Interlude: Summer, Gonçalves de Clermont

by The Modern Typewriter

Fifty years is not six months, no matter what they tell you. Hugh and Fernando embark on a crusade. Eric goes to Rome on business for the Knights of Lazarus. And Addison gets to work, biding her time until she can find a way home. But something in the summer air disturbs the family. Memories come back to haunt some, while odd encounters unsettle others.

3. Addison 2012

Addison

July-August 2012 C.E.

California

Addison stared up at the massive house in dismay. It was an eleven-minute drive from her own house with a car, but Addison didn't have a car, so she'd taken the bus.

Ten-minute walk to the stop. Seven-minute wait. Thirty-minute ride with all the stops in between. Four-minute walk from the bus to the house up the street. The trip from downtown to the waterfront had been as striking as it had always been, but something made it harder to palette from the windows of a bus rather than her own car.

Eleven minutes mattered when it came to houses and neighborhoods like these. Eleven minutes could be the difference between food and no food, fresh air and smog, chain link and white picket fence.

The smell of the ocean was stronger here. The beach was within walking distance and made for a pleasant view.

Addison's own house was located further inland, where the pleasant smell of the ocean soured into something else more urban and more reminiscent of human sweat and ripening trash cans. Here, the breeze was gentle and invigorating on her skin. Where she lived, the air settled thickly between buildings and made everything heavy and sticky and covered in a sort of brine.

She stared up at the house and felt herself overcome by a need to vomit. The urge to cry.

What had she been thinking?

This was a bad idea. She should never have asked for this. She should just go home.

One of the curtains drew back from the window and she winced. Too late to turn back now. The only way out would have to be through.

She sighed to herself, before hiking up her bag and making the long trek up to the front door.

She knocked though no doubt they knew she was here. And when the woman opened the door, she greeted Addison with a wide, perfect grin, bright blue eyes that twinkled back at her, and a high blonde ponytail that swung back and forth in her excitement.

"I'm so glad you're here!" she said and swung the door open wider. "Come in!"

It wasn't her first trip to the grocery store since she'd been back in the twenty first century, and unfortunately it wouldn't be her last. When the heatwave set in, as it always did in the summer, Addison had been woefully unprepared.

She'd sunk into a depressive stupor following her return to the twenty first century, and she hadn't done much to try to regain her power. She was used to darkness now, and fresh air. She didn't have need for electricity, surely.

This had been naïve. And wholly short sighted. She was a child of the desert. A child of the beach cities. But she hadn't been thinking within that frame of mind. It had been so long since she'd considered how hard it was to survive in the modern world... she'd been so focused on the past.

No power meant no air. No power meant no fridge. No power meant no respite from the sun that would continue to get hotter in the sky.

Home became unlivable. And she had taken herself outside, but then outside became unlivable too.

So, she did the only thing she could think to do.

She went to the grocery store, grabbed a cart, piled food in her basket that she couldn't buy. She figured she could eek out an hour or so before returning everything to their shelves and leaving when the sun had drooped a little lower in the sky.

That's how she found herself in the bakery section, between the cakes and cookies, eavesdropping on a woman with a cart full of food she actually intended to buy.

"Her mother is sick," the lady said into her phone while she shopped. Her voice was loud but not obnoxiously so. If anything, it was just lacking in any shame. "I know. She had to go back to Mexico to take care of her."

Addison sighed and continued down the aisle, snatching up a big loaf of bread to go with the stew she fantasized about making. In her imagination she didn't have to budget or make each meal stretch. Tonight, would be stew with thick, buttery, crusty bread. Tomorrow would be carne with rice and lime and salsa she made fresh with tomatillos and aguacate. And the night after that – she salivated – pizza and salad and warm brownies with vanilla ice cream.

"No," the lady frowned down at her nails before loading a box of cinnamon buns into her cart. "I could've sworn she was Mexican."

Addison rolled her eyes at this and carried on, switching her thoughts to breakfast pastries and smoothies.

"Guatemala—" the woman exclaimed. "Isn't that the same thing?"

Addison eyed the pastry section where the woman stood with envy. She'd kill for a danish right now. Or a cinnamon roll.

"Oh! Right! Yes, Guadalajara—" the woman clicked her nails together in contemplation as she reconciled the difference between the two places in her mind. "Right. Yes. She had to go back to Guatemala for her mother then. I don't know. Either way, I don't know what to do about my house."

Addison paused over a double chocolate cake with white chocolate swirl and stared at it in envy. Shamelessly eavesdropping on the woman who moved over to the wall of bread and added a loaf of whole grain to her cart before turning back to grab a box of donuts.

"Well, with my schedule at the restaurant, I don't have any time to clean it. And then the girls are at camp all summer. The boys—" the woman rolled her eyes. "The boys are driving me up a wall. Totally useless. And then of course, there's Jonathan—"

The way she said Jonathan told Addison all she needed to know. Useless husband. Probably liked recliners and golf. Unlikely he knew where the broom was. Definitely didn't cook.

"Oh thanks, hon," the woman said. "I appreciate you asking around."

Addison sucked in a breath. The woman needed a maid, that much was obvious. Without stopping to psych herself out, Addison rolled her cart over to the lady across the way.

"Excuse me," she said, in the most unassuming voice she could muster. Hoping she didn't sound as desperate and clunky as she felt.

"Oh," the woman chirped in surprise and whirled around. Her makeup was as flawless as her nails. Her hair was tied up in a smooth blonde bun, but her eyes were relatively kind, even if a little taken aback.

"Hello," she said, looking Addison up and down in blatant curiosity.

"Hi," Addison smiled, trying to put the woman at ease. "I'm sorry... I couldn't help but overhear you saying that you're looking for a maid..."

The woman's eyes lit up in understanding, her eyebrows looked like they wanted to move up in surprise, but they didn't. Addison distantly realized this was most likely a result of Botox in her forehead, though the woman didn't look heavily altered.

"Yes!" the woman said with a delighted grin. "Yes, I am. Do you know one?"

Addison offered her a self-deprecating smile.

"Well... I kind of... am one," she shrugged. "And I'm looking for work. My schedule is completely open right now... I just got back in town. But I was wondering if you'd be interested."

The woman, who introduced herself to Addison as Jenny, lit up in delight at her luck.

"Yes! Oh my god, yes! Why don't you give me your number?" She said and held out her phone for Addison to take and supply her information. "I'll give you a call in the morning and let's set something up! You're such a life saver—you have no idea!"

The house was bigger inside somehow. And Jenny was kind, even if she was... kind of... a lot. She and Addison covered prices, and lists of problem areas in the house, as well as days of the week that worked best for Jenny.

They agreed on Wednesdays, while Jenny ran her errands and her sons were at practice for the many, many sports they apparently played. Her husband spent most of his days either at work or at the country club and would be out of Addison's way, or so Jenny had assured her.

Then the woman, who apparently was a Chef, had quite guiltily informed her that the restaurant was cutting back on lunch hours so her budget would be smaller.

Addison had cringed at her luck, thinking she was about to ripped off for her efforts, when the woman grimaced and asked if she would be able to settle for sixty-five an hour, four hours a week.

She didn't know if her jaw actually dropped, but in her mind, it hit the floor. Her heart flew up into her throat and all she could do was croak out her acceptance of the pay.

Jenny had been delighted. She had reached out and given Addison an affectionate hug before asking if she could start today. All the cleaning supplies were below the sink, and Jenny had somewhere to be for the next few hours.

Addison could only gawp and nod her head, secretly relieved that she wouldn't have to wait at the bus stop beneath the hot midday sun or wander around the grocery store or target until her house cooled off enough to re-enter. There were no words to express how grateful she was to have the next four hours of air conditioning in a house that was fully functional, all by herself, without having to entertain anyone or lie to them or make up excuses about why she was there.

Jenny had thanked her, popped on a music app to play in the background for her while she cleaned and set out a can of soda, and a bottle of water in case she was thirsty.

The bubbly mom-of-four took off in her shiny new Lexus and tore down the boulevard without a care or concern in the world, or so it seemed to Addison.

She turned back to the house from where she stood in the front doorway. It welcomed her with a cool, stable greeting as she took in the already immaculate floors, the full sink, the overflowing laundry basket and the dog that whined at her from its kennel in the corner. She let out a disbelieving laugh, wandering over to the grey and white husky, and offering her hand. The lazy pup thumped her tail once in greeting, snuffling at Addison's hand through the cage and offering a cursory lick before going back to sleep.

Addison stood back up and scratched her head in uncertainty, wracking her brain for the verbal list of chores Jenny had rattled off, before wandering back into the kitchen and helping herself to the pad of paper and pen that sat under the phone. She didn't think the other woman would mind.

She jotted down her plan of attack before making her way into the laundry room and starting up a load. Then Addison tied up her hair, rolled up her sleeves, and got to work, starting in the kitchen, and slowly making her way through the rest of the first floor before heading upstairs.

---

There is nothing more disempowering than being valued for your ability to do a job you learned how to do when you were at your worst. There is nothing worse than wondering if your value starts and ends with the one thing you no longer have the capacity to do. Her mind reeled as she recalled those first few days back in the twenty first century. The last half of April, this time around, had been truly miserable to say the least.

Back at her own house, in her own time, Addison cleaned in increments. She emptied the rancid fridge and felt as though her spine was going to jump out of her skin. Her brain descended into a thick impenetrable fog, and she had to fight to keep her eyes from closing in exhaustion as she scrubbed.

