Page 48 of Dead Wrong

“Come closer,” Cirian called to me over his bare shoulder as he reached the altar. He sunk to his knees before the painted emblem.

“I much prefer the view from here, thanks.” I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, the boards beneath them groaning with each adjustment. One wrong step, and I’d tumble into whatever cesspit awaited beneath the ruins of this place.

“You need a blessing,” Cirian argued, lifting both hands face up into the air above his head.

“I’ve been faring just fine without a blessing for a number of years, thank you.”

“Have you?” Cirian questioned, amusement permeating his voice. “I’m not sure I would consider someone who has been assassinated, resurrected, and almost killed a second time all in the same week as ‘faring fine.’”

I let out a sigh. As annoying as I found it, he had a point. Even with my addled memories, I knew that the last twenty-four hours had been amongst the worst in my life. Not many experiences can compete with being murdered.

“What exactly does this blessing do?” I asked, trudging up the damp carpet path. My feet sank into the saturated material, drawing up memories of playing near the bog located on the outer edges of the Greene estate as a child. “I must admit, I don’t have any experience with religion. Mother never allowed us to attend any services—not that I’d asked in the first place.”

Cirian snorted a quiet laugh. “The blessing is merely that, Toto. A blessing. You have to place the intent yourself.”

“Well, I suppose it can’t hurt.” I knelt beside the other man, pausing only to increase the distance between us by a few more inches. “What do I do?”

“Quiet your mind,” Cirian replied, lowering his hands and resting them palm-down on the tops of his thighs, his smooth chest rising and falling with practiced breath. “The Source speaks to all of us through the very magic in your blood. Open yourself to it, and you’ll be ready to receive the blessing.”

I tried to mimic Cirian’s posture but found it increasingly uncomfortable, so I ended up kicking my legs out from under me, spreading them till my feet butted against the base of the altar. After a moment, I risked a glance over at Cirian to find the edges of his mouth twitching.

The bastard was enjoying this. Whatever this was.

I ignored the heat nipping at the back of my neck, instead settling into my new seat as best I could. “Okay, my mind is quiet. What’s next?”

“Your mouth is still making plenty of noise,” Cirian replied, his eyes fluttering closed. His breathing was slow and steady. For a moment, I felt the gentle brush of Cirian’s aura as it expanded from him. Gentle notes of spiced tea hit the back of my tongue before the iron-clad walls of my mental defenses rebuked the presence, repelling it.

A sharp stab at my temple caused me to suck in a breath. Again? Why did this keep happening to me?

I’ll admit, I was rusty. Before my death, I would never have risked letting another person so close to my mind, even for a second. The walls always had to be up, always impermeable, lest I be rendered a liability to Mother.

“You’ll never feel anything with that kind of reaction,” Cirian interjected, a smirk still playing on his lips. “The Source can only speak if you’re willing to listen. How can you expect to hear anything hiding behind all those layers?”

“I’m not hiding,” I sniped, recoiling from the intensity of my own reaction. “I’m defending myself.”

“They can often be the same thing if you’re not careful.”

I glowered at the man, but Cirian just kept breathing, in and out, at the same even pace. Was he really asking me to abandon the defenses around my mind? It could be a trap—a ruse to get me to lower my guard so Cirian could take anything he wanted.

I refused to be this man’s prey.

“Nothing is going to hurt you here,” Cirian said, his voice barely a whisper, yet it bounced around the space till it was coming at me from all sides. “You have my word, Tobias.”

The truth is, I wanted to believe him. To place my trust in someone other than myself. How long had it been since I had felt that level of connection? I couldn’t recall the last time. From what I could recall, Cirian and I had never been friends. Rivals seemed the more appropriate description when I looked back on the interactions that dotted my adolescence. But while Cirian had always been abrasive, he was never cruel.

So, perhaps the dangers were not as immediate as I first assumed.

The walls around my mind had buried themselves deep, rooting in my consciousness like ancient trees. Removing them was going to be a challenge. As I reached for them, I flinched as the familiar stabbing pain behind my eyes returned, a huff of frustration passing over my lips.

“What’s happened?” Cirian’s voice was beside me, a cautious hand on the small of my back.

“It’s no use.” I exhaled, dropping any attempt to alter the barriers in my mind and running a hand through my hair. “Something is wrong with my magic. Since Bastien removed that blasted gem from my chest, I can’t manage even the smallest feats.”

“Ah-ha,” Cirian hummed in his throat. “So, that’s why….”

“Why what?”

Cirian’s gaze had grown distant, his attention leagues away. “If that’s the case, then I should be able to replicate it. Even the odds….”

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