Page 49 of Dead Wrong

I snapped my fingers in front of Cirian’s nose, startling him. “Now’s not the time to get cryptic on me.”

“Your necromancer,” Cirian clarified, his attention returning to me. “You said he placed a stone in your body?”

“Yes,” I confirmed with a nod. “And he’s notmynecromancer—he’s notmyanything. At least, not anymore.” My hand rose instinctually to my mouth, a finger tracing my bottom lip where Bastien had kissed me just a few hours ago. A lingering heat spread out from my chest, leaving me flushed.

“He’s smarter than he looks,” Cirian muttered to himself, then he was on his feet. “Fortunate for you, I know how to solve this little conundrum.”

“What, my magic?” I questioned, rising from the floor as well.

“Revivified corpses shouldn’t even possess magic,” Cirian continued, stepping up to the platform where the altar rested and pulling off the dusty cloth that draped over the surface. Beneath it, the altar was a faded white marble with small cracks spread throughout. He set to work, wiping down the tarnished altar as he spoke. “Magic leaves the body when you die, returning to the Source. The necromancer’s spell would have brought you back to life, but it cannot provide you what has already been returned. So, he gave you another option.”

“Another option?”

“A piece of his own magic, distilled down to physical form.”

“Right, Bastien told me that he put some of his magic in the gem to keep me alive till he could perform an actual resurrection. What’s all this fuss over?”

“The fuss? That’s an ancient practice, Toto. From a time before the Awakening, when magic was far more rare. And this magic requires a certain… connection to achieve.” Cirian trailed off, once again lost to his inner dialogue.

“What kind of connection?”

“I’ve read ancient grimoires from those times, hidden away in the Church’s libraries,” Cirian said, pausing sporadically to lock eyes with me as he worked. “Before magic lived in our veins. Those precious few who could access magic pulled it directly from the Source—a virtually endless supply. With it, they were able to reign over the mortals in an era known as the ‘Time of the Magi King.’ But there were limits to even the Magi-King’s power, and those who tapped too frequently into the Source found their humanity slowly sapped, carved out by the all-consuming flow of magic. The kings, however, were infinitely clever. It was only a matter of time before one of them discovered that they could condense the Source’s power into a physical shape, giving the potential for anyone to be able to use magic. At least, minor magics. They called these stones Anima. The Kings set to work, distributing this newfound power to a select few mortals and using them as powerful soldiers as they waged war over land and resources.

“As these battles raged, the mortals using the Magi-King’s magic began to go mad in droves. The more they used the Anima stones, the more their bodies and minds were twisted into horrible Distortions.”

I snorted a laugh, then choked it back as I realized that Cirian wasn’t joking. Distortions were nothing more than fairy tales used to keep Magi children from playing around with magics outside of their capabilities. Surely, he wasn’t implying they were real.

“This chaos persisted until one of the Magi-King’s lovers, a woman who wished only to end the suffering of her people, begged for them to stop. The Magi-King was blinded by their power and refused the request. Seeing her chance, the lover seized one of the Anima stones, using its power to destroy the hoard of Anima the king had created.

“The magic unleashed on the world that day brought about the Awakening, and since then, magic has lived in the very blood of the Magi.”

I stared at him, wondering if this little trip down the annals of Magi history was going anywhere. “A wonderful history lesson,” I told him. “Really top-notch. So, you’re saying that Bastien used the same process as these Magi-Kings to give me his magic? Why did I not go mad with his power, then?”

“I theorize that it’s because there is some commonality between you and the lover of the Magi-King.”

“Commonality? Oh, for Source’s sake, speak clearly, man.”

Cirian looked up briefly from his work, giving me a sly smile. “Piece it together, Toto. You can’t expect me to do all the work, can you?”

I released a huff of frustration. What did this story have to do with my current situation? And why was Cirian so interested in how Bastien imbued me with magic? Why was he doing any of this, really? The two of us haven’t had a conversation since we were teenagers—or at least not that I could recall.

A draft seeped through the gaps in the walls, sneaking a shiver up my spine.

“The grimoires refer to it as Soul-Binding.” Cirian ceased his cleaning, tossing aside the cloth and running a hand along the polished altar. “The Magi-King’s lover was so much a part of the king’s soul that the magic allowed itself to be used by her, even though it didn’t belong to her. It’s incredible, really, seeing as the others who wielded the Magi-King’s magic were twisted into Distortions.”

“So, you’re saying that Bastien is, what, Soul-Bound to me?” I extrapolated, drawing the statement out into a question.

This was nothing but more fairy tales.

“It’s a working theory. You were able to use the magic from the gem he gave you, yes?”

I nodded in response, my hand drifting to the sore spot on my chest where the gem was embedded. “I haven’t been able to draw on my magic since I was revived.”

“Your magic was already absorbed back into the Source, so there’s nothing for you to draw on. Every time you’ve tried to wiled your own magic, you’ve been drawing on your own life force. It’s a wonder you’re still standing, Toto. This resurrection ritual that the necro—Bastien—will perform is nothing more than a communing with the Source, where he will barter for your magic back.”

“Barter? You mean he’ll have to give something up in return?”

Cirian shrugged.

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