The thing was, she didn't understand why. She took four breaks before her task was done. Four breaks before the fridge could be deemed passable rather than a biohazard. And when she had finished her task, Addison had fled to the backyard where her forget-me-nots had long since died and the early morning breeze could cool her suddenly clammy skin.

She was still wearing her dress, the nice green one she'd favored back in the Middle Ages, at La Ithuriana, with her family. She'd have to change out of it eventually, but the last two days had been a haze of sleep and hunger and dismay. She'd found some canned goods, and power bars in the cabinets, which had been both a blessing and a curse.

She'd need fresh food soon. Food that was more suited to her sensitive stomach.

Now, canned food tasted of salt and metal. Now, bags of chips and aluminum wrapped power bars tasted of the conveyor belt they'd no doubt been made on.

And her stomach roiled with each bite.

She couldn't keep any of it down.

And she was so, so tired. Cleaning, which used to be a release, was now a near impossible task.

This went on for weeks, and while Addison remained exhausted and sick to her stomach, she finally changed her clothes.

She started and stopped cleaning her abandoned house over and over again for days and days, and each attempt was clouded by her unsteady breath, her unexplainable exhaustion, the urge to run away, and the need to lie down wherever she was, close her eyes, and pretend that nothing was wrong and none of it had been real.

By the time she had sealed her fate with Jenny, Addison's entire mental state was in flux. She needed to clean, in some ways, because she had all this energy she couldn't explain. Her skin crawled with the need to use her hands, with the need to escape into motion. She needed to exhaust herself in order to sleep at night. She needed to sweat in order to justify rest. She needed something, anything, to keep her mind from straying to the past. Cleaning was the only thing anymore that she could think of to help her dissipate the twisting and churning that had taken up residence in her belly, and that restless feeling that had settled in her spine.

Addison's body was alive with unnamable sensation. And she propelled herself forward into anything she could to avoid thinking about it for as long as she could.

But the problem was that cleaning was no longer helping.

Whatever rest she had been provided during her time as Fernanda Gonçalves had undone something in her that she didn't know how to get back.

Things had been worse for her as Malvina and yet they had been simpler too.

Cleaning had been a release. A blessed routine that helped her escape the terror of the world and helped her envision a way out.

But her time with Fernando and Eric, and Hugh, had made it painfully clear that there was an easier route. A less strenuous route that led to a life free of danger, safe from harm.

They had taken her need to survive by way of cleaning and removed the scarcity. Removed the need to clean her way out. Her life had simply become enough regardless of what she brought to the table. She had found safety in just living and breathing, and they hadn't asked much more of her than that. Despite the rules and rigors that came with being a high-born lady.

She missed the pull of the comb through her hair as Jacqueline readied her for the day each morning. She missed having someone to provide her with food so she wouldn't have to worry about whether she would go hungry. She missed having someone to speak to before dinner, and company while she ate. She missed having someone else to light the hearth in the mornings before she rose.

Now, it was hot and getting hotter as summertime in the desert took its root. Now, she was Addison – whoever Addison was anymore – and she didn't have the money she needed for food. She didn't have a car. Didn't have her cell phone. Didn't have her father or his husband, or the man she had once married to lessen the sting of hunger or lack, loneliness, or memory.

There was no one who would help her here. There was no one to brush the hair back from her neck and pull it into a braid. Addison wondered after Jacqueline. Wondered if she'd ever properly thanked her for her care. And then she went another day without brushing her hair and winced at the mats that had gathered there. She went another day, bathing in cold water as she micromanaged which utilities and other bills got paid and when.

She was just so tired all the time.

And then she started cleaning for money.

She'd never cleaned for money before – they didn't pay her when she was sent to Castle Sween – but she had cleaned to survive.

Some of it was useful. The money was nice, now that she had it. All things considered... if you found the right clientele, cleaning professionally was monumentally profitable. This, she had quickly found out, by way of Jenny and her generous supply of information and gossip about her neighborhood and supply and demand.

Now, in the thick of an unforgiving July heatwave, Addison relished in the time she got to spend cleaning in someone else's expansive, air-conditioned house. The last place she wanted to be was in her own home, unable to run the AC, with all her lights unplugged to save on electricity, dying of heatstroke.

But sometimes when she was mopping a floor or moving a piece of furniture or dusting, or frankly just trying to breathe, Addison would get a flash of memory so sudden and so vivid she often had to physically flinch away from it lest it grip her by her throat and rob her of all her precious air.

A flash of Ailios's hand coming out to smack her for messing up a batch of rustic nature stew, or for burning a fur pelt. Nights spent without dinner for upsetting the lady of the house or Mrs. McCleod. She remembered the sting of the switch used on disobedient maids, and the group punishments that often followed one of the girls getting caught in a knight's bed chamber earlier in the day.

Sometimes her knees would ache for no reason, and she'd have to stop and rub at phantom injuries, trying desperately to soothe the feeling in her joints. Unable to tell if the ache was real or imagined. And her hands would shake, fingers numb, and she'd have to drop the mop or the broom or the vacuum so she could cradle her wrist to her chest in alarm.

Addison was a mess, and she didn't know why.

But all she could think was that cleaning was unfair.

All she could think was that if she was stuck in the twenty first century, cleaning was her only way out, the only way through, and she hated that feeling. She hated knowing that this was what she was worth.

She hated knowing that the thing that once helped her survive was now the thing that brought back every horrible, pain filled memory. And she hated even more that with each dish scrubbed, each load of laundry folded, each floor mopped, and mantle dusted, it was one more thing she wasn't able to do for herself back home. She gave all her energy and all her memory and all her resilience to the pursuit of income. And when she did go home in the evening, she avoided cleaning for fear of memory and the onslaught of troubled thoughts and exhaustion that were bound to overcome her when she did.

But sixty-five an hour was too much to turn down. And soon she had money for her bills, though never enough to be comfortable or without worry. And before she knew it, Jenny had introduced her to her friends, and Addison had gained another client.

The next-door neighbor, Priya, was kind if aloof. She was a lawyer and recently single. She didn't ask Addison many questions and had asked her to come to clean her house the day after she did Jenny's.

So, Addison did four hours on Wednesdays, twice a month for Jenny. And she did four hours on Thursdays, twice a month for Priya.

On Wednesdays, Jenny tended to provide her with music and water, or soda when she left, and would return with some sort of lunch she'd picked up for Addison while she was out. The first time the bubbly blonde had returned with chips, sandwich, and tea from the deli down the street, Addison had almost cried in gratitude.

Priya wasn't of the opinion that she needed to pay Addison and feed her like Jenny was, but that was okay. Addison was grateful for the money, the AC, and the lack of questions from the other woman who sometimes left while Addison cleaned, and other times worked for hours on end in the office down the hall which Addison knew well enough to leave alone at all costs.

It wasn't perfect, and Addison still suffered phantom pains most days, flinching away from each memory as it came out to strike her while she cleaned, but her fridge was on and functional now and she could turn on the lights if she chose to. She had a humble food supply that was not only made up of canned goods, and though she still took cold showers and baths, she had the option of hot water if she ever chose to use it.

And on the evenings when she was tired, but could not sleep, Addison caved and plugged in the television, plugged in the DVD player, and broke out her old childhood collection of movies.

---

When Addison wasn't at work, which was most days, she did her best to visit Lala. It was still hard, and largely unproductive, but now with a family to go back to in November, the grief over her grandmother was coupled with a slight pang of guilt and of relief.

Lala was alone, but she was comfortable and well cared for. And Addison knew deep down that there was a part of herself that she had forcibly numbed against the woman who no longer remembered her name. Addison knew one day that the pain would come back, and it would be as searing and lonely and childish as ever. But she was also relieved that Lala didn't remember her. Now that she knew her life and fate were not up to her, and that she was bound to go missing again for six months, she'd rather be forgotten than a point of heartache for her grandmother.

It was just easier this way.

So, Sundays were definitely Lala's days, though it meant little to the regressing Valentina Baez who thought she was in a different country, with different people, at a different age, with a different view. And sometimes, if it was unbearably hot, Addison would pop in for an extra visit that usually disrupted the nurse's schedules and set the volunteers tongues wagging.

No one had forgotten the strung-out picture Addison had painted for them last summer when she'd returned from her time as Malvina. Addison most definitely hadn't forgotten, and though the nurses were less shady about her presence now. She definitely knew they thought she was a junkie who had finally gotten clean.

On the days Addison didn't go see Lala, she took herself to the library.

That's where Addison found herself today. She walked through the large glass doors. She passed the flyers for book clubs and writing groups, passed the circulation desk where the aids and clerks all waved and nodded their heads. She passed the stacks of newspapers and magazines, cut through nonfiction, and took a hard right past Fiction A-G, before plopping herself down at an empty desk and pulling her laptop from her bag. She dug out her water bottle and placed it next to her computer, before popping her feet up on the opposing chair and logging into the Wi-Fi.

A movement out of the corner of her eye, and Addison glanced up at the familiar face of the head librarian.

She watched as he approached a new regular – a woman a few decades Addison's senior, with a missing tooth, and tired eyes. She watched him extend his hand, and introduce himself to the other woman, before allowing herself a familiar grin.

"Elijah Wilson," he said, extending his hand. "I'm the head librarian here, and I just like to go around and introduce myself to the patrons every now and again."

Addison blinked staring up at him and then looking down at his outstretched hand. She didn't think she'd so much as looked another living person in the eye in months, let alone touched them.

She reached out, tentatively, and placed her own limp hand in his. His skin was warm and soft, and she watched his fingers envelop hers with a great deal of care. One solid shake and then he released before inviting himself to sit next to her.

