Page 89 of Echoes of the Banshee

“Oh that hurts,” Benson says through his laugh.

“Kinda like it when your insulting someone other than me.” Zair smiles and I shake my head. Thankfully the group and the joke finally lets me relax. Benson is my friend, Zair is my friend. They’re both hot, neither are Lazlo.

It’s not even nine when I say goodbye and head to my dorm. Benson says he’s headed that way too and falls into step beside me.

“You okay, Thea?”

“Yeah, why do you ask?”

“You weren’t yourself.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask. I thought I’d done a good job.

“You were acting like yourself. But something’s bothering you.” I stop walking and turn to face him. He offers me a small smile. Something about him makes me want to tell him the truth.

“I lost someone.” I pause, trying to put my feelings into words. “And I’m scared I don’t miss them enough.”

He studies me for a moment then opens his arms. I look down and make sure my skin is covered before taking the hug. It’s warm and comfortable and feels like safety.

“My mom has cancer, and so she talks a lot about grief,” he whispers. I offer condolences but he waves me off. “She says that missing someone doesn’t require you to be lonely.”

I inhale his scent one more time and pull away. “Thank you.”

We walk the rest of the way in silence, but I feel better. When I get inside I take the potion I made the first class with Zair, dreamless sleep. I wake the next morning refreshed and ready to take on the day as I add the thirty-second tally. The day passes by quickly and once classes are over I head to the goblin library. There are almost a dozen here today.

My books are still sitting on the table I left them on with the cleansing spray. Putting my bag down I resume my work.

“Thea?”

Percy is in the doorway, he comes over to stand across the table from me.

“Hi Percy, how are you?”

“Fine,” he looks down at my notes. “What are you doing here?”

“The dream where I was writing Ril et Thren had a large stone in it.”

All the goblins in the room swivel to look at me, eyes huge.

“What kind?” a goblin sitting two tables away asks.

“That’s what I’m here trying to figure out.”

“Describe it,” another goblin says. No one is even pretending they weren’t eavesdropping.

“I drew a picture of it, but I’m not an artist.”

I dig in my bag and pull out the awful sketch. I stand and put it on the edge of the table and then walk back to where I was sitting.

Half the goblins stand up and approach the table cautiously. Looking over the picture.

“A premonition?” Percy asks.

“No, I’m not a seer. It’s a memory from when I was a kid.”

“In Graven?” one of the guys studying the picture asks.

“Yes, Jerimiah usually said something in Graven, then repeated it in English.”