Cool, damp air drafts through my room and out the loose window pane beside me as I doze off.
The sound of the ship surging through the water, coupled with wind in the sails, closely resembles that of a train—not a train's whistle, but its wheels, from far, far away. Quiet and rhythmic and comforting. Across the cabin, Fyr sleeps in a cot identical to mine; it's too small for him, and his gigantic feet dangle off the edge, but he doesn't seem to care. He'd sleep just about anywhere, anytime, I'll bet.
Day sixteen comes to its close on this ship, and I ready myself to experience the nightmare about Fyr that I know waits for me, the dream I've experienced nearly every time I close my eyes as of late. Reluctantly, I fall deeper and deeper into sleep, and sure enough, the vision unfolds in my mind.
But something's different.
Instead of starting out with young Fyr bolting into the small house, he strolls calmly toward the door. Er, not calmly—his face, as I catch a glimpse of it, shocks me. A cold, subtle sneer tugs at a tiny corner of his mouth, and his eyes have darkened. I've never seen an expression like that on a kid. It's evil. No question.
Then I see, to my own panic, the shadowed figure who so many times had attacked and killed the couple in the house.
I step forward, spine tingling and eyes wide when at first I think it's headed for young Fyr, but I realize after a couple seconds that it's not targeting him. It's…accompanying him.
The figure treads past me, closer than I'd ever seen it before. When I try to catch a glimpse of its face, I recoil when all I see is a wispy, black mist under the hood and two green glowing eyes that hold a kind of urgency that seems out-of-place.
Speechless, I watch the two stride easily into the front door, startling the two people inside. Gertrude and Halvard. Their names by now are so familiar to me.
Fyr, in his juvenile voice, utters a command I can't understand, and suddenly the place is thrown to chaos. I'm thankful that this time around, I'm able to look away when the shadow swoops in and attacks the couple. A piercing scream sounds before being cut off abruptly, and when I carefully turn and look again, Fyr walks out of the house as if nothing happened. He snaps his fingers, and the shadow, pretty clearly controlled by him at this point, is forced to follow after.
The expression on his face is so guiltless and cold that panic swells inside me, and I wake myself with a jolt, clammy and panting.
I look in Fyr's direction, and startle harder when I see him awake and looking at me.
"Aah!" I choke, flattening myself against the wall by my sleeping cot. The floor under me sways, not only because I'm on a ship.
"Are you going to be all right?" the elf looks at me carefully. Because we've been sharing this room, he knows I have nightmares. Every time, he asks me that question.
I just stare at him. The memory of that cold expression on his face flashes in my eyes, and I feel goosebumps prick my arms. Was that real? Was it actually him?
"I just s-saw…" my voice cuts out. It was too quiet already, but his keen ears caught it anyway.
"A nightmare," he concludes.
I hesitate and nod. I haven't talked to him about my dreams at all after that first time. I want to, heaven knows I want to, but he hasn't exactly given me the time. In the time we've been on this ship, we've barely talked at all. He's always just…gone.
"This time, you killed…them…or, that thing did." Again, my voice gets weak with the tail end of my sentence.
The corners of his jaws jut out when he grinds his teeth suddenly, and he rolls over the other way and faces the wall. "Please, try to get some rest, Ava." His deep voice is quiet and tired.
He didn't deny it, my inner voice warns loudly. A louder thought reminds me that a person shouldn't have to defend himself against what he did in a goddamn dream.
I lie back down, exceptionally uncomfortable now that the sweat on my back has cooled and feels gross when my shirt sticks to it. My mind races as time ticks past, and slowly my heartbeat returns to normal.
As soon as I finally begin to calm, as soon as my eyes feel heavy and I start to fall asleep, I hear a hissing whisper in my ear that forces me to whip my eyes open. Any fear I felt before is nothing compared to what hits me when two green, ghostly eyes appear just inches from mine, burning like fire. The same eyes I saw in my dream.
"Fear him, fear Fyr, danger is near," the hiss turns into words that seem to come from inside my own head, and I lose my breath.
I can't respond or make a single sound; my voice is caught in my throat. What in the world was that?
"Fear Fyr," it repeats more urgently. Honestly, I can't tell if it's saying Fyr's name or the word 'fear.' Or, both?
"Shh," it shushes me, even though I haven't budged. It turns and looks at Fyr carefully, then looks back at me. "Tail, tail, follow my trail. Follow behind me, the truth I'll unveil."
"Get away from me," the words escape my mouth, surprising me. I want Fyr to wake up, but he doesn't budge.