Very belatedly Addison remembered her manners. She blinked again and shook herself. "Hello," she croaked.

His eyes were kind, though his smile had relaxed a bit now that he'd introduced himself.

"So, I make it a point of coming to chat with everyone that comes in here at least once or twice," he said again trying to ease her of some discomfort.

Addison didn't know what to make of this. She glanced over at the homeless man sleeping on a chair in the corner, with his hat halfway covering his face. Had she done something wrong?

Elijah followed her gaze. "Hello Gary," he called out, raising his voice a little without yelling, though he remained kind.

The man in the chair snorted awake and tipped his hat back up where it was meant to be. Bleary eyes took in the scene of Elijah with Addison and then he offered a nod.

"Elijah," Gary replied. "Sorry, just dozed off for a minute."

"Hey man, that's alright," Elijah said. "How's life treating you?"

"Oh, you know," Gary said and scratched his unkempt beard. "Seen better days..." and then he chuckled. "Seen worse too."

"Oh, I understand that," Elijah chuckled and glanced at Addison as though she too were in on the joke. She squirmed, she was far more comfortable when it was just her and sleeping Gary over here minding their own business.

She felt like her voice had wandered off somewhere with her wits and her senses, and now she was just some weird gawking girl wasting library resources to stay cool and abuse google.

Gary coughed and stood, "Any way I can get the code for the bathroom, 'lijah?"

Elijah nodded and gestured toward the desk. "They'll give it to you up front," he said. "But remember what we talked about—"

"I won't be more than five minutes, this time. I promise, I won't do it again."

Addison glanced back and forth between the two men as Elijah nodded and Gary wandered over to the bathroom. Elijah turned back to her, and she stared at him in alarm, the question on the tip of her tongue.

What the fuck did Gary do in the bathroom?

Elijah's eyes were knowing as he studied her, he smiled and shook his head, releasing a bit of a chuckle before clearing his throat.

"Where was I?" he asked, eyes drifting as he wracked his brain before he hummed and nodded. "That's right. So, I wanted to check in. See how you were doing? We've seen you coming in here quite a bit, and we like to ask our regulars how they're holding up."

Addison stared at him and then looked in the direction Gary had gone, before glancing back down at her computer.

She had googled Fernando.

Just to see.

Nothing of value had come up no matter what variation of his name she had tried, and Addison had sagged a bit in defeat. It had been a longshot, she knew. But she just wanted to see if she could learn anything about her father. Just in the vainest hope that there would be some tiny sliver of insight into the family she had left behind in the thirteenth century.

In vain she had hoped for a painting or a book with his name in it. Perhaps a lease on some old castle or something else of interest from one his many properties.

But mostly, she'd been looking for a painting.

She needed a familiar face. She missed her dad.

"Fernando... Gonçalves," Elijah murmured, looking over her shoulder. "Friend of yours?"

Addison jolted and lowered her screen, whirling around wide eyed to look at him again. He sat back and frowned apologetically, holding out his hands in a sign of peace.

"Sorry," he said, apologetic but apparently accustomed to erratic behavior.

"No—" she said, wondering when her voice had gotten so quiet. "No. Not a friend. Just some research..." she shrugged. "13th century."

His eyes lit up and he nodded. "You're a student?"

"Uh... no..." she let out a breath of laughter. "Not quite... just... interested in history."

"Hey that's cool," he said with a genuine grin. "I'm a fan of history myself. Before you leave today, stop by the front desk, I'll leave a list of resources for you to use next time you come in. We got stuff better than google in here."

Addison didn't know what to make of Elijah Wilson, head librarian, but she had to admit she hadn't expected this. A lightness spread through her chest, and she had to clear her throat a few times before she could form a response.

"Thank you," she murmured. "I don't know what to say."

"Don't sweat it," he said. "Just doing my job."

"So how you holding up?" he asked. "Heat treating you okay?"

That was another thing, Addison knew. The city was full of people who, like her, either had no power or even worse had no home. The library and places like it – if there were any quite as comparable to a library – had taken the brunt of the influx. The heat treated no one with mercy. And now he was here asking after her, knowing the truth without her answer.

Addison cleared her throat. "Um... not really," she shrugged. "Hard to keep the house cool."

"Isn't that the truth," he nodded in sympathy. "Well, you're welcome in here until things cool down. And even then," he chuckled. "We always like company here. What about water? You have water?"

Addison stared at him in shock. She had expected a lecture about taking up space, about not reading enough books, not even having a library card. But Elijah didn't seem to care. He wanted to know if she was hydrated.

"I.." she looked down. Her bottle had run empty an hour ago. She swallowed and realized her throat was a little dry. "I did."

Elijah studied her a minute before nodding, this time more to himself than her. "All right well we can fix that easy enough. I don't usually like to advertise this to all our patrons, but well... you seem cool enough. We got a bottle fill station back in the kids' section that you are free to use. There're also the drinking fountains in the back by the restrooms. And then if, for whatever reason, you need another bottle, you go talk to the front desk they'll get you sorted out."

Again, Addison was struck by this, and she could do nothing but nod along dumbly and thank him.

"All right," he considered her. "What about food. You have access to food?"

Addison couldn't stop herself before she blurted. "You people have food too?" she couldn't keep the skepticism out of her voice.

Elijah tossed his head back in a burst of laughter, before shaking his head and wiping his eyes. "No," he said. "We don't have food. But we like to ask."

"Oh" Addison squirmed. In truth, she didn't have much food. And she didn't really have money. She had a house that Lala had paid off and no way to live her life well while she was inside of it. "I..."

She blushed and Elijah nodded. "Well," he said so she didn't have to respond. "If you do, that's good. If you don't, I'll go ahead and include a number for you to call and get some assistance. It's real easy, everyone on the other end has been helpful as far as I've heard. If you need a phone, we got that too, but you'll have to make an appointment to use it. Front desk can help you with that as well."

Addison nodded along, mind spinning with the information he had provided her and the odd turn of events. And then her stomach grumbled, and Elijah tactfully pretended he couldn't hear a thing.

When was the last time she'd eaten more than a power bar and canned vegetables? She asked this of herself, but she already knew. 14 April 1220. La Ithuriana. At a table built to seat fifty, with Eric, Fernando and Hugh.

She shook herself of her memories and blinked up at the librarian as he stood and glanced around the library, nodding to a patron here, waving to another there before turning back to her.

"Hey," he said and extended his hand again for her to shake. "It was really good to meet you, Miss Addison. I'll leave you to it for today. If you have any questions come find me or anyone else on staff."

"O-okay," she stuttered and nodded her understanding. He gave her a parting grin.

"I look forward to seeing you around, kid."

She watched Elijah shake the woman's hand. Watched the woman peer up at him like a deer caught in the headlights. A telltale cough from behind her caught Addison's ear and she turned just in time to see Gary amble over to his chair, he looked at her, but he didn't nod. His blank stare was sometimes the only acknowledgement she got, but he was here to nap, and she wasn't here to stop him, so they were cool.

Before long Gary was passed out in the corner. Elijah was asking the other woman, whose name Addison hadn't caught, if she had enough water and access to food. And Addison was contentedly scrolling through an article on the Council of Clermont with no small amount of intrigue.

"Addison," a voice called out warmly, and Addison looked up from her screen. Elijah had finished his talk with the new regular, and he was waving at her in greeting.

She offered him a small smile and a nod, but she didn't raise her voice to speak. He accepted her quiet ways with grace and went on his way to do whatever it was he did in a day.

---

Addison let herself into her house, grateful that the day was beginning to cool. Behind her, a nondescript car idled across the street. She didn't know why she noticed this strange detail now, but she did. The door closed behind her with a soft thud, and Addison absently turned the deadbolt and shed her bag.

She'd gone to the library after work today. It was 106 when she left Priya's and she hadn't been too keen to waste away in her oven-like living room until nightfall.

Now though, having spent the first half of her day scrubbing floors and moving furniture around, and the last half of her day in a cheap, plastic, hard-backed chair staring at a computer screen, Addison's entire body ached. And her eyes were sore and tired.

Despite how much it had cooled since the height of the day, the evening was hot. She imagined it couldn't be cooler than 90 inside her house, and she hadn't left the windows open while she was gone. When she boarded the bus earlier, Addison had clipped her hair up to keep it off her sore, overheated neck. She had a constant crick in it from all the cleaning she'd been doing, and she reached up now to rub the tension away with nimble fingers.

She sighed into the press of her strong thumbs. Taking a deep steadying breath, Addison made her way from the door, shedding herself of her apron, reaching up under her shirt and unhooking her bra, tossing the offending item to the floor. She toed off her shoes and shed her jeans, before making her way into the kitchen in a t-shirt and underwear, eyeing the thermostat with envy.

If she were Lady Fernanda Gonçalves, she'd be able to turn the thing on without worrying for hours about whether she could afford it. As it was, she had a calendar on her wall, marking the days and months that had passed since she'd been ripped from her new normal and dropped back in the twenty first century.

The evening fell into shadow as the sun set below the horizon and left her house a hot, summer blue. She went over to the fridge and pressed her face into the release of cool air that came from the opening of the door. She took her time pulling open the fruit drawer and selecting a cucumber to go with the ripe mango she had deposited in it that morning before she left for work.

Now, she rinsed the items and set them on a cutting board. Relishing in the brush of summer air on her water-cooled hands, letting them air dry as she reached for a knife.

