Chapter Twenty

I hid on the bus during the field trip, letting my magic settle. What a bizarre turn of events. Theodore’s sadistic nature and his impulsive attempt to escape weren’t unexpected, but the way my telepathy latched onto the dying body of that guard… I ran my fingers across the faint scar on my neck. Part of me believed with my telepathy evolving, that streak of empathy tethering to the thoughts I heard and revealing the emotional colors, perhaps I found myself attached to that witch because just last year, that could’ve and should’ve been me.

I could’ve been covered in blood and tar. I could’ve lain at the feet of Theodore Whitlock. I could’ve been dead without a second chance.

Fuck. I didn’t want to dwell. Speaking of should’ve and could’ve, my telepathy began to bloom again, and the bustling thoughts of students traipsing throughout Cerberus Guild reminded me I had teacherly duties to prioritize.

Stepping off the bus, I lingered in the empty parking lot.

“Fuck it.” I reached for a smoke and took a deep, blissful inhale. I was already late. What difference would one cigarette make? Aside from calming my nerves and affording me a few more minutes alone.

Each puff eased the tension in the back of my head until the sudden foul taste of cotton candy sat on my tongue. I fought back the urge to hurl, to choke on the filth of smoke.

I scowled. There was a child out here, one also indulging in a smoke break and ruining mine with their disgust of a habit they attempted to test out.

Levitating between the buses, I kept quiet as I searched for whoever had wandered away from the field trip for a little sugary nicotine fix.

Jamie’s cheeks were puffed like a squirrel, saving all the smoke he’d inhaled for hibernation.

“Seriously?” I glared at him and Tia, who kept her eyes trained on my mouth. “Shouldn’t you two be inside?”

Tia tucked her vape into her sleeve pocket while Jamie remained completely silent, cheeks twitching and lips twisting with disgust. He was desperate to exhale but actually believed me too dim to notice what I could clearly see.

With a telekinetic pulse, I snatched Tia’s vape. “That’s against academy policy. No tobacco products.”

Tia signed something about academy policies contributing to an authoritative police state of bullshit, along with a few more profanities. That much I caught from her surface thoughts.

“Go inside.”

Tia held out her hand, expecting her vape returned.

“No.”

She pointed to my cigarette. “ Hypocrite. ”

I took a deep drag and slowly mouthed as I exhaled, “And?”

Tia frowned with deep, furious lines on her forehead, then went back into the guild while Jamie turned away, coughing and gasping and hating the flavor of cotton candy more than he thought humanly possible.

“Why are you vaping?” I asked. “You don’t even like this.”

“How would you know?”

“Because right now, your intense urge to vomit is palpable.”

“Fine. Guess it’s just nice having someone to hang out with.” Jamie shrugged. “Plus, Tia doesn’t talk or expect me to talk. Kind of perfect.”

“She’s actually pretty conversational,” I said, gleaning her distant stream of curse words for me that held the same artistry as Kenzo’s hurled profanities. “You just don’t know how to communicate with her.”

“Great. Another thing to feel like shit about.”

I huffed while Jamie sulked.

“I don’t want you to feel like shit.” I frowned. “But I am curious how you feel.”

“I’m fine.”

“You realize I’m a telepath, right?”

“ Shitty one, as I see it. ” Jamie’s thoughts went back to every scream for help he hurled in the pitch-black darkness of his mind, the hoarseness in his voice, the breaking bones, the blood and tar and horrors of hundreds of suffering souls beside him day in and day out. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” I took a drag. “I have to ask: why are you here?”

“Because I don’t wanna be inside.”

“No. Why are you at Gemini?”

“Because Novak’s don’t quit,” he said with a hollowness. “Novak’s see their duties through to the end, best of the best, no matter the cost.”

“I’m not an expert, but I’ve worked with fractured minds before.”

“Saying I’m damaged?” Jamie scoffed, halfheartedly wanting to feed into his ego, the person he used to be, the one who’d have a snide and cunning comment to retort on the spot. He didn’t have any, though. He didn’t have much of anything anymore.

“I’m saying maybe you should consider counseling, talk with a psychic specialist.” I finished the last drag of my cigarette, inhaling until the filter collapsed between my fingers. “I can see the gaps, the breaks. This isn’t the type of damage someone walks off until they feel better. It requires mending, years of it.”

“Novak’s don’t need support. We provide it.” Jamie gave me a thin, forced smile, the same he had when his parents reminded him of that mantra after he left the hospital.

“Everyone needs support, Jamie.”

