Everything Is Eclipsed by the Shape of Destiny

“Fucking American Ministry not giving us the Aztec ruins!” ranted Emerson angrily. “I prepared a proposal detailing why we were perfect for the job and what do they do? Send us to Egypt to work for Gringotts! I don’t want to work for a fucking bank! If I did I would’ve applied to work at Bank of America not for the Ministry of Magic!”

“Quit your bitching.” Everett pressed his blunt against a nearby wall, successfully removing the ash from its tip. “You should be thankful that we even got this gig. They only give experienced curse breakers gigs at high profile locations like Egypt so you should take this as a compliment. It means that we made a good reputation while we were at school, a reputation that allowed us to get this high paying assignment.”

“I don’t fucking care about the money! I wanted to learn more about our culture! I wanted to learn how it is that the spirit warriors from our pueblos came to be, because according to legend the first warriors were from the Aztec’s so the ruins could help us learn more about who we are.”

“What do you mean learn more? We already know enough! We’re shifters that phase into their jaguar forms whenever vampires or werewolves are in the area; that’s that. There’s nothing more to it.”

“There has to be more to it,” argued Emerson. “There’s more to us than destroying evil and imprinting. I'm sure the Aztec’s left secret stories for us to find somewhere but now we’re not going to be able to find them until we’re reassigned.”

“What if they never reassign us?” asked Everett, rummaging through his satchel for a Snickers bar.

“If we’re not reassigned after three years, I'm going to quit working there and head out to Mexico. Nana will let me crash on her couch and I'm sure that the Mexican Ministry will let me explore once I phase in front of them.”

“Then why didn’t you let us phase in front of the American Ministry?” he was genuinely curious.

“Because they would’ve thrown us into some cage and started conducting experiments on us,” answered Emerson sharply. “And I refuse to be treated like a lab rat. Fuck that. The Mexican Ministry knows that shifters exist, they wouldn’t treat us like freaks.”

“Very true,” agreed Everett. “Hey, isn’t this the building that we’re supposed to report to?”

Emerson stared in the direction that Everett had pointed. “Yeah, it is.”

“Want to head in?”

“No,” Emerson lazily scratched her boyishly short black hair that had random chunks of blonde. “The letter stated that we didn’t have to present ourselves until two, it’s only one.”

“Might as well be early, maybe they’ll give us the keys to our apartments and we can just head over and start setting up.”

“Blah, fine,” Emerson followed him into the grandiose building.

The twins stood out among the elegantly dressed individuals that filled the building. Their fitted clothes were out of place among bank employees, they were better suited for a rock concert, a muggle rock concert at that.

Whispers erupted all around them, people asking one another if they knew who the strangely dressed pair was but no one knew a thing about them and that annoyed the company gossipers that prided themselves on being able to figure out everything about a person in ten minutes or less.

Eventually, the pair arrived at the office that they had been summoned to. They met with the company representative whom gave them keys to their respective company owned apartments where they would call home for the duration of their employment with the bank.

The apartments were nothing spectacular.

They were simple, consisting of two small bedrooms, an average sized living room that doubled as a dining area and a snug kitchen. It wouldn’t have been enough space for two people, but it was more than enough for one to live comfortably.

After the pair had finished settling into their new homes, they went out to the local market to check out the variety of foods that they had to choose from, not liking what they saw, they opted to apparate to a grocery store in Southern California, and once they had stuffed all their items into their enchanted grocery bags, they apparated back to their apartments.

Since Everett wasn’t skilled in the kitchen, he went over to Emerson’s place and cut up vegetables like she ordered him to, staying out of the actual mixing and seasoning out of fear that he would give them a bad case of food poisoning as he had on two previous occasions.

“Do you think we’re going to meet any rad people to kick it with?” asked Everett as he opened up a bottle of Corona.

“Hopefully,” responded Emerson. “I’d hate to be stuck hanging out with you at all hours of the day.”

“You should consider yourself blessed to be able to spend so much time with me. People all over the world would kill to be with the, oh so amazing Everett Maddox Figueroa.”

“Like who?”

“Not sure, but I'm sure there are people that would, just look at me.”

“I am and I can’t see why anyone would kill to hang out with you.” Emerson added the vegetables to the pan that had been lightly drizzled with olive oil. “Make yourself useful, put some tunes on.”

Everett did as he was told. He made his way over to the collection of vinyl’s, grabbing his favorite album, L.A. Woman, by The Doors. Ray Manzarek’s keyboard began blaring from the speakers, setting up the moment for the arrival of Jim Morrison’s voice.

They were halfway through the last track of Side A, L.A. Woman, when a knock came from the door. Everett, being closest to the entrance, stood from his place on the couch and threw open the door, surprised to find a young man around his age standing on the other side.

