Hand of Fate: The Quinn Inheritance, #1

By Naomi Clark

I thought I was done with magic when I left home at sixteen.

Ten years later, it turns out magic isn't done with me.

Because I'm not just anybody - I'm the heir to a magical legacy I want nothing to do with. And if I'm going to persuade my family I'm the worst person for the job, my only option is to go home and prove to them I'm still the same old useless, powerless Theo Quinn. But when I get back to the sinister Elder House, I find nothing but death, lies, and fear. I've got nobody to trust, no place to go, and no choice but to confront the worst nightmares of my childhood. 

 

My mother is dying. It might be murder. And I might be next.

Fuck my life.

 

Hand of Fate is the first in an urban fantasy trilogy with a slow-burn romance, a ton of magic, and a web of lies you'll be dying to see unravel!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Naomi Clark
• Release date: May 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393683032

Book preview

Hand of Fate

Naomi Clark

Chapter One

The owl was an omen . I knew that, and I chose to ignore it. I’d ignored the ghost too, but to be fair I’d been ignoring them half my adult life. How was I supposed to know this one had a message worth hearing?

It was three am on a Sunday morning and I was stumbling out of Alibi, my favorite nightclub, with the remains of a strawberry daiquiri and a curvy blonde called Sadie or Sofie or Something. Marc, Alibi’s man-mountain of a bouncer was bellowing at me about stealing cocktail glasses again, but his voice was drowned out by Sadie’s giggles and the mesh of music spilling from the clubs and bars up and down the street.

It was kicking-out time everywhere. People crowded the street, hailing cabs, making out, shoving, dancing to the crash of bubblegum pop, old-school disco, and thrashing metal. A light rain fell, and the puddles reflected the night sky and neon lights, giving the street a cyber-punk vibe I loved. A lot of the clubs were converted warehouses, relics of a faded industrial boom, and if you were going to see wildlife here, it was going to be rats and maybe the odd bold urban fox.

You weren’t going to see a tawny owl. At least not normally. I wasn’t even sure you got tawny owls in America. And this one was a giant beauty, perched on top of a streetlight and glowering down at me like a disappointed parent. Which...well...wasn’t far off.

I paused in my drunken weaving, meeting the owl’s stern gaze. In the shadows and shards of neon light, its feathers were dyed blue and pink, its eyes an abyssal black. It was probably almost two-foot-tall, far taller than the average tawny owl. I was stunned nobody else had noticed it, but everyone else was probably far less tuned in to the currents of magic and fate than I was, the lucky fuckers.

A few more drinks, or something stronger, and I’d be much less tuned in too.

I downed the last of my cocktail and spun away from the owl’s piercing gaze. My place or yours? I asked Sofie brightly.

Yours, she said. My housemate gets weird about me bringing girls home. She rolled her eyes and leaned in for a kiss.

She tasted of peach lip gloss and vodka martinis, and it was easy to shove the owl out of my mind as we embraced in the gentle rain. The night was still young as far as I was concerned. My drinks cabinet was well-stocked and the owl could go to hell.

We jostled our way through the crowd until we found a quiet spot to call an Uber. Sammy was warm and delicious, and I couldn’t wait to get her home and start stripping off those tight jeans that had been driving me mad since we locked eyes two hours earlier. I was surprised we hadn’t met before. Alibi was my usual haunt if I wanted a hook-up, and while I didn’t usually go for blondes, Sarah was sexy enough to turn anyone’s head.

Are you new in town, or just new at Alibi? I asked her as we waited for our car. I didn’t usually go for small talk either, but the owl was still watching me. I could feel its gaze on the back of my head, a physical pressure like a headache building. Talking was better than thinking about that. I don’t think I’ve seen you there before.

She gave me a pouty smile. I’ve seen you in there plenty of times, she said, tapping my nose playfully. You just always had a girl with you already.

I grinned, unabashed. Tonight’s your lucky night, then.

Or yours, she countered with a touch of fire that made my smile wider.

I was about to fire back something charming and flirty when I saw the ghost.

