“Please just listen to me, Finley,” he says in a somewhat supplicating tone. “Let me tell you everything, because now not only your life depends on it, so do billions of others.”
Those words alone are enough to keep me seated. Carrick must sense this because I can feel the force that was keeping me pinned to the chair dissipate.
“Fine,” I mutter. “But I want to know everything. No holding back.”
Carrick inclines his head in an agreement to my demand.
“How do you even know there’s a prophecy?” It’s the most important question I can think of at this moment.
“To understand that,” Carrick begins in a professor-like manner, “you need to know about The Council.”
“The Council?” Sounds officious, like maybe a secret governmental faction. Maybe they’re based out of Area 51.
“The Council is made up of five gods. There’s Veda, the god of Humanity. Circe, the god of—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa,” I drawl while holding a hand up. “Gods? What does that even mean? Isn’t there just one God?”
“Did the ancient Romans worship just one god?” he inquires softly. “The Greeks? The Egyptians? The Native Americans?”
I’m a bit flummoxed by his point. I guess I’d just assumed all that was a myth we learned in history and classic literature class, but, truly, those cultures had faith in who they worshipped much the same way I suppose Christians do.
Meekly, I say, “I get your point. Continue.”
Carrick doesn’t seem put out by my interruption, which is a far cry from when I sat in his office a month ago and he lectured me on fae, daemons, and angels. I wonder if he’s just more tolerant or perhaps he’s going easy on me tonight in light of what happened to Fallon.
“There’s Circe, the god of Fate. Onyx, the god of Conflict. Cato, the god of Nature, and Rune, the god of Life and, consequently, death.”
“And these are rooted in some sort of mythology?” I query.
“They are as real as you and I are,” he intones.
“And you know this how?” I ask suspiciously. Because I’ve not yet been able to glean how Carrick knows so much of this supernatural stuff.
“I know this because I have met them many times,” he replies and I just gape. “In particular, I saw them on the night I discovered you could see beneath glamours.”
“Holy shit,” I wheeze, because I didn’t think things could get weirder than angelic rebellions and such.
“The Council has been around since the beginning of time—almost fourteen billion years ago—and they control the way in which the universe works. Or at least that was what they were originally created to do.”
“And who created them?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” he replies flatly. “They always have just been.”
That generates a million questions, but I instinctively know the answers to many won’t be important.
“And just where does one go to meet this council?” I ask curiously.
“In another realm, of course,” Carrick replies.
“Created by a stone?” Because I’ve been fascinated by the concept of there being alternate realities or dimensions or realms or whatever they’re called layered right upon us. A meteor that crashed to Earth—and was hacked away by plunderers—provided the magic to create these realms.
“Not created by a stone,” he replies, and I’m shocked. I thought the stones that were chipped away from the meteor was the basis of all things otherworldly. “The gods themselves have infinite powers, far greater than the meteor that came to earth. They live where they want to live, the gateway to them only accessible if they want to be found. And remember, they’ve been around since the dawn of time. Long before the meteor crashed to earth.”
I take my teacup in hand, swallowing another sip as I absorb this information.
Carrick shifts, leaning back in his chair. He steeples his fingers in front of his face, his expression somber. “They advised me that you are an integral part to thwarting the prophecy and have commanded I help you.”
Once again, I go dizzy and my teacup shakes so much a little sloshes onto my lap. I put it back on his desk, unworried by the ring it will leave. “You’re sure I’m a part of stopping the prophecy?”
Carrick glances briefly at Zaid, who has remained quiet this entire time. “According to the gods you are.”
My throat feels parched, my head starting to ache. “And what exactly is this prophecy?
“They didn’t tell me,” he says, something he’s told me before. I think he understands I might need that reiterated a time or two.
I’m offended, though. “Well, why not? They want it thwarted, why can’t they tell us how to do it?”
Carrick’s hands lower to the armrests of his chair. “Because they’re the ones who created it.”
“They created it? Knowing it would be damaging and dangerous, and now they want us to fix it? Is this a game to them?”
The laugh that comes out of Carrick is mirthless and bitter. “That’s exactly what it is. A game to them. This prophecy was probably created eons ago by The Council, set loose to occur at a certain time, and they forgot about it. Most likely keeping entertained by other prophecies that were letting loose somewhere else in the universe. They do it to amuse themselves, for the most part.”
“For the most part?” I press.
“Some of the gods use these as teaching or growth tools. Sometimes to just an individual, sometimes to humanity itself.”
“That’s preposterous,” I sputter.
“On that, I’d agree,” he replies flatly. “But here we are, and you’re destined to be a part of stopping it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this a month ago when you learned about it?” I ask, and I hate that my voice sounds small and hurt. Because I should have no expectation that Carrick cares one whit about me.
Something flickers in Carrick’s eyes, but I dare not even consider it to be guilt. I’ve learned the man is sorry for none of his actions. “I wasn’t sure you could handle it a month ago. You’d just found out about daemons and fae. I also didn’t know what the prophecy was or when it would be. I was hoping to divine more information to help break the news to you more gently. Take your pick—those reasons are all true.”
“So, when we went to see Echo and Stan, you weren’t trying to learn about my abilities, you were trying to learn about this prophecy?” I ask, the accusation in my tone crystal clear because he was using me.
“No,” he replies emphatically. “I was trying to learn about both because your abilities are tied to this prophecy. They go hand in hand. I’m convinced.”
“What does The Council say about my abilities? Surely, they know, since I’m assuming they had a hand in creating them? And surely they had a hand in changing Fallon to a Dark Fae?”
“The Council won’t help. We’re on our own.”
This doesn’t surprise me. Especially not if they’re beings who get entertainment value over what they’ve done to me and my life.
My hands seem steadier, so I take the teacup and lift it to my mouth to drain it. It’s merely lukewarm now. Before I can set it down, Zaid leans forward to take the pot to refill it for me, but I shake my head. Instead, he reaches out and takes the empty cup, holding it in his hand.