Page 29 of Echoes of the Banshee

“If you’re trying to manipulate me, the least you can do is get my name right,” I tell her without any reservations.

Her voice lowers again, soft, coaxing. “Just… come back to Illusions. Sit with me. Like before. We can figure this out… together.”

I pick up my burger, take another slow bite, and chew deliberately.

“I don’t understand, Thea! What’s going on with you?” There’s a crack in her voice now, frustration seeping through, though she tries to play it off as hurt.

“I woke up,” I say quietly. “From a nightmare.”

Anita freezes. Confusion flashes, followed by something bitter and hot. She hides it fast, but not fast enough.

Her smile tightens. “Right… well… you’re going to ruin everything.”

She spins on her heel and stalks away, leaving behind the faint scent of roses and poison.

My plate licked clean, I head to my nook, but it feels too quiet. It has never felt that way before. I always loved the quiet, and I know exactly what’s bothering me. Dammit.

I grab my phone and scroll all the way to Z.

Sorry about this morning. It wasn’t you.

You mean everything in the world doesn’t revolve around me?

You are almost making me regret apologizing.

Good. There was no need.

Just shut up and let me have my apology.

Lol. You are terrible at this!

Fine, make it up to me.

You can keep your lip ring.

That the best you got?

What do you want?

Cookies.

Witches don’t bake.

The door swings open and Zair steps into the nook, setting a plate of cookies on the table.

“Already was on my way to risk it. You’re my guinea pig. A nightblind gave them to me, but if they’re cursed with love spells, better you than me,” he says, dropping his bag onto the chair beside mine. I quickly shove the book I was reading on souls into my bag and give him a side-eye, then take a bite. They’re perfect.

“Well?” he asks.

“I still hate everyone.” His smile lights up the room.

He grabs one, taking a bite as his eyes glaze over in mock rapture. I shake my head, and we settle into our homework. The night passes like the last — quiet, companionable, productive. We don’t talk much, though I slip in a few of the Lazlo questions I came up with yesterday. Other than the food ones, he gets every answer wrong.

We trade notes on our shared classes. He chuckles whenever I sharpen my pencil, which I do more often than necessary. What’s wrong with liking a perfectly sharp point? His phone rings a few times and he sends quick texts but doesn’t answer. At one point, he tells me about how his friend Benson made a spectacular save at soccer practice, his hands shaping the moment midair.

Mostly, we just exist in the same space, and somehow, that’s enough.

We pack up and are settling into a conversation when my dorm appears too soon.