Arwen shrugs. “Not too terribly lonely. I’ve made friends with those who live on the fringe. I have a lover, and we’ve been together for a century. People come to see me with problems, and I help them. It’s a life I’m satisfied with.”

  “And you can see… despite…” My words trail away, feeling crass for bringing up these morbid curiosities.

  Arwen laughs, and it’s not bitter at all. In fact, I’d say she finds me somewhat adorable with my questions. “Despite the fact I have no eyes?”

  “I’m sorry,” I mumble.

  “I don’t mind,” she says with a quick wave of her hand. “But to answer your question, I was completely blind until the moment I saw my mother killing my father. After that event came to pass, I was able to see as clearly as if I had eyes.”

  “And your mother was never prosecuted for what she did?”

  “That’s not how it works here,” Arwen explains, giving me another lesson in how brutal the Light Fae can be. “My mother has blood ties to the royal line. My father was in disfavor with everyone for refusing to abandon me. When she killed him, nobody saw anything wrong with it.”

  “That’s an abomination,” I exclaim, completely offended on her behalf.

  “That’s life in Faere,” she replies with one shoulder raising in a shrug.

  Now I clearly don’t know what to say to that. She seems so genuine in her acceptance of a very bizarre and painful life, and it makes me feel that perhaps I too can conquer the strange turn of events I’m facing.

  “Do the nobility and gentry come to seek your services?” I ask her, curious if she has any value whatsoever in their eyes.

  Arwen shakes her head. “Their lives are perfect, and they can’t see past that, nor do they want to. It’s mostly the poor and outcast I help.”

  I nod, admiring her spirit and desire to help, especially when I haven’t seen that as a common value among the fae. “You knew I was coming,” I state, but it’s a curiosity.

  “I’ve dreamt of you,” she says, frowning slightly. “Which is odd, because I don’t see realms past Faere, and I’ve never dreamt of a human.”

  “And you have the ability to see my future?” I ask her hesitantly.

  “I have the ability to see far more than the future,” she replies, holding her hands out to me. Without any misgiving, I place mine in hers. “I also have the ability to see the past. Scrying means I can piece together a story based upon past and future events, but there’s no guarantee exactly how much I can see or how well I can interpret it. Sometimes it’s clear, and sometimes I have to take some educated guesses.”

  “And how does it work?” I ask her.

  “Shh,” she replies, giving me an impish smile. “Be quiet and let me concentrate.”

  I imagine if Arwen were a human on earth trying to see the future, this would be the point she’d gaze into her crystal ball or close her eyes in concentration.

  She’s unable to do either of those things, but she goes unnaturally still as she grips my hands.

  There’s no swaying, murmuring, or chanting. She’s not putting on a show the way Patty did back at Madame Beaulieu’s shop. Arwen is so still that I can’t even tell if she’s breathing.

  And that’s when a red glow starts in the center of her chest. It’s subtle, and I can only see a part of it as her square neckline covers quite a bit. But it lights up from under the fabric and above it gets brighter, then it starts to get larger. As it does, the red fades to an orange, then a warm golden color that starts to expand outward, lighting up the entire domed hut. I gaze around, fascinated at what is a shimmer among the glowing light.

  My attention goes back to Arwen, who hasn’t moved a muscle. Eventually, the glow ebbs from her chest, but the shimmering light remains everywhere inside the hut, permeating every square inch. It hangs, starts to pulse, then I watch in awe as it starts to pull in on itself. Coalescing tighter and tighter until there’s a ball of glowing gold above my head.

  “So pretty,” I murmur, just as the ball shoots at the speed of light straight at me. It slams into my chest so hard that I jerk backward. There’s no pain, just a slight warmth permeating my entire body. Arwen doesn’t move, merely grips my hands harder.

  I glance down to see my chest glowing brightly, but it doesn’t feel like anything at all. For several seconds, it just sits there, and I gasp loudly in shock when it punches loose of my body—again without any feeling really—and shoots back into Arwen.

