Chapter 3:
Friday
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The rest of the night passed strangely slow for Amelia, who despite recurrent weird dreams and midnight awakenings, had always been quick on the act of falling asleep. Now, even after having dinner, changing her clothes and giving a last, amused look at the bit of paper that rested close to the typewriter, she found herself lying down and awake, having one of those nights that anyone could have where they think of everything and nothing.
It was past midnight when she finally fell asleep. This time; her mind took her to a different place than the little house. She was in a long hallway, in a place that might have been in another planet, but she knew it was the same place as her previous dreams or at least close. Her view was slightly obscured by the heavy veil that covered her face. The reason why she would ever wear one, she didn’t know, but she made no move to take it off.
She kept going down the hall, passing even some people who looked at her with wide eyes but then bowed their heads and trailed off as if she would do something to them. She climbed stairs, kept going and passed rooms and people. This place was, if any other word could be used to describe it, a castle and Amelia, who had been living in a small one-room cottage, knew exactly where she wanted to go without losing her way.
She stopped at a door, her hands trembling on her sides for a moment, her stomach curling in the uncomfortable feeling of guilt as she reached for the doorknob.
The room was sealed, barely illuminated by the faint sunlight that slipped from the closed wooden windows, even then, she knew the shape of the room very well. A study, small for the station of its owner, and thoughtfully abandoned now. Lifting her veil off her face, Amelia stared at the dusty table and the desk, at the cauldron close to the hearth, the bookshelf still full because no one had even thought to touch anything of the room after its owner passed away.
“What are you doing here?” The voice made her jump and turn around without taking the veil down. She gave a step back, fear and guilt crushing her at the same time. This was the same man of the other dream, she could make a little of his face now, but it was still as if she didn’t have a complete picture.
“I—”
“How did you pass the wards on this wing?” He took a step forward as she gave another one back.
Heart hammered against her chest when she woke up, it was still dark so she couldn’t see the clock. She placed her hand over her chest and took a deep breath, trying to banish the dream away until exhaustion claimed her again. The sight of the old cottage was almost comforting at first, until the same scene repeated again: the bird falling from the sky and transforming into a man, her going to help him, the fury in his voice. She could make up some of his face now: pale, thin, bird-like yellow eyes slowly changing into those of a human and pale blue. She expected to wake up at that moment, but instead, she found herself talking as her hands held his wrist away from her throat with surprising ease.
“Please… Don’t. Don’t fight it.”
“You had no right,” he said, his voice edged with pain. Amelia wanted to say she was sorry and she also wanted to ask what she had done. But there was also something in the back of her mind, a more selfish, uncaring voice, who wanted to say she had all the rights in the world.
This time, what woke her up was a thunder and a strong, frantic banging of her flat’s door. She got up and put on her robe, blinking and massaging her eyes.
“All right, all right, I’m coming.” Who could be at such an hour? There was barely any light outside and it was raining like hell. Had something happened to one of her neighbours or—?
Amelia looked through the door’s spy-eye, expecting the landlady but instead, she saw the all-wet figures of the woman and the man that she had encountered last night. “What—what are you doing here? What do you want?”
“Please, open up,” the woman said, her voice frantic. “Please, there is no time to explain this; you have to open the door now.”
“There is no time for this, it will change in any minute now.” Amelia stepped away from the door when she heard the man talk. “Step back if you don’t want to do this, princess, we don’t have time for pleasantries.”
“We can’t just take her—”
“Do you want to go back where we started? We don’t know how much is going to switch—”
“I’m calling the police!” Amelia said loudly, interrupting whatever senseless conversation they were having. But before she could run back to the telephone, the door opened with a click and the two strangers were standing there, the woman had one hand raised and glowing blue.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “we wanted to explain but there is no time—”
But Amelia had her eyes on the man, his face, she recognised him now, and even with the blurriness of her dreams, she could not deny the likeness. The woman’s pleas didn’t matter, he hated her; he had wanted to kill her.
“Stay away from me.”
“There is no time for this,” he said and caught Amelia by the arm when she started to run.
… But before any scream of help could come from her lips, she was back in her bed, the sun shining through her curtains. Amelia’s head snapped to the sides, her breath shallow. Had that… been another dream? How? It had felt real, so real just seconds ago, how could it be?
Getting up from the bed, she walked to her living room. There was no one there, the door was closed and she could hear the faint sound of her neighbours getting ready in the story below. Sighing, she shook her head and slapped her cheeks with her hands. Everything was normal, wasn’t it? Her mind was just going into a frenzy. That was all, dreams, weird dreams but just dreams at the end of the day. She was safe.
