Of Fate and Fury

Chapter 1

Chapter one

Bridget

Ahard plastic chair dug into Bridget’s spine as she sat, waiting for her name to be called.

The buzz of hushed voices and unending activity grated against her skull, making her temples throb.

Sterile white walls seemed to suck the air from her lungs, and the sharp sting of antiseptic did nothing to soothe her.

Hospitals had always twisted her stomach into tight knots…

especially when it was the last place she needed to be.

Bridget winced and pressed her fingers to the wound beneath her shirt.

The same damn scar. Again. Droplets of blood trickled out and stained her maroon shirt.

Heat radiated across her side, almost making her sweat despite the unescapable frigid Boston air.

Sometime during her workout, she’d reopened the annoying thing.

It was her own fault, of course. She’d never given it enough time to properly heal.

Since September, the scar had split open and been stitched shut more times than she could count.

Her bathroom cabinet looked more like a first-aid station than a place for toothpaste.

But this time, an angry ring of red marred her skin, daring her to keep ignoring the ever present wound.

An infection was the last thing she needed, especially when hospitals and doctors tended to ask too many questions.

Staring harder at her phone screen, Bridget tried to ignore the older woman sitting across from her.

She was trying to catch her eye. Again. For the last thirty minutes, she’d watched the woman shift from person to person, asking questions that went on too long and digging just a little too deep.

One by one, her victims had escaped, ushered behind double doors by a nurse.

But now, with only a sleeping teenager in a surgical mask slumped against the far wall, Bridget had become the sole remaining target.

She sighed and slipped her phone into her purse.

Avoiding eye contact clearly wasn’t working.

She didn’t hate talking to people. In fact, during her time working at Hungry Pies, she’d mastered the art of small talk.

A smile and some quick banter usually led to a better tip.

But something about the woman’s demeanor reminded her of Cora.

And that was someone she’d rather not think about during waking hours.

Maybe it was the unnervingly steady gaze, or the way she kept her hands folded perfectly still in her lap, Bridget wasn’t sure.

She just knew the woman’s presence wasn’t helping settle her nerves.

With a to-do list a mile long, a pit stop at the hospital was throwing a wrench in her perfectly planned out day.

Apparently tired of being ignored, the woman waved her hand. “Have you been waiting long?”

“Just a little,” Bridget replied. Seventy-nine minutes to be exact. Not that she was counting.

“I’m sure you’ll get called back soon. They seem to be getting through the list rather quickly today.

My throat is just a little sore, so I told them I don’t mind waiting.

I’m Maude.” The woman’s gaze darted to the scars on the back of Bridget’s hands, then to the long thick one on her forearm from a Kastronian sword. “Did you serve?”

Are you an officer?

Were you abused?

Did you hurt yourself?

Bridget added the woman’s question to the list of reasons people had tried to come up with for her skin’s appearance. For some reason, people felt it was their right to know what had happened, even without knowing her name. Not that she ever explained. Some things were better left unsaid.

Actually, most of the things that had happened to her were better left unsaid.

Do you work at Hot Topic? was Bridget’s favorite question when it came to her hair. After she’d passed through the gate, the bottom six inches of her hair had turned stark white. Magic taking a price, she assumed. She hadn’t bothered to fix it yet.

Maude’s stare continued to burn holes in her skin.

Bridget ground her teeth together. “No.”

Her favorite one-word answer usually shut people down.

Maude didn’t bat an eye.

“What happened?” she asked, scooting to the edge of her seat to get a better look.

Bridget put back on her leather jacket. She wished she hadn’t forgotten her gloves on the kitchen island earlier. “A car accident.”

She had been in a car accident... Once. Sticking to a somewhat truth was easier than always coming up with a lie. Bridget eyed the sliding glass doors that led to an escape. Maybe she was being paranoid and she wasn’t seeing signs of an early infection. Maybe she didn’t need medicine. Maybe…

“Mrs. Sanderson?”