She carved the mango and cucumber into delectable slices, reaching for a lime and squeezing it over her cutting board, delighting in the sting of citrus on her nose and bringing her fingers up to her lips to lick the juices from them before wiping them on a towel and reaching for the tajin.

Addison took her cutting board with her to the table, deposited it on the surface and sat in the nearest chair. She crossed her legs and ate her mango, munched on cucumber and looked down at her thickening thighs.

She'd put on weight since her time as Malvina. Living at La Ithuriana had helped with that, and she relished in the sight of her body regaining what it had lost so dramatically. Though, she noted with a small frown, she was still largely in flux. Losing and gaining, eating regularly and then going hungry in a rhythm that reflected largely her financial and social stability.

She let these thoughts and insecurities glide over her like water though, and she closed her eyes against them, feeling her body try desperately to keep calm and cool in the midst of summer disparity.

When she opened her eyes again, she resumed her detailed catalogue of her bodily changes, with an absent sort of intrigue.

Her skin had darkened too over the last few months, for all the time she spent gardening in the back yard or waiting at bus stops under the glare of the sun. She thought her thighs looked rather beautiful now. They looked strong. Full of life.

These thighs had carried her through the woods of medieval Scotland. These thighs had outrun a wild boar. These thighs had strained under the weight of her burdens as she climbed the never-ending stairs of Castle Sween. She'd seen these thighs survive cruel ice baths under the heartless tutelage of Prudhomme. They had carried her to Eric's side when she thought he needed her. They had survived Benjamin and the scullery maid, Cordelia, too.

These thighs had lost weight in hunger and gained weight in delight. They had lightened in color under the heavy fabric of wool dresses and the oppressive cloud cover that came with highland skies in the dead of winter. These thighs had been clothed in fine silk and soft linen.

Everything she had seen, they had seen too. Addison got an odd sort of joy from studying them. She found an odd sort of joy in taking apart the many pieces of her body and thinking about all the things those pieces had survived. These thighs were a miracle. God, she loved her thighs.

She sighed, overcome by an odd sort of sensation. Foreign and giddy and warm and secure. Love. If it weren't so pleasant and heady, she would have been startled. She looked down at her thighs and she felt love.

Addison pressed the cool mango to her lips and held it there as she contemplated this new, comfortable development. Then she pressed the fruit into her mouth and hummed at the feel of it on her tongue. The give of it between her teeth and the stickiness of the fruit juice on her hands.

She dropped her hand down to her bare thigh and gave a cursory squeeze, feeling a jolt shoot up her spine at the sensation. Addison drew a contemplative lip between her teeth. And she imagined that Gallowglass was somewhere just behind her. Watching her eat mango in the darkening room. She imagined his eyes settled low on the rise of her shirt, on the swell of her hips and the nape of her neck.

She imagined his hands on her bare thighs and thought a bit absently that his skin would feel very pleasant against her own.

She toyed with another slice of mango before sliding it contemplatively between her lips. She bit down and swallowed the juice with a sigh. Closed her eyes, tiredly, and dropped her head down to rest on the surface of the table as the heat of the night overwhelmed her once again. She thought of the thermostat, of the mango, of Gallowglass and the relief that cool water would bring to her skin.

The sun was gone, and though the windows were open now there was no breeze. The ceiling fan above the table clicked and whirred in a cyclical motion that brought no respite from the heat. Even now, the air was too still. Stagnant, and unforgiving. Addison's hands were impossibly sticky.

She sucked in a breath and pushed herself up. Unfolded from her chair and lifted the now empty cutting board from the table, taking it over to the sink. She rinsed it, but left it in the basin, before washing her hands and rinsing her forearms, splashing her face, and wetting the back of her neck.

Then she turned toward the hallway, toward the darkness she craved and thoughts of the man she had married once in a different lifetime. She heard an engine whir on the street outside her house, and idly her mind drifted back to the car that had idled there when she got home. She had the briefest flash of anxiety when she thought of that car though there was no good reason for it. A voice in her head urged her to go to the window, and peer out. Urged her to look into the darkness and see if the car was still there, but Addison resisted.

She was being silly.

Paranoid.

There were many houses on this street, with many people in them who had friends and families. There was no reason to be nervous about an old idling car.

She shook herself and made her way down the hall. Padding softly on bare feet to her bedroom, and her unmade bed. With nothing more she could do for herself but hold her breath and wish the summer away, Addison decided it was time for sleep.

---

That night she slept fitfully. She tossed and turned for hours, hot and nervous and tangled in her sheets. Addison couldn't open her eyes though she felt like she needed to. She was neither awake nor asleep. She felt caught, like wild but captured prey.

She felt like someone was in her room. If only she could open her eyes and see them.

Then a breeze swept through her cracked doorway, though she had closed and locked all the windows for the night. It whirled around her almost violently. Almost resentfully. Like it was full of rage.

If she could open her eyes, she could peer into the darkness and tell her mind that the monsters she imagined were only shadows. She could convince herself that there was nothing and no one here but her. But she couldn't open her eyes, so she stayed caught in the in-between. Awake and asleep. Hot but for a cool breeze that came from nowhere and a gaze on her prone body that she couldn't explain.

Perhaps that was what unsettled her. The aloneness. The overwhelming isolation. The knowledge that once she left the library or Meadowbrook or Jenny or Priya, she was alone, and no one would know if anything happened to her. She could disappear today, and no one would think once to call the cops. Not for a very long time at least. Not until it was too late.

This had been true for years, Addison knew. There was no way she could have taken two trips to the Middle Ages without anyone raising a question or concern. There was no way she could have disappeared for six months at a time each fall, if the overwhelming truth of her own aloneness were not so plain.

Addison had gained only by losing. And she had lost so much that sometimes it was hard to remember there was anything left to gain. She couldn't sleep, and she couldn't open her eyes. She wasn't awake and she wasn't dreaming. There was a bad feeling in her gut, and a breeze in the room she couldn't explain.

And then her eyes were open, and the room was dark, and she didn't know which way was up or which way was down. She was looking at a clock. Digital. And she couldn't remember if she'd had one of those before now. She couldn't remember if she'd put it there.

Was she awake?

Was she dreaming?

And then there was a chessboard, staring up at her from the darkness. And across from her was Hugh. Well... she thought it was Hugh.

She couldn't see him.

There was only darkness and the chessboard and the clock she couldn't remember buying.

He was quiet, but she knew somehow that he was teaching her. He was faceless, but she knew he was there.

He was impossibly grave. This, she knew with certainty. Though she couldn't say how she knew.

Something was wrong, and Hugh was here.

It didn't make sense.

She watched the chess pieces move across the board. She watched Hugh make his move. Watched her hand move her own pieces across the board accordingly. She didn't know anything about chess. She vaguely knew the names of the pieces, but nothing more. And she got the vaguest sense that he was telling her where to go. What to do.

He moved.

She moved.

Over and over again in the darkness, moves and countermoves. She glanced at the clock and saw that the hour hadn't changed.

It was three a.m., just as it had been when the game had started. Just as it had been perhaps forever. Addison stared at the clock, and she could feel Hugh's eyes on her while she did.

She stared at the clock and wondered how long they'd been playing this game, her and him.

When she turned back to the board the pieces were fixed in place. No more moves. No more turns. No more learning. This was the end game.

The queen in black remained standing. The knight in black was tipped on his side, with a bishop looming over him, gleaming white, and foreboding.

The king in black had been moved deliberately to the corner of the board where a rook and a castle had ushered him away.

Addison stared at the board, eyes fluttering as she tried to make sense of this game she didn't even know how to play. Her throat was caught, and she knew in her gut that she was staring down at a game meant for losing. Tears welled in her eyes though there was no good reason why. Life was all about gaining things and losing them.

And then a tick from the clock and she turned to face it. She watched one red digit turn from a zero to a one.

And then a voice hard and commanding from the place across the board, and she whipped her head around to face him.

Hugh was a shadow, dark and foreboding.

An omen, though of what she had no clue. And when he spoke, he said only one thing. And it froze her blood in her veins, dropped her heart down into her belly, and jolted her up and out of bed before she knew what she was doing.

She looked him in the eye, and when he spoke, her body knew that now was the time to obey.

"Run."

Addison jolted out of bed, panting and sweating. Cold – frozen down to her bones – despite the heat. The room was dark and empty, and her chest heaved as she glanced around her.

She was alone. She was safe and she was alone. It was a dream. And she was alone. Everything was fine.

She sucked in sharp breath and released it, shuddering.

Everything was fine. She said it over in her head, but she couldn't convince herself to feel it. Everything was fine. Everything was fine.

"Everything is fine," she whispered to herself or to the darkness – to the shadowy dream she'd had of Hugh.

She brought a hand up to wipe at her face, to clear it of its fear and exhaustion. She sniffed and turned to look at the bedside table where she had dreamed a clock existed. The surface was bare, but for a journal she kept there.

She had a sinking feeling in her belly that if she were to go into the kitchen and check the clock on the wall, it would read back to her 3:01. She had the sinking feeling it would be the same time of night that had existed in her dream.

She sucked in another breath. Wiped her hand down her face again and dragged her fingers through her hair. She padded into the kitchen, near jolting out of her skin at the sight of every shape and shadow. She grabbed a glass from the cabinet and held it under the tap. The sound of running water filled the silence of the night and Addison relaxed, if only marginally, into it.

She was alone. And the water was blessedly normal.

Blessedly free of nightmares and bad feelings. Omens or dreams... with the water running, they no longer existed here.

