Illusions of Fate

Again, where I am certain I took only one, I hold two. I turn them so I can see what they are, and my breath catches. The first card shows two bodies twined around each other, blending until I cannot tell where one begins and the other ends. A red ribbon encircling them twists out LOVERS.

But it is the second card that hits me like a blow. Two roads converge in a tangled wood tunneling into darkness. The branches of the trees spell out FATE.

“I know this path,” I whisper.

“You do?”

“I’ve dreamt it. But it wasn’t trees, it was bodies, and we danced down the line. . . .” I look up to find Finn’s stony glare has melted into something like hope, and I stop myself. “Let me see the deck.”

“What?”

I hold out my hand. “You knew which cards I’d get before you saw them. Let me see the deck.”

He hands it over and I thumb through it, my triumphant aha! ready to be unleashed when I proved that all of the cards were FATE or LOVERS dying on my lips as I see dozens of cards, all distinct.

I drop the cards on the floor, feeling dirty for having touched them. “It means nothing. This isn’t magic, it’s superstition of the basest kind. And you’ve told me nothing to explain why Lord Downpike would target me.”

“I tried,”

Finn says, staring at the mess of cards. “I tried so very hard. After our first meeting, I thought I could put you out of my head. And then when I saw you in the park, I aimed to test myself, to prove that you meant nothing. I found myself checking into your hotel afterward. Not to see you—I didn’t want to see you, I couldn’t—but simply to be near enough to—” He shrugs helplessly. “It was obviously indulgent and selfish. I should have known I was being watched. When you drew the cards . . . well, I resolved to never speak to you again and that would end things. I did not count on the reach of Downpike’s spies, though, and he presented an impossible task at the gala. How could I see you and not—”

My heart beats rapidly as I wait for him to look up, to finish the sentence. I’m disappointed. He stops, gathering the cards and tucking them away. “Well. He played the game better than I. But he underestimated you.”

Blast that unfinished sentence. But something else is off. He is not telling me enough. Then I notice that, though the light streams in all around Finn, he has no shadow. I run to the window next to him, then turn and look at the ground. My shadow is there, silhouette of long hair and robed body, but there is something fuzzy, something not quite the same about it. I raise one arm as fast as I can, and there! The hint of another shadow behind it.

“I still have your shadow!” I gasp. “Take it back!”

“Would that I could.”

“No, I don’t want it, you must—” I stop, my heart racing as I remember what he said earlier. “You . . . you can see and hear through your shadow.” Minutes ago I was naked in his bathroom, with his shadow there the whole time! “How dare you!” I slap him, and he has the audacity to look surprised.

“No, it doesn’t work like that! I don’t see and hear through it all the time. It takes a great deal of concentration and power, and I’m entirely tapped out at the moment. I promise I would never intrude on your privacy.”

My face is burning, and I cannot find it in me to believe him. “Take it back. Immediately.”

He raises both hands in the air, exasperated. “I can’t! These things don’t work like that. You don’t understand.”

“Then tell me how they work! Why did you attach it to me in the first place?” Had he suspected Lord Downpike would do something? If so, why hadn’t he protected me?

Finn looks to the side, taking a deep breath and folding his hands in front of himself. I can actually see him regaining control of his temper. “I would prefer not to discuss it at the moment. In due time we will figure out . . . a solution.”

I want to strangle him. The cool, smooth planes of his face, the sharp contours of his jaw, the perfectly combed golden hairs atop his head. It infuriates me how he can be so put together and calm when my whole world has shifted.

I lift a hand. He cringes expecting another slap, but does not move, as if he knows he deserves it. Instead, I push my fingers through his hair, making it stand at wild angles, horribly mussed.

“There.” I mimic his imperious, disengaged face. “Now.” I sit back down and take a sip of my brandy. “You have more to tell me, but first I would like to send a letter to my friends at the hotel telling them I am safe and will be home soon. They’re probably sick with worry.”

“I’ll send notice that you’re safe, but I am afraid you can’t go back.”

“Pardon?”

He moves away from the window and stands, examining a bookshelf as though it contains something more interesting than a rainbow of cracked and worn spines. “I think it best if you go to my home in the country. You’ll be safe there until this is sorted. The grounds are well kept, and you’d love the greenhouse. I can hire a few servants for you.”

“And how long am I to stay?”

“As long as it takes for me to neutralize Downpike as a threat to you and others. If you are where he cannot reach you, then that problem is solved.”

I set my glass carefully onto the table, my voice measured. “I am a problem to be solved.”