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  Entranced

  Goddess of Fate Book 2

  Tamara Hart Heiner

  Paperback edition

  copyright 2017 Tamara Hart Heiner

  cover art by Tamara Hart Heiner

  Also by Tamara Hart Heiner:

  Perilous (WiDo Publishing 2010)

  Altercation (WiDo Publishing 2012)

  Deliverer (Tamark Books 2014)

  Priceless (WiDo Publishing 2016)

  Inevitable (Tamark Books 2013)

  Lay Me Down (Tamark Books 2016)

  Reaching Kylee (Tamark Books 2016)

  The Extraordinarily Ordinary Life of Cassandra Jones:

  Walker Wildcats Year 1 (Tamark Books 2016)

  Walker Wildcats Year 2 (Tamark Books 2016)

  Tornado Warning (Dancing Lemur Press 2014)

  Paperback Edition, License Notes:

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  My dear reader:

  I made it up.

  I know it’s hard to believe, but this series is a work of fiction. None of it is true. None of these things ever happened, including much of the Latvian mythology. Latvian mythology is one without a lot of sources. The Latvian people didn’t have written stories to begin with, and so each story was passed on from family to family, generation to generation, and each family had a slightly different version.

  And then Christianity entered the picture, and the gods and goddesses changed to Saints, and the rites and rituals changed to holidays, and, well, you get the picture.

  This was good and bad. It didn’t give me a lot to draw on, but it left a lot of room for creativity. So I’ve twisted the Latvian mythology to fit my plot. I did my best to immerse myself in what documents I could find, but that wasn’t many. A lot more is written about Lithuanian mythology, but they are a little different, so I learned what I could and tried to make sense of it. I had a lot of fun with this fantasy world, and I hope you enjoy it as well.

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Inevitable Preview

  Review Request

  About the author

  CHAPTER ONE

  Tee-tle-tee-tle-lee. Tee-tle-tee-tle-lee. Tee-tle-tee-tle-lee.

  The soothing chime danced in and out of my consciousness several times before my mind sat up and took notice. Around that same time, my eyes popped open.

  That was my alarm. How long had it been going off?

  “Criminy,” I groaned, searching around my bed for the out-of-date flip phone. I knew I should’ve chosen one of those harsh, obnoxious alarms to wake me up.

  Seven-fifteen. Criminy, criminy, criminy. First day of school, and I was going to be so late.

  Unless I could get out of driving Beth.

  I threw my hair in a ponytail and slipped on jeans with flip-flops, then tossed on a high-necked t-shirt to hide the scar on my neck. Grabbing a cotton ball, I swiped the mascara from under my eyes at the same time I brushed my teeth. Good thing I could multi-task. By the time I skipped down the stairs, backpack slung over one shoulder, it was seven-twenty.

  Beth looked up from her bowl of cereal and removed an earbud from her ear. “You’re skipping breakfast, right? Or else we’ll be late.”

  My stomach protested at the very idea, releasing a noisy wave of hunger that almost made me nauseous. “I can’t. You could get a ride with someone else, couldn’t you?”

  She stopped chewing. Her eyes, brown instead of blue like mine and Mom’s, widened. “For the love of first period, Jayne! I can’t ask someone to come get me now!”

  “Maybe Mom?” I pleaded, looking anxiously at the refrigerator. I wanted an egg. At least a bowl of cereal.

  “Remember, she went into work early? We’re on our own today. And I wouldn’t ride with her anyway.”

  I sighed, remembering their argument the evening before. I cast one last longing glance at the fridge before grabbing an apple off the counter. “Fine. Let’s go.”

  Beth pushed away from the table, the earbud back in place.

  The digital clock in the car showed seven-thirty. Between traffic and dropping Beth off at the middle school, hopefully I’d make it to school by eight.

  Beth reached over and tried to change my radio station. I slapped her hand away.

  “You don’t get a say!” I said. “Besides, you have your own music to listen to.”

  She shrugged and looked out the window, mouthing lyrics to herself. I lost myself in my own thoughts before remembering my resolution to be a better friend to my sister. About a year ago, I’d had a vision of her committing suicide, and I was trying hard to keep her from taking that route.

  I turned the radio off. “What were you and Mom fighting about last night?”

  Beth pulled the earbud out again. “Cheerleading.”

  “Oh?” I didn’t know cheerleading had become a polemic topic in our house.

  “She doesn’t want me on the team this year.”

  I blinked in surprise. Beth was in eighth grade, finishing up her last year of middle school. “But you did so good last year.”

  She shrugged.

  I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel. My mom, though overbearing, overprotective, and micro-managing, had our best interests at heart. There must be a reason behind her sudden dislike of the sport.

  I pulled up to the curb. “I’ll pick you up after school.”

  “Thanks.” Beth waved, popping the earbud in and heading across the lawn before I took my foot off the brake.

