Edge of Fate

Wind chimes clinked in the cool circulating air like delicate ballerinas, deftly avoiding one another as they spun. It reminded her of maple seeds helicoptering their way to the ground in the summer. They were one clean spin away from falling to the ground, ready to have baby chimes peeking up through the soft grass. 

One rogue tine jettisoned through the fray, banging into its counterparts with the fervor of a hungry tiger. The noise was jarring and metallic instead of soft and harmonious. Reverberations clashed around her in sharp dissonance.

An omen.

Grandmother was always explicit: soft and harmonious was expected, the baseline for every move the universe was concocting. Dainty threads were woven through time and space at an appreciable amount. Everything was as it should be. 

The hollow clash of metal against metal meant atrocities were coming. 

Hazel Grey whispered across the tidy wooden boards in her ballet flats and frowned at the row of partially shuttered windows along the front of the tiny apartment. The sky was so overcast it hurt to look at, while the wind tossed red and orange and yellow leaves across invisible currents. Just past her elbow, a tea kettle sung a bright tune in a steep contrast to the shadows building around her.

Her fingers danced across the tops of cork-stoppered vials attached by strong magnets to the side of the refrigerator. Her favorite was a sharp oolong that settled nicely into a soft, buttery feel, but harsh chimes crawling down her spine told her today required something a little more probing.

Hazel Grey settled for her second favorite tea, beautiful spiced black leaves from Sri Lanka, to be taken in her favorite tea cup. It had a delicate handle and intricate blue patterns swirling up the sides with a little flair at the bottom that made her think of underskirts. It all felt very proper, which she found important when reading. 

She poured boiling water over a heaping spoonful of tea leaves and flipped over an hourglass filled with sparkling black sand. Satisfied with the rich, blooming scent, she settled into a papasan chair and watched the dark clouds swirl across the sky in tandem with the metallic clanging of her chimes.

Unsteady nerves ate at Hazel Grey’s corners as she waited. The set of windchimes belonged to her mother and her grandmother before her and her great-grandmother even before them. A beautiful ceremony celebrated the passing of the chimes, laden with protection spells. These weren’t just any chimes; they were life chimes, responsible for the care of the holder. The last time they banged around like sycophants, an ex tried to break into her apartment after busting out a window in her Camry. 

But Hazel Grey honed immense respect for her craft over the years. Said the prayers. Performed the rituals. Honored the holy days. That respect kept her safe. Every time. Knowing this didn’t stop the lump in her throat or from her obsessively side-eyeing the hourglass on her butcherblock counter, nor did it stop fantasies about demons lying in wait to gnaw at her edges.

Was it nothing?

Could it be everything?

“Fate,” Grandmother would tell her between stolen moments in her training, “ is resourceful.”

She never understood what this meant until she became an adult with adult problems, living outside the protective umbrella of her family. Fate was going to happen one way or another. It was up to her to remain vigilant, so here she was, playing Vigilante.

Like the magic it most assuredly was, the windchimes settled as the final grains of sand crossed into the lower half of the hourglass. She hoped this meant the tea was potent enough to offer a proper reading to relieve the knot building between her shoulder blades. Hazel Grey picked up her favorite cup with her right hand and gave it a gentle swirl. It smelled delicious.

Drinking it was her least favorite part. Grandmother always said to savor the tea, but Hazel Grey always had the patience of a gnat. She settled back into her chair to suffer through drinking a hot cuppa and kept her gaze trained on the horizon. The heat from the cup eased some of the stickiness from her fingers, so she used the hem of her shirt to wipe away the residue. 

When the last drop left her lips, the clanging began once again. Despite her very best efforts, Hazel Grey snapped her attention to the center of the living room. A sneer slowly worked its way across her face.

But she had a reading to do and she couldn’t let it be tempered by a sour mind.

Hazel Grey took a deep breath and centered herself with her focus trained on the dark skies. There was a time to be deliberate and a time to choose violence. Right now, deliberate won out.

She swished the dregs of her tea around the cup with a practiced hand and overturned the blue and white porcelain onto its plate. Dark liquid trickled out from the dainty sides of the cup. With three gentle taps to the bottom, she took a deep breath and turned the cup upright.

Hazel Grey frowned.

This wasn’t just bad.

It was unreadable. 

The leaves were a mushy clump in the center of the plate. What few managed to stay on the cup were spaced so far apart they couldn’t have the same conversation, much less show her a message from the universe. Again, she felt her head snap towards the center of the living room. 