  She jerks, sucks in a lungful of air, and lets it out in a big whoosh. While she has no eyes, I can tell her focus is back in the hut with me. She gently releases my hands as the light in her chest dwindles and dies.

  “Are you okay?” she asks.

  “That was… weird,” I admit. “And incredible. Did you learn anything?”

  “Yes,” she says, reaching down to grab her pipe. When she puts it in her mouth, there’s smoke coming from it, although she made no move to light it and I’m sure it wasn’t lit when she had set it down. She takes a few deep puffs, then blows the smoke out to the side. It smells like pine needles and bonfires.

  “Your story is far more complicated than I ever thought possible,” she begins, taking another puff on her pipe. “It started at your birth when you lost your sister.”

  “No,” I say with a shake of my head. “I lost my sister a few weeks ago when she changed into a Dark Fae.”

  “No,” Arwen corrects me. “You lost her at birth. Your twin was taken. In her place, someone placed a changeling.”

  “A what?” I exclaim, not prepared at all for this information.

  “A changeling is a Dark Fae who is put in place of a stolen baby. It is supposed to be a catalyst for great magic.”

  “But who would do that?” I ask, my mind reeling.

  “I don’t know. I could not see that detail, but I do know there was an angel present at your birth.”

  “An angel?” My voice is weak, and I feel like all my energy has been sapped. “You think an angel did this?”

  “No, not at all,” Arwen says. “Something evil did this. That changeling was placed with your family to suit some awful purpose in the future. I just know there was an angel there at the same time.”

  My stomach rolls with nausea as I must ask the most awful of questions. “Is my real sister… my twin… dead?”

  “No,” Arwen replies softly. “In ordinary circumstances, they need to be kept alive to keep the changeling alive until it can turn into its intended form. After that, the human is really not needed.”

  “But you did see that she’s still alive?” I ask, a bit of hysteria starting to settle in. Prophecy be damned, I need to know where my twin is.

  “I’ve seen her,” Arwen whispers, her tone regretful. “She’s still very much alive in The Underworld.”

  “Oh God,” I moan, crossing my arms over my stomach. I feel a sob wanting to break free, but I choke it down. Desperate for any information I can get, I lean forward. “You said a changeling is a catalyst for great magic. Could it have been used simply to bring this Dark Fae into the Earth realm?”

  “It’s possible,” Arwen ponders with a frown. “But very unlikely. Placing a changeling that waits for twenty-eight years to emerge into a powerful Dark Fae tells me that it’s something bigger than just one fae trying to escape the Underworld. Just the magic it would take to place the changeling tells me whoever was behind this already had the means to get to the Earth realm. Because we know there’s a prophecy, I’m guessing there is significance in doing it that way, but it’s all supposition.”

  “I need more than supposition,” I snap, then immediately hold my hands up in apology. “Sorry. I don’t mean to take this out on you. This is just a lot to process. What about the prophecy?”

  “I don’t know what it is, but I do know without a doubt this Dark Fae who emerged is at the center of it. And you are the means to stop her.”

  We had figured as much, but at least now we had confirmation.

  “What is her purpose?” I muse, knowing Arwen doesn’t have the answer to that particular question as she’s as much as said so.

  How do we find that information? Should we kidnap and torture it out of her? I know Carrick could do that. Or perhaps we just kill her, but what would be the unknown cost? If she’s in any way tethered to my real sister, I don’t think we can take that chance.

  And fuck… I have a sister who was raised and lived twenty-eight years, literally in hell. What would she be like?

  Mad?

  Twisted?

  Has she turned evil?

  The thought is too horrific to linger on.

  “The changeling… it was my sister for twenty-eight years,” I murmur, almost too afraid to know the answer to this question. “Was it evil all along?”

  Arwen shakes her head. “No. That’s what it means to be a changeling. It took the form of an ordinary human baby, then grew into an adult human. The magic enacted changed it back into a Dark Fae. The time you spent with that sister was real and genuine.”

  I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or worse. On the one hand, it revives the grief over losing Fallon, knowing that all of our memories and love were real. On the other hand, it helps to know that, despite those memories, she was never destined to be my sister. In fact, I had a real one stuck in the Underworld.