  I didn’t pull up at the high school until 7:55 a.m., but there were plenty of other kids racing the tardy bell. I locked my white Honda from the inside, wishing I had a clicker. Cars that beeped when you locked them had so much more clout. I risked a glance around at my peers in the senior parking lot, my nerves on high-alert.

  Please no lemon scent, I prayed. If I smelled someone with a lemony aroma, it meant one look in that person’s eyes and I would See their death. As in, a psychic vision of the future.

  Before I understood why I had the visions, I avoided people. But after, whenever I noticed the lemon scent, I felt something besides apprehension: responsibility. I had to look. If I didn’t know their deaths, I couldn’t help them.

  Knowing didn’t make looking any easier. Sometimes, the demise wasn't untimely, and people were meant to die.

  I shook my head. I thought by now I should know w
hen to intervene and when to let things play out. But it wasn’t coming naturally to me.

  No one waved at me or greeted me excitedly as I trekked across the lawn. Dana, my best friend, had already graduated and moved up north to go to college. Even my boyfriend was at the university an hour away. So what? I had other friends.

  Somewhere.

  I entered the double doors, consulting the paper in the palm of my hand to make sure I knew where my locker was. For a moment, I paused at the entrance of the senior hallway. It wasn’t like I’d never entered this hall, but before it had been to visit Dana, not open my own locker. A flurry of unpleasant emotions fluttered through me: nervousness, irritation, and an irrational boredom. What’s high school, after all, when every day becomes a matter of life and death? Opening my locker, I shoved in all my binders except the ones I’d need for my first two classes.

  “Jayne!”

  I swiveled, a smile already blossoming on my face at the sound of Meredith’s voice. We’d had journalism and Spanish classes together since middle school. The small girl waved from across the hallway, then weaved through the diminishing throng of students, shoving her glasses up her nose as she approached.

  “Hey,” I greeted, giving her a quick hug. “How was your summer?”

  “Super boring,” she sighed. Meredith held her binder against her chest and paused. I jumped into the conversation, hurrying to fill the silence before it became awkward.

  “What do you have first hour?” I asked.

  She pushed her glasses up again. “Psychology. I guess I shouldn’t have put that down as an option. Ugh.”

  I perked up. “Hey, me too! In the history building?”

  “Yes! Oh good, I’ll be with someone I know! I was dreading making that trek across the street every day!”

  The tardy bell rang. “I guess we should go,” I said, leading the way back outside.

  “So, how’s Aaron?” she asked as we stepped into the chilly morning air and started toward the old building. The history building was one of the few that remained of the original high school built fifty years ago.

  I pictured Aaron in my mind’s eye, the tall Englishman who swooped into Forked River, New Jersey, last year and stole my heart. “Oh, he’s great! He’s at Princeton.”

  “Oh, really? I mean, that’s a nice school. I just thought he’d go to Oxford or something fancy back in England.”

  Yeah, well, so had his parents. It was kind of a sore spot between them, actually. “I guess he didn’t want to.”

  “Hmm. I wonder why?” Meredith nudged me playfully with her elbow, and my face burned. I didn’t need a mirror to know that my pale cheeks would be bright red.

  I changed the subject. “Are you taking journalism this year?”

  “Of course! You too, right? It’s been such a lonely summer! And after what happened with Mr. Livingston. . . .”

  I fidgeted. Why did she have to bring that up? Our Spanish teacher had by far been my favorite teacher last year. I would have even called him a friend. Finding out that Mr. Livingston’s brother was the serial killer had been bad enough. But knowing Mr. Livingston had deliberately helped his brother track me down shook my ability to trust people.

  We quieted down when we got to class, taught by Coach Johnson, one of the football coaches. I took a quick sniff of the air and let out a relieved breath when nothing citrus reached my nostrils. No death to stave off here. Not today, at least.

  Much to Meredith’s delight, we both had journalism fifth hour. And Spanish sixth. But I skipped that class, going straight to the office to change it instead.

  I didn’t let my guard down until my car key was in my hand and I was walking across the parking lot after school. It seemed like a miracle that I hadn’t bumped into anyone, not in class or in the halls, who smelled like lemons.

  And then Mike Spencer walked past me to get to his car, and the cleaning solution scent wafted over me.

  I stopped walking, inches from the safety of my own vehicle. The motion attracted Mike’s attention, and he glanced at me, his brow furrowing as he squinted against the sunlight.

  A year ago, I would have turned my head, ducked, tried to avoid his eyes. Not anymore. I knew it was better to just get this over with. Steeling myself for the inevitable, I met Mike’s gaze.

  “Good shooting out there.” Mike grins at his best friend Clay and turns back to cleaning his rifle. “You took out that deer before he even smelled you.”

  “Or you,” Clay teases, gesturing at Mike with his own weapon. “Good thing, too. With the way you smell, I only had a few more seconds.”

  “So funny,” Mike says, turning his eyes away. Pleasure at his own kill courses through him and leaves him giddy. He can already picture that buck’s head mounted on the mantel.

