A Discovery of Secrets and Fate (Chronicles of the Stone Veil #2) - Sawyer Bennett Page 0,76

expression morphing from being lifeless to hard granite. She didn’t seem moved by his sympathy, which bothered him more than it should.

Finally, when she spoke, it was words he really didn’t like. “You don’t need to be sorry. You just need to do your job, and I’ll do mine.”

Carrick ignored the gut punch that produced as he thought he might have just witnessed the death of a butterfly.

“Can I ask you a question?” Finley asked, her voice ever so soft. Almost broken.

He was powerless to deny her. “Of course.”

“What exactly is your reward for helping me thwart the prophecy?”

Carrick jolted as he had not expected that. He knew that was a bone of contention with Finley, but he didn’t care if she liked his motives or not. They were his own and were important.

But now, under the glare of the spotlight that question produced, he realized he underestimated how important the answer would be.

Carrick kept it vague. “If I succeed in helping you, I’ll be granted Ascension from the gods.”

He expected a million questions because that would be so Finley. Instead, she just hummed low in her throat. “Hmmm.”

Their eyes met and held, neither glancing away.

Finally, a little bit of caustic sass came through. “Is that like a job promotion or something?”

If this weren’t such a serious conversation, he might have laughed at the absurdity of her question. Instead, he merely replied, “Something like that.”

She nods. “Veda had told me that you were in it for the reward, but that you deserved it.”

He sure felt like he deserved it. After everything he’d done for the gods and to escape Rune’s curse… yeah, he more than deserved it.

Finley smiled then. It wasn’t in amusement or even annoyance. It was one of fatigue, and it indicated she didn’t care anymore what his motivations were.

“I’m a bit tired,” she murmured. “I might go take a nap before dinner.”

This shocked Carrick. It was barely three PM, and he assumed she’d head back to One Bean. Finley was a workaholic, and he’d never known her to take a nap in all the time since he’d met her.

He nodded in a silent dismissal that she should go. Watching her move down the hall that ran the length of the west side of his penthouse, he kept his gaze on her until she disappeared from view. Moments later, he heard her bedroom suite door open and then close softly.

Shutting his eyes, he focused his senses and tuned into her.

He hated what he felt.

Finley was crying, finally giving in to her grief over truly losing her sister. While his heart wasn’t immune to her misery, he resisted the urge to go comfort her. He didn’t have that in him, and he knew any strengthening of a relationship with her—even if in friendship—would prove to be his downfall at some point.

But he did have something he could do.

Carrick went to his office and opened up one of the cupboards in the credenza beneath his desk. In it was a paper bag that Zaid had given him the night Adira died. Inside the bag were the remnants of Finley’s Tiffany butterfly lamp.

He knew it was significant to her by the small plaque on the base that had survived it breaking apart while she fought Wade the incubus in her bedroom.

Reaching in, he pulled that piece out and scanned the engraving. To Finley, with love on your 16th birthday. Dad.

Tipping the bag on his desk, Carrick gently let the pieces slide out. It was a heavy, metal-casted base that was bronzed, upon which set a butterfly whose wings were done in Tiffany glass soldered in beautiful blues, greens, and golds that were, no doubt, her father’s very deliberate nod to the color of his daughter’s eyes. The Tiffany glass was broken, some into small shards, and the metal base dented.

Carrick stared at it briefly before he waved his hand in a slow circular motion over the top of the broken lamp. A golden glow was left in the wake of his hand, creating a gentle cyclone that drifted down, surrounded the lamp, and lifted all of the components off the desk. The glow got brighter until he could no longer see the pieces spinning within the funnel, but he felt his work was done.

Pressing his hand down on the air above the glowing whirl, he settled it downward on the desk. The glow slowly dissipated and in its stead was the lamp—fully restored and without a nick, dent, or scratch left.