Stronger than your pride

When I open my eyes again, I look right into two faces staring down at me. I feel a little woozy and it takes a moment to remember what happened, When I do, I sit up abruptly and try to scramble to my feet.

"Whoa!" Carl puts both hands on my shoulders and tries to hold me down. "Sit back. You just fainted!"

"I didn't faint, I was attacked," I correct, my voice sounding half-hysterical. "Attacked by him, in case you missed it." I turn to glare at the witch, but even as I do, I scoot away from him, closer to Carl.

The witch has the audacity to look surprised at my accusation. "I didn't attack you," he claims, while also raising both hands as if to show he's unarmed.

As if I don't know better! His witchcraft is all the armament he needs!

I wiggle free of Carl's hands on my shoulders and stand up – or try to, anyways. My knees turn out to be wobblier than I thought and the moment I straighten, the world starts turning on its axis.

"Careful," I hear Carl murmur and this time, his hands are there to support me and keep me upright as I stagger two steps to the side.

Angry at this apparent sign of weakness, I shake my head, but it only results in making me feel even dizzier than before. Just bloody great!

Squeezing my eyes shut to make the world stand still, I speak in direction of where I think the witch stands, "Stop pretending to be all innocent! You attacked me!"

"I didn't," protests the witch, again. I can't quite pinpoint where is voice is coming from and it makes me nervous.

"He didn't," Carl reiterates.

I freeze. What… What is the meaning of this?

Ignoring the colourful spots dancing in front of my eyes, I whirl around to confront Carl. "Why are you agreeing with him?"

"He –" begins Carl, but gets no further, because just then, a new voice enters the conversation.

"Rilla?" it asks loudly. "Is that you? Are you alright?"

Turning, I see my colleague Jessy standing by the back entrance to the club and eyeing us with a mixture of concern and trepidation.

Briefly, I run through my options, but my head feels like it's filled with cotton candy and I need too long to come to a decision. Just when I've settled on shouting at her to get help, Carl cuts in, "Everything is fine. Rilla is just feeling a little dizzy tonight."

Betrayal blubbers up within me like something hot and molten and painful. How dare he turn against me!

Temporarily rendered speechless, I can do nothing but gape as Jessy's expression slowly changes to become understanding. She even nods her head!

Rationally, I know I can't fault her, because all my colleagues know Carl and they all know he'd never harm me, so if he says I'm alright, they have no reason to distrust his word. How, then, is poor Jessy to know that he suddenly turned on me, probably bewitched by the, well, witch?

"Are you feeling better, Rilla?" asks Jessy and takes a step towards us.

Again, Carl beats me to the answer, "She's still somewhat wobbly. I might take her home to lie down."

Oh, no! We're not doing this!

"I'm feeling much better!" I announce, as cheerfully as possible. "I'll come work!"

Jessy considers me, her eyes doubtful. "You do look a bit awful though…"

Yes, that's because someone broke into my flat by magic last night, I was just attacked by a witch and my best friend is suddenly in cahoots with the enemy! Surely, that's reason enough to feel awful!

Not, of course, that I can say any of that out loud. Grappling for something to reply instead, I settle for the insipid, "I forgot to put on make-up this morning." My laugh sounds fake to my own ears.

Jessy, accordingly, appears unconvinced. Carl tries to put a calming arm around my shoulders but I shrug it off angrily. Traitor!

"There's rent to pay," I remind him with a haughty glare. "I shall go earn that rent and while you and your… friend can go wherever." See if I care what happens to him!

"I think Carl's right," Jessy interjects. "You really look like you should lie down. And please don't worry about the pay. We'll cover for you today. No-one will even notice you're not here."

Ah, bless her. So kind and yet so clueless.

"I really don't –" I begin to protest, but her generous offer has mellowed me briefly and thus, my words are missing some of their force.

Predictably, Carl seizes on that immediately. "Thanks, Jessy. We really appreciate it. Please say thanks to everyone inside for us. We're heading home now and… well, Rilla will be in touch with you."

Oh, will she?

Carl smiles his most trustworthy boy-next-door smile and damn him, but it works as well as it usually does. Jessy's posture relaxes fully and she smiles back at him. "It's no trouble," she promises him, before turning to me. "Get some rest and get well soon, Rilla. We've got you covered!"