"Help me," the shadow hisses that one single phrase, and I'm both pleased it's quit rhyming, and annoyed at the abruptness.
"No!"
The eyes in front of mine burn brighter, so brightly I wince away and hold my hands up to block. It shies away from me when I move, and this boosts my courage enough for me to talk louder.
"Leave me alone," I continue to hold my hands up, because this seems to keep it at bay.
It shakes urgently, and before I can react, it ghosts forward, aiming straight at my face.
I shriek and scrunch my eyes tight, and the next I know, I jolt awake, again covered in sweat. Faint blue light pours in through our window; apparently that was the shortest night I've ever experienced.
This time, Fyr has sat up and is staring at me the way anyone would stare at someone who wakes them up twice (or was it just once?) in one night by screaming.
"S-sorry," I gasp and grumble to myself, "What the fuck was that?"
Fyr watches me warily, but doesn't question anything. "Water?" he hands me a water-skin, unscrewing it.
I gratefully take it with a shaky hand and sip it, calming myself as much as I can. I'm still unsure of what's real and what's not, not to mention still terrified of the Fyr I saw in my sleep, as well as whatever that rhyming shadow was. I honestly don't know what was sleep and what wasn't; I can't tell where the line is drawn, and it's a terrifying realization.
"Are you going hungry?"
"Huh?" my eyes flick up to him, distracting my concern.
"You're thinning." He doesn't even need to frown; I can hear it well enough in his tone. "You are eating?"
I'm thrown a little off-guard; it takes me a couple seconds to come up with a response.
"I decided that withering to nothing on this ship is a good way to ease my insufferable boredom," I smile wryly and lean back against the wall.
He reaches in his bag and digs a little. "These may help your sleep issue," his voice is quiet, and he tosses something small in my lap. My eyes linger on him and then I glance down at the cinched, fist-sized satchel. When I look back up, he's already situating himself to sleep again.
I tug it open to inspect it; it looks like it's filled with…seeds? Nuts?
"Thanks for the nut-sack," I announce playfully.
His sigh is audible across the room, and I am fairly sure I heard a smile in it. But you can never tell with him.
I take one out. Definitely a nut, it looks kind of like an almond, but smaller. Cautiously, I sniff it, put it between my teeth, and nibble. It's easily the blandest thing I've ever eaten second only to water, save for a weirdly medicinal aftertaste. But, it's food. And my last two weeks spent on this ship, I've learned quickly that taste is a luxury. Fresh water is rare, too; in fact, pretty much everyone here drinks what's basically watered down beer. I guess it's safer to drink? I prefer the water-skins Fyr brought, but there's not much left.
Fyr told me that mages can conjure food and water, when taught properly. I've got to learn that trick, stat.
I sit and eat my snack in silence, watching Fyr's shoulders rise and fall slowly. This is bad, I think to myself. Very bad. If I thought these were just weird nightmares and didn't know they held any truth to them, it'd be a different story. But what little information I do mention to Fyr, he reacts so strongly and shuts off so quickly, it has to hold some merit to it. He's emotionally connected to my dreams. Whatever I saw last night, it's at least partially...real. Fyr didn't exactly deny killing those people. He didn't deny their existence, either.
I don't know how or why I keep dreaming about this creepy shit from his childhood, but I want it to stop.
I glance at the elf, then at the bag of food in my hand and quickly decide that I will not be going back to sleep.
While I'm here, while I'm stuck, I need to focus on what's actually important to me, and that is the sole goal of getting back home. And I need to focus on the fact that every day is getting me one step closer to that goal. No matter what or who Fyr is or what he's done before I came along, he has treated me well and is helping me. That's what matters. So I'm going to eat my medicinal nuts in peace and think happy thoughts.
I step out the door, snacks in hand, and ease it shut as quietly as possible. As soon as I turn around, though, a noise stops in my throat and fights to break free in the form of a choked yelp.
"Warning, Ava Warner," pipes a familiar, urgent voice from—a child, a pale-skinned, green-eyed little boy wearing a dark cloak. I know, from the burning eyes, that it's the shadow thing I'd seen in my dream. But it—he—is just standing here innocently. The shadow is just a kid?
I'm completely frozen in a mixture of confused terror and intrigue, and part of me is kicking myself to wake the fuck up. Because this has to be another dream, right? This thing isn't actually standing in front of me. Not only that, but the only people who know my real last name are Fyr and James, but here this thing just said it at me.
Maybe...it's not real. Maybe if I ignore it, it will disappear. Although, it's not like that trick has worked for me at all thus far.
