Chapter 15

“What are you two doing here?” I asked, a little snarkier than I’d intended, but men—any men—were on my unwanted list. “Is everything all right at FootSwept?”

I expected Flix to whip a quick retort at me, but he wouldn’t meet my gaze and answered quietly, “Yes, everything is fine there. But Carl has something he needs to tell you.”

Carl looked as though he’d walked into the den of a lioness, and cast a nervous glance between me, Vaeta, and the dummy while shifting uncomfortably. My hackles went up, since the whole gesture smacked of dishonesty. I could tell Vaeta was thinking along the same lines, because her smoky eyes narrowed to slits. A rush of anticipation washed the effects of the Twinkleberry wine from my veins and suddenly I was completely sober.

“Should I sit for this?” I asked, keeping my voice calm even though I wasn’t sure if I wanted to hear the answer.

“Let’s go inside.” Flix said quietly.

I led everyone into the parlor, where the Balefire flickered cheerfully and warmed my toes, and looked expectantly at Carl. “Am I dying or something?” I asked dryly.

“Lexi,” It was Flix who spoke next, though he sidestepped my sarcastic question, “I know you’ve always had a suspicion that there was more to Carl than meets the eye. You were right, but he wasn’t trying to deceive you. Please listen to him with an open mind and remember that he’s important to me.”

The Academy should have given me an award for keeping my composure, because it took a fair amount of effort not to snap at Carl. If Flix felt the need to preface whatever I was about to hear with a plea like that, it meant nothing good. “I’ll do my best,” was what I offered in reply, “but if someone doesn’t tell me what is going on here, I’m not making any promises.” Even though I liked Carl well enough, and Lexi and Flix had a history, they’d picked the wrong night to show up and try my patience.

Carl sighed, “Flix, love, it’s okay, it’s my story to tell and it’s not as bad as you’re making it out to be. At least I hope you’ll see it that way, Lexi.” Leaning forward, he made eye contact and cleared his throat before launching into his story.

“I wasn’t surprised to learn that Flix had Fae blood, and even if he hadn’t filled me in, I would have pegged you for a witch from the moment I laid eyes on you. I’m human,” he hastened to add when my eyes narrowed, “but there’s something inside me—maybe it’s in my DNA—that recognizes supernatural beings. Some kind of radar, I don’t know.”

If I hadn’t been on the edge of my figurative seat—my actual butt remained firmly seated—the analogy would have made me giggle. At least, for a moment, before he said what he said next.

“My ancestors were witch hunters.” Carl nearly whispered. His face flushed a dull red. “I know I should have told you before now, but I’m not like them.”

Vaeta began to swirl at the edges, the wind she commanded whipping into a howl that could have stripped the flesh from a mortal’s bones if she’d infused it with the intention.

“Relax, Vaeta.” I implored, but added for good measure, “Give him a chance to speak.” She sat back down, but revealed her true face for a split second to snarl menacingly at Carl.

Carl nibbled at his lip before continuing, “I swear to you, Lexi. The Jagers have been out of that world for generations. I’m deeply ashamed at having to admit to it at all, and I promise I mean you no harm. I want to help, and that’s why I realized I had to come and talk to you.”

“He speaks the truth.” Vaeta said simply, letting the mini tornado she’d summoned die down into nothing, but she needn’t have bothered. I could feel Carl’s misery from across the room.

“When you showed me the mark on your shoulder, I recognized it right away. I should have told you then, and I’m sorry I didn’t. I was afraid. You see, I’ve spent my entire adult life trying to figure out the hows and whys of my heritage. That’s why I became an anthropologist—to get answers.”

Hands balling into fists, I worked to keep my tone level. “I could do with a few of those myself, but it’s nice of you to show up now, at least.”

Carl ignored the hint of sarcasm and continued. “The Balmorrigan, the riders from your dream—they’re a whole different level of evil. They cut a path across England, Scotland, and France, and then came here to continue their reign of terror. Until, at least, sometime in the late 18th century, around the 1770s to be exact. They fell off the map for almost a hundred years, popped up again in the late 19th century, and then disappeared. Again. Unfortunately, my ancestors, save for one die-hard historian, stopped keeping records. The last recorded sighting was about a hundred years ago.”

I tried to put the pieces together, but they didn’t make any sense. Something niggled at the back of my subconscious, but was interrupted by Lexi’s thoughts. Cut him some slack. Please.

We might not always see eye-to-eye, and I might consider her a sniveling pile of emotional baggage, but I’d come out of my closet in order to, ultimately, protect Lexi. I wouldn’t do anything she wouldn’t be able to forgive me for later. I raised an eyebrow but kept my mouth shut until he was finished.

Carl squirmed a little under the silence. “There’s more. The Balmorrigan aren’t working alone. There was a third presence. I could feel it…in the dreams.”

“What dreams?” For Lexi I could keep my temper in check, but I had to force the question out from between clenched teeth.

“Our dreams. I’ve been there, too. Seen them chase you. Or not really. I was chasing you. Inside the rider. So much hate, it was hard to think. And the fear coming off the lanterns,” he shuddered. “So many lost souls. The lanterns capture the soul of a Fate Weaver. And, the Balmorrigan, I think someone’s controlling them. They have orders. They won’t be free until those orders have been carried out.”

Carl stopped talking, looked at me as if he were deciding whether to stick around and hear my response or run for the hills before I did to him what I’d done to the archery dummy.

“Who? Who is controlling them?” Only one person came to mind, and if my instincts were on point, it would answer several of the questions I’d been asking myself since this whole thing began.

“I don’t know for sure, but I heard a woman cackling in the nightmare. Her voice was like nails on a chalkboard, and it scared me to the bone.”

“Diana Diamond. The Darkest Heart. She’s the only one with a motive, and the laughing you heard was definitely her. I should have known.” I grew quiet while the implications set in, and Carl looked like he was about to make a run for the front door.

I sighed, “It’s all right, Carl. If anyone understands being ashamed of where they come from, it’s me. It’s not your fault, and I know how hard it must have been for you to come here and explain yourself. But, I expect complete honesty from here on out. Understood?” He’d shown up with valuable information, so how mad could I be?

“Of course.” Carl was more than happy to oblige.

“Now,” I clapped my hands together, ready to get down to business. “Have you, during the process of your research, come across anything that might lead us to another Fate Weaver?”

Flix answered my question. “What do you think we’ve been doing with all that equipment at the office, Lexi? I know you didn’t ask for my help, but I’ve been paying attention to the subtext. Those Fate Weavers of yours are either exceptional at hiding their tracks, or there are very few left to find. I’m guessing it’s a combination of both.”

“That’s what I figured.” I said, my frustration showing through as I began to pace the room.

“What about your friend Delta?” Carl asked. “Isn’t she a supernatural bounty hunter?”

“I’ve already asked her, and she’s doing her best. But so far, she’s come up empty. The last time we spoke, she said she needed an object belonging to a Fate Weaver in order to track one down, but all I have is the bow, and I’m certainly not going to hand it over after everything I went through to get it. Not to mention, that would only lead to my father, and it’s a stone I’m not willing to turn over.”

Vaeta’s eyes widened and the look that crossed her face could only be described as sketchy.

“What?” I demanded.

“Well, I have a lead on the type of object you’re referring to. But you’re not going to like it. It involves your mother.”