And what can I do in the face of so much kindness but to smile back and say, "thank you"?

Jessy nods at Carl and me, making me wonder whether she even noticed the witch or whether he made her not notice him somehow. Then, she steps backwards through the door and closes it behind herself – and I let her, because whatever is happening here, it's not fair to drag her into it, especially when she's been nothing but helpful.

So, I steel myself to fight my own battles.

The moment the door closes behind Jessy, I whirl around and jab a finger against Carl's chest. Thankfully, I'm feeling much less woozy by now. "What is wrong with you?" I demand.

"Easy," Carl tries to calm me, raising a hand. I swat it away.

"Don't you dare 'easy' me!" I snap, struggling to keep my voice low. "He attacked me and you're defending him!"

"As I said, he didn't –" begins Carl.

I cut right across him. "And if that wasn't enough, you make decisions for me as if I'm some helpless little damsel that doesn't know her own mind! You don't get to make decisions for me. No-one gets to make decisions for me!"

Carl, apparently sensing that I'm really, truly angry, has the decency to look contrite. "I'm sorry. I was worried, but I realise I should have –"

Again, I interrupt him. "Yes, you should have! For future reference, I decide whether I'm fine to go to work. Not you, I! I alone!"

We stare at each other, me increasingly furious and him increasingly despondent. It's unlike him, to try and control me like this, which only makes the betrayal hurt worse. Carl's the one person who's always understood me best in the world, so the behaviour he's exhibiting today is baffling. In fact, it's so out of character that –

I turn to glare at the witch. "You. Leave."

I know I should be afraid. In some ways, I even am afraid. He, after all, kidnapped Miranda and attacked me and potentially hexed Carl. Rationally, I know I should be running as fast as my legs can carry me, not confronting and possibly provoking him. But I'm also just so terribly angry at the unfairness of it all that good sense went out of the window many moments ago, and so, confront him I do.

"Leave!" I repeat when he doesn't react. "Leave me alone and leave Carl alone and let Miranda go!"

"I didn't attack you," he replies, sounding maddeningly calm. "And I have no idea what you mean by telling me to let Miranda go."

Oh, doesn't he, then?

"Rilla," that's Carl, re-drawing my attention. When I look at him, he takes an instinctive step backwards. "Please don't bite my head off, but I promise you he really didn't hurt you."

"Oh, and who did?" I scoff. "One of Miranda's ghosts, by any chance? Because I remember the moment before the attack and he was the only one there!"

Carl steps from one foot to the other. "Actually, no. There was someone else. Or something. A… presence."

There… was?

Thrown by his words, I grapple to find my own. Carl uses that moment to explain hurriedly, "There was someone else there. I came running back when I heard noises. I couldn't see whatever or whoever it was, but I saw Ken fighting him… or it."

He looks at the witch and I follow his gaze. "Is that true?"

The witch nods. "Yes. Whoever he was, he did something to render you unconscious and threw your body to the side without even coming close. I fought him after that. That's when Carl came."

"So, you… won?" I ask, still trying to wrap my mind around this sudden new information.

"I'm not sure," admits the witch. "I don't think so. He just… he left, once Carl appeared and you started to come back around."

"Left?" I repeat.

"Disappeared," clarifies the witch. "Pouf." He makes a corresponding motion with his hand.

Oh, ha ha.

"And why would he have done that?" I demand to know. "What even was he? Another witch?"

The witch inclines his head, frowning. "I'm not sure. Whatever he was, he was unlike any other being I've ever encountered. He was… stronger than me. That's unusual."

"Conceited much?" I raise both eyebrows.

"No, just realistic," counters the witch, still with that calmness. "I've practiced witchcraft all my life. I'm good at it."

"And yet, the other one was better," I point out, feeling oddly pleased by the notion, even though the other one – whoever he is – isn't quite the best person to root for either.

A shrug from the witch. "It appears so."

"Still, Ken saved you," Carl reminds me.

I blink, momentarily confused, before I remember that the witch is, indeed, named Ken. I feel no inclination to call him thus.

"I don't need to be saved," I declare haughtily, nevermind the fact that I was, in fact, unconscious for the entire ordeal and therefore in no fit state to save myself.

