Page 27 of Blood Currents
Keane nodded.“I’m tired of being broken.”
We formed a loose circle.Our magic reached toward each other cautiously at first, like testing a note before committing to the song.
“Focus on connection,” I murmured, letting my necromancy flow toward Keane.My power felt cool, like dark water filling empty channels.
Cyrus’s fire joined mine—a steady, radiant heat that wrapped around my shadows like a shield.It felt grounding, protective,present.
Elio’s illusions wove through last—cool, intricate, precise.Even now, I felt distance in the way he connected, like he was helping without fully stepping inside the fire with me.My heart ached at the difference.
And then Keane’s portal magic sparked—flickers of silver cutting through the dark, hesitant but alive.
The moment our magics harmonized, I felt the corruption shift.The shallow channels loosened like old scabs breaking away.The deeper wounds resisted, lashing out with waves of pain that made Keane gasp.
“It’s working,” he said, wonder cracking through the strain.“Like breathing when you didn’t know you were suffocating.”
“That’s because you’re not meant to be alone,” I told him, feeding more of my magic into the connection.
The veins under his skin faded slightly, the deep black softening to gray.
“The noise,” he whispered.“It’s quieter.Not gone but quieter.”
“What do you remember?”Elio asked gently.
Keane frowned, sifting through memories.“Fragments.My parents… they were working on something.Something about magic being alive.But it’s still broken, like pieces of a dream.”
“That’s okay,” I said quickly as the corruption surged again.“We don’t have to fix everything at once.Just open the doors.”
We held the connection for a few more minutes.I felt Cyrus steady and unwavering beside me, Elio a careful, constant presence just out of reach, and Keane clinging to us like a lifeline.
When we finally let go, Keane collapsed back against his pillows, exhausted butpresent.
“Different,” he breathed.“Not fixed.But more of me is here.”
“You’ll get the rest back,” I promised.
“You’ll keep coming back?”
“Every day,” Cyrus said first without hesitation.
Elio nodded after a beat.“As long as it takes.”
Keane’s fingers caught mine.“Stay?Just until I fall asleep?”
I looked at Cyrus and Elio.Cyrus gave a simple nod.Elio’s smile was faint but sad—still holding himself back.
“Get some rest,” Cyrus said.
“We’ll plan next steps tomorrow,” Elio added, his voice careful and controlled.
When they left, I stayed beside Keane.His breathing evened out, finally peaceful.
12
Elio
The Lightford dining room wasa stage set for power—crystal chandeliers suspended like frozen fireworks, their fractured light dancing across silk wallpaper.Silver table settings gleamed with the cold perfection of blades, each piece positioned with military precision.The flowers were perfect, their petals so flawless they might have been carved from ivory.
It was theater.All of it.The same dining room I’d eaten breakfast in a thousand times had been transformed by tonight’s audience into a performance space.This kind of display was meant to remind every guest exactly who held the strings in this particular puppet show.
