Fated Mates, Destined To Be Enemies.

The coffin was too small for the amount of grief inside me. I stood beneath the scorching Mexican sun, staring at the polished wooden box that held the only man who had ever made me feel completely safe. My father. My fingers tightened around the edge of my black ball dress, I couldn't cry anymore. A robbery gone wrong, that's what they called it, but it didn't make sense to me. My father was careful, sometimes even paranoid, but always careful. He never carried much cash; we didn't even have much. He never went anywhere without telling my mother where he was going, he checked the locks twice before bed and always warned me never to speak to strangers. Most importantly, he had been afraid of something, I just never knew what. "He's gone." Mum whispered beside me. “Just like that, he's gone.” I looked at her. She hadn't slept properly since his death. Her dark hair was pulled into a messy knot, her eyes were swollen from crying, and her shoulder blades were more visible now because she had lost so much weight. I wanted to comfort her, I wanted to tell her everything would be alright, but instead, a question escaped my lips. "Why was Dad so afraid?" She stiffened. "Not now, Hazel. Not now." "When the police came, they said he was robbed." "That's what happened." "No." I shook my head. "Dad wouldn't have fought over money." Mama's eyes shifted away and that tiny movement told me more than her words ever could. She knew something I didn't, but before I could press her, the priest began speaking. I forced myself to look at the coffin that my father was inside. And somehow, I knew that whatever had killed him wasn't finished with our family. *** Three days later, a lawyer arrived at our house. I sat beside Mama at the dining table while the elderly man placed a leather folder in front of him. "My condolences," he said. Mum nodded silently. The lawyer opened the folder. "Your husband left a legally witnessed will." My stomach tightened. "Dad had a will?" Mum looked just as surprised, though I knew she wasn't because Dad and Mum were always discussing in whispers about my future. They had talked about me eventually leaving Mexico for college, but after his death, everything felt different. The lawyer adjusted his glasses. "There is a specific condition concerning your daughter." My heart skipped. "Me? What instructions did he leave?" He cleared his throat. "Miss Gonzales, your father instructed that before your eighteenth birthday, you must leave Mexico and relocate to Coldstone, New Orleans." I frowned. "Coldstone? New Orleans?” "Yes. You are to live with your father's elder brother, Mendez Gonzales." I stared at him. "My uncle?" "Yes." I glanced at Mum. She didn't look surprised. "Dad told me about moving before," I said slowly. "But he never told me I had to live with an Uncle Mendez. I don't even have an Uncle in America.” "My Dear, you do. He wanted you to go after your eighteenth birthday," Mum said quietly. "But things changed." The lawyer nodded. "Your father's instructions were very specific. He wants you in Coldstone before your eighteenth birthday." "Why?" The lawyer hesitated. "He didn't provide a reason." I frowned. "And what happens if I don't go?" "Your inheritance will be affected." I almost laughed. "Inheritance? That's hilarious. What inheritance? Dad never had money." The lawyer's expression softened. "Your father wasn't wealthy, Hazel. But he did put money aside for you." He reached into his briefcase and removed a small document. "He left enough to cover your flight, initial expenses, and other necessities." He paused, then continued. "I will arrange your flight tomorrow." My stomach twisted. "Tomorrow?" "Your father wanted this handled quickly." Mum finally spoke. "I agree." I turned to her. "You do?" She nodded. "Your father and I had discussed this. I knew he wanted you to go to Coldstone." "Then why didn't you tell me?" "Because I hoped you would never have to." Her voice broke and I reached for her fragile hand. The lawyer closed the folder. "There is one more instruction." I looked at him. "Other than your mother, you must not tell anyone that you're relocating." "Why?" "Your father didn't explain." That answer was becoming a cliche and increasingly frustrating. He reached into his briefcase again, this time, he brought out a small leather bag. He placed it on the table. "This was left specifically for you." I stared at it. "What is it?" "Your father instructed me to give it to you personally." He opened the bag and removed a small box and a sealed envelope. "Do not open either of these until you are safely in New Orleans." My eyebrows pulled together. "What's inside?" "I don't know." "You don't know?" He shook his head. "Your father was very clear. You were to receive them, but you were not to open them until you were safely in Coldstone." I looked at Mama. She nodded. "Do what your father has asked." "What about you?" The lawyer answered before she could. "Your mother will join you." I looked at Mama. "Soon?" "Soon.” She promised. "But not immediately." the lawyer added. Mama squeezed my hand. "You won't be alone. Your uncle will be there." Uncle Mendez, the uncle I had never heard about or met and still the man my father had trusted enough to send me to. I swallowed. "Okay." The lawyer stood. "I will arrange everything and give you a call." He handed me the leather bag. "Keep it with you." I nodded. "And Hazel?" I looked up. "Don't lose it." Something about the seriousness in his voice made my fingers tighten around the bag. *** Hours after the lawyer left, it was raining heavily so I lay awake in bed thinking. Coldstone, New Orleans, Uncle Mendez and the leather bag sat on the bedside table. I stared at it and the lawyer's final instructions echoed in my head. “Don't open it until you're safely in New Orleans.” I looked at the clock. 11:47 p.m. I reached for the bag. "Just a peek." I pulled out the small box, it was surprisingly heavy for its size. I opened it and inside lay a clear stone. It was shaped almost like a diagonal shard of glass, perfectly smooth and strangely beautiful. I picked it up. The moment it touched my palm, a chill raced up my arm, so I panicked and dropped it back into the box. My heart pounded. "What are you?" I reached for the envelope. I hesitated, then I opened it and a photograph slid into my hands. My father stood in the picture. He looked younger, happier and he wasn't alone. A strange man stood beside him, tall, broad shoulder and dark-haired. I had never seen him before. I turned the photograph over and three lines were written in my father's handwriting. “Hazel. The world is evil. Trust only your mother and Uncle Mendez.” My breath seized for about a second, my hands began to shake and a loud thunder struck and the photo fell off my hand to the floor.