Page 17 of Blood Currents
He’s here.
My heart thundered.I pushed back from the desk so suddenly Scout gave a startled rattle, scrambling for balance.“Sorry,” I whispered.
It made sense.Of course it did.The one place on campus the Shroud Guard couldn’t search without permission.The one place the bloodline wards recognized him as rightful heir and didn’t let his uncle in.
“The rooms are yours alone,” Keane had told me when I first arrived.Because unlike Elio and Cyrus, Keane and I had no living relatives that the wellspring recognized as “heirs” so no one could enter them except for us.Well, unless… really until the council decided to fight the wellspring itself.
But the energy around that space… it was wrong.Sick.Like the magical equivalent of a wound that refused to close.
I stood, pacing a few steps but then stopped.Ishouldget Elio and Cyrus.I shouldn’t do this alone.
Scout clicked anxiously, catching my rising dread.
“I’m just going to check,” I told him.“That’s all.Just to see if he’s really there.”
But we both knew that wasn’t true.
Because if he was there—broken, hiding, dying—I wasn’t going to leave him again.
I climbed the stairs slowly, my senses stretching ahead.The wrongness grew stronger with each step.By the time I reached Keane’s floor, it felt like walking through magical tar—thick, clinging, corrupted.
His door stood closed, looking perfectly normal.But the wellspring’s energy around it writhed like something in pain.
I pressed my ear against the wood, listening.Was that movement inside?Breathing?Or just my imagination?
“Keane?”I whispered, barely loudly enough to be heard.“Keane, are you in there?”
Silence.Then—
“No.”The voice was rough, broken, but unmistakably his.“Not here.Go away.”
My heart clenched.“Keane, it’s me.It’s Mari.”
“Mari’s not here.”His voice sounded lost, confused.“Mari’s safe.Has to stay safe.Uncle says—no.Uncle lies.But which lies?Can’t tell anymore.”
“I’m real,” I said urgently, pressing my hand against the door.“Keane, I’m right here.I’m real, and I want to help you.”
“Everyone wants to help.”A bitter laugh sounded more like a sob.“Uncle helped.Helped until the magic screamed.Helped until nothing was mine anymore.”
I could hear him moving now, restless pacing maybe.The corruption in the magical currents pulsed with each step.
“That wasn’t help,” I said.“That was torture.What your uncle did—”
“Stop.”The word came out sharp, pained.“Can’t think about it.Hurts when I think.Everything hurts.Forty-seven tiles.Or forty-nine.Can’t remember.Can’t…”
He broke off, and I heard what sounded like him hitting the wall.
“Keane, please.Let me in.Let me help you.”
“You’re not real.”His voice was closer now, like he was on the other side of the door.“Real Mari wouldn’t come.Too dangerous.I’m dangerous.Corrupted.Broken.Traitor.”
“You’re not a traitor,” I said fiercely.“You’re sick.There’s a difference.”
Silence stretched between us.Then, so quietly I almost missed it: “How do I know you’re real?”
I thought quickly and then pulled out the key on my bracelet—his gift, infused with promises we’d never gotten to keep.
“You gave me a key,” I said.“Do you remember?”
