Chapter 4


    “-for how long? You should have called a healer!” A woman’s voice fades in, the first thing I’ve been able to hear clearly since the pain came and froze and burned me over and over.


    “It’s been about two days… she stopped screaming after the first few hours.” This voice is oddly familiar. I want to hear more before they figure out I’m awake.


    I know I’m not in my own bed. It has never felt this plush before. And I never let anyone into my home if I can help it.


    “She’s breathing evenly. She’ll wake up.” Two fingers touch my wrist, almost making me jump and give myself away. I hold my breath steady, willing my heart rate not to jump. “She’s stronger than she looks.”


    “You can just admit you care, you know,” the woman’s voice comes again.


    “I can admit you talk too much,” he mutters. I feel the air move as he stands from the side of the bed. But they don’t leave the room right away. I can almost feel their gazes on me for a few heart beats. I haven’t tried to pretend I was asleep since I was a child. I don’t know if I’m convincing or not, but I hear them turn away all the same.


    “You’ve clearly been in here for days. When I got back your bed wasn’t touched. And you smell like you haven’t even left to shower.” Her voice is flighty, and somehow the most appealing thing I’ve ever heard. I have to fight myself not to open my eyes and take a look at her. “Thirty minutes. Go take a shower. Nothing is going to happen to her by then.”


    Is something going to happen to me after then? What was with that wording?


    I wait until I hear their footsteps fade away as the two voices carry further from me. “Honestly, you shouldn’t have even given her that. What if she didn’t survive it? You had no idea how she would react, and we-” her voice leaves my range of hearing. He was right though, she does talk a lot. But I somehow don’t mind it.


    I sigh and roll over to my side, opening my eyes.


    Oh yes. I definitely don’t know where I am.


    The bed is layered with fluffy quilts and pillows, propping up my legs and cushioning me on both sides. It reminds me of how I would protect a baby from falling out of their bed if I didn’t have a crib to keep them safe. Someone has taken my hair down from the buns I put in and loosely braided it, protecting my curls from becoming a knotted mess while I slept.


    So they’re considerate kidnappers. How kind of them.


    Sitting up, I see two chairs near the bed, one shoved closely to where my face would have been resting and the other a few feet away, closer to the door. A painted blue and white jug full of water with a matching cup sits on the nightstand. It’s untouched but hopefully for me, because as soon as I see it I remember that my throat burns like the Sahara desert and I need a drink.


    I reach for the jog and pour myself glass after glass of water, finishing three and a half before setting the cup back down.


    The curtains are shut tightly closed, I can’t see outside or guess at where I’m at. I pull the covers off my lower body and relief makes me cry out as I see both of my legs, all of my clothes - which are actually not my clothes I remember wearing at all - and both of my hands are also back to normal.


    It had better been the woman who changed me and did my hair. I’m filing charges if that man touched me.


    I don’t particularly care if he was doing it to help or not. As far as I can tell he’s the reason I’m even here, against my will. Him and that unbelievable frog.


    Gingerly, I place one foot on the thick, dark green and cream carpet covering most of the floor, and make my way towards the window. I’m wearing a matching set that would have been too hot for my home in southern Georgia, but is keeping me warm against the slight chill of this room now that I’m here. The closer I get to the window the more I appreciate the warmth from the tightly knitted sweater and long, matching pants. The dark grey color of them mirrors the walls and the floor of the room. Only the wall closest to the headboard has any decoration at all; a large painting of a hilly forest landscape. It could be the foothills outside of my home town if I didn’t know any better.


    Drawing back one of the curtains I’m met once more with a night sky, resplendent with stars. I seem to be in a small town with a few scattered homes throughout its small hills. I swear I could be right in the same place as I’m used to if it weren’t for the architecture and complete lack of modern infrastructure. There is not a street light in sight to pollute the sky or marr the shine of the stars above.


    Looking down, I see that I’m on the second floor of what seems to be a very large stone house. I could even call it a castle, a small one, but still.


    There are no ledges below the windows, so nothing to help me climb down if I eventually need to escape that way from this room. I hypothetically could make the jump down alone and pray that the perfectly trimmed bushes below soften my fall. But it looks just high enough that I could end up with a broken leg if I land the wrong way, and that would drastically reduce my chances of making it back home without them catching me.


