Encircled by Fate
The wolves scatter, gone as if they’d never wandered to my side like the guardians of the Wolf Queen. I race back inside, my mind overflowing with endless questions. The cave-in, the wolf protectors, the unexpected visits—it all feels connected, like pieces of a puzzle I can’t quite solve.
Worse. All these signs I’m seeing and carefully chosen words I’m hearing hint that I may not live long enough to put this puzzle together.
“Shelby?” A whimper.
Back in the living room, Veronica stirs. Her nightmares have been filled with cries for lost-and-yet-to-be love, her small body twitching in her sleep. Not just the love of one lifetime but of two. I watch her, a knot of worry in my stomach. She’s so young, yet burdened with memories and knowledge far beyond her years. She should be giggling and pleading to make sugar cookies, but I sometimes sense the ninety-year-old woman in her dying memories of her coming lifetime.
It’s up to me to protect her now and to help her bridge two lifetimes.
Determined to be ready for whatever comes next, I change into a peasant blouse and jeans and push my hair back when a tortoise-shell headband. I hurriedly start to pack a few sandwiches for an afternoon meal after we’ve escaped this little town. Between the refrigerator and the bread keeper, I freeze. On the table, where we’d enjoyed chocolate-frosted cake and hot chocolate yesterday, sprawl two pearl necklaces. One small, clearly meant for Veronica, and the other adult-sized. They seem out of place, like relics from another time. Definitely not one of the popular add-a-bead styles.
Spencer came back! Like he said!
I spin around, looking for him. “Spencer?”
Silence.
I push my invisible tentacles of energy outward, feeling for his presence. The more I use my talents, the stronger they become, but the only remnants of Spencer’s energy are here in the kitchen, at this table. His energy from yesterday hangs in the air like stale cologne. Or, in Spencer’s case, sandalwood incense. The necklaces, however, as I pick them up, sizzle with more recent energy, as if they were dropped from a hole in the air. Jewelry, not the weapons or defense I’d assumed when he’d promised to bring back something special for us, but I can read his energy on every bead—worry for us.
“How in hell am I supposed to save Veronica with these? Trade them for our lives? Flatter our way to safety?”
“No,” Veronica squeaks from behind me, “but they’re important.”
I flatten one hand against my chest while the other slips the necklaces into my deepest jeans pocket. “Oh, you scared me! I was letting you sleep.”
“I’m done with sleeping. It’s time to go.”
I bob my head for yes. “I was waiting for Spencer, just in case. I thought I’d give him another ten minutes and then the woman from—”
“He can’t get through. The High Council is blocking him. Can’t you feel it?”
Holding my breath, I realize there’s a weird pressure in my ears, like being on an airplane or in an elevator in a skyscraper. Like I need to yawn or swallow to make my ears pop. Of course. The High Council would block any aid, magical or mundane, that might come our way. Spencer hadn’t been able to walk through, but he’d managed to drop a gift through the portal for us. Then a terrible thought strikes me.
“The High Council can’t create a barrier that strong from far away, can they?”
“No. They’re coming for me. I can feel them getting closer.”
So can I. Three years away from the priesthood, and my talents have dwindled in their absence. Dwindled, but not gone.
“Our suitcases are in the car. I need to get our go-bags into the back seat. I set out some fresh clothes for you on the coffee table.”
Veronica shakes her head emphatically. “Go-bags, yes. No time for anything else.”
Her words send a chill through me. If Spencer isn’t coming back, what are we supposed to do? How am I supposed to protect her against people so much more powerful than I am?
“How close are they?”
She squints as if it helps her to remember. “I don’t know. I remember it being gray outside. Like almost night or really foggy.”
I throw a glance at the sun against the window blinds. “Then we’ve got time.”
Her frown eases. “Okay, five minutes. While I change clothes.”
“Veronica?” I call, loud enough she can hear me as I drag the go-bags to the door. “You still remember everything from your last incarnation?”
“Yes.”
“And everything from this incarnation?”
She tugs a bright pink shirt over her head, muffling her words. “Yes. As much as I can.”