“Is the music to loud?” asked Everett.

“No, not at all,” answered the stranger in a British accent. “I simply came over because I wanted to know who in this bloody building was listening to The Doors. No one here ever listens to good music.”

“Well now you know,” Everett was glad to have a neighbor that appreciated the classics. “Do you want to come in? We have some beers and dinner’s almost done.”

“Thank you, but I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“Intrude? Don’t be crazy. I'm sure my sister would be happy to have you join us. She’s going to be relieved that there’s someone working here that has good taste. I'm Everett by the way, Everett Maddox Figueroa.”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, I'm William Arthur Weasley, I go by Bill. Do you mind me asking what it is that you do at Gringotts?” inquired Bill politely.

“I'm a curse breaker, my sister as well, but she’s also an archeologist.” Everett stepped to the side, making room for Bill to step inside the apartment. “Make yourself at home, let me get my sister. Hey! EMERY, we have a guest.”

Emerson wiped her hands on her dark washed jeans, walking towards the living room to see who it was that her brother had lapsed into conversation with. She raised her brow slightly when she saw a tall ginger standing in front of her brother. He was handsome, for a ginger.

“I'm here,” chirped Emerson, looking towards her brother.

“Good, Emerson this is William Arthur Weasley he goes by Bill and he’s a fellow curse breaker for Gringotts and Bill, this is my sister Emerson Marie Figueroa, call her Marie.”

“Fuck face, don’t be telling people to call me Marie, hate that name.”

“I think Marie’s a lovely name,” interjected Bill.

Emerson turned to tell him that he was crazy, that the name was hideous and best suited for eighty year old women but the moment that her light brown orbs met his brilliant blue eyes, the world around vanished, all that existed was him, all that mattered was the fiery haired stranger that stood in her living room and as that ginger transformed into the most enchanting creature that she had ever set her eyes upon, she knew that she – Emerson Marie Figueroa – had imprinted.



“EMERY!” bellowed Everett, shaking her in an almost violent manner.

Emerson snapped out of her daze. “What the fuck?”

“I’ve been trying to get your attention for the last five minutes.” Concern flashed in his eyes. “Are you alright? We can go home if you want. I’ll make up an excuse.”

“There’s no need to go home. I'm fine. I was just thinking.”

“About the past?” he asked softly.

Emerson nodded.

“That was a fun night,” he knew exactly what memory she had revisited. “I don’t remember much of it but I remember that we killed like two bottles and smoked the entire bag.”

“We were all faded that night,” Emerson smiled fondly at the memory. “Good times.”

“What was a good time?” Bill walked towards them.

“The night we met,” responded Everett.

Bill chuckled, “Bloody hell! I hardly remember that night, all that I really remember was Marie sitting on top of the coffee table with the family size bag of Doritos and she wouldn’t give us any until we put on her favorite movie.”

“How is it, that after all these years you’re still calling me Marie?”

“Because I think it’s a lovely name.” Bill scrunched his nose in a taunting manner.

“Fucking ginger,” cursed Emerson. “So when is this wedding going to start? I'm getting tired of standing around.”

“I'm not really sure, soon, I suppose.” Bill parted his lips to ask Charlie if he knew when a loud pounding at the door captured his attention.

Charlie opened the door, letting Mrs. Weasley rush inside.

“Get your coats on!” ordered Molly. “We need to get you set up! It’s only ten till two!”

“Alright, we’ll be right down mum.”

All four of them quickly threw on their coats, grabbing anything else that they would need during the wedding. Emerson struggled to keep up the quick pace that the gingers walked in, they were practically sprinting down the stairs when all she wanted to do was crawl, this wasn’t a moment of happiness, it was a death march.

With each step she took, Emerson felt her strength diminishing. She wanted to apparate the hell out of there. To hide out in her grandmother’s house in Mexico for the rest of her life but the smile, the fucking smile on her imprints face, wouldn’t let her leave.

Emerson swallowed her misery, walking into the massive white tent – which the Weasley family had set up for the ceremony – with a huge smile spread across her face, a smile that masked her true emotions. She followed Charlie to the front, taking her place beside him. The wedding hadn’t even started and she already felt like she’d been standing there for hours.

“We should’ve smoked before heading over,” whispered Everett softly.

“Doubt that would’ve made a difference . . .”

The pair lapsed into silence.

Emerson attempted to lose herself in thought, but failed miserably. All she could think about was how happy Bill looked standing there. There was a glow about him, a glow that she had never seen before and that torturous glow infuriated her. She wanted to deck him, to break his fucking nose and make him suffer; to make him cry out in pain and beg for mercy . . . to make him feel as pathetic and worthless as he was making her feel but no, no, one can’t consciously hurt their imprint; ones heart won’t allow them to.

