Leave it to Fate Read online

  Shaking my head, I refused to give in to the shot of desire that raced through my heart. Was I so pathetic and needy that my psyche broke every time I felt alone?

  No, I told myself.

  I had been alone the past several years. I could handle this. I didn’t know why it was happening again, but it had to stop. I climbed out of the car and kicked the passenger door shut behind me. I winced at the dented bumper as I stomped over to the driver’s side.

  Darn it. I’d have to leave insurance information on the car we’d hit, since no one had come out of the house. Houses were sparse in that neck of the woods, so there weren’t any nosy neighbors, but I couldn’t just flee the scene.

  Pulling open the driver’s door, I motioned for Puck to get out.

  He unfolded his long frame, now clad in dark denim, t-shirt, and a hooded jacket that was too warm for summer. Looking away as he loomed over me, I slid into the seat he’d vacated. It still held his warmth and a waft of his scent greeted me. Spring leaves, cool water, and some type of spice I couldn’t name. I was trying to turn the ignition with trembling fingers when he slid into the passenger seat.

  I pinched the bridge of my nose, silently cursing my old beater with its manual locks. I’d forgotten to lean over and press the lock to keep him out. “You are not coming.”

  “I’m not leaving until my job is done.”

  Exhaustion crashed over me and I leaned my forehead on the steering wheel. Sighing heavily, I asked, “And what job is that?”

  “Told you. Taking you to your mother. She’s been waiting to see you again. And my job is to get you there safely.”

  I gave up. Clearly, this nightmare wasn’t going to end until it had played itself out.

  “So, where is she? And why hasn’t she come for me before?”

  “She’s still at the fae court. She couldn’t send for you before because her mate would have killed you.”

  I nodded as if that were self-evident. “Yes, yes. But maybe fill me in on why that is, exactly?”

  He grinned. “The obvious reasons, of course.”

  “Obvious, yes. But I’d still like to hear it from you.”

  His brows rose. “You really haven’t figured it out by now?”

  “That I’m in the middle of another severe psychotic break? Oh, yeah. I’ve figured that out.” Even as I said the words, some part of me rebelled against the cognitive dissonance: The pain was real. The sights, the sounds, they all felt so real. Then again, they also seemed real when I was a child.

  But … I was aware it was all crazy. Didn’t people in the midst of a psychotic break not recognize that? Surely that meant there was still hope for me. Or was I so far gone, my mind had completely split, and I was stuck as both participant and observer of my own breakdown?

  Turning from the all-too-real seeming male next to me, I tried the ignition again and took comfort from the familiar rattle of my old car. As I gently pulled away from the curb, I considered heading toward the main road and driving straight to the hospital. After a second, I nodded, satisfied with the plan.

  Until Puck put his hand on my knee and gave a little pat.

  “You’re not crazy, love,” he said. “You never were. You’re merely half-fae, hence your difficulty fitting into the human world.”

  My foot hit the break, jolting us in our seats before I sighed and slowly continued down the road. Despite my better instincts, I wanted to hear what my crazy brain dreamed up to explain his comment. “Please, do elaborate.”

  Obviously missing the sarcasm, he nodded seriously. “After your mother’s ill-advised affair with the mortal, she had to give you up before her mate could kill you.”

  “Right, right. You mentioned that. And who was this mortal that tempted a fae lady?”

  “I don’t remember his name,” he said dismissively. “The important thing is, someone betrayed her by telling her mate that she was pregnant with another’s child.”

  “You mean, she betrayed her mate.”

  His head jerked quickly, and his lips tightened, as if my statement were incorrect. “That’s not as bad as someone ratting her out. The consequences of the latter were more severe.”

  After a moment of gaping, I sputtered, “But there wouldn’t have been consequences if she hadn’t fooled around!”

  His laughter grated my nerves. “Darling, it’s what we do. It’s to be expected. Her mate wouldn’t have minded had she not become pregnant and tried to pass the bast— erm … the child as his own.”