“Not everyone deserves it, though.”

That struck a chord. A thousand different chords of the pain circulating through Jamie’s every waking moment, his sleepless nights, the lack of support he had at home, friendless days, and goals diminished.

“Can I ask you another question?”

“ Just did. ” Jamie sighed, burying the snark like he did so many emotions he believed himself unworthy of expressing, and nodded.

“Why do you want to join the guild industry? Correction. It seems that avenue isn’t much of a choice, so much as an expectation, but what motivates you? What used to motivate you when training your casting capabilities?”

Jamie shrugged. “Stupid stuff. Doesn’t matter anymore.”

“As someone with an honorary doctorate in dumbassery, I assure you, it can’t be that bad.”

Whether my crude language, deadpan tone, or just a few walls around Jamie finally breaking down, my comment led to the briefest of chuckles before he answered. “It used to be wanting to be the best. My motivation. Well, no. That’s not entirely true. It was to be better than others, remind them of their place, and prove mine.”

“And now?”

“Doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.”

“I can see a lot of the carnage in your head, a lot of the fractured memories, the living nightmares, but most of all—I see a young man trying to swim through that abyss. Sometimes having an attainable goal, some motivation, can help when nothing else does.”

“What do you think my goal should be?”

“Why not help people?”

“That’s generic as fuck.”

“Lots of different ways to help. Big things, small things. Dire and trivial and the infinite spectrum between.”

“Ugh, you stole that from Mrs. Whitehurst. She’s always saying corny things like that.” Jamie leaned against one of the buses, staring up at the empty sky, wondering what it’d be like to float up there and just stay. “Help people, huh?”

“I find it to be a wonderful distraction from my own struggles.”

“Seems pretty dumb, but most things are. Guess it couldn’t hurt.”

I remained outside with him, silent and unhelpful, but here so he wouldn’t be truly alone. It was a reminder that I didn’t have time to worry about Theodore Whitlock or the horrors of the past, dark mysteries lurking in the future. That was Enchanter Evergreen’s world to focus on, and he had. He’d adverted whatever wicked intentions that warlock plotted. I belonged here, doing what I could, which meant helping my students. All of them. Every single kid at Gemini Academy mattered and needed my attention in one way or another. I didn’t know how yet, but I’d help Jamie, too.

Once I got home, I basically drank until Milo arrived. After the day we’d both had, I figured he’d show up, and honestly, with everything that’d nearly happened, I wanted a strong drink.

I winced from the burn of vodka. Damn, my thirties didn’t appreciate the heavy-handed pour mixed with a light touch of acidic orange juice.

“Honey, I’m home.” Milo strolled inside, aloof and carefree, even if his thoughts held horrors at the edges where he hoped I wouldn’t look.

“This isn’t your home.” I grabbed the bottle of white wine I’d picked up, knowing he hated liquor and my cheap reds. “I’m not even sure you have a home, considering how much time you spend here.”

“Oh, it’s a disaster.” Milo undid his tie, tossing it in his usual spot, and strutted into the kitchen. “Thank you.”

“Figured after your day.”

Milo uncorked the bottle and poured it nearly to the brim. “I expected worse, honestly.”

“How many fatalities were there?”

“Three. Then nothing. He got loose somewhere between the change of his dampener cuffs and just…”

“I saw.”

“Sorry.” Milo took a sip of his wine, savoring the tartness on his tongue before swallowing. “I tried to keep the worst of the images out of my head.”

“It wasn’t you. It was Theodore. Or the guard’s dying thoughts. I ended up in that room, watching him the same way I watch you.”

“That’s newww.” Milo dragged out the word like it’d somehow cover the apprehension in his voice or concern in his thoughts.

“It’s probably your fault.” I took a swig of my drink. “I was so concerned, a bit obsessed—I know I said I was done with that, baby steps or whatever—but I wanted to know how you were handling the whole Theodore Whitlock escort to the courthouse, so I reached out telepathically since I’ve totally mastered long-range telepathy.”

“I mean, not as much as your skillful self-deprecation, but the telepathy is growing.”

“Ha.” I took another sip. Okay, gulp. Or heavy-handed swallow, which left only a sip in my glass. “I guess when I got there, I felt the pain of one of the guards, his death, and it swept me inside. Then chaos ensued because of demonic energy, broken warding that rattled my magic, and the threats of a narcissistic psychopath.”

“He knew you were there?” Milo quirked an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Not surprising. He fucked up my telepathy the last time we crossed paths.” I poured another drink. “He’s got a rotten mind. One of the worst I’ve ever touched.”

