The five of us sat in Cecilia’s living room, drinking tea like we weren’t a bunch of savages. We were a ragtag bunch. Andre, with his sheathed swords, Oliver with his blood-caked hair. Leanne with her dirtied face and stained clothes, and me smelling of graveyards and ash. We looked like something the cat dragged in. The sight of us drinking Earl Grey from porcelain cups and eating dainty cookies was almost comical.
Andre lounged back on a side chair, one leg slung over the other. His foot tapped impatiently on the ground. I guess niceties weren’t really his thing.
“No,” she chuckled, “I still own it. Like your soulmate, I’ve acquired several homes over the years. The bed and breakfast is one of them, as is this house.”
Calling this a house was being generous. From what I could tell, the place in its entirety was probably no bigger than two of the girl’s dormitory rooms butted together.
“Enough of this,” Andre said, leaning forward. “How can we save Gabrielle?”
“That is a discussion I’m afraid I need to have with Gabrielle alone,” Cecilia said.
Andre stood, looking menacing. “The last time a powerful woman demanded that, the devil took my soulmate. I will not let that happen twice.”
“Andre de Leon, shame on you,” Cecilia said, setting down her teacup and standing as well. “I helped raise this child during the first years of her life, and if my memory serves me correctly I saved her from your right-hand man when he sought to kill her. Do not confuse my intentions for those of some scheming sorceress.”
Andre frowned. He stared at her for a long moment, then bowed his head in acquiescence. When he lifted his chin, his gaze landed meaningfully on me, and it lingered there for a long moment. Then he turned on his heal and strode out of the cottage.
“Really?” Oliver said around a partially masticated cookie he’d shoved in his mouth. “After all that huffing and puffing he just … leaves?”
“Yeah, which means we need to skedaddle too.” Leanne stood, brushing crumbs off her hands.
Oliver grumbled. He swallowed his tea down and grabbed a fistful of cookies. “This so does not count as dinner.”
“Really?” I said, eyebrows lifting. “Had me fooled, eating like there’s no tomorrow.”
“Just because your skanky ass is on a liquid diet doesn’t mean you got to go and be rude to the rest of us.”
Leanne headed over to Cecilia and clasped the fate’s hand. “It was good to see you again,” Leanne said.
“Oh, you too my dear,” Cecilia said, patting the side of her face.
My friends left shortly after that, and then it was just Cecilia and me.
“Mi tesoro,” she said, opening her arms, “you have had a trying few days.”
I walked into her embrace, breathing in her lavender perfume as I fiercely clung to her. It would’ve been proper to let her go after a couple of seconds, but I didn’t. She had insight that no one else had.
“I’m frightened,” I admitted, my voice barely a whisper.
“Good. I’d be worried if you weren’t.” She smiled as she pulled away from me and clasped my cheeks.
“Is it going to get worse?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said bluntly, “but you already knew this.”
I bit the inside of my cheek and nodded.
She moved to the scattered teacups and began stacking them on a serving tray. Mine and Andre’s cups were still filled to the brim with cooling tea. “Won’t be needing these anymore, will we now?” she said as she lifted them onto the tray. She didn’t bother asking whether I wanted the rest of tea, and I was grateful that we were dealing solely with the truth, no matter how unpleasant it might be.
“Will I get my appetite back?” I asked.
She made a humming noise at the back of her throat. “Eventually.” She hoisted the tray in her arms and porcelain clattered.
I hustled over to help her. “Let me take that from you.”
“Nonsense, mi tesoro. Just give me a second to put these away. And please,” she nodded to the living space, “get comfortable. Mia casa è tua casa.” With that, she took the dishes into the kitchen.
As she began banging around in there, I perused her living room. Even after all these years, it was still strange to see her living a life completely separate from mine. But to a fate, I must be one small blip in the great expanse of her lifetime.
I ran a hand along the fireplace’s mantle, noticing the bundles of dried heather. On a side table, a series of framed photos had been placed on display. I moved over to them. What pictures did a fate hold dear?
It was a strange collection that spanned at least a century. A grainy sepia photo of a stiff couple rested next to a photo from the sixties of a family standing in front of a tinseled tree.
I did a double take when I glimpsed a picture of my mother. I grabbed the frame, drawn just as much by my desperate desire to see her as I was by the pull of her face. Even trapped in a photo she had that effect.
Her complexion looked nothing like mine, save for the pale skin. Her hair was strawberry blonde, and the warm eyes that looked heavenward were hazel. The photographer caught her mid-laugh, and even frozen in place, I wanted to laugh along with her.
Next to her was another girl, her cheek smudged with flour. Their hands were buried in a bowl of dough. The picture was so full of life that it was hard to believe the woman who’d given birth to me no longer lived.
“She loved you so much,” Cecilia said, stepping up next to me.
“I know nothing about her,” I said, my thumb rubbing over her face.
“She was fiery—she could cut a man down with her words alone. Your father was no exception. But God did he love her.” She sighed. “I thought I would have more time to tell you about them.”
My throat tightened. “You’re a fate. Shouldn’t you have known?”
“Perhaps. I’m not omniscient—not in this form—regardless of what the myths say about me.”
I turned back to the photo. “Where is she buried?”
“Lemnos—it’s an island on the Aegean. It’s where your family is from.”