“Don’t touch him,” I spit.
She shoots me a look of admonishment. “If I was here to hurt him, do you really think there’s anything you could do to stop me?”
My heart thumps unevenly and my torso feels like it’s been hollowed out. “Then why are you here?”
Her gaze drops to Wade’s shoulder, and she pulls his hospital gown down a couple more inches. Her forehead creases as she takes in the mark on his chest. “Not even Death can cheat Fate,” she mutters. “You’d think he’d know that by now.”
“Wade didn’t do this—” I sputter.
“Not him,” she says, clearly agitated as she glares back at me.
“Then who—?” The question cuts off in the back of my throat and I look back down at Wade’s mark and it’s suddenly clear. “His father,” I whisper.
“It’s no wonder we’ve been having problems with his thread,” she whispers, tipping her chin up and inspecting the mark a little more closely. “Nice handiwork, though, I have to admit. He knew what he was doing. The ouroboros is a nice touch.”
“It’s a mark of expulsion. His father banished him,” I say, feeling like I need to somehow defend Wade from her discerning gaze.
A soft chuckle escapes her lips and she looks over to me. “Is that what he told you?”
I narrow my eyes, unsure if she’s trying to mislead me or if she’s genuinely this obnoxious. “No, I made it up myself,” I spit back, making a face.
“Well, you were lied to. This mark here has one purpose only,” she says, her left eyebrow arching high as she presses her finger to Wade’s skin. “To hide his thread from us. I’ll admit, it did take a few more resources than ordinary to locate him.” She suddenly snaps her thumb and index finger together. Her clothes change from a standard nurse’s garb to a pristine white pantsuit.
My mouth drops open and I blink back in disbelief.
It’s not a mark of expulsion?
I take a step back, reeling from the news. Clearly, my mother was right…
But why would his father lie to us?
“Which one are you?” I ask, swallowing hard.
Again, she places her golden eyes on me, letting her gaze creep over me like a spider hunting for its prey. “Lachesis,” she says, lifting her chin almost defiantly.
A shiver rolls through me to hear her name out loud. Wade and I had studied the Fates last semester, but to learn you’re staring into the face of Fate—or at least one of them—is a bit much.
“You’re the middle sister, right?” I say, remembering my research.
She shrugs nonchalantly. “We were all created at the same time.”
We stare at each other from across the bed. For a moment, we’re at an impasse. I don’t know what she wants, but I’m scared to death to find out. On the other hand, I’m sure one way or another, ignoring her isn’t an option.
“My sisters and I have our places. It really doesn’t matter which one is first, second, or third. Without all three, reality falls apart,” Lachesis says, patting the edge of Wade’s bed and stepping away. “Chaos ensues.”
“So, if you’re not here to hurt us…why are you here?” I say, clutching on to Wade’s hand.
“Come on, Autumn. You’re not this naive.” Deep grooves appear on her forehead as she frowns at me.
I shake my head. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m not here for him, for starters. I’m here to talk to you,” Lachesis says.
My heart skips a beat and I almost drop Wade’s hand to take a step back. “You’re here for me?” My words are breathless as my free hand drops to my abdomen.
“Don’t worry. I’m not here to claim you, either,” she says. “I just want to talk.”
I narrow my eyes, instantly suspicious.
“Do you honestly think most people get the hints I’ve been dropping?” she asks, raising a hand in the air. “Your family is special. It always has been. Truth be told, I was rooting for your dad. Too bad he picked the wrong sister.” She makes a face and does a strange sort of jazz hands effect.
“What do you mean?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
She tips her head back, staring at the false ceiling and fluorescent lighting for a few seconds. “I shouldn’t even be telling you this, but I’m so damned tired of having to keep score.”
“Okay…”
Lachesis walks over to the folding table and picks through the leftover food. She finds a small cookie and holds it up. “Do you mind?”
I shake my head. “Uh, no. Help yourself.”
Grinning, she rips open the bag and tears a bit off. She pops it in her mouth as she walks back over to the bed. “Everyone thinks when it comes to us, the one they need to appeal to is Aisa—she’s the ones with the shears, after all. I get it. They think that if they offer her something, beg her to reconsider, she can somehow alter the course of what has already been set into motion…”
“But…?” I ask, hanging onto every word she says despite myself.
“But,” she says, tearing off another chunk of the cookie, “of the three of us, Aisa is the only one who’s locked into her orders. Why do you think she’s called the Unforgiving One? I mean, come on?”
“But you’re different?” I ask.
“Clotho and I, well…we’ve both grown restless in the predictability of our roles. We have a tendency to root for the underdogs every now and again,” she says, winking at me. “Once in a while, there’s a particular family who captures our attention. Yours happens to be one of them.”
“I’m not following…” I say, trying to read the nuances in between what she’s saying, but I’m afraid if I do, I’ll read her wrong and screw everything up.
“Look, I know what you’re going to try to do…and I have to admit, I’m impressed,” she says, walking around the end
