Adare looked down at the small female. What was she now? Thirteen or so? “What do you know about the Keys?”

“More than I’d like to know.” She bounced back on her feet, lifting her gaze from the pads. “I also know more about the Lock than you do.” Her eyes held a depth and seriousness beyond those of a thirteen-year-old. “Do you even understand my role in the ritual?”

He took a step back, his impenetrable chest heating. “Who told you?” Garrett and Logan, both new members of the Seven, were Hope’s uncles, so maybe they’d been talking? Their vow had been one of silence and secrecy, and he’d believed they’d meant it.

Hope rolled her eyes, looking for a moment like any other teenaged girl. “Relax, Sparky. Everyone around here tries to forget the fact that I’m a prophet with a destiny, yada, yada, yada. Nobody has said a word.”

Goosebumps rose along his arms. “You’re psychic.” Like the prophets were meant to be.

She lifted a slim shoulder, dropping into a fighting stance again. “Who knows. I see things, I feel things, and sometimes fate talks to me.” Hit. Hit. Hit. “Or, there’s some break in the time continuum, and certain people get glimpses into the future.” She turned and kicked again, her foot making a decent slap on the pad. “In the end, does it really matter?”

“Aye,” he said, falling back into his brogue. “How this all ends definitely matters. Can you see the ending? Do you know who wins?”

Her smile was small and rueful. “That’s not how fate works, as you should know. We’re not there yet. The blocks that lead up to the battle are still falling into place, and nothing is certain. Fate doesn’t have the control we think she has.”

Maybe there wouldn’t even have to be a ritual. If he and Benny succeeded in their mission, was it possible they could end all of this now? “Why do you think fate is female?”

Hope executed a decent roundhouse kick. “Female power is more natural, and definitely stronger than male.”

He couldn’t argue with that. “What is the role of the Lock?” He’d never known—none of them did. The blood of the three Keys, combined, could kill Ulric, according to legend. He had to ingest it somehow. But what of the Lock?

She sighed and shook her arms loose before sneezing several times.

“Bless you,” he murmured.

She grinned. “Thanks. Allergies are rough in January, for some reason.”

An immortal with allergies? He frowned.

She nodded. “Yeah, I know. It’s a concern to my folks, too. But we have bigger things to worry about, don’t you think?”

“Yes. What’s your role as Lock?” He needed answers.