68. Zair
Zair
Cry Me a Carnival
There’s something about being with Thea that makes me feel like I’m not pretending to be someone I’m not.
I want to tell her the truth that she’s mine, that I’m hers, but the fear — it grips me.
I can’t help but think of all the reasons she might not want me.
I’m still terrified that once she knows what I am, she’ll look at me differently, maybe even pull away.
A banshee. What could she possibly see in someone like me? Especially when she’s still hung up on the other kid.If he’s so special, where is he?
Something’s wrong. Worse than before. She’s been withdrawn ever since the kidnapping, but yesterday she didn’t just pull away.
She shut down. Mavrik texted me when she skipped Misfit Magic.
When I found her in her nook, she barely looked up.
Told me she didn’t want company, that she was fine.
She wasn’t. She had a new black eye and only let me heal it so she could read.
I brought her food and then waited outside.
Around midnight she passed out on a nest of books.
There were at least a dozen volumes on death magic, soul manipulation, and even something called The Divine Dead.
Her notes were… intense, focused. Every inch of every page filled.
I woke her just enough to get her to her favorite green chair, then gave her my sweater and tucked her in before falling asleep in the chair next to her.
When I get up, my body is sore and Thea is back at the table.
We spend the morning there. She doesn’t shoo me away so I count it as a win.
Today is the annual fall carnival that we’re required to attend.
So I force her to go to her room and get ready.
When the boys and I swing by and grab her on our way, she seems like her old self.
It’s like the night we went bowling. She needs something to distract her when whatever is weighing on her mind gets to be too much.
The campus buzzes with life as students wander arm-in-arm, upperclassmen boast loudly to each other, and young kids squeal from atop their parents’ shoulders.
Booths, streamers, and levitating signs fill every open space in Otherfell.
The air smells like spiced kettle corn, fried dumplings, and the faintest shimmer of residual magic crackling.
It’s the kind of day that feels like it might never end.
We catch a magic show that makes Vegas look like amateur hour; card tricks done midair, illusions woven from smoke and starlight, a magician who pulls a mirror image of himself out of his own chest. Later, we pass a unicorn shifter in her true form, silvery mane glittering like moonlight spun into hair.
She winks and disappears into the woods, hooves not even touching the ground.
We try our hands at the human carnival games, rigged with spell dampeners that strip us of our edge. Magic strictly forbidden. No exceptions. We all fail spectacularly at the things we should be good at.
When we go to the hammer game, Benson comes in last, even behind Thea.
Without his goblin strength, he’s weaker than a normal human.
When we try ring tosses, none of us even get close.
Benson manages to win at the mystery scent game.
Apparently, Dylan’s nose doesn’t work at all without his werewolf enhancements.
Guessing cinnamon when it’s clearly lavender.
Still, I manage to win a tiny, blue stuffed elephant at a balloon dart game. When I hand it to Thea, her face lights up. She presses it to her chest like it’s made of gold.
The sun dips low, casting the spiritborne carnival in a lazy, golden haze. Around us, the air hums with music and magic. Floating lanterns bob between booths, laughter carries from the illusion hall, and enchanted caramel apples sell themselves by flying into kids’ hands.
Thea walks between us, her arm occasionally brushing mine, sending shocks through me. We’re on our way to the shifter show, still teasing Benson for failing the hammer game, when a scream splits the sky. Too bleak to belong to anything but real terror. The crowd stills.
She stumbles into view from between two tents; a young shifter, probably a freshman, drenched in blood. It’s seeping from a wound I can’t see, pooling at her feet. Her face contorted as her scream cracks mid-breath. She crumples to the ground.
People rush in. A healer drops to her knees beside the girl, already casting, her hands glowing with gold light.
But I can feel it. Even before the healer shakes her head.
She’s already dead. I step forward instinctively, checking to make sure her soul isn’t stuck, but it’s already rising.
Calm and content despite the violence of her ending.