She brought the glass to her lips, took three long pulls, before tipping the rest of the liquid out and back into the sink. She wiped her mouth with her arm and turned around to rest her back against the hard laminate edge.

The clock ticked and she watched as it turned to 3:02.

Her arms prickled with chills, and she drew her lip between her teeth to gnaw at it anxiously.

"You're being stupid, Addison," she whispered to herself. "Get your shit together. It was a dream."

She pushed off the counter and made her way back to bed, back to sleep as much as she could before she had to get up again in a few hours and start over anew.

This was, for all intents and purposes, a very sensible thing to do. But the world was not always a sensible place, and Addison had seen and done things that defied all reason. She had traveled through time. She had met vampires, and somehow been adopted into their family. She had found a home, somewhere in the past. In another world.

This is all to say, Addison did what any reasonable human would do. She denied the illogical. She dismissed her irrational fear and she carried on with her life as though it were not in danger. But had Addison suspended all disbelief. Had Addison been in a place to engage with the nonsensical. Had she had the stability of mind and resource to look her fear in the eye, then perhaps she would have gone over to her kitchen window and pulled back the blinds, just a little. Perhaps she would have peered out into the darkness, out into the street, and she would have seen a car – the same nondescript car from before – right there where she'd last seen it, idling in place across the street.

---

Addison dreamed the same dream every night after that. She dreamed of Hugh, and the chessboard, and the clock she didn't own. She dreamed that she was frozen in eternity, caught forever in the minute between 3:00 and 3:01.

Each night he taught her to play a game she'd never played, and each night the pieces did the exact same thing. Queen in black stood in the middle of the board. The knight in black, dead at her feet. The bishop in white gleaming over him. The king in black ushered away with a rook and a castle protecting him from the rest of the board.

And then something new started happening.

The clock continued to strike 3:01. And Dream Hugh continued to appear before her shadowlike and foreboding. His dark, commanding voice, urging her to run.

And then a crash.

A crash that had never happened before. A crash that changed everything.

"Run," he would say.

And then a crash jolted her awake. Jolted her out of bed. A crash that was very, very real.

The first night it had happened, she had flown out of bed much like she had done the first night of the dream. She had grabbed up the first thing she could think of that might help her defend herself, and unfortunately in her bedroom that was a shoe. She had cringed but held tightly to an old sneaker as she picked her way through her house looking for the source of the noise.

When she finally made it into Lala's room, to check that nothing was out of place, she had sagged in relief. And confusion.

A board game had fallen from the closet.

A game Addison hadn't even known was there. She dropped the shoe, turned on the light, and went over to pick it up before dropping it again and scrambling away like it had burned her.

It was a chessboard. A chessboard had fallen out of Lala's closet. A chessboard had woken her from her dream with Hugh.

She sucked in a deep breath, held it and released. Chastising herself for her ridiculousness. It was a coincidence. She was being paranoid. She'd lost a lot of sleep this week that was all.

It was just a coincidence.

Never mind that she didn't know they owned a chessboard. Never mind that this happened at the same time every night over and over again for the last several days. Never mind that a little a spool of thread in her belly had nervously begun turning when she saw the board and the pieces that had fallen out of the box and onto the floor.

Addison sighed and shook her head at her paranoia. She scooped up the knight in black and the queen in black and shoved them back into the box. She hoisted the game back up onto the top shelf of the closet and jostled it a few times to make sure it was secure. Then she released a tense little laugh at herself, closed the doors to the closet of bad memories, and tried not to think of the day her mother had disappeared.

She turned her back on her former hiding place, on the chessboard, and thoughts of her mother. She took herself into the kitchen and filled a glass with water from the tap. Three sips, and then back to bed.

Without realizing it, this had quickly become routine.

And had Addison been paying attention, she would have noticed that outside on the street an engine purred to life, and a nondescript car drove away from the spot it had sat in all night. All week.

---

The sun was high when she opened her eyes the next morning, and Addison was quick to get moving before the day escaped her and she lost herself in the heat. This was the same old thing she'd been doing for months now. All she really had to do was rinse and repeat it.

Before Addison even realized she'd done it, she'd gone and created herself a routine. This chapter of her life was wholly unlike any other she had lived before, and it was a little tiresome and a little sad at times, but when she saw the routine for what it was, she couldn't help but feel a warmth spread through her chest and settle in her belly. She couldn't help but feel a sort of quiet self-satisfaction for the fact that it was, at least, a routine. And that it was, in fact, hers.

She cleaned on Wednesdays and Thursdays twice a month, she visited Lala weekly – sometimes twice weekly if she was inclined. She went to the library for the Wi-Fi and the cool air, for the cold water that came from the fill station, and the friendly smiles of the staff. It mattered to her that Elijah Wilson, head librarian, noticed when she was there. It mattered to her that the front desk knew her by name and used it. It mattered that Gary used the chair in the corner to sleep. It mattered that they let him.

When she wasn't cleaning or visiting Lala or tucked away at a desk in the library, Addison went to the store. But now with the resources Elijah and his staff had provided for her, she had money to buy food without worrying about paying her bills too. A nifty little card that no one asked questions about or commented on, no different than a credit card but entirely without the stress or the strings.

Most things still made her sick though, and her mind reeled every time a piece of bread or a chunk of meat or a supposedly fresh piece produce sent her hurtling toward the bathroom to heave out her guts.

Whatever progress Fernando had made in getting his daughter back to a healthy weight was largely gone. She thought back to Eric and his slices of pears extended out to her whenever she so much as thought about being hungry. She thought back to large feasts of delectable, well-cooked food, and she wondered what had changed. She would wake in the mornings and eye a perfectly good, green apple and wonder if this time too it would make her sick or if she would keep the offending fruit down.

Still, though, it wasn't as bad as it had been when she was Malvina eating Rustic Nature Stew. Addison could keep food down... sometimes. It wasn't spoiled. There was nothing wrong with it. But it no longer settled inside of her the way food was meant to do.

Addison had taken to watching cooking shows at Jenny's while she cleaned, taking mental notes on recipes, and storing them away for later. And when Jenny came home to pay her and offer her lunch, Addison peppered the chef with questions about her trade. Jenny had been taken aback at first and delighted. She was chatty, and frankly it didn't take much to get her talking about anything. Addison's first employer – in this chapter of her life at least – was the type of person who could make a friend of anyone, no matter who they were.

So, Jenny came home, and she fed Addison and paid her, and they took a little longer to part ways while Jenny rattled off recipes and complaints, techniques and advice, gossip and other general nonsense, grateful for the girl's attentive ear.

This evening was one of those evenings. They were getting into August now, and the blonde mother of four had just finished grilling Addison about her sensitive stomach and how she had prepared last night's meal.

Addison had divulged her dilemma to the other woman. And the executive chef in Jenny had sparked up at the challenge. This was the type of thing that excited the blonde, dietary needs. And she had rattled off a number of ideas to Addison that the younger hadn't considered, and she'd raised valid questions too about health issues and allergies and childhood diet. Addison hadn't thought to consider her health in relation to her appetite, though now that it was out there it seemed so obvious to her that it was glaring.

Addison stepped out onto the porch, smiling a goodbye at the older woman. Today she took with her a Tupperware of vegetable soup made from scratch by Jenny the day before. This was another change Addison hadn't expected. Jenny had stopped buying her food, and instead provided her with a home cooked meal. The first time the older woman had pressed a steaming mug of broth with rice and organic vegetables in Addison's direction, the younger girl hadn't been able to fight the well of tears that sprung into her eyes.

But Addison hadn't felt stupid for crying. Jenny was sensitive too. And before either of them knew how or why, they were crying together over bowls of soup at a freshly cleaned table done by Addison.

It was strange. A little unsettling. And kind of funny. They had laughed awkwardly about it, and the older woman pulled Addison into a now familiar hug though it was still as brief and abrupt as the first one had been.

So, Addison had her bowl of soup to take home for dinner, or tomorrow's lunch. She had a list of health considerations for her diet as well as ideas for recipes that might be easier on her stomach. She had money in her back pocket, and a rare smile on her face as she made her way down the street to the bus stop on the corner.

Perhaps it was her good mood. So rare was it that Addison felt this lighthearted and connected to the world beneath her feet that she was almost blinded by the sensation. Driven to distraction by happiness, she wasn't as alert as she would have been before. She wasn't as watchful or wary. It was a weakness she hadn't fully realize she could no longer afford.

It had been a long time since Addison had collided with another person. It had been a long time since someone had deliberately placed themselves in her way.

Later, much later, she would wrack her brain and think of Rupert. Think of Benjamin. And Cordelia. And then circle back again to Castle Sween. Her heart would pound, and her throat would tighten, and she'd succumb to trembling and an abundance of nervous sweat.

But for now, all she could think was she was falling. And then all she could think was she'd been caught. But she wasn't relieved. She wasn't grateful.

She knew enough to know when a collision was deliberate. She knew enough to know when the grip someone had on her arm was malicious. She knew enough to know when she was in danger.

She knew enough now to know that she was alone in this world. She wasn't safe.

He wore a beige linen pantsuit, and a pair of dark impenetrable shades, so when she looked up at him in alarm all she could see of his features were his teeth as he grinned down at her too long and too wide to be anything other than menacing. His charm did nothing to soothe the terror that coursed through her veins, and she knew he could smell it because his grin widened, and his hand gripped her arm a little tighter in response.

Addison wanted to yell at him. To cry for help or lash out against him, but her tongue was heavy in her mouth and her voice caught in her throat and all she could think—all she could think—

All she could think was vampire.

