Page 3 of Two Who Live On

“These fiends funneled from elsewhere, so once I’ve secured things here, I’ve got to handle that.” Milo grimaced for a fraction ofa second, which only a single small child caught. “Hey there.” Milo knelt, making eye contact with them, and beamed. “You okay?”

The kid nodded, smiling back.

I stuffed my pack of smokes back into my pocket. This was why he’d wanted to avoid intervening. Enchanter Evergreen didn’t have quick and easy jobs. Eliminating threats. Securing an area. Showing off in front of citizens. Rinse, repeat, and answer the call to the next clairvoyant vision.

I sighed. Between my classes and his never-ending guild work, time alone was challenging. Milo’s surface thoughts shifted between addressing his adoring audience to searching for wherever the demonic energy originated.

No point sticking around, given his mind had locked onto another case. The whole reason for a day date was because Milo’s nights had gotten longer since ending the surge of warlock factions. Now we couldn’t enjoy a simple Sunday afternoon. Well, he couldn’t. I was going to spend it feeling this clammy and anxious no matter what. Now, I had the pleasure of doing that at home alone.

Locking myself away from everyone else used to be a reprieve from the world. But as I went home without Milo, it was just isolating.

Gratitude from several dozen minds beamed brighter than the sunlight cutting through the cloudy sky. Each person exuded elation for their Enchanter Evergreen. That was the difficulty of walking beside Milo, or in this instance, standing on the sidelines. None of this felt like my story. Perhaps an involuntary drawback to telepathy or teaching or both. I spent so much time wrapped in other people’s worlds, it had become impossible to discern what I wanted in my own.

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Once I walked through the front door, I had two demanding orange tabby cats to contend with. Charlie meowed, pleading for the serious pets he needed because it’d been a whole four hours since he’d seen me, and Carlie meowed, whiny and wispy over the audacity of me leaving her with pâté. The bowl remained full in protest. She’d sooner starve than eat pâté, yet the dry bowls—hers and Charlie’s—had been devoured all the way to the shiny silver bottoms.

“It’s not my fault, fat cat.” I retrieved a can from the cupboard, closely examining the label since they looked so similar withpâté secretly scribbled under the logo and flavor choice. “It was an accident.”

I scraped her bowl clean, rinsed and cleaned it, then gave her a meal she desperately hopped onto the counter for, too impatient to wait. After I’d tended to the cats, I made myself a screwdriver andplopped onto the couch to watch television. Not quite the mimosas Milo had in mind, but I hated the fucking bubbles anyway. The sugary tang helped mask the acidic bite from my heavy-handed pour of vodka. The booze dulled my senses, the television muddled my mind, and each kept noisy neighbors out of my dreary head.

A few drinks and hours later, I’d drifted into a dazed delirium. This would be a restless night. I tossed and turned on the couch, Charlie nestled in my neck, swatting me with his tail every time I repositioned.

Milo’s presence stirred nearby. He’d invited himself right the hell in, which I’d told him I hated. I couldn’t help being reclusive and distant; it was ingrained in my every breath. But he’d ignored my complaints, which I secretly appreciated. It was wonderful having him come here because it cut right through the noise.

“Shush,” Milo whispered, stroking bangs out of my face.

Had I said something? No—Charlie’s chirp was what Milo shushed. I was too groggy to open my eyes for certainty.

Milo’s arms gripped me and pulled me up off the couch. Faded cologne hit with each nasally breath. I rocked my head, turning Milo’s chest into a pillow. His hand cradled my back and cupped his other under the back of my knees. In a few breaths I was on my bed, blanket slung over my head before my fluttering eyes adjusted. I wanted to wake. The night had been restless enough. If I resisted a bit more, I’d find myself up and alive, eager to finish the date we’d missed.

The mattress shifted; the blanket tugged. Warm hands slid under my shirt, pulling it off, and Milo rested with his head on my shoulder. The skin-to-skin contact was a dose of total silence, and the world vanished. Wrapping my arm around him, I hugged Milo tightly and fell into his thoughts as his dreams stole him from this world.

Soon, I faded into my own subconscious, thanks to the soft white noise. On dreamless nights when nearby neighbors attempted to keepme from falling into a blissful slumber, Milo’s joy outshined their meddling minds.

This wasn’t a dreamless night, though.

The past seeped in, melting away Milo’s presence like an oil painting hit with turpentine. His thoughts rippled away.

Flames from failures illuminated the dark sky of the street I’d found myself catapulted onto. My legs wobbled—not mine, but those belonging to my younger self who gasped for breath due to exhaustion. Tall buildings burned brightly with fiery demonic magic too powerful for someone as weak as I’d been then to banish. Even now, reflecting on my younger self in the prime of his enchanter career at twenty-two, I doubted I possessed the skills to handle such ferocity.

Debris littered the busy road along with broken vehicles and corpses. Those left alive internally begged for help or faded in and out of consciousness, their thoughts making each breath challenging. Some were coherent enough to call for help; they screamed and begged for a rescue I couldn’t offer—not then or now. This was a horror no amount of closure could have prepared me for.

I recoiled within this awful memory, screaming in my mind for it to end, change, hold some subtle message. It didn’t. All it offered was a carbon-copied memory I’d endured too many times.

My body was mostly numb at this point having overexerted my magic tenfold, so that even the loudest thoughts buzzed in as whispers until I focused everything on Finn. It did no good.

Half a block away, Finn stood tall, taking tired breaths, face caked in dried blood and a shaky smile he refused to surrender. “Contain the situation. I’ve got this.”

If I’d listened to his words, a few of the civilians crying out for help might’ve lived. Some of the lesser fiends roaming might’ve been extinguished. Instead, I raced down the street, wincing from the pain in my body, ignoring it all so I could reach Finn.

Back then, I was willing to let the city burn for a chance to rescue him. I would’ve let the entire world drown in blood to pull him to safety.

A black portal opened behind Finn. This dark magic would transport him far out of reach. I’d seen the ending for this story a thousand times over, relived this guilt in my waking hours with almost as much clarity as now, yet the agony inside my younger self pushed him ahead, desperate but just out of reach, and it always struck a nerve as freshly as the first time I’d experienced it. I stumbled forward, falling to my knees, crawling. Deep cuts and blood loss blurred the world around, but I continued worthlessly dragging myself toward Finn.

A secret part of me hoped for Finn’s intervention. I’d had a few dreams of our past since the warlock incursion at the academy, but none where he spoke to me so vividly, so vibrantly. I waited for Finn to break the mold as he’d done so many times a few months back. I wanted him to give me anything. A fleeting word off-script. A warning of something new. A chance to change this awful moment.

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