Bloodthorn Read online

  I almost laughed. “That won’t happen.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I never want to see him again.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes, it is.” My blood was starting to boil once again, and I could tell it was only a matter of time before I snapped.

  “You know what I say is true. Your clients don’t heal until they’ve confronted their own pasts. Why would you be any different?”

  “Because I can’t go back. Trust me on this one.”

  He leaned forward. “Yes, you can. Confront your past.”

  “No.”

  “You refuse to go back?”

  I fisted my hands. “Don’t you think I’ve tried? You have no idea how many times I’ve woken in the middle of the night, plagued by nightmares, seeing visions of goblins being cut open and experimented on. Worse, I was alone, with not a soul in the world to comfort me. A few times, I decided to go back. And then… I tried, but when I put my hand on the glass, the portal wouldn’t open.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not sure. There’s got to be something wrong with my mirror. It must’ve been damaged when I was in Fairy World.”

  “Damaged?”

  “Yes.” I crossed my arms, the anger replaced with a raw emptiness that had been my constant companion lately.

  “Is it possible that the practitioner is at fault, and not the mirror?”

  “Doubtful.” I exhaled. “But it is a possibility.”

  “Then we’re stuck at an impasse. You must return to Fairy World to be healed, yet you can’t cross because you’re damaged, and the only way to repair said damage is to return where you can’t go.”

  I sniffed. “Yes. Sounds about right—typical really—for my life.”

  “Olive,” he said quietly. “Don’t give up yet. With time, wounds can be healed, and one day you’ll wake up and find that you no longer remember him. You may even find that you’re happy.”

  I could have lost it right there—broken down and started bawling—because I knew he was wrong. Maybe happiness existed somewhere in the great beyond. Maybe it existed for people who weren’t me. But since I’d returned from Faythander, loneliness had been plaguing me until I no longer felt like I was myself anymore.

  “Dr. Hill,” I answered, “I’m fairly certain that day will never come. But, I truly do hope you are right.”

  Chapter Two

  Drumbeats announced the beginning of the parade. Doc Hill followed me out of my shop, and I locked it up, making sure to push the table inside and pull the front gate down, then latch it tight.

  We stood alongside the path with the other festivalgoers to await the procession. Medieval-style, two-story shops lined either side of the path, and every inch in front of them was crowded with bodies, which made it hard to find anywhere to watch the parade. We navigated through the crowd until we found an open area in front of the Bratwürst Eatery and Pub.

  I glanced back at the pub. As one of the only places you could go inside and take a seat, it was usually overcrowded. To see it empty made me wonder what had happened, but I didn’t argue as Doc Hill and I stood at the pub’s entrance to watch the parade.

  The sound of lutes and drums mingled with the conversations surrounding us as the procession came into view.

  First came the Naiads and Dryads who played the lutes and drums. Some of them wore antlers and sported hairy legs that ended in cloven hooves—they’d clearly spared no expense with their costumes. Next, a group of giants strode past, followed by horse-drawn carriages filled with dignitaries. A group of fairies passed, wearing wings and colorful clothes.

  I cringed when the performers dressed as Gypsies walked by. The young girls were trained pickpockets, and while they carefully handed flowers to revelers, they used the distraction to steal whatever they could. Madame Glitter, the Gypsy “mother,” had come into my shop last week, and she passed me now. She gave me a slight smile, and while she was an attractive woman with dark hair and a thin frame, she made my skin crawl. I still wasn’t sure why she made me so uncomfortable. After the Gypsies moved on, the shop owners came next.

  My mind wasn’t on the festivities. I couldn’t stop thinking of Dr. Hill’s words. Would I ever be happy again? I couldn’t go back to Faythander. I didn’t belong there. It wasn’t my world. My place was here among humans. Besides, something screwy was going on with my mirror. I hadn’t investigated it much, mainly because I had no real reason to fix it, but Doc Hill seemed convinced that I had to go back.

  I couldn’t.