She was standing just a few feet away, casting off that bluish aura ghosts always give off, and from the corner of my eye, I could have mistaken her for another neon puddle reflection. But when I saw her straight on, there was no denying what she was. A translucent young woman, bleeding from the mouth. The blood looked black, gushing down her chin and dripping onto her blouse. She smiled at me, wide and terrible, and a fresh mouthful of blood spattered on the pavement. She pointed at me.

I spun away, but then found myself facing the owl again, still on the same streetlight, still with the same I’m not mad, just disappointed glare. A little flare of panic sparked in my chest, and I smothered it by kissing Sandy again, more fiercely this time, my fingers sinking into the curves of her hips.

She squealed in delight, and I closed my eyes, shutting out the ghost and the owl. A second later, a car screeched to a stop next to us, splashing us both with rainwater. Sasha groaned and I laughed, bundling her into the car with a promise to dry her off before I got her wet again.

With the promise of a hot girl in my bed for the rest of the night, I managed to push away the thought of the ghost and the owl.

At least until we got back to my apartment block and they were waiting for us there.

The owl had found another streetlight. My street was deadly silent at three thirty in the morning, and there were no bright lights or drunk crowds to distract anyone’s attention. Sabine fell out of the Uber and latched onto the sight of the owl immediately, her eyes going saucer-wide.

That owl is huge! she cried, grabbing my arm as I clambered out. I thought it was fucking Mothman for a second!

I glowered up at the owl. They’re just big, stupid rats with wings, I said, loud enough for it to hear.

It didn’t seem bothered.

Well, it’s a hell of a rat, Shelley said. Is this your place?

I bit back a sharp answer. Of course it was my fucking place or why would I have come here? I still wanted to get laid, more so now the fucking owl was back. I took her hand and lead her to the apartment block’s glass doors. I’d lost my cocktail glass somewhere along the way, and now I fumbled in my pocket with my free hand for my key card. The security light flicked on, illuminating the beige walls and floor of the lobby. The ghost sat on the stairs, still bleeding, still grinning, still pointing at me.

I’d drunk a lot tonight and all of it was threatening to make a reappearance now. If it had just been the ghost, it wouldn’t have been so bad. I saw ghosts all the time, and I was very good at ignoring them. But they weren’t usually trying to attract my attention, and they didn’t ever come with an owl in tow. My stomach rolled dangerously as I pressed the key card to the panel with shaking hands. The door clicked open and now I was faced with a choice.

Walk straight through the ghost or do the other thing?

The elevator was out of order. It was always out of order. My apartment was on the third floor, so I didn’t care normally. But now...Now. I had to walk through the ghost to take the stairs. And that would be horrible. But once I was inside, the owl couldn’t follow.

And the other thing? Well, I tried not to do the other thing.

Are we going in? I’m getting cold, Sienna complained.

I swallowed my bile and swept a deep, chivalrous bow to her. After you, fair lady. 

She winked and swept past me into the lobby. I let the door slam shut, giving the owl the middle finger as I did. It didn’t seem bothered by that either.

Upstairs, third floor, I told Sally, hoping she’d just go ahead of me. If she walked through the ghost, she might dispel it, and she wouldn’t feel anything when she did.

But she playfully shoved me ahead of her, smacking my ass as she did. Lead the way!

I gritted my teeth and stared the ghost right in her undead eyes. Her grin was fixed and sinister, and I guess I had to be grateful she didn’t try to talk to me. I hated it when they did that.

Okay. It would only take a second to walk through her. I wouldn’t be hurt. It was just like walking through cobwebs. Icy cobwebs that clung to my brain. No big deal.

I fixed my gaze on the wall beyond the ghost, on a strange-colored stain on the yellowing paint, and I strode forward like the goddamn queen of the castle.

Hitting the ghost was like plunging into the ocean in winter. Chills wracked my body down to the bone, and I was suddenly, horribly sober and wide awake. Sharp pain twisted in my head and guts, and the ghost screamed at me, her voice a shrill, frantic cacophony in my skull.

She’s waiting she’s waiting she’s waiting she’s waiting sheswaitingsheswaiting...