“That’s for sure.”

Milo and I stood in silence, his thoughts mere whispers as he trailed the vast layers of visions deep within the confines of his inner core. I didn’t want to talk or cast, so I let him work and sort futures based on the events of today. The chaos. The horrors endured, and the many others adverted.

I unwound for the evening, reading through essays while Milo pretended to watch television even though his mind was lost in visions. Admittedly, it was a nice evening, all things considered. Quaint and quiet. Eventually, my eyes grew heavy, and the awful fucking handwriting on the paper rough-drafts all started to blur together. I went to bed, hoping Milo would settle soon and get some well-deserved sleep.

When he finally joined me in bed, he had to carefully slip in between me and Charlie, who squeaked and cried before being plopped next to my stomach, where he nestled into a tight ball and dozed right back to sleep. Carlie, on the other hand, remained on the floor, her eyes reflective in the darkness of the bedroom and watching, waiting for us to go to bed so she could join. She very much did not want to appear as if she needed or desired affection—merely food—but she found her way into the bed every single night.

“Anything you wanna talk about?” I pulled his arm under mine, close to my chest, with his hand against my heart. I liked keeping Milo’s hand close to my heart, reminding him even when I couldn’t say it, he owned every beat, every joy, every ounce of happiness in the future.

“Just sleep.” He scooted closer, cuddling against me.

“Okay. But if you do wanna talk… I’m here.”

“Just sorting work stuff, other stuff.”

“The events of today?”

“Theodore’s actions were bizarre, to say the least.”

I did my best to remain calm and still as Milo spoke. The last thing I wanted was for my body to give away my anxiety. I also didn’t want to dwell on the warlock incursion, the long-lasting ramifications, or the potential fallout their mere existence brought.

“I’ve seen a thousand different hellish futures fueled by Theodore, conflicts and combat between him and Whitlock Industries, a bloody battlefield across Chicago and all of Illinois—the world, in some grand stacked events—but I never saw today.”

I shuddered. The idea there was ever potential for global destruction, no matter how minute, was horrifying. And such a possibility existed in Theodore Whitlock’s future.

Milo kissed my shoulder, his lips pressed against my skin until my nerves settled. “It was never a real possibility. The number of factors that have to play out just precisely like juggling a stack of falling dominos.”

“Despite your weird as fuck analogy, it’s still a possibility, though, right?”

“Meh. We’re more likely to bow down to King Clucks, Peckfender of the Unhatched Dozen. Would you like to hear about his possible international fame?”

“Never,” I said, gruff and sour.

“That shadow skirting my visions also vanished. Starting to think maybe I blew it out of proportion. Maybe I was just dealing with a bad clairvoyant moment, trying to see a potential future that wouldn’t manifest,” Milo said, steering the conversation away from humor, which he rarely did, so I knew this weighed on him. “I just really didn’t expect Theodore to surrender, to be so easily contained, to spark a flame and then squash it before burning down everything in his path.”

I did my best to listen to Milo’s continued comparisons of destruction as he contemplated how events unfolded, wondering what he missed, why he missed it, if there was something he should’ve or could’ve seen.

“You can’t prevent everything.” I pulled his hand close, kissing his knuckles. “You told me that.”

“Doesn’t mean I won’t keep trying.”

“Even if you run yourself into the ground?”

Milo squeezed me tight, pulling me closer and making Charlie release one of his pouty purrs at the movement during bedtime. “Thankfully, I have you to keep me from burning out. You keep me afloat when the world weighs down on my shoulders.”

“I sort of feel the opposite.”

“Ouch.” Milo snickered.

“No. I feel like I’m always floating toward thoughts, away from feelings, to and from the regrets I’ll always carry, and a thousand burdens I put on myself every day.” I rolled over, subsequently infuriating Charlie, who trotted to the end of the bed and huffed, but I needed to look Milo in the eyes, see him, and let him truly see me. “You keep me grounded. You keep me safely here in the world of the living, looking toward the future.”

Milo’s playful grin twisted into something stoic and charming. Gently, he kissed me and hugged me tightly. “I love you, Dorian.”

“I love you, too, Milo.”

After collecting papers and wrapping up a brief discussion on today’s objective, I gave my students the last five minutes to relax. No point dragging out conversation when boredom bubbled across the classroom.