Her breath left her in a rush and her lungs caught before she could inhale. His voice was smooth when he spoke. Soft and casual, in an accent much like Fernando's or Hugh's, of no place and many, of another time entirely, and a world lost to history.

"A pleasure to see you again, my lady," he said.

Addison reeled back as though he'd slapped her. She'd never seen this man before in her life. She'd never met him, but he apparently had met and known her.

Addison regained enough sense to try and flee but his grip was strong and cold on her skin, and he didn't release her. He just held fast and kept grinning and though she could not see his face clearly beneath his sunglasses, she knew this man was no friend of hers. This man was no friend of the de Clermont.

He was dangerous. And he was touching her.

"Let me go—" she stuttered.

He tutted in response. Still grinning, still holding tight. Still looking down into her fear filled eyes with the sociopathic delight of a predator.

Addison hissed at him, heart pounding in her chest and throat. She bared her teeth and seethed when he continued to grin.

"Unhand me at once," she spat, reverting to an old manner of speaking for an ancient manner of threat. Addison tugged though she knew it was useless. She pulled and pulled and pulled away. He released her suddenly and unexpectedly. Addison stumbled, hitting the ground hard with her resistance. She was unsettled to feel his eyes on her still as he watched her fall.

She scrambled back up to her feet. Eyes on him as she backed away, backed toward the house she'd just come from. Back to Jenny's front door just a few minutes up the street.

Her bus arrived but she couldn't bring herself to board it when he stood between her and the doors.

The man watched her back away, before dipping down into a half-bow, mocking her. Then he turned and boarded the bus that was meant to take her home.

He didn't look back. He didn't need to. Addison turned on her heel and fled.

---

She hit the door with a bang, and kept banging.

"Please," she called out. "Please it's me!"

The door tore open, the other woman staring out at her in alarm with her house phone in her hand and ready to dial.

"What on earth?" Jenny snapped. "Addison what's going on?"

Addison took a shaky breath and shook her head, willing back her tears.

"There was a man at the bus stop..." she started but couldn't finish. "Could you—could you please call me a cab?"

The woman looked alarmed and peeked out around the edge of her porch to try and catch a glimpse of the man down the street who had already disappeared with the bus. Jenny frowned and ushered Addison back into her house.

Before she closed the door, she also glanced at the driveway which was absent of any car but her own and adopted a look of utter surprise. She hadn't even realized Addison didn't have a car.

"I didn't know you took the bus, honey," she said, mildly appalled, as though this was the most alarming thing Addison had revealed to her this evening.

Addison sucked in a shuddering breath, but the woman's hand was steady and maternal on her back when she said. "Come in, hon. Come in."

Addison let herself be ushered further into the foyer.

"Now," the woman narrowed her eyes. "Did he hurt you?"

Addison felt the tears slip and she shook her head. "No. He—he um—" she sniffed. "He just grabbed me, and I couldn't make him let go."

"Oh, you poor thing," the woman said with wide eyes and an alarmed shake of her head. "Should we call the police?"

The woman was still holding her phone like it was a weapon. But Addison startled at the suggestion. And shook her head. She was of Puerto Rican descent, sure, and she'd been born and raised in California, but she had no proof. She had lost her ID over a year ago, in a café, the day she became Malvina. She wracked her brain for her birth certificate but couldn't think of where Lala would have left it. It had never come up before. There was a process to getting those documents back of course, but Addison had been too overwhelmed to go through it. She didn't know what kinds of questions the police would ask her. And she didn't know what they would do if she didn't have answers that satisfied them.

"No—" Addison said abruptly. "No. It's not... the cops aren't... necessary."

The other woman drew back in alarm at first, but then her eyes lit up in realization - the wrong one, Addison was pretty certain. And she nodded at Addison in understanding, putting down her phone.

Addison was pretty sure Jenny now thought that Addison wasn't born here and was brought here illegally when she was a child. This assumption of course would be false, but far be it from the police to get between a woman like this and a good maid.

"Okay," she said. "No police. Where do you live sweetie?"

Addison told her and then again repeated that she just needed to call a cab.

The woman wrinkled her nose. "I don't see how a cab driver is any better," she said, and Addison cringed with her. But she needed to get home.

"Well," Jenny said with a sad, encouraging smile. "You're in luck. You live by the field where Jake has his soccer practice. I was just about to go and pick him up."

Addison stared up at her in shock. The woman's smile was genuine but unnerved.

"Come on," Jenny said, grabbing her keys. "I'll drop you off."

---

That night, Addison stayed awake deliberately. She had locked the doors. Closed the blinds. Checked the windows. Plugged in the TV and sat in the dark of her living room, hot and nervous, staring blankly at the credits of Beauty and the Beast. The theme played as the long list of voice actors scrolled down the screen, and she clutched the remote tightly in her hands. She didn't know what she would do when the screen went black, and the movie stopped playing.

She didn't know what to do.

Vampires were real.

She'd known this already.

She hadn't considered it though at the same time.

They felt such a medieval monster to face. They felt like a problem for the fall and winter. She hadn't stopped the consider that they would follow her into summer too. That they could follow her to places where her family couldn't go. Her lip quivered and she thought of Fernando. Her father would know what to do. But he wasn't here. He was back in the Middle Ages.

She wondered how much time had passed for him right now. She wondered where he was at in his own intermediary fifty years. Addison, herself, felt that November couldn't come soon enough. Addison herself felt the slow crawl of six months, and trembled. She couldn't fathom fifty years of this. All alone. Without anyone to see her or know her or tell her it was going to be okay.

She could still feel the phantom touch of the strange vampire's hand on her arm. The night was hot – sweltering – and Addison's tank top and shorts were drenched in places with patches of sweat. But that place... the place where he'd grabbed her...

That place was cold as death.

She fought the urge to check it again. She felt as though that one patch of skin was bound to turn blue and then blacken with frost.

Vampires were real, and she was alone. And they knew her, but she didn't know them.

Vampires were real, and that man knew her. He boarded the bus she was meant to take home. He knew where she worked.

"Run."

Hugh's voice was loud in her ears though she knew he was imagined. He was a dream. He did not exist outside of the past and her memory. Hugh was not real. Neither was the phantom breeze that brushed against her skin now.

And then a crash.

Addison jolted.

The credits ended.

The screen went black.

All around her, the house descended into darkness. The world was quiet. She hit rewind on her remote, mind ticking with the sound of the invisible clock in her head. She watched the movie play rapidly backward – watched the happy ending lead to a horrible mob. Watched the mob lead back to an unlikely pair falling in love. Watched Belle and the Beast succumb to resentment and fear, watched them lash out at each other. She watched Belle alone in the woods, hunted by wolves, and then somehow miraculously safe at home. Watched her reject Gaston's proposal. Watched a jaunty musical number about a girl who was out of place, ahead of her time. Then she stopped and hit play again when there was nothing left to rewind. She started from the beginning. And as is commonly known, it all began with a curse.

She sucked in a breath and held it for as long as she could until her lungs started burning and her eyes saw spots.

Then she released it, turned up the volume, and clutched the remote in her fist as she made her way down the hall to Lala's bedroom to pick up the chess set from the floor where it lay.

She picked up the box, but this time stopped and stared down at the fallen pieces. Once again, as they had every night for weeks, the queen in black and the knight in black had tumbled from the box and onto the floor. Addison crouched down and stared at them.

This was the first night she'd been awake for the fall.

This was the first night she hadn't been jolted from her dreams by the crash.

She had already been awake. For the first time in too long, Addison was smart enough to recognize her fear. She was smart enough to listen.

She picked up the pieces and held them in her palm, mind turning with a million questions she didn't know how to answer. She tucked the box under her arm and clenched the pieces in her fist before turning back to the living room and her movie.

Headlights flashed outside the window, through the blinds.

Addison frowned, clutching her box and her pieces, her remote and her nerves. She wandered over to the window and peeked out through a crack in the blinds.

Across the street a nondescript car, sat idling. And she felt this recognition collide with her like a stone.

It was the same car she had seen once so many days ago. And she knew in her gut that it had never left. She thought back to the gleaming teeth of the man in beige. She drew back and felt the searing cold memory of his touch, lingering on her arm.

She felt a breeze at her back, though there were no windows open, and she couldn't afford even air.

"Run."

Hugh's voice was so strong. So loud. So foreboding she almost believed he was here. But she turned at the sound and there was no one behind her. She was alone in the world.

The shadows were just shadows. The darkness was just an absence of light. And the breeze was a draft that came from the attic, or a poorly sealed window... she didn't know what, but it was nothing more than that. It couldn't be. There was no one there.

---

"Holy shit, Addison? Addison St. James?"

Addison jolted about a foot in the air and whirled around. She was at the supermarket again, shopping for food now that she had money for it. When was the last time someone else had said her full name? She wracked her brain and came up blank, searching the crowded store for the source of the call.

"Holy fuck it is you! Mama! Mom!" The girl came into focus, jumping up on the balls of her feet and waving at her mother to keep up as she peeled her way through the crowd toward Addison.

Cynthia. Shit.

The other girl approached her like a character stepping out of a waking dream, and Addison stood frozen as she came into focus. She was jolted out of her reverie only by the abrupt sensation of her childhood friend launching herself into her arms and squeezing her tight in an old familiar embrace.

Cynthia pulled back, her cheeks split wide with her grin. Eyes bright with shock and an abundance of questions Addison didn't know how to answer. Her jet-black eyebrows perfectly manicured and raised in delight and surprise. Behind her, her mother finally caught up. Addison stared at Mrs. Alvarez over Cynthia's shoulder, unsure what to do with her eyes or her arms or her hands, as Cynthia rattled off a ton of questions Addison didn't hear.