  There had to be another way.

  Shouts came from the parade route. The barbarians marched behind the shop owners. With their bone-handled weapons, fur-rimmed cloaks, and bearded faces, they reminded me too much of the man I had been trying hard to forget.

  I’d been avoiding this crowd since I got here and had been doing a pretty good job of it. But now, I couldn’t seem to look away. The fellow with the red beard and protruding belly near the front looked so familiar. I could have sworn it was Brodnik—a Wult warrior I’d traveled with on my last trip through Faythander. A young guy who also wore a full beard walked next to the redhead. Rolf’s boyish face had been almost hairless when I’d seen him last. He hadn’t been able to grow a beard to save his life, so the young blond man couldn’t possibly have been him, could it?

  No. It wasn’t possible. Wults didn’t cross worlds often, and they would be too busy remapping their borders in the goblin lands to come to Earth now.

  Still, those two barbarians looked strikingly similar to the two Wults I’d called my companions not long ago.

  The procession moved forward, and soon Robin Hood and his merry men replaced the barbarians as they walked along the route. I rubbed my eyes, feeling a headache growing, and realized I must actually be losing it. Was this what it felt like to have a mental break?

  “Are you all right?” Doc Hill asked.

  “I don’t know. I think I need to sit down.”

  I left the parade, walked into the restaurant, and found a seat near the front counter. Mr. Kaufman, the shop owner—a man with a thick mustache who had recently been a client of mine—stood wiping the tables. He focused on us as we found a seat.

  “Sit anywhere you like. There’s plenty of space,” he said in his thick German accent. “Unfortunately,” he added after a pause.

  Doc Hill led me to a table where we sat.

  “You look pale,” Doc Hill said. “Have you eaten recently?”

  “No, not since breakfast.”

  “Wait here. I’ll grab something for you.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  He waved me off and went to the counter. I watched the parade continue outside as he ordered. I felt sheepish for making my boss take care of me like this. Still, something must have been wrong with me. Seeing things—or people—that weren’t really there was never a good sign.

  But what if I wasn’t seeing things? What if they really had crossed? Would they have come alone?

  Oh no. No, no, no… I can’t let my mind go there.

  A thin sheen of sweat formed on my forehead as Doc Hill returned with a lemonade and a bratwurst. The spicy scent of sizzling meat filled the air. I sipped the lemonade as he took a seat across from me.

  “You really aren’t looking like yourself. Can I get you anything else? A Tylenol, maybe?”

  “No, I’ll be fine. I just feel a little lightheaded.”

  He eyed me. “In that case, perhaps you’ve been working too hard. Let me think… I’m usually quite talented at cheering people up. Did I ever tell you why I don’t like to be called Billy?”

  “No.”

  “It started when I was in junior high. I’d been called Billy since I was old enough to remember and never thought it would bother me, until that year’s school annual was released. Under my photo, the caption read Hill, Billy. It gave all my classmates a great laugh. And it gave me a complex. That’s when I decided I’d rather be called William.”
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br />   I smiled. “Good to know. I’ll try to remember.”

  The blaring of a trumpet came from outside, announcing the end of the parade and the start of the closing ceremonies, including fireworks over the lake.

  “Will you be attending the closing ceremonies?” Dr. Hill asked.

  “No, you can go ahead without me.”

  “I hardly think that would be wise given your current state of health.”

  “I’ll be fine. Besides, I need to check on some things in my shop. You can go ahead.”

  “I would really rather not leave you alone.”

  “Doc Hill,” I said, “I appreciate your concern, but I really do need to go close up. They won’t allow patrons in here after dark, so it’s probably best that you go now. I’m glad you came. I hadn’t talked to anyone in a while, and it was nice to have a normal conversation.”

  “Very well, but if I must go now, then I’d like to leave you with a word of advice.”

  “I see. And if I take your advice, will you keep sending patients my way?”

  He nodded.

  “Fine,” I answered reluctantly, “what’s your advice? And please don’t tell me to confront my past, because that is not a possibility.”