Both men have the grace not to point out my moment of helplessness. Instead, Carl asks, "Whoever he was, do you think he also took Miranda?"

"I meant to ask about that," interjects the witch. "Why do you think someone took her?"

"She was gone from our flat this morning," Carl explains. "Which is to say, she disappeared from our flat that was locked from the inside. We spent the day looking for her, but to no success. We know she didn't go home."

"Wait! From inside the locked flat, you say?" the witch asks and suddenly, I see the calm demeanour slipping. There's an urgency to his tone instead that unsettles me.

"Yes," I confirm, somewhat impatient. "She also still wore my pyjamas, which you must admit is odd."

Slowly, the witch nods, a deep crease etched between his brows. "Very odd. In fact, worryingly odd."

Hard to argue with that, really.

"That's what we thought," agrees Carl. "And now we have someone attacking Rilla on the same day that Miranda disappeared and it all adds up to be…"

"Ungood," I finish for him when he trails off.

"Ungood indeed," murmurs the witch, looking like he's deep in thought.

I exchange a glance with Carl, silently asking him what we're going to do now. He raises both shoulders in a half-shrug. "I suppose we go home?" he answers my unspoken question.

I hesitate. The witch raises his head, drawn from his musings.

"What?" asks Carl, finding himself confronted by two doubtful looks.

"You mean… home to the place that Miranda disappeared from?" I ask slowly.

Carl looks taken aback. "I didn't consider that," he admits.

I shake my head. I didn't think he had.

"But if whoever took Miranda also was the one who attacked you," Carl continues, "then that means you're in danger. And that means we can't just keep standing here."

"It might have been a coincidence," I remark, grimacing at the drama of it all.

"Or not," counters the witch.

Both Carl and I turn to stare at him, the Speaker of Unpleasant Truths.

"If it was indeed the same magical being, they first took a newling demon who has no knowledge about her powers yet and then tried to take a fairy with no powers we know off," elaborates the witch. "Does someone else see a pattern?"

Easy targets.

That's what he's getting it. Miranda made an easy target and so I would have, had he not been there to save me.

What a deeply deplorable thought!

"If there's a pattern, it was no coincidence," deduces Carl, "and if it was no coincidence…" He lets the sentence hang.

The witch picks it right up, "If it was no coincidence, whoever did this might try again."

I stare, first at one man, then at the other. Suddenly, I feel cold.

"But I'm useless," I protest, as if arguing with the two of them could change a thing. "I have fairy blood, but no magic. It makes no sense to kidnap me."

"He might not know that," reasons Carl.

I frown. I don't like this!

"Well, and what do you suggest we do now, Watson?" I demand to know, deciding in a split second not to give him the satisfaction of being the metaphorical Sherlock in this mess.

"Well…" Carl hesitates, looking uncomfortable, and that's how I know I won't like what he has to say. "We might go home. For real, this time."

"Not happening," I declare flatly. "I'm not crawling back there."

"But –" begins Carl.

I shake my head. "No. I told you I'm not asking them for help. Not over losing Miranda to some evil spirit being and certainly not over being attacked and having to be saved by a witch!"

The witch in question looks mildly amused by the way I spit out the word. It doesn't serve to brighten my mood.

"And where else do you intend to go?" Carl wants to know.

He looks genuinely concerned and his caring expression takes some of the fight out of me. "I don't know." I wave a hand around airily. "Somewhere else. Like we always do. Maybe this is a sign to say that we should pack up things here and get moving again?"

"And what if he follows us?" challenges Carl.

I open my mouth, then close it again.

Yes, what if he does? What if this is a problem we can't outrun, like we have with so many others?

"If I may make a suggestion?" interjects the witch politely.

I glare at him. Carl, however, nods for him to continue. Twice the traitor!

"If you need a safe place to go where no-one expects you to stay, I could suggest the family home," continue the witch.

He means… he means for us to go with him? To the home of a witch family?

How… laughable.

How ridiculous.

How utterly unthinkable!

"That's a good offer," remarks Carl, looking the very picture of naivety. "Isn't it, Rilla?!

"No," I reply shortly.

Both look at me, the witch knowingly amused, Carl genuinely puzzled.

"I already told you last night that you no-one is going to your place," I inform the witch. "Despite you supposedly saving me tonight, that rule is still very much intact."

