40. Thea
Thea
Home is Where the Torture Is
Zair had been lost in his head after the assignment.
So was I. The project on banshees had stirred up more than just old knowledge; it had stirred up old feelings, too.
Once I get to my room, I stare at the small vial of memory potion on my desk.
I really should save it. Who knows how long till I find him.
But I need to hear his voice. I swear I heard it today, cursing away. But when I looked, I couldn’t find him.
Lazlo had helped me find myself when I didn’t know who I was.
Zair… somehow makes it easier to be myself, without apology.
I crossed his name off in my journal again today.
I think I’ve added and crossed him out ten times.
I think I just want him to be. If he was Lazlo, he’d have told me, I gave him more than enough hints.
Mavrik is still my top contender. I’d be more than okay with him being my mate. The only thing that’s stopped me is that I need to be positive it’s him.
But then I spend time with Benson, and think he could be my mate. Even though I know it’s impossible.
I pick up the vial, turning it over in my hands.
I wouldn’t be who I am without Lazlo. Without his humor, his strength, his relentless belief that I could be more than what the world saw.
I need to remind myself who I’m fighting for.
That no matter what I might feel for these guys, I can’t lose sight of Lazlo.
I down the vial like a shot, a soft warmth spreads through me, the magic working quickly.
Drawing a deep breath, the memory lingers at the edges of my consciousness. Slowly, I coax it forward, like teasing a thread loose from a knot. The cold weight of chains. The familiar sensation told me I was close, and I braced myself, holding on with every ounce of willpower.
“No beginning, no end,” I whisper.
The feeling of dropping into the memory is jarring, worse than last time, when I hadn’t been hurt yet.
A sharp, phantom ache flares at my wrists, where the cuffs had gnawed their way deep into my skin.
I’d forgotten how much they hurt, how the grinding pressure made even breathing feel like a battle.
The healed bones in my legs radiate with the memory of agony.
I’d grown soft in my safety. Forgotten what it was like to be tortured for so long the pain stopped feeling human.
And worse — how the magic-dead sensation hollowed everything out.
It was more unbearable now that I knew what it was like to feel again, to have my magic burn bright and full in my veins.
Losing it, even in memory, was like being smothered alive.
“You okay?” Lazlo’s presence crosses the bond. Wrapping me in warmth.
“Yes,” I lie, biting down on the tears.
“Did I ever tell you the story of the Celtic love knot?” he asks. Probably thirty times. Each one different. “Once there was a sprite who fell in love with a giant.”
I find myself smiling despite the situation.
“And even though the giant could not see the sprite, his love for her had no beginning and no end.”
“You’re ridiculous,” I remind him.
“And ya love me for it,” he says lightly, then falters.
I swallow. “I—”
“—Thea, listen to me,” he interrupts. I’m tempted to make a sarcastic comment that I don’t have another choice.
“I want ya to know I love ya,” he says, his words deliberate and steady, even as his voice trembles. “Not because yer my mate, but because yer amazin’. Yer funny and sweet. Ya know how to keep me from losing meself, even in a place like this.”
I forget how to breathe, and for a moment, the pain, the cold, everything fades.
“Yer brilliant, Thea,” he continues. “And brave. And I don’t think I’d still be me if it weren’t for ya.”
He doesn’t say anything more, lets me take my time to process what he said.
“No one has ever told me that,” I admit at last.
“What part?”
“That they love me,” I confess, my heart pounding. “Any of it.”
“Then they’re fools,” he says with conviction.
A wave of something other than despair washes over me for the first time in days. Hope. In the stillness, we begin to dream, of the day we leave this hellhole behind, when we’re free. Lazlo talks about a picnic, something we’ll do together once we’re out.
“We’ll go to a lake,” he says, his voice light and teasing again. “Bring an outlandish checkered blanket.”
“A blanket?” I laugh and someone screams. We ignore it.
“Why not?” he says. “We’ll spread it out by the water and just… be. Also, a blanket is a must for laying and watching the clouds.”
I let the image form in my mind.
“Fine,” I agree. “But no soggy sandwiches.”
He chuckles. “If I take ya on a picnic, it will be an Irish picnic, meat pies and some colcannon, maybe an apple tart for dessert.”
“What’s colcannon?” I ask, my voice light as the pain in my leg spikes again.
“Potatoes of course!” I hear the grin in his voice.
“Why not just say potatoes?”
“Aye,” he says, his voice full of pride. “Because it’s colcannon, potatoes with cabbage and scallion. Delicious.”
“You put cabbage in potatoes?”
“Love,” he says like that answers the question. “And maybe we can bring some cider, too. You can never go wrong with cider.”
“You can bring whatever you want,” I relent. “But only if you promise not to talk about food the entire time.”
He laughs softly, the sound so warm and comforting. “No promises.”
“No promises about anything.”
The conversation shifts, and we argue over the most ridiculous things, like what season is best for the picnic, how the lake should look, what we’ll do first. But it’s all fantasy; sweet and warm, like a dream we know is too far from reality. Yet we keep talking, keep planning.
“Ya know I’ll kiss ya when we’re there, don’t ya?” My chest tightens as I think about it.
“Maybe I’ll let you.”
“Oh, you’ll let me,” he teases. “And there’s no way in hell I’m stoppin’ there, love.”
My heart races, and heat I’d thought forgotten blooms in my gut. For a moment, it’s just the space between us and nothing else.
“When you kiss me—”
The hammer on my hand forces me to the present as I fail at biting down on the scream. I take the pain and channel it inside me. Trying to force my way back to the picnic.
***
My eyes blink open and I’m surprised that I’m not crying. I should’ve told him sooner. Told him more. Every day, every moment I had. I knew we’d never get that picnic. Never be free.
“I love you, Lazlo.”
I push myself to my feet, my legs stiff from the echoes of pain. I walk over to the wall, grab a Sharpie, blue today, and add another tally.
Forty-one down, fifty-seven left to find him.
I drag myself out of my room. Then through combat. Then the rest of my morning. Benson walks with me to the Otherfell.
“You okay, Thea?” he finally asks. Grabbing my elbow and pulling me off the path.
I give a pointed look at his hand and raise an eyebrow at him.
“What? You going to curse me for caring about you?” I pretend to debate it. He rolls his eyes. “What’s going on?”
“I took a dream potion last night.” I admit. I know he won’t get the full connotation but enough. “I’m just having a hard time with being awake.”
“You want to go back?” he asks. “Was it your parents?”
I probably should have used the memory potion to see my parents and now I feel like an ass. I shrug nonchalantly. Not confirming or denying.
“I just want some quiet.”
“I can respect that. But you need to eat,” he tells me. “You didn’t eat breakfast either.”
I hadn’t thought anyone had noticed. I glance at the dining hall, not in the mood. Benson follows my line of sight. He turns and digs in his bag and then proudly pulls out a protein bar. I raise an eyebrow.
“It’s only a few days old. Just eat it. I’ll feel better.”
“Damn goblins and their mothering instincts,” I complain, opening the protein bar and taking a bite. “Thank you.”
“Always,” he tells me then heads inside the dining hall. Letting the moment pass like it wasn’t important. I head towards my next class an hour early and sit outside Spiritborne Contracts reading a book.
My phone dings with a text from Zair.
Zair
You okay.
Benson is a narc.
Actually it was Dylan.
Damn, I must look like crap.
DO NOT CONFIRM THAT.
Well…
Hate you.
I’m fine. Just didn’t sleep well.
Ya. Me either. See you at the nook after soccer?
Coffee?
Deal.