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

“You’ve already met a key player,” Rune hinted, expression laden with mischief.

It hit Carrick with the same force as if he’d taken a hard sucker punch to the gut as the realization of what Rune was intimating sank in. His gloating was too obvious.

“Finley Porter,” Carrick snarled furiously.

Veda took a small step forward. “She’s incredibly important.”

“Of course she is,” Carrick retorted with a sneer, waving a hand to indicate all five of the gods. “You and your games where you play with the fate of humanity, but you always manage to fuck someone’s life up in the process.”

“What we do isn’t done on a whim,” Onyx growled in defense of their jobs, her hand going to the hilt of the sword at her hip.

“Some of you operate on whims,” Carrick accused, turning his focus on Rune. “Or rather, at least one of you does. Isn’t that right?”

“You deserved your curse,” Rune replied with a careless shrug. “Now… do you want to partake in the prophecy and earn the right to ascend, or do you want to go about your life and pretend Finley Porter doesn’t exist?”

Carrick didn’t need to think about it. He couldn’t continue to live under the torment Rune had cast upon him. If it meant he needed to help Finley accomplish an important task, then he was damn well going to do it so he could ascend.

“I’ll agree, but I need to know—”

Carrick’s words were cut off. He saw Rune wave his hand dismissively and in a blink, Carrick was back at his Mercedes.

“Fuck,” he muttered as he opened the door. It was clear they were going to offer no more help on the matter.

For now, he had something urgent to do. He had to figure out how to get close to Finley so he could figure out what her role in this prophecy was. There was no doubt in his mind something would soon be revealed, and he surmised they’d be on a wild goose chase after that.

Prophecies were complex, twisty, and dangerous. They were rarely easy.

That never gave Carrick pause before, but he never had to work with someone like Finley. A woman he’d just as soon strangle to death as he would kiss her. Way too fucking complicated.

This was going to be a living hell for him, but he was determined to succeed. The ascension was too important.

One thing he knew for certain, he wasn’t about to share with Finley that she was part of a prophecy. It would only invite too many questions from her, and he’d prefer to keep her out of the loop until he could figure out what was going on. He assumed at some point he was going to be given a sign, then he’d decide how to handle that with the woman.

So, for now, the only thing he could do was make some peace with her and attempt to keep her close.

CHAPTER 9

Finley

I’m sure there were dozens of times I’ve cried in my life. Skinned knees, hurt feelings when Fallon chose to play with other neighborhood kids rather than me, and the first time I caught an errant elbow across the bridge of my nose during a jujitsu match.

I cried when they admitted me to the psych unit of a hospital on the outskirts of Seattle, and my father had to physically peel me off him because I wouldn’t let him go when it was time for him to leave. He cried, too.

I cried over my first broken heart in tenth grade when the boy I liked—Troy Dennison—liked another girl. He was my first crush, and it felt like my heart was being ripped apart.

I cried at my father’s funeral. We were so close, and part of that was because we shared what I thought was a bond over our complex but unique mental health issues.

Hallucinations were sort of my thing, but, with my dad, it was mostly deep and utter depression he would move in and out of. It wasn’t the only reason I loved him beyond measure, but it was something that connected us more thoroughly than any father-daughter bond he could have with Fallon. There’s no doubt she resented him for that as much as she did when he died by suicide.

Some would say that’s a lot of crying, but for almost twenty-eight years, it’s really not. Which means I’m probably due. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a good, soul-purging outlet of tears. Maybe since my dad’s funeral, I think, and that was almost twelve years ago.

So, tonight, I sit in my car, in my driveway, with the rain steadily coming down, and I can’t help but cry for all the things I lost tonight after Carrick brutally revealed a world I didn’t know existed.

I’m not shedding tears because I’m fearful or because he hurt my feelings by having no interest in helping me adjust to this strange new life I seemed to have been given.