Page 64 of Zero Happily Ever Afters

Within a matter of minutes, a woman approached Diaz, walking on the empty street of a back road that led to the parking lot of the MDC. Her white tunic hung on her slim body. Diaz studied the golden crown of leaves that held the long brown strands of her hair in place. He studied the symbols tattooed over the arms of her tan skin, her bare feet, eyeing the subtle fluctuation of protective magics cast from each enchanted letter.

“Gotta ask about the getup. The whole ancient Greek vibes is a hot look, but are y’all really trying to pass off as the Sisters of Fate?” Diaz asked with a bravado that matched Milo’s in every way. “Or is it more of a way to bring it back into fashion? Because I’m always on board with living your truth.”

“We’re The Sisters Three, goddesses of fate, prophets of destiny,” she spoke with a light lilt, her stance steady but her aura shifting in bizarre ways.

When she saidwe, did she mean herself and The True Witch? If so, where was the third sister? I’d shared my dreams, my knowledge of The Sisters of Fate with Milo, which he used to construct his plan, a plan I still didn’t fully grasp. But he believed in Diaz holding the line here and now while bigger threats attacked the facility itself.

“We’ve weaved the history of the world,” she said, her voice deep and raspy.

Her aura moved in overlapping waves like multiple people dancing in place, swimming, floating on her psychic energy alone. Her silhouettes were all white, no emotion to her being, no emotion in a single piece of her soul.

“We see all things fate has in store for you, Enchanter Emiliano Diaz,” she said in a harsh voice, piercing and stern, with malice hanging from the edge of her tongue. Even so, her aura painted no feeling. She might’ve cloaked her emotions, her energy. Such a powerful psychic, veiling her presence while simultaneously oozing her energy everywhere.

“So you ladies decided to fight lil ole me?” Enchanter Diaz shot her a smile. “I’m honored three members of the Celestial Coven considered me a challenge.”

“Three? Me?” the light lilt voice asked. “We are The Sisters Three,” said the raspy voice. “We are one pillar of the Celestial Coven, not three,” added the stern voice.

“Okay. Weird, but works for me.” Diaz shrugged. “The wife said no group play without her, anyway. Glad I can keep my word.”

“You jest because you’re a fool,” the stern voice spat.

“I joke because life is short.”

“Truly,” the light-lilt voice said. “Yours reaching the end of its thread now,” the raspy voice said with menacing certainty.

I kept close to Diaz, not so close I’d be noticed, but enough to register his guarded thoughts, the intel Milo shared from his understanding of the visions unfolding. I’d asked for details of what he’d do, not specifics on every component. The Sisters Three acted as one being housed in the same body, witches with a magic mirroring my own trio: retrocognition to glean the past, telepathy to oversee the present, and clairvoyance to perceive the future.

These witches used their power in tandem in a way Milo, Finn, and I never had. They fused their psychic energy into one of their bodies when going into combat. They guised themselves as the Sisters of Fate. They pretended to be deities, all to add some fervor of mystique to the Celestial Coven. That was why my magic sent me those memories, those dreams of Finn’s project about the legends of old. Some part of my magic must’ve felt their psychic presence, their looming power protecting The True Witch, guarding her fate from Milo’s viewing. But they’d failed to shield everything from Milo; he’d formed a plan despite what they’d hidden.

Three witches who tracked, plotted, and guarded every step of their coven’s agenda. Their magic was so strong it veiled The True Witch over time and distance. That shouldn’t have been possible. Their branches were so powerful, it blocked Milo from properly reading The True Witch, prevented me from hearing her thoughts. Then again, I was sort of the poster child of bizarre psychic magic strength.

“Knowing your fate changes nothing,” the voice with a light lilt said, stealing me from my rumination and reminding me of the danger that lurked before Diaz. “No, no, no. Fate has decreed we three will slay thee,” added the raspy voice before their two voices spoke in unison. “Cherish the knowledge your feeble clairvoyant ally shared; we hope it allowed you the opportunity to live out these last days in peace.”

“Ladies, you’re talking like you got this in the bag.” Diaz channeled his magic, body buzzing with telekinesis. “But I assure you, I’m more than a pretty face.”

“But of course,” whispered the voice with a light lilt. “You’re also a failure,” the raspy voice said. “A fraud,” screamed the harsh voice.

The psychic energy pulsated in waves, rippling across the street and barely contained by the protective wards of the MDCfacility. Even my teeth chattered, a ghostly sensation for certain as a mere manifestation, yet the near collision with their three magics entwined hurt.

They weren’t even aiming for me, and the touch held a subtle scalding sensation.

Diaz’s eyes had gone wide, his mouth had fallen open, his knees trembled, and his shoulders hunched. Inside his head, they painted a million images of failure. From cases he’d floundered, to tests he’d tanked, to dinners he’d forgotten, to celebrations of his kids he’d missed, to every conceivable regret he kept housed in his mind.

The Sisters Three tore up all the floorboards of his inner core and plastered his shame everywhere, nailing it to the walls and leaving the memories soaked in bloody regret.

The worst hellish failure to be splashed across Diaz’s surface thoughts, carved into every crevice of his active mind, was that of a tiny bear. Not some horror that might happen when facing off against The Sisters Three, but a truth Diaz had endured. They used the past against him. Regrets. All of them. At once.

Fuck. Everything he’d ever done wrong in his entire life hit him continuously with new realizations of how he could’ve done it right. The Sisters Three came in with whispers on how to fix his errors, how better men wouldn’t have made them, how he had no hope against them, how everyone in his life would be better off. Then they grabbed his greatest shame and slammed it down onto his thoughts, crushing him with guilt.

A scrawny boy of no more than twelve lay beside a dying bear, bloody and bruised and grateful her human survived the terror of a demon. These were thoughts Diaz knew, things his familiar had spoken with her dying breaths. There were years of therapy, acceptance, grief, all the right steps someone like myself would never make, but Diaz had. In this moment, however, he forgot all of them. He forgot how his familiar sacrificed herself when a young witch in a small town far from any guilds was cornered by a demon. He forgot the promise he made her as the life left her body. He forgot how overjoyed he was the day his familiar found him again.

Why? Because the witches hit him with his second biggest regret, the failure that hounded him to harness his magic better every day, the failure that loomed in every awkward conversation he had with Priscilla, the failure that reminded him no matter how great he tried to be—he’d failed the best person in his life twice.

His familiar had found him once again, years later when he’d already graduated from an academy, proven his branch didn’t define him, landed at a second-rate guild, but proud of his role as an acolyte in a small town that couldn’t afford professional services—services Enchanter Diaz ensured every tiny town between the transit cities of Texas could now afford thanks to his station, his influence, his power.

But that didn’t resonate with him. The only thing Diaz saw in this moment, beyond the body of his first familiar, was that of his second. A cub who’d found him during his time as an acolyte. A small creature ready for action, and Diaz believed now that he was ready for combat, surely nothing would happen to his partner.

It did, though. Blood and pain and an agonizing cry that still woke Diaz in the middle of the night after damn near twenty years. Diaz wheezed, choking on the nightmares of his own past.Both of his familiars dead at his feet, covered in blood—the first a grouchy old bear who’d found her partner late in life regretting the bond took so long to obtain, the second a precious cub who believed in fish that tasted of cotton candy and sweet dreams—neither were Priscilla because while witches never lost their familiar bond, the magic and essence that connected them to the bestial branch, the animal partner returned as someone new.

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