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Amelia

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We spent the next few hours testing the limits of Levitate. We used Dexter's wrenches as props to see just how much we could do. We found out we could fling the wrenches, though there wasn't much momentum behind it. Dexter described it as a small tap when I tried slamming one of them into him. “A toddler could probably hit harder.” He remarked. We even saw what happened when an outside force interrupted the spell. Dexter had grabbed one of the wrenches I was keeping in the air. The sensation was . . . new. . . The spell was still locked onto it, that much I knew, but it was like it was being forced by a stronger spell into a new location. “Try ripping it from my hand.” He told me. I complied. His hand moved slightly as I tried to pull the wrench from Dexter's fingers, but no luck. “Interesting,” He remarked. “I thought it would be just . . . more. It doesn't take much to resist the spell. Here, you try.” He floated one of his wrenches over to me and I plucked it from the air. He flinched as I brought the wrench closer. “That's interesting.” He said again.

I nodded as I twirled the wrench in my fingers. It put up some resistance, but not enough to stop me from moving it. “It's like the spell is interrupted by a stronger one,” I replied. I tried interpreting the information into something useful. “Doesn't make it very practical in a combat situation. At most you could pick up a small knife. However, even the sharpest knife is pointless when you don't have the force to use it. I doubt you'd be able to pierce the skin with this.”

Dexter nodded at my reasoning. “It doesn't seem very useful,” He remarked. “but it gives us some perspective.” He continued, turning to the floating wrenches. Between the two of us, there were about dozen wrenches floating in the air, not counting the two wrenches me and Dexter held. “There seems to be only so many spells we can maintain. Each one takes a level of concentration as well. Even if we're able to maintain the same spell several times over, it still drains the ambient mana if you try and overlap them.” He brought three of his wrenches close together, causing them to vibrate briefly then fall to the floor.

I nodded at the demonstration. “It makes it impossible for the same spell to affect an object twice,” I remarked.

Dexter nodded, casting levitate on the fallen wrenches. “It's a wonder Brokil was able to make such a substantial fireball with supposedly the same energy.” He countered. “You'd think making something like that would take more energy than lifting a wrench.”

I considered the idea for a minute. “What if it is?” I asked. Dexter just looked at me skeptically. “I mean, what if it is the same energy? The fireball just instantly expends the energy, while Levitate stretches it out over a minute.”

Dexter considered the notion. “The rate of energy expended affects the rate of change in the physical world.” He replied, glancing at me. I nodded. “So, if you stretch the effect of a spell over a long period of time the change it induces is much less than if you compressed the time period.”

I nodded again. “That's my theory,” I added. “and it gives me an idea of how to improve the spell.”

Dexter looked at me skeptically. “How so?” He asked.

I grinned slightly, floating one of the wrenches closer. “What if, instead of levitating ten pounds for one minute, you could levitate twenty pounds for thirty seconds or thirty pounds for twenty seconds?” I asked.

Dexter nodded as he heard my reasoning. “Compress the timeframe, squeeze a greater effect out of the one mana.” He remarked. “Though, you'd end up using the same number of mana either way. That might make the endeavor pointless.”

I shook my head. “Not if you don't give any mana to the spell.” I countered. Dexter looked at me, confused. “Think about it, if we're not actually expending any energy to keep these wrenches in the air, then why would we need to for a spell like that? We'd just need to concentrate to maintain the spell and keep using the mana discount we have.”

Dexter seemed to favor that idea. “We'd be able to use more powerful spells without using any mana.” He remarked. “Though that would mean creating our own spells, and that's not considering other spells wouldn't have the same exploit Levitate has.” I nodded at his reasoning. Dexter suddenly scrunched up his face as he seemed to consider something. “This all still seems so alien.” He remarked. “I mean, we're keeping these wrenches up with our minds. According to all known laws of physics, this shouldn't be possible.”

I nodded as I glanced at the wrenches again. “To think that an entire realm of possibility laid just beyond our reach,” I replied. “Imagine what humans could have done with a power like this. The advances we'd have made.”

Dexter nodded as he glanced at the wrenches again. “Or the terror we'd have wrought.” He countered solemnly. “Only a week in and we're already theorizing ways to improve spells. I'm hesitant to consider what someone like Leroy would've come up with.”