"Mind the mortal of elven-kind," the boy-thing says nervously, before I can make good on my decision to pretend he doesn't exist. He genuinely looks scared, and I can't tell if that makes me sympathetic or just more freaked out.
"Do you mean Fyr?" my curiosity asks before my brain can tether itself, all the while the rest of me is resisting a full-blown panic. This isn't the weirdest or scariest thing I've seen here, is it?
He nods furiously.
"Fear Fyr, fear Fyr," his whisper echoes in my own head, and I clamp my mouth shut without realizing it'd still been open.
"Wh-why?"
"...I must elude Fyr's sensitive ears; tail behind me, follow and find me," The thing turns and retreats down the still-dark hallway. It doesn't even look like it's actually walking under that weird cloaky black robe. It's like it's gliding.
So. Creepy shadow-boy shows up and tries to lure me away, and what do I do? I don't freaking follow him, that's what.
I just stand there trying to decide whether to go back into our room and hide, or do what I was going to do and head up to the deck for some fresh air. I realize that waking Fyr wouldn't be the best idea, considering that I've done that twice already; and, this thing is probably a figment of my imagination, a remnant from my dream, or my tired brain finally snapping. It'd probably be the last straw with him, and he'd decide my cons outweigh my pros. Then I'd be left all by myself in a world I don't know, hallucinating and starving to death.
So, that makes my decision fairly easy, and I quickly and shakily make for the stairs to escape the whole situation.
But of course, the moment my foot hits the first step, that voice is back, pestering.
"Hear my warning, heed it, I plead it," it begs, and I feel a surge of annoyance. I turn and face him.
"What warning? What are you?"
He pauses like he's surprised, and he points to his own chest. "Only a spirit. No need to fear it. Fear Fyr with the ears," he points to his own ears, and puts a finger over his mouth to hint, 'be quiet!'
Then it's my turn to pause, and mine lasts a lot longer. "You're kidding?"
He says nothing and instead dissolves into a ghost of black mist, then just as quickly back into his solid form, looking up at me with those large, green eyes. I'm startled, but his appearance is honestly not as threatening as I thought it was. With everything else I've seen here, he's not all that impossible.
So, a spirit, then? Don't exactly know what that encompasses, but he hasn't hurt me, or tried to. He's just trying to get my attention. He's only as creepy as Fyr seemed initially, so who knows. Maybe these 'spirits' are actually kind of common in this place?
I take a second or two to gather my bearings. "You wanted my help, right? Are you talking about Fyr, the elf I'm with?" I can't help but be somewhat patronizing; it comes naturally when speaking to a young child. "Also," I put in, "do you have to keep rhyming like that? It's really confusing."
The boy looks at me intensely. I don't think he has blinked this entire time, and the green fire in his eyes licks at his eyelashes. "I can do my best, Warner interpret the rest."
I squint my eyes, "Better than nothing."
He nods softly. "I seek Ava's aid."
"Me? What could I do?"
"I am...trapped," he explains slowly, choosing his words carefully, as if trying extra hard not to rhyme. His voice continues to creep the fuck out of me, but I try to look past that. I stay quiet and listen to his words, which halfway seem to come out of my own head.
"Trying and failing to warn Ava Warner. Want to reveal the truth, but not with him here."
"What are you talking about? Warn me about what?"
"Her dreams are visions. Warnings. Warnings for Warner to fear Fyr."
"You mean those are your fault? Gee, thanks."
"Twisted by him, not by me. Controlled by the one with the ears." He puts a finger over his lips to say, 'shh!' again. "Fear Fyr."
"How does Fyr have any control over my dreams? I don't understand." I give a look of uncertainty. "I don't know-…"
"Ava Warner is here thanks to me," he finally drops the bomb he's been holding, and I'm taken aback. I stare at him incredulously, no idea how to respond to that.
He glances down as if he's ashamed. "Fyr forced me to find Ava Warner, forced me to steal her. If she leaves here, I have no choice but to retrieve her."
"How?" I blurt. "How?! Why?"
"Spirits can travel the void between worlds. Portals. Ava understands portals."
"I…" I blink a couple times. I'm a little blown away, and also trying to decide if he's bullshitting me or not. He seems pretty serious, though. "So, you're trying to tell me that Fyr sent you, a little boy spirit, to kidnap me?"
"Ava Warner interprets well," he nods quickly.
"That...makes no sense," I shake my head. "Why would he have offered to help me if all he wants is to keep me here? Or even more important, why the hell does he want me in the first place? Or, how did he know about me at all, let alone enough to send a, um... a you across worlds to bring me here?"