    I think this is real. But. It can’t be real…


    I want to stay in denial. I want to dismiss this, just like I did earlier, and put myself back to bed and try waking up again later. In my own bed. Letting this fall away as a hallucination filled dream and lower my dosage once more and simply deal with the consequences.


    I pinch myself, briefly considering throwing myself out of the window head first to see if the sensation of falling will jerk me awake. If breaking my neck will pull me out of this nonsense my brain is making up to mess with me.


    But I am begrudgingly accepting what started when I felt that winged frog touch me however many days ago… If I’m going to be honest with myself, not my favorite thing to do at times, but if I’m going to do it… this isn’t a side effect. It isn’t withdrawals. I was probably never having any sort of hallucination.


    Impossible… Though… if I don’t get home soon I’m sure the side effects will begin even if they aren’t hallucinations. Because now we’re quitting cold turkey until further notice.


    The thought of this doesn’t scare me quite as much as I think my doctor wishes it would. Truly I would rather get all the bad out of the way quickly and in one go than drag it out over weeks, months, and have him constantly asking me the same questions.


    Have you had any suicidal ideations, Ayan? How are the side effects? Are you eating enough? Do you think your depression is coming back? How are you managing your anxiety? On and on and on. The same questions every time. I should have quit my doctor and these damn pills years ago. It’s not like they ever helped. No one was going to do that but me.


    Pulling the window closed I make up my mind. I’m leaving. I’m going home. Perhaps not out of the window, but definitely in the morning. I can make my way back to the river once the sun is out.


    However, a few preliminary steps are required. I have no idea where I am, and no clue of where that river I came here from is in relation to me. All I do remember since jumping in the water and that man pulling me out is immense pain fading in and out. A few jolts of what must have been him bringing me up the stairs of this house and into bed. And now the two voices in this home, one of which must be the man from the river. The other, I hope, will be helpful in telling me how to get home. Because the man didn’t appear to be interested in doing much more than laughing at me.


    That’s kinda unfair… you’re not invisible anymore.


    I don’t care to hear any voices of reason right now. Especially not my own.


    I am dressed. I feel fine enough to move about. It’s time for me to leave this bedroom. I only have thirty minutes max till he comes back according to the woman anyway.


    I take one last look at my surroundings. The bed, caringly made so I couldn’t hurt myself. The clothes, carefully put on and fitting perfectly, keeping me warm when my skirt and shirt and shawl would have never been enough. The water left behind in case I woke up while they were gone. And for a second my resolve softens.


    I could get to know them. I don’t have to go down in a blaze of fury. I don’t have to run away, it doesn''t seem like they’re out to hurt me… even if the very first thing hurt worse than anything. It still helped. You wouldn’t have been able to live the rest of your life invisible…


    But the memory of my home, the bills piling up, and the knowledge that they planned this. Planned to bring me here, even if it wasn’t to hurt me. That I’m going to lose my grandmother’s home and I never even got to go through the attic and see all of my family’s things left behind heats the fire in me again. It doesn’t matter what their intentions were. I’m not staying here.


    The door glides open silently, the hinges are well oiled and as well kept as the rest of the house appears to be. Everything is beautifully maintained. If they have a housekeeper I need to get tips from them.


    The doorknobs are antiques and glow with polish. The carpet running down the hallway has recently been vacuumed and I would not believe it if anyone told me it was anything other than a top quality Turkish rug. There are chandeliers as I make my way into the large living room, sparkling with crystals. This room is empty, but incredibly cozy. The fireplace is giant and welcoming. The fire crackles merrily, beckoning me to come and sit for a while and abandon my escape plans.


    Oversized couches gather in the space around the fireplace, candles are currently unlit on the coffee table between them, but perfectly scattered and gently used. The walls are lined from floor to ceiling with bookshelves holding everything from knick knacks to vases of gorgeous flower arrangements between the hundreds - perhaps thousands - of books.


    I can smell the warmth of this place, the coziness. It smells like the first day of Fall. Not the first official day on the Calendar. No, it smells like when the essence o f Fall has finally come. When the leaves are consistently crunching under your boots and you have a mug full of a warm drink filled with spices like cinnamon and ginger between your hands, The sharpness of the temperature drop from the last Summer day can be felt in the air and you just want to cozy up with a good book. That is what this room smells like.


