“Bro, you just died. Kind of. You’re going be a nice invalid and let Nurse Nagini over here—” I nod my head towards Thane, who rolls his eyes, “—take care of you until you can piss standing up again.”
“I really hate you.”
“You said that already. See? Can’t even come up with a better insult. Do you need a nap? Want me to fluff your pillow?”
He crosses his arms and glowers at me. “I want you to stick a?—”
But Roth interrupts. “Luther—he’s not wrong. And we’ve yet to discuss everything.”
He looks down at the table and shrugs his shoulders. “There’s nothing to discuss.”
“You know I’ve never been able to imagine you as a toddler, but that pout? Yeah I can totally see it.” I frame my fingers like a camera and squint, taking a mental snapshot of his death glare.
“Killian.” Roth sighs, exasperated, as Thane tries not to smile. “Luther. What happened?” We sit in silence, waiting for him to find the words. He’s never been much of a talker—that’s always been my job. Eventually, he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and holds his head.
“I can’t get away from her. I can’t—she’s everywhere.” He looks at each of us with a hard stare. “And she’s going to fucking ruin you.”
Thane frowns. “But—Wycked. You wanted her that night.”
Luther shakes his head and quietly says, “It doesn’t matter. Not anymore. Not now.”
Not for the first time, the idea of burying Cyrus—and his parents too, while I’m at it—where they’ll never be found crosses my mind. Even though we’ve kept him away from his family for years, their poison has convinced him to hate himself as much as they do.
“She defended you at the hearing,” I blurt.
“What?”
“When Cyrus was high on his own hubris, she said you didn’t deserve to be punished because you weren’t thinking clearly.” The memory of Cyrus’ stupid fucking face reminds me—“That’s not even the best part. He thought he was all slick, but she corrected him when didn’t address her as “Ms. Byrke” and said “you’re excused” when he tried to backpedal.”
“She conducted herself well.”
I gasp like that one Deadpool meme at Roth’s unprompted praise. “That’s basically a declaration of love coming from you.”
Roth glares at me and threatens with a deadpan voice, “Keep talking, mutt, and you’ll sleep outside tonight.”
Worth it.
“Where the fuck is she?” Thane looks up from his computer across the table in our study room on Friday when I finally snap. “It’s been nine days.”
“You’re driving me fucking crazy this week.”
Rude. Accurate, but rude. “She hasn’t been in class. Or the Great Hall. Or the library. I even went by Smaug’s little lair but there wasn’t a single fresh scent of her.” My foot starts bouncing under the table and he crooks his eyebrow.
“How am I more stable than you right now?”
“Because I’m a brilliant magical botanist-chemist-drug dealing wielder who loves you.”
“Have you texted her?”
Only half a dozen times. “Yeah.”
“And?”
“Left on delivered. Have you?”
“Yeah. Left on read.”
“Fuck. At least she read yours.”
