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Later that day, Cal jangled her keychain against the doorknob while she fought to liberate the key from the lock. After she bolted the door behind her, she dropped the keys into a small bowl on the table and trudged to her bedroom. She ignored the dark woodwork and avocado walls of the living room. The very sight nauseated her on the best of days.
Tossing her backpack on her bed, she let out a weary moan and stretched her muscles. Being stuffed into a chair all day was hell on her body.
Now she could relax. She glanced around. Her apartment might not be much, but at least she didn’t live on campus. Maggie wouldn’t be back until sometime after seven, so the place was hers for a few hours. At a time like this, she could overlook the tiny, outdated kitchen and the even drabber green bath.
She smiled wryly. Apparently, the owners had been obsessed with green and even now didn’t want the puke-colored shades changed. She shrugged. The visual assault to her retinas was worth the privacy. Fortunately, the color scheme for the walls hadn’t carried over into her cream-colored bedroom, though the carpet was another matter.
A yawn escaped her. She kicked off her shoes and collapsed in a seated position onto the lumpy mattress. The impact knocked her bag off the edge of the bed. When it hit the floor with a thud, she winced. Oh well, she’d pick it up later.
Hours of coursework awaited her, but sweet oblivion was what she needed. In the corner of the room, her glossy acoustic guitar glowered at her. In the past, practicing the instrument had soothed her, but she couldn’t muster the drive anymore. She hardly felt like herself, awake or asleep.
Cal grimaced. Surely, she was only restless and tired, her sleep not being what it should be. Too bad the excuse rang hollow.
Strange dreams and visions, ones she couldn’t quite remember when she awoke, had overtaken her nights. Only snippets remained, but the common theme always featured a man. No, that wasn’t right. She labeled the male an elf for some reason.
Maybe because of the lilting language he spoke, and oh yes, the pointed ears. Flowing black hair and stormy gray eyes seemed permanently branded into her psyche. That was all she could recollect of him when the dreams faded.
Pressing a hand to her still aching forehead, she bent over to retrieve her bag and froze. The floor underneath the bag, underneath her feet, rippled and swelled into a mass of waves.
She jerked her legs up on the bed, her heart plummeting. A whimper broke from her lips while her gaze stayed fixated on the floor.
A glittering mist formed on the ground, overtaking the strange ripples and leaving her blind while it crept over the bed. Quickly dismissing the idea of making a break for the door, she yelped and scrambled for the covers. Her fingers shook so badly, they hardly functioned. She pulled frantically at the comforter and sheets. Desperation lent strength, and she flung the covers over her head. Nope, not even for escape would she get off the bed.
Her blood tried to pound itself out of her veins, and her body trembled. Inside the cocoon of her blankets, there was nothing but the darkness. She focused on her breath, the rasp of it as it rose and fell. What would the fog do now? Would it take—
She shook her head. No, there was nothing out there. Pretend the mist didn’t exist, and it wouldn’t. Denial was easier and less painful. It’d always meant no pills or pitying glances.
How long she stayed huddled under the covers, she couldn’t guess. Her thoughts turned to mush, fatigue and reality melding together in some kind of bizarre dance. Her bone-deep exhaustion finally took over, and sleep crept over her.
Even in sleep, her chaotic mind retained a disjointed awareness. Images of black hair and eyes the color of an angry sea flowed through her mind. Nothing else about his appearance was important. Then the scene changed, and she appeared beside him. She shivered at the heat between them, acutely aware of his body inches away from hers.
Reaching out, he pulled her to him with a familiarity that settled deep into her bones. His touch burned through her like lightning as the calluses of his fingers left a lingering thrill of sensation on her skin. He lowered his head and captured her mouth with his. The taste of mint hit her tongue. She groaned and deepened the kiss, wanting to crawl into his very being.
The scene skipped forward. A bed appeared and bumped into the back of her knees as he pressed her down. Desire hummed through her at the feel of his body, of silk and muscle, bare against hers. Her hands roamed over him, and he moaned, the rasp of his breath in her ear. Settling over her, he joined their bodies, and hair of auburn and black lay fanned across the pillow.
With that last image, she shot up in bed, her breath rapid. Her mind spiraled into chaos as shudders racked her. The dream seemed so real. She could still feel his hands on her body, her skin tingling from that ghostly touch. Cal frowned as she pushed herself into a seated position against the headboard. What was she forgetting?
Slowly, the events of her day came back to her. Remembering the mysterious fog that formed on the floor, she crawled on trembling hands and knees to the edge of her bed. No mist lurked in the air. Now for the floor.
She took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes tightly shut before looking down. Nothing. There was nothing, nothing except the old harvest gold shag carpet and her bag. Maybe she really was crazy.
Cal’s hands covered her face. She didn’t know what anything meant, didn’t want to know. All she wanted to be was a college student in her last year, getting ready to graduate. That was her definition of normal, one she’d thought possible.
She sought solace by attempting to place these outrageous events into some semblance of a pattern. Any pattern that would tell her why control of her life, of her dreams, was slipping from her fingers like too many grains of rice piled high.