    I don’t want to ever leave it.


    Autumn is my favorite season. I missed it while I was in Georgia. It wasn’t the same as Autumn in the city. I feel like I could sit and read in this room forever.


    I drift dreamily towards the cluster of couches. Brushing my hands along the shelves as I cross the room. The heat of the fireplace muddles my mind as I stare into the flames.


    I was supposed to be doing something… I really wanted to do something…


    I am supposed to be doing something. What am I doing? I’m at the largest couch now.


    I tilt my head, I could have sworn I had something important to do. I wish I could remember, but also, I never want to remember again. I only want to be here, forever.


    “Don’t sit,” that man’s rolling voice pulls me out of my dream. “You’re really susceptible to enchantments right now and I don’t want to have to drag you out of here and get another potion down your throat.” His voice flickers with concern as he mentions the potion.


    Weird.


    I turn around to face him even as my body begs me to sink into the couch and never leave this room again.


    “Why would you care? Didn’t you almost kill me with your potions?” My eyes drift back to the fire and my body quickly follows, warmth creeps over me and I begin to forget what we were even talking about. That he’s even in the room with me.


    Memories flood through my mind as I stare at the flames…walking through a snow-covered park, I am smaller than the second ladder leading up to the jungle gym. Running through the sprinklers, many children are a blur in the background, fuzzy but colorful. Sitting at dinner, I’ve been promised my favorite dessert if I eat all my vegetables. I’m in a movie theater, m y palms are sweating as someone else’s hand creeps towards mine.


    I go from toddler to teen to adult. Memories I had long forgotten rush through me, mundane and transfixing at the same time.


    I am basking in the sunlight, the river is empty this early in the morning and I get to enjoy the pinks and blues mixing from the sunrise in the non-silence quietness that nature offers in abundance. Each beam of light that hits me fills me with joy and I could almost swear I am glowing in my own right.


    I never want to leave that moment. I could sit in that warmth, that light, forever. In fact I think I will…


    I am being yanked up and brought halfway across the room before my body can respond to what’s happening. The immediate loss of the fire hits my brain and the memories go dark without warning. I’m so cold now.


    “You don’t listen!” He is fuming, his hands are still holding onto me. One firm on my arm, large enough that his fingertips wrap around and meet each other, almost overlapping. The other is gripping my ribcage, just above my waist and tight enough that an imprint of his hand will be there for a minute or two after he lets go. I look up - missing the loss of fire, warmth, light, - and meet his eyes.


    “You didn’t believe me at the river and you aren’t listening now! When I tell you to stay away from something, you should do it. When I say something you’re going to try isn’t going to work, I’m not lying to you. You need to listen,” he raises his voice and shakes me slightly with emphasis. The warmth is entirely gone from me now, the fire no longer has any pull on my mind. And I am furious without those memories tugging me into complacency.


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    “Let. Go.”


    His eyes, somehow, darken. His hands clench on me tighter for a short moment before he releases me. I step closer, a hot streak of triumph hits me when I see him tense, contemplating taking a step back. “If you ever put your hands on me again I will fuck you up.”


    I don’t have a clue of how I’m going to back up that threat. But I can improvise if the time ever comes.


    “I don’t think you understood me the first time. I said WHY would I listen to you!”


    Is that what I said…?


    “Your frog attacked me. You poisoned me, kidnapped me, manhandled me-”


    “I saved you!” The distance between us gets smaller as he pushes into my space. “This is the second time I saved you and you’re too ignorant to even say thank you,” his voice drops to a deadly calm even as his presence screams fury. Freezing temperatures feel like they are rolling off of him and stabbing me, like little shards of ice. “What would you have done if your entire body disappeared?” he scoffs. “How would you have gotten up out of that couch alone if I hadn’t manhandled you?”


    Did I sit in the chair?


    I try to run through the last few minutes but this room barely exists for the period of time I was near the fire.


    “I would have been fine.”


    Lie?


    “Liar,” he spits out.


    Ugh! I hate being called out!


    “Take me home,” indignation sweeps across his face. And his eyes. I have always heard of people being lost in the blue of someone’s eyes, or mesmerized by deep brown eyes being lit up in sunlight. These eyes though, his eyes, I can’t escape from. I don’t even want to. I feel trapped like I’m falling into a black hole. They’re as bottomless as a chasm. I am not lost in them, I am wandering willfully.


