8. Zair
Zair
Just My Fate, Stitched Together with Misfortune
The silence of my room feels louder after a night with Thea.
I stretch out on the bed, staring at the ceiling, but my thoughts keep circling her; her voice, her fire, her damn sarcasm.
It’s sticking with me more than I’d care to admit.
I don’t date witches. I don’t even know if I want to date her, but there’s something about her. I want to be around her.
Then I remember her mutilated soul. It haunts me as I try to sleep.
The next morning I get up a little early.
I slip off my enchanted lip ring and set it on the bedside table.
The charm has been a constant for years, masking my Irish accent with a crisp, nondescript American one.
It’s a layer of protection, a small deception I wear daily to keep my past and my true self hidden. But my Ma hates it.
I press the call button, and her face fills the screen after a few rings. The tension in my chest loosens at the sight of her.
“Ma,” I greet, my natural brogue slipping easily into place. “How are ya?”
“Good, good, my boy,” she replies, her voice rich with comfort, like a lullaby I’ve missed. “And yourself? What’s got ya up so early?” She knows me too well to believe I’d call at this hour for no reason.
“Aye,” I mutter, rubbing the back of my neck. “Couldn’t sleep. Had a bad one.” I don’t bother with small talk. I take a breath, steadying myself. “Can ya scream?”
Her brow furrows for a moment, but she nods. “Aye, my boy. I can. What’s troublin’ ya?”
“Two strange things happened yesterday. First, I was woken by a scream. But it wasn’t a banshee’s scream. It was… guttural, Ma. Felt like it ripped right through me, tore at my soul. It was inside me, like.”
“Inside ya? And ya were asleep when it happened?” she asks.
“Aye,” I say, nodding. “But it didn’t feel like a dream. It stuck with me half the day, echoing in me head. Couldn’t shake it.”
She sighs, rubbing her temple as she thinks. “That’s not somethin’ I’ve heard of before. Zair, it’s troublin’, that.”
“I don’t think it’s a banshee thing. Benson, my goblin friend, had the same thing happen. He said his vanished suddenly after English class, mine during Potions.”
“That’s awful strange.” She taps on her chin and I let her think, but after a minute she seems to give up. “Let me know if it comes back.”
“I will,” I assure her.
“But ya said two strange things. What’s the other?”
I hesitate, the words sticking in my throat. I take a deep breath, “I met a girl.”
Her eyes light up. “Oh, did ya now? That’s strange for ya, is it?”
“Not like that, Ma,” I say quickly, though I can’t help the faint grin that slips through.
“I mean… maybe. But there’s somethin’ more.
She smells… strange.” I pause, unsure how to word it.
“She smelled like soul death, Ma. So I took a look.” I struggle to say it.
After spending time with her, it’s easy to think I imagined it.
“Ma. Her soul, it’s mutilated. No longer connected.
Like it’s been ripped out and shoved back in. ”
Her smile vanishes, replaced by a sharp, focused look. “What are ya on about, Zair? A soul ripped out and put back? That can’t happen. Once it’s out, it’s out. It wouldn’t survive.”
“That’s just it, Ma,” I explain. “She’s got a soul shard. I saw it.”
Her face pales. “Soulenium? Are ya certain?”
“I thought they were little, but it’s huge. And beautiful. Her soul is shredded but shining like a saint’s.”
“Soulenium is made from tragedy.” Her eyes widen for a moment. “The size of a soul shard corresponds to what they’ve been through.”
“Bloody hell.”
“A shard like that, it’ll make her stronger, aye, but it makes her a target. Folk’d kill for somethin’ like that,” she cautions me.
The thought guts me. “Aye,” I murmur, nodding. “Do ya think that’s what happened to her soul, someone tried to take it?”
“Unfortunately, it’s very possible. I don’t know much about Soulenium magic, but…” She hesitates, her hands clasping together as if to steady herself. “I’ll do what I can to find answers, start researchin’ immediately. I don’t want to risk tellin’ anyone about her. So keep an eye on her, will ya?”
I agree, not that I needed another reason. Not that I could stay away if I tried.
My alarm rings out. Time for class.
“Stay safe, my boy,” she says, her voice softer now, filled with something, though I’m not sure what.
“I will,” I assure her. I end the call, and the silence presses in on me. I stand, pacing the room like I’m looking for answers in the shadows. But I know they won’t come. I change into my gym clothes, put my lip ring back in place, and head to the gym for Combat Magic.
Of course she’s here. Like she’s been threaded into every part of my day now, stitched into my damn fate, and I’m only just realizing it. I watch as she talks to Coach Drake, a full foot shorter than everyone else in the class. Has she always been here? How have I never noticed this girl?