She repeated that to herself multiple times until her heart calmed down and for a second, she believed it… Until she noticed her two things, the date in her calendar, marking Friday the 3rd and that the typewriter – which she remembered buying on Saturday the 6th – was gone.
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Briallen gasped when she felt the press of the magic finally easing, as Ector had said, they were back at the back opposite edge of the city, only that now, unlike the first time, she could perfectly see the metal carriages going on a never-ending circle. Getting up from the ground, she heard her companion curse and steady himself.
“I told you we had no time,” he grunted and Briallen clenched her teeth. “Careful!”
One carriage passed her side, nearly grazing her sleeve, and she took a step aside. “Can’t these people stop for a minute?”
“We are not exactly letting their road free,” Ector said and extended his hand at her. “Give me the key.”
“What?”
“You’re clearly too keen on losing both time and our target, Your Highness,” he snapped. “Give me the key so next time we can get in our way instead of ending up back here.”
Briallen opened and closed her mouth. Who did this man think he was to give her orders? They might have to work together, but she was still a witch queen’s daughter and one of the Head Witches of her council. Truce or not, she wouldn’t be ordered around by some spawn of the Brotherhood that couldn’t even do a spell on his own.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“You got no magic, why would you need it?” She lifted her chin as every word went out like the blows she wanted, satisfied when his expression turned into a grimace. But the relief was short-lived when the man let out a scoff and gave her a chilly smile.
“Child,” he started slowly, “do you really think the leader of the Brotherhood would give us keys that only you and Ivor can use? Him, who learned so much from the Weaver? Why would he waste time on playing favourites when all that he needs is for us to take that woman back? As you said yourself, this goes beyond what has happened between our countries, someone has to go back, and he wouldn’t risk everything by just making our only way out work with you.”
Briallen didn’t move, her hands tight on fists at her sides, it felt like she was back home, getting scolded by her mother for not seeing how this and that dangerous curse was necessary to win a war. How times changed and she had to look at the bigger picture, because witches couldn’t be only servants of the Goddess any more, and more less a witch of her clan. She wanted to tell this man about the similarity so he could back off in offence, as so many sorcerers were when compared to them. But she held her tongue and reached to her neck where the silver key hung from a chain along with her pendant, taking it out and placing it on Ector’s hand.
“She’ll be in the same place we saw her, the fortress with all those women.” Ector tucked the key inside his robe and started walking back to the city. “No words this time, we’ll explain when we get her out of here or we’ll end up trapped forever like her.”
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Amelia walked to her job like an automaton, her body moving on its own at the mercilessness of the routine while her mind was back in the house, back in what happened – or didn’t happen – the night before. Those few hours of dark she had left had vanished while she’d frantically searched for the typewriter inside her flat and checked if anything else had disappeared but apparently, her mysterious thief only cared about a machine on her desk. Not about her savings under the mattress, or the two silver rings and the gold locket she had been gifted by mother. Only the typewriter was gone, along with the small paper she had written on last night.
She couldn’t stop thinking about it, how come something could disappear out of thin air without her hearing anything? How could something be stolen when her door was locked and chained? And even if that was the case and it had been all just a bizarre robbery, how come she had gone to bed on Saturday night and woken up on Monday? She never slept more than eight hours, even on the days that her body could barely keep standing. And now she had, what? Slept a whole day to the point someone entered and left her flat without her hearing it? No, it was too much, there had to be a reasonable explanation.
Amelia took a deep breath and tried to smile as Fiona’s familiar silhouette waved at her. Work was work, mystery had to wait as everything did.
“What took you so long?” Fiona asked as they went to secure her bikes. “Did you pass around in the library again?”
“No,” Amelia said, distracted. “I only go there on Thursdays.”
“What is it then? Did your mum call?” Amelia shook her head, indeed she had not called her mother in weeks, maybe she should to tell her about her dreams and disappeared possessions. “Oh, I see, you were around Old Harry’s shop again?”
Her head snapped at her friend. “What did you say?”
“Old Harry? The man that runs the shop that sends office tools?” Fiona gave her a teasing smile. “You have been mooning around a particular typewriter that he has in his front view like a kid that wants candy, Mel. If you want to be a secretary—”
“I bought that typewriter,” Amelia snapped, staring at her friend as if she had just grown another head. Was this some kind of coordinated joke? “I bought it last Friday, don’t you remember?”
