The Revelation of Light and Dark (Chronicles of the Stone Veil 1)

A man appears and I give him a glance, immediately recognizing him as the man who was waiting for Mr. Byrne outside of Fallon’s gallery the night we first met. Short and balding with dark, beady eyes surrounded by silver, wire-framed glasses. What little is left of his hair on the sides and back is gray, but his face isn’t overly lined with age. It makes it difficult to assess how old he is, but I’d guess early sixties. He’s dressed in black dress pants, a black turtleneck, and black loafers. He’s talking to Mr. Byrne about a catering issue for a party that’s upcoming and I immediately tune him out, letting my attention wander back to this marvel of a home.

Walking through the living area, weaving through the groups of furniture set in intimate circles. I expect extravagant parties are thrown here, and this is the perfect place for guests to mingle and chat. There’s a beautiful grand piano set at an angle not far from the western windows and as I get closer to them, I can see they slide open to a spacious balcony set up with more couches, chairs, and tables. There are large pots of lush plants that look so perfect they could be artificial, but I’d bet a million dollars a man of Mr. Byrne’s taste and wealth would never allow fake foliage in his place.

When I glance to the right, my eyes get even bigger as I see the adjacent side of his condo and realize there’s a north-facing wall, all floor-to-ceiling windows with an incredible view of Seattle’s most-famous attraction. I give a quick but fond glance at The Space Needle, built in 1962 for the World’s Fair. It’s what my city is best known for, but, weirdly, I’ve only ever been in it twice. It’s not that big of an attraction to us native Seattleites.

I start walking toward the north side of the condo, now having a distinct hunch that it takes up the entire top floor rather than sharing it with another resident. I had assumed there was an identical private elevator on the left side of the lobby when we entered, affording at least two residents the opulence of the top floor.

I bet I can walk the entire circumference, and it would be nothing but windows and a complete 360-degree view of Seattle. Bedrooms, kitchen, bathrooms… those must be on the interior, and I pass two hallways that lead inward as well as one bathroom. When I reach the north-facing side, a glance to my right confirms what I thought—a long, windowed walkway toward the east side.

Yup. Carrick Byrne actually owns the entire top floor of The Prestige, and I wonder how I can slip that in conversation to Blain at some point, knowing he’ll be green with jealousy.

“Miss Porter, it’s positively rude to wander around someone’s home like you are,” I hear from somewhere behind me, and I turn to see Mr. Byrne staring at me with irritation. I note the balding man he was talking to also stands behind him, hands clasped behind his back as he watches me with thin lips pressed into a complete look of distaste. He certainly takes after his employer in that respect. “Let’s go into my office to discuss things further.”

Mr. Byrne pivots, then heads in the opposite direction. I follow, but the other man, who has not been introduced to me as of yet, continues to watch me with displeasure.

And it hits me… is this man wearing a glamour? Is he something else underneath? Clearly, Carrick has a penchant for hiring beings not of this world, as evidenced by the blue-tinted Marcus Valentine.

As I walk toward him, I focus on his face. Opening myself up all the way, I invite my gift—or curse as the case might be—to let me see underneath his skin. Or veil. Whatever it’s called.

And… I see nothing odd. I feel nothing odd. Just an unpleasant-looking man—obviously human—with cold, judgmental eyes watching me as I approach. I move past him, averting my gaze and trotting to catch up with Mr. Byrne, who has taken a left-hand turn past the grand piano into an interior room.

When I reach it, I see the doorway space is wide enough for double doors, yet none exist. It’s an office, and his desk faces the opening so he can see the view out the windows beyond.

As soon as I walk in, I survey the décor, which is similar to his main living area. Soothing tones, plush furniture, and bold lighting fixtures. His desk is a sleek design of gray-stained wood. There are two matching chairs for visitors on the opposite side. Although he has the same herringbone-patterned hardwoods, a snowy-white rug takes up almost the entire room. The walls are painted in a grayish-blue, but they are devoid of any artwork. I need to encourage him to let Fallon suggest some art to suit his tastes.