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

“What do you mean?” His lips are pressed thin and flat.

“A short stay in a psych unit, medications, psychiatrists, counseling. From the age of ten on up.”

His expression never changes, but now there’s a tiny muscle ticking at the corner of his jaw. Must be a tooth grinder.

“Did you ever stop seeing beneath the glamours?” he asks.

I shake my head. “I stopped telling people about it. Instead, I started lying to my doctors, my father, and my sister. I didn’t want to be thought of as crazy. And I learned how to cope with it. I get sort of a vibe when I come across one. Like something is lurking under a mask. Before my senses can open up to it, I’ll force myself not to look at what lies beneath. In other words, I’ve learned to control it somewhat. How to turn it off.”

Carrick frowns. “You were purposely trying to see beneath Marcus’ glamour?”

“No,” I quickly assure him. “In fact, I got no vibe from him at all. I mean… I was a little nervous, like butterflies in my stomach, but I chalked that up to the interview. However, when you came into the room, you rattled me, and my defenses sort of slipped. Before I knew it, I saw his… what do I call it… a daemon face?”

“I rattled you, and your defenses slipped?” he asks skeptically, his expression clearly saying he’s not buying my explanation.

“Let’s face it, Carrick,” I grit out angrily. “You’ve made it clear from the first time we met that you don’t like me at all, and you can be very intimidating, oh exalted prince of Seattle. And normally, when I do see past a glamour, I have been really good at hiding my reaction. I’ve seen so many horrific things over the years—beautiful things as well because they’re not all hideous—that I’ve learned not to react. Apparently, I didn’t hide my reaction well enough from you.”

“If you had to take a guess, why do you think you have this ability?” he asks, completely ignoring my diatribe over his boorish behavior and what it caused me to do.

“I have no clue. I was raised in a normal household. I didn’t do drugs. My parents didn’t do drugs. We don’t live under power lines, and I’ve never been radiated. As far as I know, I’ve never been visited by an alien. In fact, I’m the one who should be asking you for answers, because you know far too much about all of this. So you tell me, Mr. Byrne,” I say in a disgusted tone, emphasizing the formal title, “Why am I like this? Or am I really just crazy?”

“I have no clue,” he says simply.

“But you know things,” I accuse. “You employ fae or daemons or whatever the hell Marcus and Zaid are.”

“Both daemons,” he clarifies.

“Are you a daemon?” I ask.

“No.” His bland expression doesn’t crack.

“Fae?”

“No.”

I narrow my eyes. “Are you lying to me?”

“No.”

He could very well be lying, but I’d never know the difference. “How do you know all this stuff?”

“None of your business,” he replies smoothly.

Huffing out my frustration, I turn my gaze away from his and stare across his office at the built-in shelves that are backlit and display old vases, plates, medallions, and other sculptures. Not the type of stuff Fallon carries in her gallery, but she would find them fascinating. Suddenly, my stomach rumbles from hunger and I know it’s getting late.

Finally, I return my attention to him. “How do I know what you’re telling me is true?”

“You don’t, and I personally don’t care if you do,” he replies, with a supremely bored expression. “I was curious about you and your abilities, but since you can’t give me any insight, I don’t have any use for you.”

His words are sharp and while they shouldn’t hurt, they do cause a twinge in my chest. Not because he’s dented my feelings, but because he’s provided me with an alternative narrative to what I’ve always believed about myself.

That I’m not crazy and I so very much want to believe it. But he’s drawing a line and cutting me loose from his wisdom.

“What am I supposed to do with this ability?” I ask, desperate for some type of guidance.

He doesn’t answer right away. Rather, he pushes out of the chair to tower over me. “Do with it what you will, Miss Porter. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Zaid will see you out.”

And just like that, the pocket doors slide open and his butler—or whatever the hell daemon type of servant he is—stands there. His eyes upon me are still disapproving.

“So that’s it?” I ask, my voice rising in a slightly hysterical way. He can’t just throw all of this at me and then cut me loose. It’s too much knowledge for me to handle on my own.