The square still hummed, and Tom was pretty sure the blood in his veins had been replaced by adrenaline.
He was strangely energetic in the aftermath of Lucian's rite. The uncertainty settled in his chest like a second heart, but there was a quiet excitement about it, of what comes next.
The magic hadn't been violent, not really. It had been soft and devastating in its' wake, like death in someone's sleep. After years of staunching the pain, letting it flow freely was terrifying.
But they trusted the mortician to lead them in their grief.
To hold them so that they wouldn't lose themselves in the sheer energy it would cause.
So Tom took a deep breath and remembered his father.
Laurence's laughter was louder than himself. He enjoyed terrible jokes that made his mother groan and Tom giggle. He breathed in the scent of the tobacco that clung to Laurence's coat after a long hard day at work.
