Chapter 13 Danica
Danica
Nixie turns over the next card, and I lean forward eagerly, my heartache momentarily forgotten.
"The Emperor," she intones, tapping the stern-looking figure on the throne.
"Your vampire has a hidden power, a legacy waiting to be unleashed.
Lightning courses through his veins, the blood of a powerful ancestor. "
I bolt upright, curiosity burning hot. This is the third time someone's gotten cryptic about Rhyland's supposed "hidden ancestor" and mysterious powers, and I'm tired of being left in the dark.
"But what—?"
"The Hierophant," she says, cutting me off and turning over a card with an old man in robes. "To find his true heritage is to find the answer."
"Well, that's about as clear as mud," I snap. "What ancestor, who—?"
"Patience, my dear," her voice soft and soothing. "The answers will come in due time." The gypsy gives me that same enigmatic smile.
I huff in frustration. "Due time, my ass," I mutter. "I've got a mate with a mysterious past, supernatural baddies on my tail, and powers locked up tight. I don't have time to wait for the universe to get its shit together."
Nixie sighs, shaking her head. "You young people, always so impatient," she mutters, but there's amusement in her eye.
"Can't you give me a hint, at least? A name, a place, something to go on?"
She shakes her head, her expression serious. "To give you too much too soon would rob you of the journey," she says solemnly. "The discovery of one's heritage, of the power that flows through one's veins, is a sacred thing. It cannot be rushed or forced."
This makes me wonder how much Rhyland knows about his past and heritage. He's given me the SparkNotes version of his mortal life, but what about the prequel? My brain is now in full-on sleuth mode. Unraveling the mystery of someone's past, their lineage? That's catnip for my curious mind.
I mean, it's my job description back home.
But given Rhyland's past, I suspect a simple blood sample in my lab won't cut it. This will require a full-on deep dive into the supernatural world—time to channel my inner Scooby-Doo and crack this case wide open.
We're talking about a guy who's been around for centuries, seen empires rise and fall, and probably has more secrets than the CIA.
Does Rhyland share the same fate as me, clueless about his real parents?
If so, Rhyland and I are fated with the same messed-up history—just in different periods. The universe really has a sick sense of humor.
I collapse back into my seat, my mind reeling with questions. Before I can start firing them off, the gypsy is already shifting gears to the present.
"The High Priestess," she announces, and I perk up at the sight of the veiled lady between the pillars. "You have immense power within you, but it is blocked, trapped behind a wall of magic."
I nod vigorously. "Yes!" I exclaim. "That witch bitch put the whammy on me, and now I'm about as magical as a potato. Can you fix it?"
The gypsy shakes her head, a knowing smile playing at her mouth. "The Hermit," she says, flipping over a card with an old man holding a lantern. "You must dig within yourself, find the light that ignited your journey. Believe in it, and it will reawaken."
I take a deep breath, trying to focus through the haze of alcohol and cryptic bullshit. Could it really be that simple? Just click my heels three times and say, "I believe in me," and poof—powers restored?
Before I can voice my skepticism, the gypsy is already moving on, her voice taking on a spooky quality that makes the hairs on my neck stand up.
"The Wheel of Fortune," she whispers, laying down a card depicting various creatures clinging to a spinning wheel. "Dragons, darkness, death... Loss. Crossing times and realms. Your path is fraught with danger, child."
I feel my heart do acrobatics as a cold sweat breaks out on my forehead.
When I think I've seen and heard it all, the universe throws fire-breathing lizards into the mix. Who knows where or when I'll run into one of those scaly beasts, but this gypsy's track record is spot-on so far.
The word 'loss' sticks in my throat. I'm afraid to ask, my curiosity battling with my sense of self-preservation. Do I even want to know? I've already lost Adrian, and that wound is still raw.
So I stick to what's essential—the here and now. I can't afford to dwell on the unknown, or I'll drive myself crazy. Time to focus on the present and tackle the future when it rears its ugly head.
"You know, don't you?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. "Who I am—What I'm meant to do?"
The gypsy's eyes bore into mine, ancient and knowing. "You are the Sun," she says, turning over another card to reveal a radiant sun shining on a child riding a white horse. "A bringer of light, a catalyst for change."
Suddenly, Rhyland's voice floats inside my head, and all hell breaks loose outside the tavern. I sober up quickly when I hear shouts and crashes echoing through the walls, and I'm on my feet in a flash, ready to investigate.
But the gypsy's hand shoots out, clamping down on my wrist with an iron grip. "Sit," she commands. "You must stay here, where it is safe."
I stare at her incredulously. "Are you out of your damn mind?" I hiss, yanking my arm free. "Something is going down out there, and you expect me just to sit here?"
Nixie's eyes narrow, and for a moment, I swear I see flames dancing in their depths. "No," her voice low and serious. "You are too important, child. Too vital to the fate of the realms. Whatever is happening out there, it is not for you to face. Not yet."
I feel my frustration bubbling up like a volcano, the rum and the gypsy's cryptic bullshit making my head feel like it's about to explode. I open my mouth to argue.
Nixie's hand slams down on the table, making me jump as she lays out the final card with a dramatic flourish. I feel a chill run down my spine as I take in the image—a horned, demonic figure looming over two cowering, chained souls.
"Heed my words, child," the gypsy whispers, her voice urgent. "The shadows are coming, hungry for the light that shines within your Viking. They seek to snuff out his flame, to claim him as their own."
I feel my blood turn to ice, a sense of dread settling in the pit of my stomach.
My nightmares come rushing back, hitting me like a freight train—Rhyland lost to the Darkness—Moretemis—Seraphina's warning pulsing in my head like a strobe light.