Fiona gave her a strange look. “Can’t say I do.”
“This doesn’t make sense.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about, Mel. Are you all right?” Fiona touched her shoulder and Amelia had to fight the urge to run to not scare her friend. What had happened? Had half of last week a dream? A long dream that stayed so present inside her head that she thought it had happened? No, it couldn’t be. But she hadn’t lost time, days hadn’t passed her, and days had reversed.
“I—” she turned around by instinct, as if with that she would find someone that could give her answers to this insanity. There was nothing, of course, just some confused glances from their co-workers. “No, I—I’m just tired, that’s all.”
Fiona shook her head and rubbed her arm up and down. “You are working too hard, maybe that job change will be good for you.”
Amelia just nodded, not wanting to enter into a conversation she knew she had had before and of an already finished matter. After that, the only words that she could utter during the whole day were those related to the calls at the station. The day passed in a blur as her mind screamed, every time someone talked to her she would immediately recall the same words said last week. Yes, her life was a routine and her job quite repetitive, but it couldn’t be like this, could it? She couldn’t know that, for example, her supervisor would come to her seat at 6 pm and ask her to cover Martha Tennant for the next day.
“Miss Brown?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Miss Tennant won’t be coming to work tomorrow for pressing matters with her family so you will take her place, understood?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
It took everything in her to not start screaming.
When the sound of the bell finally reached them, Amelia felt cold all over. Was she going to have the exact same conversation with Fiona again? Would she be going the next morning to buy the typewriter only for it to disappear and repeat everything again? Or was she really just going mad and the job had just finally broken her nerves?
“Hey, Mel, what’s—” Amelia walked past Fiona without stopping, without going to get her bike. The embarrassment and guilt that crept inside her were nothing compared to the frustration she had felt all day.
Striding quickly through the pavement and constantly bumping into the other workers, the first thing she noticed was the street-lights blinking again. She stood there then, staring at the two strangers at the other side of the street, and then she took a deep breath and crossed through.
“You,” she hissed, nearly out of breath. “You two were in my house last night.”
The woman stared at her because of course, everything she was saying might be a complete lunacy, even if those two were still looking like they had come out from some medieval play.
“You… How are you able to remember?”
“Remember what? That he was talking about knocking down my door last night?” Amelia pointed at the man, who stood appropriately silent behind the girl, though his expression didn’t show an ounce of remorse for scaring the shit out of her. “What is all of this? Did you rob me last night or the day before I’m quite sure that things don’t just vanish from one’s home! Did you drug me or something and that’s why I can’t tell the bloody days straight?!”
“Mel? Is everything alright? Who are those?” Fiona’s voice made her step back, realising she had been shouting. Turning around, she saw her friend guiding both their bikes on her sides.
“Can she see you?”
“By now she must be able to,” the girl answered, “our means of hiding can’t last forever, not in a place like this.”
“What will happen to her?” Amelia whispered horror and resentment at her own selfishness rising at the thought of her friend. “Why doesn’t she notice any of this?”
“She can’t,” the man’s voice made her turn around. “None of them will ever notice, this is how their world works. We only notice because we are not from it.”
Amelia didn’t need him to clarify that by ‘we’ he also meant her, but she refrained herself from expressing whatever left of the hysteria that was still pressing inside of her. Right now, something told her that Fiona wouldn’t understand any of this, even if this might just be her going mad enough to trust two strangers that tried to break into her flat.
So she did, the kind thing, the easy thing and walked back to her friend, apologising for being rude earlier, saying that the man and the woman were family friends – because no way she could pass them as relatives – that had come to stay at her mother’s request and that she had forgotten of their visit because of the work.
Fiona stared at them from the distance, her pretty face pasted in disbelief.
“Why are they dressed like that?”
“Well, they are from Scotland, darling.” The lie was so bad that it made her stomach twist. But it was close enough; the man sounded Scottish or something close. “They are just used to dressing heavier in this part of the year.”
“You’re sure you are all right? I heard you screaming at them.”
“They just surprised me, you know how I hate disorder,” she said and kissed her friend on the cheek. “Thank you for getting my bike, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“See you,” Fiona mumbled, not convinced but finally letting her go. Amelia tried to not turn around as she walked toward them; Fiona wasn’t the one who could disappear if she did.
“We’re going to my house,” she said with gritted teeth and the woman let out a sigh of relief. “You are going to explain to me what the hell is going on.”