At long last, here's the next chapter! I have several more written and a very vague plot in the works, so expect slow but sure updates to this story in the not-too-distant future. And thank you to everyone who reviewed the prologue and favorited or followed this story. It means a lot and I really want to hear your thoughts about this new chapter! Bee is all grown up now and ready to have as un-cliched an adventure as possible. This is a small snippet into her life before her story really gets going, but the little details will play into the story later, I promise. I hope you like it!

Chapter 2: I Don't Think Advil Would've Helped

There was nothing in the world like rush-hour traffic in Dallas.

I'd been sitting at the same light for at least ten minutes, still only a few blocks from work. At this rate I'd be late for my gig tonight! To pass the time, I scrolled through the radio stations in my car, tapping out the melodies to the songs on my steering wheel.

"Come on…" I muttered. There had to be something interesting here. Bad country music—commercials—a mariachi band—conservative talk radio—more country music—more commercials—"What's this?" I muttered, pausing on a news story about the zoo.

"Experts are still baffled by the appearance of this strange creature last week," the voice said, and I cranked the volume up higher, curious. "At first thought to be a wolf, researchers now believe it to be some sort of hybrid—and that's right, you can see it right here at the zoo next week, the first of what might just be a brand new species!" Cool, I thought idly. "And remember, folks, if you see any similar creatures, keep your distance! This one has been especially vicious; it's hospitalized three zookeepers and members of animal control so far. It is larger in size than normal wolves, with a longer snout and huge fangs, and our online followers are already calling it the Dallas Warg, named after the mythical wolves of—"

Suddenly the muffled notes of Respighi's 'The Pines of Rome' interrupted the news story. My ringtone! I turned the radio volume down and dug around in my purse as I drove, finding my phone just in time. "Hello?"

"Bee!" my friend's voice exclaimed. "How's it going?"

I wedged the phone between my face and shoulder as I drove forward. "Hey, Caroline. I can't really talk, I'm on my way home from work."

"Oh that's right, you have a fancy grown-up job now," she replied. "You're still coming tonight, right?"

"Of course!" I said, surprised and offended. I wouldn't miss one of our quartet's gigs for the world, and Caroline knew that. "Why wouldn't I?"

"I don't know, you just haven't seemed as enthusiastic about performing lately, that's all." I made a noise of indignation and she laughed. "No offense! I just meant, you're always daydreaming or something when we're at a gig. And you never wanna sit still long enough to practice."

"Is it a crime to be a little restless now and then?"

"Well, anywho," she plowed on, "you better hurry up and get home, before I break down your door to get into the air conditioning."

"Caroline!" I exclaimed. "You're at my apartment already?"

"Mayyybe..." I could practically see her giving a theatrical shrug. "I just thought we could get some practice in, maybe drive over to The Fiddler's Elbow together for the gig. I'd carpool with Nathan, but his bass takes up half of his car, and you know John's car smells like old Taco Bell wrappers."

I made a face. "I guess that's true."

"And speaking of John and Nathan," Caroline said, "I invited them to your place to practice too. Hope that's alright. All four of us can go in one car—I know how much you care about the environment."

"Caroline!" If everyone came over to my place, I had no doubts about who would end up having to drive everyone to the gig tonight. I ground my teeth together for a long moment, trying to remember the last time we'd hung out without them taking advantage of me. "Fine. Just ask me first next time, okay? I'll be at my apartment in five minutes."

"Alright, cool. Just hurry up."

"Yes ma'am," I snapped, sarcasm my only remaining form of protest.

Her only answer was a loud raspberry before she hung up on me. I tossed my phone onto the passenger seat, rolling my eyes.

My friend had been right about one thing—I wasn't too enthusiastic about the gig tonight. Ever since I'd started performing with Caroline, John, and Nathan back in college, we'd been running through the same collection of songs: drinking songs and jigs at Irish pubs, two-step beats at country bars, Canon in D at weddings…I sighed.

It was starting to get downright monotonous, and I'd have dropped out of the quartet entirely, except that this was the only time I really got to play my violin anymore, and the only time I got to hang out with my friends. And, rude as some of them might be, I loved them dearly. I sighed. Well, nothing quite like bonding over mediocre songs at live music night at a dive bar like The Fiddler's Elbow, I thought as I pulled into my apartment complex.

