Page 25

As the train began to slow, I returned to the cabin to find Bastien snoring into the cushion, his arm bent at a strange angle above his head. The squealing of the brakes caused him to stir, and when his eyes landed on me, a smile crawled across his lips, so precious that I wanted to lean in and take it from him.

But instead, I knocked on the door of the cabin next to us. Kaine pulled it open, running a hand through the shock of hair between his ears.

“What’s all the knocking about?”

“We’re arriving at the station,” I told him. “I just thought you should know.”

“I got ears, haven’t I?” Kaine asked, but then his scowl morphed into a playful grin. “Alright, give me just a tick, and I’ll come gather the two of you. We’ve got a little ways to go into town, but we’re not far now.”

“Far from what?” I asked, still curious as to the destination.

“You’ll see, Greene.”

The door shut in my face, and I returned to Bastien, who had managed to rouse himself enough to sit upright.

“That was a quick ride,” he said, voice thick with sleep. A trail of dried drool lined his mouth, and I had to stop myself from wiping it away.

I moved to the window, looking out at the small town that grew closer with each passing second. The buildings were squatty and old, with slanted roofs of rusting metal and trees far too tall to be outside of the forest.

“What kind of place do you think Brierwood is?”

I had never been this far outside of the Magi Cities before, so it felt a bit like landing on an alien planet.

“It’s a mortal town,” Bastien answered, pulling his shoes on one at a time. “We used to get some of the dairy into the café from around here. I’m surprised I can’t spot any cows from the tracks.”

A mortal town? I guess it made sense that the Rebellion would be better off hiding amongst mortals. If they were going for a place that the Adored would be less inclined to look, they’d found the right one.

The train settled into the station, a whistle signaling when it was clear to disembark. Once we were on the platform, Kaine guided us out through the station and into the quaint little town. The train station was off the main thoroughfare, a collection of buildings lining the narrow road on either side with a shabby-looking city hall sitting at the end of it. Old vehicles spewing plumes of smoke puttered down the street, mortals traversed the sidewalks with bags and strollers and dogs on leashes. It was sort of picturesque in that quaint way that only a greeting card could capture.

“I’ve got to go ahead and make sure everyone made it,” Kaine announced as we departed the train station. “You two should be safe around here but don’t wander too far. I’ll come get you in an hour or so.”

“We can’t just come with you?” I asked, not too thrilled at the idea of wandering around a new environment when I couldn’t defend myself from what else may be lurking out there.

“Patience,” Bastien muttered beside me.

“I won’t be long,” Kaine reiterated. “Don’t cause a ruckus, and you’ll be just fine.” With a final nod, he headed off into the town, disappearing around a corner and leaving Bastien and me standing in front of the train station.

I nearly jumped out of my skin as the train whistled behind us, signaling its departure.

“You need to relax,” Bastien said with a laugh. “Come on, let’s take a walk.”

“Not like we have much of a choice,” I muttered, following Bastien’s lead.

We emerged onto the main street just as the lights overhead came on, a buzzing electrical noise permeating the air. The sun had nearly set at this point, the late afternoon warmth still lingering on the pavement below.

“Wow.” Bastien marveled at our surroundings, peering through a storefront at the mannequins displayed in garments that seemed years out of fashion. “It’s nearly the same as the town I grew up in.”

“You didn’t grow up in the city?”

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 he really like? 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?”

“Not always.”

There was another question that stuck out as I mulled over the new information. “Was I the first? The first person you brought back, I mean.”

Bastien nodded, once again preoccupied with tracing the rim of his cup. “Did you want to hear about it?”

“Please.”

“The process isn’t as complicated as some might think it is. I mean, there’s a lot of prep work, like crafting the Verdant gem and being able to completely center yourself. But the actual reviving part is simple. All I have to do is find you, out there in the ether, and bring you back. Once your soul occupies your body again, I just give you a quick kick-start and that’s that.”

Ether. There was that word again. The line of the prophecy rang in my ears.

Son of the second, lost in the ether.

You have been beckoned, Death is your teacher.

“When you say ‘find me,’” I repeated. “What exactly does that look like?”

“I project my consciousness into the ether—the place where we pull magic from to create glamours and Veils. It’s the space between the living and the dead. Remember how I told you I thought it might have been too late by the time I got to your body? That’s because souls don’t typically linger in the ether that long. They’re drawn to other places, places of rest or retribution. But yours was easy to find. It was like you were waiting for me, and all it took was me pointing in the right direction for you to come back.”

