24. Thea
Thea
Love in the Time of Shackles
The door shuts with a click and I lean against it for a moment.
Zair nearly kissed me.
Zair.
It doesn’t make sense. He doesn’t date witches.
I’m a witch. A witch. That’s not something he’s ever broken before.
This was supposed to be safe territory for me, a friendship with someone who, well, who I thought I could trust. But not like that.
We connect, we have fun. He’s funny, easy, just, comfortable.
And when he smiles at me, it’s like — oh, shit.
I almost let him kiss me. But no, it’s definitely for the best that I didn’t. He tried to play it off, saying he wanted to date me. He was definitely giving me a line.
It’s fine. Zair’s gone. He wanted a distraction, wanted to release some tension. I liked him. He was a good friend. I liked his friends. But it’s over now.
I didn’t realize how much I was relying on his friendship.
But it’s okay.
Slowly, I change into my pajamas. The dream memory potion sits out on my nightstand.
I’d been waiting, but I need to see him tonight.
I follow the instructions from class; concentrate hard on the memory I want, drawing it toward me, remembering every detail I can.
The magic takes hold gently, blurring the edges of my mind.
Drowsiness settles in like a heavy blanket, and the world begins to fade.
The cuff bites into my wrist, sharp and sudden, snapping the world into focus.
The cell around me feels suffocating. The walls are solid, cold stone, enclosing me in the small space.
My left arm is attached to the wall, and I can barely stretch it out to reach the far side.
The small bed is positioned in such a way that I can’t lie down properly; leaving me in a constant, painful half-position.
A disgusting toilet-sink combo stands in the corner.
Home. Or something close to it.
I hear the voice that made it so.
Lazlo.
“Welcome to me humble hellhole,” he drawls. “Don’t mind the mess. The housekeeper’s been slacking off.”
“Who—” My voice cracks, hoarse from disuse or screaming. I’m still not sure which. I swallow hard, forcing the words out. “Who’s there?”
“Ah, just your friendly neighborhood prisoner,” he quips. “Though, if ya here to clean, ya missed a spot. Or several thousand.”
“Are you serious right now?”
“As serious as one can be while chained to a wall in this five-star luxury resort,” he says. “I can tell ya tryin’ to figure out if I’m worth talking to or if I’ll just make things worse.”
“I wasn’t,” I lie.
“Sure ya weren’t. Look, truth be told it’s not going to get any better, and there’s no secret escape route behind those loose bricks. I checked. A hundred times.” He pauses. “Ya know what day it is?”
“Excuse me?”
“Date,” he repeats. “Been here so long, I lost track. Don’t suppose ya got any idea what year it is, do ya?”
“Great,” I mutter, the weight of our isolation settling over me.
“I’m only joking, love. Only been here a couple o’ weeks, I think.”
“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” I tell him.
“It should,” he says, his tone bright with exaggerated cheerfulness. “Got me to keep ya company. Lazarus, at your service. Unless ya here to kill me, in which case, I’m afraid ya’ll have to get in line.”
I can’t help it. Despite the fear, I find myself biting back a grin. “And how long is that line exactly?”
“Longer than ya’d think. Me sparkling personality tends to rub people the wrong way.”
“Shocking.”
“Ah, there it is. Sarcasm. I knew ya had potential.”
We fall into silence as I rub at the cuff cutting into my wrist. The pain radiating out.
“So, Lazarus,” I ask cautiously. “What are you doing in this five-star resort?”
“Would ya believe me if I said I got lost on me way to the pub, aye?”
“Not even for a second.”
He chuckles. “Fair enough. The short version? I’m a banshee.”
“A banshee?”
“Wailing, foretelling doom, and apparently, now adding ‘chain-clanking ambiance’ to my resume. Very on-brand,” he tells me. For the first time since they’d taken me, I felt the corners of my lips raise in an unmistakable smile.
“You don’t sound like any banshee I’ve heard of. I thought you lot were more… dramatic.”