"Five minutes, my ass!" Caroline was waiting for me, hands on her hips. One foot was tapping impatiently against her cello case as she glowered at me. "It's about time you showed up!"

"Sorry, Caroline, but there's this new-fangled thing called traffic, I don't know if you've heard of it—"

I was cut off by a horn blaring from the parking lot.

"That'll be John," Caroline said unnecessarily, as our second violinist hopped out of his run-down truck and joined us. Nathan, our bassist, was with him, and stopped to heft his instrument out of John's truck bed.

"Well, now that we're all here," John said, giving me a lazy one-armed hug, "let's get into the air conditioning before we all die of heatstroke."

"Or worse, before Nathan gets all sweaty like at that outdoor gig last summer," Caroline sneered. Nathan turned bright red, sweat already beading on his forehead in the hot sun.

I gave a half-hearted laugh as I unlocked my door, still annoyed with all of them for inviting themselves over. Still, nothing was going to stop me from being a gracious hostess. Damn southern manners. "Welcome in, guys. Sorry about the mess," I prefaced as we walked inside.

My apartment was never exactly clean even on its best days—the carpet was stained from the past exploits of its previous owner (the less I thought about that, the better), the beige paint on the walls was chipped and peeling, and the lumpy, lime-green sofa in the living room made the whole apartment look vaguely unsettling, no matter how many sensibly-colored throw pillows I covered it with.

The rest of my quartet filed into the apartment, setting their instrument cases on the living room floor. "Ahh, I just love your apartment, Bee," Caroline sighed as she set her cello case on the lime-green sofa.

"Seriously?" I snorted.

"I mean it! Your apartment's great!" she insisted, either ignoring or missing completely the roach scuttling across the carpet in front of her. "I'm still living at home with my parents till I'm done with my master's program. I'd kill for my own place."

"I'd kill to get out of a place like this," John said in a stage whisper to Caroline, and I scowled at him.

"I think it's nice," Nathan said, folding his arms. "Hey, d'you mind if I get some water?"

I smiled gratefully at him. John and Caroline had already migrated to the kitchen, pulling sodas out from my fridge carelessly. Then again, Nathan had always been the politest one in our quartet by a country mile. "Sure thing."

"Thanks. Hey, how's your mom doing?"

I shrugged, following him into the kitchen. "Same old, same old," I said. "I'm a little worried about her being lonely, though. She says she's fine," I added, "but she's living outside of West in the middle of nowhere, all by herself, with no one but Bilbo for company—"

"Wait, wait," Caroline interrupted. "Bilbo?"

I winced slightly. "Y'know, my old cat."

"You named your cat Bilbo?" she exclaimed, glee in her eyes.

I folded my arms defensively. "I was seven, my favorite book was The Hobbit, don't judge me—"

I broke off as Caroline and John dissolved into laughter, settling back onto the couch in the living room. "Oh, come on…that's almost as bad as Nathan's bass," Caroline said.

"What'd you name your bass again?" I turned to him.

Nathan turned slightly pink. "Glorfindel."

I chuckled despite myself. "What's a glorfindel?" I asked. "A disease?"

"He's not a disease!" Nathan spluttered, looking deeply offended. "He's a character in The Lord of the Rings, I keep telling you to read them, Bee—"

"Nerds!" John crowed from the living room.

I ignored him. "I don't know…" I shrugged. "I couldn't even stay awake for the first movie. Plus, you know, I don't have time for a whole lot of reading right now, with work and all these gigs…"

It was true: I wasn't much of a reader these days. I'd been obsessed with The Hobbit when I was younger, yes, and I did go through a Harry Potter phase in middle school—who didn't? But that was nothing next to Nathan's love of books, which bordered on an obsession.

And speaking of his reading obsession…

"Well, if you don't wanna read it, no pressure," Nathan said casually, turning to dig for something in the pockets of his instrument case. "Aha!" Grinning triumphantly, he pressed a book into my hands.

I examined it. "The Fellowship of the Ring?" I read, laughing. "Why were you carrying this around with you?"

"I always carry a good book with me when I leave the house. It's like having an old friend with you everywhere you go," he said simply. I grinned. That was the kind of thing my dad used to say. It was a long time since I'd thought of books in that way; trust Nathan to make even the most offhand comments sound heartfelt.

