When Fate Aligns: Book One of The Mortals and Mystics Series Read online

  I essentially look nothing like Ky, yet as much as I want to not care about my father, these thoughts seep into my mind when I lie awake at night.

  My failing unity keeps my mind occupied as well. I was given my partner’s name two years ago. The name of the man I’d spend the rest of my life with. Typed in bold letters across stark white government paper with no other accompanying information was a name: Micah Rixton. Everything was all so exciting and full of hope.

  Until he went missing.

  My window abruptly pushes open, rattling against the old panes, startling me from my thoughts. Ayden climbs through. It’s after village curfew, and he’s out of breath from the three-block run from his house to the camp. The run he makes to stay the night in a work camp that most respectable people wouldn’t be caught dead in has been our tradition since we were kids.

  Ayden’s parents are the ideal partnership. Both have great jobs, a big house, a brilliant son, and yet … they hate each other, making their son’s life miserable just by being together.

  Some people are over qualified for partners and live their lives in the inner city, working for our government. Ayden’s one of them. After our eighteenth birthdays, he’ll be over qualified and forever alone. I’ll never see him again once he leaves.

  When my mother gave birth to me, without a union and without a birthing permit, we were deposited here, in the camp. But the camp provides a life for us. A long, overworked life, but a life all the same. It’s a community of family, working together to complete the lack of real family we don’t have. Ayden has all but lived at the camp to be near me—and away from his parents—since we met when we were seven.

  Ripper lifts his head from his spot at the bottom of the bed. Ripper knows the tradition and doesn’t make a move, but the little dog does growl in annoyance when Ayden pushes him off the bed as he lies down next to me.

  Getting comfortable, he crosses his arms behind his head. The familiarity of our routine warms me, and I curl in a ball on my side to face him. We both fit in my tiny bed. He’s tall, maybe six feet, but lean. My petite five-foot-six frame fits perfectly next to him, and we relax like puzzle pieces laying side by linking side.

  “So, how was your day, sweetheart?” he asks sarcastically.

  I imagine it’s his idea of what a normal partnership would be like if his parents actually liked each other.

  “It was,” I pause trying to find a word to describe the weirdness that was my day, “exciting, I guess.”

  He turns on his side to face me. He looks interested, but hesitant. Like he’s reading between every shadow the moon casts onto my face. Ayden spends his days with his grandmother doing homework, so, needless to say, my days are always more exciting than his.

  “More interesting than that pike trying to start a rebellion last week?”

  I smirk at his reply as the image of Forty-four cracking the glass flashes through my mind. Everything is so easy between us, even when our actual lives are not. Ayden applied to fill the available partnership in my union after I received the notice of Micah’s disappearance.

  Thinking of Ayden as my life partner created an odd feeling between us that didn’t exist before. He’s kinder to me, if that’s possible. Once he applied, he waited every morning to walk me to school. He became hesitant, as if he was thinking through every word he spoke to me, which made me more conscious of my words and actions toward him. An awkward normalcy fell over our lives. The idea of our union seemed to strengthen our friendship, and I couldn’t help but look forward to our future.

  It lasted a month.

  The state isn’t quick to look further into missing persons like Micah, but our county was quick to reject someone with no future trying to make a union with a member of congress.

  “More exciting than the rebellion,” I say, snapping out of my thoughts.

  “Well, my grandma made me peanut butter cookies, knowing damn well I’m allergic to peanuts, so unless your story has a near death experience, I think I’ve got you beat.”

  A laugh bubbles inside of me, the idea that his family knows so little about him is almost funny. Then I pause, wondering if I should tell him.

  “A pike touched me today.”

  He immediately sits up in my bed, looking down at me, shadows falling across his face. “Those repulsive freaks touched you?” There’s anger in his voice, and I have to shush him because I’m worried my mother will hear us. “Are you okay? I told you, you should stop going there.” He lifts my chin as if to make sure my neck is intact.

