“It’s clear something happened right then to cause Fallon to change,” Zaid points out. By the firm nature of his tone, I suspect that’s what he and Carrick were talking about by the elevators.
Angling his body toward me on the couch, Carrick asks, “What time were you born?”
My eyes snap to him, and I’m confused by the question. Why does it matter?
But then it hits me… some catalyst caused the change and it happened on her birthday. “Fallon was born at 8:28 PM.”
“I wasn’t looking at the clock,” he murmurs thoughtfully, gaze going to Zaid. “But that’s about the time it happened.”
“But what does that mean?” I ask.
Lips pressed flat, Carrick just gives a helpless shake of his head. “I don’t know. But she wasn’t always a Dark Fae, then suddenly she was near the time of her birth on her twenty-eighth birthday. That has to be significant.”
Bitterness wells up within me. “So you believe she wasn’t a Dark Fae before? And that I wasn’t hiding it?”
“I was fairly certain,” he admits blandly, rising from the couch. “I sensed nothing about her in the times I’ve been around her, and I don’t know of any fae or daemon that can hide their nature from me. But as you’ve proven to be a human who sees fae, I still have to consider all possibilities.”
“Gee, thanks. That was the worst apology ever,” I grouse.
Carrick ignores that and starts pacing while Zaid just stands by placidly with his hands folded before him. I bend over to remove the remaining sandal from my foot. For a brief moment, I wonder where the other one is and since things can’t be any crazier, I also wonder if maybe my Prince Charming will find it and bring it to me. Whisk me away from all of this on his white horse so we can live happily ever after.
I snort, realizing my thoughts are bordering on insane.
And then a horrific thought strikes me, filling me with hysteria. I practically screech as I pop off the couch. “Am I fae? Have I changed?”
Carrick stops mid-stride, turning to face me with a scowl. Zaid’s expression doesn’t change.
I pick up my skirt, round the coffee table, and put myself right before Carrick as I demand, “Look at me. Am I a fae? A daemon?”
“No, Miss Porter,” he replies drolly. “You are as you ever were.”
“It’s Finley,” I snap angrily, because it irritates me that he is back to formality with my name. “And how can you be sure? You’ve been taking me to different people trying to figure out if there’s something other than human in me, which means you can’t know everything.”
“That is true,” he replies smoothly. “But as you are standing here in front of me now, I can tell you that, as of this moment, you are not fae or daemon. Now, whether that remains true five minutes from now, I have no clue.”
He could not have said anything less reassuring to me, but, then again, Carrick has never tried to spare my feelings or sugarcoat things.
“We need to talk,” Carrick says, and this time his tone is something I’ve never heard before. It sounds regretful, and I know he has some bad news to impart.
“So talk,” I reply, crossing my arms over my chest.
His gaze runs down my body and then back up again. “Go change into some of your workout clothes. I know that dress can’t be comfortable.”
“I’m fine.” I lift my chin, showing him that he can’t order me around.
His lips don’t move, but something bursts inside of my head… an invasion of words that seem to bounce around on the inside of my skull like an echo. Go change your clothes.
Without giving my body permission to do so, it starts walking past Carrick toward the hall that will lead toward the gym. I try to push against the force, and easily stop in my tracks.
“What was that?” I ask as I whirl to face Carrick, my voice a mere whisper because I’m so stunned by what just happened.
“Compulsion,” he replies without any further explanation.
It’s the first time Carrick has ever exhibited any type of supernatural ability other than being able to see fae and daemons. It chills me to my bones as it means I know nothing about this man.
I can feel that my body is my own and the need he instilled to walk to the gym is gone. But I also know, that if I don’t do as he says, he’s going to make me do it.
So I go. Right to the gym where I pull clothes out of the cabinets without much thought. I don’t even bother going to the bathroom to change, but disrobe right there, kicking my beautiful dress that I’ll burn later because it’s now forever associated with the death of my sister aside.
I put on a sports bra and a long-sleeved t-shirt first. Picking up a pair of dark gray workout leggings, I first put my left leg in while balancing on my right. I pop my foot through the end, then pull the stretchy material up a bit before planting it on the floor and lifting my right leg.
Just as it rises, my gaze catches on the outside of my right calf. At first, it doesn’t penetrate what I’m seeing, perhaps because my psyche just can’t handle one more horror tonight.
But I stare at it hard before blinking several times to see if it will go away, hoping perhaps it’s a figment of my overused and battered imagination.
Glowing white, even against the paleness of my skin, it remains, and panic fills me. “Carrick,” I scream, flopping to the gym floor on my butt. I turn my right knee inward, drawing my ankle closer to me so I can get a better look.
Right there, about three inches down from my knee, is a white outline of a feather. With a shaky finger, I reach out to touch it, but I’m distracted by Carrick bursting into the gym, Zaid right on his heels.
Carrick’s eyes are alight with something ferocious as he scans for some threat before spotting me on the floor. Relief washing over his expression, he takes long strides my way as he asks, “What’s wrong?”
I point the finger that’s hovering just above my skin, stabbing downward toward the outside of my calf. “Look.”
He squats beside me, and Zaid comes to do the same right beside him. They both peer hard at the feather on my leg.
“What the fuck is that?” I wheeze, feeling like all the air in my lungs has been squashed.
Without any hesitation or fear, Carrick is the one who touches it. His finger starts at the quill, which is closer to my ankle. Gently, he glides it up my skin, following the long flow of the feather.
His head lifts, eyes coming to mine as he asks, “Did this just appear?”
“I don’t know.” The hysteria in my voice is not abating. “It wasn’t there when I got dressed for the party.”
I know damn well it wasn’t because I’d shaved my legs, which means I had an eagle-eye view. There was no white tattoo there.
I know I should feel ridiculous, sitting on the gym floor, one leg in my pants, the other out, and my panties on full display, but there are more urgent matters pressing upon me.
Both men rise, giving each other concerned looks.
“It must have happened at the same time Fallon changed,” Zaid says.
“More than likely, at the same time Finley was born,” Carrick corrects.
“8:34 PM,” I murmur as I stare at the feather, knowing the exact time of my birth in relation to Fallon’s. “My mom died three minutes later.”