Page 122 of Echoes of the Banshee

Surely I’d misheard that. “Goblin?”

“Goblins have huge dicks. It’s a thing.”

“Well, lucky me. Not that you can come over here and prove it.”

“Tragic,” he’d sighed. “Truly.”

I remember the way his laugh echoed off the stone so out of place and yet… perfect.

“I think we’re doing this wrong,” he’d murmured after a beat, voice dropping.

“Yeah,” I’d whispered. “But when we get out of here…”

“Agreed.”

***

I’m worried I’m forgetting him, moving on. But then something reminds me of him, his stupid jokes. That spark. I miss him so much it physically hurts. I love that freak.

My magic flares.

I exhale slowly, trying to steady myself.

Professor Tennant said meditation might help with my magic, so I decide to give it a try. I close my eyes again, trying to focus. Inhale. Exhale. Breathe in through my nose, out through my mouth. But the moment I try to still my thoughts, they rebel, racing in every direction. Memories of Lazlo, Ethan’s sneer, the relentless whispers about goblins.

Was Zair done with practice yet? He should be, right? He’s probably in the locker room, getting dressed, probably laughing at some inside joke with Benson.

The air shifts. It grows heavier. My heartbeat, still there, starts to feel — offbeat. Like it’s guiding me somewhere. I try to focus again, but the pull only grows stronger.

Weightlessness.

My breath catches in my throat as my body feels heavy in the chair, my mind is floating, detached, as though I’m no longer in control of where I am. The world around me blurs, the hum of the library growing distant. What the hell is happening?

I gasp, trying to anchor myself, but it’s too late. The edges of reality slip away.

And then, bam.

I blink rapidly, disoriented. I’m no longer in the library. The world around me is stark and wrong. My heart pounds as the unmistakable sound of a locker door creaking open echoes faintly in my ears. Damp air clings to me, carrying the sharp scents of soap and cologne.

No. No, no, no.

My stomach twists as the realization hits me like a cold slap.

I’m in the locker room, immobilized by my panic as my eyes adjust to the fluorescent glare. The space is almost empty, most of the guys must have left already, leaving behind a few scattered towels and the faint echoes of their departure. And then I see him.

Zair.

He’s standing, facing a locker in nothing but a towel — that he’s dropping to pull on his boxers.

That’s a nice ass. My heart skips a beat as I realize I’m staring.

I gasp, unable to stop myself.

He spins, his eyes narrowing as they land directly on me.

“What the?”

My form is translucent, a faint shimmer clinging to my outline. He shouldn’t be able to see me.