  “Ayden, I’m fine.” I turn my head out of his hand. “It wasn’t like that. It was a completely contained situation,” I lie. “I was evaluating Forty-four with my mother, and I think he might have,” I pause trying to find another word for compel. “I think he tried to speak, and then he touched my hand … twice.”

  Ayden’s chestnut eyes are the biggest I’ve ever seen them, and darkness settles into them. He’s furious, and I now know I shouldn’t have said anything at all. He folds his arms over his knees and stares at the wall across from us in the tiny room. He doesn’t speak for a minute. Anger rolls off of him in waves, and I sit up next to him, wondering if he even heard me.

  “Are you okay?” I ask quietly.

  “Twice? How did he touch you twice?” His voice is quieter now like he’s thinking out loud. “Where were the guards? Security couldn’t prevent one of those freaks from touching you not once but twice? How did he speak? I thought they were collared or something. Did he ask you to do something for him?” he asks in a ramble, touching the side of my face again, but softly this time. “Tell me if he tried to get you to donate blood because trust me, it’s a trap.”

  I roll my eyes at his ability to find humor even when he’s angry. He’s still holding my face in his hand, and I let him. It reminds me of when he kissed me last summer, right before we got the rejection letter on our unity request. It was a soft kiss, the only kiss I’ve ever had.

  He looks at my lips, possibly thinking about the very same memory. His brows pinch together as he releases a long breath, and a sad look crosses his face. He drops his hand and lies back down.

  “He didn’t hurt you, though, right?” he asks in a whisper.

  I lie down next to him and rest my head on his arm. He reflexively brings it around my shoulder.

  “No, not at all.”

  The quiet seeps into the room. Shadows linger heavily against the walls as the night passes slowly and my mind replays the day over and over. Ayden’s even breaths are the only noise that drifts through the room as I recall the strange tingling feeling the pike gave me. My body tries to imitate what it had felt like but I’m not able to.

  It was probably just nerves. It was probably nothing.

  Then why am I still thinking about it?

  ***

  I wake the next morning alone, like always. Nothing more than twisted sheets accompany me in my bed. Not completely alone, Ripper reminds me, whimpering by the door. I go to my closet and pull out black jeans and a black top, identical to the clothes I wore yesterday. The insulated coolant that lines our clothes helps a little in the ever-rising heat.

  Our community has adjusted to the weather over the centuries. Our skin is tan and hair is dark. Most have dark eyes to match. Ayden is a perfect example of survival of the fittest. While my mother has blonde hair, her skin is still tan. I inherited her eyes, and I notice strangers stare at my light eyes. An abnormality. Some find beauty in my eyes, and some find an ugliness that sets me apart from others.

  Ripper and I walk outside into the dry air, and the sun beats harshly down onto us. It’s Saturday, and there isn’t school today, but the camp is still hard at work.

  Walking to the outskirts of the camp, I find Ayden already at work cutting down trees, something he loathes, but has zero say in. Until he turns eighteen, he has to enter his various assigned hours in the community just like everyone else. Tomorrow he might be back in the office, but today he has physical labor. He’
s sweating and appears to have been here completing today’s tasks for a while. After a few seconds, he glances up at me.

  “Good morning, beautiful,” he yells before halting his chainsaw and placing it on the ground.

  There’s a group of guys drinking water a few feet away, and they laugh quietly among themselves. One makes a low whistling sound, but I try not to acknowledge them. Ayden tries to suppress the smile on his face, but fails, offering them a lighthearted glare instead as he pulls off his safety glasses.

  “Don’t pay attention to them. They’re just bored and looking to stir up trouble.” He takes my hand lightly in his and leads me away from the other men.

  Things are still tense between us. We were friends, then we were more, and now we’re friends again, and soon we will be nothing to each other. My stomach twists just thinking about it, and I try to blink away the thick feelings that bubble up my throat. It’s odd to think one day very soon I won’t see his smiling face again.

  “What were you assigned to today?” he asks, dropping my hand when we stop a few yards away from everyone.