She’s already on her way. I exhale and draw back.
I glance at Thea and something’s wrong.
She’s not looking at the girl. Not even at the blood. Her face is hopeful as her gaze darts wildly, scanning the crowd like she’s expecting to find someone.
Her eyes flick past me again and again. Not looking for me. Not looking for any of us. Whoever she hoped would come… isn’t here.
She breaks. Her disappointment is sharp enough to taste.
Her whole body folds inward like she’s been hit with something.
Her lips part, but she says nothing. Her fingers tighten around that dumb stuffed elephant like it’s the only thing holding her together.
I put my arm around her waist and start pulling her away from the scene.
We’ve only gone about ten feet when she freezes mid-step.
Anita, Sinclair, and a third witch I don’t know block our way.
“Theadora!” the witch greets, her voice deceptively warm. She reaches out, arms open in a motion meant to envelop Thea in a hug. A full-body shudder runs through Thea and I tighten my grip on her. The witch’s kind expression fades.
“What’s wrong, dear? Anita said you’ve been acting… strange.” Thea flinches at the words. This isn’t any version of Thea I know. I’ve seen her lost in thought, carefree, even furious enough to throw sparks.
But this? This isn’t that. I’ve never seen her scared. Benson said she never once showed an ounce of fear while they were kidnapped. So who the hell is this witch that has her retreating like this? Benson and Dylan exchange looks, stepping in closer, as they notice it too.
“Thea, why are you holding onto Zair like that?” Anita asks, her voice thick with mock curiosity. “I thought you were all about Benson. Varik told me how cute you two were, sleeping together in the closet. So, what’s going on here?”
A low growl escapes from Dylan. Anita dismisses it with a flip of her hair, unbothered.
“Mom says you’re not answering her calls, by the way,” Anita continues, her smile turning predatory. “She can’t wait to see you tomorrow when we get home.”
The threat is clear, though I don’t fully understand it. I can feel Thea’s body retreating against mine. I can’t let this go on.
“Anita, go away.” My voice rings out loud and firm, grabbing the attention of everyone nearby.
“Oh, Zair,” she purrs, leaning in slightly. “Always the knight in shining armor. Too bad Thea already has one.”
And just like that, the three of them disappear into the crowd.
“I should take her home,” I say.
“Wait,” Benson says, stepping in front of Thea. “Look at me,” he says, and slowly, her eyes shift to him. Still dazed. Still distant. “You need to tell him.”
She shakes her head no, barely moving.
Benson takes her hand, turns it over, and presses a kiss to the inside of her wrist — right beside her bracelet. A strange gesture. Gentle. Intentional.
“Trust him,” he says.
She stares at him for a second longer, then turns to me. Her fingers find mine, cold and quivering. I don’t wait. I take her hand and lead her away, burying the slight jealousy under the weight of everything else.
When we reach my room, I sit her down on the edge of the bed. She doesn’t react. Her eyes are unfocused, staring through the floor. I decide to give her a few minutes of space.
“I’m going to shower,” I say quietly. “I’ve got sweat, kettle corn grease, and whatever mystery goo Dylan launched on me during the balloon toss all over me.”
She still doesn’t answer. Just sits there, clutching the tiny elephant.
I hesitate a second longer, then head into the bathroom.
By the time I emerge, a thin veil of steam still clinging to my skin, the room feels different. She hasn’t moved, but something has shifted. She’s sitting straighter. Her fingers no longer strangling the elephant’s neck. Her eyes slowly track my movement.
“You smell better,” she comments dryly, her voice a touch more like the Thea I know.
“We can’t all smell like death and destruction,” I joke, trying to keep the mood light. As soon as the words leave my mouth, I see the panic flash across her face. It’s quick, but unmistakable.
“I smell like death?” she whimpers.
“No!” I blurt out, too loud. “No, I was just joking. You smell fine, honestly.” I immediately regret the words, scrambling to reassure her.
God, I’m such an idiot.