The Trouble with Fate Read Free Page B

That was my world.
    “You can cool down right now,” I said, flattening my shirt so that she could hang
     in the cool night air. I lowered my voice to a soothing tone. “My hand barely hurts.
     It’s not red, well, not red like my freakin’ boob is. You know, you’ve got to control
     your temper.” One of Merry’s unique attributes was the ability to heal my payback
     pain.
    The red light turned a fraction purple.
    “Okay, maybe I’m not the one to be talking about holding on to my temper. Trowbridge
     was in the shop tonight, Merry. And I quit, and so yeah, I may have used some magic.
     Just a little bit. I was feeling stressed.” I rubbed the soot off my finger against
     the rough grain of my khaki pants. “Look,” I said, pulling my finger up so that she
     could see it. “It’s barely red. I don’t need healing. It hardly hurts.” I was lying
     like hell, my finger was throbbing like someone had slammed it with a car door, but
     I held it up straight so that she could see.
    “You don’t need to heal me, and you don’t need to have a hissy fit.”
    She knew as well as I that payback pain would get worse before it got better. Her
     color cooled to a stubborn claret. I don’t know what claret is, but that’s what the
     bored heroes in my Regencies always drank, and I always figured it was red wine. And
     sometimes when I was feeling mellow, a furious Merry reminded me of a glass of something
     vintage, held up to the golden dancing flames of a lit fire.
    I kept walking, passing the last car parked in the lot, so engrossed, and still, admittedly,
     somewhat high with adrenaline, that I didn’t even notice the red van idling against
     the metal fence until I was too close to avoid it. The vehicle smelled of hamburgers,
     Febreze, and car wash. The sweet bubble-gum smell of the latter twigged a scent recall.
     I looked, and saw Robson Trowbridge in the driver’s seat talking to Geezer-Were. Eyes
     averted, I walked past the rear of the van, Merry tight in my fist.
    Geezer-Were opened the window.
    Were scent, fragrant as the woods that I was heading to, reached out to me. Silence
     as I passed. I don’t know who would screw around with a pause, but this one struck
     me as pregnant. I held my breath, kept my gait casual, and wondered how fast I could
     run. As fast as a full-blood Were? I skipped over the barrier between this parking
     lot and the next, and made it onto the gas station’s patched asphalt. I didn’t change
     my speed until I had made it around the repair shop, then I broke into a light trot.
    Lou’s next flood of pictures came with no warning. An aisle in the bookstore. A path with trees, leaves whipping out in the wind. A dark
     uniform. Something glinting gold. An arm with a sword, raised high. Then bushes, and
     ground. Lou’s hand reaching for a rock. Booted feet passing the vegetation.
    As abruptly as they came, they were gone. No visions, no pictures, no fear. I was
     back in the “here.” I took another lungful of air.
    The entry to the ravine was another half block ahead. I tightened the straps on my
     backpack and picked up the tempo. Lou would be waiting for me at home. So would my
     bed, and my dreams. I found my feet slowing. I was early anyhow. If I came home too
     early, she’d ask why. I walked twelve feet along the ravine path thinking about that
     before I stepped off the trail to find a tree for Merry.
    *   *   *
    If anyone passed, it looked like I was just leaning against the tree, thinking up
     poetry, and really that’s what I was doing. The tree-leaning bit; not the poetry.
    I don’t have to do much to feed Merry—there’s no can-opening, or big bags to lug—so
     I have plenty of time to think. Once I find a tree and plop her on a limb, all I have
     to do is stand guard as she chows down. True, I have to be particular about the type
     of tree. It has to be green, preferably wild. She prefers hardwoods. Pines and spruces
     make her turn an unattractive