I flipped through the pages with new interest. "And you really think I'd like it?"

"Since you liked The Hobbit, yeah," Nathan said. "Besides, when's the last time you read a good book? And boring music theory books don't count."

I thought for a moment. "Oh! I read this really cool biography a few weeks ago," I recalled, "about the life of Guido Monaco—"

"Who?"

"He invented the modern music staff!" I exclaimed. "I've told you that before!"

"Beeeee," Caroline interrupted with a groan, "in what world is that interesting? God, y'all are such nerds!"

"You know you're just jealous we're so smart." Nathan laughed in his quietly self-assured voice. I'd never managed to stick up for myself in quite the same was as Nathan could. It occurred to me suddenly that I used to have quite a bit more of a backbone than I currently did, and I scowled down at the book.

"Well, I'd be happy to read it, Nathan," I said, tucking it into a pocket of my violin case. "I'll start it tonight, after the gig."

"The gig!" John exclaimed. "I forgot, we have to practice!"

"We still have some time," I said, checking my phone. "We don't need to be at The Fiddler's Elbow for an hour still."

"Oh, good."

We opened our instrument cases (I smiled slightly at 'Glorfindel' and Nathan grinned back at me), and dug through our binders of music.

"Hold up, what's this?" Caroline demanded, reaching for some papers sticking out of my violin case.

"Hey!" I tried to hold them out of her reach. "No!" She poked me with her bow and I dropped the papers, which she caught eagerly. "That's just some pieces I've been writing, please don't look at them yet, they're not done, please!" I said desperately.

"I didn't know you were writing your own music, Bee," John said, glancing at the papers over Caroline's shoulder. "Hmm, that one piece looks…I don't know, kind of weird."

"Very creative," Nathan added with a supportive smile.

"Yeah, well, thanks," I muttered stiffly, trying to snatch the papers back. I could feel my face burning.

I wasn't very good at writing my own music to begin with, but the piece they were looking at was especially rocky. The notes were plodding and slow, with purposeful creaks and snags from the bowhair on the strings to imitate the sound of a strange voice, one that I'd never been able to forget entirely, even after sixteen years…

"I know it's bad, alright?" I snapped. "But it's supposed to be weird, it's based on a song my imaginary friend sang to me when I was little." At least I'd had the foresight to not write the title, Ent-wife's Song, on the paper; Caroline and John would never have let me hear the end of it.

"Really?" Caroline said. "That's pretty cool."

"Uh-huh, thank you," I replied testily, grabbing the papers at last and stuffing them back into my violin case. "Now let's just practice for the gig tonight, okay?"

"Alright then, geez."

Most of the pieces for our gig were quite simple—it was our standard Irish jig set. We ran through them without much trouble. I let my mind wander as we played, my bow moving rather listlessly. My eyes slipped shut.

Somehow, between the notes, I imagined I could hear a voice echoing…I shook my head to clear it, but the voice was still there.

"What was that?" I asked, pausing in my notes.

"What?" John said, looking annoyed at having been stopped in the middle of St Anne's Reel.

"I—sorry, nothing," I muttered. "Thought I heard something, sorry." We continued playing.

I shuddered, feeling unseasonably cold. The voice was still there—as loud as ever, though no one else seemed to notice anything amiss. It was a deep voice, and unsettling, and I couldn't think where it could be coming from. In fact, it was chanting something…

Suddenly my head started pounding and I winced, faltering a bit on the coda of Morrison's Jig. The voice in my head was getting louder. My violin slipped slightly under my jaw. My hand trembled on my bow. What is that voice? And why does it…why does it hurt so much? Finally I couldn't bear it anymore: my bow slipped out of my hand and I doubled over.

"Bee, what's wrong?" Nathan asked, looking panicky. "Bee?"

"I…ah…it's nothing. Just a headache, I think." My vision flared red, then white. I gasped in pain—but that weird chanting voice had stopped, as though it had never happened. Had I imagined it? "Seriously…I'm fine. I just need a minute." There was a wild ringing in my ears; everything felt vaguely fuzzy all of a sudden…

With shaking hands, I set my violin down on the lime-green sofa. "Guys, why don't you head out to the bar? Y'all can start setting up without me. I'm gonna get some food, I think, before I go, I'm feeling pretty faint."