The spirit hesitates at the onslaught of questions, clearly rethinking his method of communication. Suddenly a sheet of paper materializes in front of me, like a small page torn from a book, floating before me. On it, words begin to appear. He taps the paper, and I realize I can read them. As I read the words, I hear a deeper, more mature voice sounding them out in my head.
Fear Fyr's thirst for your power, Ava Warner. He sent me out into the void with one order, and that was to find unlimited power. And I found the closest thing: you.
"What power?" I'm bewildered. "Also, why the hell didn't you think of this paper thing in the first place?"
His eyes narrow just a hint, and he taps the paper again. The words shift.
Your veins possess more concentrated magic than most crystals or wells can harness, and yet you are unaffected. That is enviable. You are capable of incredible, possibly disastrous feats.
"But Fyr hates my magic."
He chuckles wryly, a corner of his lip slightly curling.
Yes, he has given that impression, hasn't he? I am afraid you have been deceived. You are just as much in his possession as I am.
That last sentence makes chills run up my spine. Now, I don't one hundred percent believe this thing, but at the same time, he's planted a seed of doubt in my head. A very real, very heavy and worrisome doubt. And I don't know what to do about any of this new information.
As if reading my mind, the spirit looks me square in the eyes, and then back down to the paper.
Which is why I need your help.
"How?"
Assist me in gaining my freedom. He has me tethered to this physical plane through...rules of magic. But, your magic is stronger. All I need is your willingness to learn what I have to teach you. In repayment, I will return you to your world. In fact, I believe that the two acts can be combined as one great spell.
I stand there, dumbly staring at him with thoughts whirling around so fast I feel dizzy.
"This is all extremely sketchy," I say slowly. "Maybe I should talk to him about it—"
The paper quivers insistently, as if an inanimate object could show emotion.
I strongly warn against it. It will undoubtedly ruin our only chances to return to our homes. You do not understand your own power enough to defeat him.
My mouth opens and closes like a fish. "I don't know what to say."
Say we have a deal. Say you'll not tell a soul, that you'll keep this information safe. I'm already risking much simply by speaking with you.
To my surprise, he reaches out a hand to shake with me. "Take the deal."
I stare at him. Without warning, his whole body loses its shape, and he warps into the misty black form I'd initially thought he was. I startle, but his voice is the same, if a bit more 'metallic' and hissy sounding, which keeps me from being as freaked out as I could have been.
"Quick, Fyr wakes."
Somewhat panicky, I reach out and shake the general form of his hand. It feels like I just simultaneously dunked my hand into ice water and fire at the same time, and I yelp.
In that same moment, a small handful of ship passengers round a corner ten feet away and see us there at the base of the stairs, and they all halt in their steps.
The spirit vanishes from sight, but they already saw what they saw, and the guy closest to us does not look happy. He looks terrified, actually, and the other three people stumble over one another back the way they came, while he still stands there trying to talk.
"Y-you—that—I—" he sputters, "That's forbidden!"
"What?" In my confusion, I forget that I'm standing on the bottom step of a flight of stairs, and when I turn toward him completely, I lose my footing and—unsurprisingly—trip onto the floor. The poor man lets out a terrified yelp and scurries off as I tumble to the ground.
I gripe and sit up, nursing my arms, realizing that to him, it probably looked like I jumped at him or something stupid.
My mind is racing with a hundred different things at once, and I'm relieved that my surroundings have become suddenly very quiet. I slowly gather my spilled bag of nuts off the ground and, with nothing more to do, head up for some fresh air, mulling over what just happened in bewilderment.
~.~.~.~.~
Now, let me just say that getting thrown in jail is the last thing I expected to do today.
I don't think anyone really anticipates something like that. Unless they're some kind of criminal, which I most certainly am not—well, not in the way that I'm accused of, at least. According to James Reid, I am already on my way to that life.
What am I accused of? That's a damn good question.
Mister 'That's Forbidden!' guy from the hallway caused a huge commotion about what he saw—or, at least, what he thinks he saw. He thinks he saw me 'summoning an unshackled demon in a nautical sanctuary', which is evidently a pretty serious crime, because it got me behind bars, despite my denial. He got the ship's captain involved, and I guess my defense of, "it was just a spirit, and I totally didn't summon it," wasn't very strong, especially against four witnesses.
For a short time, they put me down in the hold, the lowest part of the ship that just so happened to have a prison cell. But, we arrived at port only about four hours after I was imprisoned, and I was transferred off the ship and into a more permanent setting.