“Dramatic?” he repeats, feigning offense. “I’ll have ya know I’ve been accused of being many things, but dramatic? Never.”
“Right. Because ‘foretelling doom’ is the picture of subtlety.”
He chuckles, the sound unexpectedly warm.
“Fair play. Though, in me defense, I prefer to keep the wailing to a minimum. Bad for the vocal cords. But we tend to hide, for obvious reasons. Ya know, like imprisonment and torture.” His tone sharpens, a bitter edge slipping through. “Not that that’s likely, of course.”
Despite the surreal horror of the situation, his sarcasm made the pain lessen. Like an anchor tethering me to something real.
“Well, I highly doubt it’ll happen twice.”
“Twice?” His laugh is dry, with a touch of incredulity.
“If you’re supposed to foretell doom, any chance you can tell me if we’re getting out of here?”
“Hmm. Ya know, me visions are a little fuzzy on that one. But I can tell ya one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Ya already doomed to put up with me.” And against all reason. I let out a laugh. “And that, love, is a fate worse than any prison. They’re cruel bastards, but we’re tougher. At least, I hope ya are.”
I hear myself swallow, but can’t make myself respond.
“But don’t worry. Misery loves company, and ya got me.”
I can’t help it. Ignoring the growing panic, I shoot back, “Yeah, because that’s such a comforting thought.”
He lets out a short laugh, but there’s no warmth in it. “Ya got no idea.”
“I know what you’re doing,” I tell him. “Thank you. My name is Theadora.”
“It’s nice to meet ya, Thea,” he replies. “Wish it was under better circumstances, love.”
“Same to you, Lazlo,” I say, the name feeling oddly familiar on my tongue.
I jolt upright in bed, tears already falling, soaking into the blanket. The dorm is too quiet, too clean, too real. How the hell does that prison cell feel more like home than this room? Than this life?
The memory wasn’t enough. I want to go back. Maybe I should just let them take me again, just to spend more time with Lazlo.
No. I can’t.
It’s morning.
Another day.
Another Tally.
Another chance to figure this out.
Combat magic is harder than normal this morning, group drills that look like a war movie montage.
Zair didn’t approach me, confirming that whatever friendship we had was officially over.
I shower off the disappointment before heading to what‘ll be a solitary breakfast. I grab my usual filling fare and make my way to my usual corner seat. Only, this morning feels anything but usual. I pull out my notebook, hoping it’ll make me look studious instead of pathetic for eating alone.
That never bothered me before.
“Morning,” Zair says, setting his plate down and sliding into the booth across from me. His movements are almost too relaxed, as though the weight of last night has been entirely forgotten.
“Morning,” I reply, unsure what this is.
“Man, Coach was hard on us this morning, I didn’t even get a chance to say hello.”
“Yeah. It was a hard class,” I respond, but my heart isn’t in it.
“Anything exciting happening today?” he asks. Is he going to pretend like nothing happened? I mean, I guess that’s better than any alternative I’ve come up with.
“I have a test in my calculus class. Should be easy, so I’ll get a mostly free period,” I tell him, carefully closing my notebook and setting it aside as casually as I can.
“Let me guess you’ll be in the library during that time.” His smirk is playful, his tone light.
“Too long of a walk,” I reply, grinning as I gesture to my overstuffed backpack. “I brought the library with me.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “I am so not carrying that today.”
Still friends, then. I can hear it. It’s strange.
How happy that makes me. I study him as we talk about nothing, but I find no sign of rejection on his face.
We finish our breakfasts and slide out the booth as Zair reaches down and grabs my bag.
His fingers curl around the straps, his posture exaggerated as he makes a dramatic complaint about its weight, saying it would break my back.
My morning passes by comfortably. After the test, I head to English where I avoid Anita and make jokes with Fable.
Once class is done, I’m walking down the stairs when I spot a familiar mop of green hair emerging from a classroom. His eyes meet mine and he throws an exaggerated wave.
“Hey, complete ass!” he yells.
I smirk.
Think you can embarrass me?
Please.