I nodded as I thought about the possibilities. “In the wrong hands, this kind of power would wreak havoc. They could terrorize an entire empire on a whim. Given the right knowledge and information, even a single equation, no one here would be able to stop them.” I turned to Dexter hopefully as he continued to gaze at the wrenches. “But we can counteract them. We can anticipate what he'll come up with and develop something against it.”

Dexter seemed to consider for a minute, then nodded. “Given ample time and resources, we should be able to come up with something.” He replied. “Luckily, we'll soon have plenty of both. But the problem is anticipating what exactly he's come up with. If I knew more about spells and magic I might be able to come up with half a dozen improvements, but I have no way of knowing what Leroy would have created. If I anticipate the wrong maneuver Gashur will end up facing a city of unstoppable elves. It's basically the world's most complicated game of rock paper scissors, expect the penalty of a loss is death.” I nodded again. “Even with the limited knowledge he had access to, he's had fifty years to develop new and creative ways to supply an army. They had enough resources to send cannons after me, it's not hard to imagine that that's just the tip of the iceberg. I glanced around at the floating wrenches. My hypothetical improvement would definitely benefit the orcs, but that's assuming there isn't an unforeseen penalty for such a modification.”

I shook my head and focused on Dexter again as I folded my arms in front of me again. “We'll figure it out,” I stated comfortingly. “Remember, the orcs have two humans, the elves only have one.”

Dexter let out a monotone hm as he thought. “That we know of,” Dexter replied flatly. “For all we know, there might be any number of humans in Nione. He had you, he's got Leroy, and I'm starting to guess I didn't pop out on that slope by accident.”

I furrowed my brow as I stared at him, conflicted at the idea. “What are you implying?” I asked. “That there's some malevolent force that swept us from our home?”

Dexter was silent as he seemed to consider something. “I know one thing.” He finally replied. “Once is an accident, twice is a coincidence, three times is a pattern. Plus, given that they have a name for us beyond ‘stranger', and they have a name for what brought us here, it's safe to assume the three of us aren't the only humans that made it here. Meaning it's happened enough times for it to be given a name. Make of that what you will.” I shook my head as I tried to rationalize the events. “If something brought us here, then surely they wouldn't just let us escape. If they had the power to bring us here, then they'd have the power to recapture us.”

I gestured desperately as I tried to rationalize our situation. “Then why are we still here?” I finally asked. “If they could take us from our world, then why can't they take us from here?”

Dexter was silent as he seemed to ponder something. “I don't know.” He replied. “Maybe it has something to do with whatever spell they used to bring us here. If a broken barrier can induce memory loss, then I can only imagine what conditions a spell like that would create.”

I rubbed my head as I tried to find another explanation. “If the people that evolved here developed the ability to store magical energy. . . Could it be that this planet is unnaturally saturated with mana?” “What if it's just the way the planet is?” I asked desperately. I didn't like the idea of something knowingly targeting and taking me from my home. “What if it's just the condition the planet is in that creates these Banestorms?”

Dexter kept a blank expression as he took another minute to think about my query. “Maybe,” He replied. “But it still denotes a pattern. I doubt we're here purely by accident. Even if we are here by accident, something must have created the conditions that randomly tear people from Earth. Spontaneous teleportation doesn't just happen.” I rubbed my head again as I tried to come up with a counter-argument. “The existence of Banestorms does go against all known facts of reality. With the existence of magic, it's a little more explainable, but the level of skill that . . . why are we arguing about this? We need to focus on Dexter's rite of passage.”

I shook my head as I re-centered myself. “We're getting off track, you still have a rite of go through before we start worrying about what brought us here,” I said quickly.

Dexter was silent for a minute, then nodded. “You're right.” He replied. “We need to stay focused. No point in debating something when there are more pressing matters.” He glanced around the barn as he seemed to think. He suddenly became fixated on one of the tables and cast Levitate as he continued. “You should ask Brokil about that modification. It's a creative improvement to an otherwise mundane spell. I can only imagine how useful it'll be.” I nodded as I watched the Rubik's cube float over.

I turned to Dexter quizzically. He said nothing as he examined the cube. “What are you thinking?” I asked.

