Page 25 of Dead Wrong

Once inside, a figure wrapped in draping fabric robes and sporting a mask of white porcelain addressed us, bowing as they did so.

“Good day, travelers. Have you come to commune? Our next service begins in?—”

“No.” Lorelei stepped forward, shaking her head hard enough to send her curls bouncing. “We’re actually here to speak with the Acolyte, Cirian. Could you please direct us to him?”

The figure hesitated, their head tilting to the side. “My apologies, but Master Cirian is currently in the presence of the Source. I’m afraid he’ll be unreachable for the foreseeable future. Perhaps I could summon one of the priests to come and?—”

Lorelei held up her hand to silence the attendant, then reached into her jacket pocket and produced a small, round emblem that she held up to eye level. “It’s in regards to the disappearance of Madame Greene’s daughter.”

The attendant’s shoulders slumped, and they bowed again. “Of course, my apologies. If you’ll please wait here for just a moment, I will contact His Grace.”

I snickered quietly as the attendant scurried away. The Greene family crest had always proven a reliable tool when it came to intimidation. I always preferred flattery and infatuation, but when a hammer was the only solution, a quick glimpse of that emblem would prove more than a convincing argument to anyone aware of its significance.

“This place drains the life right out of you,” Bastien muttered, pulling the edges of his coat tighter around him. He glanced up at the cavernous cathedral ceiling, his strangely-colored eyes reflecting the kaleidoscope of hues from the stained glass.

I wasn’t surprised to hear him say this. To a Reviled, stepping into a Hallowed space would be like entering a lion’s den.

“I enjoy its chilly severity,” Lorelei replied, her lips curling into a smile. “It reminds me of home.”

“That explains so much,” Bastien replied, still peering up at the splendorous sight.

Another of the robed individuals strode past, their pale eyes lingering on me long enough to trigger an unease in my stomach. “I’m starting to think that this was a bad idea,” I whispered, inching closer to Lorelei. “Do you know what will happen if they find out the truth about me?”

“They’ll destroy you, I’d imagine,” Lorelei answered plainly. “Incinerate you with holy fire, or perhaps tear you limb from limb to discourage any further resurrections. But don’t worry so much. I have full confidence in your former lover’s Veil. From what I can tell, it’s nearly seamless.”

I opened my mouth with a retort, but the attendant returned at that moment, offering us another timid bow. “His Grace is expecting you in his quarters. Please, follow me.”

The three of us trailed after the robed figure, Lorelei leading the way while Bastien and I kept a comfortable distance as we moved deeper into the Cradle. From the main cathedral, we maneuvered through a series of hallways that snaked their way in a dozen directions. The flat, grey stone walls blended in with the floor, leaving little to differentiate one path from another, yet the figure continued forward with an even, confident stride.

The longer we traveled, the more I couldn’t help but think that we were descending into the belly of the beast. Just as my anxieties reached their apex, we stopped in front of a simple wooden door, the swirling symbol of the Hallowed carved into the center of it.

Stepping aside, the attendant bowed once more, gesturing for us to enter. Lorelei moved first, wrapping a delicate hand around the knob and opening the door with a twist. Bastien gave me an encouraging nod before following her inside. I crossed to join them but stopped just shy of the door as the figure’s head snapped up, their pale eyes locked on me through the porcelain mask. A shiver shot down my spine as I hastened through to the other room, the heavy wooden door closing behind me with a resoundingthud.

Releasing a deep exhale, I took in my new surroundings.

The acolyte quarters were sparse in their furnishings, certainly nowhere near as elaborate or ornate as Mother’s office back at Chateau Greene. A plain wooden desk devoid of clutter or technology. A simple highbacked chair, upholstered in a blue-grey. Rudimentary lamps mounted to the walls at regular intervals shed a pleasant, warm light. A shelf of tomes, each swollen to bursting with Hallowed knowledge hidden behind simplistic covers.

It was all so obscenely plain. Unsurprising for a Hallowed, I figured. Always ready to play the humble martyr.

“Well, where is he?” Bastien asked, standing behind one of the two modest seats opposite the desk.

“How the hell should I know?” Lorelei snapped, huffing a breath before lowering herself into the other chair. She pulled out her device, her lips curling into a sneer. “No connection. They must have powerful wards in place.”

“The disciple outside was staring daggers at me,” I said finally, running a hand through my alien, stringy hair. “Do you think they recognized me or something?”

“Your own mother wouldn’t recognize you right now,” Lorelei replied, tapping her foot against the stone floor. “Well, maybeyourmother could, but you know what I mean. Bastien’s Veil is strong.”

“Was that another compliment?” Bastien asked, raising a wild eyebrow.

Her face twisted in disgust. “Don’t sound so surprised. I dish out compliments all the time.”

“You mean out loud?” I added, mirroring Bastien’s bewilderment. “That’s not exactly been my experience.”

Lorelei’s eyes narrowed on me. “Don’t presume for a moment that you know a single iota about me, Tobias Greene. If I’ve not complimented you, it is simply because you have yet to do anything worthy of commending. You should take it upon yourself to do better. Then again, knowing your reputation, maybe you’re already doing your best.”

Anger flashed in my gut as I stepped forward. “I just hope that we find Lynette soon because, at this point, I’m yearning for my grave?—”

The door opened behind me, and I swallowed down the rest of my tirade as a man sauntered in. Heat rose in my cheeks, spurred by the display of flesh. The man was every bit as handsome as he had been in the vision from my past, with crimson hair streaked with white pulled back from his face, though several strands had escaped from their bindings and fell to frame his angular face. He was bare from the waist up, the alabaster color of his skin disrupted by a pattern of brown freckles that trailed up along his chest and bloomed across both shoulders, which glistened with a sheen of sweat. His stature was lean, with wiry muscles pulled tight across his lithe frame, his movements equal parts grace and confidence.

---