Saved by the nurse. Bridget slumped back in her seat, her side twinging a bit. She tried to ignore the victory swirling in her gut at the sight of Maude’s clear irritation to the interruption of her interrogation.

Bristling, the older woman stood up. “Yes, that’s me.”

“We’re ready for you,” the nurse said. Despite the dark bags hanging under his eyes, he wore a good-natured smile. Waving a hand, he directed Maude to a back left door, but not before his gaze trailed over Bridget. He suddenly stopped. “Wait… I know you.”

Blinking, Bridget searched his face. Nothing about his features were familiar to her. Andrew, his name tag read. A common name, but surprisingly, she had never met one in her life. A hint of panic shivered up Bridget’s spine. “I don’t think so…”

“Yes, it was New London. I remember now,” he said, planting himself in front of her.

Ice splintered through Bridget’s veins. Memories of her brief time at the hospital in Connecticut flashed through her mind.

Wires, pain, confusion. Too many questions about brain bleeds and contusions that she couldn’t answer.

Bridget’s throat tightened. She’d already taken a risk checking into the emergency room with a fake name, but now someone recognized her.

She needed to get out. Now. Too busy scanning the room for the best way to get around him and through the exit door, she almost missed his next statement.

“Yeah, I finished up my clinicals last semester at the hospital there. It’s where I grew up. You’re the ghost.”

“The what?” Bridget sputtered.

Andrew reared back in surprise at her outburst. “I’m sorry, but it’s what all the nursing students started to call you.

You were in a coma for like a week. I think most of the doctors were surprised you even woke up…

especially when the paramedics told them the man who found you in the woods had been doing CPR for over ten minutes by the time they got there.

And then when you did wake up, you disappeared into thin air. Like a ghost.”

Hearing her experience with the gate narrated to her so casually sent a tidal wave of dizziness over Bridget.

He knew too much. And that was dangerous.

Especially because of what she’d done right after she’d left that hospital, still far too weak from surgery.

Hands shaking, Bridget hopped out of her seat. “That wasn’t me.”

“You had the craziest CT scan I’ve ever seen and that zodiac scar on your hand…” Andrew’s voice trailed off, his dark eyes narrowing on the blood staining her shirt. “Isn’t that where you were shot? Did something happen?”

“It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

Professionalism creeping back into his voice, he said, “It doesn’t look like…”

Before he could finish his sentence, Bridget shoved past him and rushed toward the double doors that led to her freedom. If the bullet shaped scar on her side was indeed infected, she’d have to deal with it herself. Or with over-the-counter medication.

“Wait!”

Rush hour traffic drowned out Andrew’s plea the moment cold winter air hit her face. Slipping just a bit, she sprinted down the icy block, not daring to look back. Not until the hospital was out of sight and all she could see was the familiar skyline of the Back Bay.

Finally stopping to catch her breath, Bridget bent over and braced herself on her knees.

She groaned, realizing the right side of her shirt was now damp with something other than sweat.

She’d have to stitch it up herself tonight if she was going to make it through her morning run.

A habit she’d forced herself to develop, even when she’d barely been able to pick up a cup after leaving the hospital.

It’s what she knew Cade and Finn would do to keep up their endurance against the effects of magic.

As if her thoughts summoned him, a black Audi zoomed by on the street in front of her.

Manhattan. Hungry Pies. Waiting on the curb for Cade to pull up in that exact same car.

Unwanted images of her old life struck her core.

Legs shaking, she almost fell to the ground.

Within seconds, longing, despair, and anguish wrecked her mind. Not that it really ever left.

During the last four months, she’d said I’m fine to every doctor, shrink, and cop who questioned her.

She repeated the two words to every person that asked about her scars or gave her a funny look when she flinched at the sight of diners.

Even if her body had healed, for the most part, there was a truth she could barely admit to herself. She wasn’t fine.

She wasn’t fine at all.