Page 68 of Zero Happily Ever Afters

Long black hair, a sharp jawline, dark olive skin. These were the only features of the fourth witch from the Celestial Coven that Wadsworth glimpsed in the carnage.

Amara spoke his name only once. “Lazarus.” The passion in her voice when she said it, the thrill of her plan coming to fruition, the joy in her eyes when this Lazarus witch destroyed the barriers meant to hold her. It saddened Wadsworth, weighing on his heart.

“He’s a witch with rejuvenation beyond your wildest dreams, Sammy.” Those words struck a chord. If Wadsworth somehow survived this ordeal, which he found unlikely with each fleeting second, those words would remain etched in his mind forever. A scar that painted the truth based on what Wadsworth saw.

Despite his best casting efforts, most of the witches sliced down by Lazarus had been done so with precision. This expert witch in rejuvenation aimed for arteries, organs, and vital veins, which made it incredibly difficult for Wadsworth to counter, to heal, to save.

He should’ve focused on himself, a belief of that rang loudly in his thoughts, echoing above the dying breaths of so many.Too many.He should’ve let them perish the second they were struck down by Lazarus, but Wadsworth believed himself better than that, deceived himself into believing no one had to die. Irritation festered for Enchanter Evergreen, who’d caused that foolish, idealistic thought to cross Wadsworth’s mind after a lifetime of learning the cruel lesson that it didn’t matter who died. Only preventing the worst threats from bringing about more destruction mattered.

Now, he lay in a pool of his own blood with a hole through his chest because he’d been foolish enough to fight two pillars simultaneously while diverting the bulk of his rejuvenation toward those suffering fatalities beyond even his expertise.

Enchanter Wadsworth truly believed he could’ve faired easily against the rejuvenating witch, Lazarus, and he didn’t think The True Witch possessed anything in her arcane branch beyond what he hadn’t readied himself for, fortifying his mind against her Oceanic Collapse.

But it was the staff. That damned weapon which offered Amara ungodly levels of strength. A weapon the Global Guild demanded he keep safe for study, a weapon they locked behind a hundred layers of protections, a weapon he should’ve shattered to pieces instead of logging into custody.

Supposedly, from all of Wadsworth’s research, each gem embedded in the skull represented the leftover magic of former members in the Celestial Coven since the dawn of time, fallen but not forgotten, and The True Witch wielded that staff with such tremendous force. A brilliance that’d dropped Wadsworth the second her fingers gripped the ivory weapon.

But how’d she get her hands on it? Wadsworth studied Lazarus’ steps the moment he arrived, tracking every blow he landed on his victims, casting countering measures to heal them, replaying every second, yet he didn’t once see any indication of Lazarus holding the staff. In fact, he didn’t see a single weapon in the man’s possession. It took a few fatal blows before Wadsworth realized that Lazarus channeled his telekinesis through his fingers while he held them together and extended like blades.

Once he’d reached Amara’s cell, Lazarus broke through with a flat-palmed strike, and the bone staff flung to her grasp instantly. When she gripped it, she struck down Wadsworth and everyone else Lazarus had missed while also burning awayher orange jumpsuit and restoring her wardrobe of choice, the tattered black dress, thigh-high boots, and crooked witch’s hat with the bent-tipped top. With a snap of her fingers, every other solitary cell had opened, and then Enchanter Evergreen arrived on the elevator.

Tiptoeing along her shoulder, two bone fingers tucked themselves beneath the sleeve of Amara’s dress. I knew how she acquired her staff. Grim had done it. Despite being halted by Gladiatrix above, those two fingers I thought had been smashed to dust had actually gone off on their own accord, freeing The True Witch’s bone staff. A staff that bone witch likely had the ability to move, seeing as he controlled his bones through some bizarre branch, he undoubtedly controlled this weapon in a similar way.

Wadsworth’s desperation pulled at me, holding the same sad and worried thoughts. He wanted to warn Enchanter Evergreen, to share what little insight he had on Lazarus, to prepare him more for what The True Witch was capable of. But Milo worried about something he considered far more grave than any of the pillars from the Celestial Coven.

Fear dripped off Milo’s sweat and stole my attention from Wadsworth, who continued feebly screaming his thoughts at Enchanter Evergreen since he remained too immobilized to speak.

But Milo only had eyes for Theodore Whitlock.Theodore.My magic crumbled inward, hoping to hide. I eyed every exit, craving an escape while also unwilling to abandon Milo. The sadistic warlock sat crouched among the bodies, holding a semi-conscious witch by the back of the head with a small, crudely crafted blade pressed against their neck. With the cells unlocked, the worst warlock I’d ever encountered had now come one step closer to his freedom, which would surely mean the death of everyone else.

“Enchanter Evergreen.” Theodore hummed in the darkness. “I was just thinking of you, of that time I met yourboyfriend, of all the things left unsaid between us.”

He slashed the witch’s throat, a shallow and jagged cut meant to mimic how he’d sliced mine, though the dullness in his self-made shiv didn’t offer the cleanest cut. Disappointment oozed from his pores.

“You know, I never forget a psychic’s touch.” Theodore lifted his gaze. His haunting, hollow blue eyes were trained on Milo, but I felt them piercing through me. “I’ve missed your magic.”

The memory of slicing my throat blossomed in his surface thoughts. My quivering body in his grasp, my fear tangled in his thoughts with our minds linked that fateful day, and my frightened students staring on in shock. Bloody droplets splashed from the gnarled branches of the petrified tree, representing Theodore’s inner core as he offered the world insight into his every musing, craving the attention and carnage in equal measures.

I trembled, nearly drawn back to the rest of my body, the rest of my mind where maybe my other half didn’t sink into this all-consuming dread. Where maybe my other half had no idea of the horrors unraveling despite Milo’s best intentions to prevent the worst outcomes.

Chapter Twenty

I needed to focus on the showcase about to commence, yet my thoughts continued to wander back to the night I spent with Milo at his place, in his bedroom, where he sorted visions in my inner core while sharing the plans about how he intended on defeating the Celestial Coven, protecting the city, and preventing the escape of Theodore Whitlock.

“You’re sure Theodore is her objective?” I asked with a shiver, nearly pulled out of my inner core.

“Yep.” Milo continued tinkering with unruly visions. “But there are no worries. I’ve got it all covered.”

“How do you know—”

“Because I’m The Inevitable Future,” Milo interjected, playfully shimmying past me and bumping his hip against mine.

“How do you know Amara, The True Witch, whatever is after Theodore?” I swallowed hard, afraid of the response that loomed in Milo’s thoughts. I could feel the words, the answer, the hesitation as he attempted to hide it. “Just tell me.”

“It’s the message the chimera passed along for Theodore.” Milo grimaced, an awkward expression meant to convey how he didn’t blame me.

Not that he needed to because I blamed myself. That goddamn Doppler. He ruined everything in my life that hetouched. I hated him. He’d interfered, he’d altered futures, he’d manipulated so much… And then there was that chimera, craving to become a perfect devil. Those two ruined my life with every second they fought to exist.

I couldn’t believe the chimera, who was dead and gone, still managed to haunt me with his actions. “One letter caused this?”

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