Page 17 of Inked in Bloom
Dr. Tanner had scooped me up, holding me against her chest and pointing at the spinning machine.
“It’s nothing to be afraid of,” she’d cooed and pressed a gentle kiss between my ears. It took me a few minutes to realize how right she was, how silly my fear had been, and for a moment, I forgot how dangerous the mortal realm was.
Her skin had been tanned, hair the color of honey, eyes sparkling like two rich emeralds from beneath her glasses.
Not anymore. Never again.
She’s here, but she shouldn’t be.
It takes entirely too long to reach Fate’s Den, but finally, the bottom of the basket rebounds against the glossy floor. I jump out and shift, conjuring on a pair of jeans, a henley, and my jacket. The rope screeches, tugged by invisible hands, and the basket zips skyward. Not sure which is worse—the forever-descent or the stomach-lurching jolt of going back up. I’m already dreading it with each step down the darkened tunnel. Adjusting my spectacles, I inhale and push open the door.
There’s a clatter and a gasp.
I freeze in place, grimacing. “Sorry!”
“No need to apologize,” Fate says, reaching for the few stones scattered across the floor, landing next to a pool of swirling colors.
I hurry over to help her, handing her the last few rocks—a gold one and one that’s completely white with cracks in it. She frowns and pockets the latter, then sets the gold oneatop the pile on her left. The scale wobbles, and her lips purse when it doesn’t let up.
“I had a feeling you might show up.” From the flustered expression on her face, I doubt she expected me now. “Let’s go sit and talk.”
Seemingly forcing herself away from the teetering structure, she waves for me to follow her across the den. I slip my hands into my pockets. Despite the rainbow of hues and the shattered shells, flowers, and leaves swaying above, there’s always something so cold about this place and the woman who inhabits it.
Makes me wonder if she was once a Frost, but I would never ask. Fate gives up their former post when they take on the role. Objective oversight is their most sacred duty.
“What is Dr. Tanner doing here?” I ask, unable to contain my question.
“I think you already know, Radix.” Fate gestures toward the translucent bench along the wall.
I sit, expecting to fall through it or for it to be hard like glass, but it cushions around my body, cradling me beside her. “I just saw her in the mortal realm. Alive. What could have happened between then and now?” Dr. Tanner being here is all wrong. “The last time I saw her, she was alive, sitting on a bench.”
Stroking my fur.
Fate’s voice lowers. “She was hit by a bus.”
I rear back as if the monstrous metal transport struck me and not the mortal who cared for me. My stomach plummets. Swallowing thickly, I ask the question I’m uncertain I want the answer to. “When?”
Fate’s rainbow stare falls to her lap where her hands are clasped. “Her heel got stuck in the street when she was running across it toward the park.”
When she was running toward the parkI’dbounded off to.
My ribs splinter. A burning guilt floods my chest, rising up my throat.
The warmth of the memory of her petting me as I tried to stay awake through seasonal sickness dissipates, replaced with chilling cruelty.
“She didn’t deserve this.”
“Of course she didn’t.”
“Then why?”
The unfairness of it all.
“Briar…” Fate reaches for my hand, but I tug it to me and stand. It won’t stop shaking. Not even after I slip it back into my pocket. She stares at me with pity I don’t deserve, that I won’t accept—not from her or anyone else. “You know that’s not how it works.”
What she doesn’t say speaks volumes, but the truth rings through me with discordant and unavoidable certainty as I flee Fate’s Den.
It’s my fault she’s dead.
