Page 13 of Where Exorcists Cannot Lie

I saw red at the notion. The anger I’d been tamping down for the past year and a half, even though it sat just below the surface, exploded within me. How dare he give me, well, whatever the fuck this odd attitude signified.

“Oh, no. No, no, no. You don’t get to—” Indignance claimed my voice before I said more than I’d intended. I produced a high-pitched wheeze and closed my mouth. It was all in the past. What good would it do to split hairs? Show him how much he’d wounded me? I needed to salvage the remnants of my pride. I took a few breaths. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter now.”

“Taz,” he started, his voice quiet and pleading. “Let me–”

The abrupt noise of my chair scraping the floor interrupted him as I stood. “Shut up, Inuel. I don’t want to hear it.”

My tone sounded harsh. Cold. It felt freeing somehow, having my empathy on vacation together with my Magic. For once, I didn’t think it necessary to prioritise someone else’s feelings over mine. The hell with it all. I wanted to draw blood, no matter how childish and pathetic it might’ve been. A need to say something biting rose within me. The more venomous the better. Something ugly that would cut him to the quick. So I added, “And quit calling me Taz. It’s vulgar. I hate it.”

I said it despite myself. Regardless of the fact I used to love it when he used that shortened version of my name. Nobody else had ever done so. It always felt intimate. Affectionate. Even though Inuel’s main reason for using this nickname was likely pure laziness. I still loved it, the complete and utter moron I was, but I said it anyway.

My satisfaction proved short-lived. The instant the words left my mouth, I doubled over, pain slashing my viscera as if an internal flame had spread inside me.

Fuuuck. What an idiot.

Overwhelmed with wrath, my mind clouded by emotion, I’d disregarded the universal rule of the sanctuarium: no lies allowed. The purest, lightest spiritual energy pervading the place didn’t permit uttering untruths within its bounds. One could attempt it, of course, as long as they were prepared to deal with pain as a consequence. The greater the lie, the more agonising the punishment.

This tiny detail had slipped my mind because, on a regular day, I wasn’t much of a liar. The inability to tell fibs during a retreat had never been an issue for me before, especially since my previous stays had tended to be solitary. The only other time I’d had a companion, a Creator from Asirhwÿn, he’d turned out to be a grumpy git who clearly hadn’t thought much of Paternal Elves like me, and we’d passed whatever short period our visits coincided with little interaction, each focused on meditation and internal healing.

Right then, though, the remembrance of how shit worked around here knocked the air out of my lungs. I needed a while to collect myself.

Inuel continued to observe me with no sign of puzzlement, his sympathetic expression the last nail in my coffin.

I couldn’t say how, but the fucker knew what had just happened and why—much to my humiliation. I began to suspect it hadn’t been the first time he’d sneaked into a sanctuarium.

He made to move towards me, but I gestured for him to stop. I straightened, my breathing ragged.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

I stopped myself in time. Snapping, “Yes, thank you very much,” would have been one fat whopper that might’ve sent me to the floor. Instead, I crossed my arms over my chest and gave him my best glower.

Inuel hovered in silence as if expecting me to hold the reins of the conversation. I couldn’t help but notice how pale and tired he looked.

I sighed, my ill humour waning.

“Grab a seat.” I indicated the chair opposite me with my chin and regarded him lowering himself onto it with keen obedience. “When did you arrive?”

“Freeday,” he answered at once, appearing relieved I continued talking to him.

“Freeday? Two days ago, then. I suspected as much. You must be starving, eh?” I said moodily.

“Fuck, Taz,” he moaned, rubbing his stomach in a precarious move that refocused my attention on his abdominals. “You have no idea. I could eat a horse.” At the last word, he sprung to his feet, appearing horror-stricken. “Shit, Dinita. I left her in the stables—”

“Relax.” I sucked air through my teeth. “I took care of your mare last night. You can check on her later. But what happened to the stallion you used to ride?”

Inuel collapsed back down onto his seat. “Nÿr’s fine. Just needed reshoeing. And damn. You’re a true gift from the gods.”

Staying mad at Inuel proved a taxing endeavour when he’d been gazing at me with those shiny, stupid eyes of his as though I’d invented cream puffs.

I walked over to the stove and pointed at the ceramic pots. “You want porridge? Or soup? Everything’s still hot.”

Inuel’s gaze widened all the more, his throat moving in a visible swallow. “Both?”

I fought a smile but lost that round. Alphas liked their food and Inuel was no exception.

A moment later, I placed a generous bowl of porridge in front of him, with a few scones on the side. Having refilled our mugs with chicory coffee, I sat, sipping the drink and watching Inuel eat. Or rather inhale his food.

He made short work of it, neat and methodical in his approach, not leaving a crumb.

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