Dexter was silent for another minute. He finally answered my question with a question. “How much can we manipulate the objects we're levitating?” He replied. “I mean, if we can lift them, surely we can affect their shape.” I turned back to the cube as I thought about his idea. “I hadn't thought of that. We can change their orientation, but we haven't tried to influence them beyond that. Although, up until now we've only been manipulating simple objects. We haven't been levitating something as complex as a Rubik's cube. “

I turned to the cube as I watched it float there.“Try it,” I voiced encouragingly. Dexter nodded as he extended his index and middle finger towards the cube. He stood there for a moment, then seemed to concentrate as he slowly rotated his hand. The Rubik's cube followed suit, turning in midair.

Dexter let out a frustrated growl then suddenly shook his head slightly and let out a sigh. “That didn't work.” He said simply. “Maybe if . . .” He directed index, middle finger and thumb downwards. After another minute he twisted them. The cube followed Dexter's movement again, spinning in place, but the face didn't turn. Dexter let out another growl. “I guess we can lift the objects, but we can't manipulate them.” He sighed.

I stared at the cube as I slowly came up with an idea. “Maybe it's the method you're using?” I suggested. Dexter turned to me and I quickly continued. “You're trying to turn the faces with one hand, right?” Dexter considered for a moment, then slowly nodded. “Well, if you weren't levitating it you'd use both hands to solve the puzzle. Maybe if you tried to translate that into the spell.”

Dexter considered for a moment, then shook his head. “That's what I'm trying to do.” He replied. “I'm anchoring the center in the air and trying to turn one side, but it's just rotating.” He suddenly turned back to one of the tables. “Try for yourself. Use one of those books.” He suggested, pointing. I turned to the table. A stack of textbooks sat on the edge of it. I nodded as I began to cast Levitate. The book lifted off the top of the stack and floated over. I positioned it so its cover faced me. I directed my palm towards it as I tried to formulate my strategy. “If one hand didn't work for Dexter, I doubt it'll work for me. So how about . . .” I raised both hands up as if the book was in my hands and not floating four feet away. I slowly moved them apart as I tried to project the motion onto the book. I felt a bit of pushback as the pages peeled back and the book slowly opened. A tingling sensation started to spread through my fingers. As if they expected to be there that just . . . wasn't. I finally let out a breath and dropped my hands as I stared at the now open book. The book froze in the air as my invisible fingers left it. The tingling sensation slowly dissipated as I rubbed my fingers together. “Well, that answers that question. It's an interesting side effect though. It's like the nerves react to the lack of expected pressure. I wonder what causes that.”

I turned to Dexter as I began to voice my discovery. “I think I got it.” Dexter and I said, almost simultaneously. I blinked as I saw one of the faces of Rubik's cube turn in the air. I noticed a similar reaction on Dexter when he saw the open book in the air.

Dexter grinned and let out a short laugh as he saw the book. “I guess we should have paid attention to each other,” Dexter remarked, breaking the silence. He gestured to the book as he floated the cube around his hand. “You go first, your solution is probably more interesting than mine.”

I nodded as I glanced at Dexter's clutching hand. “Well it's like I said before, I had to use two hands to manipulate the book. I think trying to physically affect a turn might have overruled any non-physical effects you were projecting onto the cube.”

Dexter was silent as he seemed to consider my words. “I guess that makes sense.” He finally replied. “A mental projection of action would logically be weaker without an accompanying motion. I guess that's why this works.” He suddenly turned back to the cube and began rotating one of the faces. His thumb and middle finger remained still while his index finger flexed, causing the side to turn. He rotated the face all the way around before he turned back to me. “That answers that question.” He continued. “Though, it makes the spell kind of pointless if we have to add motion to the actions. We might as well pick the thing up and manipulate it ourselves.”

I thought about it for a minute, then shook my head. “Maybe not.” Dexter turned to me, confused. I closed the floating book as I explained. “If I can get that modification working, we might be able to use Levitate to alter something we couldn't alter ourselves.”

Dexter seemed to think for a minute. “You think it'll be proportional?” He asked. “If it can lift more, do you think it'll be able to do that?”

