Page 116 of Dead Wrong

He nodded, pulling me into an embrace.

“I’m just glad you’re here,” he whispered.

And I couldn’t agree with him more.

There, in the derelict apartment, penniless and battered, I had never been happier. Death was just the beginning for me. A chance at the life I never knew I was missing. And if anyone out there thought they could tear it away from me, they were wrong.

Dead wrong.

Walking through the iron gates of Adoracia Cemetery, I pulled the ends of my tattered coat tighter around me. It was a far cry from the usual luxurious garments I had worn in a previous life, but it kept me warm and Bastien had commented on how it brought out the color of my eyes, so I’d worn it every opportunity I could.

Now that autumn was drawing to a close, the trees had nearly all finished their annual shed, littering the ground with a trove of multi-colored ornaments that shifted around my feet as a breeze kicked up. It was quiet today, much like all the other days I’d visited my father’s grave. The same rows of polished marble epitaphs, the same visitors with their heads cast down in silent lamentations, and the same melancholia that gripped me by the gut, twisting my insides till they were nothing but brambles and thorns.

“It’s peaceful here,” Azrael said, breaking the silence as he traveled at my side toward the last row where Father was waiting. “I didn’t know such places existed inside the Magi City.”

“They’re rare,” Bastien replied from my other side. “And typically reserved for those who can afford the exorbitant price.”

“He’s over there,” I said after a moment, leading them down the short path off the main trail to where Tobias Greene awaited. A new addition since my last visit stuck out in glaring disproportion—a large obelisk of white marble, seated in the ground beside Father’s grave. I didn’t have to look to know whose name was carved on the front of it, nor did I care to know what words the Council had used to immortalize my mother. Her grave was a continuation of her life—ostentation for the sake of reputation. I wanted no part of it.

Kneeling down, I brushed the stray leaves from Father’s humble gravestone, then set the modest bouquet I’d brought against it. I didn’t care for the act of prayer, or even know where to begin if I did, but here in these moments in the cemetery with my Father, I’d find myself wanting to speak to him. Wherever it was that he found himself.

“I don’t think Lenny is going to make it this time,” I spoke softly, hoping that my words would get carried away in the breeze like the late falling leaves. “But I’m still here. For better or worse.”

From behind, I heard Bastien mutter something that sounded like a prayer, and I nearly jumped when Azrael landed on the soft grass beside me, sprawling his legs out in front of him as he leaned back, soaking in the late afternoon sun.

“You’re sitting on the grave,” Bastien pointed out, his recitation ceasing.

“And? Have you ever tried it? It helps you feel closer to the departed. I sit on my father’s grave all the time back in Brierwood. Though, the grass is not nearly as soft.” He ran his fingers through the plush vegetation. “We need to find out what kind of seed they use.”

I choked on a laugh as Bastien rolled his eyes. Leave it to Azrael to bring levity, even on the somber occasions. The invisible tether between us pulled taut as he grinned at me, the golden light beaming down transfiguring his hair into a dozen different shades of lavender. I could feel it now, almost all the time, but especially when one of them was close by. Emotions would trickle down the line, giving me brief glimpses into their heads.

Over the last few weeks, since the death of my mother and the massacre at the Magi Council, life had taken on an almost mundane quality back in Brierwood. Bastien shared my apartment with me on the surface, as he wasn’t ready to join Paradise full-time. He always led with caution, so it only made sense that he’d want to spend the time to acclimate to the community before making any long-term decisions. Most days he spent in their libraries, pouring through the history he thought lost.

Azrael joined us for dinner most nights, as long as his schedule permitted, and despite the cramped quarters, I was always glad to see him bring along an Urchin or two. The Rebellion hasn’t seen a drop of blood spilled since Mother’s death, and Azrael seemed determined to keep it that way.

Cirian visited whenever he could get away from the Cradle, spending long weekends sparring with me in the alley outside the apartment and learning how to ride Azrael’s motorbike. The way the Urchins talked about Azrael’s inability to share made me question his willingness to teach Cirian, but they get along surprisingly well. At least, as long as I was there to supervise.

Cirian’s connection flared in my chest, and I quickly turned, scanning the rows of marble for the familiar head of flaming hair. I spotted him, strolling slowly up the main path, his vestments sticking out of place in the most adorable way. He never missed an opportunity to see me when I was in the Magi City.

But my smile soon faltered as I realized he wasn’t alone.

“Source’s blessings,” Saint Sancha greeted us, standing at the edge of the grass, her arms tucked into the sleeves of her vestments.

“What are you doing here?” I asked plainly, the days of worrying over decorum long behind me. I stood, brushing the dirt from my faded jeans. “If you’ve come for Bastien, then you’ll have to put me back into the ground before you take him.”

Bastien chuckled at that, knocking his shoulder into mine. “So dramatic.”

Azrael was on his feet now too, standing behind the two of us, a low growl emanating from his chest.

“It’s not like that,” Cirian interjected, stepping closer. “Please, Tobias, just hear her out. I’ve spoken with Her Eminence about the prophecy given to me by the Source.”

Bastien’s eyes were trained on me, his brow raised in surprise. I hadn’t shared the prophecy with another soul since Cirian spoke it into being.

“I’ve had enough of prophecies, thanks,” I replied. “I want no part of this one or any other.”

“Your hesitation is understandable, Tobias,” the Cardinal commiserated. “But I would still ask you to hear me, if only to know what it is that waits for you out in the world.”

I looked to Cirian, his dark eyes pleading. The tether between us twinged with a resonance of longing. He needed me to understand.

---