Page 101 of Zero Happily Ever Afters

“What?” They all thought with slack jaws and utter disbelief on their faces.

And for good reason, everything in the media said Samual Wadsworth was in his seventies, but I supposed a co-founding member of the Global Guilds could manipulate details over the many decades. Very many decades in his case.

Unwilling to offer any more explanation for his comment, Wadsworth led them deeper into the building. Further inside, this glamoured warehouse started to resemble the Global Guild-level detainment facility that it was, something privately funded and off the books, according to Milo. I wasn’t sure whether the sinking pit of skirting around government sanctions came from me or Milo.

The security was top-notch. It held wards meant to repel psychic magics, yet I slipped inside all the same. Whether I’d intuitively retained some of the sleuthing under the radar skills my Doppler shared before his demise or my fully formed branch simply overpowered the protections put in place, I didn’t worry. Too much, anyway. Wadsworth had special forces positioned throughout this small facility, rotating through actual guild members like himself, Gladiatrix, Enchanter Diaz, and Milo.

“We keep the place moving,” Wadsworth said, going on a long tangent explaining the primal and cosmic magics used to move the building from one location to the next undetected.

“Cool deal.” Milo nodded approvingly, mind scouring potential futures where this place would be compromised, yet given his calm expression, I’d wager he didn’t see any.

“I should’ve just done this to begin with,” Wadsworth said with a huff. “But knowing that trashy True Witch, she would’ve attempted putting up a real fight the first time we’d grabbed her if things hadn’t gone her way.”

“In a nutshell,” Milo said.

Convincing The True Witch her plan was working seemed like such a clever idea at the time, planning around every potential scenario and luring the other Celestial Coven members out. And while she was still out there, Theodore was out there with her, I took refuge in the successes. Three pillars of the coven had been stopped. Two were captured and now detained in this private facility. The third, The Sisters Three, had died and finally gone from this world.

Wadsworth stopped at a completely sealed chamber made of glass. Multiple layers that looked like smaller transparent boxes locked inside of each other until the final glass box about the size of a milk crate. It hovered in the center, each glass box rotated continuously, and the light of the room revealed the subtly carved enchantments on the glass.

In that final box lay a pile of dust.

“This is what remains of the skeleton witch,” Wadsworth grumbled. “Not how I hoped to detain him, but the fucker kept coming, so I had to smash him.”

“Guess we don’t have to ask pass or smash.” Milo grinned.

“Nope.” Diaz wheezed. “Wadsworth is smashing all them bones.”

“And making sure he keptcoming,” Milo added.

Those two dolts burst into laughter because they had the sense of humor of twelve-year-olds.

“I did it so he’d stop coming,” Wadsworth interjected, clearly missing the phrasing that played through Milo and Diaz’s minds.

“There’s gotta be better ways to stop bones from coming,” Diaz said with a bellowing laugh.

“Oh, trust me. There are lots of ways to handle a bone that’s coming.” Milo clutched his ribs, ignoring the slight pain that came from laughing, lost in the joy of joy with his new annoying enchanter friend.

They both laughed so hard they floated momentarily, one light breeze away from twirling round and round.

“Anyway,” Wadsworth glared at the pair, waiting for them to finally stop laughing.

That didn’t happen until Gladiatrix flicked them both on the back of their ears, sending a searing pain reminiscent of a really horrible piercing experience. Not that either of them knew what that sensation felt like, but I’d drifted in enough minds to retain the awful feeling of a needle jabbing the skin in the wrong way and lingering for hours or days to come.

“He’s still in there, still radiating magics,” Wadsworth explained. “But our psychics can’t find much of a foothold to investigate his mind.”

No wonder they couldn’t. His thoughts were as shattered as his bones. The teensiest fragments of memories floated around his being like algae. If he weren’t a member of the Celestial Coven, the Western Pillar of the Four Corners, I’d have sworn he was dead and gone. I couldn’t fathom how a mind this broken could ever piece itself back together, but Wadsworth seemed certain, Milo seemed certain, and I’d watched Grim repair every broken bone after Gladiatrix punched them to bits.

“Are we gonna tape him back together or what?” Milo asked.

“We’ll wait patiently,” Wadsworth said, which was absurd since he was the most impatient member of their group andpossibly the only person in the world who wanted The True Witch dead more than me.

Still, his thoughts, those on the surface, didn’t carry cunning or calculated deceit. He was genuine, it seemed.

Wadsworth moved them to the opposite side of the facility to an iron chamber filled with dozens of chains looped every which way and holding a bloated, rotting body in the center like a forgotten meal in a spider’s web.

Each link of the chains held a sigil meant to prevent this corpse from escaping, prevent anyone from entering.

“Yeesh.” Gladiatrix grimaced, biting back the foul taste that wafted down her throat like sludge from a single poorly timed inhale through her nose.

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