  I groan, thinking about my schedule. “I have food duty,” I say through gritted teeth.

  For a society that cares so much about perfect placement in life, the camp doesn’t care at all. They don’t care who you are. If it’s your turn to serve slop in the cafeteria, that’s where you’ll be found. The few days I’m assigned in the clinic are the best days of the month. Being assigned to the cafeteria ranks somewhere between janitorial duty and the hopes of an early death.

  “Eww, well maybe I’ll find you at lunch, you know, where you’ll be serving me.” He tries to hold back his laughter, but, as soon as I smile, he laughs, a low and rumbling sound. The guys at the drink station are still watching us, and we both stop smiling at the sight of the audience.

  “I’ll see you later,” I say awkwardly.

  He nods and, as I turn to leave, I nearly trip over Ripper. Ayden grabs my arm to help me, pulling me back to him. My legs tangle with his, and when I look up at him questioningly, his eyes are soft and searching. He’s breathing heavily, and his white safety helmet shadows his dark eyes. He’s silent for just a moment, looking intently at me, but I don’t know what he’s looking for. Something I can’t give him. His eyes drift low to my lips. A fluttering, uneasy feeling builds in my chest.

  Then he kisses me. For a few seconds, his soft lips are on mine and confusion dances through my mind, but I close my eyes and let a moment of easy simplicity pass between us.

  I pull back first, but only a fraction. His head lingers against mine, a mixture of guilt and happiness in his features. A combination of happiness and annoyance settles within me. This kiss, though I’m not sure how I feel about it, was better than our last. Even if it means nothing to either of us. But I’m angry because he did it to impress his friends.

  I hear them speaking and laughing louder now, but thankfully I can’t hear what they’re saying. My cheeks flame red anyway, and I turn my face slightly into Ayden’s chest, like a child trying to hide from strangers.

  His hand is resting low on my back, and Ripper prances in the small spaces between our legs like he wants to join in on our uncomfortable game.

  My hands are against Ayden’s chest, and I slowly think through my next action. I don’t want to push him away and embarrass him, even if I am mad. Even if I want to, the way he’s looking at me, I’m not sure I could pull away. Because as angry as it’s made me, the kiss also lifted some of the weight I’ve been feeling in my chest. Leaving behind a lightness that allows me to breathe easier, allows my lungs to move freely.

  Luckily, he decides for us. He clears his throat and pulls away, sliding his hand down to my palm and holding it a moment before walking backward, our fingers slipping away between us, like lost feelings I’ll never be able to grasp again.

  Maybe there’s something wrong with me. Ayden’s handsome, smart, kind, funny, amazing. All of the male adjectives a girl dreams about, he’s them. But that’s just it, my mind only thinks of him in adjectives, and not feelings. I think pushing our relationship into this strange phase might ruin my emotions.

  Maybe it’ll pass.

  “I’ll see you later,” he promises in a heavy whisper with a lazy smile.

  I give a small, tense smile back to him and watch as he jogs to his chainsaw. I hear one of the men ask him a question with a loud barking laugh as I start walking as quickly as possible to the kitchen. As much as I almost liked our little moment, I have slop to serve and Mrs. Hollis isn’t going to be happy I’m late.

  I run the whole way there, but it doesn’t help. I’m still late. Mrs. Hollis puts me on gizzard duty as punishment. I spend my whole morning pulling the insides of chickens to the outside. It’s slimy and disgusting and almost makes me want to stop eating meat … for at least a few hours.

  During my work of mutilating chickens, my mind keeps replaying the kiss. It’s silly of Ayden and me to become attached. More attached than we already are. In a few weeks, he’ll be gone and I’ll be here, alone. But maybe that’s why we should become … attached. Both of us will be alone for the rest of our lives unless, by some miracle, Micah is found. Do I want to live my entire life not knowing what love really is? My mother did, and she seems happy. As happy as you can be when you’re surrounded by bloodsuckers all day.