  A gunshot rings through the room, so loud that Mike thinks he’ll go deaf. He stares down at his rifle, wondering if he accidentally fired it. Clay screams. Mike’s eyes dart toward him. Clay stands there, his rifle at his feet and his hands pressed to the sides of his head, screaming.

  “What happened?” Mike says. Or tries to. No sound comes out. “Are you hurt?”

  Clay doesn’t answer. He just stares at Mike and screams, his features twisted in horror.

  Only then does Mike follow Clay’s gaze. Blood smears across his chest. It wasn’t there a minute ago.

  Understanding dawns on him. He looks at Clay, wants to tell him it’s okay. But the world grows fuzzy, he sees spots, and then everything vanishes.

  I caught my breath and reached for my car to steady myself. Last April I almost died. But I didn’t. Instead, I became Dekla, one of the ancient Latvian goddesses of fate. I should be used to it, but the visions never, ever get easier. For that moment, I’m not just inside the person’s head—I am that person. And dying over and over again takes its toll.

  “You okay, Jayne?” Mike asked, stepping toward me. I shook him off.

  “Yeah, yeah. Just going home now.” The words to warn him burned on my tongue, but I knew better. Telling people what was coming only made it happen differently. There was only one way to change things, and it wasn’t even a surety. “See you tomorrow,” I said, trying to put a smile on my shaking mouth.

  Maybe. Unless he was going hunting tonight.

  I couldn’t think about that. I got into my car and didn’t meet his eyes again. My hands trembled and my head throbbed. I tried to steady my breathing and remember The Rules Laima, my superior goddess, had given me.

  Rule #1: I can’t change every death.

  Rule #2: I must remember who I am.

  Rule #3: If the death doesn’t fall under my jurisdiction, I abdicate the judgment to my sister-goddess, Karta.

  Mike wasn’t an adult in our society, which meant he fell under my jurisdiction. Adults fall under Karta’s jurisdiction.

  The other important rule is that Laima can’t change the death if it’s a suicide. Only the individual can make that change. And even if Laima grants my petition to change a death, there’s a cost: for every life saved, ten years are shaved off someone else’s life. Some unknown person. Or possibly someone I know.

  My phone vibrated in my backpack, reminding me to keep my thoughts on current events, not future deaths. I unzipped the side pocket and pulled the phone out, hoping it would be a text from Dana.

  It was Beth, wondering where I was.

  My chest hurt as if I’d been shot, and I rubbed it, the horrible sensation of realizing I was about to die clouding my mind. Except it wasn’t my death. I shook my head, trying to push Mike out of my soul.

  “I am Jayne,” I whispered, slipping the key into the ignition and turning it on.

  I waited until I’d left the school zone before calling Aaron. He’d called at lunch, but it felt weird returning his call during school. I didn’t want to look like one of those girls who giggled on her phone and told everyone she was talking to her boyfriend.

  “How’s high school now that you’re at the top of the food chain?”
Aaron’s English accent rolled through the speaker phone and soothed my nerves. My shoulders relaxed, and I sighed.

  “Oh, it’s good to hear your voice. It was fine. Nothing special.” I miss you. I miss Dana. I’m here all by myself. I had another vision and I’m all shook up. I kept my needy thoughts to myself. “How was your day?”

  “Easy. Mondays I have Latin and American History. Only two classes.”

  Nothing about Latin or history sounded easy, but I didn’t debate the point. “We still on for dinner?” I couldn't wait. I hadn’t seen him since last week.

  “Of course. I have a slight change in plans, if you don’t mind. Is it all right if we eat dinner at my house?”

  “Sure, that would be nice. Wait.” Small warning bells went off in my head. “Will your parents be there?” His parents didn't like me. Usually they made themselves scarce when I came over. On the rare occasion that they appeared, it was all thinly veiled hints and criticisms about how I was ruining their son’s life. Not exactly a self-esteem builder.

  “Well, yes,” he said, sounding slightly defensive. “It is their house, after all.”

  “But I thought you and I were going out,” I said, trying hard not to slip into whiny mode.

  “We’ll still be together,” he said. “It was their idea, actually. They want to get to know you better.”

  Sure. Probably one last attempt to convince me to break up with him so he’d go to a different school. In England. “What time should I come over?”

  “Half past five. You can help my mum in the kitchen. Thanks for understanding, Jayne.”

  “Of course,” I said cheerily, then hung up without saying goodbye. Cooking with his mother? This day was getting worse and worse.

  *~*

  I took Beth home and then piddled around the house. Looking for something to distract me from my impending dinner date, I texted Dana.

  I’m a senior!!

  I put the phone down after checking it for the fifth time, telling myself she’d text back when she got the chance. With a sigh, I sat down at my desk and pulled out the green file folder. I opened it up, my eyes darting to the first blank line without looking at the other names. I wrote down today’s date, then “Mike Spencer. Accidentally shot by best friend, Clay.” I paused under the last column that read “Petitioned?”