10. Thea
Thea
How to Lose Friends and Alienate Witches
“Vivien, I was in class.” It comes out colder than I intended, but it’s still not enough.
“Adora!” Her severe voice cuts through the speaker. “You weren’t in class. Anita called and said you skipped Illusions.”
I force myself to stay calm, even though everything inside me is seething. “I go by Thea now. And I didn’t skip. I had my schedule changed. Illusions wasn’t a good fit.”
“You what?” The edge in her voice turns icy. “You can’t do that, Theadora. I selected your classes carefully for a reason.”
“I spoke with the counselor,” I reply, my tone even, almost casual. I want to sound unaffected, but it’s harder than I thought. “My original schedule didn’t align with my skills or graduation requirements. Isn’t the point of being here to study what we’re good at?”
“You should have come to me first,” she says, her voice softening. I brace myself. “I’m your high priestess, your guardian. I’ve guided you since you were a child. Those classes were chosen to help you serve the coven.”
“And how would failing at Illusions help the coven?”
“You’re not yourself lately,” she says suddenly, her voice shifting into a wounded tone.
“You’ve changed, Theadora. This isn’t like you to be so…
unhelpful. So cruel. Anita was devastated when you wouldn’t help her.
It was something small, something you could have done without even thinking, but you chose to hurt her instead. Why are you being so mean?”
I feel like I missed a step on the stairs, but I don’t let her hear it.
“It’s not like that. I’m… struggling with my classes,” I say like that’s the reason. “I just need some time to catch up on work.”
“Fine. But remember, Theadora, we’re your family. What Anita needs is more important than your schoolwork. Don’t forget who’s been there for you.”
I don’t respond. There’s nothing left to say.
I hang up, my hands trembling from holding myself together, all the anger simmering beneath the surface.
I know they need my soul for Anita, but I was nine when they took me in.
This was always Vivien’s plan. I might not be ready to fully face Vivien yet, but I’m not the same person I was. Not anymore.
Walking in a trance to the library, I find myself rubbing the brand on my wrist. I look down and see that I still haven’t cast a new illusion to hide it. I make it vanish as a shadow creep across the books in front of me. Mavrik must be in here somewhere. I find him tucked in a corner table.
“Hey!” I call loud enough to get shushed. I look down and see that he’s working on his calculus. “Mind if I join you?”
He looks up and studies me for a moment, then nods and returns his attention to his work. I take it as a yes and take a seat, getting right to work.
After thirty minutes he says my name.
“Hmm?” I ask without stopping. If I pause I’ll get lost.
“You’ve been struggling on that one problem for ten minutes.”
“I am aware,” I reply dryly.
“Why didn’t you just ask me for the answer?”
I give up on the stupid integral and look up at him.
“Why would I ask you for the answer?”
“Isn’t that why you came to sit here?”
Oh. That’s the only reason anyone ever sits with him. I want to give him a hug. “No, I came to sit here for the company.”
His cheeks heat up and I refocus on my problem.
“I hate calculus, why do I need it for a law degree?” I ask him.
“Because they want to confirm that you are smart enough to figure out complicated problems.” He gives my unfinished work a pointed look.
“Ouch.” I feign injury. “You have no filter.”
“Filter?”
“You know, softening what you say.”
“Oh, are you supposed to do that?” he asks, genuinely.
I shake my head.
“What has you stuck?” He scoots around the table to the seat beside mine. He looks over my problem and helps me work through where I went wrong.
We’ve just finished when my stomach growls loudly. He raises an eyebrow.
“Guess that’s my cue to go get dinner,” I say with a smile. “Want to join me?”
He tilts his head then shakes it.
Fair, probably would hurt his reputation being seen with me.
I smile to myself as I pack up and say goodbye.
Then walk straight to the short order window and order a double cheeseburger with fries.
I’m done being ashamed of what I eat. Even before the dungeon, I never let myself enjoy food, always thinking I was too fat.
But now, after knowing what it’s like to truly be hungry, I’m going to eat what makes me happy and fills my belly.
