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

“I didn’t,” he replied with a nasty smile. “It was just the first bottle I grabbed off Carrick’s bar.”

There was no helping it, and it was all due to the vodka swirling in my gut, but I laughed at Zaid, shaking my head. “Why I thought you could be thoughtful is beyond me.”

To which he agreed, “It would be a total waste of my time.”

At this point in our relationship, I can’t decide if I love or hate Zaid, but he did what it took to push me past a fear barrier, and I hope it holds up for tonight.

I have my danish finished by the time I pull up to The Prestige. A different man in a fancy frock is there to take my car, and, like the others, he knows who I am and welcomes me. I grab my backpack and step out of the car, but before I can make it to the revolving doors, my phone rings.

When I pull it out of the side pocket, I don’t recognize the number. It’s local, though, so I answer. “Hello?”

“Finley?” a man’s voice says over the line.

“This is she.”

“It’s Michael Varrons.” My body straightens, and a pleasant sensation washes through me. It’s the hot artist I met almost two weeks ago at Fallon’s gallery.

“Hey… what’s up?” I immediately wince, because perhaps I should have said something more refined, like, Michael… what a pleasant surprise.

Too late now.

“So, um…” he says tentatively like he’s trying to find the right words. “I got your phone number from your sister the night of the gallery show as you’d sort of left without saying goodbye.”

“Yeah… sorry about that, but you were busy with the people who wanted to commission you, and I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“I understand,” he replies good-naturedly. “Actually, it’s taken me a few weeks to get up the nerve to call you.”

“Really? Why would you need nerve to call me?”

He laughs nervously. “Well, because you’re drop-dead gorgeous and probably far too elegant to want to go out with me. I don’t think I own anything but jeans.”

I glance down at my body. I’m wearing black skinny jeans, a vintage Stones t-shirt, and a zip-up hoodie. I eschewed the Chucks today in favor of a pair of ballet flats as no rain was in the forecast, and they’re comfy when not wet.

“Trust me,” I say with a chuckle. “The dress you saw me in was borrowed and I’m totally a jeans girl myself.”

Michael lets out an exaggerated whoosh of relief with a laugh. “Phew… now that that’s out of the way… I was wondering if you would like to go out to dinner with me sometime?”

Why yes, Michael… I would.

I tell him I’m on my way to an appointment, but we set tentative plans for the upcoming Saturday, and he promises to call so we can firm up said plans in a few days.

Thinking of my weekend date with Michael has me smiling on the elevator ride up, but not because I’ve been lonely or looking for someone. As I told Fallon, I’m cool with the way things are. But given everything I’ve recently learned, having a handsome man ask me out on a date makes me feel like a normal person.

The elevator doors slide open and I brighten my smile because it will irritate Zaid when he sees me. Now that I broke through his aura and found his daemon aura is surprisingly not scary, I might just make it my mission to annoy him in tiny, subtle ways.

Like by smiling.

Except it slides right off my face when it’s not Zaid but Carrick who stands there. I blink at him in surprise.

“You’re late,” he growls.

Glancing at the phone still in my hand, I see it’s 6:05, so I am indeed late. Oh well, that phone call with Michael was well worth Carrick’s scowl.

Part of me wants to say, “Big whoop,” but then I’ll be subjected to a lecture on professionalism and punctuality and if he’s going to help me purchase One Bean, I need to conform to his standards.

I don’t feel like hearing it, so I merely say, “Won’t happen again.”

Carrick doesn’t reply but runs a critical eye down my body, his lips pressed flat in disdain over my apparel. After that comes the moment where he seems to linger on my eyes, which is no less disconcerting than it was the first time he did it.

“I wish you’d worn something a little more appropriate, but I suppose it will have to do,” he says.

I know what I’m wearing, but it’s in that moment I realize—with a bit of a shock—that he’s not in one of his finely made custom suits. Instead, he has on dark blue jeans that fit a little too perfectly, a black V-neck, lightweight sweater, and black suede chukka boots.