She was quite beautiful, and I close my eyes periodically to bring forth her image. That teardrop face ending in a tiny, pointy little chin. Her eyes so big and dark, but unlike Zaid’s, there was reflective light in them that made her seem open and approachable. Her lips were full, pink, and now that I think about it—she had makeup on. Or maybe her human-like, peach-colored skin was just naturally colored that way. Her cheeks were blushed, her eyelashes were long and thick, and her eyelids were a shimmery green that matched the color of her wings that sprouted from her back. She was sitting at a table so I couldn’t see her entire body, but I could tell she was dainty and petite. Her aura was almost blinding in its glow.
Lending a critical eye to my work, I smooth a few lines with my pinky and then scribble a few notes.
Is she as nice as she looks? Is she a fairy?
Glancing at my bedside clock, I see it’s getting close to midnight, but my eyes aren’t anywhere near ready to droop yet. Just drawing these fantastical creatures invigorates me, making me yearn to know more.
Just one more, I tell myself.
I consider sketching the royal fae because he was beautiful beyond measure. Instead, I start an outline without really thinking, and by the time I’m shading in eyebrows and hard eyes, I realize I’m sketching Carrick without having given it much thought.
My chin pulls inward as I check what I’ve done so far. It was the exact likeness of him when he first saw me at the gallery. I didn’t bother giving him that flash of surprise and perhaps recognition I thought I saw. That was just a nanosecond at most, and I’m now convinced it was nothing.
Instead, I draw him in reality with a harsh, unyielding expression of intense dislike for me. While that’s softened somewhat over the last few weeks, it’s still there. It’s always there… right in my face… how he very much wished I had never been born.
Admittedly, it’s the deepest puzzle I face. How can a man I just met hold so much disregard for me?
Is he an empath like Zaid? Does he know something about me that causes offense? I can’t figure out what that could be because I think I’m a pretty nice person.
All are questions I need to find the answers to. Not wanting to forget a single one, I start writing everything down below the sketch of Carrick’s face.
Questions not just about him, but also about myself.
What is my purpose?
Why am I like this?
Will I ever learn anything from Carrick to explain why I am the way I am? Can I even trust him?
And… what in the hell is he? Daemon? Fae? Something else? Or maybe he’s just human like me with some weird abilities?
My heart trips, and I hate myself for writing vanity questions.
Why does he hate me?
And, at the same time, why do I fascinate him?
Conversely, why do I seem to have a pull toward him? Am I a glutton for punishment?
I’m not sure I’m going to get any answers. Moreover, I’m not sure what Carrick can do for me. Between he and Zaid, I have a grasp on my ability to see through glamours and use my vibe-o-meter to ferret them out in fairly close quarters.
With those abilities well in hand, why do I even need Carrick? In fact, that’s probably a good thing for us to discuss when we meet tomorrow. Unless he can give me something useful, it’s probably time we go our separate ways.
CHAPTER 15
Finley
The elevator doors to Carrick’s condo start to open, and I wait in anticipation to see if it will be him or Zaid. I can’t say if I’m relieved or disappointed to find Zaid there, wearing his standard disapproving expression. I’m used to it.
“Wazzup?” I exclaim in a sort of screaming drawl, reminiscent of the old Bud Light commercials.
He just stares at me, his lips not even twitching. He’s trying to shame me into thinking myself utterly foolish, but I woke up today with a different attitude than I had when I went to bed last night.
So many things are pressing on me with newfound knowledge, potential danger lurking, and trying to reconcile the fact I thought I had serious mental health issues for most of my life, that I realized I’d become far too cynical, morose, and weathered over it.
But this morning, I woke up thinking about the sketching I had done last night, and I realized how fantastical my life has become of late. Put aside the fact I’ve now become a legitimate business owner, which I love so much, that my happiness there alone is enough to be eternally grateful.
It’s this new life I’ve stumbled into, complete with abilities that may be unique to me alone—in all the world—and I have to think that maybe I’m supposed to be a part of something bigger than just owning a coffeehouse in downtown Seattle.