“You mean there’s like a horde of demi-god librarian types who record people’s lives?” I ask, not able to comprehend what they do.
“That’s one way of putting it, but they don’t exactly use something as archaic as a camera. They use memory crystals, and while I don’t know the specifics, I know there’s some sort of magical automation to it. Carrick knows all about it. I only do because he took me there once.”
“Why?”
“When I was at a low point in my life and was considering staking myself to a tree again,” he murmurs, his eyes dulling a little.
I suck in a tiny breath of distress.
“Carrick merely whisked me away to this place called the Hall of Histories, then showed me the crystal that held his memory of finding me crucified on the tree.”
“I’m sure that was effective,” I say.
“Not nearly as effective as when he showed me the crystal of my memory of that event afterward.”
Zaid said the crystal not only showed events, but also the emotions the person was feeling. I can see how that would have an impact on Zaid.
He nods as if sensing the direction of my thoughts. “When I saw him approach the tree and he told me he was taking me down, I felt such immense relief. I knew I’d never appreciated anything in my life as much as that very moment when I was rescued. It made me remember that I wanted off that tree more than I wanted to be on it.”
“I can’t even imagine what you went through.” I shift on the couch, looking Zaid straight in the eye. “Carrick told me some of it.”
“I know,” he replies, flicking a speck of something off his black pants. “And I don’t mind him sharing with you. You knew about my history in your first life, and every life after that.”
I smile sadly. Carrick had said my past selves knew the truth of what he was—a demi-god. He told Eireanne—and everyone after—everything, and no doubt would have included his good friend Zaid and his background.
“You didn’t like me when I first came into Carrick’s life,” I throw out as a conversation change.
“Who says I like you now?” he quips, but it’s done with the barest hint of a smile, which means he’s totally teasing. But then he sobers. “I wasn’t happy you were back. We didn’t know about the prophecy at that point. All we knew was Carrick would fall in love with you again, and you would die way too soon.”
I consider that, realizing Zaid knows as much about my past as Carrick. “I’m glad you were there with Carrick throughout history. I’m sure he needed a friend.”
Zaid is silent a moment, his gaze drifting as he considers something. When it returns to me, he admits with a guilty look, “I told Carrick that killing you should be an option.”
I beam an accepting smile. “It’s okay. Carrick told me that he actually strangled me once right after seeing me.”
His gaze drops as if that’s not good enough.
“It’s a good thing I don’t remember those things,” I quip. When he raises his head and an eyebrow, I laugh. “I’d be a lot crankier about all of this if I did.”
Zaid actually chuckles as he shakes his head. “I imagine you would be. But just know, if you want those memories when Carrick comes back, he’ll take you there.”
“And is Carrick coming back?” I ask bitterly.
“You know he will, Finley,” Zaid says in a chastising tone. He stands from the chair, then looks down at me. “He would never abandon you.”
Again, that tiny flicker, but I squash it.
Zaid must see it in my eyes—I want this conversation to be over.
Instead of continuing, he inquires, “Anything special you’d like for dinner tonight? I know the Scooby Gang is coming over.”
I shake my head, lying back down with my head on the throw pillow. “Surprise us. Anything you make is awesome.”
Zaid doesn’t reply but before he’s even left the living area, I have another game of Candy Crush going on my phone to occupy my mind. I don’t want to have to think about anything we just talked about.
CHAPTER 3
Finley
Leaning forward in my chair, I put one palm on the library table and then cover that hand with my other one. I put my chin on my hands as I stare at the candle before me. It’s a Yankee Candle that Rainey brought over from the Fantasia, and its pumpkin-spice scent makes my nose wrinkle. We’re barely into September, and it’s too early for me to be thinking of pumpkins.
And not just that it’s too early, but pumpkins are a symbol of Halloween, a holiday I much enjoyed as an adult since I like passing out candy to kids, but, as it stands… I might not be around for it this year.
That’s because October’s new moon is in five weeks, and it’s when Kymaris’ ritual to bring down the veil is supposed to occur. At least according to Boral’s information that he got from his buddy, Kaesar, who is one of the original fallen Dark Fae that Kymaris will use in said ritual.
So yeah, I do not like the subtle pumpkin spice scent wafting from the unlit wick, but I do like Rainey’s idea to try to use my magic to light it.
Ever since Sarvel, my Custodia angel, told me she put light power into me at my birth, I have been trying to tap into it in some form or fashion. It’s worked on some occasions—like when I was able to break the incubus’s compulsion.
Or when I was able to project myself into Zora’s body in the Underworld.
The problem is that I have no clue how I accomplished those things, so it makes pulling on that power a mystery.
Sarvel told me now that I know I have the power within me, I need to believe and trust in it to call it forth.
She apparently handed me a crock of shit, but I’m still trying.
Tonight, Rainey’s suggestion is to go smaller with my attempts. So far, I’ve been trying to do things like pull books off shelves with my mind, or create a glowing ball of light with willpower. Once, I even tried to make a mustache grow on Myles’ face, but I didn’t tell him what I was doing.
But Rainey’s right. I need to start with something small and simple, and lighting a candle seems doable.
I stare at the wick a moment, but I can see Rainey and Myles sitting at the end of the table in my peripheral vision and it’s slightly distracting. They’re here for support and being incredibly quiet, but it’s giving me performance anxiety.
So, I close my eyes, merely imagining the candle in front of me. The way the label looks with a cute little pumpkin on it and the burnt end of the wick, as Rainey had used the candle already. I try to imagine what the wick would look like if it were to light itself spontaneously without any outside help, then I will myself to make it happen.
For a second, I feel something stir within me—low in my belly—and I think I might have accomplished it. My eyes snap open, but the candle remains cold and dead.
“Damn it,” I mutter, pushing back from the table, pissed I just mistook indigestion for brewing magic.
“Want to try a spellbook?” Rainey suggests. She’s found several in English, but they are mostly potions, and I’m not interested in those. I need something more theoretical that doesn’t require ingredients.