'Permanent,' as in, they took me to the guard post inside this half-flooded place called Menethil Harbor and threw me in a damp, cramped, warded cell next to a very short, green-skinned man with gold teeth and huge ears, and a knee-height, pink-pig-tailed woman wearing goggles that hum. This world gets weirder the longer I spend here.
Fyr is livid, by the way. He thinks they're all completely crazy, and he says he doesn't believe I even saw a spirit. He thinks I was having a 'projected illusion', which is apparently a thing that sometimes mages do in their sleep? And other people can see what they're dreaming about?
I don't know. This might've been a mistake, but I didn't exactly tell Fyr everything I saw, just that the guy thought he saw me talking to a demon. I fibbed that it was all fuzzy in my memory, which is probably why he thinks I was dreaming. But what else could I have said? "That spirit you've been controlling this whole time came to me for help and we're going to work together to escape," doesn't seem like it'd go over well.
I still, to be honest, am on the fence about Fyr. About the spirit. About this whole situation.
I don't know what to do. Plus, the more I think about Fyr being what the spirit says he is, the more upset I become. I can't even pinpoint exactly why it stings so badly, but it sure as hell does. The thought that he's using me for whatever fucked up reason that spirit said is so unsettling that it makes my eyes water just thinking about it. I suppose that some part of me wants so badly to believe he's a good guy, because he's the one I've trusted for weeks. So maybe this is me fighting feelings of betrayal.
At least Fyr's fighting pretty damn hard against my arrest, but I guess there's even a line he can't cross when it comes to the law.
I'm pretty stressed out, I'll admit, but what can I do? Nothing. Nothing but sit here and wait to argue my case, whenever that'll be. I'm trying not to dwell on it; doing so might send me into a nervous breakdown.
I think what I'm most disappointed about in this very moment is that they didn't let me take my rubik's cube with me, and hours in, I'm bored out of my mind.
I sit at one corner of my tiny cell and toss cement pebbles at the rusted iron bars across from me. I don't know how long I've been in here, but the light coming in from outside has faded to nighttime. The green guy in the cell next to me is talking to himself, and the girl with pink hair is sleeping. She's tiny enough that the cell is actually pretty large for her; I don't know if I'd be able to stretch out fully enough to lie flat here.
Fyr and I were supposed to be off finding James by this point. He's somewhere in this city, in a tavern, waiting for us to 'catch' him. Guess that won't be happening.
I sigh, leaning my head against the hard stone wall I'm using as a backrest, and prop my elbow on a knee. I'm beginning to feel the weight of how truly trapped I am, not only in this cell but this world. My only hope at this point is that which I placed in teaming up with Mr. Spirit. It's got to work, because I am running out of options. I wish I had a way to call him and talk again. I have so many questions I need to ask. Yet, that'd seem like a stupid idea, considering why I'm imprisoned.
Footsteps draw my attention to the stairs across the jail, and my heart makes a slight jump when I recognize Fyr's long purple hair. He's accompanied by a guard in full plate armor, who stands back and just observes.
"Fyr," I stand and grasp my fingers around the bars, but subconsciously remove them as the huge elf comes to face me.
His expression is pinched. His silver eyes beam through the pale lighting. "How are you faring?"
"I'm all right. They fed me. And I have water. Bed kinda sucks though," I motion to the flat ground with a smirk.
My pathetic humor doesn't reach him. "I'm...working on it. You won't be in here much longer, one way or another."
"Thank you, Fyr."
Fyr looks back at the guard, who sorta tilts his head as if to say, "Wrap it up." He looks back at me, and he wraps one hand around an iron bar and leans in.
"Hang in there, Princess," he sends me a handsome, reassuring, out-of-place wink, and he turns and leaves, followed by the armored escort.
Shoot, I think to myself as I slump back down in my spot with my back to the wall, and start tossing pebbles again. That's one way to confuse me further.
I've got too much time to kill, and no weapon to kill it with.
A direct finger-tap on my shoulder yanks me awake, and I inhale and make a "huh?" noise, whipping my eyes open just as a hand closes over my mouth. I make a sound of shock, but it's way too quiet and barely comes out as a whimper. It's really dark in here now, and I can't see a thing other than vague outlines.
"Quiet, Love," a purr sounds an inch from my ear, and I feel a weird shiver run down my back as well as a pang of recognition.
"Jaffmhs?" my baffled whisper is muffled through his hand, and again he shushes me.
"Quickly," the rogue whispers. He carefully lets go of my face, takes my wrist, and pulls me upright. He's hooded, but I know who he is. I recognized that voice. How'd he find me? Or, better question, how did he even know I was here? Or most of all, why did he come?
