Page 66 of Awry
A three-foot-tall stone gargoyle stands sentry by the front door, a key tucked within its clasped forepaw.Not just anyone can pull the key from that spot, though.Not without permission from my aunt —
No.Not without permission from me now.
Some of this sort of thing, the sorts of things scattered around the property, could be classified as essence-wrought or crafted.But I can only wield and feel intent, not specifically crafted and cast spells or charms or wards.I’ve inadvertently walked through protections or foiled essence-based attacks without even knowing it, numerous times.
But the key is mage wrought.My aunt, perched in her high tower and endlessly working, at least from my perspective as a child, always hated being interrupted to answer the door.The locks are automatic, and not via tech.
I unlock the door as the engines of the vehicles shut off behind me.I don’t have to look back to know that Cayley is climbing out of the car, or that Grinder has returned with Doc Z and Presh’s brother, Rath.Their life force is so robust, I don’t need eyes with which to see them.
But I feel drawn, even momentarily compelled, to look back.Just once.
At Rath.
He’s so huge, easily six and a half feet, that his large bike looks regular-sized as he swings his leg off it.His hair is brown, chopped short.As he removes his helmet, he favors his left shoulder, almost imperceptibly.I can’t see the color of his eyes from this distance, but his features are broad, arresting.
I don’t look closely, not even at the vibrant threads of fate that entwine them all — and which tie two of the three to me, loosely, but in a way I can’t even begin to fathom.Because they aren’t the mystery I’m here to unravel.
Moreover, it’s possible I’m not entirely in control of my own actions yet.Not that I’m being puppeted or piloted, but just that my body remembers the last intention I gave to it — go to the house, look for my aunt — and is following through.But at the same time, my mind is shutting down to navigate whatever cosmic and otherworldly event just occurred, binding me even tighter to the woven fabric of existence.
Voices rise in argument behind me as I turn away again — Rath is questioning Cayley.Or ordering her around.I don’t wait to see what conclusion they come to, striding into and through the dark-wood-paneled front entrance.I flick on the overhead light, and doing so triggers the lights along the hall leading all the way back through the house to the kitchen.
I glance into the sitting room on my left.A silver tea service is set on the antique coffee table.Three teacups, all mostly full, are set about the room.A large section has been cut out of a bright-yellow lemon cake with thick white frosting.I don’t have to step any closer to confirm that the cake is starting to mold.
No bodies.
No sign of a struggle.
But I know …
Iknow.
The only life forces I can feel on the entire property are arrayed behind me on the front patio.Even if my aunt had just gone for —
No.My aunt is obviously dead.
Why do I keep questioning that?
But Aunt Disa also wasn’t the only person who lived on the property.At least three others should also be here.Her chosen, though none of them were her soul-bonded as far as I know.She had never created, or rather found, a connection on that level.Honestly, I think that sort of universe-bequeathed connection is garbage anyway.Simply wishful or fanciful —
“Zaya,” Rath says behind me.I’ve left the door open, but he hasn’t stepped into the house.It isn’t the first time he’s said my name.Or asked me a question.
I ignore him, crossing the few steps to the main stairs.No matter what rights he thinks he can claim over me because of my abrupt rescue of Presh, I have no answers to any of his questions.I’m aware that I could kick him, all of them, entirely off the property.But I feel … oddly fragile, unsettled.And despite his pushy behavior, verging on inappropriately possessive, his presence is not … unwelcome.Yet.
Rath swears quietly behind me, possibly in Spanish.Then he starts issuing orders.No one enters the house.It’s possible they can’t without my explicit consent.
Instead of cutting into the dining room or continuing along the hall to the kitchen, I traverse the stairs to the second floor.The banister is dusty.
My aunt’s house is never dusty.
Hundreds of years old, yes.But meticulously maintained.
“Grinder,” Rath says behind me, “head over to the barn and check on the caretaker.It’s still Mack, right?Cayley, check the greenhouse and the gardens for Ingrid, Disa’s mage.I’ll check the exterior of the house, then the beach house.And there was a third in the last few years, wasn’t there?”
“Combat mage.Devlin.Never caught his last name,” Grinder says.“He’s been with Disa for about ten years.”
Those names knock around in my mind as I slowly climb the stairs.My head feels hollow, but my limbs are heavy.Mack, the shifter caretaker.Ingrid … and Devlin?Yes.They all lived here with my aunt.
Shouldn’t they have contacted me?