And this, the cheese dripping down my chin, is pure bliss, a dizzy, aching pleasure that makes my whole body remember what it means to be alive.
For a moment, it feels like I’m free. I’m already halfway through my meal when the sickly sweet scent of roses invades my senses. I didn’t need to look up to know who it is.
Anita.
She stops in front of me, arms crossed, her expression a practiced mix of irritation and false concern. Her eyes sweep over me like she’s taking inventory.
“What’s gotten into you?” she snaps. “First, you don’t help me with my homework, and now you skipped class! How am I supposed to get my notes?”
“Take them yourself?” I suggest lightly, popping another fry into my mouth.
Her eyes widen a fraction, then narrow with calculated sweetness. “That’s not how this works, Adora. You help me, and we can still hang out. You want that, don’t you?” She makes it sound like an offer, like being around her is the prize I should be scrambling for.
“If you say so.” I smile, unfazed. “And it’s Thea.”
She makes a face like she smells shit before zeroing in on my tray, nose wrinkling. “Are you seriously eating that? All that grease can’t be good for you.” She gives me a pointed once-over. “You’ve got to be careful… you know how easy it is to, um… let yourself go.”
I meet her gaze, not even blinking as I take another deliberate bite of my burger, savoring the taste. I pretend Anita isn’t standing there, that her eyes aren’t narrowing at every chew. But she doesn’t leave. Of course she doesn’t.
“Thea, why would you change your class?” she demands, her voice pitched just right, not quite angry, but hurt, like she’s the one who’s been betrayed. “We only had two classes together because you choose to study law, now we don’t. When are we going to be able to hang out?”
I keep chewing, refusing to react.
“I mean… remember last semester?” she presses, forcing a smile. “We always partnered up, sat together. We were inseparable.” Her tone turns wistful, like she’s recalling some golden memory. I’m sure it was. She remembers us as inseparable. I remember being used. Funny how that works.
She leans in, lowering her voice like we’re sharing a secret.
“I thought you liked spending time with me. I know I loved spending time with you.” Her eyes glisten a little, expertly balancing sincerity with subtle accusation.
“Did… did I do something wrong?” Without waiting for an answer, she sighs dramatically.
“I just don’t get why you’d switch without talking to me first. Don’t you trust me anymore? ”
A flash of doubt twists in my chest. For a brief, fragile moment, I remember the times I believed her. Times I thought her approval meant love, that she cared about me, that we were something like family. But that version of her, of us, was always a lie.
I reach for another fry as her expression shifts soft, pleading, like she’s on the edge of real sadness. It’s a performance so masterful I almost applaud.
“I miss you,” she murmurs. “I thought we were best friends.”
“Really?” The word slips out before I can stop it. “When was the last time we hung out?”
Her expression tightens, as if I’ve betrayed her. “I thought you were busy. You never seem to want to hang out anymore.”
The words pierce more than they should, twisting her abandonment into something I should feel bad about. For a moment, I almost see the girl I used to believe she was, the one who might’ve cared, the one I wanted to be close to. But that girl never existed.
“I thought we were sisters.” Her gaze hardens, tone tight with barely concealed resentment. “Or was that nothing to you?”
There it is. The knife wrapped in silk, slicing right beneath the surface. The implication that I’m the one destroying everything, that I’m selfish, cold, ungrateful.
I set my burger down slowly, meeting her gaze.
“It’s just… hard, you know?” she continues, shifting gears effortlessly. “I care about you. I’m trying. And now you’re acting like… like you don’t even want me around.” Her lips tremble, eyes glossy. “I don’t understand, Adora. What happened to you?”
“If you’re trying to manipulate me, the least you can do is get my name right,” I tell her without any reservations.
Her voice lowers again, soft, coaxing. “Just… come back to Illusions. Sit with me. Like before. We can figure this out… together.”
I pick up my burger, take another slow bite, and chew deliberately.