“I’ll try again. And I’ll think happier thoughts.” 

With the water still hot, her kettle didn’t need much encouragement. After its merry tune, Hazel Grey poured another cup and turned over the hourglass. She sat in the papasan chair and watched her anxiety grow with each chime attack. Her thoughts turned towards more pleasant thoughts—Grandmother’s final lesson, specifically—and once more, like the magic it was, the chimes fell to a soft, touchless rhythm. She swirled the cup, overturned it, and tapped it thrice. 

Again, it was unreadable.

Again, she made another cup.

Again, the chimes quieted.

This time, she did not tap the cup.

The leaves slumped into a soggy mess.

The edges of her vision started to fray. A ragged, choked laugh slithered from the center of the living room, proud and broken. Though softer and less severe, It hit her harder than the chimes.

“Two things are often true.” Grandmother often told her. “It’s a matter of which viewpoint you choose.”

Hazel Grey squared her shoulders and reached across the butcherblock countertop before she sauntered to the center of the room. A knife twirled on the tip of her finger. She was tired of the games. She was tired of the bullshit. And holy mother, she was tired of the fucking chimes.

She straddled the body and leaned over, smearing blood across a clenched jaw. Her eyes narrowed into slits.

“Got something to say?” Hazel Grey snatched the stained white cloth from the bloodied mouth beneath her. “Think you’re so fuckin’ smart, do you?”

The response came slow, tiny soldiers marching in a tired formation. “I believe you think I’ve said enough.”

Ire raked down her back. “Is that right?”

“Only one of us is holding a knife.”

“Don’t play that helpless old lady shit.” Hazel Grey struggled to keep calm. Nothing was going according to plan. She mapped out everything for weeks. Did the rituals. Pled in her prayers. Her dreams came crystal clear and defined. 

But then the chimes. Great goddess, the chimes. 

“You’re playing with fire.”

“You don’t know what I’m doing.” The words slithered through Hazel’s clenched teeth. “You never knew what I was doing, just kept pumping your propaganda through my head.”

Grandmother spat out a cough that turned into a strangled choking sound. “You took very good notes.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, remember?” Gripping the knife with her left hand, she pressed it against Grandmother’s papery neck. She didn’t blink. She didn’t beg. She didn’t flinch. Her cold, hard eyes barely registered anyone was there.

All it would take was a single flick of her wrist, and everything would be over. Everything she planned, everything she wished, everything she prayed, would come true. Grandmother carried all the power within her bones. Hazel Grey needed only strip the skin and fat away to get exactly what she craved, what she needed, what she deserved.

Her mother was a lame sacrifice. She never cared about the old ways, never cared about the rituals that made them who they were. Not after the reading. Her grandmother, however, was more devout than all of them. 

Which meant she had to go.

Her time was over and Hazel Grey’s was beginning. She didn’t need the old guard to stand stalwart against what was rightfully hers. She didn’t need anyone ever again. With this new power, her enemies would fall to her feet like zapped flies. She would be untouchable.

Wasn’t that what Grandmother always taught her? To take what was hers. To barter with Fate. To play profound divination with other people’s lives. For this afternoon to be a surprise was simply poor planning on Grandmother’s part. Hazel Grey knew this day was coming.

She knew from the day she turned 12 and her mother received the reading that changed everything. To her credit, Hazel Grey’s mother never forgot. She heeded the warning and shipped Hazel Grey off to live with Grandmother to save her own life. She assumed Grandmother would be able to handle her.

She assumed wrong.

Despite this, Hazel’s hand hesitated. It was one thing to spend your formative years accepting your fate to end your own family. To meticulously plan for the inevitable transfer of power. It was another to do it.

Grandmother’s lips twitched and gaped, forming soundless curses. Before them, the windchimes spun into a frenzy. The metallic clanking turned the air around them thick, tense. Hazel pressed the knife against her kin’s skin with enough force to draw blood. 

“Stop. It.”

Grandmother’s face contorted as she laughed and wheezed and said, “Fate is resourceful.”

The chimes clashed into a crescendo. Hazel Grey’s hand found its purpose across a meaty end. The blade sliced and slashed in time to the distorted music until the body no longer twitched under her. The chimes fell impossibly silent.

She stood, wiped the blade across her stomach, and stared them down. 

Fate may be resourceful, but so was Hazel Grey.

She would take charge of her own fate now.