  “What else?” I demand to know. “How can I figure out what to do next?”

  Had she eyes, I know they’d be boring into me at this moment as Arwen holds statue still, her face aimed right at me. “The feather on your leg.”

  I jolt, my hand going protectively to my right calf. “What about it?”

  “I saw that, and I believe it holds the power to help you. You also have a light inside of you that is undefinable but important. This is where I told you that sometimes I have to make guesses, but my intuition tells me that angel at your birth is responsible for all the gifts you seem to have. I believe the path of your journey will be to find that angel.”

  I shake my head back and forth. “No. No, no, no. There can’t be angels. I can’t handle one more paranormal entity.”

  “There are Earthbound angels,” Arwen says, then qualifies, “According to our fae history books, I believe humans call them guardian angels.”

  “Does that mean God has something to do with this prophecy? Did he send an angel to attend my birth? Give me this feather?”

  “I’m sorry,” Arwen murmurs, her head bowing slightly. “I do not know that for sure, but I think it would be reasonable to assume He could potentially grant grace to you and your plight.”

  “Why would He do that for me?” I wonder.

  “Because to stop this prophecy, I have foreseen there is going to be a great sacrifice made. I think it’s going to be required of you, Finley.”

  That knocks the wind out of me, because, in plain speak, that sounds very ominous. Regardless, I’m in too deep. I know there’s no backing out, and the path forward will only be made easier the more knowledge I can get. “What type of sacrifice?”

  “I’m not sure. Only that it’s yours to bear.”

  “What the hell does that even mean?” I mutter, wishing for more clarity and knowing I’m not going to get it.

  Arwen stands, a subtle indication our meeting is over, and I follow suit. She starts to turn for the door, but I reach out and touch her forearm. “Is there anything else you can tell me, no matter how insignificant you think it might be?”

  I get a smile from her, big and bright, and she seems eager to tell me something. “Yes. I’ve seen very clearly… you can trust Carrick with everything, but he’s the only one who should ever know all your secrets. You should not doubt him.”

  Great. The enigmatic mystery of Carrick Byrne, who I vacillate several times a day on whether I can trust, continues to grow.

  If Arwen is to be believed, I can at least take that stressor off the table.

  “Finley,” Arwen says, head tilted to the side. “May I ask one thing of you?”

  “Of course,” I reply. She just gave me so much information that we’d have never found anywhere else.

  “A lock of your hair,” she says simply. “I know that must sound odd and I don’t know why I need it, but I just know that I do.”

  Yes… that’s incredibly odd, but if she feels like she needs it and I trust that Arwen wouldn’t harm me, there’s no reason not to. I have lots of hair.

  I agree and Arwen cuts a piece about six inches long and holds the wavy lock up to gaze at it. “Perfect,” she says before laying it on the table.

  To my surprise, Arwen puts her arms around me and pulls me into a hug. As she holds me tight, she says, “Good luck and may the gods grant you favor. I know you don’t ever want to return to Faere, but, if you do, I hope you will grace me with a visit.”

  That actually touches me, and my arms go around her to return the hug. “And if you come to the Earth realm, you can visit me as well.”

  Arwen pulls back, grinning at me. “I shall keep that in mind.”

  She turns for the flap door, but something else strikes me. “Wait. Are there vampires and werewolves? Everyone has said no, but you told me there was an angel at my birth, so I’m just trying to figure out what’s real and what’s not.”

  Giggling, Arwen shakes her head. “There are no vampires or werewolves. I promise.”

  “Phew,” I say with a dramatic wipe of my hand across my brow. We’re both laughing as we exit the tent.

  Pyke paces while Carrick stands casually on the other side of the fire.

  It’s Pyke who rushes forth. “What did you see, Arwen?”

  “That’s Finley’s story to tell,” Arwen replies softly.

  “And it’s a story I am going to hold tight to for now,” I say to both men.

  Pyke frowns, but Carrick’s expression remains placid, as if he expected no less.

