Uncovering the Truth
On the following Tuesday, Augustin surprised me while I sat on the front porch, sharpening my twenty-first century knife on a whetstone that belonged to Jarvis. I was singing a Nightwish song to myself, and suddenly I felt the hands of his spirit enclose my heart. Augustin’s mental voice entered my mind a second later, just as I began the chorus to “Gethsemane.” I never knew that you were blessed with an angel’s voice, my lovely swan.
The knife slipped from my hands and sliced my left index finger on its way to my lap. “Dammit, Augustin,” I muttered, cutting the song short and diverting my attention to my injured flesh. I focused on the capillaries and the arteries that fed them out of habit, summoning the platelets, tapping into the magic inherent in my otherworldly