Could he be the same male—the one from the tree-lined clearing ten years ago, the one in her recurring dreams? Every part of her cried out that he was. There was also the hair fetish thing. Two separate times the mist took her hair. Every time, it and her elusive hair seemed to work in tandem, actively seeking him out.
She’d only been twelve during that first encounter with the mist, and therapy convinced her that the occurrence had been a manifestation of a psychotic mind or, at least, of an overactive one. But even that knowledge, along with a bevy of medications, had failed to stop the dreams and visions.
Over the years, her mind had created a fantasy world—one he inhabited. And these improbable thoughts painfully intruded when she least expected it. She’d come to believe she’d embellished upon her original hallucination, making him more awe-inspiring than reality demanded. No being could be so handsome and so...not human. Admittedly, all the mythical beings in that clearing had been shockingly attractive, but none touched something within her as he had.
While she hadn’t quite understood his pull over her when she was younger, she now recognized the feeling as attraction. He drew her physically, even while dread repelled her.
Her control of that intruding world had been fragile before, but now it was nonexistent. She no longer imagined she saw shadows of a world in the peripherals of her vision. Now, they appeared before her like translucent moving pictures, astounding her with their reality. Human-like beings, all with pointed ears, populated this lush, green world. However, she only caught snatches of the images before they floated away. Surely, she couldn’t imagine such a place, let alone fabricate the intricacies she saw so briefly? But memory always quickly drifted away like mist, making her doubt the trueness of her beliefs.
Cal shook her head and removed her hands from her face before she straightened out of her slump. The parallels she’d drawn were neither helpful nor healthy. Madness would be her only companion down that road.
She’d more important things to worry about such as school, her part-time job, and family. If her parents and brother suspected a relapse, they’d demand she transfer to be closer to them. Cal shuddered. Insanity, whether real or imagined, was not a priority on her list. Psychosis would just have to wait its turn like everything else.
Throwing off the blankets, she stood and started to remake the bed. Her movements stilled. Something was on her pillow, and the color of it tied her stomach into knots. No, impossible. With trembling fingers, she reached for it but paused before reaching her goal.
She inhaled a calming breath and picked up the hair. In her palm rested reddish-brown strands that curved around longer black ones. She couldn’t be so crazy that she only imagined what she held in her hand. The auburn and black strands behaved in a peculiar manner, because no matter how many times she untwined them, they reunited moments later. Cal sat down with a thump on her bed, not moving for a very long time.
Finally deciding upon a course of action, she rose from the bed and phoned the little boutique and gift shop where she worked. It wasn’t much of a stretch to sound sick, and she carried it off quite admirably.
After clicking off the phone, she booted up her computer. Sleep would have to wait while she did a little investigative work. Answers came first because ignoring the past apparently wasn’t working. She’d prove to herself she wasn’t delusional.
***
Cal, against her better judgment, stopped in front of the brick façade of the Mists of Avalon bookstore. Her little Internet search of the week before, though informative, hadn’t truly shed any light on her situation. Desperate for an answer, she felt compelled to come here. She didn’t hold out much hope of discovering one at this place, but she wouldn’t be able to rest until she found that out for herself.
According to Maggie, the community recognized the store for its wide selection of all things fantastical. Maggie would know, wouldn’t she? She’d lived here all her life. The owner was reputed to be more than a little loopy, though, so many avoided the place.
Cal hesitated, but the last grip of hot August air made the decision for her. Sweat trickled down her back, which drew a grimace from her. She pushed the door open, and bells jingled.
The smell of old books hit her nose and caused it to twitch. Great, her allergies were flaring up. She rubbed the back of her hand against the offending itch. Still, the place had an offbeat charm to it, with knickknacks scattered around and incense softly burning. A short, plump woman smiled at her from behind a desk where an old-fashioned cash register stood. Her lightly lined face and silvery-blue hair made her look like perfect grandmother material. Cal offered a small smile in return.
Surprisingly, quite a few people milled around in the aisles. This assortment included young college students in t-shirts and jeans to elderly churchgoers dressed in their Sunday best.
At the back of the store, she found herself in a section entitled “Elves, Faeries, and other such Creatures.” Glancing over the selection of titles, she didn’t know where to begin. She smiled grimly. Somewhere, anywhere—just take the first step. Plus, since it was the weekend, she’d finished her shift at work and didn’t want to go back to the apartment. If she went home, she’d sleep. If she slept, she’d dream, and that was too disturbing to contemplate right now.
She rubbed her tired eyes and reached out to pick a title at random. The small print of the pages caused her to squint while she flipped through the book for a few minutes, pausing now and then to read a promising passage. The words blurred together. Her endeavor felt impossible. After snapping the book closed, she slid the tome back where it belonged. She wiped at her eyes again and grabbed another book. Then another. And still no real answers.
