The Evolution of Fae and Gods (Chronicles of the Stone Veil 3)

“But—” I say, and Sarvel raises her hand to stop me.

“I just knew,” she repeats very slowly. “No one tells me. I’m not given a manual—I just appeared there and knew that the baby coming out was my next charge to watch over. Please don’t try to press me on the details I can’t give.”

“Sorry,” I mutter. “Please continue.”

Sarvel smiles, a forgiving one, and continues. “Your mother was very brave, and your father very attentive. The weather was preventing the ambulance from getting there quickly, and it became clear to them that she was giving birth right there on that bed.”

I tried to imagine it in my head. My mom sweaty and red-faced, maybe yelling obscenities at my father while he rubbed her back and encouraged her.

“When a baby finally came and I laid eyes on it, I knew immediately it was not mine to guide. I was confused, not realizing you were still tucked safely in your mother’s belly, but before I could process it, a dark daemon walked into the room holding something in its arms. I’d never seen a daemon before, but I was created with the knowledge I would need, and thus I knew what it was. It took me a moment, but I realized the daemon was holding a naked newborn baby. The baby who had just been born was a mess, squalling on the sheets between your mother’s legs while your father was trying to clean it off. I wondered for a moment if the baby the daemon held was to be mine, but my gut told me it wasn’t.”

God, she paints such a vivid picture. My father would never talk about the details of that night, instead choosing to romanticize my mother’s pain, bravery, and sacrifice.

“I watched,” she said softly, “remaining shrouded with invisibility. Before your father even noticed the dark daemon in the room, it wielded magic that it should not have and froze your mother and father in place. It then proceeded to take the baby it carried and touched it first to your father, then your mother. With a gleeful smile, the daemon laid the baby between your mother’s legs and picked the baby who had just been born up by the ankle. Without a care in the world for the baby’s safety, the daemon carried it out the door that way and disappeared down the stairs.”

I gasp in horror at the crudity of the kidnapping, and, to my surprise, Carrick reaches out and takes my hand.

“Why didn’t you stop it?” I demand angrily.

“Because I wasn’t supposed to,” she replies.

“Because you just knew,” I grit out, knowing that will be her answer to a lot of questions.

“When the daemon left, your parents became unfrozen, seemingly unaware of what happened. Your mom immediately started screaming in labor pain once again because you were about to be born and you were going to be mine to watch over.”

I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from interrupting her. I want to tell her I was never hers as I’m angry and bitter she did nothing to save my sister.

“Your birth was fast,” Sarvel says.

“Born just six minutes later,” I murmur.

“And your mom immediately lost consciousness and died soon after,” she adds, sympathy in her voice. “At first, your dad didn’t even know as he was trying to handle two babies, but, by the time he did, she was already gone.”

My eyes start stinging with tears, and I blink furiously so they don’t fall. Carrick’s hand squeezes mine and I let him, holding on to his comfort.

“Your dad was mindless with grief, moving to your mother’s side while the two babies cried on the mattress between your mother’s legs. It allowed me to move forward, still shadowed, of course, and examine you. I reached out… touched your foot, and then I knew.”

Sarvel pauses for dramatic effect. “I knew that a changeling had been placed and that you’d be facing an incredible battle one day against a powerful evil that would grow from that changeling baby. I knew you would need some type of help in making your way along your fated path, and I put a light inside of you that holds powerful magic to be used at your disposal.”

Memories spin and swirl, and I think of my father and the many times he talked about my birth. He had moved from the grief and focused on the wondrous nature of it.

“My dad always said that an angel shot a bolt of magic into me, and it fried my hair red and into curls and filled my eyes with the Heavens.”

Sarvel tips her head, a sad smile on her face. “Your father was quite a poet.”

“Did he know you were there?” I ask, now wondering had he witnessed all this craziness, and that’s what made him crazy in turn?