  “Well, as the said bast— umn, child, in question, I might see this differently.”

  “Yeess,” he said, drawing out the word and looking thoughtful. “I suppose you might.” He shook his head as if clearing it. “Regardless, your mother sought to protect you and set me as your guardian.”

  A harsh bark of laughter flew out of my mouth.

  “It’s true,” he insisted, looking offended. “I’ve always protected you and I’m here to protect you now.”

  “How is getting me in trouble, making me lose my mind, and getting me kicked out of foster homes, protection?”

  “When have I ever done those things?”

  I couldn’t even formulate a reply. So many instances whirled through my brain, I could only gape.

  “I’ve only ever tried to show you a good time, and I always returned you safely to whatever mortals were your caretakers. If you got in trouble after that, that’s on your shoulders.”

  “I was a child!”

  “Well, you aren’t now, are you, love?” He gave me an appreciative once-over, which I tried to not appreciate.

  “I still can’t believe how many years passed here while I was but a short time away in Faerie,” he said, as if to himself. Straightening, he gave one of his dazzling smiles. “But I’m here now, and all will be well. You’ll see.”

  “I can’t believe this,” I muttered.

  “I’ll prove it,” he said. He snapped his fingers and the car filled with music. An old melody that pulled at my memories, a haunting lullaby I could have sworn I’d heard before but had no actual memory on which to pin it.

  “What is that?”

  “Your mother. Don’t you recognize her voice? She used to sneak out to sing this to you before sending you away with me.”

  It was familiar … but … “No. Not possible. I was only a few months old when they found me at the church.”

  “A fae child’s mind matures much more quickly than a human, and our brains retain more information than theirs. That’s one of the reasons we drink from the Cauldron of Rebirth, so we can forget all those pesky emotional memories. They become burdensome after a while.”

  I’d heard of the cauldron before. After so many years of therapy, I’d read up on faeries and mythology in my teens, hoping to understand my psychosis – why I’d had the need to hallucinate a grown, fae male. But I’d never come to any real conclusion, and the theories the therapists had thrown at me – like a manifestation of my negative animus – never resonated. However, that cauldron always sounded good to me. I’d love to be “reborn”, forgetting everything that had passed in my life. That is, be reborn as an adult; not start over completely.

  I was so lost in thought I didn’t notice when Puck pulled a map out of his pocket until he’d covered part of the windshield with it. I huffed my annoyance.

  “Where did that come from? In fact, where did these clothes come from? And did you dress me?”

  He shrugged. “Borrowed them. Or would you rather meet your mother in your underpants?”

  “It was a bikini!” I quickly reached under the “borrowed” t-shirt collar and relaxed a bit when I felt the familiar bathing suit ties. My next two questions fought for dominance in my mind. From whom had he “borrowed” the clothing, and where were we going? The latter won despite the fact I was driving.

  “So, where is she?” I asked.

  “Told you before. Not this world. We need to get to another portal. The hound is probably searching near the one I
came through.”

  Right. Cu the Big Green Dog. My leg throbbed at the reminder.

  “Wait. So, there is a faerie portal near my house?”

  “Quite convenient, that. Did you plan it?” he asked.

  “How could I do that? Why would I do that? All faeries have done for me is cause trouble.”

  “Only two have!”

  “Yes, you and the dog.”

  He harrumphed. “No. The hound and your mother’s mate. And the hound was probably meant for me, anyway, so only one.”

  “Four. You, the dog, my so-called mother, and her poor, betrayed, homicidal husband. Oh, and maybe whoever told on her, so five.”

  “I still don’t understand your issue with me. I’ve done my best to keep you safe. We got away from the Cu Sith didn’t we?”

  I rolled my eyes. But the mention of our escape from the Hellhound reminded me of a time in my childhood when Puck and I had one of what I used to call our “Daredevil Days.”

  We’d go around terrorizing the neighborhood, stealing food from gardens and orchards, moving lawn statues from one house to another, and in general, wreaking havoc. Sometimes, we’d have to escape angry neighbors and their dogs.

