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

When our drinks are put before us, Carrick wraps his hand around his glass and pulls it toward himself. While staring down at his gin and tonic that has a tiny twist of lime hanging off the side, he says, “There’s a Light Fae sitting at this bar. Can you identify it?”

I jolt, whipping my head his way. “What?”

“You heard me.” His gaze lifts, meeting mine. “Light Fae at this bar. Tell me who it is.”

Slowly, I let my gaze roam the entire perimeter of the bar, taking in every customer as well as the three bartenders. Normally, I sense something first—like the buzzing vibe I described to Zaid, and that’s how I know something is, well, “other” than what I am. But it’s not a given I can sense every fae or daemon. There could be hundreds I walk past each year and not feel anything because their powers are strong.

“I can’t,” I mutter, picking up my glass of wine and taking a sip. When I put it back down, I explain, “I think I have to be near the person—I mean, creature—to get a feeling first. So all I can do is rule out the guy to my right because I feel nothing.”

Carrick’s expression hardens with disappointment. “Have you learned nothing since we’ve met?”

“That fear inhibits my abilities,” I say automatically. I’ve heard it from Zaid at least a hundred times over the past three days.

“You’ve learned more than that,” he scoffs. Leaning toward me, his voice rumbles low so only I can hear, “You learned that fae and daemons have varying strength of power which means you may or may not be able to see or feel anything without a serious effort on your part. The mere fact you’ve gone your entire life without intentionally seeking them out makes any of your experiences unreliable as to what to expect.”

My face flushes hot in complete embarrassment because I knew that. It’s exactly what happened with Marcus. I shook hands with him, sat in his office for a long time, and I never once felt a clear vibe other than a nervous tummy. And yet… he’s a daemon.

“I suspect,” Carrick continued, “that it’s simply a matter of you strengthening your skills, and you can only do that by practicing.”

Inhaling, I let my breath out slowly and try to figure out how to do this. While pondering, I pick up my glass and take another sip of wine. Four shots definitely helped me see past Zaid, but that block was fear-induced. I had been crushed under an overwhelming revelation that my life was not what I thought, and that there’s a whole lot of scary out there that resides outside of my mind.

Setting my glass down, I start at the opposite side of the U-shaped bar and take a few moments to focus on each person. I don’t just spare a glance, but instead, concentrate on their faces and try to free my mind to see what’s hidden underneath. I imagine my chest opening, cracking the sternum, and splitting the ribs apart so I can let feelings into that center part of myself where I feel emotion.

My heart.

Mostly couples sit at the bar, actively engaged in conversation, but there are a few people by themselves. I get caught staring at one guy who thinks I’m interested since I’m studying him so hard. He smiles, gives me a chin lift, then nods to the empty seat beside him in a clear invitation to come over.

I’m startled, then embarrassed and before I can even comprehend my actions, I turn toward Carrick and lean into him, lifting my mouth to his ear. If it bothers him, he gives no indication, but he does tilt his head as if listening to me.

“Sorry,” I mutter. “Just got busted staring at the dude across the way, and he’s invited me over.”

I half expect Carrick to push me away—maybe coldly reprimand me to quit playing around and do my job. Instead, he surprises me by bringing a hand up and cupping me around the nape of the neck in an intimate gesture. Now it’s Carrick who angles his mouth toward my ear and whispers back, “This should be sufficient to throw him off your trail. Now get back to work.”

It’s the rebuff I expected, and it’s said in such a way it’s clear he expects me to pull back immediately. But in case the man is still watching, I decide to make this little farce as authentic as possible. It is nothing but a small tilt of my head, but I let my lips graze against the corner of his jaw.

Carrick’s body locks tight at my touch and his fingers dig painfully into the back of my neck, allowing him to pull my body away from him. My heart is beating as I risk a glance up, only to find his eyes burning with an unholy fire. I can’t tell if it’s my imagination or the dim lighting in the bar, but their color has darkened to burnt amber and there’s even a reddish sheen to them as he stares at me with an iron lock on his jaw.