A hand waved in front of her face and Addison snapped back to attention.

"Hello!" Cynthia called out giddily, smiling a bit uncertainly at Addison when she finally met her eyes.

"Uh—" Addison shook her head. "H-hey!"

She forced a grin, making sure to hold it long enough to appear genuine, though there was no driving the panic from her eyes.

"Hey?" Cynthia's voice was skeptical. "Hey? Girl you could at least act like you recognize me. Honestly, I've been trying to get ahold of you! Where is your phone?" she asked and then before Addison could process the onslaught or even think of a response, she cut her off again.

"No—No—not where is your phone. Where the fuck have you been?"

"Uh—" Addison stuttered looking back and forth between Cynthia and her mother. Behind her daughter, Mrs. Alvarez grinned.

"Hey Addi," she said and stepped forward, putting a hand on her daughter's arm as she took control of the exchange. "How are you, mija?"

"Um... hi... Mrs. Alvarez," she said. "I'm—"

How was Addison? She tried to think of an appropriate response. She couldn't. "I'm good."

Mrs. Alvarez didn't look like she believed her, but she kept a smile on her face that seemed genuine. Her eyes were soft and familiar, and Addison felt something catch in her throat.

She had spent so many nights at Cynthia's when she was little. The two of them had been thick as thieves up until high school, when Cynthia had gotten into a gifted program out of district and the girls drifted apart. But from seven to fourteen, Addison had her own bed in the Alvarez household for sleepovers. She had her own seat at their dinner table. She looked at Mrs. Alvarez now, and she was overwhelmed by the scent of carne on the grill in the backyard, chlorine from summers spent jumping in the pool, pink glitter nail polish and movie nights cuddled up under blankets with popcorn and sour patch kids.

Cynthia looked nervously between her mother and Addison, the latter of the two who seemed to be short circuiting.

"Right," Cynthia said. "So... where you been? What have you been up to?"

"Oh—" Addison started and looked around the store. All around them people were shopping and living their lives. To all the world this was an ordinary run in between an ordinary pair of friends. Happens all the time. But Addison... Addison wasn't normal anymore. None of this was normal. And Cynthia... she was like a ghost from several histories ago, and Addison couldn't remember when that world she'd existed in had died. "I've... been... out of town."

Addison offered a small smile, hoping it would sell the half-truth for what it was. Cynthia's eyes were blank. Her mother's eyebrows stayed carefully in place, but from the energy that radiated off of her Addison still imagined them inching higher and higher into the other woman's hair line.

"Out of... town?" Cynthia asked. "Where did you go? Why didn't you say anything? I mean..." Cynthia shrugged and looked a little bit like a kicked puppy. "I know we weren't as... close... after... or I mean since I changed schools. But you were still my best friend you know? I thought you'd call me. And then I tried calling and you never picked up. I even stopped by once or twice, but no one was..." Cynthia trailed off when her mom squeezed her arm a little harder.

Addison felt her throat constrict. Her nose started to burn, but she refused to cry. She refused to give in to the tears that welled in her eyes. She swallowed. She knew her nostrils must have been flaring. Her eyes had to have turned a little red. Could they see the tears? Were they visible? God but they stung though.

"Yeah—" Addison nodded. "Yeah, I was out of town. Um— I went back home for a while. I just needed some time away... with Lala being sick and everything else" she raked a hand through her hair and glanced around again. Was the room shrinking? It was getting kinda hot in here.

A voice broke through the noise in her head – Fernando's voice – and only then did Addison realize she was holding her breath. She exhaled. It was loud. Cynthia and her mother must have heard it. She wondered if she sounded angry. She wasn't angry. But Cynthia looked nervous and suddenly she wanted to wipe that pitying look out of Mrs. Alvarez's eyes.

Her chest burned and she couldn't breathe, and the room was getting—it was getting—the room was getting smaller.

Addison gasped in another breath and Mrs. Alvarez's eyes changed from pity to concern. Her brow furrowed and she opened her mouth to say something, but Addison shook her head.

"Sorry—yeah it was hard to be alone, so I went and stayed with... family."

Silence. After a beat—

"Family...?" Cynthia asked. Her voice was small. "But you didn't know your—"

"I do now," Addison cut her off, eyes too bright with the lie and the truth of her words.

"Oh—" Cynthia said, though her eyes remained doubtful. Mrs. Alvarez cut in again, trying somehow to salvage the exchange.

"That's great honey," she said. "We'd love to hear about them sometime. If you'd like to come by? Or... if you'd like... we could come over and visit with you. I was so sorry to hear about your grandmother. How is Valentina doing? I'd love to visit her if I can."

Addison smiled but she felt sick, and the smile was fake. Her brain hurt. She didn't know what it was, but there was something wrong with the brain she'd been given. It was... off somehow. Wrong. Broken. When had talking to people become so exhausting? Fuck— what was she supposed to say to them? What was she supposed to do with her hands?

She wiped them on her jeans. Mrs. Alvarez tracked the move with her eyes. Addison cringed. Okay, not that then. She tried to hold her hands still, but she couldn't seem to stop them from moving. They were on her jeans then they were in her hair. She wrung them together and then shoved them in her pockets, but her pockets were too small so then they just suspended awkwardly midair hooked in a small little fold of denim.

"For sure," Addison said. "For sure. She's um... she's in a home now. I couldn't really..."

She trailed off, to her left a pair of kids ran through the cereal aisle, picking up boxes and shaking them, laughing with each other even as their mother picked up her pace to put the fear of God in them. God, she wished this was as easy as that.

"She thinks she's still in Puerto Rico – like she's still in her teens or something. She can't remember me or my mom. She thinks I'm her sister."

Cynthia shrunk a bit into her mother in discomfort at Addison's words. Mrs. Alvarez nodded, her face unchanged, her sympathy obvious.

"I'm sorry to hear that, hon," she said.

Addison sniffed and cleared her throat. "Yeah—" she coughed. "Yeah, that's okay. Hey, I'm gonna get going. I've kinda got a ton of errands to run before I get back and um... yeah..."

Addison turned toward the door though her shopping cart was full. She was just gonna—she smiled and gestured toward the exit—ignoring the cart and smiling at them perhaps a bit too brightly—she was just gonna go.

"I'll um—" she said and then made to walk away.

"Don't you want your groceries?" Cynthia called out.

Addison kept walking. The doors slid open automatically and she was hit with a nauseating burst of heat and sunlight, she walked quickly into the parking lot, weaving through the traffic of cars and people.

"Addison!" A voice called out, but Addison didn't want to hear it. "Addi! Wait up, honey!"

Addison stopped, caught somewhere between the cart return, a ripped grocery bag, the fifth grade and the Middle Ages. She stopped and the world was too bright and blurry to be real, and Fernando's voice was in her head but that was just her imagination. And at her back was a ghost from the past, one that she hadn't expected to come knocking.

But here she was.

"Addison," Mrs. Alvarez said, out of breath, and worried. "Are you okay sweetie?"

Addison sniffed and swallowed a few times around the lump in her throat. Bringing a hand up to wipe at her face and press the heel of her palm into her eye. She had a massive headache.

She turned, and she looked movie nights, and pool parties, clean sheets, and story times straight in the eye.

"Yes, Mrs. Alvarez," she said with a wavering smile. "Yes, I'm fine. Sorry about that back there... I don't know what—" she pressed a shaky hand to her forehead. "I don't know what came over me."

Mrs. Alvarez nodded, though her brow was still furrowed, and her frown was a little more fixed on her face.

"It's okay," she said. and then. "Hey... we're gonna be grilling this Friday. Just the family, everyone you know already. Come over. We have plenty of food. It'll be good to see you, mija. Everyone's missed you so much."

Addison didn't think she could do that, but she smiled and nodded anyway. Anything to end the exchange. Anything to make it all just stop. She wanted to go home. She wanted to lock her doors and read her books and work in her garden.

She didn't have to go. She just had to say she would, right?

"Okay," she said. Her voice was hoarse, and she had to sniff to keep her nose from running.

"So... you'll come?" She clarified.

Addison forced a smile. "Yeah..." she said. "Yes. I'll come."

"Okay! Good!" Mrs. Alvarez said. "You're still at your old house?"

Addison froze. Should she lie? Should she say yes? Her brain stalled for a second too long and Mrs. Alvarez's shrewd eyes narrowed.

"Yep," Addison chirped a bit too brightly. She cleared her throat again. "Yeah, I'm at home."

"Okay," she replied. "Good. I'll have Carlos pick you up then on his way home from work."

Carlos. Addison blanked. The last time she saw him he'd been a scrawny little ten-year-old with knobby knees and Harry Potter glasses. He was driving now? Jesus Christ.

Her confusion must have shown because Mrs. Alvarez laughed.

"I know," she said. "I know. It snuck up on me too. But he's driving now, and he's got himself a job at the mall. Making pizza, for now. It's good for him. Keeps him out of trouble."

"Yeah," Addison huffed out a half-hearted laugh. "Yeah... that's good. Makes sense." She shook her head. "So crazy."

"Very," Mrs. Alvarez laughed. "Okay good. We'll see you then. Phone number the same?"

Addison stared at her, wondering how she'd get out of this one, before nodding back at her absently. "Yeah... house number though."

The other woman nodded. If she wondered where Addison's cell had gone, she seemed wise enough to know that enough questions had been asked today.

