Page 35 of Saving Destiny

The goblin turns his attention to his hands. They are broad and flat; his fingers are the same length as his palm, but they taper neatly at the ends. He doesn't have fingernails, but I don't consider this as odd as his lack of hair. During this pause, I decide that I’m not bothered by the idea of him reading my mind. How he does it is more baffling. I have difficulty knowing what's going on in my head, and it'smyhead.

“Not exactly, young Brendan.Minds are not that different from books. When someone opens a book, its text is visible to anyone close enough or smart enough to read it. Your book just happened to be wide open when I looked over your shoulder. ”

“Fascinating.” I don't bother hiding a grin. The analogy appeals to me. Most importantly, though, he's taken my mind off my disturbing memories. It helps me remember that I am free now. I no longer have to cater to the whims of the cruel, power-hungry alpha shifter. If Zosia and I are intimate, it will be because of mutual desire. She's nothing like the other women Addington pushed into bed with me.

The goblin sighs dramatically, indicating I've just cracked the book open again. I rise to my feet and refocus on the reason I climbed the stairs. “Does the library have Nostredame’s book? If so, can you help me locate it? His predictions don’t interest me, but it's said that he also penned a journal detailing his struggles with his magic.”

Fin’s wings unfold, flap once, and lift him to my new height. His kind naturally exudes wisdom, but he appears older and more astute than the other goblins. Does his increased maturity cause problems in the family? Is there a hierarchy among goblins, or do they consider themselves equals?

“You are not the first or only farseer who feels burdened by their gifts, Brendan Kennard. I could bring you the book, but I wager you’d be no better off with it. It’s a rambling account of self-pity and self-importance. The boor was full of hot air and didn’t ken the foreign influences that make every farseer doubt their worth. He knew nothing of multiple timelines or the meddlers who manipulate them.” The goblin’s wings ruffle with agitation and he stares at me without blinking. “Do you understand any of that? I’d be surprised if ye did, but it’s vital that ye do.”

I’m torn between feeling chastised and confused. His demeanor reminds me of my childhood tutors, but he wasn’t hired by Addington to undermine me and he isn't as innately condescending. The alpha didn't believe in neurodivergence. He thought labels likedyslexia,autism, andattention-deficitdisorderwere synonyms for lazy, stupid, or inability to adjust. He thought discipline, willpower, and strict consequences could overcome every obstacle, and he’d hired tutors who agreed.

Fin isn’t belittling me, though, and he doesn't appear impatient as I consider how to answer.

“I think I might understand some of what you're saying. There are millions of outcomes, likely more, and they're impossible to count. Every second, more are created, and an outcome can be altered with a single choice. The future isn’t a puzzle in a box. There’s no picture to work toward and most of the pieces are missing. It’s more like a weather forecast – some results are predictable but certainty is low, and a singleflutter of a butterfly’s wings can alter the climate worldwide.”

The goblin nods with clear approval, and it fills me with warmth. Addington hated this answer. He wanted to control my powers and, therefore, the future. He couldn’t do that if everything was so changeable. I’d rarely meet anyone who approves of the answers I give, let alone understands them.

“Very astute, boy, but ye’ve not mentioned two very important aspects – the fractures and the meddlers.”

My nose wrinkles with confusion. “Yeah, I don’t understand either of those.”

The goblin gestures for me to follow and leads me away from the darker stacks toward the balcony railing that protects anyone from falling ten floors to their death. The dome casts rays of sunlight into that circular area, but we don't venture fully into the light.

Fin pauses just inside the stacks and perches on a strangely altered bookshelf. The upper two shelves are empty and the top is padded with worn cushions. When Fin folds his wings and sits on the top with his legs hanging over the edge, I understand that the perch is for him – maybe for Gilly and Duggar, too, because it could fit all three of them.

From here, the goblins can see most of the lower floors opposite us, and I wonder if there’s a similar seat on the other side. I test the stability of the shelf behind me before I lean against the end of it, careful not to disturb any of the books.

“Honestly, we can’t grasp the entirety of it either,” Fin sighs once we're both settled.

My muscles tense with apprehension. All this time, I’ve considered the library and her goblins all-knowing, but what if I’m wrong? Can we still fight our enemies if we don't have as much power as I'd believed? What happens if we can't?

