Page 100 of Zero Happily Ever Afters

Carlie immediately squinted when I walked inside, likely judging how I found the time for a haircut but not her mealtime. Charlie, on the other hand, avoided me, nose raised high as he strutted around the kitchen. He was mad. For weeks now, I’d spent so much time at Milo’s place during all my free time, stopping home less than when I worked in a building.

To be honest, assigning lessons online, walking away, and only returning to supposedly grade them wasn’t work. Not the work I was used to, not the work that’d help shape young witches into productive citizens who’d mastered their magics.

Once I’d fed Carlie and set up her treat toys, I walked into the living room and called over to Charlie, attempting to gain his love. I lay out on the floor, head pressed against the carpet and arms outstretched, begging for Charlie to come cuddle. Ittook time, lots of time, patience, but he finally rubbed his head against mine and playfully bit my new haircut.

My betrayal had been forgiven. “Thank you, Charlie!”

After kissing and hugging and holding Charlie, my telepathy was drawn to Enchanter Evergreen, who winced as he flew across the city, making strategic stops meant to draw attention and quietly announce his return. Based on the buzzing thoughts, that quiet announcement would be raging in a matter of hours, which was probably the intention.

Milo arrived at a secluded dock end with empty warehouses based on the lack of thoughts—except for one that wasn’t a warehouse building at all. Merely a glamour. Not that I could tell, but Milo had some opinions on the shoddy craftsmanship. Rushed work with easy tells.

“Relieved to see you doing well,” Gladiatrix walked toward him, dressed down in a pair of jeans, leather jacket, and heels. “The city has missed you.”

“It’s been calm in my absence, too.” Milo nodded to her. “Thank you for that, Gladiatrix.”

“It’s just Alicia today.” She smiled, then gestured to the warehouse door to usher Milo inside.

Despite keeping her profile almost completely hidden from the public eye, Alicia discreetly dealt with any issues that threatened the city beyond guild capability, which turned out to be few and far between. Still, to imagine one of the strongest witches in the world setting up shop to protect Milo’s city sent a rush through his body, energizing him.

It made sense she’d taken off her garb as Gladiatrix, it allowed her to handle problems without drawing massive media attention which was something the Global Guild wanted to avoid in Chicago all things considered.

Once they’d stepped inside, Milo was greeted by a smiling Enchanter Diaz, posing beside his familiar with his phone raised high for a selfie.

He wore a black corset vest with magenta laced strings and embroidery that matched the hot pink cowboy hat he and his familiar wore. “Her fans have been missing her candid shots.”

I wasn’t sure he knew what candid meant. Or maybe I didn’t.

“This place might be on the DL, but we gotta update her followers on something.” Diaz smooshed his face close, kissing Priscilla’s snout. “She’s got an unbearably loyal fanbase.”

The bear pawed at Diaz’s head, nudging him away.

“She’s never been a fan of my jokes. Not an ounce of humor in her. And she’s got a lotta ounces.”

Priscilla roared.

“Kidding, baby gurl.”

Wadsworth stepped into the room, looking like his old self. Quite literally, in fact. His wrinkled brows furrowed into a deep frown.

Relief swelled inside Milo as he took in Wadsworth’s approach. Even if the enchanter had healed his wounds, Milo saw his impaled chest, and he sensed the various outlier possibilities where the extensive casting pushed well beyond Wadsworth’s limitations.

Wadsworth took a deep drag off his cigarette and then exhaled his aggravation. “If you slackers are done goofing off.”

“Slackers?” Milo asked, aghast in the phoniest sense possible. “I’ve been on the mend, healing. Recovering from—”

“Lazy.” Wadsworth scoffed. “All of you.”

“You’ve also been recovering.” Gladiatrix folded her arms. “Doing nothing.”

“Yeah, old man. You’re a bum, too.” Diaz tipped his hat. “Welcome to the slacker’s club.”

“We meet every third Thursday of the month,” Milo said with a smirk. “Although, we tend to skip the meetings, slacking off and all.”

Diaz snorted. “I heard jacking.”

The pair nearly exploded in a fit of laughter until Wadsworth’s scowl tempered their teasing.

“I’m not young and spry like I used to be,” he explained. “Accessing my full rejuvenation form hits a lot harder at a hundred and thirty-eight.”

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