Page 27 of Dead Wrong

The pressure in the room shifted, causing my ears to pop.

“Then there is nothing left for us to discuss,” Lorelei concluded, her notebook closing with asnap. She moved from between the chairs, motioning for us to follow as she made for the door. She stopped short, turning to face Cirian again. “Good day, Your Grace.”

With a wave of Cirian’s hand, the door slammed shut in Bastien’s face. He reeled back, turning to face Cirian.

“You’ll indulge me with an inquiry of my own,” he said, moving slowly from behind the desk. Bastien stepped in front of Lorelei, but she quickly out-maneuvered him, seeming to relish in the opportunity to stand toe-to-toe with the taller man. “Tell me,” Cirian continued, “what exactly is Madame Greene playing at, allowing a Reviled and his unholy creation to defile this holy ground?”

A snap of his fingers, and I gasped as the Veil was ripped from my body. Bastien—his true form returned—shot me a worried glance before stepping in front of me, taking a defensive stance. I stared down at his arms and the spiraling black markings that wove their way from his wrist upwards till they disappeared under his sleeves.

Where did those come from?

“Ah, isn’t that better?” Cirian cooed, the edges of his lips curling into a wicked smile. “I do so appreciate when a Veil is torn and we can stop all this foolish galivanting.” His dark eyes found me, and the angle of his smile tweaked into a snarl. “The Madame’s corruption knows no limits. She sacrifices her own children like lambs on the altar of the false god.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I stepped forward, but Bastien was quicker, moving in front of me and blocking the path.

“Stand down,” Bastien warned the other man, the palm of his hand pulsing with an eerie green energy.

“And if I refuse?” Cirian questioned, voice pitched high with amusement. “It’s only by my grace that you still draw breath. The teachings would have me snuff the light from your eyes here and now, Necromancer.”

“You could try,” Bastien retorted.

“Enough.” Lorelei moved between the men. “You’re not going to hurt us, Your Grace. We both know you don’t have it in you. And if I were you, I would keep this little conversation of ours between the soon-to-be-three of us. If it makes you feel any better, as soon as we locate Lynette, Bastien here will be sinking the lesser of the Greene twins back into his early grave.”

I huffed a breath. That was uncalled for.

Cirian’s glibness faded as he straightened, arms lowering to his sides. “You’re nothing like they said you’d be, Truthsayer. Adoranda must love having you under her thumb.”

Bastien stiffened in front of me as Lorelei moved like a bolt, her fist gripping the fabric of Cirian’s tunic and dragging him down to her level. “I’m under no one’s thumb,” she seethed, her careful composure evaporating into a fiery rage. “You’ll do well to remember that.”

Cirian’s smile spread across his lips once more as he freed himself from her grip. “Oh, what wicked games we play. One with sword, the other with clay.”

Lorelei turned to me and Bastien, her steely resolve settled back in. Without a word, she pulled open the door, disappearing through it. Bastien gave me a withered look before following, and under the lingering stare of Cirian, I did the same.

“Does this conversation bore you, Tobias?”

I blinked away the daydream of open fields of wild honeysuckle, flinching from the intensity of Mother’s icy gaze. The others gathered around the meeting table watched me as well, a blend of resentment and pity, to which I’d long grown immune, tainting their expressions.

I bowed my head quickly, offering an apology of forced sincerity. “Not at all, Mother. Please accept my apologies.”

Mother squared her shoulders, expanding herself to fill every bit of the high-backed chair she occupied. “Then I will repeat myself now that I’ve captured your attention. Was your rendezvous with Corinth Creeley a success?”

My mind drifted back to the brunette man, images of his ivory skin drenched in sweat and twisted between silken fabric as he moaned my name.

I cleared my throat. “Yes, he was quite receptive to the ideas you suggested, Mother.”

To her left, Lynette snickered. “I’m sure he was very receptive.”

Murmuring rippled along the table, but I didn’t pay it any heed. My years of service on Mother’s behalf had inoculated me to the judgment of others.

“I’m pleased to hear it,” Mother continued, ignoring Lynette’s jeering. “The Creeleys are the last to hold out on my initiative to quash the Unseen Rebellion once and for all. As soon as Madame Creeley caves, we must move swiftly?—”

“Apologies, Mother,” Lynette interrupted, the lurid chatter evaporating. Shocked stares followed from around the table. “But perhaps we could reopen the discussion of parlaying with the Rebellion leaders for a ceasefire? I’ve been reviewing the documentation from Rudderkin’s latest demands, and I can’t say they’re unwarranted.”

An oppressive silence settled over the room as if no one dared to breathe while they awaited Mother’s response. When she did not speak, Lynette continued, “The Unseen are merely seeking fair compensation for their dedicated service to the other Magi, and I believe that negotiation may be the best chance we have at avoiding unnecessary bloodshed on both sides?—”

“Enough.”

Crushing weight squeezed the air from my lungs, the pressure of Mother’s magic pressing into my body like a wave of sand, trapping my limbs in place. From the wide-eyed fear displayed on the other faces at the table, I could only assume that Mother’s power was equally distributed across the room. A man at the end of the table clawed at his throat, a garbled, wet gasp escaping his lips.

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