    “No,” he bites out.


    “Tell me the way to the river then and I’ll get there myself.”


    How? How am I going to get there?


    “You’ll die. Or get lost. Then die” his voice loses its icey edge. He takes a single, large step back, letting out a deep breath. And then the room around me comes back into focus. Without him crowding me I finally can notice the woman who was likely talking with him earlier.


    She is small, but has the presence of someone at least eight inches taller. Her hair is long, reaching just above her waist and falling in a determined straightness that can only be natural. I don’t think her hair would curl even if she tried to perm it. Her eyes slant upwards slightly in the outer corners and are a warm dark brown, nowhere near as dark as his, but a good few shades darker than my own. She is somehow interesting to look at. Her eyes and lips are too soft and too wide for her small, angular face. But it all fits together in a way that’s both unique and appealing.


    She wears loose pants that are a similar shade to my own but hers stop right above the ankles, similarly, her shirt stops short on her too, revealing a fewel pierced above her belly button that matches the one in her left eyebrow. That eyebrows quirks up.


    “Well. I’m sorry to interrupt you two, but I thought you might be hungry,” she smiles and I have the irrepressible urge to smile back. “I’m Meia. And you can argue just as well in the kitchen as you can in here!” Mischief takes over her smile, brightening her eyes as she nods her head in what must be the direction of the kitchen.


    Oh I love her already.


    A small frown takes over my face as I wonder when I’ve ever loved anyone on sight. But the mention of food makes my stomach grumble. I’m following her and before I can stop myself I hear myself saying “I’m Ayan. Do you know the way to the river?”


    Oh very smooth, Ayan. Great job.


    The kitchen is just off the living room and is almost as big. A breakfast nook that could easily fit ten people is by a large window that overlooks the front of the house. An industrial sized oven has pots of food simmering on the stove, fogging up the windows with steam and filling the air with delicious aromas. I follow Meia to the  mahogany cabinets on the left. She passes me a plate after piling it with food and reaches across me into a drawer before handing me utensils.


    “I do know the way to the river, but I can’t jump in it to reach anywhere but the bottom and you can’t either.”


    She pulls out a chair for herself and gestures for me to do the same. Out of the corner of my eye I see him grabbing two plates and stacking them high with food. Even more than what Meia piled on my plate. He is not as quiet or peaceful with the cabinet doors or drawers as she was. It takes a healthy dose of self control to not stare at him as each one bangs shut and he finally makes his way over to the table joining us. Giving Meia her plate, less stacked than his own, before loudly dragging his chair into place next to her and setting his own meal down.


    “But he can,” I say willfully. I won’t take a bite until they do first. He has already poisoned me once, even if it did result in my body returning to normal. I can’t wait another two days to try and get home. I only have a few more days before I’m supposed to start at my new job.


    Or… did my interview even happen? Am I maybe still dreaming?


    My fingers itch to open a medicine cabinet and start back my old dose of meds.


    Perhaps this all never would have happened if I never stopped taking them? Perhaps they did more good than I realized?


    “He can’t either actually.” She takes a bite of food, chewing slowly while watching me take in this information. “From what he told me - his name is Enzi by the way. I don’t think you two bothered to introduce yourselves -” she snorts at this, plopping another forkful of food into her mouth. “-you went through the water alone, Enzi went in to get you after re-entering and neither of you were transported anywhere at all. So neither of you can use the river.”


    He, Enzi, takes a bite of food, looking at me pointedly. I watch them both swallow before picking up my fork and going for the meat. Meia resumes speaking. “Anura can travel freely through-”


    “Anura? That thing that tried to erase me?” My friendliness towards Meia stutters.


    Surely she isn’t suggesting I let IT get close to me ever again is she?