I shrugged, bringing the book into my hands. “There's only one way to find out,” I replied. “Plus, if the barrier can improve with repeated failure, then maybe Levitate can also improve with repeated use. If we practice enough, we might not need to add motion at all.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Dexter was silent for another minute, then nodded again. “You've got a point there,” He said, glancing at his watch. “but it's getting late. We should think about turning in. We can test the spell a bit more in the morning. For now, we should rest up. We want to be ready for when we continue training next week.”

I nodded as I set the book on a table and stretched. “We can give this some more thought after we get some sleep,” I said, moving the wrenches back over to the bucket. I helped Dexter pack up before crawling into bed. “Hopefully, whatever Dexter is going through isn't going to spiral out of control. He needs to be focused on his rite of passage.” I drifted off to sleep with one more thought floating through my mind. “We can deal with whatever comes after, but he needs to get through this first.”

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I lounged lazily on a blanket overlooking a grassy field. The sun radiated softly through the green leaves, warming the air around me. I could hear birds chirping softly in the distance. A small forest sat off to my left and radiated a lush green hue. I sat there as I enjoyed the warm air, feet gently tilting from side to side. I heard a noise a short way away and turned to the source. Dexter and Bailey sat on a neighboring blanket, chatting nonchalantly. Her dark hair drifted slightly in the wind. A picnic basket sat beside them. I watched as Dexter reached into the basket, pulled out an orange, and offered it to her. I watched as she smiled, displaying oversized canines, and leaned forward to bite into the strawberry. I suddenly heard a noise behind me and turned to identify it. I looked up and saw Dexter standing above me, autumn leaves giving a stark contrast to his blue eyes. “Mind if I join you?” He asked, holding up a basket of his own. I quickly glance back at the other blanket, finally noticing that Dexter's hazel eyes.

I turned back to the Dexter beside me as I stammered out a response. “S-sure.” He grinned as he sat down. He placed the basket between us and began rummaging through it. I rubbed my bare hands together as my face started to chill in the cold air. Dexter finally pulled out a plate wrapped in foil and handed it to me. I reached out with my gloved hands and took the mug. I looked inside at the steaming brown liquid. Dexter pulled out a second mug of hot cocoa, bringing it to his lips and sipping. I followed suit as I looked out over the snowy field. The bare trees were sticking out from the snow like clutching hands, bending slightly in the wind. The warm chocolate slid smoothly down my throat, filling my stomach with its warmth.

“You think your modification will work?” Dexter suddenly asked. I jumped slightly at the unexpected question.

I held the mug close to my face, trying to protect against the cold air, as I considered his question. “Maybe,” I finally replied. “But I don't know enough about magic to give a definitive answer. For all I know, it could turn out like that barrier spell.”

Dexter tilted his head, confused. “What barrier spell?” He asked, voice distorting near the end. I paused as I turned to stare at him. Something about that sat very wrong with me. I lifted the mug to my lips again, in hopes of delaying an answer, but nothing flowed out, prompting me to lower it again. The liquid inside was frozen solid, with a small layer of frost coating the top. “What barrier spell?” Dexter asked again in that distorted voice. It was like he had a tickle in his throat that he was completely oblivious to.

I paused as I noticed his mug was still steaming. “You know the one,” I said a little defensively. “The one you had a tantrum over.” I jumped slightly as Dexter's face suddenly morphed, overlapping with itself as it seemed to try and decide which emotion to display.

After a second it settled on recognition and he finally replied. “Ah yes, that barrier spell.” His distorted voice said. It barely sounded like Dexter anymore. It was deeper and seemed to reverberate off invisible walls. I felt extremely uneasy. “But as a reminder, could you explain your modification again?” He asked quickly, seeming to sense my discomfort. I was tempted to answer, but my instincts told me otherwise. I sat there for a minute, hoping for something to change. Dexter grinned slightly and put his hand on my shoulder. “Come on, you can trust me. I'm your friend.” His voice changed again, it no longer sounded disturbing. It was more relaxing, comforting even. “Just tell me how you'll improve that spell,” Dexter said again. I sat there, overwhelmed by the urge to tell him.