Panic swelled in me, blurring my vision. It was impossible not to be infected by the ghost’s terror, and I shook badly, all my false bravado evaporating in a cold second. I gasped, sucking in icy air. The urge to be sick knocked me back a few steps, out of the ghost’s grip.

She lunged at me, still screaming, and in a moment of pure, blind terror, I did the thing.

I raised my right hand and thrust it into the ghost’s chest with a wordless cry. A second ago I could have walked straight through her, but when my palm hit her chest, she was as solid as the wall behind her. The impact jarred through me, rattling my teeth. The ghost’s expression was tortured as brilliant pink light flared between us.

A whirling vortex of sapphire and magenta exploded into life behind the ghost. A blast of freezing air shot through the lobby, staggering me back even further. The ghost reached for me, but she was already being sucked in, back to...beyond, back to wherever the dead came from. It was over in seconds, the lights vanishing as the ghost did. The wintery wind dropped, leaving my hair in an impossible tangle around my head. All that was left was my chilling sense of existential dread.

And Sheila. I’d forgotten about her.

I turned, clawing my hair out of my mouth, to see her gaping at me, ashen-faced.

Shit, I said poetically.

"What the fuck?" she screamed.

My right hand tingled, traces of power still flowing through me. Little crackles of pink light surged up and down my fingers. She might not have seen the ghost, but she’d seen the light show.

Well, I said, and then stopped. There was no explanation that would make sense, not even the truth. If you weren’t one of the Veiled Families, if you hadn’t been raised with their traditions and gifts and bullshit, the truth just sounded insane. That was one of the many reasons I tried not to do the thing anymore.

Sunny didn’t wait to hear the truth or anything else. She scrambled out the door without a backward glance, leaving me buzzing with alcohol and magic, and shamelessly relieved that I didn’t have to make up a plausible story for what she’d seen.

And a little salty that I wasn’t getting laid now. That too.

Fucking ghosts.

I shoved my sparkling hand into my jeans pocket and trudged up the stairs, resigned to another night watching weepy period dramas with a tub of ice cream.

I reached my front door and pushed the key into the lock. My blood ran cold again when I found the door open.

She’s waiting.

Maybe, I thought, staring into my dark and suddenly very scary apartment, maybe I should have talked to the stupid fucking ghost, just this once.

Chapter Two

Iguess I could have made some pretense at bad-assery. I could have sneaked in. I could have crept to the kitchen and grabbed a knife. But I’m not a bad-ass. I’m just not. My best option for tackling danger was to get the hell away from it as fast as possible, which was why I ran five miles every day, even when I was hungover.

Back home, there was always the possibility of something scary chasing you. I’d never planned for having something scary waiting for me.

But my instincts all screamed that something, someone, was waiting inside my apartment. I never left the door unlocked. Never. And I never left all the lights off. Darkness invites ghosts. I always had at least one light on, day or night. For the apartment to be in total darkness was anathema to me.

I was already edgy after the exorcism in the lobby, and as I stood there weighing my options, my nerves only got worse. The owl. The ghost. Now this. I felt a trap closing in on me and understood with a deep-rooted dread that it didn’t matter what I did next. The trap would still close.

I’m not normally one for confronting my problems head-on. Or at all. I had to dredge up a hell of a lot of will power to walk into my home, knowing that whatever waited, it was probably going to go badly for me. Maybe that sounds like courage. But the truth is, if I went to deal with the owl, I’d be dealing with a message from my mother, and I’d rather take my chances in the dark.

They called my mother the Hand of Nightmares. And that was when they were being polite.

The atmosphere inside the apartment was thick and heavy, as though the shadows had weight to them. I felt like I was pushing through as I crept along, flicking lights on as I went. First the hallway. Nothing here but shoes and unopened mail.

Next the kitchen. Empty except for a stack of unwashed plates. I should have grabbed a knife, but I would have had to turn my back on the room to do it and I was frankly too afraid to do that.