Cal closed her annoyingly itchy eyes and leaned against the bookcase. A strong reference point to guide her, to tell her what was believable or not, would’ve been nice. She scoffed at herself. As if there’d be such a thing for this. A neat and tidy book to wrap up all details. This wasn’t one of her classes. She couldn’t treat it as a research project to tackle and tie up all prettily. What did she expect because, really, how common was her situation?
Her Internet search had turned up such names as ljósálfar, Tuatha de Danann, aos sí, and daoine sídhe. Were these mythical beings all the same? Did it even matter? Maybe all those years of therapy pointed to the truth—that she’d lost it long ago.
Bending over, she picked up her bag to turn and leave when the old woman from behind the desk came up to her and spoke. “I see you were looking at books about elves, my dear? Did you find what you needed?” The woman’s sharp eyes watched her closely.
Cal cringed internally. She didn’t feel like talking, especially to an inquisitive stranger. “Very interesting stuff but not quite what I was looking for.”
The woman gave a good-natured smile. “May I be of assistance? I’m the owner of the store, so I know every page and book here. I might be able to provide the knowledge you seek.”
Cal laughed self-consciously. “No, thank you. I think I’m getting too caught up in those tales. It’s not like they truly happened or even—” Before she babbled on, she cut herself off.
The woman gave a soft laugh. “Don’t be so quick to disbelieve. It’s been said reality has some basis in myth. For us, this may be a truth that is hinting at other beings existing. Any true knowledge may have been lost to time, seeping into memory as nearly forgotten tales. Many are all too ready to deny any magic in life. Are you?” She ran a loving hand over a row of books, and the numerous bracelets on her wrist clanked against each other. “I can't answer that for you, my dear, but use caution if you choose to play in their world. Elves, faeries, spirits—or whatever you prefer to call them—were not as they are now portrayed in popular children’s movies. They weren’t to be trifled with. It was play nicely or not at all,” she chided, as though Cal were a kindergartner who couldn’t keep her hands to herself.
The sensation of wanting to run to safety overwhelmed her. Too bad she didn’t know the location of that coveted place. This was what she’d wanted, wasn’t it? A possible answer? “I thought elves were beings of nature?” For some reason, she’d always equated nature lovers with peace. What she had read in mythology, though, didn’t comfort her much in that vein. Capricious, narcissistic, and other similar adjectives could be ascribed to the beings she’d read about—along with the fact they rarely tolerated humans well.
“Oh, they were. You have to remember nature can be both beautiful and perilous. Although their wrath could be deadly, their kind didn’t seek to harm. At least, it was so in the old days...or so I’ve heard. Mortals always trod somewhat warily around the Fair Folk. For good reason I might add. Human foibles were often thought of as a weakness to be avoided.”
Cal couldn’t believe she was encouraging the old woman. “So mortals were inferior to them, they believed?” And probably still believe. She shook an inward finger at herself, telling herself to stop this insane conversation. Whether she meant with herself or with the woman, she didn’t know.
“Oh, my dear, I’ve never been inside the head of one, so I couldn’t rightfully ascribe a motivation to their beliefs and thoughts.”
“Well, they seemed sort of arrogant in their views.” Ambivalence leaked out of her voice. Her hands trembled, forcing her to interlace them in front of her. All this jibed too closely with her views of those mysterious people she saw years ago. It was consistent with dreams of her elf, too. Her elf? Her dream elf? Crap, that couldn’t be right. She didn’t even know him, despite starring in some strange and steamy dreams with him.
“Come off sounding arrogant to you, hmm?” The elderly woman laughed, her round face creasing into a smile. “That they did. Or at least they could come across as so. Some had such an air of detachment about them, again lending to this impression. Whether that came naturally or was put on, I don’t know. Maybe their self-assurance sprang from seeing and knowing their place in the world. Of course, this all is conjecture.”
Cal fought to keep her jaw from hitting the floor. “Of course.”
This had to be the most bizarre conversation she’d ever had, and given her history, that was saying a lot. The woman could very well be a loon. But what if she wasn’t and spoke the truth? Cal didn’t trust her own rationality right now. Was she sinking fast, only armed with paddles of paranoia?
When the woman didn’t speak, Cal cleared her throat. “Do you have any other words of wisdom?”
“No, dear.” She reached out and touched Cal’s cheek. “What ails you can’t be found in a book. Or online. You would do well to remember that.”
A chill of fear crawled up and down Cal’s spine, then took up residence in her heart. The previously subtle incense that drifted on the air intensified, smothering her. How...what did this woman know?
The woman’s eyes twinkled before she turned around, effectively dismissing Cal. “Goodbye. And remember, life is rarely as it seems. There are always choices. Maybe not ones you prefer, but they are still there, nevertheless.”
“B...but....”
The old lady shook her head, already walking away. “Now is not the time. Don’t come back until the time is right.” Her affable tone carried a hint of warning that discouraged further questions.
When the time was right? What the heck did that mean? She followed the woman out of the cramped aisle. The old lady slipped behind the desk as Cal all but ran to the door and exited without a backward glance. The bells chimed overhead. When the door shut, they ceased their song, leaving her adrift in her confusion.