❝ Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it. ❞ — Donna Tart, The Secret History

We spent all afternoon in the garden, practicing incantations and charms with Wally Royce.

First, we went over some useful defense spells, like disarming, stunning and shielding, then moved on to basic jinxes. Months of not using any magic had made me grow more rusty than I'd thought. That, doubled with the fact Charms had never been my strongest suit, and it took me at least an hour to even cast an effective Shield Charm.

Wally's patience in the process was more than admirable. He guided us through each charm, writing the instructions in fiery letters in the air and paying special attention to us, one by one, as we repeated the hand movements after him. We spent two hours with ten-minutes breaks in between brushing up on the spells, then he paired us up to duel.

Matt, of course, did not pass up the chance to spend more time in Wally's proximity, so I dueled against Polly, who was stronger at defense spells than me. I could tell Matt was purposely messing up so that Wally would give him a hand, which I couldn't help but smile at.

Polly seemed distracted as she dueled, and even though she'd made her thoughts inaccessible, I could tell something was bugging her. Her gaze kept drifting to the ocean in the distance or the woods behind the manor, her eyes alert, as if ready to spring into attack mode if needed.

"You hearin' voices again?" I asked.

Her brows furrowed in concern. "You're not?"

"No." She flicked her wrist and shot a spell my way, and I strengthened my grip on my wand.

"Protego."

The shield, hardly bigger than a plate, absorbed the blue light of her jinx, but I barely kept my balance as I stumbled backwards.

"Looks like I gotta step up my game, huh?" I quipped. "I'm supposed to be one step ahead of you. Stupef—"

"Expelliarmus," she cut me off, sending the wand flying out of my hand. A satisfied smile formed on her lips. "Why, because you're a year older? My best friend's president of the Dueling Club, buddy. I've had good training."

"Yeah, figures." I picked up my wand where it had fallen on the grass behind me. "What voices you hearin'?"

She sighed. "Willard."

"Again?"

"Yeah. He tells me he knows where I am, and that I should reveal myself before things get worse."

"But this place is untraceable, right? That's what Bertha said."

"I know. I keep telling myself it's probably a trap, but—"

She bit her lip, shaking her head. I understood her fear because I felt it too. For whatever reason Willard had decided not to try and reach out to me, it didn't help that he had succeeded in getting through to Polly—although God knew how. There was a high chance I would be next. Or Matt. If Willard found out about this place and somehow managed to rupture the powerful charms that protected it, we'd all be at risk.

I raised my wand. "Expelli—"

"Protego."

The wand flew out of my hand for the second time, with even more force than the first. Just then, Wally walked up to us with a content grin and clapped his hands together.

"I didn't suck that bad, did I?" I asked.

He scrunched up his face, tilting his head side to side, as if to say 'eh.' My shoulders fell. Polly smiled in triumph and gave Wally a high-five.

'You'll get the hang of it,' Wally wrote in the air. 'I'm heading back to school tomorrow, but Hatsue is going to help you practice some more. She knows even more spells.'

I scoffed. "I gotta master these basic ones first."

"Theodore!"

I turned at the sound of Bertha's voice from the front door of the manor. She wore that distinct motherly grin, strands of grey hair poked out from her loose bonnet and her apron was stained with a blue liquid.

"Someone's here to see you, dear," she called.

"Me?" I said, surprised. "Who is it?"

But her grin only broadened before she disappeared inside the manor again. I froze, feet rooted to the ground, not knowing what to think. When I turned to Polly, Matt and Wally for help, it caught me even more off guard to find them with knowing smiles on their faces. Then I recalled Matt's words from the other night in my room, the mysterious way he'd been acting. Tomorrow, he'd said.

"Y'all know somethin' I don't?"

"Go see for yourself," said Matt, who couldn't stop grinning. "We didn't want to ruin the surprise."

Huh?!

I willed my feet to move in the direction of the manor, my heart picking up its pace in anticipation. Who would want to see me? Was it finally Breeze McBon, the faceless woman responsible for the erasure of my past memories involving Polly, here to formally introduce herself and talk to me about my part of the prophecy? But it couldn't be. If she were to come, she and Polly definitely had a lot to talk about before she got started with me. Unless she didn't want to face Polly yet . . .

Maybe it was Junius. He was one of the guards on our side, wasn't he? He could be here to give Bertha an update on the Dragon Pox situation in Azkaban Pox and decided to see me, to let me know how Joseph was doing, maybe even deliver a message. My brain had been so preoccupied with the infection and fighting off the Devil, I'd completely neglected the fate of my best friend who was still behind bars. Or maybe it was one of my parents, or even Meredith and Sophia . . .

