SIMONE ALLARD || AFTER

Etienne’s skin glistens with the dozens of sigils the nurses have drawn, pulsing with dull light. Simone watches the slow rise and fall of his chest from their chair in the corner of room. It’s their turn to keep vigil again. They brought their Intro to Glyph Design homework with, intent to get at least some work done, but the second they tear their gaze away from Etienne, the letters swim and refuse to still.

At last, they give up, tossing the packet of papers to some forgotten corner of the room. Professor Darzi will forgive them, they hope.

Their gaze flicks back to Etienne. If not for the tattered clothes and thick scab along his forearm, they could fool themself and think he’s asleep.

They can’t imagine sleeping for an entire week, though.

A mountain of coursework looms from his bedside table, enough to make Simone blanch. They’re already feeling the stressful pinch of focusing on their own work in the wake of the attack. Their studies will stop for no one, though, the half-dead included.

And in all of this, there’s still no sign of Nadia.

The realization makes their guts curdle. She’d been mercurial in the past—they’ve been on the receiving end of her mood shifts, as violent and unpredictable as the weather in the Isles, enough times to know. Still, they thought she would be done with whatever fancy has crazed her now. Especially where Etienne is concerned.

The more they think on her disappearance, the more worried they get.

Etienne’s face twitches. They catch the movement at the last second, half-convinced they missed it. Breath fluttering, they set their homework aside—they weren’t likely to finish it today, anyhow—and wait with something akin to hope.

After a moment, he settles.

It’s possible he’ll never wake up. The thought turns their hope, so consuming and warm, to ash. The nurses have mentioned this fact more than once during their visits. Still, it’s a painful thing to consider.

His face scrunches again.

Perhaps he is dreaming, they reason. A better sign than most. Can unconscious people dream? Do they have a conscious at all? If Simone spoke to him, would it reach him, wherever he mentally was?

They’ve almost convinced themself it was a fluke. Etienne could have felt something, even in his unconscious state, and had a minute reaction to it. The nurses have told them several times that such activities are normal.

But as they decide to return to their work, they freeze. Etienne’s eyes are wide open, staring at something far beyond them.

They grip the arms of their chair. This is a dream. Some sad, pathetic, messed up dream. And yet, underneath their words, the glimmer of hope rekindles.

The machine beside him beeps faster now. With rapid blinks, Etienne begins to move.

“Etienne.” Their workbook slaps the ground as they stand. “By the gods.”

His eyes rake the room in an unfocused arc, settling before long on Simone. Thin brows draw together. His nose wrinkles.

“What are you doing here?”

It’s not quite a question—at least, not one asked because he’s curious about the answer. Despite the croak in his voice, Etienne’s words come out steeped in venom.

Simone’s skin prickles. They want to lie to themself, to convince themself he’s only upset because he was nearly killed just days ago, or that he’s angry because he’s tired. Neither of these things are true, though. Deep down, they know it’s because, for reasons they’ve never understood, Etienne LaChance hates them. He’s hated them from the moment they found Nadia on a field trip, and will likely hate them still when he dies.

And yet, here they are. It’s just the two of them in a cold hospital room. They’ve stayed by his side in the hopes that he’d awaken, even if his time asleep failed to provide a change of heart. He needs kindness right now, they tell themself. It’s the tool they need to brush off his hostility.

And yet, they can’t hide from the question burning holes in their throat.

“Etienne, where is Nadia?”

The look in his eyes turns to something colder. One of the machines at his side beeps at a more rapid pace. After a glance to the wires in his skin, he turns away.

“You need to leave.”

Their jaw sets. “I’m not going anywhere.”

His hand, thin and gnarled after his week unconscious, grips the bed frame. “I’m serious. Get out of here, Simone.”

Irritation ripples through them. How ungrateful of him, especially when they’ve spent every waking moment this week waiting on him. They’ve forgone their study group to see him, spent nights half awake sick with worry, and this is how he treats them?

