Excerpt: Tangled

Sitting on the bus stop bench across the street, right in front of Charity’s house, was Gavin. He stood up, his hands in his coat pockets. He gave a slight nod of greeting when their eyes met. She glanced around, hearing the loud snap of the deadbolt and the click of the chain lock as Charity secured herself inside her home, and crossed the street.

“So,” she said, “are you stalking me, or what?” She turned to look over her shoulder, wondering if Charity was watching them through her lace curtains. It was difficult to force herself to sound casual after the conversation she’d just had, the inescapability of what the old woman had told her she would become.

“Not stalking,” he said. “I didn’t introduce myself at the coffee shop,” he said. “My name is Gavin Thane.” He extended one hand toward her, reminding Leah of her nightmare. In her dream, he’d reached toward her with a tangible urgency, and she felt that to take his hand now would assurance that the horror of the dream would come to pass. Her first instinct was to run away, as fast as she could, all the way home if she had to. At the same time, she remembered Charity’s words: one may try to fight fate, but it can never be defeated. She felt as if there were invisible hands on her shoulders, pushing her toward the dark-haired boy.

“Leah Williams,” she replied against her better judgment, reluctantly taking his hand.
A blinding whirl of images came through her mind, each spinning by as quickly as if she’d been standing inside a gyroscope. Each scene depicted Gavin dying a different, terrible death, several of them apparently self-inflicted. She felt herself rock back on her heels, nauseated by the gore.

“Whoah, there” he said gently, putting his other hand on the small of her back to steady her. He looked as confused as she felt. “Maybe you should sit down.” She collapsed onto the bench, gripping its wooden slats as the world slowly stopped spinning around her.

“What are you?” she asked dazedly.

He smirked, sitting down beside her. “How do you know I’m something else?” His hazel eyes glittered.

“Because when my hand touched the man I passed earlier, I saw the way he was going to die,” she said.

He looked at her, taken aback. “And?”

“I just saw you die in every way imaginable,” she hissed. She was frustrated with people treating her as if the disturbing experiences she was having were commonplace, with her questions being treated as if they were rhetorical rather than a desperate search for answers.

“I’ve imagined quite a few…” he said, softly, as if he didn’t realize he was saying the words aloud. “That’s interesting.”

“I’m going to ask you again. What are you?”

The Valley Metro bus screeched to a stop before them, its title placard flashing GAINSBORO. He leaned closer to her. “I’m one of the Erinyes,” he said in the low growl she’d heard him use with the man in Mud. “The ancient Greeks called us the Furies.” He stood up. “It’s getting dark. You should get home.” The familiarity of home was, indeed, what she wished for more than anything at that moment. Feeling dazed, as if under a spell, she climbed onto the bus and paid her fare, barely noticing that Gavin followed her up the steps.

She took an empty seat in the middle of the bus, Gavin stretching out in the seat beside her and closing his eyes. She stared at him, nonplussed. “Well?”
He opened his eyes as if she’d woken him from a long sleep. “Well what?”

“Aren’t you going to explain yourself?”

“You mean you haven’t had enough explanation for one day already?” he asked, the smirk on his face irritating her. “That is what was happening in there, yes? She was explaining to you what you are?” Leah nodded. “And you still want to hear even more about the way the world you thought you knew really works? You’re braver than I guesed.” He glanced around the bus, then slid into the seat beside Leah, careful, she noticed, that their bodies did not touch. Leah scooted closer to the dirty, fingerprint-smeared window, pressing her body to the cool metal wall of the bus. “How familiar are you with the Greek mythos?” he asked. “Not that it’s really all that relevant, here.”

“Well, I have had two lectures on the topic from a crazy lady.” When her attempt at humor failed to affect a change in his stony expression, she said, "I’ve read a few books on the subject.”

“A few books. Fantastic,” he said sarcastically. “The furies were thought to be personifications of vengeance, of the anger of the dead. Punishers of murder, hatred and lies. Rage in human form.”

“You’re rage in human form?” she said, arching an eyebrow.

“You need to know, Leah, what the old woman left out. That there are some who are not content to let the Fates blithely choose their destinies. That there are those who would kill you, for what you are, without thinking twice.”

Leah snaked her arm up to the cord that hung down the length of the bus, gripped it tightly, and pulled as hard as she could. The STOP REQUESTED sign at the front of the bus lit up and a soft chime sounded.

Gavin must have seen the fear in her face, because he amended, "Not me. I didn't come to hurt you, Leah. When I saw you in the coffee shop, I was shaken by you-- you reminded me of someone I met, before..." his gaze was a million miles, or years, away for a moment before his eyes returned to hers. The bus' brakes squealed as it pulled toward the stop across from Mud. "Years ago. I knew what you were, of course... but I was surprised when you wanted to help Ian."

“Who's Ian?" The bus had come to a complete stop.

"The man Charity killed," he replied, offhand. "Didn't you want to get off?"

"Yes. No. We're not done."

"No?" He smirked, then rose from his seat. He took a step back in the aisle, to let Leah go in front of him.

She stepped off the bus, and as it pulled away, she stared across the street at the coffee shop. The sky, brilliant blue earlier in the day, had shifted to a concrete gray as dusk grew closer, and the cold air smelled almost like it always did to Leah when it was about to snow. There was no yellow caution tape around the restaurant, no sign that a man had died there. It felt like something that had happened a lifetime ago rather than a mere day before. The people inside, seen through the large glass windows, looked cozy and comfortable as they sipped their cappuccinos and munched on blueberry scones. "The man Charity killed?" Leah hissed. "You killed that man. I saw you."

“You had no idea, that night, what you were seeing,” he said slowly, as if still coming to the realization himself. “I didn’t know that until today.”

“You told me, in the coffee shop, that you knew what I was. How could you tell I was a Fate, when I didn’t know yet myself?”

“You really don’t know? She didn’t tell you.”

“No. I guess not. But since there are apparently people who want to kill me, would you mind sharing? It might be helpful to know.”

“Your coat.”

Dubfounded, she looked down at her ivory wool peacoat. She found herself holding out her arms before her, inspecting the sleeves she’d shortened to suit her slender arms, trying to see what connection there could possibly be between a thrift store coat and being a figure from Greek mythology.

“Some of the stitches. They kind of… shimmer, when I look at them. It’s a Fate’s signature. My kind, we know it when we see it. In the coffee shop, I knew that you were either a Fate yourself or that your coat was made for you by one. Then I saw you talking to the old one.”

“I altered it to fit me,” she said, thinking out loud. “The fabric was too thick for my sewing machine to handle, so I hand-sewed it.” It had been so difficult to push the needle through the thick wool; she remembered the way her fingers had burned afterward.

“That explains why I only see it on some of the seams,” he said, reaching out to outline the notched lapel she’d worked so hard on. She drew back from his touch, afraid she would see the horrible parade of deaths again, but no visions came. He pulled his hand away, quickly.

“So,” she said, allowing herself to take in the sharp angles of his face. “You fight fate.”

“I try,” he said.