Chapter 4: Of Liches and Lightheadedness
Maribel dropped to her knees beside Lucien, whose usually pale face was now the color of sun-bleached parchment.
"Lucien!" she shouted, lightly slapping his cheek. "Come on, don't you dare die on me again. I just finished memorizing your sarcastic eyebrow language!"
He groaned.
She blinked. "Wait. You can groan?"
"Ugh…" His eyelids fluttered open. "You… overcharged the bond."
"I what?"
Lucien sat up slowly, clutching his chest. A faint blue glow flickered along the soul tether that linked them. "The wraith fed on necrotic energy. When I pulled too hard through the bond, your spell amplified it… and nearly fried my phylactery."
"Your what now?"
He coughed. "My soul anchor. You know, the thing keeping me from turning into a floating rage ghost."
"Oh," Maribel said. "So… like your magical pancreas?"
He gave her a withering look. "No. It's not even an organ."
"Got it. Less pancreas. More… soul USB drive."
Lucien looked genuinely torn between annoyance and faint amusement. "You're the most aggravatingly accurate person I've ever met."
Maribel offered a hand to help him up. "I'll take that as a thank you."
He took it—tentatively, as though unsure whether it might spark or explode again.
As their fingers touched, a warm pulse spread across the tether. Not painful this time. More like a flicker of understanding.
Lucien blinked at her.
Maribel looked away.
"Let's not talk about that," she muttered.
"Agreed," he said quickly.
Back at the tower, the chaos resumed almost immediately.
Maribel tried to patch her cloak, which now had a suspicious number of singed glitter holes. Lucien stood nearby, hovering awkwardly like a gargoyle who didn't know what to do with his hands.
"I've contacted the Council," he said at last. "They'll reinforce the tether barrier. And assign us a new mentor."
"A new what?" she said, needle freezing mid-stitch. "Why? What was wrong with you?"
"I'm not a qualified bond stabilizer," Lucien muttered. "Also, I may have technically blown up a corridor in the east wing during my last bonded training."
"Oh good," she said cheerily. "We're not just cursed. We're cursed with a repeat offender."
The door opened before he could respond.
In stepped an enchantress with rainbow-colored robes, seven floating books, and a hat shaped like a starfish.
"Hi!" she chirped. "You must be the love-cursed duo. I'm Professor Breezelynn Wibbletoes. Licensed magical mediator, romantic conflict counselor, and part-time potion-singer."
Maribel blinked. "...Potion-singer?"
"Oh yes. Healing spells sound better when sung in a minor key. Preferably while upside down."
Lucien muttered something that might have been a prayer for patience.
"Now!" Breezelynn said, clapping her hands. "Let's start with some trust-building exercises."
"I don't trust anything with 'exercise' in the name," Maribel said.
"Too bad!" Breezelynn grinned. "First challenge: Soul Synchrony Yoga!"
Lucien visibly recoiled.
Two hours later, Lucien was on the floor in a tangled half-lotus, trying not to murder anyone, while Maribel attempted a "pose of vulnerability" without bursting into laughter.
"I swear," she wheezed, "this has to violate at least three codes of necromantic dignity."
"I'm going to haunt that starfish hat," Lucien growled.
"Only if I don't do it first."
After surviving a trust fall (which Lucien caught perfectly, much to both of their horror) and a round of "truth or charm hex," Breezelynn finally floated out the window—literally—declaring, "Progress! I smell progress! Also cheese. But mostly progress!"
Left alone again, Maribel collapsed onto the couch, arms spread wide.
"I'm exhausted," she said.
Lucien nodded, standing stiffly nearby. "I… apologize. About earlier. In the Vault."
She cracked one eye open. "For collapsing? You're allowed to do that once a century."
"No. For pulling too hard on the bond. It wasn't... considerate."
Maribel sat up. "Huh. You know, I think that's the first time you've ever said anything vaguely like an apology."
"I said it last Tuesday."
"That was to a sentient broom you accidentally soul-swapped."
"It was still heartfelt."
She laughed—and this time, he didn't flinch at the sound.
"Lucien?"
"Yes?"
"Do you ever... regret it? Becoming what you are?"
He was quiet for a long moment.
"No. Not regret," he said finally. "But some nights, I do remember what it felt like. To be warm."
Maribel looked at him then—not as a lich, not as her magical babysitter—but as someone lonely, aching, and centuries out of place.
And something inside her shifted.
Just a little.
Just enough.
Later that night, as she drifted off to sleep, the soul tether pulsed again—softly. Not in danger. Not in pain.
Just connected.
And for the first time since this all began, Maribel didn't mind.