As I stepped into the house, my thoughts trailed off. The breath caught in my throat and my heart sank to my knees and I thought I'd collapse right there and then. In front of me, in the hallway leading to the living room, stood Zoë. My Zoë. Beautiful, macabre Zoë with her pink hair pulled in half-up pigtails, that lopsided smile twisting at her lips, forming dimples on her rosy cheeks. In her white summer dress that hugged her slender figure, almost as pale as her skin, she looked more angel than human.

But her eyes lacked their usual warmth, just as they lacked their usual earth brown color, now replaced by a red tinge. She looked like a corpse that had risen from her grave. But still, divine. Still breathtaking, and I couldn't look away.

"Hello, Theo."

As if by command, tears pooled my eyes, blurring my vision. "You're back," I breathed. Then I was dashing towards her, scooping her up in my arms, twirling her around, pressing her to my chest, crying and laughing the entire time because seeing her again was too good to be true. "You came back to me, Z. I knew you would. I knew you weren't gone."

"Nunca," she said, then grabbed my face and kissed me.

I pulled her as close as I could, and even with her body pressed against mine, my other hand tangling in her hair and hers sliding to grip the back of my neck, even then, it didn't feel close enough. I'd gone too long without seeing her, without touching her, thinking the next time we'd ever be together again would be when our souls met in the afterlife. This was surreal, unexpected, a kept promise I didn't even remember her making, and I could not stop the tears that flowed like currents down my cheeks and melted into our lips.

She pulled away and rested her forehead against mine, our stuttered breaths mingling.

"Even when I am gone, I never will be," she whispered. "Not really." Her hand lay on my chest. My heart hammered against her palm. "Not here."

▼

Zoë's hands found my shoulders, her fingers pressing firm circles on the tight muscles. I moaned, feeling the soreness loosen as her thumbs massaged the back of my neck.

"You might want to keep it down," she said. "Or they're going to think we're doing something else."

A rush of heat rose to my face. I opened my eyes to meet hers in the vanity mirror, bloodshot and twinkling with mischief. She smirked, dropping her hands and leaning in to whisper in my ear.

"I mean, we could do that too. But you'd still have to keep it down."

The heat traveled to my ears and I watched my face turn red in the reflection. A melodious laugh bubbled past Zoë's lips. She rested her chin on my shoulder, her fingers raking the hair at the back of my head—the very hair she'd cut just minutes ago to the same length it used to be when we first met. No strands reaching past my ears and curving down my jaw, none to obscure my face or get in my eyes. I watched our faces in the mirror, realizing how identical we looked to our fifth year selves.

"I forgot how much I missed you, Z."

She smiled, her fingers curling into my hair. "Did you, now?"

"Gosh, yes. Every darn day I did. I—" My throat began to burn.

"Oh, Theo. Mi amor."

It was this I'd missed more than anything—my name rolling off her tongue in her Spanish lilt, the way only she pronounced it that made it special, made me feel like I mattered. She got up and circled my chair, then wrapped her arms around my neck and straddled me. I gulped. She gave a coy smile, her half-up pink pigtails hanging loosely down the sides of her face. Beautiful Zoë. Beautiful, macabre Zoë.

"You know I never left you, right?" she said, brushing strands of hair away from my forehead.

"I know." My breath hitched as her cold fingertips traced the shape of my brow, the back of my eyelid, the bridge of my nose. "I-I tried to tell 'em. I tried to tell 'em you weren't dead, but they wouldn't listen."

Her thumb ran slowly over my lips. I closed my eyes.

"I know, bebé, I know."

Her hand left my face and moved to the Crucifix around my neck. Something trembled in me, like a force shook me from the inside out, and when I opened my eyes again, Zoë looked so much like a ghost, the hairs at the back of my neck stood on end. The only trace of liveliness in her face was the red gleam in her narrowed eyes, which reflected the silver Crucifix she held between her fingers.

"Will you tell me how you did it, Z?"

It was as if my words snapped her out of her trance. Her gaze softened as she met my eyes and she drew closer, the scent of roses wafting from her hair. Her fingers curled around the Crucifix till I heard the snap of the chain at the back of my neck. She laughed, tossing the necklace behind her on the vanity desk.

"I'll fix it later." Her lips alighted on my neck, the warmth of her breath electrifying every nerve in my body and my eyes fluttered shut. "I don't have to tell you, Theo. You already know."

"Z . . ."

"Hm?" she hummed against my skin.