I'm bewildered as all hell at this point, but I stand up quickly and follow his lead. He could be leading me to some sort of trap for all I know; however, moving around beats sleeping upright against a stone wall.
My feet, compared to his soundless steps, sound like cinder blocks scraping on gravel or something, and I wince and tip-toe to the best of my ability. He sweeps us up the stairs, around a corner, weaving past chairs and desks and even past a room full of sleeping soldiers, before we finally exit the door of the barracks. I subdue a noise when I see two bodies on the grass in front of us, but James interrupts my shock.
"Not dead. This way," he speaks in a regular but low voice this time, so I take that as a cue I can talk the same volume.
"James, what is going on?" I prod, my pace just a little too fast for comfort. Everyone in this world walks incredibly quickly, let alone this ninja guy in black leather who seems to move like a shadow more than anything else.
"I am rescuing ye, fair maiden, isn't it obvious?" he glances at me, and in the moonlight, I catch his bold smirk.
"How?" I ask, unable to form more words than that in the moment.
"One hefty helping of improvisation, a splash of skill, and a pinch of charming-yet-deadly good looks."
We round a corner, passing through alleyways. This whole town we're in is boggy and filled with mosquitoes that I have to keep smacking off my face and neck.
"I meant how did you know I was—ah, never mind," I stop myself. Part of me starts worrying about Fyr. If he comes to visit tomorrow, all he'll find is an empty cell. I'm not really sure how he'd react to that. Maybe he'd be relieved that I'm no longer tied to him, and he can get on with his life the way he wants to.
...Or, maybe he'll send his enslaved spirit to kidnap you again, remarks my inner voice.
Shh.
I pipe up semi-awkwardly in regards to James, "Um, what happened to 'you're going to play my game' and 'we're not friends anymore'?"
"You're enduring far worse than I had intended for you. Even my nefarious heart couldn't sit back and watch you drown." His voice oozes sarcasm, and I narrow my eyes.
"So you're not mad at me?"
His hand whips up to his neck, squashing an unsuspecting insect.
Smack.
"Nay."
Huh. That's good, I guess.
I have no idea where he's leading me, but we're moving quickly still, further and further away from the ocean, deeper into the town. We walk about ten seconds in silence.
"How exactly did you learn how to break people out of jail, James?"
"Oh, I was orphaned at a young age and grew up in the streets of Old Town. Fought tooth-and-nail for everything I owned. I scrounged, sneaked, and stole my way right into a thieves' guild. The guild master took me in and treated me like her own son, raised me like a prince. Everything I learned, I learned from her."
"Wow, really?" I blink.
"No, not really," he snickers. "Haven't you read The Crown of Thieves before?" Then he catches himself. "—Oh, right. Of course you haven't. Outsider."
Suddenly he stops, grabs me, and pulls me hard with him until we've both flattened ourselves against a wall, just in time for a guard patrol to turn a corner and walk right past us. I catch the tail end of what must be a truly riveting conversation about their commanding officer, because they're so absorbed in it that they completely don't notice either of us, despite walking just a few feet away.
It's not until they've headed all the way down the alley and turned off that James lets go of me and releases a huge breath he was holding.
"Light, I've never shrouded someone for that long," he exhales hard. "Test of my competence, right there."
"Shrouded?"
"Yes, we were essentially invisible."
I balk, but say nothing. The fewer questions I ask here, the less therapy I'll need in the long run, right? I already know he can vanish.
He picks himself up and we start walking again at that uncomfortably fast pace that my short legs have difficulty keeping.
"Back on the subject of me," he says happily, "Truth be told, I was raised under a typical privileged family name. My parents were quite wealthy, and they would pay for my inscription lessons somewhat religiously. Those soon became repetitive and unchallenging, and I would cut my tutoring, instead regularly running with the boys from the Cathedral orphanage; they taught me how to steal and scrap even though I didn't much need to. I also got into the business of forging papers around that time as well; inscription paid off, in that case."
Listening silently, I'm actually appreciating this much talking coming from him; it's helping detract from the fact that I have absolutely no idea where we are going, and it's making me less nervous as we weave through the dark city.
"From then," he continues, "I realized I was actually quite good at it, and I joined a thieves' guild when I was fifteen. I lived what you might call a 'double life' for a while, even stealing from my parents—little trivial treasures, don't worry, I'm not that sinister—for the sake of climbing ranks. Not a day after I turned twenty did I realize I was better than the guild itself, and I went solo. I broke into vaults, stole what I wanted. Forged what I wanted, especially bank receipts and passports. I made quite a name for myself. I was rolling in coin up to my ears, and ended up just doing what I did best for the excitement. The challenge, the thrill. Then, I got cocky. Then, I got caught. And you know the story from there."