“You’re delusional.” The words come out with more bite than they’d meant, but they don’t have it in them to be sorry for it. A week’s worth of turmoil bubbles over. They turn to shout for attention. “Nu—“

Their lips fuse together, voice dying in their throat. Sweat beads on Etienne’s face as he glowers at them, a piece of paper clenched in his other fist. The glove he wears shimmers, the magic fading away as Simone watches it in disbelief.

“Don’t say a fucking word,” he spits with eerie calm.

They’ve never seen the kind of grim resolution Etienne has on his face before. Not in anyone. As they start to slowly nod, he lets the paper free. They both watch its erratic spiral before it settles in his lap.

“Listen very carefully, Simone. This is not a safe place to talk.” He casts a quick glance to the door. “You have to get me out of here somehow. Not now, probably, but soon.”

They don’t trust themself to speak. A million questions swarms their brain like bees. Shock has made the world fuzzy around the edges. Did he just use magic on them? Offensively?

If he’s aware of their curiosity, he doesn’t show it. The resolve in his eyes hardens. “You’re going to pretend this never happened for now. If a doctor comes in, I am still comatose. Do you understand?”

Before they can respond, he flops back against the bed, eyes shut tight. They hear the sound of heels on marble from the hallway.

“Etienne.”

Eyes still closed, his hand pats his front and clasps the paper once more. Simone winces as the casting glove again brightens.

“Please. What happened to—“

They fight against the force at their throat when the door opens. Heart thudding, they turn for the source.

“Everything okay in here?” Doctor Aiza, the grey-eyed nurse who has visited them so often this week, balances the door against her hip as she surveys the room.

The lump in their throat eases a touch. Though his eyes are closed, the heat of his stare burns them. Don’t say a fucking word.

He knows what happened to Nadia. He has to, considering he was the last person to see her. And now here he is, offering them answers they burn for on a silver platter. They would never forgive themself if they squandered the opportunity.

And so, as much as they want to tell the truth, Simone steels themself and forces the falsehood out.

“Just fine,” they say through a set jaw. “No real changes here.”

The lie fills their throat with bile, but it’s too late to take it back. Doctor Aiza nods as if she expected nothing less and ducks out of the room. The instant the door is shut, Etienne peeks through half-open eyes.

It takes all of Simone’s restraint to avoid rattling the bars framing his bed and shaking him for all he is worth. Instead, teeth grinding together, they swallow hard. “What the fuck, Etienne?” Still their brain spins, unable to decide on what question to ask first.

“Get me out of here and I’ll tell you.”

They both freeze at the sound of footsteps in the hall, relaxing only when it passes. Then, leaning closer, Simone says, “And how do you propose I do such a thing?”

“That’s for you to figure out.”

In another lifetime, this would be the final strike to the tether around Simone’s control. They entertain the notion—just for a second, they swear—of grabbing Etienne by the throat and killing him themself. But that won’t help matters. Nothing they can think to do will.

“Etienne…” Now their voice cracks, betraying the turmoil boiling underneath. “Just tell me where she is.”

The look he gives is all molten metal. “Get me out of here. Then I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

For a second, they swear they see tears rolling down his face, but then he’s turned away. It was just an illusion, they tell themself. A trick of the light. If he really cared about Nadia, he would tell them, right?

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“Fine.” The chair rattles as they rise, trembling with the force of their fury. “Have it your way.”

With this, they gather their books and pens and hug them close. They don’t look at him as they head for the door, instead letting the silver knob consume their vision. Then, as they reach for it, a thought comes to mind.

“You could help us find her, Etienne.” The lump in their throat swells, but they press on. “Just remember that. If anything happens to her… if anything happens to her, and you are preventing us from being able to stop it? There’s no force in the world that will be able to stop me killing you.”

With this, they step out into the hall, making sure to slam the door on the way out.

#

They need to squeeze the answers out of Etienne.

The thought thrums through them in time to their harried steps. Other Casters pass them by in a blur as they march for the towers. Normally, they like to lose themself to the wave of conversations washing over them from all sides, but not today. Not when so much remains unanswered. Not when they want to wrap their hands around Etienne’s neck and squeeze until he’s dead—for real this time.