Gael tsked at Tara, who sat several desks away during the lesson after I rearranged them, finding it the only way to keep him on task. Tara glanced at me, so I gestured whatever permission she believed I needed to grant before she moved back over to Gael. He was a minute from disrupting everyone by telekinetically dragging her desk across the classroom anyway, and I didn’t need him scuffing up my floors again.

“You still haven’t RSVP’d.”

“Is that really necessary for a house party?”

“ The house party,” Gael clarified loudly, so everyone in the room who wasn’t invited would be well aware of the big bash they were missing out on—not that it seemed he’d left much of anyone in the room off his list. “It’s gonna be the party of the century, in fact.”

“You say that about every party.”

“That’s because I’m nice.” Gael pressed a hand to his chest, feigning sweetness. “But this is my party, so it’s actually gonna be the party of the century.” He eyed Jamie. “And I just feel sorry for anyone who isn’t invited.”

There it was.

Tara thumped Gael’s knuckles, very much shooting him a look that conveyed her thoughts crystal clear. He knew them without a word or my telepathic insight.

“ He doesn’t have to keep pushing Jamie. ” Tara’s look didn’t relent. “ The past is the past, and honestly… Just feels like kicking someone when they’re down. ”

Tara still resented Jamie. Not for the Spring Showcase or the taunting in class. No. Unfortunately, she had years of memories to pull from when it came to Jamie’s cruel antics. But she didn’t want to. Not now. Not ever, really. Tara hadn’t quite compartmentalized everything as well as I pretended to compartmentalize things, but she did her best to push all the negativity out of her thoughts. And she had a lot more than I endured at her age or ever. Jamie. Her brother’s recent attack. Her father’s lectures about the family legacy. Her branch overlap. Her expectations to take a bigger Whitlock spotlight to hide Theodore’s continued spiral of destruction. A sea of sorrow that continued raging every time she came so close to quelling it.

“Why don’t you just give my invitation to someone else?”

“But I need you there.” Gael batted his eyes.

“Please, you’ll be fawning over Tiffany, and I’ll be plastered to a wall avoiding, well, everyone.”

Gael squinted. “She RSVP’d maybe .”

“She’ll probably still show.”

“Oh, she’ll definitely show. She can’t get enough of this cock.” Gael grinned. “Plus, she loves King Clucks, too.”

The rooster crowed exactly as the bell rang and not a minute too soon.

Everyone rushed out of the classroom except for Jamie. He didn’t hang around to talk, though. It was just his way of further isolating himself from his peers, waiting for the hallways to thin out. I dwelled on how I had no answers for Jamie. No support to offer. No suggestions for Chanelle.

I went outside, shivering at the cold front that’d swept in right at the start of November, and rushed to my car to have a smoke. I contemplated hiding out here during my whole planning, but I had tasks to finish arranging my review lesson for my homeroom coven. As I made my way back inside, I found myself lingering outside of Chanelle’s classroom, uninterested in returning to mine.

It was tempting to return to my cold car and spend the rest of my planning smoking. Instead, my feet moved on their own, and I walked right into Chanelle’s empty classroom. “How’s it going?”

“Fine. Working on liaison emails instead of catching up on a pile of ungraded essays.”

“I wanted to ask you a question.”

“So I guess the small talk part of our day is already at an end.” Chanelle grinned.

My frown only added to her smiling face.

“What’s up?”

“I’ve got the auxiliary gym booked Friday. I see you’ve got it this Wednesday.”

“Nope.” Chanelle’s smile disappeared.

“You don’t?” I was almost certain I saw her name scheduled.

“No, I won’t switch days.”

“I wasn’t asking that…” I scrunched my face. “Wait. Why wouldn’t you switch days with me? You don’t do anything on Fridays.”

“Exactly, and neither do the students.”

“Mine do.”

“That’s because you’re an asshole to them.”

And my frown set into a natural, burning scowl. “Anyway, I wanted to ask if you’d be willing to send Jamie to join our homeroom during our practice.”

Chanelle paused, fingers hovering above the keys of her computer.

“I mentioned the Wednesday thing because I didn’t know if you’d think two days in a week would be too much training, but I’m planning more of a casual jig-sawing activity to review techniques with my homeroom. They’ll be split into groups, alternating tasks. I thought the change might be helpful. Maybe. Probably not.”

“Yeah, I could send him to your afternoon homeroom.”

“Cool.”

“Wanna take any others off my hands?” Chanelle’s smile returned. “I’d love a peaceful Friday afternoon.”

“Nope.” I turned on my heel and walked back to my classroom.

“Slacker,” she shouted before returning to her emails. “ Thank you. ”