I finally relented and turned to begin explaining but was interrupted as a muffled scream reverberated through the forest. I jumped to my feet and turned to where Dexter and Bailey were. The scene before me was pure chaos. The blanket was twisted and crumpled in the snow. The snow itself was trampled, scattered footprints and indents dotted the landscape. A trail of footprints led into the forest. “Dexter!” I cried, sprinting towards the trail. The snow beneath me crumpled with each step, slowing my progress.

I heard the voice behind me shout. “Wait! Get back here. You haven't told me about the improvement!” It cried. A similar feeling as before was over me, encouraging me to obey him, but I ignored it. I ran as quickly as I could, following the footprints deep into the forest. The twisted and mangled trees grew higher as I followed the trail. Each step was agonizingly slow, causing me to sink deeper into the snow. I heard the shout again, this time it sounded angry, and I tried desperately to go faster. I was practically wading through the snow when I finally came to a clearing. I saw two figures in the middle of the field. One seemed to be made of pure black stone and larger than life. The other was Dexter, equally as large as the stone figure. They grappled roughly with each other as they both tried to throw the other into the snow.

I reached out an arm to them as I sank further in the white powder. “Dexter!” I shouted, trying to get his attention. He ignored me as he continued to punch the opposing figure. Every blow caused shockwaves to wash over me. I waded desperately closer as the snow continued to rise.

I could hear snippets of conversation as Dexter seemed to bellow at the figure. “would've hurt . . . . irrational . . . . pointless . . . . detriment . .” The stone figure said nothing as it continued to grapple with Dexter. I suddenly felt the snow beneath me give way and I sank to my waist in snow.

I reached towards the two figures, desperate to stop them. “Dexter!” I cried again. He didn't seem to hear me. He just continued to slam into the black figure. I was close enough to make out the details of the figures. Dexter was cut in multiple places, staining the snow around him with blood. The black figure seemed to be cracked in several places. Chips of stone were falling from it as it and Dexter continued to struggle. I tried to pull myself out of the snow, but I just sank further. I let out a yelp as the snow around me suddenly turned to quicksand. The sand stuck to my body as it plunged my legs into a tingly warmth. I continued to struggle as I tried to pull myself out of this steadily rising trap. I reached out again, this time desperate for help. “Dexter!” I shouted.

He didn't react at all. He just continued to pummel the stone figure, the shockwaves causing me to sink faster. I heard a few more words before my head sank below the soil. “rest day . . . dress clothes . . . funeral . . .” Despite my proximity, Dexter still sounded far away, like I was listening to him through a tube. I began to suffocate as the sand smothered me, blocking my ability to breathe. I struggled to swim upwards as Dexter’s words echoed in my head. “That just doesn’t make sense. Why would they be fighting about dress clothes? Unle-” Despite the smothering sand, I took in a sharp breath as I finally realized what was happening. “This is a dream!”

I sat bolt upright in bed, panting. The air around me was freezing, causing each breath to chill my lungs. I clenched my eyes shut again as I tried to push the dream out of my conscious mind. “Great, now I'm having nightmares. The last thing I need is to worry abo-” bam A loud noise interrupted my train of thought. I immediately looked up at the ceiling. The boards making up the floor of the loft blocked my view of the source, but I could tell who was making the noise. I could even hear a few words floating down. “won't help . . freeze . .” I turned and slipped out of bed. The floor was just as cold as the air. The only semblance of warmth was the bed I was leaving behind. “A cold front must have come through.” I thought, pulling my hair into its usual ponytail. I stepped out into the barn and looked up at the loft. I could see the back of Dexter's head. He seemed intently focused on his task, oblivious to the ruckus he was making. I let out a sigh and moved to climb the ladder. I heard Dexter mutter to himself again as I reached the top. “This still seems kind of pointless. I'm just punching this post. . . . I know what Bruce Lee said, but there's not enough time to practice that much.” I poked my head above the edge and saw Dexter, shirtless, standing in front of one of the beams jutting from the floor. “What, you expect to be able to take out an animal with this?” He proceeded to punch the post, causing his muscles to flex. I paused, mildly impressed.

