Dead Heat (The Second Awakening #3)

Chapter 1

The night sky loomed over sharp cathedral spires, an absence of stars lending to the yawning void that stretched endlessly above the Magi City.

It had been three months since the stars had all at once winked out of existence.

Since Tobias and his sister fell into a slumber I had yet to remedy.

Since the Second Awakening had come at the hands of the Greene twins, and with it, a slew of mysteries that the Magi world had so far failed to even comprehend.

I myself was only preoccupied with one such mystery—what curse befell the man I loved?

Shining between the spires of grey stone, a sliver of silvery moon shone as the only source of light besides the streetlamps dotting the sidewalk.

I hadn’t intended to arrive in the Magi City at this late an hour, but time held little influence on me as of late.

My days stretched long with tomes stacked tall, raided from the shelves of Paradise’s Grand Library.

Hours poured through my fingers like grains of sand.

Yet, for all of my efforts, I had come up empty-handed. Weeks of research had led to more dead ends than I cared to admit, and somewhere deep down, the last flickers of my hope threatened to be extinguished.

I was failing him.

The thought loomed over me, its shadow growing larger with each passing day.

A creaking sound drew my attention as one of the large wooden doors creaked open at the top of the stairs. A familiar head of crimson hair streaked with white appeared in the opening, and my worries dampened, if only for a moment.

In his proper vestments, Cirian Findlay was truly something to behold.

Robes of sapphire blue and ocean waves adorned his body—the colors favored by those of the Hallowed.

Before Tobias’s revivification, the thought of entering the Cradle—the seat of the Hallowed’s power here in the city—would have made me wretch.

After all, as a Reviled, I was a pariah in their eyes. Now, it simply made me fidgety.

Or perhaps that only happened in the presence of a certain Acolyte.

“I was starting to worry,” Cirian said, stepping out into the brisk winter air. His words burst into puffs of steam that swirled above him. “Did you take the wrong train again?”

Warmth bloomed under my cheeks at his jibe.

“You make it seem like a frequent occurrence.”

His blush-red lips pulled into a grin as he reached into the folds of his vestments, pulling out a small square package.

“Is it not?”

Pulling a cigarette from the vessel, he seated it between pink lips. With a flick of his fingers, the end of the vice flared to life, and he exhaled a plume of sweet smoke.

I wondered what it would be like to feel those sinful lips drag across my flesh. Would it be just as intoxicating as last time?

“Shouldn’t we get inside?” I asked, noting his lack of urgency. “Your message made it seem as though we hadn’t a moment to lose.”

“Did it?” he feigned surprise, leaning a shoulder against the stone wall and taking another slow drag. “Sancha does have a penchant for the dramatic at times. I believe she can wait a few more minutes while two friends catch up.”

He lingered on the word ‘friends,’ his dark eyes trailing down my body in a way that burned away the chill of the night air. He shifted his weight forward, taking another step closer.

It had been two weeks since I’d last been face-to-face with the Acolyte.

I hated that I knew the number of days. That I had to stop myself from reaching for him.

That I recalled, with such great detail, the sensation of his lips against my own.

The sounds that he uttered when I sank my teeth into the warm crook of his neck.

But there were other matters to attend to. And as much as I wanted to forget the fact I was standing on the stairs of the Cradle, the looming shadow that the Church cast over the two of us smothered the flames of my desires all at once.

“So, Sancha has finally returned to the Cradle?” I asked, though I already knew it to be true.

The Council of Magi had recently decided to loosen its grip on its members—if only temporarily—as winter had taken hold of the Magi City.

The Unseen delegates had returned to Paradise the prior evening, much to Azrael’s relief, and it seemed as though progress was finally being made on the front of negotiations with the Unseen Rebellion.

“Aye, she has. The Cardinal has returned to roost, though I can’t say for how long. The Council is still reeling from the mess we made of things, and they can only keep a handle on so much at once.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “‘Mess’ seems far too tame a description for nearly every Mortal across the Expanse manifesting magical abilities overnight.”

Cirian huffed a laugh. “Perhaps you’re right. Maybe it’s more of a kerfuffle?”

“I don’t understand what the Council has to be upset over,” I continued. “Tobias told me they’d been harping about the ‘Second Awakening’ for decades, claiming it to be the catalyst behind each and every decision they made.”