"I-I saw . . . The you I saw every night in the shed—" My brain was struggling to function as she planted butterfly kisses along my neck. "T-That wasn't really you, was it? That was the—the Devil's work."

"There is no devil," she whispered. "But if there were, even he'd tremble before me."

She drew back to look at me and I cursed myself internally for even speaking. The questions could wait another hour . . . or day.

"Lo siento, Theo," she said. "You've been through enough. I hated to see you suffer the way you have. But the visions you've seen, the anger you've felt, that wasn't me, and it wasn't you either. That force is dark and twisted, but it's not us."

Before I could even begin to wonder what she meant, her lips drifted to my jaw and my brain ceased to function again. She ran her hands along my upper arms, her touch icy but tender, leaving behind goosebumps. Even in my dazed state, it didn't escape me how she lingered on the tattoo on my left bicep, her cold fingertips tracing the angel wing I'd given myself on our last day of fifth year.

When I willed myself to speak, my voice came out a shaky whisper. "W-What do you mean?"

"I'm no angel," she said. "But I've tried with everything I have to love you as one. If nothing else, I hope that can redeem me."

Her hands slid into my hair and I finally made my frozen ones move to cup her face. I took in her features one by one, like it was my first time seeing them, but I couldn't bring myself to stare at her bloodshot eyes for more than a few seconds without feeling a disturbing twist in the pit of my stomach. She was right here with me, closer than she had been in a long while, legs wrapped around my hips, fingers buried in my hair, face inches away from mine so that I could feel the tickle of her warm breath on my lips. And yet, she felt out of reach. Like a mere apparition.

I held her cold face like it was a clay sculpture that would crumble in my hands if I wasn't gentle enough—the type of sculptures I used to make. Because Zoë's were anything but breakable: six feet tall soldiers that did the duelling for her, almost as intimidating and fascinating as their creator.

"You scare me a little, Z."

That distinct amused smile tugged at her lips, dimpling her left cheek. "Just a little?"

"But you ain't a bad person. Don't matter what you tell yourself, I know you. You'd never harm me."

Her brows arched, casting her face in a veil of tenderness that was the closest to human she had looked today.

"Nunca," she whispered, pressing a kiss to the tip of my nose, my cheek, the corner of my mouth. "I'd hurt myself a thousand times before I even touch a hair on your head. As for the rest—" Her lips brushed my throat. My breathing quickened and I tilted my head back, closing my eyes. "I've told you since Azkaban. I've done bad things, and I'm afraid they've only grown worse from there. But you?" She peeked at me from between her long lashes. "You've always been the best part about me."

My lips parted, anticipating the feel of hers, but it never came. Her mouth hovered a breath away, hesitant, tantalizing, and all I could hear was the pounding of my heart in my eardrums.

"Do you love me, Theo?"

There was a hint of frantic desperation to her voice. Her eyes flickered, seeking assurance, as if she genuinely needed me to confirm the answer.

"That even a question?" I tucked a pink strand of hair behind her ear. "I love you, Z. There ain't no words to . . . I can't even begin to tell you how much."

The panic in her bloody eyes faltered, replaced by a hungry glint. Her hands slipped underneath my shirt and trailed up to my chest, fingertips cold as ice making flames dance across my skin.

"Maybe," she smirked suggestively. "You could show me instead."

Without waiting another agonizing second, I connected my lips to hers. Her palm rested right above my drumming heart and her mouth claimed mine with an unabashed yearning, a demanding fervor that seemed to spring from somewhere deeper within her. Somewhere darker. My breath came out in soft, stuttered gasps. She tasted of cinnamon and a heat blossomed within my chest, winding like morning fog, like creeping darkness across every inch of skin her hands explored. I struggled to my feet with Zoë in my arms, her legs circling my waist, both of us collapsing on the king-sized bed.

My back sank into the soft mattress and as she pulled away to dispose of my shirt, Sophia's words echoed in my head. She's going to ruin you. And for the first time, I embraced them—not with protest, or fear; just the tranquil acceptance of someone whose mind had been swept up in pure rage for so long, that this insatiable desire was the closest I'd felt to alive.

Zoë snapped her fingers, eyes like blazing rubies in a minefield. The room shrouded in pitch darkness, broken only by a brook of moonlight that filtered through the curtains and dappled her ghostly skin. If this is ruination, I thought dizzily as her hot mouth lowered on my collarbone, igniting serpents of flame in my veins, I'm already debris.

◈

this will remain pg-13 so that's all you're getting kiddos HA u thought !