"Well, if you're sure," Caroline said. "Just…take some Advil before you go, alright?" she added. "You don't look so good."

"Aw, thanks," I muttered, rubbing at my temples. My head felt like it was being crushed under an anvil.

The three of them began to pack up their instruments, all looking rather concerned.

"You're sure you're okay, Bee?" Nathan asked me as they made their way to the door. "Caroline's right, you should take some Advil, drink some water or something…"

"Okay, okay," I muttered, opening the door for them to leave. "Wow, what the hell?" I paused, wondering if my eyes were playing tricks on me. Instead of the usual bright, oppressive sunshine, the parking lot was full of heavy, dense fog. A dark blanket of it covered the cars and trees, and it felt cold—unseasonably cold. I shivered, my head pounding worse than ever. "Be careful driving through all that."

"What d'you mean?" John and Caroline said together.

I raised an eyebrow. Wasn't it obvious? "All that fog, duh. It's a driving hazard. And it's weird, there wasn't a cloud in the sky earlier—"

"Fog?" Nathan repeated, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. "What fog?"

I faltered. "What?"

"I don't know what you're…Bee, are you alright? There's no fog outside. It's perfectly sunny."

"What do you—?" I stammered, staring out the door. The fog was still there, solid and cold. It was as real as my apartment door, as the sidewalk, as my friends staring at me in growing panic… "Of course there's fog," I demanded, more loudly, as though repeating myself would make it true. "It's gotten all dark and cold out. What, you…you mean you can't see it?" A cold feeling settled in the pit of my stomach that had nothing to do with the chilling fog. What was going on? I could feel my blood pulsing painfully behind my eyes. Did this have something to do with my headache?

"Bee…" Nathan's voice was higher pitched than normal. "Maybe you should just skip the gig tonight?"

"What?" I exclaimed. "No—I'm alright—I'm just…just…" I blinked, hard. I shook my head violently. Nothing changed.

"Bee?" Even John looked freaked out.

"I—It's nothing…I'm fine. Really, I'm fine!" I stammered, hoping none of them saw how scared I suddenly felt. "I'm just tired. You know I haven't been sleeping well lately."

"Well, okay, but I…I don't know, Bee. Only if you're sure."

"Yeah, honest, I'm fine," I gritted out. I was clenching my teeth so violently from my headache that I thought they might break. I needed a moment to myself, I thought—just to catch my breath, maybe to take an Advil. I couldn't think with everyone standing around me like this.

"Alright, just call us if you need anything, okay?"

Still looking bewildered, the three of them walked out to the parking lot. They hadn't walked ten feet before the mist swallowed them up entirely. I closed my door quickly, unnerved.

I leaned heavily against the door, the metal doorknob cool against my trembling arm. My eyes squeezed shut and I breathed deeply; but if anything, that made the headache worse. And when I dared to opened my eyes, I gasped.

My apartment was full of fog, too.

I stepped forward hesitantly, reaching my hand out into the mist. I could barely see my lime-green sofa in front of me. "What's going on?" I asked—the fog distorted my voice to a muffled squeak. "Hello? Ow!"

I'd tripped over my empty violin case, which was still lying open on the carpet. I clutched at it desperately, the way a drowning man might clutch at a life preserver. Breathe. Just breathe…I squeezed my eyes shut again, willing the fog away. Everything would be alright, I was fine, I was okay…

But I wasn't okay, something was happening to me—something was wrong—the fog was getting thicker—surely my skull would split open from this headache. I made a feeble attempt to stand up, but suddenly my limbs wouldn't obey my commands.

I couldn't move, I realized with building horror. I couldn't move!

A wrenching pain ripped through my gut, as though I were being speared and dragged along by a fishhook—I screamed, but no sound came out—I couldn't even hear the sound of my own heartbeat anymore.

For a long moment, I was suspended in absolute silence. I was adrift in a sea of white fog, unable to move, unable to speak. Seconds passed—maybe minutes—hours could have fallen by as my panic grew in the silent, motionless void…

Suddenly, the mist began to clear. It was over. I felt my body come back to life; I could move again. Bit by bit, the fog dissipated, and my surroundings came into view—

I bit back a scream.

My apartment was gone.