Page 75 of Hexy Beast

Yeah, that last hit was definitely harder than I realized. This has to be a concussion dream. The Fates. The actual Fates. It’s ridiculous. Everyone knows the sisters who decide the length of a life never make personal appearances. They sure don’t live as a werewolf pack’s oracle for generations. I have to figure out how to wake up.

“Oh my stars, Attie,” the one with the measuring tape says, “do you always have to be so dramatic?”

The woman holding the twine rolls her eyes. “She’s always been like this, Clo, so I’m going to go with yes, it’s just her nature. Who else would go undercover for three whole centuries as an oracle other than our baby sister? And then to snip that nasty Nikos’s string of life right at the pivotal moment? High drama.”

“It’s just a lot,” Clotho says with a shrug. “That’s all I’m saying.”

“Well, you’re the one who bet her she couldn’t carry it off,” Lachesis says. “You know how stubborn she is.”

“Takes one to know one, Lach.”

Artemis (Atropos?) hooks her arm through mine and walks me a few steps away while the other women continue to banter in the distance. “Ignore my sisters, they get a little chatty in corporeal form. They rarely get to take it, even in the in-between space where we are now.”

We sit down on the steps to the gazebo, and she gives me a few minutes to unwind things in my head. It all kind of makes sense in a weird way. No one has ever known how old Aunt Artemis is, where she came from, or anything about her life before she appeared in Arcadia. The Fates. We talk about them, curse them, plead with them, and a million other things all the time, and yet no one ever expects them to show up, let alone tattoo a Kardia on your shoulder.

“So all of this, everything, you planned it?” I ask.

Aunt Artemis shakes her head. “That’s the thing, we may be the Fates, but all we decide is the length of your time. What you do with it is up to you.” She pauses. “Now, I may have nudged a few things along here and there to point you in the right direction.” She pats my shoulder exactly where she’d inked my Kardia tattoo. “But you of all people should know that destiny is in your own hands.”

I rub my wrist where the leather cuff she’d given me all those years ago used to be. “And fated mates? Is that real?”

“Yes. And no. And maybe.” She cocks her head in question. “Does it matter?”

I look over past the wavy line that divides this ghostly Arcadia and the real one at the spot where Effie is standing and try to imagine even a day without her. I can’t, and even if I could, I wouldn’t want to.

“No.” I shake my head. “I don’t think it does. I am hers and she is mine.”

When Aunt Artemis, or Atropos, really, doesn’t answer right away, I look over, but she’s gone. So are her sisters. And the gloaming version of Arcadia is wavering as the buzzing starts up again in my toes. The vibrations are just starting to expand, and I know I only have seconds left before I’m zapped back when I spot it.

There on the ground is a pair of rings woven from that otherworldly metallic purple twine Clotho had been holding. I swipe them before the vibrations take me back to that in-between place.

I can’t help but chuckle, because that’s so like Aunt Artemis to always get one last nudge in.

Not that I need the push.

I already know what to do next because Effie is right about everything.

Chapter Thirty

Darius…

I land with a hard thunk back in my Arcadia, a little woozier for the quick trip through time and space. My stomach feels like it traded places with my knees, and I have to blink to adjust to the real world after the dusky lighting of the gloaming Arcadia.

“Let’s never do that again,” my wolf says, punctuating his queasiness with a belch.

It seems like there are a million people everywhere. Atlas is over by the gazebo, eyes locked on the ground and nose twitching like he’s deep into tracking mode. Celia, who runs the mechanic’s shop with a side business of stripping magic carpets of parts to sell on the black market, is gathering a group of pack members outside her store. Along Main Street there are pockets of pack members clumped together going over maps of Witchingdom.

I’m glad to see every single one of them, but that’s not who I’m on the hunt for. Somewhere out there is Effie, and for the first time since she appeared out of thin air onto my lap, I can’t sense her.

Cold dread is like ice in my veins as I scan the crowd for her distinctive light auburn hair. My gaze flies over each group, but she’s not there, and my lungs start to tighten up and my gut clenches. Panic eats away at me everywhere all at once. My wolf isn’t pacing; he’s racing around inside me, anxious and unable to stay still.

“Okay,” Effie hollers above the din of pack members talking over one another near the park’s firepit. “So that’s the plan. Who’s with me? Who is ready to face down the Council to bring Darius home?”

The breath I’ve been holding escapes in one long, relieved sigh, and I’m moving before I even realize it, racing to get to the woman willing to take on the worst in Witchingdom on my behalf. She looks up just as I’m almost close enough to grab her, and the way her whole face softens when she sees me is nearly enough to make my steps falter—but not when I’m this close.

One second I’m what feels like miles away from her, and the next I’m right there, nearly touching her, heart pounding in my chest like it’s making a prison break. I want to grab her. I want to yank her close. I want…I want Effie Sherwood, curvy little chaos witch, new werewolf, and absolutely the most maddening woman I’ve ever met in my life.

What an idiot I’ve been to think I could go a day without her.