aern and I pulled this stuff from Morgan’s office and the other
box was gathered from his private rooms.” She waved vaguely at the
box in question before sliding the chair out of her way to stand
beside me. “We didn’t take much time examining it. It was pretty
creepy, all in all.”

I flipped open a hardcover journal, feeling a
spasm of revolt that nearly had me throwing it back down at the
words scribbled in Morgan’s hand.

Emily leaned over my shoulder, peering at the
text that spelled out our own names in hurried, uncontrolled
script. “Yep. Like that.”

I forced myself to continue through the
pages, seemingly random notes and numbers interposed with quotes
from the prophecy, all in more than a few different languages. And
the word Dragon. Over and over.

“
Blood of the Dragon,” I
mumbled in Latin, not entirely meaning to, and Emily ran a hand
over her bare arm.

“
Well, this is fun,” she
said. Using a pencil to pull a silk blindfold from the box of
personal belongings, she tossed it toward the far corner of the
desk with a stifled gag.

I laid the journal aside and drew out
another. “Didn’t he have a cell phone or something? A planner his
assistant kept?”

Emily nodded. “We can’t find anything
digital. My guess, they’re with said assistant and he’s still out
there. Protecting it.”

“
I should have waited,” I
said. “I should have come with him here, in the center of it
all—”

“
Back to his lair?” Emily
interrupted, holding up a set of black satin wrist straps as she
did so.

I felt my face draw up. “Yes. Back to his
lair. At least that way I’d have had the chance to find out more,
maybe to reverse the sway on everyone.”

“
Please,” Emily said while
flinging the satin onto her pile, “alone with Morgan was the last
place you needed to be.” She reached into the box with her pencil
once more, grimacing at a second pair of silken
restraints.

I stared at her. “Why did Aern keep
that?”

“
I don’t know,” she
murmured, “but we’re definitely going to have a talk about it.” She
tossed the material to the side, and it landed under the dim light
of a desk lamp.

“
Wait,” I said, leaning
forward over the boxes. “Is that blood?”

She leaned closer, the look on her face
confirming my suspicion. “That would explain it,” she said, her
gaze slowly going over the other items lying in the box. She held
up the pencil, gingerly pointing toward a black satin drawstring
bag. “So, what do you suppose is in there?”

“
You’re the one with the
pencil,” I offered.

“
Thanks,” she muttered. She
picked up a second pencil and held them chopstick style to loosen
the string while holding the bag with the barest possible grip of
thumb and forefinger from her other hand.

For a moment, she looked relieved, and then,
briefly, confused. It didn’t take long to work itself out in her
head, and the instant she realized what she was seeing, she looked
pure sick.

She was frozen, hand unable to release the
horror it held.

“
What is it?” I asked, more
stunned than concerned. Whatever it was couldn’t hurt us. It was
just a box of junk. The real danger—Morgan—was locked
away.

She opened her mouth in a choked breath, but
no words followed.

“
Emily,” I started, but fell
silent when I’d moved enough to see the contents for
myself.

Each of her reactions made sense then, and my
own thoughts followed the same line. But when I finally made it to
disgust, I didn’t freeze. Instead, my hand reached out of its own
accord, unable to keep from grasping that one last piece of her,
even with the awfulness that it signified.

A small shudder escaped Emily when I removed
the lock of hair from the bag to lie across the fingers of my open
hand. It was so familiar, so perfect ... and so utterly horrible.
It was the same soft texture I’d known as a child and I had to
resist the urge to bring it closer to my face, to see if it still
held her scent. It was a warm chestnut color with the faintest
blonde streaks, healthy even as it lay disconnected in my hand.
There was no question who the lock of hair belonged to.

And that was what made it wrong.

My fist closed over the bundled strands.
Morgan had a section of our mother’s hair. He’d thought she was the
chosen and he’d kept this with him, his prize. Terrible images of
him leisurely opening the black satin bag while he stood in his
room, pressing the lock of hair to his face, inhaling my mother’s
scent, tore through me, but they weren’t visions. They weren’t
prophecy. They were simply a product of my imagination, too vivid
and too real.

I closed my eyes tight, forcing them
away.

Beside me, Emily pressed her fingers to the
base of her throat. It was the only movement in a now still room. I
opened my eyes, bringing the fisted hand to my front jeans pocket.
It was not the best option to carry a bundle of hair, but I didn’t
want any part of it touching Morgan’s things. Not even an envelope.
I would put it some place safe later.

I stared into the box as Emily silently
resumed our search. Eventually, I too continued the sorting, but
neither of us spoke. There was nothing to say as we stood, side by
side. No words except the awfulness of what that lock of hair
signified. Morgan had trapped our mother, used her to release
powers that could end the world. And she had taken her own life to
save us. To save everyone.

A long while later, when Emily’s box was
completely empty, she dropped it onto the floor beside the desk and
unceremoniously shoved the discard pile over the edge to land
inside. She’d only saved a small notebook and a ledger, and I was
nearly to the bottom of my own with no more than three journals,
and a few random receipts and papers to show for it.

I flipped open a folder
marked “potential properties” to find surveys, reports, and
printouts on various estates I assumed Council had considered
acquiring under Morgan’s rule. Nothing sparked recognition, but
tucked behind a reported marked up in red ink, I found an envelope
that didn’t have the feel of
empty
. I laid the folder down to open
it, and pulled out a photograph I’d known for years.

“
It’s from my duffle bag,”
Emily whispered beside me. “He must have found it ... just like
Aern said.”

I studied the photo of my mother, a younger
Emily and I leaning easily into her arms, and I couldn’t help the
tug at the corner of my mouth seeing our goofy smiles. We’d no idea
then, what would truly come. None of it had seemed real. But our
mother had known. Her eyes were the same strange green I
remembered, not the softer shade of Emily’s and mine. And though
she tried, her smile didn’t quite reach them. I wondered if she’d
known. If she’d seen this moment before, seen her two daughters
alone in a dark room, grasping the one final piece of her we had
left. My gaze trailed the blonde streaks of her chestnut hair in
the photo and I could feel the pressure of the banded lock where it
rested against my hip inside the jeans pocket.