“I don’t understand, Thea! What’s going on with you?” There’s a crack in her voice now, frustration seeping through, though she tries to play it off as hurt.
“I woke up,” I say quietly. “From a nightmare.”
Anita freezes. Confusion flashes, followed by something bitter and hot. She hides it fast, but not fast enough.
Her smile tightens. “Right… well… you’re going to ruin everything.”
She spins on her heel and stalks away, leaving behind the faint scent of roses and poison.
My plate licked clean, I head to my nook, but it feels too quiet. It has never felt that way before. I always loved the quiet, and I know exactly what’s bothering me. Dammit.
I grab my phone and scroll all the way to Z.
Sorry about this morning. It wasn’t you.
You mean everything in the world doesn’t revolve around me?
You are almost making me regret apologizing.
Good. There was no need.
Just shut up and let me have my apology.
Lol. You are terrible at this!
Fine, make it up to me.
You can keep your lip ring.
That the best you got?
What do you want?
Cookies.
Witches don’t bake.
The door swings open and Zair steps into the nook, setting a plate of cookies on the table.
“Already was on my way to risk it. You’re my guinea pig.
A nightblind gave them to me, but if they’re cursed with love spells, better you than me,” he says, dropping his bag onto the chair beside mine.
I quickly shove the book I was reading on souls into my bag and give him a side-eye, then take a bite. They’re perfect.
“Well?” he asks.
“I still hate everyone.” His smile lights up the room.
He grabs one, taking a bite as his eyes glaze over in mock rapture.
I shake my head, and we settle into our homework.
The night passes like the last — quiet, companionable, productive.
We don’t talk much, though I slip in a few of the Lazlo questions I came up with yesterday.
Other than the food ones, he gets every answer wrong.
We trade notes on our shared classes. He chuckles whenever I sharpen my pencil, which I do more often than necessary.
What’s wrong with liking a perfectly sharp point?
His phone rings a few times and he sends quick texts but doesn’t answer.
At one point, he tells me about how his friend Benson made a spectacular save at soccer practice, his hands shaping the moment midair.
Mostly, we just exist in the same space, and somehow, that’s enough.
We pack up and are settling into a conversation when my dorm appears too soon.
“Night, Thea. See you tomorrow,” he says, like it’s guaranteed. Like we’ve done this a hundred times.
I nod. “Tomorrow.”
He means in class. Not in my nook.
He’s going to be in my damn nook tomorrow night.
I head inside and take longer than usual getting ready for bed. I even floss.When I run out of ways to stall, I pull out the library book on rare magical artifacts and flip to the section on soul shards.
Soul shards, are thought to be condensed fragments of soul, forged like diamonds through pain into a substance called Soulenium.
While any spiritborne can form a soul shard, they are particularly potent in witches.
Their presence often amplifies raw power, but also results in volatility and erratic magical expressions.
Witches with a soul shard are often drawn toward elemental affinities.
The creation of a soul shard appears largely random.
It requires a traumatic event during early magical development, while the soul is still in innocence.
Some covens have attempted to manufacture them in witchlings; however, the failure rate and fatality rate are too high.
Most recorded cases are tied to historical trauma, such as enslaved children, trafficked nightblinds, or mass magical catastrophes.
I scoff at the page.
Great. My entire family was ripped to shreds in front of me, and all I got was this lousy soul shard.
I slam the book shut.
Awesome. Now I’m going to have that creepy nightmare with the frozen bodies again.
Maybe Lazlo was wrong. Maybe he’s not the cursed one. Maybe I am. Everyone I love dies in front of my eyes. The familiar ache starts low in my chest.
I lay down and stare at the ceiling, my fingers absently rubbing at my wrist. Not because it soothes anything. It doesn’t. But it gives my hands something to do while I wait.
And sure enough.
Frozen bodies. Shattered limbs. Blood painting the walls in wild arcs.
I wake drenched in sweat, the sheets twisted beneath me.
The grief hits fresh and deep.
I stand and make my tally.
Day two done.
This isn’t getting easier.