    “Anura is my familiar and she didn’t harm you!” Enzi whips his eyes to mine while clenching his fork and knife in either hand. “Her and I both helped you-”


    “Helped me? She beat me with her tongue and-”


    “Stop being so dramatic! You’re fine. You said it yourself, you would have been fine, didn''t you?” His smirk shows his dimples and highlights his cheekbones. He is absolutely stunning. His skin is darker than the kitchen cabinets and clearer than a cold, sunny, winter day. He looks like he was made by hand, molded out of clay to be absolute perfect. My perfect dream of a man. His hair is short on the sides with tight coils on top. I want to take one and pull and see how long it will stretch out to. I’m sure it could reach his shoulders if I pulled enough. His eyelashes are longer than any man ought to have on them, brushing his cheeks and framing his large, dark, almond eyes when he looks down at his plate to spread butter on his bread. He is perfect. Too perfect. And I hate him for it. But it would be so much easier to hate him if he didn’t look this way.


    I can hate him anyways though. I believe in myself. I won’t let a pretty face mess with my emotions.


    “Anura follows me. And I can’t get you home,” the words drop from his full lips lightly. As if he were simply discussing the weather, not my life and existence in another place. “If you would just-”


    “What he means to say is,” Meia cuts both me and him off before I can get a word in. Stopping me from asking where I even am or how the fuck a river could have brought me here. I have been in that river multiple times throughout my entire life and I have never ended up anywhere till that day. It was his frog’s fault, even if he won’t admit it. “familiars can do things we, as witches, cannot.”


    Witches? What does she mean witches?


    “Only river guardians can use it to travel to other realms at will.”


    Realms?


    “And there are none anywhere near here anymore. Barely any left alive at all, really. We don’t know how or why you were able to come through… though we were looking for a way to bring you here somehow, so it really did work out,” she trails off into her musing, seeming to forget about mediating for Enzi and me.


    “Witches? What are you talking about? You’re witches?” With each word my voice gets higher, my heartbeat rising along with it.


    My grandmother was always going on and on about witches being real, magic existing. Only when my parents weren’t around. I won’t tell her what I really think, that witches probably don’t exist.


    “You’re a witch too!” Meia beams at me. Like this information should make my day.


    Her smile is dazzling. I’d do anything to keep making her smile at me like that.


    I shake my head, clearing it of her smile and the nonsense she’s spewing.


    They’ve clearly taken the wrong person. Once I explain it to them surely his familiar, or whoever, will take me home again. “I think you’re confused. That frog must have gotten the wrong person. I’m definitely not… a witch…”


    “Anura doesn’t make mistakes about people, trust me,” Meia quickly says as Enzi opens his mouth, likely to say the same thing in a much more insulting way. “Your powers have been suppressed I’m sure… And you don’t have any training… But that can all be fixed! It’s really no problem!”


    I would kill to have her levels of optimism. Truly.


    “You don’t understand!” Frustration leaks from me as I try to wrestle it under control. I feel hot with annoyance. But I do need their help, their cooperation at minimum to get home. I have to keep myself together.


    “I told you not to tell her,” Enzi mumbles while standing, his plate already empty despite the mountain of food he prepared for himself. I quickly shove a few more forkfuls of food into my own mouth, my stomach rumbling in anger again that I prioritized a conversation over its lack of sustenance.


    Meia throws her spoon at him. He grabs it out of the air, returning it to her before sitting back down with three mugs and a pot of what smells like jasmine tea. “She deserves to know at least the basics, Zen!” Meia’s voice cuts at him like a whip.


    Zen? He doesn’t strike me as a Zen. But to be fair I’ve only been awake and in his presence for less than an hour now. Maybe he’s very “Zen” when he isn’t grabbing half-drowned women from rivers and stealing them home while they wail in pain. Who knows.


    “Really. I don’t want to know anything except for how to get home. You’ve gotten the wrong person even if it wasn’t your pet’s fault.”


    I have not said the right thing.


    Meia almost jumps out of her chair.


    “Familiars aren’t pets, Ayan!” She gasps and Enzi stops pouring the tea, setting the pot back on the table while I avoid his eyes.


    “You think we can just send you back?” He ridicules me, his arms crossing over his chest. “If it were that easy you wouldn’t be here in the first place.” His eyes flicker towards Meia before settling on me. “Like it or not, you’re part of this now. So get used to it.”


    My hands tremble with the effort of not picking up and throwing the entire contents of the teapot, boiling water and all, at him as he continues. “Though I have no idea why you would even want to go back to your sad little life alone and destitute anyways. Don’t you like eating a real meal, as much as you want? Was the bed you woke up in not comfortable enough? You have no living family and no lovers. No friends anymore if we’re being honest. Your house isn’t even yours and you’ll be kicked out in the next few weeks at this rate. You don’t even have any money, you don’t have a real job-”


    My head snaps up at the unfairness of that last statement. I do have a real job. Or I will have one. If I make it back home in time. The house is mine…almost.