“What about. . .what about now? Do you remember this moment and what happens next?” What I want to ask is, How do I save you, and do I survive this day?
She shrugs as she pulls on denim pants with a pink fabric kitten embroidered on the flare at the ankle. “Why do you ask?”
I sigh. Not a straight answer. Not a good sign. She doesn’t make eye contact with me as she fidgets with her shoelaces.
“Because I didn’t accept the gift of knowing. I don’t know what comes next, and it’s hard for me to imagine that you do and still make such an effort.”
Somberly, she lifts her eyes to mine and studies me. “They’re just memories of things that haven’t happened yet. Sometimes I forget that I remember, or it’s been so long. My memories are always going to be clear or less clear depending on what’s happening when the memory is made. When I’m very old or when I’ve had too much to drink or when I have menopausal brain fog, they’re not as clear. Sometimes, I remember wrong. Sometimes, I remember what I was told and not what actually happened. Memory’s funny that way. Sometimes, I’m not an eyewitness, so I can’t recall it as a memory, just what happens afterward or right before. Some things are easier to remember because my eyesight was sharper or there was a peculiar sound or wonderful smell. Some things just aren’t important enough to remember. But I usually remember the big things or the things where emotions were high.”
I pause at the door with go-bags in each hand. “Do you remember what happens next? I need to know.”
Frustrated, she rakes at her shoelaces and starts over. “Ugh! Do you have any idea how hard it is to be coordinated in a body this tiny and not have the fine motor skills to do everything I need to? I have to reset how I think about everything!”
Still not telling me what I need to know to make it through this day—or if I do.
Veronica focuses again on her shoe, then seeming to read my mind, sighs. “I’m sorry, Maeve. A lot of this is blurry when I try to remember it. And some of it, like the cave-in, I’ve shut out. I can’t say that these are the three most traumatic days of my life, but they’re traumatic for a three-year-old brain trying to sort out two full lifetimes where each had its own version of the end of the world.”
Spencer had said she’d repress her last lifetime to move forward. I guess it’s probably as hard being the messiah of an ancient order of witches destined to protect humanity as it is being the mother of a messiah in a toddler’s body.
“One last trip to the potty,” I say out of habit, but Veronica has already disappeared into the bathroom while I lug the go-bags and sandwiches to the car and secure them in the back seat. I close the car door softly and check my pocket for the house key and ignition key. Everything is quiet again. Stirring even less than when the welfare worker was here. No sounds in the distance at all—as if we’re inside a force field—except for a wolf’s howl nearby.
I didn’t like the sick feeling I had when the welfare worker blocked me into my carport, so I quickly back out and turn the car around so that I have plenty of room while I wait for Veronica. I’m positive Mrs. Casey will be spying on me from next door and reporting on me to Mr. Casey and all my other neighbors. In fact, she’s probably—
Exiting my car, I squint directly at her kitchen window, where she so often stands with a cocktail and watches me in my kitchen when my curtains are open. Only, I can’t see Mrs. Casey there today.
Or her window.
I can barely see the outline of her house.
For as bright and sunny as the weather was when the welfare worker and I argued at the back of my car, clouds have rolled in. Pea-soup fog hangs in the air between our houses.
I’ve never seen fog so thick in our neighborhood—or coiled around my house—or getting thicker by the moment. The fog creeps in until I can barely see the car six feet from me and hovers.
“Veronica!” I race back to the door and poke my head inside. “Veronica! Come on! We need to get out of here—now!”
She slips through the door as I close it, lock it, jam the key into the pocket with the necklaces. My car key waits in the ignition.
We scramble into the front seat of my Gremlin, our breaths quick and shallow. Headlights—two sets—pierce the fog at the end of my driveway as the grayness recedes several feet. Two large black sedans roll closer. They move with purpose, the kind of ominous intention that churns the pit of my stomach.
The High Council. They’re here.
The High Council itself is only three, but when there’s a tribunal of any sort, they travel in packs of twelve to make sure all their interests are represented according to the main functions of the priesthood according to the current Ranking High Priestess, whether they’re recruiters or seers or some other expert in their particular skillset.
