Page 11 of Obsession

I hurry down a busy street, weaving between gaps in the crowd in case she decides to follow. I must look like Suspicious Woman No. 2 in a school play with the way I keep casting looks over my shoulder. I am, admittedly, a terrible fugitive.

After some time, I feel certain that I’ve lost her. I come to a stop and am in the middle of patting myself on the back for my evasive maneuvers when someone grabs my shoulder. My immediate instinct is to jut out my elbow, but I’m sloppy and my hit doesn’t connect, giving my perpetrator a moment to speak.

“I’ve been looking all over for you!”

I turn at the voice, coming face-to-face with Simon. My friend, my only friend, who cared and looked out for me at the Institute. He’s before me, looking me up and down with relief.

My eyes immediately fill with tears, breath shuddering, and I launch myself at him, tugging him close.

He’s here. Simon’s here. He’s alive. He survived the attack.

He hugs me back less emphatically, but hugs me all the same. “Hey there,” he says softly.

“I thought you might have died,” I murmur into his shoulder.

He pulls back, smile fading. “Fancy a pint?” he says.

Chapter four

What strikes me first when looking him over are his clothes. This is the only time I’ve seen Simon out of his Institute uniform. He always put care into a proper appearance, so much so that I teased him when he mentioned shining his shoes. Now, his shirt is wrinkled, brown hair mussed, there’s no tie to be seen, and he’s wearing sweats instead of khakis. Even the laces of his sneakers aren’t tied.

Simon’s ordered two beers for us, and he’s in the process of chugging his while I nurse my own. I’m not judging how quickly he drinks. From the look on his face, he needs it.

There are bags under his eyes, deep and purple, like bruises, and I have the sense that something happened at the Institute that has imprinted itself beneath his eyelids. I’ve noticed him looking at the corner of the bar, brow wrinkled, face drawn, as if he sees something and is trying to remind himself that it isn’t real, it isn’t there.

He doesn’t appear suited for conversation, and yet, I have questions. So many questions. I have to bite my tongue before they slip out: How many mages are left? Where is Henry? The questions eat at me, but I don’t want to be insensitive. I don’t want to push him when he’s struggling.

Finally, after he’s ordered his refill and hasn’t looked at the corner of the bar for some time, I clear my throat and scoot forward in my seat. Hopefully, the alcohol has softened him a bit.

“What happened?” I ask. There is no tactful way to put it, and Simon appreciates bluntness.

He glances at me, throat bobbing. “The Institute is gone.”

I lean back, as if struck. That can’t be right.

“What do you mean?” I ask weakly, hoping that my interpretation is wrong.

“How else should I put it? The place is gone. Destroyed. Erased. Gone.”

My eyes shut.

Gone. The castle-like structure with its highbrow air. The displayed wands of alumnus. The duck pond. The library with what could be no less than a million books. Days ago, I was living there, and now it’s… gone. I knew there was a chance, but to hear it confirmed sends a pang through me.

It was a place where a self-assured misogynistic society flourished. Undoubtedly, the Institute and its mages insulted me time after time, especially when they had me locked in their damn basement, but it was an objectively beautiful place.

During my stunned silence, the bartender delivers Simon’s next drink. Simon spares a quick, “Cheers,” and starts glugging this beer as quickly as he did the first.

“What about the students?” I ask.

He pauses to swallow and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Dead,” he says, eyes flitting to the shadowed corner of the bar before turning to me, “or scattered.”

From his face, the people he knew are decidedly in the former group. The realization is heartbreaking. His friends were hardly my own, but I remember sitting in his room and drinking with them—how they laughed, what they looked forward to, classes they hated, exams dreaded—now, tests they will never take.

At this moment, I would give anything to have them around us. Chatting, filling this weighted silence. Our eyes meet over the table, and I understand that he’s also waiting for one of his friends to chime in.

I cover my face with my hands, hit with a fresh rush of loss. Simon undoubtedly feels worse, and he’s entitled to that pain. I was there for a minute, while Simon’s entire life was based around the Institute. I’m almost ashamed of my sadness, but I feel it all the same.

Since I left the Institute, I haven’t spared it much thought in the midst of gods and bargains, but I’m forced to deal with it now. Not every mage was bad. Some took no part in trapping me and Aris. And now, everything that they were, everything they ever could have been, is gone. Gone, gone, gone.

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