  “Can we go home now?” I ask him.

  He smiles and nods. Turning to Pyke, he holds out his arm and after a moment, Pyke takes it to grasp at the forearm. He doesn’t seem pleased I’m not sharing Arwen’s scrying, but he does clap Carrick on the shoulder. “I’m available to help whenever. Just let me know.”

  “Appreciate it,” Carrick says, and the two men break apart.

  Pyke doesn’t approach as Carrick walks to me. He merely extends a low bow as he says, “You’re welcome back anytime, Finley.”

  Fat chance, but I smile and thank him.

  Carrick takes my hand, glancing over his shoulder at Pyke. There’s no shimmering curtain created the way Stan opened the doorway into Faere. Instead, Pyke merely balls his hand up like he’s holding something and throws it past Carrick and me. A glowing circle forms in the air. While I can’t see anything past the illumination, I know without a doubt Carrick’s condo is on the other side.

  I give a last farewell glance to Arwen, who smiles back at me. Then I follow Carrick into the glow and back to the Earth realm.

  CHAPTER 23

  Finley

  When we exit the portal created by Pyke, my hand tightly gripped in Carrick’s, we step right out into his kitchen in the exact spot from where Stan sent us through. Except it’s noticeably different in that it’s dark outside even though it was daylight in Faere. Also missing is Zaid, but I’m sure he’s lurking somewhere.

  I tug free of Carrick. “We have to talk. Arwen had a lot of information I need to tell you.”

  “Thought you wanted to hold tight to it for a while,” he drawls.

  Shaking my head, I explain, “Arwen said I was to trust you, and since she specifically didn’t mention anyone else that applied to, I wasn’t about to say anything in front of Pyke.”

  “Sometimes I underestimate you,” Carrick mutters. “Want to go to my office?”

  “Sure,” I reply, pondering the conversation we’re going to have as I follow him out of the kitchen. Because it’s not going to just be about what I learned from Arwen.

  We’re going to put everything out on the table.

  Carrick enters his office first, flipping on the overhead light. He eschews his desk in favor of us sitting in the furniture grouping. Reminiscent of the first night I came to his condo where he told me about fae and daemons, I had taken the couch and he the chair adjacent to it. Back then, we were both dressed in business attire, and now we’re both in casual outdoor gear and smelling faintly of gryffin.

  Assuming his usual casual recline, propping an ankle on a knee, Carrick leans on one armrest and waits for me to divulge what happened.

  But first things first. “Arwen told me to trust you, and I’ve decided that I’m going to do just that.”

  “I’m glad,” he replies with a slight smile.

  “But,” I continue with a pointed look. “I need to know you trust me back. So I’m asking you for the very last time, what are you?”

  He blinks, eyes widening in surprise. But his expression almost immediately smooths out, and he counters with a question of his own. “You already know what I am, don’t you?”

  “A demi-god,” I reply with a firm nod.

  Sighing, Carrick rises from his chair and gazes down at me. “You would be right. Come on… I have something to show you.”

  He looks neither upset I know what he is nor happy either. Possibly a little relieved as he walks around his desk. I follow. At the end of his built-in shelves that connect to the back wall, he reaches under the crown molding edge and pushes something. I’m stunned to see that part of the shelves swivel open, revealing a hidden passage aglow with sconce lighting.

  “Whoa,” I breathe out.

  Carrick sweeps his hand, motioning me in before him. I take a few steps and gasp as I immediately come to a spiral staircase framed in wrought iron with glossy wooden steps that lead downward.

  They lead down exactly one floor, where there is a spectacular library so large I can’t see where it ends.

  I’m so excited by this discovery, I go tearing down the stairs and come to a skidding stop at the bottom. Rows and rows of cherry-wood bookcases that stretch in both directions that look to take up the entire floor, each one filled to the brim with leatherbound books of various sizes. There are no windows on this floor, just mahogany paneled walls, yet it’s not dark down here at all. Hanging chandeliers hover over each row of shelves and sconces on the walls give a cheery glow.

 

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