  Like Mrs. Lovell’s yappy Chihuahua. My lips twitched at the memory, even as guilt plucked at my conscience.

  Puck had dared me to put the dog in the tool shed so we could sneak a few carrots from her garden. Poor dog nearly took off my ankle and a couple of fingers, but I’d managed to get him in the shed and swipe the veggies before Mrs. Lovell came out of her house, brandishing a wooden spoon. We’d run away laughing until I was breathless from the adrenaline rush.

  I smiled without meaning to, and Puck grinned. “See! You appreciate me.”

  “Hardly.” I scowled as I remembered how Mrs. Lovell only saw me, not him. And how that had gotten me moved to another foster home.

  Sobering, I ignored his directions to turn right and made a left toward the highway. At least I still had enough of my faculties to drive myself to the hospital.

  “You’re going the wrong way.” He flipped the map around and peered at it closely. “Unless it’s this way. I can’t read these stupid human maps.” He tossed it down in disgust. “Perhaps it’s best if I drive and you read the directions to the gate.”

  “Gate?” I asked, ignoring his suggestion.

  “Portal Gate. We need to hurry in case the hound has already guessed our destination.”

  I glanced at the rearview mirror, a chill skittering down my spine. Was that a beast emerging from the darkness? “Will it be able to catch us?”

  “Not if we hurry.”

  My knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. I estimated at least twenty-five minutes to get to the hospital. “How long before it catches up?”

  Puck picked up the map again, moving it this way and that. He’d managed to turn on the visor light, so I could see the lines over which he ran his finger. He looked up and peered ahead, his eyes glowing neon blue.

  I blinked at the brightness of his gaze reflected in the windshield. That moment of inattention cost me when he jerked the steering wheel and we careened the wrong way onto a one-way exit.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I yelled as I yanked the wheel back. “You could have gotten us killed!”

  “Map shows to turn here,” he said calmly.

  I took one hand off the wheel and placed it where my heart tried to escape my chest. “You could have just said so.”

  He hummed; his eyes narrowed. “Would you have listened?”

  When I didn’t answer he nodded. “As I thought. We can do this my way and you can escape intact, or we can go to wherever you were thinking and take our chances with the hound.”

  “We can go straight to the hospital so I can be rid of you both!”

  His brow furrowed. “How could they possibly help?”

  I opened my mouth then closed it. He might have a point, much as I hated to admit it. Would they help? And if so, how? Maybe temporarily give respite in the form of tranquilizers. Then, likely at least a week’s stay inpatient, regardless of whether I wanted to be there that long. This I knew from the times I’d been sent as a child, as well as a couple of times as a teen, and once in my early twenties. I hadn’t seen Puck in many years but would sometimes catch glimpses out of the corner of my eye of strange and scary creatures. I made the mistake once of mentioning that to a psychiatrist.

  Memories of that last hospital stay six years ago made my throat ache. Depression from a life-long inability to form and sustain healthy relationships, on top of the anxiety from always wondering when I might have another psychotic break, had become too much. I was feeling suicidal and didn’t know where to turn. After a crazy round of being placed on hold by the suicide hotline, then being told by the local free clinic (no insurance) that I’d have a three month wait to get in to see anybody, I said I was giving up.

  They sent the police.

  And that hospital stay was more traumatic than anything I’d been going through. I’d made up my mind then that I would never, under any circumstances, allow myself to get to that state again. So, what was I doing now?

  A choked sob tore at my throat and I pulled the car to a stop at the side of the road, my skin chilled even as hot tears stung my eyes.

  “Why are you stopping?” Puck asked. “What’s wrong?”

  I laugh-cried. “What’s wrong?” A scream was working its way up my throat, along with hysterical laughter. If I gave in to either, I would be there all night. Instead, I burst into tears.