Heart hammering, I sidled toward the front room. My spine prickled as I reached the doorway. Light from the hall illuminated a patch of polished floorboards, but the rest of the room was still in shadow. I was suddenly frozen, caught between two fears. Did I turn the light on and hopefully find nothing, or leave it off and spare myself the horror of finding something?

As cold sweat dripped down my brow, nightmarish monsters parading through my imagination, a soft, bored sigh drifted from the front room.

You’re not even going to try to make this interesting, are you? a woman with a faded Slavic accent asked.

Ah shit. This was much worse than any childhood boogeyman my brain could conjure. I wiped my forehead and flicked on the light. The small room was flooded with warm yellow, a sunny, happy light that made my uninvited guest look all the more sinister.

But then again, Poison Pasha would have looked sinister anywhere. It wasn’t just that her reputation as my mother’s pet assassin preceded her – although it very much did. She cultivated an outsider appearance, her long hair dyed vivid emerald, her face spiked with piercings, her arms and legs tattooed with runic inscriptions and strange, swirling symbols. She always wore black and I’d never seen her smile. I’m not sure she was capable of it.

She sprawled on my sofa, tapping neon green nails on the faded leather. Not impatiently, but in a steady, militant rhythm, as if she was counting down to something. I couldn’t see any weapons on her, but Poison Pasha didn’t need them. She was a weapon. An efficient, merciless one.

I should have taken the owl.

My throat dry, it took me a couple of attempts to spit any words out. What do you want?

She curled her lip at me disdainfully. I’m an assassin, Theo.

If you wanted me dead, you’d already –

"Áno, don’t count on that. You’re not exactly going to be a challenge."

I flinched inwardly, a thousand stinging memories assaulting me. Useless. Powerless. Unambitious. Lazy.

Pasha was right. She could take me out with one hand tied behind her back. Probably both hands. But honestly, that just made it weirder that I wasn’t already dead. She wasn’t paid by the hour, and if my mother had decided to have me killed, there was no room for bargaining or reasoning.

I clung to the doorframe, watching her watch me, and tried to put the pieces together in a way that made sense. But I was fried from blasting the ghost on top of a night of drinking and dancing, my nerves were shot, and Pasha’s mere presence made it impossible to think clearly. All I could latch onto was that my mother had sent her assassin. Here. To me. To my home.

I was going to die.

The understanding hit me like a sledgehammer, and my knees gave way. I buckled, only held up by my death grip – ha ha – on the doorframe. The chill that had set in when I touched the ghost was burnt away by fiery, hopeless terror.

You’d really just stand there and let it happen, wouldn’t you? Pasha’s voice dripped with scorn. You wouldn’t even know how to fight back, would you? Nine years away from the House, and all you’ve done is grow weaker and more useless.

I...No...I... I spluttered stupidly, pulling myself back upright. Her words were calculated to hurt, like everything she did, and they hit hard. I was sixteen again, cowering in front of my mother as she lambasted me for being a failure, a disappointment, and for not realizing I was those things.

"Relax, kretén," Pasha said, rising. She was tall and lean, all functional muscle, and she could doubtless outrun me. That was the only thing that stopped me trying to run.

Well, that and the fact that my legs were still made of jelly.

I’m not here to kill you, she said.

Pasha was a lot of things, but she was not a liar. I relaxed so hard that my legs gave out again, and I hit the floor in a rubbery pile, sour adrenaline flooding me. I was pathetic. God, I was pathetic. Bitter self-hatred pooled with the adrenaline.

What’s going on then? I managed to ask.

She loomed over me, arms folded, expression stern, but there was a very human glimmer in her dark eyes, something sad and soft. Somehow, I was suddenly more scared than when I thought she was going to kill me.

Siobhán is dying, she said. You have to come home.

Just when I thought the rollercoaster of emotions was over, this. I felt like something inside me was collapsing, something vital. I was cold all over again, my heart beating too fast as shock crashed through me. I hugged my legs, pressing my forehead to my knees.

Pasha nudged my foot with a heavy combat boot. Get up.

No, I mumbled.

She kicked me. Up!

Fuck off!

She sighed and a second later I felt strong fingers in my hair, yanking my head up. I