Wicked Fate (The Wicked Trilogy) (13 page)

From this moment on, I’ll ask my grandmother every question that comes to mind. It’s time I start getting some answers from someone! I deserve to know about
who
I am, I deserve to know about my parents. My instincts tell me they have something to do with everything that’
s happening to me.

Why can I do the things that I do? Why me? That’s what I plan to find out.

Once the day’s over, I get in bed and snuggle as close as possible to Sire
.
This isn’t hard since he takes up most of my bed.
I feel afraid and I can’t sleep. I worry about the blonde lady coming back and I worry about my grandfather.

Tonight my world feels altered, mixed up somehow. The paranoia I feel is extreme. I’ve read about anxiety attacks and how they affect people’s lives, maybe I’m having anxiety attacks. Even though I’m wrapped around Sire and my grandfather’s right down the hall, I feel nervous and alone.

My insides feel cold and that coldness is spreading as the night goes on. There are too many things happening, too much to worry about. And to top it off, I’m starting to realize that I’m falling for someone I can never have. Someone who thinks I’m amazing and strange, not a good combination. I’m cold and scared
and possib
ly falling hard for Adam—this night sucks.

My room feels like it’s full of ice. The chill that’s stuck to me is making my entire body shake. Finally, after stuffing myself underneath Sire for warmth, I fall asleep. But no sooner than I fall asleep, the daylight is seeping into my room and right into my eyes.
I try again to doze off, but Sire’s snoring doesn’t help. So instead I lay there and think—not a good idea for me.

Christmas i
s less than a week
away and then it’s my birthday.  I should feel happy.
It’s not every
day that a girl turns sixteen, but no matter how I try, I can’t feel happy. All I want to do is lay in bed all day.

I decide instead to be productive. I climb out of bed and the hardwood floors are
s
o cold they burn
my feet.
Now that I’m not warmed by a massive dog, I can feel just how cold it really is and
it’s
freezing!

This shouldn’t be so shocking since
it’s
winter, but this is South Carolina! Winter here i
s like spring for most
people—as in the natives wear flip flops year round. I bet that’s not the case today. I pull my curtain to the side to get a good look at the outdoors and I can’t believe my eyes.

The world was painted white overnight. Everything’s covered with snow! Ice hangs
from the tree branches like sharp knives and the small lake across the yard loo
ks as though it’s frozen solid. The snow i
s sti
ll continuously falling outside and the wind is blowing it all around.

“What the hell?” I say to myself.

How is this possible?
Just yesterday it was seventy degrees outside a
nd warmer than that last night before bed. And then it hits me, and the memories of last night seep into my mind. I felt afraid and cold last night before I fell asleep. This is my fault—I caused this snow storm!

I know what happens when I’m sad or upset. I know what happens when I’m
angry. Although i
t’s rare, s
ome pretty
cool things happen when I’m
happ
y. This is what happens when I’
m
afraid and cold inside.

I
dig through my closet and find warm clothes—an
old sweater and a pair of je
ans. I pull
out an old pair of boots that
I didn’t even know I owned. Thankfully, I have unnecessary things. I pull on a
thick jacket t
hat I haven’t touched in a while and wrap a multi-colored scarf around my neck.

  I stick
my freezing fingers into
a pair of black gloves then squash my dark hair into a
cute little purple and black beanie with
a
pom
on top. I look in the mirror and laugh. Never in a million years did I think I’d need these things in South Carolina.

I check in with Thaddeus and he agrees that I’m the culprit behind the snow. I eat
some breakfast, che
ck
on my grandfather who’s still
sleeping, and
then I leave for the day.

Christmas shopping is on today’s agenda.
After being around all of my new friends and discovering how ni
ce it i
s to actually
celebrate the holiday, I figure there’
s no need to make m
yself more miserable. It can’t hurt to pretend that there’
s a small portion of normalcy in my life.

My teeth actually chatter when I step into the cold.
My front porch creaks under my feet.
I
lock the front door and turn to leave, b
ut
out
of the
corner of my eye I see something that stops me. I can’t stop the
huge grin
from spreading across my face and the
ti
ghtness of my cold cheeks burns
a little.

The image before me is perfection.

The little Christmas tree isn’t very tall and it’s covered in multi-colored lights. The snow outside is reflected in the little purple and silver glass bulbs. Freshly picked winter wildflowers are placed randomly into the branches. There’s a colorful star on top and
purple ribbon
s
wrapped
all around it. It’
s the most
beautiful Christmas tree I’ve ever seen sitting on my front porch.

I kneel
beside it like a little girl on Christmas morning.
A giggle escapes me and happiness fills me up. It’s the greatest gift I’ve ever received and it couldn’t have come at a better time in my life. All the gloominess from the night before is replaced with cheerfulness.  It’s more perfect than perfect
!

I reach up and touch
one of the purple C
hristmas bulbs. As I lean
up to view the
various beautiful
flo
wers on the tree, my knees push up against something.