He nods to acknowledge my point. "Which is why I suggested the family home instead. You'd be my mother's guests, not mine."

His mother, huh?

"Wouldn't we impose on your mother?" Carl asks. I suppress the urge to roll my eyes at this misguided show of civility.

"She doesn't send away people in need," assures the witch, no note of doubt in his voice.

Carl still looks torn. "What about the rest of your family?"

The witch shrugs. "Last time I talked to him, my father was in Tokyo. My sister is away at boarding school anyway and even if she were to come home, she doesn't really get a say in the matter."

Huh? So just because she's a girl, she doesn't get to have an opinion? Bloody lovely.

"Boarding school?" repeats Carl. "Like, a magical one? A real-life Hogwarts?"

"Or an Unseen University?" I add, because there are better references than this.

The witch grins. "More like St Trinian's, based on the way the students continuously seem to run havoc all the time. Persis tells the most hilarious stories about the things they get up to."

Good for her, but not really relevant to the problem at hand.

"Just to be clear," I inform Carl, ignoring the witch, "I'm not going to stay in a house belonging to a family of witches."

Carl meets my gaze, an unfamiliar expression on his face. Could it be that he's… irritated with me?

"So, you're not going home to your family to let yourself be protected and you're not going home to his family to let yourself be protected," he summarises. "Where, pray, do you intend to go instead?"

"I don't need to be protected," I insist, my natural stubbornness setting in. "I don't need to be saved either."

"Excuse me while I burst your bubble, but you did need him to save you just now," Carl reminds me. "You couldn't save yourself and I couldn't save you either. I realise the mere notion of needing someone to save or protect you goes against your very nature, but right now, it's what we have to deal with. It's not something you get to choose!"

He didn't raise his voice, but his words still hit all the correct marks, subduing me in a way no shouted threats could have done. "We can manage it," I still try to convince him, even though the fire is gone from my argument. "We've always managed everything, just the two of us. We can do it now, too."

Carl shakes his head. "Whatever is happening here – and I have no idea yet what, exactly, it is – is too big for just you and me. I mean, look at us. You know I adore you, but you have no protective powers of your own and my powers can't help you. I can change and disappear into the sewers if there's danger, but of what help can I be to you if someone tries to harm you?"

I smile a weak smile. "You could bite their big toe."

"I could," agrees Carl, his expression softening now that he realises my resistance has disappeared. "I'd do my best to give them the Plague, too, but it would be unlikely to help you in the exact moment of danger."

"So, you'd rather have me go with a stranger instead?" I ask. "A stranger, mind, we might not be able to trust?"

"He helped with Miranda last night and I saw him fight your attacker today," Carl points out. "For me, those are enough reasons not to distrust him."

"It might be an elaborate ruse though," I point out. "He might be in cahoots with whoever attacked me, just so that he could be seen to fight them, which would then make him look like one of the good ones."

Carl blinks at me. So, I notice from the corner of my eye, does the witch.

"What?" I ask, feeling defensive. "It's possible!"

"It's needlessly complicated," remarks Carl, shaking his head. "If he wanted to take us, he could have done so last night, Miranda included. He has no need for ruses."

Yes, because he's much stronger than all three of us put together. What a reassuring thought!

"And yet, you'll have me go with him," I retort.

Carl shrugs. "If I had my way, you'd be on the next plane to Canada, no matter the hour or the cost. Knowing you as I do, however, I can see that's not happening, so I settled on convincing you to go to a witches' house as the more likely possibility."

"I promise no harm will come to either of you while under protection of my family," assures the witch, who's spent the last couple of minutes following our exchange with marked interest.

"Big words," I remark, a tad mocking. "But you don't need to make promises on Carl's behalf. He's not coming."

This, clearly, is news to Carl.

"I'm not?" he asks, confused, and doesn't even pick up upon the fact that now, I'm the one making decisions for him.

"You're not," I thus tell him. "If I'm going home with a shifty stranger who also happens to be a witch, I want someone to know where I went and I want that someone to be at large."

Carl considers me for a moment. "And what am I supposed to do if you, say, disappear or something?" There's a note of smugness in his voice, telling me he already knows my answer.

"Then," I reply grudgingly, "you may get my family involved."

