Page 83 of Dead Wrong

One question rose above the others: what fate befell Mother?

Surely, whatever feat of magic Crassus had performed, he’d saved our lives. But, was it enough to stop her for good?

Unlikely.

Azrael had returned to the Chateau. Not only that, but he came as the leader of the Rebellion his father longed to join all those years ago. Balthus was still there, waiting for him. And now he was dead. Just another life shoved through the grinder of my family’s influence.

Bastien was safe, which meant that he would be able to perform the resurrection ritual, and I wouldn’t have to rely on other’s magic. I stared down at the cerulean stone embedded in my palm, running my thumb over the smooth surface.

Would Cirian try and continue his support of the Rebellion from the shadows? Had his previous involvement been revealed to the Cardinal? And why did she let Bastien go so easily? The Reviled and Hallowed were supposedly the gravest threat to one another, and yet she healed his wounds and sent him on his way. Was it a political move so as to not upset the Rebellion? Or was there something more going on behind the curtain of the Church?

Something to do with a prophecy spoken by their very own Acolyte?

The pieces on the board were in motion, though not in patterns I could recognize at that time. For now, it seemed like chaos, simply a dozen different individual gambits, each vying for their place in the world. But there was too much coincidence for it to be naught but serendipity.

Perhaps once my addled mind had been made whole, I would be able to glean more answers. Or perhaps there were none. Only the beautiful chaos of the world on full display before me. If that were the case, I would want to bury my head in the sand, if only to keep from being driven mad by the machinations surrounding me.

At least then, I would be able to rest.

“We’ll have your most expensive bottle of red,” I told the maître d’, his eyes swelling to the size of saucers.

“That won’t be necessary,” my date quickly added, dropping the menu onto the table in front of him. “I’ll have an iced tea, please.”

The maître d’ looked back at me, his eyes begging for some direction.

“Perhaps just a glass to start off with, then,” I told him, handing back the wine list and shooing him away. This “Bastien” was going to be playing hardball. I could tell from the moment he sat down.

Bastien tugged on the cuffs of his sleeves, unrolling them. “You know, when you asked me to join you for dinner after work, fine dining wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

“I have a standing reservation here,” I explained. Hoping to put him more at ease, I unfastened a button on my shirt, but the effort prompted an eye roll from the man. “If it’s a question of monetary concerns, rest assured that I’ll be more than happy to cover?—”

“Are you saying I can’t afford to eat at a place like this?” Bastien interrupted, raising an eyebrow. “I’m a barista, so this level of elegance is outside of my means?”

“No, I wasn’t thinking that at all. I was just offering to cover the?—”

“I don’t need you to. I’ll take care of my own bill, thanks.”

“Right. My apologies. Forget I mentioned it.”

The night was off to a rough start. Had I been wooing some Adored socialite, they would have swooned at the bottle service and the sterling silver cutlery on the table. But this Bastien character merely scanned the menu, his frown deepening the longer it went on.

“Do they serve anything here that isn’t garnished with edible gold? I’m not really a fan of heavy metals in my meal.”

“I’m sure they could accommodate such a request,” I answered. Bastien gave me a quizzical glance, and I realized I had missed the joke entirely. “Ah, but what fun is life without a little risk?”

Bastien gave a polite chuckle, his attention returning to his menu.

Where the hell was my wine?

“What do you do for work, Tobias?” asked my date, glancing up from his menu.

“I work for the Magi Council, actually. My Mother is Ad?—”

“The Council?” interrupted Bastien, leaning forward in his seat. “You mean, you actually work for those power-hungry bastards who make all the rules?”

I abandoned Mother’s introduction entirely.

“Yes, you could say that.”

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