Page 39 of Zero Happily Ever Afters

“And you’re the only persona I trust.” I nodded because as much as I wanted to trust the others weren’t like the Doppler, his actions warranted my hesitation.

“More like the one you distrust the least.” Nico shrugged. “You’ve always called on me. Well, as a child at least, you’d call on me for the things you didn’t understand, explaining them in ways you sort of already kind of knew but weren’t ready to comprehend. I mean, you basically made me as a buffer to organize the chaos of the world.”

“Fair.”

“Just an fyi—your subconscious isn’t the root of the dream memories.”

“It’s definitely not my active consciousness,” I said with a bit of annoyance. “I’m not trying to spend my life reliving my worst failures.”

“This wasn’t a failure. I’m pretty sure you got a C on your project.” Nico pointed to the continuing dream as more students presented one by one.

“You know what I mean.”

We both stared at each other silently as my memory vibrated, and I held my breath until the lurking horror passed, until the gnawing memory stopped attempting to drag my mind back to the night I’d first failed Finn. The night he was stolen from my life. The night he was taken and tortured and killed. The night I fell into despair and nearly gave up on ever accepting happiness again.

“When you fall into those memories, it isn’t the subconscious pushing you toward events. Sure, sometimes you’re processing things, but this sort of event. The ones that come out of nowhere and just keep sticking, keep replaying. That’s your magic showing you something.”

“My magic?”

“Remember when your magic connected you to Finn? To the piece he’d tucked away inside your mind?”

The piece that helped me sort the void vision. The piece of Finn that helped guide me out of my guilt and toward acceptance. The piece that allowed me to let go of the past and find a future with Milo.

“Why would my magic make me keep random dreams with Finn?”

“This dream doesn’t seem random.” Nico pointed to Finn’s highly detailed color-coded flashcards. “A project about ancient magics, on powerful psychics. Plus, your second dream about the Sisters of Fate. Seems pretty important to me.”

I squinted, reminded Nico had this irritating way of telling me the obvious in a friendly “you’ll figure this out” way.

“Your magic notices things on a different decibel level, hears things you would never hear, but magic can’t communicate. Not like us, not in the way a persona can. Well, your personas. Not sure anyone else’s personas act outside the range of your typical NPC.”

“NPC?”

“OhMyGod, did you seriously stop gaming? You were so good.”

I tsked. I wasn’t. I sucked. Didn’t understand anything about video games. I only tried because my father liked them. Of course, after that deadbeat left, after Nico left—or I made him leave—I stopped playing games altogether.

“Point is,” Nico said with a soft smile, the kind that delicately broached a difficult subject change as I’d done what I always did as a kid—I tumbled deep into my overthinking, self-loathing thoughts. Nico had this gentle way of steering me from them. “Your personas, myself included, thank you very much to all the people of the academy”—he took a bow and blew kisses to no one in particular—“we have a bit more animation. We’re rockstars, thanks in great part to the magic you’ve shared. Or the magic you store in the subconscious.”

I didn’t even realize I did that.

“But I think maybe it’s time you took that magic back.” Nico got quiet.

His thoughts stirred curiously on what would happen to him, to the many personas buried deep in the subconscious. Would they fade away? Would they lose their charm? Would things stay the same, minus the extra touch of magic in the shadows? He didn’t know. All Nico knew was this choice likely led to the best outcome for me. “And I’ve always had your best interest at heart.”

“Because I made you to be my friend.”

“No.” Nico shook his head. “You made me as a buffer for the big scary world that tried to burrow into your magical brain. I became your friend because you’re an awesome person, Dorian.”

I turned my head. “Whatever.”

I felt six years old again, lost and alone, unable to understand the complexities of the world, but grateful for a friend who explained it all.

A sharp snap caught my attention. I recognized that sound, that crack before the crumble. It wouldn’t happen immediately, but this was the first step in those visions breaking loose inside my head. The ones Milo had helped organize, helped push down so they didn’t overwhelm me.

“What are you gonna do about the visions?”

“Same thing I always do.” I sighed, the strong exhale dragging me from my sleepless slumber, where I stared at my dark ceiling, ignoring the dreamy thoughts of noisy neighbors. “I’ll ignore it for now. If they come loose, I’ll figure it out.”

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