THREADS OF Destiny

Prologue January 28th, 1986 Cecile Rossi stood outside the nursery of Saint Martina’s General Hospital in some rural town in Tennessee that she hadn’t even known existed until now. That evening, there were three newborns in the nursery, but only one baby girl was born. The two male infants lay peacefully sleeping as the female looked around the room wide-eyed, taking in her surroundings. As Cecile looked between the cots behind the glass and her own reflection, she couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if someone like her had been around to do the bidding of powerful men when she was an infant. “Do it,” a male voice said. His words were laced with disgust. Cecile couldn’t make out much of his image in the reflection except for the shine of his green eyes. Cecile looked at her own reflection again. Her bright orange blazer and lime green blouse reflected much brighter than her sallow skin. You could also see her green eyes, though her dark curly hair was lost in the shadows of the dark hall. She did notice that her brows were furrowed, and the corners of her mouth were drawn down. She hated this part of the job. Cecile sighed as her magic recoiled in response to his commands. “Are you sure she is even yours?” Cecile asked. Her suppressed Italian accent slipped on the last two words as she searched for a loophole for this poor little girl. “That woman wasn’t exactly a nun, you know.” “She’s mine,” the man replied. “I can feel her power pulsing from here. Now, do it.” “But-“ “Do it, or you will be next.” Cecile understood. Be a perpetrator or become a victim. Those were the only options in this community. She regretted every choice that she had ever made that led her to this man. Just two months before, he had her do the same thing to a newborn female shifter because her power was too much for a little girl to handle… or so he claimed. The poor little girl wasn’t even his child. That little girl had belonged to loving parents who had come to the community for unity and protection. If either of those children had been male, they would have been worshiped for their power. Cecile closed her eyes and silently prayed forgiveness to any god who would listen. Then, without opening her eyes, she began to utter other words in silence. She dared not speak the ancient, sacred words aloud. Her fingers made tiny jerking motions at her sides. Before opening her eyes again, she left the end of one solitary thread loose. When it was finished, Cecile wiped a tear from her eye. This would be the last time she would answer the call. The community could do their own damn dirty work. Binding criminals was completely different than innocent children. While it would also result in her being bound, Cecile figured it would be worth it. “Is it done? The man asked impatiently. “Yes,” Cecile replied. She looked at the wide-eyed baby girl one last time and smiled softly. Not in appreciation, but in hope. She hoped that one day, a child would grow up and break the bonds of oppression. She hoped that one day, a child, perhaps this child, would truly unite the shifters, the fae, the vampires, and the magi. Starting Over Mason had finally thrown out the last of the floral arrangements from Mary Ann’s funeral. He tried his hardest to keep them alive, but after a year and a half, the flowers were just a reminder of his dead wife. For the first six months or so, he tended the flowers every day as if nurturing the flowers from the funeral would somehow keep her alive. He often talked to the plants about how much Mary Ann would enjoy seeing their growth. Now, seventeen months later, only the more hardy succulents had survived the depression that followed once the reality of her death set in. When Mary Ann was diagnosed with breast cancer six weeks after the birth of their daughter, Mason paused his career to focus on caring for Mary Ann. After her death, when the depression really set in, Mason moved in with his parents, who lived across the street. Mason could not stand to be in the home he had loved and the place where his wife died. Every room was full of memories, both the good and the bad. After moving in with his parents, Mason’s energy shifted to caring for Harper, his eighteen-month-old daughter. Harper was the only positive thing in his world. She was the only person who made him smile. Harper was why he woke up in the mornings. Mason sat the three living succulents beside his garbage cans on the curb and dusted his hands. He was finally turning a page in this chapter of grief. He sighed as he thought about his next move: publishing his first novel since Mary Ann’s diagnosis. Mason’s life had been full of mistakes and missteps. When he was younger, he was wild and out of control. More than once, he had been reprimanded for angry outbursts. Once, he was even punished for underage drinking after a party got out of hand. Now that Mason was thirty-five and had a child, one of his biggest fears was the man he used to be coming back to haunt him. Perhaps that fear was why he became involved with charities and shelters. The shelter near and dear to his heart was the domestic violence shelter, which helped victims start over in new locations. Against his mother's advice, Mason agreed to rent his cottage to one of the victims who relocated from Tennessee. As Mason walked back inside his home, he paused to look at the cottage across the street. While part of Mason felt sad that he was moving on and leaving the cottage behind, the overwhelming majority felt that it was the best option for his family.