Page 109 of Zero Happily Ever Afters

Such an endless quest, roaming the psychic plane, veiled in the magics and bright energy of voices across the world as I searched for Theodore. Occasionally, I crossed paths with other versions of myself who also skirted along the temporal plane. This was the fastest way to move everywhere at once. It wasn’t like with Milo, where my magic sought him instinctively. No, my hunt for Theodore relied on more patience.

When the sharp, sizzling hatred snapped in the distance, I froze. If Theodore detected me, he could overpower my manifested form. Even if he did, I’d still have the intel. But I supposed the real worry came from how deranged and vile Theodore’s thoughts would get once I crept in close enough to identify his location. I didn’t want to carry his memories in my mind; I didn’t want to linger any longer than necessary.

I shook away the anxiety and dove out of the psychic plane of existence and into a dark room where the familiar twisted sadism resided. The hatred didn’t bubble over, though. More of a simmer. Here, I suspected that faint, hollow flow had to do with Theodore’s distance.

Not at all the case. He sat on the wet, gravel floor a mere few feet away. His expression was vacant, much like his surface thoughts that merely fixated on a dried stain. I quivered. It wasn’t a stain—it was dried blood caked between the crevices of the ground and beside a limp, lifeless arm.

What the fuck?

I backed away, taking in this room. A dank, dark dwelling that didn’t look much bigger than Theodore’s solitary cell at the MDC.

The arm was the least disturbing thing around Theodore. A body lay beneath a blanket. Dead, which I gauged from the lack of thoughts coming from it. Another body was propped against the wall nearest a metal door. A rotten corpse burned all over with squishy pockets of popped pus. Truly revolting—enough to make me want to hurl. It held the foulest, most disgusting smell. My senses might’ve been lacking as a manifestation of psychic energy floating about like a ghost, but I had the misfortune of syncing to the sensory details Theodore experienced.

There was an aggravation for the smell, a smell he couldn’t get out of his nose after all this time. A smell that clung to the roof of his mouth. I recoiled. How long had he sat surrounded by these bodies? Who had he killed and why?

I scoffed. It was Theodore. There was no why, merely a need for calculated chaos.

“You should leave little telepath,” Theodore whispered with a cracked voice, already aware of my presence, but remaining against his wall, staring around his tiny cell.

I wanted to ask him what happened.

His hair was unkempt, his eyes red and sunken in, his lips chapped. Dry blood clung to his hands, picked at but not washed away. Grime under his nails. The clothes he wore were filthy and seemingly the only set here. His orange jumpsuit from the MDC was balled up in the corner, soaked in blood, and beside a bucket.

I almost linked to his thoughts, almost asked him how this transpired, but I felt the memory scrape against his surface thoughts, dragged raw along his mind as it played on a continuous loop while he remained locked in here.

Purple smoke filled my vision as I entered Theodore’s exposed memory, finding him land in this tiny cell the day he’d escaped with The True Witch months ago.

Theodore’s eyes were heavy, with purple and black splotches lining his vision as he coughed, spurting the teleporting mist out of his lungs. Each wheezing exhale was a chore, a battle to stay awake, but that came from the groggy state I’d left him in when I attempted to strike him down during his assault on the academy. Correction, his second assault on the former Gemini Academy.

“You are infuriating, Theodore.” The True Witch had a scolding tone which only further exhausted the menacing warlock. “Two pillars of the Celestial Coven captured. One slain by some no nothing psychic. The mess you have brought to my doorstep. Theodore! Are you listening to me?”

He wasn’t listening, the words were barely retained, and even now they only came through so crisply because he’d replayed this memory multiple times.

Sleep clawed at Theodore, luring him with a lullaby of rest and recovery. But a piercing yellow glow cut through the smoke, carrying a high-pitched squeal and the smell of sulfur as adrenaline stabbed at Theodore’s insides. He took a deep breath and raised his head high, seeing The True Witch stand before him with a single tattoo radiating a yellow hue and releasing a rejuvenating aura meant to startle those she’d taken into a state of awareness.

“Where’ve you taken me, old crone?”

“Do not speak to me in such a way.” The True Witch clenched her jaw, the tension tempting Theodore to further antagonize. “Perhaps you will show some respect if I take away your pets.”

“I’m no one’s pet.” Vincent bared his teeth.

“Might be anyone’s pet if the mood suits me.” Darla coughed, clearing away purple smoke. “But I’d like to see you try. Teddy’s already told us everything about you.”

“And you don’t even have your staff anymore,” Ernesto added, crouched behind the others.

“You think that was my only weapon?” Amara extended her arms, revealing the light shimmer along her many tattoos.

“Your brands are artful, but they’re nothing compared to mine.” Vincent’s tattoos radiated a light glow of channeled magic, and he prepared to harness more than thirty spells simultaneously.

“Cute.” Amara kissed her hand with a heavy, wet smack. It smeared lipstick onto her palm which she blew off with a seductively puckered mouth and a touch of delicate telekinesis. “But I’ve got so much more than ancient enchantments and wards paired with my ensemble.”

The flecks of her makeup fluttered until they reached Vincent’s mouth, choking him upon contact. He gasped, clawing at his throat. His tattoos continued burning brighter and brighter, absorbing more channeled magic until they popped like broken bulbs. It was sudden and startling, and it didn’t stop until each brand etched onto Vincent had pus and blood oozing from it.

His skin reddened, and he scratched and gnawed and burrowed into the rotting flesh of his body. How quickly his body twisted in on itself, feeding and eating.

“It’s a delicious venom made especially for your little friend, Theodore.” Amara knelt in front of Vincent, watching him flail, watching him struggle, watching him crawl to the door he’d never open.

I’d seen his body when I arrived, squishy and burned and merely a rotten corpse.

---