After all, it all leads back to Nadia.

Nadia. Their jaw sets. She’s a fool if she thinks they’ll forgive her latest stunt. Over the last nine months, there’s been plenty for her to apologize for as it is. Lying about her studies. Stealing from the campus store. All of the times they’ve found her half-catatonic state, pupils the size of dinner platters…

But not this. Disappearing in such a suspicious fashion, right after her best friend was nearly killed? Simone can’t forgive her for this.

By the time they bound up the steps of the Diviner tower, their vision is framed in red. Their anger is so all-consuming they almost don’t catch what’s so different about Nadia’s apartment until they’ve barreled through the door.

What?

Tape criss-crosses the entryway, held firm by sigils. Across the surface, wrote in everything from Elrish to Mertalc, is some variation of, “Restricted.”

“No,” they whisper, ghosting over the words with a hand.

Then they catch the paper flapping against the door itself.

ATTENTION STUDENTS: Access to this dormitory is henceforth forbidden. If anyone attempts to enter the premises, or if student resident NADIA DUPONT is seen, please alert faculty immediately.

Thank you,

Voterique College Faculty

“No, no, no.” Their heart is a lion’s roar in their skull. Simone’s hands twitch. A strange hollowness blooms within them.

“Looking for her, too?”

They almost miss the words, so low the static in Simone’s brain overrides it. Mouth flapping, they are unable to form a response.

“I overheard some of the professors recently—she’s gone missing.”

These words are clearer, but still faint. Beneath the hollowness comes a twinge of irritation. “I-I know that,” they manage.

Now they dare a glance at the speaker. A lilac purple cape flutters around them, long enough to obscure most of their form. They have the higher cheekbones and narrowed eyes of someone from Ximuchi. A pair of wire-frame glasses balances on the end of their nose.

“Ohh,” they say, nose scrunching. “I’ve seen you around here before. You’re her…” They wave a hand in place of saying anything further.

“Partner.”

“Right.” Their gaze shifts to Nadia’s door. “And you really have no idea what happened to her?”

Simone shakes their head.

“A shame.” They crouch down beside them. “If I were you, I would distance myself from her situation entirely. Rumor has it she’s the reason that one man is hospitalized.”

Their throat dries. “Impossible. It was a monster. That’s what everyone keeps saying.”

“Perhaps… and perhaps not.. They were fighting right before he was found.”

Perhaps that’s why Etienne was so stern. Still, Simone shakes their head. “They were closer than siblings.”

“Love turns to hate all too swiftly.”

Simone has heard that line before, somewhere in a book of old poems. When they scour their brain for the title, it dissipates the instant they recall it.

“I appreciate the warning.”

The stranger’s stare turns distant. Chewing on their lip, they do nothing as Simone stands back up and turns to leave. Then, as they walk away, the stranger snatches their wrist.

“I might be able to get you in.”

Simone stills.

“You’ll have to be quick, of course. Once the sigils break, I’m sure faculty will be coming along to investigate.” After a pause, they nod. “They’ll definitely be coming to investigate.”

Simone examines the doorframe with a furrowed brow. At once, the stranger’s meaning is clear. Twisted into the sigil meant to bind material together—in this case, the ends of the tape to the door—is the makings of an alarm sigil. Their knees buckle. Though the punishment is unclear, getting caught in any capacity could spell difficulty to Simone’s career. Worse still, what would their enbei think?

“You’re not going to have time to stop and examine things—but this isn’t your first venture, is it? You were here a few days ago. In comparison, this will be a swift mission.”

The words drag them back to. At the forefront, with stunning clarity, comes a single word. Nadia.

It’s all the incentive they need.

“What do I have to do?” they ask.

The stranger snorts. “You’ll want a bag. I said you wouldn’t get to stop and examine shit, didn’t I?”

“And you’ll be here when I come back?”

“If you’re quick enough.”

Simone rushes down the corridor.

