The House of Cards

The Strings of Fate

The Strings of Fate

The library is filled with an empty silence when my cell phone begins to ring.

In truth, I should not even be here as late as it is, but I had gotten completely caught up in my book and lost track of the time. This is not an unusual occurrence. The few friends I have managed to make in the last year of being in this place tease me incessantly about the amount of time I spend tucked in my dark corner of the town library's nonfiction section, a book about history or science clenched between my fingers, brain devouring the knowledge I pour into it.

"If you are going to read," they say, "read something interesting."

They cannot understand my fascination with real, concrete knowledge, cold, hard facts. And that is all right with me. I did not need them to.

I let the cell phone go to voicemail, attempting to ignore it and return to reading, but the phone begins to ring again not seconds later. Whoever is calling is apparently hell-bent on interrupting me. It is lucky I am the only one left here, with the exception of the librarian, or else I would be getting some dirty glares for being a disturbance. With a sigh, I snap the book closed and fish my phone out of my pocket.

The caller ID informs me that my mother is calling. I hit the 'answer' button, and reach up to press the phone against my ear. As I do, my eye catches the shape of the golden sun tattoo inked into the flesh on the inside of my left hand, just below my thumb, the letters XXI just below it. I also happen to get a glimpse at the time, and I cringe, knowing my mother is going to be upset I am still out so long past my curfew.

She says it is too dangerous to be out too long into the night. She used to tell me stories of the things that haunt the night, stories that still send a shiver down my spine every once in a while.

"Hey Mom," I chirp into the phone, clambering to my feet. I slide the book back into its place on the shelf, and sling my backpack over my shoulder. "I am sorry I did not call earlier, but I am on my way home now-"

She cuts me off, voice oddly breathless. "No!" she insists, "Don't come home. Whatever you do. They have found us, Maeve; they're watching the house. If you come back now..." Her voice is lost in a rustling noise in the background of the call, the ring of metal against metal.

I feel a knot in my stomach tighten, a familiar reaction to this type of situation. I feel my face go cold, the blood draining from my cheek, a dark spot growing in my chest.

"What?" my voice comes out dry, strangled, not like mine. Fearful. "They should not have, they cannot have, it is still too soon-"

"Someone has sold us out," her voice drops to a hurried whisper. The faint rustling in the back turns into a loud banging noise. "Go to the meeting place we talked about; I will send someone to pick you up. But you cannot come home, do you understand me?"

My hand clenches around the hone, not answering her question. "What about you? Where is Greg? Mom, how-?"

"I will be fine," she snaps, "but you are wasting time. Go to the meeting place, now. I don't know how many of them there are, or how long it will take for them to find you." There is crashing noise in the background, followed by harsh chants of glee. "They're here. I love you. Be careful."

Before I can get out another word, she hangs up, the dial tone ringing in my ears.

My hands go numb, and I nearly lose my grip on the phone.

No, no, no, no. This cannot be happening. Not again. Not yet.

I tuck my arms around myself, my breathing beginning to come in ragged pants. I squeeze my eyes shut as the knot in my stomach churns.