I absorb his words and smirk. "Why do I feel like you're going to go all 'psych!' on me again and say that's the plot to a sequel?"
"I wouldn't want to overuse that joke," James snickers ahead of me as he leads me toward a huge archway leading out of the city entirely.
For some reason, I still don't believe that's his actual story, but I don't push.
"We're leaving town?" I question.
"What, you assumed we'd dawdle in the town in which you were incarcerated?" A pause, and a shrug. "Not the worst idea," he grins, changing course without warning and tugging me along with him into a side road, then to a doorway.
He retrieves a key (after some shuffling through his backpack) and opens the door, which creaks. Inside smells like pine sap and dust. He closes the door behind us, leaving us in pitch black, and I hear the click of the lock as he turns it. There are no windows in here, and I just stand in place, afraid of running into something if I take even so much as a step.
"You know if you wanted to murder me, this would be the prime place and time to do it," I comment.
The hiss of a match igniting throws me off-guard; it's a more familiar sound than I'm used to in this world, and I look in its direction. James has illuminated the room with a tiny flame, which he holds to a candle wick that quickly flares as well.
"I will keep that in mind," he winks at me with his dark smirk that makes the black scruff on his chin pull around his jaw and dimples. What is it with attractive men winking at me all the time? Not that I mind, of course.
Clearing my head, I look around the room, now dimly and warmly lit. It's practically like a studio apartment, with an old, quilted bed and a wash basin and a kitchen area all in one.
"What is this place?"
"Dawdle-central. Hungry?"
The thought of food makes my stomach growl loudly. I nod, "All I've had recently was Fyr's nut sack, and that didn't last long," I frown.
James's face lifts in humor, "Pardon?"
"A sack of nuts. They were medicinal or something," I smile at him innocently.
"Well, I imagine it won't be difficult to find you something more satisfying than Aerefyr's nuts," he snickers to himself and digs into his backpack at the counter as I sit down on the bed. "Though I'll admit," he murmurs, "I've heard legend of those elusive elves and their…abilities."
"We still talking about eating here, or..?" I tease.
"In a manner of speaking," he quips, and melts into silent laughter.
"Oh god," I snort. The covers sink under me and threaten to pull me in; it's all so much more comfortable than anything I've had for weeks. I yawn so widely that tears tug at my eyes.
"Here," James approaches me and sits down beside me on the bed, offering a jug of something, and some wrapped bread. "Drink, eat, nourish yourself. You're safe here, no one will find you. You can relax."
"I am relaxed," I say, but then I realize that I'm quite the opposite. Despite the comfort of the bed, my shoulders are so tight and my arms are rigid at my sides. I let out a deep breath and force my muscles to loosen, and I take the jug and the bread. "Thank you, James." My voice holds more sincerity than normal. "I mean it, really."
He just gives me a one-sided, closed-lip smile, then stands. "If you aren't bothered, I was planning on bathing."
"Why would I be bothered?"
"No privacy," he motions toward the tub on the other side of the room. He's right, there's not even so much as a curtain.
I bite my lip. I'm not so confident now that I'm not incredibly drunk, and a blush covers my face that I hope isn't too obvious. "I don't mind. I'll uh, distract myself with food."
"Perfect," he grins and, without hesitation, begins to strip off his hood, his armor, and then his clothes.
Seconds pass, and I don't move a muscle. I have bread in one hand, a jug of some unknown liquid in the other, and my eyes are glued to James, who is either oblivious to me or ignoring my staring. The way the candle light catches his skin makes my heart jump, giving me flashbacks of that first night together. Just looking at him like this heats my blood; I have no idea if he'd even be interested in "round two," but I'm feeling more intrigued at the idea by the minute.
Now just in his drawers, he leans over the tub and twists two nozzles that are attached to a thick pipe sticking out of the wall. One of them begins to glow red, and I hear a quiet, low hum. It's familiar; it reminds me of the buzz of magic I feel sometimes. Then water flows through them both and into the tub, and steam rises lazily in twisting vapors. I get it now; one is hot, one is cold. The hot is heated by a charm. That's pretty damn cool.
Then suddenly his underwear is off, and he's entirely in the nude. I look down at my lap a half-second too late with the image of his perfect everything burned in my mind. Only then do I remember that I have food, so I tear a piece of bread and chew on it.
