The Fate of Destiny (Fates #1) by Danielle Bourdon Read Free Book Online

would be funny.” Farris left the spoon in the sink and threw out the tea bag once it was done steeping. Crossing to the chair adjacent to the couch, she set the mug on the table, glanced anxiously at her current story-in-progress, then went to yank the curtains over the windows.
    Back in her chair, she flopped one leg over the arm, wincing at the stab of pain in her hip, and cradled her mug in her hands.
    “ So, let's talk about alternate plans for Halloween. If we decide to go out. I don't think anyone will be visiting the Rocket anytime soon.”
    Farris' stories would have to wait until later, after Bee fell asleep, before she could give them her undivided attention.

    Chapter Four

    It was past midnight by the time Emerson walked onto the Henson property. He scoped out the main house—which looked empty—and the garage set apart with the loft above. The crunch of dry grass under the soles of his muddy boots told him that the farmhouse and the garage had been spared the violence of the storm, which served his purpose here well. From the pocket of his coat he fished a box of matches that he'd gotten at a convenience store earlier after his 'talk' with Devon. Fiddling with it, shaking the thin wooden sticks inside, he geared up for what he had to do.
    This was impossibly easy. It didn't even really require his talent; it only required that he light a match, toss it onto the grass near the garage, and give the flames an extra bit of fuel so it would engulf the structure and burn it to the ground.
    The closer he got to the garage, the more weighted his legs felt. The heaviness was different. Unique.
    Emerson realized he didn't want to light Farris' loft on fire, didn't want to bring her the pain it would inevitably cause when she came home from Beelah's place tomorrow to see nothing left but ashes.
    And since when do you care, Emerson? An inner voice taunted him, forcing him back to the reality that he was a Weaver of Chaos. He was meant to do these things. Since becoming a Weaver, it had enhanced the part of himself that was closed off socially, making mingling a bit awkward. It made him edgier, less predictable, and often he had a difficult time caring for people he knew nothing about.
    It made his job easier.
    When he did care, he cared deeply and with a frightening passion that had scared more than one friend away. He knew all his flaws but could do little to change them.
    Taking a match out of the box, he turned it over and over between his fingers. All he had to do was scrape it, watch the match flare to life, and toss it down.
    Simple.
    Yet it wasn't so simple at all.
    There was something about Farris that made him hesitate. He couldn't put his finger on it, didn't understand why he felt like he should be protecting her instead of bringing her heartache.
    Before he could contemplate more about the weirdness of it all, he struck the match and flipped it end over end into an ankle high patch of yellow, dead weeds at the base of the garage. For a moment, it seemed as if the flame wouldn't catch.
    He waited. Smoke slithered up and dissipated on a gentle breeze.
    Emerson muttered under his breath. He didn't want to fan the flames, so to speak, even though it looked like he would have to do something to make it burn.
    Calling up a bit of Chaos, he drew an arc in the air with his hand, twisting the smoke into a tighter coil. The flames at the base burst to life, catching hold of the dead grass. A second after that, the fire lapped along the wood of the garage like a greedy tongue, feeling out its prey, and when it took hold, it took hold.
    The corner of the garage caught, and Emerson knew that was all the Chaos he needed to unleash. The fire itself would do the rest.
    Disgruntled, he lowered his hand and slid the matchbook back into his coat pocket, turning away so he didn't have to watch the results of his destruction.
    With an odd pang in his gut, he headed back the way he came, the crackle of fire ringing in his