“But there’s the rub,” Cirian replied, flicking his ash onto the ground.

“Now that it actually happened, they no longer have their blanket excuse to condone their selfish behaviors. Plus, none of them ever imagined that the Awakening would bring magic to the Mortal population. If everyone is a Magi, then how can they hold onto the power they’ve used to force the mortals into submission? ”

His conclusion had merit. Mortals had long provided the Magi a labor force to exploit with promises of magical boons. To those without the touch of magic, even the promise of it could drive a man to any lengths.

“What of the Church? Have they determined an official stance on this most miraculous of events?”

Cirian snorted a laugh, smoke billowing from his nostrils.

“It’s only a Miracle if we can tie it back to one of the clergy.

Externally, the Church is calling on those who have awakened to join in worship and gratitude to the Source.

On the inside, however… let’s just say there are more than a fair share of bishops who are not thrilled with the idea of their sanctuaries being filled with Mortals. ”

“How generous of them,” I scoffed, pulling the edges of my coat tighter around me. “Leave it to those imbeciles to take an opportunity to actually help those in need as an affront.”

Cirian dragged the remainder of his cigarette against the wall, extinguishing it. “Sancha is doing her best to make sense of the chaos, but there’s only so much she can do. She’s beset from all sides, and between you and me, it’s starting to wear her thin.”

“What about you?”

He looked up then, dark eyes reflecting the pinpoints of street lights as if he was the one who captured the stars and held them hostage in his gaze. “I continue to play my part happily, Bast. It’s the only thing I can do. Without Tobias… I find it difficult to do much else.”

The pain beneath his words squeezed the air from my lungs. It was familiar, that pain. That longing. We shared it, the two of us, along with Azrael. A glaring hole in our lives since Tobias had been taken.

I reached for him then, my fingers finding the bend of his elbow. He didn’t pull away from my touch, those fathomless eyes finding me once more as the ghost of a smile pulled at the edges of his mouth.

“How is he?” Cirian asked.

“The same,” I answered, numb to the grief that saturated my words. “Which is to say, he’s still alive. We should focus on that much.”

Cirian unleashed a hollow laugh. “Wouldn’t it be so much easier if he were merely dead? You can work with dead.”

“Careful what you speak into the world,” I warned him, though there was no heat behind the scold. “My Gran used to tell me that. My words were wishes spoken into the Ether, whether I knew it or not. You never know who is there listening.”

“Then I will speak aloud only pleasant things,” Cirian replied, his hands reaching for me in the shadows of the spires above. “Of all the ways I would worship your body in the dark, Bast.”

My flesh burned at his touch as fingers sank into my waist and he pulled me closer, motions deliberate as he advanced, my back pressing against the rough stone wall.

Before I could manage any attempt at dissent, his warm lips were on mine, his breath sweet against my tongue as he devoured me in a kiss.

The weeks apart had been kindling, stacked higher and higher with each passing day, waiting for an errant spark to come and ignite the pyres of passion.

Cirian’s kiss was no mere ember—it was a bolt of lightning descending from the heavens, igniting all at once the dormant desires until they burned, scorching my veins.

Twisting my fingers into the fabric of his vestments, I pulled Cirian closer, folding myself against his lithe frame.

Already, I could feel it, the glimmering thread connecting the two of us as it had before, spurred on by his touch.

Even as he broke away to gasp for air, the tether burned bright against the dark backdrop, its verdant light illuminating his face with angles that transfigured his beauty into something otherworldly.

He was more than the distraction I hoped he would be. And as I stared up at that face, his plump lips now blood-red, I knew that the connection we shared went beyond just the needs of flesh. Whatever magic Tobias had called from the Ether that night had woven us together, souls-and-all.

And in that moment, I couldn’t have felt more grateful.

“What is it?” Cirian asked, his voice a whisper.

I shook my head. “It’s nothing. Just an aberrant thought.”

“Enlighten me,” Cirian insisted, holding me firmly in place. “You keep too many things bottled up in that brilliant head of yours, Bast. Let them breathe.”

“Did you just call me brilliant?”

Cirian’s chest vibrated with laughter. “You are insufferable sometimes, you know that?”

“I’m acutely aware.”

“But brilliant you are, all the same. I’ll tell you again, should you need to hear it?”