Page 88 of Dead Wrong

That seemed to relax him a bit, and he took another sip from his cup.

It was nice being with Bastien in this way. Easy. I could see why I was drawn to him all that time ago in the café. Even when he was hiding a piece of himself from me, there was this airiness to him. A light-weighted joy that seemed to permeate everything he did. Even now, as I watched him enjoy a cup of coffee, those moments shined through.

He had kept secrets from me when we were together. But the need for secrets was gone, so I asked, “Could you tell me more about your childhood? I want to hear about your grandmother if that’s okay.”

His brow shot up as if he were surprised by my inquiry.

“I’m sure we have more important things to talk about.”

“Please,” I insisted, reaching across and laying a hand over his. “Even if things between us are… strange right now. I’d like to know what she was like.”

He blinked at me, his smooth forehead creased with confusion before it slowly melted into something more relaxed. “Our town was a lot like this one,” he started, his eyes trailing down to where my hand covered his. “Pleasantry, that’s the name. Granny ran a laundry service out of the back of our duplex. She made enough to keep the lights on but not much else. Our neighbors next door—an elderly couple, the Prescotts, married for over fifty years when we first moved in—took it on themselves to look after us. They’d bring over food on the nights that Granny was too busy to make anything. We’d listen to recordings of old radio shows, and Mrs. Prescott would tell me what it was like when she was a young woman, and Mr. Prescott worked at the factory on the edge of town that had shuttered decades ago. In return for their kindness, Granny offered to help Mr. Prescott. He was sick for a long time, you see. A disease that robbed him of the use of his limbs and left him trembling in his chair most days.

“At first, Mrs. Prescott rejected Granny’s offerings, saying that they’d spent the majority of their later years visiting every doctor in the surrounding area, spending every bit of money they’d saved their entire lives to try and find the answer to what ailed her husband. They were tired of the promise of hope and had long accepted the reality of their situation. But they didn’t know that the frazzled old woman next door was once one of the most renowned healers across the Magi Cities.

“Then, one night, I couldn’t have been more than six or seven, there was this loud knock on the door that woke me. I peeked from my bedroom and saw Granny letting Mrs. Prescott inside. She was upset, speaking quickly about her husband and the urgent need to take him to a medical facility. She asked Granny if she could drive them, but Granny simply told her that she would do more than that. Mrs. Prescott didn’t argue when Granny told her to bring her husband over to our side of the duplex. As she waited for the Prescotts, she closed the curtains over the windows and then caught me spying from the hall.

“’Come here,’ she told me, reaching for my hand and taking me into the living room where she’d unfolded a table in the center that she typically used for ironing. ‘It’s time for you to see for yourself the power you hold.’

“I didn’t know what she meant at the time. Sure, I’d seen Granny use the odd bit of magic here and there. Healing my scrapes and bruises. Closing the windows at night with a flick of her wrist, when she was sure no one was watching. But what she was preparing for, this would be the first time I’d seen what it meant to be Reviled.

“Mrs. Prescott returned after a few minutes, wheeling her husband through the door and stopping cold when she saw the table. She asked Granny what she was doing, and Granny told her that she was going to help, just like she’d promised. Mr. Prescott’s eyes were closed, and his skin was paler than I’d ever seen before. His breathing rasped, wet like the gasps of a drowning man. Even then, I could smell Death on him, heavy and smothering. It could have come at any time. Unable to argue, Mrs. Prescott wheeled her husband up to the table. Granny, though she looked frail, lifted him out of his chair with ease, resting him on top. She called me to her side, her wrinkled fingers unfastening the buttons on Mr. Prescott’s shirt.

“She set to work, her hands glowing with power as she worked over Mr. Prescott’s body. His wife stood on the opposite side of the table, her eyes wide, but she didn’t speak a word. After a few minutes, Granny moved to stand over Mr. Prescott, her hands on either side of his head. She murmured words that made my skin itch, and the light from her hands filled the entire room.”

Bastien paused, retracting his hand from me and pulling it into his lap. “When Mr. Prescott woke up, the trembling had stopped. Mrs. Prescott cried and cried, and they both thanked Granny. She told them that they had to keep it quiet, that there would be no safe place for me and her if word got out about what we were. The Prescotts agreed to keep our secret, returning to their home after the happy tears had dried. Granny sat me down and told me about where we came from and the work that she used to do. She told me that it was a heavy responsibility and that even though it was dangerous for her to expose herself, the work was important.

“A few weeks went by, and the Prescotts didn’t visit us again. One afternoon, Granny was outside, hanging a line of sheets to dry while I played in the yard. Mr. Prescott came out of their side of the house and started yelling at Granny. His wife followed him out, trying to calm him down, but he kept yelling anyway. Granny told me to go inside, but I didn’t want to leave her. Not when Mr. Prescott sounded so angry.

“They stood in the yard for what felt like hours, speaking in hushed tones. Granny didn’t yell back or even raise her voice. She looked… sad. But not surprised. When the conversation finally fizzled out, Granny came over to me, scooped me into her arms, and carried me inside. I asked her why the Prescotts were angry, and she told me they were scared. Scared that they would be punished for what she did for Mr. Prescott. He said that she had cursed him, and nothing good came from the magic that had saved his life.”

Bastien’s gaze drifted, meandering over the other café goers before moving to the window. “The Prescotts left shortly after that. I’m not sure where they went, and we never asked. Years later, when I was old enough to understand what had happened, I asked Granny why she wasn’t angry about their reaction. Why it didn’t upset her that she was berated for saving that man’s life? She merely smiled and said that it was his life, and he got to do with it whatever he wished.

“‘That is the beauty of life, my Bast,’ she told me. ‘All the possibilities. He was angry, yes. But I knew that anger would pass, and he and his love would go on to have many more happy days together. This is why I could never be upset with what I did. I gave him life so that he may choose what to do with it.’”

He came back to me then, honey-like eyes finding me as they retreated from visions of the past. “That’s the kind of person she was.”

“You carry her with you,” I said, hoping he understood the context.

“In more ways than one,” he muttered.

“Thank you for sharing with me. I understand why you had to hide this part of yourself from me before. I would like to think that I would have understood, if you told me.”

Was that the truth of it? It was easy to say these things now when I couldn’t remember the details, the intricacies of whatever relationship we had during my first life. If I never had died, would I still feel the same way about him?

The space between my certainty and doubt stretched wide, a chasm between us.

“I would have told you,” Bastien said, and once again, his voice was quiet, like he didn’t want me to hear. “Eventually. I would have told you, Tobias.”

“It doesn’t matter. You’ve told me now. More than that. You’ve done what your grandmother did all those years. You gave me my life back with no thought of yourself.”

“It’s not true,” Bastien replied, wrapping long, spindly fingers around his glass again. “I’m nothing like Granny. The first time I use my magic outside of her training, it’s to bring back the man I never got over. Some altruist I am.”

His words buzzed in my ear like a swarm of insects. What was he saying? Obviously, there was still something between the two of us, this unspoken attraction that drew me to him like a moth to its demise in clandestine flame.

The bells rang above the door, and Kaine entered my periphery before I could ask anything else. He spotted us in the back corner, striding as casually as he would down the sidewalk over to us.

“Just got the all-clear,” he said over the two of us. “We need to move.”

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