By the time they’ve returned to the third floor of the Diviner’s tower, they’re panting hard. Sweat prickles along their brow. Still, determination keeps them moving. True to their word, the stranger is still waiting for them, looking up from their pocket watch at Simone’s approach.

“I hoped you would be inspired,” they say, clicking the watch closed. They flip their ink-dark hair over one shoulder. “Now. I’ll get you in, and I hope what I do will get you back out. But if I find you back here again, I’ll turn you into the dean myself.”

Simone swallows. “Then why help at all?”

A soft shrug. “I know what it’s like to want answers. I hope you find what you seek.”

From deep within their clothes, the stranger produces a small jar of paint and a brush. The brush is narrow and tickles when brushed Simone’s skin. Then comes the chill of the paint, not unlike slime. The stranger draws a complex series of swirls and lines on any bare skin they can find.

“I am unsure how long the effects will last—not that I would waste much time here to begin with. That said, it should help.”

With this, they enclose Simone’s hand in their own. The Caster’s mark on their glove glows a dim gold.

“I’m Shae, by the way. Not that you bothered to ask.”

“Shae. Thank you.”

With this, the glove gives a final, eye-piercing flash before dimming once more. Simone’s skin is translucent, a faint outline giving away their general shape.

“I hope I need not repeat my warning.” Shae turns on their heel. “Don’t let me find you here again.”

Then they are gone, leaving behind the faint smell of ozone.

The tape splits without issue as Simone barges into the apartment. Though there’s no audible alarm, there’s a second, fainter hint of ozone. The tell-tale sign of a spell being cast. The race is on.

Inside, they give the apartment a sweeping look. Everything appears to be as Simone remembers it, complete now with a thin veneer of dust. Their footfalls are less certain as they approach the coffee table. Nadia’s spell tome is safe in their apartment, but perhaps there’s something else of worth they can grab. Their search proves futile when they realize it’s the same Sanguina Malefica pamphlets and tattered dream journals.

They move to the near-bare bookshelf against the wall. Many of the books are ones Simone gifted her: devotional poetry, chintzy romance stories, the occasional textbook. Nothing about monster attacks or Etienne, though, unless he was the one to gift her the small glass-and-enamel sculptures sitting orphaned on the shelves.

They’ve moved on to a book about ancient health remedies when Dio’s sharp meow startles them. When they look up, he’s at their feet. They don’t remember seeing him enter.

The moment their fingers brush his snowy fur, he lunges away from them.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Nothing. Then, a second, quieter meow. Stuffing the book into their bag, Simone follows him. He weaves a path through Nadia’s furniture, thick tail swishing, and bounds for the bedroom.

Nadia’s room is as messy as before, like Simone’s attempts at cleaning hadn’t had an impact. A soft, sour scent fills the room. Simone fights the urge to hold their breath.

They find Dio under her bed, digging at one of Nadia’s blouses. The evidence of his destruction is evident in the scraps of fabric in his claws. Simone swipes at him and groans. “Stop that, Dio.”

As beams of light illuminate his fur, he stops. Between his paws is a small black vial.

“What… do you have there?”

Dio grows statue-still, vial still nestled between his paws. With shallow breaths, Simone reaches for him. His spine bristles when they make contact, but he doesn’t stop them from pulling the vial free and examining it.

Simone doesn’t have to uncork it to know it contains Serenity. Though their encounter with the drug has been brief, they’ll never forget the way the liquid moved as they drank it—like it was alive. For all they know, it could be. The sample before them trembles, the liquid sloshing around before settling.

“Where did you find this?” they ask, more for their benefit than Dio’s. Careful to keep the cork sealed, they study it in the afternoon light. The material is more slime than liquid, like fresh phlegm. Simone shudders at the thought of Nadia having such a substance on hand. Where does she even get it from? It’s something they’ve never understood through the course of their relationship, the one secret she’s refused to let them in on no matter how many of her layers they peeled away.

With startling clarity, a solution forms itself in the back of their mind. They shove the vial into their bag.