  I fought as Puck pulled me out of the car. I flailed at his rock-hard chest until his arms wrapped around me so tightly, I could only ugly cry against his solid warmth. He whispered things I didn’t understand and said some that I did—‘we need to go’—and none of them made me move until that haunting lullaby started again.

  My mind went still, and my body slowly softened as the wracking sobs quieted. The deep night blanketed me as I listened to the song, to Puck’s heartbeat, and to the distant chorus of frogs and crickets.

  Breathe in. Breathe out. The smell of hot metal and car exhaust teased its way across the scent of warm male flesh mixed with sweet clover which emanated from Puck, until at last, an inescapable truth buried into my psyche.

  This shit was real.

  And the hound was back.

  Puck let out an expletive more suited to a sailor than a fae and shoved me into the car. “Cover your ears,” he yelled.

  When I didn’t respond immediately, the lullaby returned at a volume that forced me to slap my hands over my ears. I felt, rather than heard, Puck land on the hood of the car as he jumped over and sent a gale of wind behind us, then came down to climb into the car. “Drive,” he shouted.

  In the rearview mirror, I could see the enormous hound pulling itself off the ground several feet back. I fumbled with the ignition as the beast ran forward. Finally getting the car in gear, I stomped the gas pedal right before it managed to take a bite out of the back bumper.

  Puck rolled the window down and sent another gust of air behind us, blasting the giant dog a few more feet down the road while I floored it, pushing my rusty ‘98 Chevy Malibu to its limit, which given I’d only paid four hundred for it, I figured we’d hit that limit pretty soon.

  Puck’s attention ping-ponged between the map and the road behind us. “Turn left on Laurel,” he shouted above the din he’d created with the lullaby and a rock radio station.

  I followed his directions, left, right, here, there, without question. That darn dog was fast. But my poor car was doing her best and the glowing red eyes following us were getting farther in the distance. By the time we neared the highway again, they had disappeared.

  “Can you turn the music down now, please,” I begged.

  Puck checked behind us and lowered the volume a smidge, the throb of the beat only slightly less than my pounding headache.

  When I reached for the radio knob—nothing I could do about the lullaby—hi
s hand stayed mine.

  “The Cu Sith has the taste and scent of you in his mouth, and even though he’s coming for me, he’s not going to let you go lightly.”

  I nodded, still shaking. “Where to now? How do we lose him?

  He gave me directions which became uncomfortably familiar. It felt as if the bottom of my stomach dropped when he shouted, “Stop the car!” as I drove near the church pastored by my favorite foster family.

  I checked behind us and to the sides, hoping some other buildings had been erected since the last time I was there. Dim lights from the parking lot beside the church revealed nothing but the old, steepled building sitting in a field, outhouse toward the back, and an iron-gated cemetery flanking the enormous oak next to a small pond on the right.

  “Seriously? Here?” I groaned.

  Puck nodded and the steeple bells chimed eleven. Despite the heat, the tolling echo sent chills over my skin. My birthday was almost over, but I sensed more surprises coming. It was if the air were pregnant with something about to break free. And like any birth, it was going to be loud, messy, and painful, with no turning back.

  Chapter Four

  P uck strode toward the church while I sat in the car watching him go. I couldn’t bring myself to follow. Tears blurred my view of the white clapboard building. How many times had I been there between the ages of eight and ten? Pastor Jim and his wife, Helen, had been the best and longest-lasting home I’d had. They practiced what they preached, and had shown patience and forgiveness with the strange child they’d taken in. At least until that last summer when Puck and I had one too many Daredevil Days and Helen had at long last conceived a child of her own.

  Jim had sat me down in the rectory and explained, teary-eyed, that I needed to find another home. As much as they had tried, they couldn’t help me, and God had rewarded them with a child of their own. They’d taken it as a sign to remove the hopeless case before I could lead their own astray.

  One more failure in a long line of failures. That was also the day I’d told Puck to leave and never come back.

  Sudden anger shook me, and I exited the car to where he stood waiting, having finally noticed I wasn’t behind him.