Page 15 of When Wishes Bleed

My mouth gaped and I sucked in a shocked breath. Droplets of crimson blood dripped from the larger part of the bone, splattering onto the table. I felt a speck hit my cheek and wiped his blood away with my thumb. The smaller piece also bled, but to a lesser extent. I’d been reading fates for years, and had never seen a wishbone bleed. Three more large splatters fell before either of us spoke, and it was he who managed it.

“Why is it bleeding?” he asked, looking at me expectantly.

“Give me your hand.” He dropped both pieces of bone and wiped his hands on his pant legs before proffering both. I placed my right palm against his and closed my eyes.

Scenes flashed through my mind. The first was a vision of him lying on his back, a foamy trail of blood bubbling from his mouth and his pupils dilated and still. Another scene swiftly appeared, of hands pushing him from a balcony or window… someplace high… and the sickening crunch that came when he hit the earth below. Another vision of him collapsing to the ground, a fountain of blood pouring over his lips and his skin pale as ice. That vision was erased by another, heralded by a wave of sharp pain as he looked down to find the tip of a blade protruding from his chest...

Every single fate pointed to one thing.

I called on Fate to confirm it and felt his warning warmth flow through my veins. The bone did not lie. There was no mistake. “Very soon, someone will try to kill you.”

He gave a laugh of disbelief. “What? That can’t be. You said yourself that some fates are more complex than others.”

“You have no other fate than that.”

I searched for any sign of hope and found none. His palm warmed mine, and through the connection, more scenes, each more disturbing and gruesome than the next, filled my mind. I couldn’t see anything but his death as a product of murder. I grabbed his other hand and more scenes filled my mind, each more ghastly than the one before it. My lashes fluttered from the turmoil of seeing his body torn and empty.

He stared at our connected palms. “Could you be wrong?”

Our eyes met, and he knew the answer before I spoke. “No. I’ve never been wrong.”

He was quiet for a long moment, clinging to my hands. When he cleared his throat, he croaked, “Does the blood mean they will succeed?”

I pursed my lips. The most difficult part of reading the fate of another was telling them they would die soon. “If you don’t figure out who it is and stop them before they take action against you, then yes. I’m afraid they will succeed.”

I pulled my hand away.

His mouth parted as he focused on the droplets of blood now speckling my table. “Can you tell me who it is?”

“No, I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Okay, you said ‘very soon’. How soon, exactly?”

I pulled the iron bowl toward me and ran my hands over the bones inside. “I wish I could tell you more, but I don’t think it will be very long before they make an attempt. I take it no one has tried to kill you before?”

He glanced from my hands to my eyes. “No, they haven’t.”

“It’s not pleasant.” I knew that from experience; a rather unpleasant one I’d rather forget than have dredged up. Especially tonight, given the events of the evening.

“Given the bleeding bone, I’d say it won’t be.” He scrubbed his face again and let out a frustrated groan.

The young man was handsome. It was a pity he wouldn’t live long, and even more of a shame he wasn’t a witch. I’d never actually considered hand-fasting before, but if circumstances were different, he could make me reconsider.

He stood abruptly and extended his hand.

I looked at his palm. “Your fate won’t change with another physical connection.”

“No, I know. I was just going to shake your hand so I could thank you properly.”

I quirked a brow. “You’re thanking me, despite the news I’ve delivered?” My fingers itched to touch him one more time, knowing it may be the last time I would have the opportunity.

“I’m thanking you,” he said, taking my hand in his. It had somehow floated up toward his without my knowing... “for your hospitality, for the information you provided, and I’d like to beg for your discretion.”

“I don’t know you, so I couldn’t blab to anyone else.”

He chuckled. “Right,” he scoffed disbelievingly.

I pulled my hand away, stung. “I’m a witch, not a liar.”

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