  “You’re quite sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “All right, if that is the case, then my advice to you is to forget about the past and move forward. Let go of the things—or the people—that are holding you back. Make some new friends. Go out and have fun. Try to live again. You’ll find that you don’t even remember your old life, and pretty soon, you’ll feel whole again.”

  Can you do it? I asked myself. Can you really forget Kull just like that?

  “You’re right. I don’t need him anymore. My happiness doesn’t depend on him.”

  “Good.” He smiled, then stood. “Shall I walk you back to your shop?”

  I glanced at my uneaten bratwurst. “No, I’ll finish up here and then head back. Thank you again.”

  He nodded, gave me one last good-bye and good luck, and then walked outside. I watched as he went, his red-feather cap blending with the evening sunlight, until his silhouette disappeared.

  I took a bite of my bratwurst and immediately spat it out. It had the overpowering flavor of salt, with a hint of something less pleasant beneath, although I couldn’t put my finger on it. Mold, maybe?

  Looking up at Mr. Kaufman, I tried not to let him see as I took my uneaten food to the trashcan and dumped it inside.

  “You don’t eat it all?” he asked.

  “No, sorry. Guess I’m not too hungry.”

  “Ah,” he sighed, still wiping the tabletops. “This is how it is since I opened shop. Trashcan full of uneaten food.”

  Perhaps if he actually ate his own food, then he would see for himself why the trashcans were full, but I held my tongue. Who knows—maybe some folks actually liked it.

  “Will your booth be open tomorrow?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I answered. “Would you like to set up another appointment?”

  “If it’s not too much trouble.”

  “Not at all. I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

  He nodded. “Perhaps after the morning rush—if there is a rush. Have a good evening,” he said.

  “You too,” I answered as I left the shop and made my way outside. I headed through the near-empty lane toward my shop. The cobbled path showed evidence of this evening’s parade. Trampled daffodils and carnations, compliments of the Gypsies, lay strewn about the ground. In the distance, fireworks exploded in hues of green and pink followed by a delayed boom as the sound traveled the distance between us.

  I made it to my shop, unlocked the latch and pulled the gate up, then stepped inside. The darkness caught me by surprise. I never turned out my lights until closing time—had I turned them off earlier without thinking?

  Without another thought, I switched on the lights. The faux-candle lanterns illuminated the room in a pale yellow glow, and I gasped as I stared at the table by the chair. Someone had moved my water fountain. Instead, my mirror box sat on the small table. It had been wiped clean, not a trace of mud on it, and all five figurines had been arranged—also cleaned—inside the box.

  My hand flew to my mouth as I stepped closer. I studied the figurines’ arrangement. Dragon, elf, Wult, pixie, goblin.

  They were arranged in order. Who would have known how to arrange them in order? Perhaps it had been Ruth. Or Dr. Hill. But would either of them have known how to arrange the figurines in their proper order? And how would they have gotten into my shop? There had to be a logical explanation for this.

  I circled the table before moving closer. Something seriously messed up was going on. Assuming someone had a key to my shop—which wouldn’t be too hard to get, they just had to ask management—they still wouldn’t know how to arrange the figurines properly. No one on this planet knew how I arranged my figurines, and I could think of only a few people in Faythander who would have known.

  My hands shook as I reached for the dragon statuette. Bright green magic coursed from the small object, and I hesitated before touching it. If someone had tampered with my mirror, I had to find out before I touched it.

  I studied the laptop-turned-mirror case, which I’d crafted while living in Boston. I’d been working a gig in the campus computer lab and had discovered a host of computer parts that were headed to the recycler. Seeing all those parts repurposed—something old restored to something new—had given me the epiphany to create the mirror box. I’d replaced the screen with a mirror and used the gutted-out keyboard to make a velvet-lined bed for my figurines. In my mind, it had been a meld of Earth and Faythander. Plus, it got fewer stares whenever I toted it around with me.

