Then again . . .
What if this is precisely what’s happening, and Jasyn knows all the things? What if he tries to silence me or worse? Am I any match without my Calling? All this light inside and no way to channel it. Fear creeps in, clawing its way back to where it once lived. As a Mirror I was strong. Brave. But now? Now I’m just a girl who happens to be a vessel for the purest light ever.
Except . . . I’m not just a girl. There’s no just about this. My power may have ceased, but I hold the same heart. Same soul. The Verity wouldn’t remain a part of me if there was nothing right inside. Or, at the very least, the desire to do right. Maybe I’m not good, but the Verity—it’s the definition of good and right and perfect. It was never about what I could do anyway. The Verity is a force to be reckoned with.
And so am I.
Deep breath. Straighten. One foot in front of the other . . .
I step from the shadows.
“Perhaps you didn’t hear me the first time, so I shall say it once more. Divulge your secret.” My grandfather removes his bowler hat and hangs it on the doorknob. Strolls to the table where I sat when Grandma Bianca first brought me here. Jasyn sits, crossing his legs and folding his hands over one knee. “You know perfectly well what I am referring to.” He leans back. “Do you see past façades? Is that it?”
My insides unclench. The Void. He’s talking about the Void. “Yes.” I take another step toward him. “I do. I know what you are. The darkness you imprison.” Let him think I have some semblance of power over him.
Even from across the dark room, I catch his eyebrows rise. “Remarkable. What Calling do you claim?”
The intrigue in his voice is familiar but different. The edge I’m accustomed to hasn’t formed. Bitterness still to come.
I join him beside the table but don’t sit. He smells of . . . bergamot?
Without considering the awkwardness, I inhale, lean a smidge closer. Mom’s early-morning cup of Earl Grey always smelled this way. Of sour citrus. Bitter fruit. Of airy elegance with a hint of aftershave. An odd combination of flavors when I run them through but perfectly paired when placed in a silk bag. According to Mom, at least.
When I was younger, I’d sip a cup of hot cocoa minus the marshmallows while she drank her tea. And once I was old enough I’d enjoy my coffee with soy and sugar. But her drink never altered. Mom is timeless, but this is the first moment in which I’ve made a connection between father and daughter. And it hits me . . .
Jasyn was timeless once too.
“Are you an Ever?” He tilts his face toward mine. His smile is impersonal but far from menacing.
I knit my forehead. Weird.
“It is rumored select Evers see past façades. Though I have yet to meet one.” He winks at that.
Can Joshua see past an Amulet’s ruse? I’ve never asked. Of course Jasyn’s not referring to him but to his father. Aidan couldn’t see the Void on Jasyn’s skin any more than Joshua could see my mirrormark. He knows it’s there but sees past it to the point of invisibility. Only the good, the light, is visible—
“You are indeed the thoughtful one, are you not?” Jasyn’s deep, melodic voice draws me from my almost–rabbit trail. “Is there much on your mind? Do you not know the precise Calling you contain? Has no one helped you discover it?”
How do I answer? Is it really so simple to lie about my Calling? I have no seal, no mark to show I’m anything at all. If I claim Ever, will my grandfather test my blood? If I claim Shield, or Mask, or Magnet, will he demand a display?
My throat clears. “I’m not an Ever.” I let go of the lampstand. Push my hair back off my face.
“Amulet, then, like myself? I would have guessed it first, but I know my own Calling. And, forgive me, but you do not seem the type.” His words come slow and even, calculated but kind. Is it really mere curiosity that has him here at Verity knows what hour? This is not the Jasyn Crowe I know—knew. Will know?
All this time-warp stuff is giving me a migraine. “Not an Amulet.” Sigh. Out with it then. “I’m nothing.” Why not be honest? Lying never leads anywhere decent.
His expression makes no show of surprise. Now this is the man I remember. Knows everything before I say a word, or at least that’s the front he portrays.
“You, my dear, are far from nothing.” He rises now, chair legs scraping the floor. “Moretti sensed it as do I. You see what lives inside me, but do not cower in fear. You know of the power of the Callings, yet argue to have none.” Reaching out, my grandfather places a hand on my shoulder.
In a knee-jerk reaction, I twist away.
That’s when his gaze darkens and he recoils, wiping his palm on his trouser leg. “Ah, I was incorrect then.” He says “incorrect” as if it’s a dirty word. “You put on a noble act, but deep down you do fear me.”
And then something happens that would take my jaw to the floor if I didn’t have it clamped shut. Jasyn’s expression descends and his shoulders slump. His eyelids lower as he turns and retreats for the door.
Who is he? Defeated? Jasyn?
Never.
Could it be the infamous Jasyn Crowe once had a heart before the Void blackened it to ash?
Bowler hat returned to his head and fingertips on the doorknob, he pauses. “You remind me of Aidan, and I thought perhaps you were similar. I had hoped one more soul might see me for the man rather than the mark.”
Ouch. Now it’s not just Mom who’s related to him.
It’s me.
“A fool’s dream, I suppose.” With a sigh he rotates the knob. It rattles as if loose. “People need not be aware of what I am for me to perceive their fear. My black veins are not evident to them, yet they cross to the other side of the street when I pass by. Hurry on their way when I draw close. Anyone who knows of the Void cowers at its very name.” He looks back at me, eyes that match mine narrowed. “You will not let on to my secret, will you?” There’s a pleading in his eyes.
My heart softens. I shake my head.
He nods. “Very well. Good evening to you.” He taps the brim of his hat. And then he’s gone.
It’s several minutes before I sink back onto the sofa. Myriad emotions wind through me as I stare unblinking at the spot where my broken grandfather stood.
“People need not be aware of what I am for me to perceive their fear.” His words play across my mind.
What I am . . .
What is he?
Who is he?
Does the Void define him?
“No,” I whisper to no one. Not any more than my mirrormark, or lack thereof, defines me.
My chest pinches. New understanding takes root. We all have light and darkness in us. And we each play a part in bringing out the worst or best in others. Our choices make the difference . . . our choices make up who we truly are.
“There’s always a choice.”
My hand returns to the space over my heart at the whispered memory. That voice. His voice.
How is this possible?
I see Joshua’s face, so clear I’m certain he’s the one who spoke those four little words. Yet the tonal quality doesn’t quite fit. Joshua’s tenor is unique, distinguishable from any chorus.
And this sounds nothing like him.
I stumble backward, grabbing the lampstand to my right for balance.