It’
s
a
box covered in shiny silver wrapping paper with a big
purple bow on the top. There’s a gift tag on it with my name written in jagged, male handwriting.

After removing my gloves, I release the bow and quickly rip away the silver wrapping paper to reveal a white gift box.  The content of that box makes my heart sing. There’
s a pretty purple notebook with stars an
d crescent moons all over it. My name’s engraved on the front with silver—completely
personalized just for me.

Lying on top is a letter with the same scraggly handwriting.

I
hope my name goes in this…a lot.
Merry Christmas to my Dark Angel.

                    
                       Adam

I promise myself I won’t
o
ver analyze the note so I fold
it
up and stick it in my back pocket. My face is
beginning to
hurt from the giant smile that’
s plastered on it.
His
dark
angel…swoon.

That settles it! Adam’s getting a
gift, too.

He
had single-handedly given me the best Christmas that I’ve had in many years and it’s not
even Christmas yet
.

Although I still have a strange feeling that something   horrible is
about to happen,
my new feeling trumps it. There’s warmth in me now and it’s encouraging. There’s a lightness that seems to be taking over and no matter how hard I try to ground myself—I want to float.

Chapter
9

Flowers in the Snow

It’
s glacial ou
tside today, courtesy of little ole me. On the walk to the store my legs feel like they’re
going numb. Luckily
, on the way there Bernie passes me and I ride with her the rest of the way. My face tingles when I get into the heated car. I’ve
never been so happy to see Bernie’s face. 

She’
s catching up on some last min
ute Christmas shopping and so am I, so we shop together. I don’t
bother telling her about the tr
ee on my front porch, but I do casually ask if she knows where Adam lives
.

“Can you believe this crazy weather? I feel like I’m bac
k in Colorado,” she holds up a snow globe and shakes it
.

“Yea
h, we never get snow around here, i
t’s a
little strange if you ask me,” I smirk
to myself.
“So, change of subject, does Adam live by Kale?”

“No. Actually he lives right down the road from you, literally five minutes away,” she holds up a green shirt and wrinkles her nose in disgust.

Five minutes—which means it’ll take me around
t
wenty minutes to walk there.

“It’s cute how you’re all crushing on Adam now,” she smirks at me over the ugly green shirt.

“I’m not crushing,” I say unconvincingly.

“Dude, you’re totally crushing,” she laughs.

I stick my tongue out at her making her laugh harder.

I continue to shop and I find nothing for Adam.
I
’ve
got Sire a huge bone and my grandfather a container of his favorite
orange candies, but there’s nothing here that I’m
willing
to give Adam as a gift. After much searching, I decide to buy the
ingredients for my grandmother’s tasty sugar cookies and a cute Christmas tin.
Homemade Christmas cookies are
better than something too p
ersonal or too impersonal.

After Bernie drops me off at home, I go into the kitchen and get
to work. My grandmother
si
t
s and calls out orders, thankfully. I have the recipe, but they just aren’t the same without her touch.

Once they’re cool enough,
I put them in the cute r
ed Christmas tin I bought and then I tie a green ribbon around it. It’s cute and the cookies are delish. My grandmother always says the way to a man’s heart i
s through his stom
ach. Not that I’m trying to get to Adam’s heart…am I?

It takes me
approximately
twenty minutes to walk to his
house.
It wouldn’t have taken
that long if the g
round wasn’t frozen. By the time I get there, I’m freezing to death. I step
up the three step
s to the front door and then I prepare myself for what I’m
about to do.

Adam’s house is a decent size. It’s all brick and new; the only thing missing is a nice big front porch. I notice there are a lot of cars in the driveway and I almost lose my nerve. The thought of the walk over keeps me from turning away. No way am I turning back now. No way am I walking that long walk again tomorrow.
Pl
us my grandmother’s cookies are
always best fresh.

The snow
has
finally stopped falling, but no
ne of the snow on the ground has started to melt yet. The temperature’s going to keep that from happening, so it looks like it’s
going to be snowy for at least another day.
The eighteen-degree-weather is making my teeth chatter as I stand there and debate knocking.

  My heart i
s beat
ing fast and my head is
spinning.
I’m not sure if I can do this or not.

This is embarrassing and I feel stupid
.
I’ll just give him something the next time I see him in school. The Christmas tree on my front porch is the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me, but I can’t just show up at his house unannounced—especially during some kind of family Christmas party.

I turn around and start to back
down t
he steps. The quicker I get home, the better.

The front door opens abruptly and
a
cute little blonde girl steps out. She’s tiny, no more than six years old with long pale hair that’s been curled for the occasion.
She
’s wearing a
gr
een velvet dress and black Mary
Jane’s. Her
wide doe eyes are
glistening green
like Adam’s.  She looks
like she just stepped out of a fairy princess boo
k—so beautiful.