    “-what are you so eager to get back to? Poverty and unfinished art projects you’ll never be able to sell in that tiny town you decided to move to?” He falters slightly, his face losing color as he looks at me, taking in the shock and pain on my face.


    His cruel, and possibly accurate, summary hits me over and over again.


    No family, no friends, no money.


    Embarrassment consumes me as tears start to gather in my eyes. My face is even hotter than before and I know if I look up for even a moment they will both see I’m on the verge of crying. So I keep my head low and stand, grabbing my plate but leaving the mug he started to pour for me, half full or tea. I walk the short steps to the sink and place everything down, steadying my breath so my voice won’t shake as I prepare to answer him.


    “What you described is mostly temporary,” my voice fails to regulate itself, cracking as I think about the parts that are not temporary.


    I don’t have any living family. And I likely will never be accepted as a part of the town enough to make true friends. They have very little love for anyone they consider to be an outsider and I am not nearly charming enough to make it past that hurdle.


    “And it’s my life. If I want to be hungry and sit on the riverbank and then go alone to the house my grandmother left me…I can choose to do that.”


    My voice grows stronger, remembering the parts he got wrong in his little assessment. “I have at least another month or two before I lose my home, and I’ll have enough to pay my bills from the job I got. Despite your ‘familiar’ doing its best to ruin my interview,” I stare up at the light fixture above the sink until stars dance across my vision, driving my tears away before looking over at the two of them.


    Meia sits, horror on her face as she stares at Enzi. Meanwhile, he no longer looks ashamed for a single thing he’s said - or done - to me.


    Witches.


    The shocking, ridiculous idea of it pops back into my head as him and I stare at each other. I could believe he’s a witch. I can believe Meia is a witch, too. They both have a magnetism about them, I imagine they could charm my entire town into loving them within a week. Perhaps if Meia takes the lead on speaking and he only smiles they could do it in three days. They would love them. But me? I have never felt a spark of power within me in any way that felt witchy.


    Besides, despite what my grandmother liked to say, I don’t believe in magic. Or…well I didn’t believe in magic. And if I were back in my own home I would promptly go back to not believing magic exists. Here - assuming here exists - I can accept things may not be so simple. My grandmother not only insisted that magic was real but also that we all had some in us one way or another. But even so, I’m very sure what they’re looking for won’t be found in me.


    Enzi, not breaking eye contact, begins to speak but this time I’m the faster one. “You’ve given me nothing to go on and no fondness or any inclination to help you. For all I know you’re lying to me about the river! Or lying about other ways for me to get home. I don’t even know why you need help or what you need help with but I’m sure if I did I still wouldn’t want to help you!” I flinch internally at including Meia in that ‘you’.


    “We’re dying!” Meia shouts. “We’re all being killed, witches and fae alike and I think you can help. Enzi may have put it badly, but if you actually have so little to go back to then can’t you at least try to help us?”


    “Fae?” The word feels foreign on my tongue. “You mean like actual fairies? With pointy ears and little wings, and-”


    “If she wants to know more, then she can make a choice,” Enzi is firm in both his disapproving tone at my questions and his turn away from me towards Meia. “People are dying, either that’s enough for her or it isn’t.”


    Returning to pouring tea, he skips my cup this time and pushes a steaming one to Meia. “You can go back to your room or you can leave. The door is that way, down the stairs,” he points at the hall leading away from the living room and the rest of the house I’ve seen so far.


    I want to curse myself to hell but I hesitate.


    “I’ll decide in the morning,” the words escape from my lips quickly, like they want to make it out before my brain can catch them, change them.


    Meia shakes her head, slowly sipping her tea, and a tinge of disappointment sours the air.


    I make my escape to what I guess is now my bedroom, avoiding looking at the fireplace even as it calls to me. Running down the hallway and carefully closing my door shut.


    I need to think. I need to rest. I need my meds. I can’t do this right now.


    I pull the covers up and curl myself into a ball under the blankets, closing my eyes.


    I don’t care how real this feels. This just can’t be. There’s no way.