11. Clarissa
CLARISSA
O ur eyes fix on the door, and my breath catches. The traitorous part of my mind conjures an image of Kaisner on the other side—those dark eyes, that predatory grace, the dark pull of him that I can’t seem to shake, no matter how many warnings Sam gives me.
“Come in,” I call, forcing my voice steady. I exchange a brief glance with Sam, silently agreeing to keep our conversation under wraps.
The door swings open, revealing Marie, my personal assistant.
Her usually impeccable appearance is slightly disheveled, a few strands of hair escaping her tight bun.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, Miss Draken. Your eleven o’clock is here.
I forgot to remind you earlier, what with all the chaos from the gala preparations and?—”
I hold up a hand. “It’s all right, Marie. Thank you.” I try to recall the appointment but come up blank, my mind still racing with thoughts of Kaisner, Nikolaas’ grand plans, and the looming gala—my first solo event since taking over the gallery board.
Sam rises, smoothing her skirt. “I should go,” she murmurs, her eyes meeting mine with understanding. “We’ll catch up soon, yeah? Grab dinner this week?”
“Absolutely,” I reply, grateful for her discretion.
As Samara makes her way to the door, she pauses, turning back to face me. With a final wink, she’s gone, leaving me to tackle this mysterious appointment alone.
I take a deep breath. “Send them in, please,” I say, straightening my posture and schooling my features into a mask of calm confidence.
The figure who enters is not what I expected.
She is tall and otherworldly, with porcelain skin that seems to shimmer, as if lit from within.
Her hair cascades like liquid moonlight—long, straight, and so pale it verges on silver, flowing effortlessly to her waist. But it’s her eyes—swirling pools of blue and green, like the northern lights—that captivate me, pulling me into their depths.
Not human.
Her presence bends the air itself, shimmering, as if reality itself bends to accommodate her presence. “Clarissa Draken,” she whispers, her voice caressing my soul. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”
I stand, extending my hand. “I don’t recall scheduling this meeting. Miss…?”
“Niamh Mordain,” she says, taking my hand. Her touch is cool, electric. “We have no formal appointment. Some meetings are written in the stars before they appear on calendars.” She tilts her head, throwing me a knowing look, as if I’m meant to understand the meaning of those words.
Well, I don’t.
I blink, momentarily stunned. “Please, take a seat. How can I help you, Miss Mordain?”
Niamh glides into the chair Samara just vacated, her movements impossibly fluid. “Oh, my dear. I’m not here for help,” she says, her kaleidoscope eyes twinkling. “I’m here to offer it.”
I narrow my eyes, confused. “I’m afraid I do not follow.”
She leans forward, her gaze intense. “Clarissa, you stand at a crossroads. The choices before you will ripple through the supernatural world for generations. A guide’s counsel might ease the way.”
My heart races. “Who are you?”
Niamh laughs, a sound like crystal bells. “I am many things. A keeper of secrets, a weaver of fates, a guardian of forgotten knowledge.”
Her fingers sweep a strand of silken hair behind her ear. The movement is casual, almost absentminded, but it reveals a subtle point. It’s not pronounced enough to be noticed at first glance, but now that I’ve seen it, I can’t unsee it.
“Some call us fae,” she continues. “Others, the sidhe. But labels matter little in the grand tapestry of existence.”
I lean back, overwhelmed. The fae. Creatures of legend. Proud beings of immense power and inscrutable motives. And one is sitting in my office, offering her help.
“Why now?” I ask. “Why me?”
Her expression darkens. “The balance is shifting. Old powers stir,” she says cryptically. “Your brother’s ambitions, noble as they may be, have set in motion events that could lead many to greatness... or to ruin.”
My throat tightens. “You know about his plans?”
“I know many things,” she replies, a sad smile playing at her lips. “The unification of the dragon clans is but one thread. But it is a crucial one, and you... You are the lynchpin upon which much depends.”
“Me?” I shake my head in disbelief. “But I’m not... I mean, Nikolaas is the one with the power, the one making the big moves. I’m just?—”
“Just the seer whose visions might shape our future?” Niamh interrupts gently.
“Just the sister whose love and support give Nikolaas the strength to pursue his dreams? Just the friend whose counsel could sway the course of history?” She inches closer, her gaze boring into mine.
“Do not underestimate your importance, Clarissa Draken. In the game of fate, even the smallest piece can topple kings. ”
I close my eyes, steadying myself. “All right. You said you’re here to offer help. What kind?”
Niamh’s smile widens. “Knowledge, my dear. For in these times, information is power.” She reaches into her dress and produces a small, carved wooden box. “Are you familiar with Shakespeare and Company?”
“The bookstore?” I ask, puzzled.
“Like much in the human world, it’s more than it seems.” She opens the box, revealing a small gold key. “There’s a secret passage hidden within its shelves—a repository of knowledge, both wondrous and terrible.”
I freeze, staring at the key. “A secret section? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“Few have,” Niamh says, her tone conspiratorial. “This knowledge is closely guarded, known only to a select few in each generation. The entrance is concealed by formidable spells, invisible to mortal eyes and undetectable, even to most supernaturals.”
She lifts the key from its velvet nest, holding it out to me. In the soft light of my office, it seems to glow with an inner fire, the metal warm to the touch as I take it from her.
“This will grant you access,” Niamh explains.
“But be warned, Clarissa. The knowledge contained within those hidden shelves is not for the faint of heart. Truths that could shake the foundations of your world, secrets that could topple empires or forge new ones... Are you prepared for such responsibility?”
I take the key, feeling its weight—both literal and metaphorical. “I don’t know,” I whisper. “But I must try. If what you say is true, if I really am as important as you claim... I can’t just ignore this.”
Niamh nods. “Wisdom begins with acknowledging what we don’t know.
You show promise, Clarissa Draken.” She stands, graceful as ever.
“Choose your moment carefully. Knowledge wields great power, but it can both illuminate and obscure, free or enchain. How you employ that power... that choice rests squarely on your shoulders.”
She moves toward the door, and I rise, a thousand questions burning on my tongue. But before I can speak any of them, Niamh turns back, fixing me with one last, penetrating gaze.
“Oh, and Clarissa?” Her voice is soft, but it carries an undercurrent of steel. “Be wary of the dragon who seeks to awaken.”
With that, she’s gone.
I sink into my chair, my mind swirling. A fae, a hidden passage, Niamh’s warnings—it’s all too fantastical to be true, and yet... the key rests heavy in my hand, solid and undeniable. What secrets does it hold? Could they aid Nikolaas—or stop him entirely?
Nikolaas’ plans for unification suddenly seem small compared to the vastness of what I might discover. And yet, I can’t help but wonder if there might be anything there that could assist him—or prevent him from unforeseen dangers.
And then there’s the dragon Niamh warned me about. Could she have meant Kaisner? The timing seems too coincidental to ignore. But what did she mean by “seeks to awaken”? Awaken what?
I groan and shut my eyes. Somehow, I’ve been thrust into the center of events far larger than myself, armed with access to knowledge beyond my wildest dreams and burdened with warnings of dangers I don’t yet understand.
Part of me wants to stow this key away, to pretend this morning never happened, and go back to my normal life. But I know that’s not an option. Not anymore. Whatever is coming, whatever role I’m meant to play in the events unfolding around me, I can’t face it unprepared.