He surveys all of us like the predator he is and sends us to run circuits. I attempt to get put in her group, but Coach pulls her off to the side.
I’m supposed to be jumping rope but all I can focus on is the far side of the room.
Coach throwing her around on the mats. Again and again.
And she keeps getting up. I’ve moved through four circuits and she’s still there, getting tossed around and then back up like she’s made of steel and fury.
She says something that makes him laugh, his body shaking as the sound ricochets through the room.
He slaps her on the shoulder, sending her toward the circuits.
I look around, wondering if anyone else has noticed.
I’m barely sweaty by the time class is over and earn a disapproving glare from the assistant coach. Oh well. I jog over to where Thea is grabbing her bag and water bottle.
“Thea!” I call out my voice sharper than I intended. Too eager.
She looks up slowly. “Yes?”
Why does she make me work for it? Why do I like that?
“It’s Zair, in case you forgot.” I offer a half-smile.
“It looks like you forgot to work out,” she says, giving me a once-over. She starts walking, but lets me fall into step beside her.
“I know I’m going to regret this,” I say. “But please tell me you just transferred into Combat and I haven’t been totally oblivious.”
“I’ve been in Combat with you for two years.”
I stop in my tracks. Then she cracks and laughs — not a polite laugh, but a real, rich, unguarded laugh that lights up her whole face.
I find myself absurdly pleased that I’m the reason she’s laughing like that, even if it’s at my expense.
Her green eyes sparkle like sunlight caught in shards of glass.
Illusions don’t look like that. Those eyes are hers.
“First class today.”
“Thank god,” I exhale. “I didn’t want to get reamed and have to question my sanity in the same morning.”
“Well, it’s still early,” she teases.
We walk in silence. At first, I’m racking my brain for something clever to say, but nothing comes. Before I know it, the fifteen-minute walk to the dorms is over, and I’m still empty-handed. Maybe that’s fine. She doesn’t seem bothered. And weirdly, neither am I.
“Do you want to have breakfast?” I ask. I hate how hopeful I sound.
“I’m going to shower first. I know I smell this time,” she says.
Yeah. Like burnt jasmine and soul death. Somehow not a bad combination.
“Want some company?” I ask, casual on the outside but testing her a little. Wanting to see how immune she is.
“Sure,” she says without even stopping to look at me. “You can shave my back.” And the door shuts in my face.
I blink. Then laugh. Can’t help the grin spreading across my face as I walk to my dorm. This girl. Seriously. Was that a yes?
When I get to the dining hall, she’s already eating.
She’s sitting alone, so I join her without a word.
We eat in a silence that somehow feels normal.
Maybe I don’t need to fill the silence with her.
It’s strangely freeing. She’s got a full diner style breakfast and eats it until the plate’s wiped clean.
“What classes do you have today?” she asks.
“I’m a psych major,” I say. “So, a few lectures on ethics, and then I’ve got…” I glance around to make sure no nightblind ears are listening. “Energy Manipulation and Magical Crafting.”
She cocks an eyebrow. “Crafting? That’s a weird choice. Part of your major?”
“Nope. I’m a healer, but I’m not sure I want to be stuck in that path. So, I jump around.” I give her a crooked smile. “And on that note, you should get that looked at.” I tell her, gesturing to the bruise forming on her arm.
She shrugs. I’m tempted to reach out and fix it, but I stop myself.
She’s had multiple times she could’ve touched me and didn’t try anything.
No pressure on my mind, no spells, no games.
She doesn’t test the line or try to slip past it.
Last night when she grabbed me, she even avoided my skin, pulling me by the sleeve.
It felt like respect. And I don’t get that much.
“And you?”
“I’m Pre-Law, so Constitutional Law and Critical Thinking,” she says. “Magical Contracts, Advanced Curse Theory and Mystic Magic.”
Misfit Magic? Advanced Curse Theory? Bloody hell. I want to ask what kind, but play it safe.
“I can see you as a lawyer, you’re good at arguing,” I tell her. “What kind? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a witch lawyer.”
She shrugs. “That’s the problem. A human lawyer can’t help pass on magical inheritance and a witch could alter a human will.”
I pause. The statement lands heavier than I expect. Weighted, personal. “Is there a reason…?”
But she’s looking past me, eyes distant.
“You don’t have to tell me anything,” I add. “I’m not trying to pry. Just… talking.”
She stands, picks up her tray. “You’re right.” Her tone is clipped. She walks off before I can figure out what landed wrong.
I stare after her, stunned. One minute, I think I’m making progress, cracking the code. The next, I’m right back at square one.