Page 6 of Dead Wrong

“Orion,” I repeated, scouring the fragments of my mind for any recognition of the name. “That doesn’t sound like an Adored surname. Are you one of the Hallowed?”

“Mortal, actually,” Lorelei answered.

Laughter bubbled up and out of my mouth before I could process it. A mortal? There was no way Mother would have anything to do with a mortal in any capacity—even this. She’d rather die than rely on someone of mortal blood. Then again, perhaps that’s why she insisted on discretion, if only to save herself from the embarrassment. Wouldn’t want it to get out that she had to rely on a mortal.

“I’m the best at what I do, Mister Greene,” Lorelei continued as if privy to the unvoiced comments bouncing around my head. “Of that, I can assure you. And I charge a small fortune, which the Madame respects.” Her attention shifted to Bastien then, “Is he ready to move? Time is not on our side.”

“Almost,” Bastien replied, rummaging around his bag once more. “He just needs to get dressed.”

Lorelei nodded, pulling a device from her pocket and flipping it open—a communication device popular amongst the mortals, I recalled—she pressed it to her ear, rattling off a greeting in a language I didn’t understand. The staccato of her steps faded down the hall, leaving the two of us in silence.

I was still reeling that Mother would involve a mortal in family affairs, even if the mortal was as supposedly impressive as this Lorelei woman proclaimed. It showed a desperation that I had thought beneath her. Was she starting to show a glimmer of humanity in her advanced years?

The idea fled from my mind with a shake of my head. There was no love left for the woman. Even from my jumbled stasis of that, I was sure. Any affection was extracted from me long ago by her own hand. If I’d been brought back for any other reason besides helping Lynette, I would have told Bastien to put my back in the ground right then and there.

But I supposed that would happen sooner or later, so all that was left for me to do was help my sister. She was the innocent one in all this.

My thoughts and gaze returned to Bastien as he gathered the stripped bandages into a pile on the desk. A new ache flared in my chest—a squeezing sensation that stole the breath from my lungs. Whatever happened between the two of us, I couldn’t recall, but that fact did little to quell the urge to reach out and touch him.

I needed to know why he was here. Whyhewas the one who brought me back. There must be others out in the world who could have performed the task. Why did it have to be my Ex?

“How did you get wrapped up in all this?” I asked him as he worked.

Bastien didn’t answer as he removed to final bandages from my legs, adding them to the growing pile. The line of his mouth with tight, as if he were holding himself back.

“Bastien?”

He retrieved a pair of jeans and a wrinkled T-shirt from his bag, setting them on the desk beside me. “Get dressed,” he said, still avoiding eye contact with me.

I moved, no longer able to resist the urge, catching him at the wrist. “Please, Bastien. You must help me out here. I’m just trying to make sense of—” I motioned back and forth between us, “this.”

“I’m sorry,” Bastien replied, his voice a whisper. His eyes—warm pools of amber—flitted down to his knuckles as his grip tightened on the handle of the bag.

Pain. I was sure that’s what I saw in his expression. But was I the cause? What had I done to warrant such a response?

Releasing my hold, I grabbed the T-shirt and pulled it swiftly over my head. My stiff muscles ached with each movement, and I had to stifle a groan.

“Could you at least tell me what’s wrong with my brain?” I asked, unfolding the jeans. “My memories… they keep coming in waves. It’s impossible to keep them straight.”

Bastien turned his back to me as I finished dressing. “That’s a bit less complicated. It’s one of Death’s Touches. My grandmother called them that, at least. Side effects that manifest in the resurrected in an endless number of ways. Memory loss is supposed to be the most common.”

“Lucky me,” I mumbled, fastening the button of the too-loose jeans. They hung from my hips like a curtain. “I don’t get to remember who murdered me.”

Bastien glanced over his shoulder, a flicker of softness peeking through before his guarded expression returned. “We should get going.”

“Did I know about you?”

My tongue formed the question before my mind could catch up. Bastien’s warm eyes found me again, spurring me on. “I can piece together that we’re not—that things ended between us. But did I know you’re a Reviled?”

Reviled. Even speaking the word made the hair on the back of my neck prickle. The banished Magi who could manipulate life and were supposed to be extinct. And Bastien was one of them. How had I not seen it? Was I really so blind?

“I never told you,” he answered, tone flat. He reached down, grabbing the bag from the floor and slinging it over his shoulder. Then he was beside me, wrapping a strong arm around my waist and hauling me to my feet. I stumbled, my legs numb through the first few steps. Bastien held fast, supporting my weight with ease. There was a part of me—someplace deep down—that relished in that moment, Bastien’s warmth pressed to my side. But it didn’t last, and as soon as I was able to stand on my own, Bastien removed himself.

By the time we’d made it to the door leading out into a marble-floored hall, the pins-and-needles sensation in my feet had abated almost entirely.

“What is this place?” I asked, glancing down the long corridor. The floor was polished to perfection, reflecting the intricate, prismatic design of the ceiling panels above us. The effect was dizzying, and I had to shut my eyes for a moment to keep from swaying.

“This is Lorelei’s home,” answered Bastien, hovering a few steps behind me as if he were waiting for me to fall out. “The Orion Manor. She wanted to make sure no one would interrupt the revivification, so she insisted that I come here.”

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