So she stood there, struggling to keep her hands from balling into fists and tears from pouring down her face. It was hell. No, it was worse than hell because in hell she would’ve been roasted alive by the devil, perhaps some demons, but there she was, having her heart be brutally torn apart by the man whom held it and nothing, nothing in the world, could ever compare to that suffering.

The sound of a string quartet snapped Emerson out of her silent contemplation and she looked towards the aisle and there in all her glory was Fleur in a stunning gown that complimented her flawless figure. Fleur was beautiful. She was the kind of woman that made women with high self esteem feel like shit and as Emerson watched her walk down the aisle she took note of all of Fleur’s features and compared them to her own.

Fleur was thin; body fat was most likely nonexistent. Emerson wasn’t thin, she had a muscular build along with an ass that she felt was too large and breasts that were much to small for her liking. Generally speaking, Fleur was feminine, she had the kind of face that painters searched for, Emerson was more masculine in the sense that her facial features were bolder, more pronounced. It was no wonder Bill was choosing Fleur, if Emerson were a man, she would’ve done the same.

The rest of the wedding went by in a blur. Emerson paid no attention to the words coming out of the person officiating the wedding, all her energy went to controlling herself, to keep herself from lunging at Fleur and cursing at her for having ruined her life.

After the pictures were taken and the toast was given, Emerson left.

She didn’t bother telling Bill goodbye, he was busy staring at his young bride and she honestly didn’t want to talk to him, she had done her duty and now it was time to numb the ache in her heart.

Emerson rummaged through her liquor cabinet, grabbing the massive bottle of Patron that she had purchased in Tijuana a few weeks earlier. She grabbed a whiskey glass and contemplated some squirt but decided against it, she was just going to drown herself in liquor, there was no point in making the drink pleasant as it went down her throat. Everett knew exactly what his sister was trying to do and he didn’t approve of her idea to drown her sorrows.

“You can’t, fucking, drink your sorrows away!” he argued. “You’ll end up an alcoholic.”

“I'm not going to make this into a HABIT!” Emerson grabbed a CD from Chavela Vargas and put it into the stereo system. “This is just happening tonight.”

“That’s what you say now, but tomorrow you’ll be filling up that glass again.”

Emerson shook her head. “It’s just tonight, alright? I just need to pass out so I won’t think about him taking her virginity.”

“Emerson . . .”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP! I'm going to down this tequila and get really fucking drunk and I'm going to forget that he’s in some hotel room touching a woman like he touched me last night and tomorrow I’ll wake up better.”

“He’s going to sleep with her tomorrow. He’s going to sleep with her the day after tomorrow. They’re married. It’s what married people do.”

Tears that had been held back finally sprung from Emerson’s eyes. “Let me drink. I know that it’s not the smart thing to do but I have to do it. There’s no other way I’ll make it through the night.”

“We can talk, we can watch movies; we’ll think of something to do!”

“But nothing will work as well as this,” Emerson held the bottle up.

“I'm not going to talk you out of this, am I?”

“No,” Emerson smiled sadly. “I have the drinking music going and a bottle of Patron. No one would be able to talk me out of it.”

“Fine,” Everett took off his jacket, throwing it onto the couch. “Let me get in on this.”

“You sure?” she shot him a questioning look.

“Yeah,” he grabbed a glass from the cupboards. “I guess it’s a good thing that we’re Mexican.”

“Why’s that?” Emerson filled his glass with Patron.

“Because rancheras offer us the perfect music to get drunk over a broken heart to,” Everett raised his glass. “I love you, Emerson, and things are going to work out. I know they are.”

“Shut up and drink.”

Within an hour the pair had finished the entire bottle of Patron and were halfway done with another. Even in her drunken state Emerson could still imagine Bill mercilessly pounding into Fleur and when her favorite song by Chavela Vargas came on she flipped her kitchen table over and began singing loudly, her misery fueling her words.

“Ojala que te vaya bonito
Ojala que se acaben tus penas
Que te digan que yo ya no existo
Que conozcas personas mas buenas
Que te den lo que no pude darte
Aunque yo te haya dado de todo
Nunca más volveré a molestarte
Te adore, te perdí, ya ni modo
Cuantas cosas quedaron prendidas
Hasta dentro del fondo de mi alma
Cuantas luces dejaste encendidas
Yo no se como voy a apagarlas.
Ojala que mi amor no te duela
Y te olvides de mí para siempre
Que se llenen de sangre tus venas
Y te vista la vida de suerte
Yo no se si tu ausencia me mate
Aunque tengo mi pecho de acero
Pero nadie me llame cobarde
Sin saber hasta donde la quiero
Cuantas cosas quedaron prendidas...”

The night didn’t end until Emerson was lying face down on the rug, clutching the empty bottle of Patron.