“It’ll be worse if we go back inside,” Veronica whispers, her small hands clutching the car door.
She’s right. Inside the house, we’d be trapped, but out here, in the open, there’s a chance, however slim.
I nod, understanding her fear. “We stay here,” I say, my voice trembling. “Maybe Mrs. Casey will see something. She can tell Mr. Casey.”
It’s a foolish thought. She knows as well as I do that someone with stronger powers than mine is hiding us from prying eyes.
“You stay in the car,” I tell her. “Lock yourself in.”
The sedans park with a precision that speaks of routine and confidence. Doors open in unison, and out of double bench seats step several members of the Expanded High Council, dressed in dark, formidable attire. Women in black dresses, two men in black suits. One person sitting in the back seat of the Ranking High Priestess’ sedan. Their presence fills the driveway, a stark contrast to the sunny, suburban normalcy just beyond this circle of fog.
My heart races. I know they’ll recognize Veronica’s soul. They’ll see her for who she is—the vessel carrying the soul of Jaryx, the child they’ve been searching for since Veronica’s birth. The thought of them taking her from me is unbearable. I grip the steering wheel, my knuckles white.
“Maeve, you have to be strong.” Veronica’s voice is a mix of calm and urgency. “I’m going to need you to get me out of this. How, I don’t know. But I do know you’re the reason I make it to safety.”
I glance at her, her eyes wide with a wisdom misaligned to her physical age. She’s so much more than the three-year-old sitting beside me. She’s Jaryx, High Priestess, Wolf Queen, the most revered leader in two lifetimes. No, not just a leader but the leader who’ll usher humanity through an apocalypse and into the next age. And yet, she’s still my Veronica, the little girl I’ve promised to protect.
And I don’t care about her status as a legend or the millennium-old talents she wields. All I care about is how much I love her.
The council members spread out, their eyes scanning the neighborhood through the fog, calculating, assessing. I can almost hear their thoughts, their plans to corner us, to take Veronica. Panic rises in my throat.
“We need a distraction,” I mutter, my brain racing. “Something to draw their attention away from us.”
Veronica’s gaze flickers toward the neighboring houses. “Mrs. Casey,” she says. “She’s always watching. I can’t see her, but I can feel her, just watching. She’s wondering what’s going on over here.”
I nod, a plan forming in my mind. “If I can distract them, you can run to Mrs. Casey’s house. They won’t see you in the fog. I can’t buy you much time, but maybe enough that you can hide from them.”
I honk the car horn, long and loud, hoping it will catch someone’s attention, before I jump out and throw myself at their mercy. I fling my hand toward the passenger door, urging Veronica to open it and run, but it’s too heavy for her.
According to legend, the mighty Jaryx, Queen of Wolves, will lead 144,000 souls through the end of life on our planet as we know it, but in a three-year-old’s body, she can’t even manage the door handle of our car.
The members of the High Council turn towards the sound of my horn, their expressions caught between annoyance and curiosity. This is our moment, our slim chance. If Veronica can’t run away, then we’ll make a run for it together.
“Hold on!” I shriek, starting the engine. I doubt we can fit between the sedans, but that won’t stop me from trying.
Abruptly, the High Priest with long gray hair steps forward, his gaze locking onto Veronica. His eyes widen with recognition, and a cold frown spreads across his face. Theodore.
I remember him from only hours after Veronica’s birth. The old man was one of the recruiters for the priesthood, and his purpose then—as now—was to verify that Veronica carried the soul of Jaryx.
My heart sinks. They know. They know who Veronica is.
I slam my foot down on the accelerator, the car lurching forward. But the sedans are too close. I sit and rev the engine.
Trapped. We’re trapped.
I count them. Theo and five thin priestesses of various ages from one sedan, all slowly moving toward us. From the Ranking High Priestess’ sedan, I count our leader, a young priest about my age, and two High Priestesses whom I remember as the best friends of Siobhan’s mother and the other two-thirds of the High Council. They slowly work their way forward, encircling my car.
All except one. The youthful figure still in the back seat. Siobhan?
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