The sound of a cart clattering across the parking lot caught Addison's ear and she turned in surprise to see Cynthia coming up to them with bags of groceries. Her old friend smiled at her, almost apologetic and shy.

"Hey," the other girl said softly.

"Hey," Addison said back. Scuffing her sneakers on the asphalt.

"Hey—I'm sorry," Cynthia said.

"No—" Addison started and stopped, looking awkwardly at Cynthia and then back down at her shoes. "Don't be."

"Right..." Cynthia said. "Well... here."

The sound of plastic rustled in her ears, and the cart bumped against the curb with a loud metallic clang before a handful of bags passed over to her. Addison startled and looked up at Cynthia in confusion.

The other girl arched a perfect black eyebrow and wiggled the bags in her direction.

"Take em," she said. "They're yours."

"Oh—you didn't have to—"

"No, I didn't have to," Cynthia said archly. "And you didn't have to run. But you did, and I did. And now here we are. Take em. They don't let you return food, you know."

Addison accepted the bags with an uncomfortable nod. "Thanks," she said, holding them up in acknowledgement. "I'll pay you back."

"No," Mrs. Alvarez said. "It's on us."

Addison twisted her lips into a rueful smile and nodded once in understanding. "Well... thanks again."

She awkwardly backed away and started walking the breadth of the parking lot to the bus stop on the corner. When she got there, she propped herself against a light post and tried not to think of all the grime that had collected on it over the years. She eyed the homeless guy on the bench with his shopping cart full of miscellaneous belongings. And the woman in scrubs leaning against a tree, scrolling on her phone.

A car rolled up in the parking lot behind her, breaks making that high pitched noise in complaint as the vehicle slowed.

"Addison!" Cynthia called from the open window.

"Fucking hell," Addison sighed rolling her neck and turning on her heel to face her childhood friend. She fixed a smile on her face, taking in the knowing look Mrs. Alvarez fixed on her and the eager look in Cynthia's eye.

"Hey," Addison called out, unable to match the other girl's enthusiasm. She had to shield her eyes to keep the sun out of them.

"Where's your car?"

"Uh—" Addison glanced back at the bus stop. She didn't have the energy to make something up, and she couldn't say that she'd lost it in a horrible bout of time travel to the Middle Ages, so she just settled for, "It's gone."

"No shit," Cynthia said dryly.

Addison shrugged.

"Get in," the other girl called out. "And don't argue, bitch, I know where you live."

Addison sighed. She eyed the homeless man who hadn't moved so much as an inch, and the nurse who had gone from scrolling to talking loudly to someone on her headphones.

Cursing herself for her options, Addison sighed and hiked her bags up into her arms once again.

"Okay," she said.

Mrs. Alvarez popped the trunk and Addison loaded her groceries into the back next to theirs before climbing into the backseat of their car and buckling in. She sighed into the cool blast of air conditioning, the familiar smell of Mrs. Alvarez's perfume, and the soft sounds of music pumping out of the speakers.

Beneath her the seats were soft, cool leather, and in front of her were a pair of ghosts that had come back to haunt her. She met Mrs. Alvarez's eyes in the rearview mirror, and the older woman gave her a soft, knowing smile that did nothing to soften the creases of concern that lined her eyes and forehead. Cynthia sat back down in the passenger seat with a huff, and Addison heard the leather padding sigh under her weight as the girl whipped out her cell phone and began to scroll.

Then the car purred as they moved forward, smooth and easy, down the old familiar road that led to her old relic of a home. Addison let her head fall back against the seat with a sigh. Relishing in the feeling of the seatbelt holding her in place like a hug. Relishing in the feeling of cold air on her overheated skin, and the soft comfort of the cushion that cradled her body.

With her eyes closed she could imagine she was ten years old again. It was still summer. And they were getting ready for an evening of swimming. She could imagine her hair was done up in a pair of twin French braids that were a little lopsided because she and Cynthia had been practicing on each other and neither of them were very good. If she closed her eyes, they had just bought lemon sorbet and fresh mango. They had just picked out their favorite SoBe flavors to drink by the poolside because they thought the drinks made them seem older and cool. If she closed her eyes they were laughing and playing dress up, and pretending they were in middle school.

With her eyes closed, she could lie to herself and pretend she was on her way to a sleepover. One of many the summer would hold.

But she couldn't maintain the lie for long. A twist in her belly and a pang in her chest – she snapped her eyes wide open and tried not to let the motion of the car make her sick as other cars blurred past them while they sped down the open road. She kept her eyes wide open, and Cynthia chattered on and on about college and her boyfriend, her brother Carlos, and her plans for the rest of summer before she had to go back to her dorm in the fall.

She kept her eyes wide open, and she stared at the palm trees and phone lines, the stores, and trash and cars, and homeless people that made up the world she'd been born into. And she wondered about Fernando. She wondered about Eric. She wondered about Hugh.

She wondered what summer would have been like if she had stayed with her family.

And when her chest got tight, she remembered she wasn't breathing, so she let it all out in one long exhale.

And she didn't know what she missed more. Her mind reeled as she tried to reconcile her longing for a childhood spent as a permanent fixture in Cynthia's home, with the longing for evenings spent in the drawing rooms at La Ithuriana with her family and friends by her side.

She couldn't quite delineate anymore between the warm comforting memory of home cooked food in her belly, the comfort of childhood friendship, and the safe knowledge that Lala was well and waiting for her back home, from the solidness of Eric by her side, the sturdy muscle of his forearm beneath her hand as she brought it to rest in the cradle of his elbow, a warm fire blazing in the hearth, and Fernando's careful guidance as he helped her navigate the new world she'd stumbled into.

Now she blinked and a bag full of groceries held out by Cynthia in a modern parking lot blended with Hugh's outstretched hand, a look of hopeless curiosity on his face in the middle of an ancient courtyard as he pulled her to stand.

Before she knew it, they were in her driveway, and Addison was climbing out of the car. She tried not to tense under the weight of Mrs. Alvarez's scrutiny as the other woman took in the state of her house and catalogued every change and concern for later review. There was something unsettling about mothers, Addison had found. They had an inherent way of pushing in where they were needed, even if you didn't ask and you'd rather they left you alone.

Addison snagged her groceries from the back, and called out another hesitant thanks, holding up her bags in silent acknowledgement of their kindness before watching them back out and drive away.

She sighed and looked up at the hot summer sky, before bringing her eyes back down to watch their taillights disappearing down the street. She drew her lip between her teeth, gnawing at it in nervous contemplation, before the whir of an engine caught her ear. Addison snapped to attention and turned her eyes to the car that sat idling in the same place it always was.

Right there across the street.

She hadn't noticed it until now, and that was negligent on her part. She'd allowed herself to be distracted. And distraction was simply not a mistake she could afford to make.

She stared at the car. Stared at its tinted windows and felt the weight of an invisible gaze heavy on her person. Her gut twisted and rolled, and a breeze kicked up around her. The wind was a force in and of itself. It whipped her hair around her head, angry and vengeful. The branches on the trees around her shook, and a palm frond cracked and fell from the sky, landing with bang on top of the car.

Addison didn't know what was going on, but she knew that there was a vampire in that car. And she knew they were hunting her. She imagined the man in the beige linen suit, felt the ice-cold ghost of his touch on her skin, and imagined her body succumbing to frost bite.

She wondered if it was him in there. Perhaps someone he knew.

Either way, the person in the car must have gotten what they came for. Because the wind kicked up and the trees shook, and Addison stared in disbelief as they peeled out of their parking spot and drove away, with the palm frond still intact on the roof of their car. Almost like it was holding on. Almost like they couldn't outrun it.

Addison stood frozen in the driveway staring at the space the car had left, with her groceries in hand, and an old familiar spool unwinding in her belly.

She didn't know what was happening, but she was no longer surprised. She was no longer surprised by the car across the street. She was no longer by surprised by the mysterious phantom breeze. She was no longer surprised by the man who had grabbed her, or the many odd occurrences that had been happening in her life and in her dreams.

She didn't know how to explain the voice in her head. She didn't know why it was Hugh.

But again, he sounded. And again, he said run. So, she turned and booked it. Up the drive, she went, and then through the door.

And fuck if it wasn't an oven inside. She eyed the thermostat with envy, bit back a curse and made up her mind. She stalked over to it and cranked the temperature down low. Letting out an animal scream in relief and anger, confusion, and fear, before sinking down to the floor.

The vents whirred to life, and a cool breeze filtered out of them and drifted down toward the place she had collapsed, overcome by emotion. She clutched at her temples and stared down at her shoes. She dragged her hands through her hair and wondered what the fuck she was going to do.

She sucked in a few desperate breaths, screamed again for good measure, picked herself up off the floor and hefted up her bags. She stocked the fridge and filled the pantry. She toed off her shoes and turned to look around.

She didn't know what the fuck was happening, and she didn't want to find out. But she was Addison St. James. She was Malvina, the maid. She was the young Fernanda Gonçalves. She was none of them and all of them, and someone else entirely new.

It wasn't a privilege to be her. It was a burden she was meant to bear. The only way out was through.

Her feet were loud and forceful beneath her purposeful tread. She stalked into the living room, snatched up the box with the chessboard inside, and dropped it on the kitchen table with a crash. She dumped it over and watched all the pieces tumble out.

She set up the board.

She sat in the place she sat in her dreams, and across from her an empty seat for a ghost, for a breeze, for Hugh.

She didn't know who was sitting there, but she knew they were there. She waited and waited, and when nothing happened, she had no choice.

Addison made her move.