Was it really that simple? Kudos to my incorporeal soul.

“Cirian told me a bit about the process of death for us Magi,” I said, piecing together the details. “He said that our magic returns to the Source, and that’s why mine is gone. That it already returned.”

Bastien nodded. “He’s right, mostly. As Magi, magic runs in our veins. When your heart stops beating, that magic retracts, gathering in the body to be released with your final breath. That magic gets absorbed back into the ether, but it doesn’t surprise me that the Acolyte believes it finds its way back to the Source. He’s a man of faith, after all.”

“You don’t believe in the Source?”

Bastien chuckles. “Do I believe there’s a source of magic? Sure. But it’s not some deity to be worshipped. It’s like the ancients worshipping the Sun. They saw how it brought life to their world, and they bowed down to it. Nowadays, we know it’s simply a resource, and we can choose whether or not we wish to utilize it. The Church has spent centuries building up the case for devotion to the Source, but it’s merely a facade behind which they hoard power. For who better to communicate the wishes of a god than those who sit closest to its feet?”

“And what of prophecy,” I asked before I could think better of it. “Where do you think that comes from, if not the Source?”

“Prophecy?” Bastien repeated, his eyes narrowing. “I’m afraid Granny never spoke of prophecies. Why do you ask?”

“It’s nothing,” I said, heat flooding my face as I shook my head. “Just something I heard in passing while at the Cradle. Please, forget I mentioned it.”

He eyed me for a moment longer before continuing, “Your memory problems, Death’s Touch, is theorized to be caused by prolonged exposure to the ether. I think that’s why yours is particularly severe. Your soul was there for nearly three days. I’ve never heard of one hanging around that long without being corrupted.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“Sort of,” Bastien replied. “If a person’s soul clings to the ether for long enough, they can manifest back into the physical world in a number of ways. They’ll possess someone’s body or the body of the recently deceased. Or they may appear as an apparition, visible to those here in the physical realm.”

“Ghosts,” I concluded.

“You could call them that, yes.”

“So, would I have started haunting people if you didn’t bring me back?”

Bastien shrugged, taking another sip of his drink. “You tell me.”

The thought of lingering in that place, numb to all that was going on around me, suddenly filled me with a dread that twisted my stomach into knots.

“That brings us to the true resurrection ritual,” said Bastien, drawing my attention back from the spiraling scenarios bouncing around my head. “Which should let me restore your magic. Once I locate it in the ether, I’ll extract it and then funnel it back to you. If everything goes well, you should regain all the power you once held.”

“And if it doesn’t go well?”

Bastien squirmed in his seat. “I don’t know. This probably isn’t what you want to hear, but all of this is theoretical for me, Tobias. I’m only going off the books I’ve read. I’ve never seen it performed in person.”

It certainly wasn’t what I wanted to hear. “I trust you,” I said, both for his sake and for mine. This was Bastien. I had no reason not to put my faith in him. “You’ll do great.”

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.”

Bastien was out of his seat in a blink, downing the last of his beverage and setting the empty glass on the counter. I started down at my untouched espresso, then made the decision to chug what I could.

It was nowhere near as good as Bastien’s.

Outside of the café, Kaine led us away from the main street, weaving through passages between brick buildings and never traveling in a single direction for too long. It would make remembering the route to our destination nearly impossible, even in the daylight. A precaution I’m sure had served the Rebellion well in the past.

When we reached the outskirts of the town, the buildings growing scarcer the further we traveled, Kaine finally stopped in front of a dilapidated warehouse, a faded sign above the battered door reading “Paradise Pastries” in faded script under a flickering light.

I hesitantly eyed the entrance. “Is this it?”

“Now, now,” Kaine said with a chuckle. “It’s not a chateau, but what better place to set up shop than Paradise, am I right?”

Bastien seemed to share my concerns as he peered through a broken window pane. “There’s no one inside. Are we early or something?”

“Not at all,” Kaine replied, pushing the door open with a bit of force. It shuddered, then gave, all at once. “Inside, you two.”

“You’re not coming with us?” I asked, alarms blaring in my head.

Kaine laughed again. “You’ve got a healthy dose of suspicion, Greene. I’ll give you that. I’ll be right behind you, rebel’s honor.” He held up a hand, palm out as if pledging himself.

I looked back at Bastien once more, his own concern evident in his expression.

“Come on, chaps. Paradise awaits,” Kaine added, staring us down with an intensity that set my teeth on edge.

With nowhere left to go but forward, I ducked through the entrance and into the dimly lit space.