Page 22 of Zero Happily Ever Afters

Fire. Fire. Fire.

So many flames cast by my mind, my telepathy, my desire to ease the pain in Milo’s heart.

Saved. I saved Benjamin Oxland and helped Enchanter Evergreen establish a connection to The True Witch, where he’d inform the others and find a way to stop her before she slaughtered anyone else.

I sat with the knowledge in a meditative state, hovering in the shadows of the tether that united myself and my manifestation. While I worked to sift through the memories, my other half floated behind Milo as he walked to the bedroom of an abandoned home that the Global Guild had commandeered during their investigation. Milo lay in the bed, stomach queasy with trepidation as he eyed the family photos. He considered asking to switch rooms but didn’t want to burden the medical staff already making do with the living room as their sleeping quarters, and he didn’t want to appear weak-willed in front of two of the highest-ranked enchanters.

Moving closer, I caressed his face, sending literal positive vibes as I wanted to assuage the looming dread that threatened to steal even a minute of sleep from him.

Milo began to undress, sliding off his slacks and folding them, then unbuttoning his dress shirt and tossing it. Before he removed his undershirt, he scrunched his face in thoughtful musings. With a smile, Milo pulled out his phone and texted me. The buzz didn’t hit my pocket since I’d silenced it, but I fished out my phone and hit the dial-out button. All without opening my eyes. Milo would be proud of my little tech-savvy self who’d made him the only speed dial in my phone.

“Well damn, you must be desperate to explain yourself.” Milo’s smile twisted into a minxy grin.

I read his phone, seeing the question.

“I wasn’t stalking you,” I said into the phone, hearing the echo of my voice as I spoke to him in my bedroom while hovering in front of him in the room he slept inside.

“Consider me flattered.” Milo let out a breathy chuckle, something that made his voice just scratchy enough to arouse me.

“It’s not what you think.”

“No?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow. “So you’re not stretching your telepathy halfway across the world right now to see me?”

“You’re not halfway across the world,” I corrected.

“Might as well be. Admit it.” He rubbed his hand up and down his torso, flashing his stomach a bit more each time his pinky caught onto the fabric of his shirt and yanked it up some. “You miss me.”

“I’m not there, well I am, but it’s not me.”

Milo cocked his head.

“Well, it is me.” I huffed, then proceeded to explain everything I’d learned recently about my telepathy.

How I couldn’t control it, how my branch had always been too powerful for me, how pieces had been broken off years ago and dropped into the abyss of my subconscious. I explained what happened when I slipped into my subconscious, how I’d met some of my personas, and how it turned out my manifestation who went wild was nothing more than an unrulypersona that dreamed of being more. More than a persona. More than a manifestation. More than me.

“Basically, I am trying to control my magic and really don’t mean to interfere, but you know…” I cleared my throat. “How’s that kid doing?”

“Better. Futures are looking bright, chaotic, full of all types of options, it’d seem.” Milo nodded, pensive and lost in the visions of infinite possibilities, then smirked, minxy and full of snark. “And I’m okay with you interfering, as per usual. It’s not my favorite thing, but I’ve grown used to the fact my boyfriend is quite possibly the most obsessive man on the planet.”

I scoffed. “Untrue.”

“And when someone says to him that something isn’t possible, he’s gotta prove them wrong.”

“That’s an exaggeration. This was a mitigating circumstance.”

“And the void vision?”

I frowned. “Also, a random outlier.”

“And when I went to face the devil of Chicago after telling you not to interfere?”

“Okay, three random occurrences do not make a pattern.”

Milo squinted. “That’s how patterns work. Literally. Once is a fluke. Twice is a coincidence. Three times is a pattern. Actually, two times is a pattern, but people just aren’t ready to admit it, kind of like how you’re not willing to admit you’re toxically obsessive. But in a super-hot way. Especially when it comes to me.”

I practically growled at his rambling explanation. “There are thousands of times I haven’t interfered with something because I don’t obsess over things.”

“Name three.”

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