Page 86 of Dead Wrong

He shook his head, looking back at me with eyes of seeping honey. “No, I stayed with my grandmother in a little town like this. It was easier to hide there. Not a lot of Hallowed hanging around a quiet place filled with mortals.”

And it hit me then that there was so much of Bastien that I didn’t know. Even if my memories returned in earnest, they would only be of the man he allowed me to see. The mortal barista with a penchant for sleeping late and a disdain for loud noises.

But what was hereallylike? Who was the powerful Reviled practitioner who snagged me from Death’s grasp? Which was the real Bastien?

“Hey, look, a coffee shop.” Bastien pointed to the storefront across the street. “I could certainly use a cup. You mind?”

I shook my head, following him across the narrow street and into the small shop. Bells rang over our heads as we entered the cramped space rich with the smell of coffee and baked goods. The front of the shop had a comfortable-looking sofa nestled against the wall by the window and a side table stacked with books. The coffee bar ran along the rest of the wall on the left, while the opposite wall was lined with tables, half of them occupied with patrons—a woman absorbed in a book with a colorful cover, an older couple sitting in silence as they sipped from steaming mugs, a young man dragging charcoal across a sketchbook he held in his lap.

“You want the usual?” Bastien asked me, sparking a stream of memories of him in an apron, sliding glasses of iced espresso to me across a wooden counter.

“Yes, thank you.”

I found my way over to the table furthest from the door, nestled in the back corner of the shop. I could sit with my back to the wall, allowing myself full vantage of anyone entering the shop. Maybe that would help with the pulsating anxiety in my chest.

Bastien joined me a few minutes later, setting our drinks down along with a plate of croissants. I would have hugged him if my shoulder hadn’t hurt so badly.

“I miss this,” he said, holding his drink up to his nose and taking a long inhale.

“What, coffee?”

He laughed, then pulled a sip. “No, I meant the life I had working at the café. My mortal life was far less complicated. Don’t get me wrong—” he looks over to the young man closest to us, then lowers his voice, “being a Magi has its perks. But things were infinitely simpler when my job was making really great coffee for the masses.”

“Why did you stop, then?” I asked, seizing the opportunity to gain further insight into Bastien’s past.

He leaned back in his chair, chest deflating with a sigh. “My grandmother passed. It was a few months back. It wasn’t sudden or anything. She’d been getting weaker as the years went on. But it was still… a shock. I told you before, Death is a comfortable companion to me. It’s been a part of my family, our culture, for centuries.

“Granny Yvonne was the one who taught me about our history, just like she did for my mother. My great-grandmother was one of the Elders that fled during the schism of the Revered, and she brought all she could from the sanctuaries where they used to practice their craft.”

“Before the Hallowed took over,” I concluded.

“Exactly. You see, my mother wasn’t good at the whole ‘stay under the radar’ thing. Even though she’d been born after the schism, hiding her power never came naturally to her. She’d grown a reputation in our town for being a healer. Someone the mortals could come to when their medicines failed. Granny said that she even brought a child back from the dead, but it was long before I came along.

“But that kind of action draws unwanted attention. They came for her one night before I could even walk. I always assumed it was the Church, but to be fair, I can’t confirm it. Granny hid me and herself, but she couldn’t get to Mom in time. Then, it was just the two of us. I don’t have many memories of my mother, but Granny helped her live on in my dreams.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, wishing I could wipe the sadness from his expression. What must it have been like, to have such a connection with a parent, only to have them ripped away from you? At least Father died when I was an infant….

Bastien scratched the end of his nose, then shook his head. “Anyway. Granny was the one who gave me my markings.” He rolled up the sleeves of his sweater, baring arms free of blemish. But then there was a crackle in the air between us, and the glamours faded from his arms, revealing the black ink that swirled across his skin. The designs started at his wrist, spiraling up his arms, forming an intricate circular pattern that disappeared under the sleeves of his shirt. He closed his eyes, muttering something under his breath, and the markings vanished once more. “The markings are how we Reviled channel our magic. They connect us to Source, or at least that’s what my grandmother used to say. I’m not so sure I believe every bit of the teachings.

“Granny kept me safe during that time. Enrolled me in a mortal school so I could better learn how to blend in. Then, at night, she’d teach me about our culture. About the Elders that came before us and the wonders they were able to perform. Most of the practice was in theory, as she was extra cautious of drawing attention, but as I got older and her health began to fail, I was able to put some of my learnings to good use.”

He paused, a finger tracing the rim of his cup as he stared down into it. I watched him, completely transfixed.

“She passed a week after we broke up,” he continued, his voice suddenly husky and thick. “I’d been distracted that week, and I wasn’t checking up on her as much as I should have. She missed our weekly call, and I got worried, so I went back to that town, and that’s where I found her.”

He cleared his throat, then tucked his hands tight against his body, arms folded over his chest. “I tried to bring her back, of course. But I should have known better. She wasn’t interested in coming back.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, the idea sticking in my mind like a thistle. “Are you saying she had a choice?”

“Of course she did,” Bastien replied. “Everyone does. I can’t just force someone back into this world. They have to be willing.”

Was I willing when he did the same for me? Obviously, I must have been. But I remembered feeling so at peace, alone in the darkness.

“You’re wondering about your own, aren’t you?”

I looked up to find Bastien smirking at me.

“Am I that easy to read?”

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