James relaxes into the warm water and sighs serenely, and I finally peer up at him again. My eyes wander down his chest. He scrubs soap over his skin and hair, rinsing and cleaning.
Only after far too long, I realize he's watching me stare.
I look away quickly, biting an embarrassed smile. I sip the liquid from the jug; it tastes almost like sweet milk, maybe coconut? It's good. I should focus on that, for the sake of my self-control. I hear him rinsing, and then he sighs.
In my peripheral, I see him draw a lazy circle in the water with his hand, and I can't help but flick my gaze back on him.
"Room for two here, if we're creative. Interested?" he tilts his head, his black curls sticking to the moisture on his neck. The mixture of teasing and straight sex appeal in his voice unnerves me, and I grip the jug in my hands, now having finished the bread.
"Yes—I mean, no!" I blurt, finally gaining a little more control, but I feel my pulse quicken when I catch his direct gaze. He lifts his dark brows teasingly, his skin glistening in the flickering light.
"Ooh. You want me," he grins and licks his lower lip, probably automatically.
I shoot him a smirk. "Bad idea."
"I seem to recall you liking bad boys," his grin widens, "among other things."
His teeth bite into his lower lip, and I tighten my grip on the jug.
"What if I'm still mad at you for stealing that amulet?"
"Call it make-up sex," his smile widens.
I can't help but smile, but instead of speaking, I take a deep swig from the jug, set it on the table, and slip my feet out of my moccasins. James sits up a tad straighter, eyeing me as I move my hands to the strings on my pants.
I tighten the knot more securely, scoot further onto the bed, and pull the covers up to my chin, sinking into the pillow and facing away from the naked man in the tub.
His quiet laugh carries to my ears, and with a smile of my own, I ignore him and work on sleeping. If there's one thing I've learned thus far, it's that a good night's sleep cannot be taken for granted.
Even with my eyes screwed shut and my best attempts to block out all noise, my mind still whirls. But not about James, unfortunately.
I lie in silence, mulling slowly over my thoughts. I'm not in jail anymore, sure, but I'm no closer to fixing my situation. So far, the only possible means of getting home is still tied to Fyr, which means I need to find my way back to him and consequently back to the spirit child who can help me.
I can't ignore the part of me that feels like something's wrong with all of this, though. Especially with that kid, and especially with Fyr. Weirdly enough, the only candid person in my entire life right now is James, the thief who I'm sure keeps lying to me about his past.
Seeing as I can now hear James dressing himself, I turn over to face him and speak up.
"Hey, I have a question."
His black, wet curls are slicked back away from his handsome face, and he looks stunning as he peers at me from under his brows.
"Ask away," he offers as he pulls a dark silk tunic over his head.
"Can spirits travel between worlds?"
He tilts his head, as he rolls his long sleeves. "I believe that question is too broad. It entirely depends on the type of spirit, I'd guess. However, I'm not the most learned in the subject. Your elves back in Feralas could have answered such a question."
I'm substantially relieved that he believes me and is unbothered by the idea of a spirit.
"Well, that's why I was in jail. A spirit contacted me, and other people thought it was a demon."
His eyes narrow. "Why did it contact you?"
I chew my lip, hesitating. "It...said Fyr is dangerous."
James's brows tighten until a line appears between them, and he comes and sits on the bed beside me, staring at me intently. "What else did it say?"
"It claims Fyr enslaved it. And that I'm here because Fyr sent it out to kidnap me. Er, not me specifically. He just wanted a source of power, and apparently I'm exactly that."
"Fyr is nonmagical, though," James murmurs. "You can tell with people, you know?" he explains when I look at him curiously. "Some people have that magical aura; others, not so much. He doesn't have one. He doesn't use magic."
I think back to the times I've sensed magic. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense."
"Whatever visited you is likely not what it claims to be, malicious or not," James pats the blanket over my leg. "Regardless, now is the time for sleep, yes? We will tackle this tomorrow."
"Absolutely," I curl up warmer into the blankets as James sidles in next to me, and for the first time tonight, I realize we'll be sleeping together.
...Duh.
My heart quickens when I feel his body heat under the blanket, and I force my eyes closed, turning my back to him and focusing on relaxing my body enough to slip into slumber.
Ten seconds pass.
Thirty.
Sixty.
I still feel his presence behind me, his body not quite touching me, but I can still feel that moist, clean warmth radiating from him after his bath. I focus on my breathing, but it's only drowned out by that heat.
I sigh quietly and scrunch my eyes shut. Heavens, help me.