  After scanning the box and figurines, I found no foreign enchantments, so I reached for the pewter dragon. As I touched it, an electric shock jolted my body, throwing me across the room. I landed in a heap several feet away. Pain coursed through my nerve endings. The taste of iron coated my mouth as I tried to call out, but blackness clouded my vision and I felt my consciousness ebbing.

  It’s cursed. How did I not feel the enchantment?

  The feel of someone’s hand on my shoulder made me bolt awake. My head pounded with a deep-rooted pain that started at the base of my skull and encompassed my head. Focusing, I found a security officer kneeling over me. His hair was cropped short, and he looked to be in his mid-forties. From his rigid stance, shiny boots, and hardened gaze, he reminded me of a military officer. His badge read Officer Peter Gardener.

  “You all right?” he asked.

  “I—I’m…” The pounding in my skull made it impossible for me to think.

  Officer Gardener helped me sit up. I stared outside and found it was dark. How long had I been out?

  “We almost locked up with you in here. It’s a good thing I did one last security sweep. Do you feel well enough to make it outside?”

  “I’m… Ow.” I rubbed my temples, hoping the throbbing would stop soon. “I just…” I glanced back at my mirror box. The dragon had fallen over, but other than that, it looked as I remembered. “I passed out, I think.”

  The officer grabbed my elbow and helped me to my feet. The room teetered for a few seconds but then leveled out. As I walked outside, the chilly air helped my headache to clear. I pulled the gate closed and locked, unlocked, and locked it again to make sure it was secure. Turning, I walked away from my shop with the officer, inhaling deep breaths as we made our way to the gates.

  An eerie stillness hung over the festival grounds. I’d never been here after nightfall, and with everyone absent and all the laughter and music gone, the place had an empty, almost spooky feel to it.

  Shouts echoed from the path that branched to the right. At the bratwurst pub, a fight had broken out between several people I recognized. Mr. Kaufman, who stood nearly a head taller than Mr. Duncan, was backed into a corner as an irate Mr. Duncan yelled at the pub owner. Ruth stood near her husband, wearing the same worried
expression I’d seen before. She didn’t notice as I passed. As Mr. Duncan kicked over an empty trashcan, he raised his voice and I caught a few of his words.

  “…serving food not fit for an animal. I’m a hardworking citizen. I pay my taxes and shouldn’t have to…”

  Officer Gardener stiffened. “He’s been at it all day. How did he even get back in here?” The man turned to me. “Would you be all right to make it out by yourself? I can radio another officer if you need help.”

  “No, that’s not necessary. We’re not far from the gates. I can make it.”

  “You’re sure?”

  I nodded.

  “All right then. But make sure you head straight for the exit. We lock up the gates at nine, and you’ll be trapped inside if you aren’t out by then. And…” he rubbed his neck in a nervous gesture, “there have been some reports of assaults from… something.”

  “Something?”

  “Just be careful.”

  “Okay,” I answered, confused. “I will.”

  Officer Gardener left me to go break up the argument, and I walked the rest of the way to the entrance gates by myself. My boots crunched over stray acorn tops. I wrapped my cloak tight around my shoulders as a chill seeped into my skin. The only light came from the pairs of torches that burned in sconces outside the shop windows. As I passed the guards at the gate, they gave me a brief nod, and I crossed out of the enclosed area and into the parking lot.

  Usually at this hour, I was curled up in my rented pop-up trailer—my temporary home away from home—with a book, my cat on my lap, and a hot cocoa. To be out here now, with the rhythmic sound of chirping crickets, the tree limbs bending and creaking in the breeze, and the empty expanse of the parking area, made my steps quicken.

  Something moved behind me, and I rounded. The nearest lights were at the gates, which glowed so faintly that I had trouble seeing anything.

  Reports of assaults.

  Suddenly, the crickets stopped chirping. The wind stilled. My elven senses gave me heightened hearing, and somewhere down the road, I heard the sounds of breathing.