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“You said the piece was put into the reliquary centuries ago, correct?” Haversham asked.
Tristan nodded.
“Then he is not the one who put the piece into the reliquary. Osric Taylor is thirty-seven years old. He has not extended his life. And he only purchased the reliquary a year ago. But I'd be shocked if he hadn't known about the piece.”
“How could he know it would be given to Destiny? And why would he send it to her?” Tristan held Haversham's gaze.
“Osric consults a seer. I'd wager the seer pointed him in Ms. Takeda's direction. I imagine it had something to do with removing your Curse.” He grinned at Tristan. “Would you like me to find the seer?”
“Yes. As soon as possible.”
Haversham pulled out his phone again. “I'll text you when I have the seer's information.”
“Thank you.”
“There are witches?” I asked.
Tristan said, “Yes, but the name is loosely used for all humans born with magical gifts, such as sorcerers, spell casters, alchemists. There are many classes of witch, but they all have magic.”
The teacup trembled in my hand, and I set it down on a side table before I spilled the tea. Magic. There were people who were born with magic. And people who could see the future.
“How reliable are seers?” I asked.
Haversham grimaced and looked to Tristan.
Tristan squeezed my hand. “We don't know what the seer saw about you, if anything.”
“How reliable?” I let go of his hand.
Haversham answered, “If someone like Osric is consulting them, they're probably more reliable than not.”
“And that would make them how reliable. Just be plain. You seem to like percentages. So, give me a percentage of how many times they get it right.”
“A real psychic from our world, rarely makes mistakes. So, I'd say, they have a ninety-eight percent accuracy rate.” Haversham held up a hand. “But they will tell you themselves that the future is malleable. Depending on the prediction, every decision you make can shift it.”
“Depending on the prediction? What does that mean?”
“Some things are inevitable. Fate.” He motioned at me. “Destiny.”
“All right. So, what could a psychic have seen to make Osric, a man who wants to remove Curses from their vessels, orchestrate the assignment of the reliquary to me?”
“Now that is the question, isn't it?” Haversham sipped his tea.
Chapter Eight
The cold air outside Haversham's townhouse slapped me back into focus. Tristan didn't speak as he opened the car door for me, nor did he speak as he pulled out onto the quiet street. He kept glancing at me, his gaze worried. He probably thought I was reeling from the discovery of a world of supernaturals living beside mine. And I was, but it wasn't at the forefront of my thoughts.
Some things are inevitable.
The words kept tapping at my mind, a moth against glass, refusing to land anywhere useful. I watched the light of streetlamps slide across Tristan's jaw, gold then dark then gold again, and my thoughts calmed. Which was ridiculous. He should scare the hell out of me. But he didn't. Ever since the vision, I'd been anxious without him. I'd thought it was because I wanted to know more about him or just plain wanted him. But now it felt as if there was more to it. Just having him near made the shock of his world easier to bear.
“Are you all right?” Tristan asked.
“Yes. You?”
Tristan glanced at me with wide eyes. “I just took you to a living dead man who told us someone has brought us together, possibly to remove my Curse, and you ask me if I'm all right?”
“Yes. Are you?”
