Page 3 of Fated By Fire

I shrug, licking sauce off my fingers. “Dunno. I haven’t taken it yet.”

“But you’re going to?”

“If it’s the real deal, then yes, sure.” I pull Mom’s journal from the desk drawer, her initials etched in peeling gold foil. “It’s freaky, Mara. I haven’t had a clue about her since she disappeared, and then wham! A client pops up out of the woodwork with a huge job, and my mother’s connected?”

“Sounds hinky,” says Mara, watching as I flip the journal open. I’ve been through these pages thousands of times but never found anything that gives even the smallest hint. All I can get from it is a slight sense of being near her.

It’s all I have left.

A headache spikes behind my left eye. Static hums in my ears, like a radio tuned between stations.

Then—

I feel a tingle against my fingertips. I hear something, a sound that vibrates in my molars.

What the fuck?

I drop the journal.

“You okay?” Mara’s hand hovers near my shoulder. She knows I hate being touched.

“Fine. Low blood sugar.” I shove the journal away, but my fingers still tingle.

Mara takes a dramatic bite of her taco. “Okay, let’s say you take the job. How do you even get into Craven? Their security makes Area 51 look breezy.”

“Just gotta think laterally. Which is what I’m good at, dontcha know.” I tap my bottom lip for a moment as I think, then I pull up Craven’s careers page, scrolling through the listings. “Bingo. They’re hiring a junior archivist. Requires a ‘discreet, detail-oriented candidate.’”

“You? Discreet? The arsonist who set a CEO’s Porsche on fire?”

“That wasn’tarson. It was… aggressive negotiation.”

She rolls her eyes but nudges me out of the way and hunches over my laptop, fingers moving over the keys. “I’ll hack their HR portal. You need a fake identity. Let’s call you… Karen.”

“I’d rather die.”

“Melanie? Stephanie? Oh—Jessica.Classic, basic, don’t-draw-attention name.”

Twenty minutes later, I’m Jessica Mercer, NYU grad with a passion for “corporate transparency.” Mara splurges on a $7.99 resume template.

“That should do it,” she says, dusting her hands off. “I got you in at noon tomorrow. You might wanna ditch the flannel.” She casts a contemptuous look over my outfit.

I glance down at where I’ve tucked my favorite plaid shirt into the top of my torn jeans. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Are you really asking me that question?” She rolls her eyes. “Brush your hair, put on some heels, and leave the leather jacket at home. I don’t want to have to get you another interview slot.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.” I flash her a grin.

“Told you so.” She crumples her taco wrapper and tosses it into the wastepaper basket. “I gotta bolt. Time to upload my next TikTok slot.”

“Oh, right. Can’t be late for that. Someone might pick the wrong hiking trail and stumble into Bigfoot.”

“Happens more often than you’d think. Just because you’re not a believer doesn’t mean my followers aren’t.”

“Keep fighting the good fight, girlfriend.” I tap my forehead.

Mara leaves with a salute. “Don’t get dissected by evil billionaires,Jess.”

Alone, I stare at Mom’s Polaroid. The camera flash had blinded her that day, leaving a white halo around her face. Except now, looking closer—

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