  At the thought of the bloodsuckers, my mind replays Forty-four’s words. Be sure. Of what? Did my mother tell him something? A lie? It’s very likely. I still don’t know why she wanted me to go into the hybrid’s work chamber. My only assumption would be to manipulate Shaw in some way.

  Be sure.

  Not only am I thinking of the words and their meaning, but I can’t help but break apart everything about him. The way his clear eyes pierced into mine. The way his lean body angled closer toward me. The way his voice sounded raspy and deep … And pained. His pain seeps into my own chest, and the heaviness returns. I can’t help but feel a sort of sorrow for his life. It makes me hate Shaw even more.

  “Did you get on Mrs. Hollis’ bad list too?”

  I turn, dripping chicken guts all over the tile floor, and find Emily pulling on gloves to join me. She’s my age, small and delicate like she might break if pushed too hard. Eyes like honey meet mine and I find myself glad to have her company.

  “I was late this morning. I guess I’m just lucky she didn’t report me,” I say, returning to my bucket of slime.

  I don’t have any strikes, but tardiness counts. Three strikes and you’re out, dragged off to a government facility behind bars. Secluded and kept away from your family, friends, and any form of life in general.

  Her voice is smaller now, if that’s possible. “Hollis caught me stealing bread last week. She said she wouldn’t report me if I promised it wouldn’t happen again and if I worked additional hours in the kitchen for a month.” She doesn’t meet my eyes as she confesses, and I don’t shame her for her words. Hollis is actually doing her a huge favor, and she knows it.

  Emily had an illegal birth two years ago. She kept her pregnancy a secret out of fear of fetus termination by the government. The village allows babies to be kept once they’re born, but the family has to live in a working camp.

  Emily kept a growing secret for close to nine months. When my mother and I delivered her baby, there was a surprise. A miracle. And a curse. Emily gave birth to not one, but three babies. Three babies who survived in the womb with minimal medical help. Three beautiful babies who our camp now has to help care for, who Emily has to worry over day and night.

  There isn’t enough food to give her large family any extra. Emily starves herself to keep them fed. There’s barely enough water. I would have stolen the bread too if they were my children. Thinking through the last two years, I wonder how many times Emily really took food to feed her babies. It’s surprising last week was the first time she’d been caught.

  “So, she gave you slop duty, knowing you wouldn’t take slimy chicken guts home with
you. Joke’s on her,” I say with a smirk. “Ripper’s already eaten at least a dozen bones in the last hour.” We smile at each other as we look out the open door to the happy little dog chewing noisily on a bone in the sun.

  My stomach growls so loud I stop working and decide to take my lunch break. I drop the slick meat into the bucket, remove my gloves, and start searching for real food. Emily doesn’t look up at me. She seems caught up in her own thoughts. Or worries.

  In the next room, a few women are pulling a cake out of the oven, and I realize they got the good job today. They also probably showed up on time.

  The room grows silent, the dozens of people in the kitchen become somber and nervous glances linger on the room I just left.

  I turn and see three guards in all black clothes with matching black guns holstered at their sides. They walk through the large room, filling us all with dread with every step they take. My eye dart to the door again, and a weight is lifted when I realize Ripper is nowhere in sight. The small dog is safe for now.

  Two guards block the exit while one circles the room like a vulture. He picks up an apple from a basket—an apple that will now be deducted from someone’s rations today—as he continues his sneering assessment of the area.

  “Emilia Rosales,” the guard barks, making us all jump.

  Emily peeks into the large room, her gloves still clinging to her hands and her thin face struck with fear. The two guards waste no time flocking to her.

  The third guard takes his time stalking toward her, his heavy boots sounding through the room. “Emilia Rosales, you have been convicted and found guilty of stealing from the state. An inventory error was brought to President Docile’s attention early yesterday morning, and a witness at the scene of the crime has led us to you.”

  A witness at the scene of the crime … A crime of stolen bread …

  “Do you have a final statement you would like to make before serving your life as punishment?”