"Deal." There's a grin on Carl's face now that not even my best glare can wipe away.

Instead, I turn to the witch. "Just so we're clear, there's no way in hell my family is getting involved in this. Therefore, you're forbidden from abducting me, kidnapping me or making me otherwise disappear."

For a second, he looks befuddled by this most unusual of orders, but then I see the corners of his mouth twitch upwards in an approximation of a smile. "No kidnappings, no abductions and no disappearances. Noted."

"Good." I nod, briskly and business-like and more confident than I feel. "Then you may now take me to the witches' lair. Carl, you're to check in on me regularly and also to update me on any information you can gather in the sewers about what could be happening around here."

"Will do," promises Carl. He leans forward to give me a brief hug, before exchanging nods with the witch.

I take a deep breath.

What do I just agree to?

The title of this chapter is taken from the song 'The trouble with love is' (written by Kelly Clarkson, Carl Sturken and Evan Rogers, released by Kelly Clarkson in 2003).

To DogMonday:
A very ordinary girl! Fairy she might be, but even if she had magic, we'd still see a Rilla dressed in jeans with a zit on her chin having to stand at the bus. I think that's really the essence of what I'm trying to do with this story. Some of these characters are special skills, but they're otherwise humans in a human world with human emotions. Yes, there are mysterious magical kidnappers about, but at the core, my characters always have to deal with human problems and I hope that will become clear as the story moves on.
The canon references are quite fun to work in, I must say. Of course, Miranda got cast as the ghost-seeing demon because canon describes her as having eyes that always look startled. With her part of the story, it followed to also include her father. It's such a brief scene that I wondered whether to keep it in, but it was amusing to write, so I kept it. Her father's behaviour also goes such a long way to explain Miranda's actions, both in canon and here. She and her father are not the only canon characters about to drop into this story, some with small roles and some with quite pivotal ones. I even promise you that Dog Monday will get a more dignified appearance ;).
We'll learn more about how Carl and Rilla came to stay in Edinburgh in an upcoming chapter, but I can already say that they arrived there together a few months before the story started. I think Carl might be more used to handling pounds because as Rilla is working night shifts to cover their expenses, it falls to him to do stuff like grocery shopping. He's also more exposed to elderly people who use delightful words such as "bugger", whereas Rilla is mostly surrounded by her younger colleagues and the people frequenting the Bottoms Up Bar.
This story writes itself a little differently than previous ones, I agree. Partly, I'm setting out to change things up a bit and partly, I think it follows from the story itself. For one, there's a sort of quest the characters undertake, which puts in a bit of a suspense element that my other stories didn't necessarily have. For another, I know I'm having to cover a much shorter stretch of time (just months, rather than the years it was with Twist and Dark Clouds), so I can afford to spend several chapters to cover a single day. I'm no good at writing summarising chapters, so I normally, when I need to keep a story moving over a long stretch of time, I fall back on an episodic writing style with time passing between chapters and not within them. Here, there's less pressure to keep time moving, so I can afford to write back-to-back chapters. They need to be stitched together somehow though, and the odd cliffhanger is a convenient way to do it. I promise we won't be ending every chapter on a cliffhanger though, because I know that's just obnoxious.

To Mammu:
Yes, it was a cliffhanger that was just too convenient not to go with it ;). As you saw from this chapter, Ken definitely was present, so Rilla wasn't wrong to think "witch" when she entered the alley. Whether Ken was the only witch present at the time... well, that remains to be seen. The fate of Miranda is also something that still has to be figured out and won't be revealed for a while. Right now, our characters are stumbling around pretty cluelessly, but we won't tell them so as not to dishearten them ;). There's a lot for them to find out still and I hope it will continue to be an interesting read as we accompany them. I'm certainly glad that the story has you hooked and sincerely hope this chapter also delivered! =)

To Guest:
Scotland is such a beautiful country and lends itself really well to a story that has a bit of mystery and otherworldliness in it, don't you think? I had to keep Rilla apart from her family for plot reasons at the beginning and when scouting countries for her to stay, Scotland was such an obvious fit (with Ireland a close second).
Carl as the villain! That's a really good theory! Obviously, I can't say too much about it right now without spoiling anything, but I can say that Carl most definitely has an important role to play going forward and not always in a way that Rilla appreciates.