“Ye ken that the library’s magic is ancient, yes?” The goblin's question recaptures my attention. His eyes pierce me, and I imagine he's reading my mind again. I'm trying really hard not to get distracted by the unidentifiable accent that seems to come and go.

I nod emphatically. “Of course I do. It’s also … strange. This building's power is different from any other magic on the planet." This is a hunch I've always carried, and I'm vindicated when he gives me a curt nod. Then, he squints like a shrewd teacher, and the look is familiar. He wants more, so I venture a guess. “Except the other library.” To my credit, it emerges as an answer instead of a question. No one knows much about the Hidden Eastern Library – not even Addington, who has spies and colleagues everywhere.

“Right-o, my boy, on both counts. The power that lives in the heart of this building is ancient, foreign, and matched only by the other library, although each one is special in its own way. If you'd said that the library's magic is as old as time itself, you'd be correct. However, that doesn't offer it a reprieve from universal laws. The universe seeks balance. Therefore, if the libraries present a benevolent force ...."

When he trails off but continues to stare at me with his searching gaze, I understand that it's my turn to guess again. If my tutoring sessions had been this engaging, I might have learned more. The answer is clear, but I don't want it to be correct. “There must be an equal force of malevolence?"

“Aye, ye ken, even though these words – benevolence and malevolence – aren't the best choices. Almost nothing in existence is totally one or the other, but I digress. The opposing force seeks to meddle. It might consider itself good, evil, or neutral, or it might not be capable of conscious thought at all. Regardless of its reasons or lack thereof, this meddling force is disrupting time. Certain activities and decisions fracture the future into multiple timelines, which typically run parallel to each other. This is a natural occurrence, and it provides sentient beings with choices. Eventually, these paths merge into one again, but occasionally, they fade into nothing.” He pauses again to make sure I'm following his words. “Ye understand this concept?”

I fiddle with the hem of my shirt while I consider how to answer. It's a bad habit that everyone has tried to talk me out of, but I still return to it when I'm thinking particularly hard. “I’ve always assumed there are multiple timelines. If not, then I wouldn't see so many choices but fewer outcomes. My visions would be more linear, and it would be easier to tell which choices affect the outcomes the most, right?”

Fin nods with approval again, and it warms me from the inside out as strongly as it did the first time. I never realized how much I craved acknowledgment from a respected source.

“That is the correct answer, but the meddlers are fracturing the fractures. They are preventing inconsequential timelines from running their due course and burning out.” He raises a square hand in a stop gesture before the words can pass my lips. “Don’t ask me how because I don't actually know. While this meddling may not be done for the sake of malevolence, we are concerned about losing track of the true timeline. Imagine, young seer, that you're entering a maze. The only method you possess of finding your way out or back to the beginning is a red string that you've tied to a post at the opening of the labyrinth.”

I close my eyes and visualize the image he paints. The labyrinth that my mind creates is probably more convoluted than any maze in creation, but the red string is bright and strong. After a second, I decide to change the string into a rope because string is fragile. Garrett told me when we were younger that he couldn't form pictures in his head, and I've pitied him ever since. His mind lacks the entertainment mine offers, and it might be why he spends so much time and effort on his physical body.

“So ye’ve imagined your maze and your red string.” The goblin's words return me to my task and away from the momentary distraction.

“It's actually rope," I correct him without opening my eyes. "Rope is much stronger than string."

Fin laughs; it's a strange sound that resembles the crunch of gravel underfoot. “All right then, ye have a rope. It doesn’t matter because the meddlers have very sharp scissors. They are following ye through the maze. Every so often, sometimes at the most difficult crossroads, they cut your rope. You never realize what they've done because they tidy it up by connecting a different piece of rope that is identical to the one you hold. It now leads somewhere else, though. If another you entered the maze, they would have their choice of path, but every path would appear identical. The meddlers are so adept at their craft that no one can tell that your rope was cut, or rejoined, or duplicated – not even you."

I frown as the image shifts in my mind. Tracing the red rope, I note the places where it diverges or ends abruptly. Strangely, it also seems to double back on itself. In just a few seconds, I don't know whether I'm coming or going. The path becomes so disorienting that my eyes pop open.

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