Page 50 of Dead Wrong

Bastien was willing to give something up to help me. I didn’t know how to feel about it. My damn lips tingled again with the memory of his kiss back at the camp. Did he really still harbor feelings for me, or was this all out of some twisted sense of duty to Lynette and the Rebellion?

“Now then, Toto. On to my proposition.”

My attention returned to Cirian, who stood behind the altar, bracing himself against it and leaning forward with an excited shine in his eyes.

“In lieu of the attack against the Rebellion, I think it unwise for you to be without the means to defend yourself.”

“I can take care of myself,” I argued.

“Says the man I found bleeding out in a field of wildflowers. Trust me, I know what you’re capable of, Toto. I just want to ensure you’re given every opportunity for survival, that’s all.”

I wanted to throttle him, but I knew he was right.

Cirian reached into the folds of his billowing harem pants, producing a small silver dagger. Holding his empty hand over the altar, he pressed the tip of the blade to the palm, drawing a trickle of red blood that rained down on the smooth, white surface.

“What are you doing?” I asked as the air grew heavy with the weight of magic.

“Testing a theory,” Cirian replied, squeezing his blooded hand so that a few more drops fell onto the altar. “It stands to reason that if the necromancer was powerful enough to craft his magic into physical form, then it should be child’s play for one such as me.”

I rolled my eyes. So, that’s what this was. A chance for Cirian to one-up Bastien. He never backed down from a challenge.

The blood sizzled and smoked where it hit the altar, and Cirian passed a hand over the spattered gore, chanting under his breath. I watched in fascination as the blackened blood drew together, pooling into the center of the altar as Cirian formed a sigil with his hands. The sanguine puddle bubbled as his chanting increased in fervor. With a flash of light, Cirian struck the viscous material with his fist, the ringing of metal against metal echoing through the empty sanctuary. Rearing back, Cirian struck again, a bloom of fresh blood running along the side of his fist at the point of impact, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. Seven times, he struck the altar, sending ripples of magical energy through the air. With the final blow, a flash of light blinded me momentarily, and I shielded my eyes. The room quieted, the only sound now coming from Cirian’s labored breaths and the pounding pulse in my ears.

Lowering my hand, I blinked away the burned images clouding my sight, the shadows from the corners of the room seeming to draw closer to obscure the man slumped over the marble altar.

“Cirian?”

I reached out a hand, halting as the figure on the altar shifted, a low groan emanating. A sigh escaped from my lips. At least Cirian hadn’t killed himself with this foolish display.

“That was moronic,” I said, keeping my distance. I tried to ignore the strained relief in my voice.

“Was it now?” Cirian croaked, brushing long strands of scarlet hair from his sweaty face. He held out his hand to me—the one soaked in blood—and brandished a small, blue gem that pulsed with light.

“Still foolish,” I chastised him. “What good does that do either of us? If what you said earlier was true, then I would have to be soul-bound to you to even use that magic without becoming some sort of hideous beast.”

“Hence the experiment,” Cirian said through a wild grin. “I want to know if the grimoires speak the truth or if the details have gone hazy over the years.”

“So, you want me as your lab rat?”

“Such harsh words,” Cirian replies with a chuckle. “You’re simply the only control group, Toto. You were able to use the necromancer’s magic. You proved that already. Now I want to know whether or not it’s because your souls are bound to one another, or perhaps you’re just an enigma in and of yourself.”

“Bastien,” I reminded him, a flash of irritation coloring my tone. “And you can go fuck yourself. I won’t be touching that thing.”

Cirian laughed again, his voice hitting a squawking pitch. “Come now, Toto. Aren’t you just a little bit curious? You know, it must be unbearable, that emptiness you’re feeling right now. This magic could hold you over till your beloved necromancer can perform his unholy rite. Something tells me it wouldn’t be the first unholy act he’s afflicted upon your body.” He held his free hand out to me, a small, blue flame conjured in his palm. “Just a little something to cast away the chill?”

Heat singed my cheeks as I turned from Cirian. “You’re an arsehole. And even if I wanted to, you said it yourself. It could turn me into a Distortion. I didn’t just survive the worst day ofbothmy lives to end up some monstrous nightmare.”

“Oh, I’d never let that happen to you, Toto. You have my word. Just a smidgen of basic magic is all I’m asking for. If there’s any sign of trouble, I’ll intervene.” He stepped closer, a wicked grin curling the edges of his smooth lips. “Ididsave your life earlier this evening, in case you’d forgotten.”

I fought back a second shiver, wondering if it was from the cold or something I was too afraid to speak out loud. “A favor I fear I will be repaying for years to come.”

“Nonsense,” Cirian huffed. “Just this one simple gesture of good faith, and we’ll never speak of it again. You have my word.”

It would be a lie to say I wasn’t tempted. Ever since Bastien removed the gem from my chest, I’d felt a lethargy seeping into my limbs that honestly frightened me. It was like Death was crawling its way slowly through my body once more. But would this fragment of power that Cirian had conjured stave off the encroaching numbness? It was impossible for me to know unless I gave it a try. Cirian’s magic still clung to the air around me. I could taste it on my tongue with each breath, acrid and smoldering, like smoke from a campfire. The thrill of it was intoxicating. And despite my hesitations, I couldn’t argue the fact that I was drawn to it. My body craved the power, wanting nothing more than to reach out and accept the offer enthusiastically. The pit in my stomach was the only thing holding me back.

“Your lips speak disapproval, but your eyes can’t lie.” Cirian was close now, bearing down on me with the gait of a predator. “You can’t hide the question lurking underneath, Toto.”

I squared my shoulders, raising to my full height, even if I was dwarfed by Cirian to the tune of several inches. “And what question might that be?”

---