Page 45 of Catastrophe

“And you are my daughter-in-law. I’m glad to see you join our family.” She leaned across the coffee table and poured a cup of tea into a small cup in front of me. The gesture was nice, but I didn’t know what the point of having tea in a dream was. As though she could feel my questions, she said, “I always liked the idea of drinking tea. It seems very civilized. I can’t have it anywhere but in my dreams. There are only teapots full of blood in my actual home.”

I picked the tea up and sipped politely. “You gave me the poison to take my life.”

She nodded sadly. “You needed to die to be reborn.”

“You’ve been watching me all this time?” I asked, and my voice cracked. I didn’t like the idea that she saw my past. It wasn’t pretty.

“I’ve monitored the timelines in order to save the titans and make a better future for all the realms. And you are part of that future. Your existence has been full of suffering. All of you have suffered, even Baelen, and I couldn’t save him, or any of you, because without that suffering, you wouldn’t be able to cope with the trials ahead. I can’t say I’m sorry for my action or inaction, but I am sorry for your pain.”

I held her gaze, noting the sorrow in her eyes, and slowly nodded, acknowledging the difficulties she also must have faced in deciding for the realms, not just for the people she loved or even herself.

“Thank you.” I didn’t need to say why. She knew what meant the most to me. “We know we have a big task ahead. Can we count on you to help us?”

She hesitated before she said, “As much as I can.”

Does that mean she can’t help a lot? Is that a seer rule? Or has she seen something she can’t tell me about?

That was the issue with seers. They had to keep so many secrets that it probably drove the people around them crazy with paranoia.

Setting down my tea, I asked, “So why am I here? What do I need to know?”

“Your current problem is Fafnir. Until you deal with him, you cannot continue with your true purpose. And to handle an enemy requires information about him.”

I frowned. “I know Fafnir.”

“No.” Her eyes portrayed her seriousness, and I shivered as my hair stood on end. It was the feeling you get when you know that in the next moment, your world is going to be turned upside down. And it was one I was getting very familiar with. “You need to see his past more clearly.”

Nisha stood with the grace of a swaying willow tree, and I gasped as the world changed around me like a curtain pulled away to reveal a new place.

London. I would recognize the cramped, cobbled streets anywhere. But it differed from how I had known it. The gas lamps were now electric, and modern buildings and construction sites were between places I remembered. The entire image was more like a film set than the streets of my home.

The moon was high in the night sky, and rain poured. I glanced at Nisha to see she also remained bone-dry and followed her gaze to watch a man step into a puddle, which splashed the briefcase he carried, as he hurried through the streets. He was the reason we were here?

Nisha’s small hand gripped my wrist tightly as she pulled me along behind the man. But his gait was wobbly, and the tap of a cane followed his footsteps as he scuttled up the stone steps to a large building with grand columns on either side of the door.

“Who is he, and why are we following him?” I asked Nisha in a whisper. I knew they couldn’t hear or see us—this was a vision of the past, after all—but the mysterious atmosphere made it impossible to speak normally.

“You don’t recognize him?” she asked, her voice low and her dark brow raised.

We followed the man inside, and in the light, I could see him more clearly. His wet hair seemed dark as it dripped onto the marble floors of the entryway, and through the large mirror, I saw the face of the man who’d married and beaten me.

I froze. Just for a moment. It was a reflex, and I couldn’t help it. But in my next breath, I relaxed my tight muscles and noted his differences. The man I knew was young, in his mid-thirties, but this man was old, aged with wrinkles, and walked with a cane.

He can’t hurt me here. He’s a vision. He’s the past.

“Ah, Mr. Jensen.”

Jensen? I frowned. Is he using a different alias?

Another man came out of a nearby door and strode toward Fafnir with a huge welcoming smile on his face. “So glad you could come. Sorry about the weather. Please come in and dry off.” He helped Fafnir take off his coat and hung it up on a rack.

“I’m glad to be here, Mr. Johnson. I think you’ll find what I have to say of interest.” Fafnir’s accent was strange. It sounded like he was really leaning into the Scandinavian accent rather than the British one he’d used when I knew him.

“I’m sure we will. You’ll get the chance to tell us, but let’s leave business until after the meal.”

“But of course.” Fafnir’s smile was cordial and not the slimy smile he gave anyone he thought himself better than. No, this one seemed … almost respectful.

Who are these people?

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