Dexter didn't look athletic. His body glistened with sweat. Small trails of wispy hair descended from his back. Whatever muscles hugging his torso were covered by a small layer of fat, though he seemed to tire a bit slower than average and his arms told another story. Every movement of his hand seemed to ripple across his bulging forearms. His biceps seemed to swell from the rest of his arm, and his deltoids looked like deflated balloons. Overall, he looked better than the orcs around us, he was more defined and the hairs covering his body were sparser than theirs. He even had less fat than the weightlifting orcs, but there was room for improvement. Dexter continued rambling as I stood there and watched him. “Even that was painful. There's no way that'll work in the arena. . . . Wearing a gauntlet isn't going to make it any better. It'd still have to be hard enough t-” He suddenly froze like a deer in headlights as he turned and saw me. “Hi.” He said calmly. I said nothing as I waved at him. “How long have you been watching?” He asked hesitantly.

I climbed the rest of the way up as I answered. “Just a minute or two,” I replied, brushing myself off. “How long have you been up?”

Dexter shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “Ten minutes at most.” He replied flatly. “I decided to work out a bit before I go looking for my clothes for tomorrow.”

I tilted my head as I looked at his sweat speckled body. “That's a lot of sweat for a few minutes of exercise,” I remarked.

Dexter nodded as he wiped his forearm. “My family has overactive sweat glands.” He explained. “It only takes a few minutes for us to work up a sweat.”

I scrunched up my nose at the thought. “Ew,” I remarked.

Dexter nodded as he wiped away the sweat on his neck. “My thoughts exactly,” He said, wiping his other forearm. “but there's nothing I can do about it so I just live with it. At this point, I'm used to it. Most of this is from the hammock anyway.”

I furrowed my brows as I felt a chilly breezy rush through the loft. “You're not cold?” I asked, shivering.

Dexter shook his head as he shrugged. “Again, most of the sweat is from all the blankets I piled on the hammock.” He replied. “I think this is just what's left condensing on my skin.” I nodded as I watched him wipe his other forearm. “It's not that cold anyway. I'll just have to pull out my long sleeve shirt when I'm done.”

I nodded again as I glanced down at the tables below. “You sure you'll be able to find something for the funeral?” I asked.

Dexter was silent for a minute, then slowly nodded. “I know I packed something more appropriate.” He finally replied. “It's just a matter of finding them.” I nodded again as I glanced at the chair that had become our laundry hamper. “That dress thing should be on the bottom. Though the colors are so ugly. I'm almost tempted to just go in black shorts and one of Dexter's dark T-shirts.” Dexter's voice interrupted my inner dialogue. “You sure you'll be fine with that tunic?” He asked.

I thought about it for another second, remembering who it came from. “I think so.” I finally replied. “The only problem I have with it is the color. It's a little bright for a funeral.”

Dexter shrugged, glancing down at the tables as well. “The orcs won't notice anyway.” Hecountered. “Whatever we wear, they'll probably think it's part of our culture. . . . It just doesn't feel right to go to a funeral is such casual attire.”

I nodded as I glanced at the jeans he was still wearing. “What about your jeans?” I asked. “How long before we need to start washing the clothes we've used?”

Dexter let out a small hm as he glanced down at his denim-clad legs. “A few days at the latest.” He replied, rubbing the deep blue navy of his pants. “I might spend some time today searching through that spellbook for a water jet spell.”

I nodded as I moved back over to the ladder. “Well, don't work yourself too hard,” I said, beginning to climb down. “You don't want to tire yourself out before the rite.”

A brief grin flashed across Dexter's face before he returned to his neutral expression. “I'll just be a few more minutes.” He assured me. I nodded as I disappeared over the edge. I dropped to the floor and turned to the mess of tables and chairs. “Might as well clean up a bit, once I get my wardrobe sorted out.”

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Our rest day was, thankfully, uneventful. I pulled out the dress that bastard elf had given me. The fabric was some type of wool. From what I knew about fabrics it seemed to be woven in such a way as to reduce tearing. It was magnitudes better than the animal skins the orcs wore, but still rough and uncomfortable by modern standards. After a week of sitting in the pile, it had become dry and wrinkly. I looked over as I heard Dexter climb down from the loft. His usual T-shirt was replaced by another grey long-sleeve shirt, protecting him against the chilly air. He didn't say anything as he moved over to the last box of clothes behind his car and out of my line of sight. I left him alone as I busied myself with my own outfit. I draped it on one of the open tables and did my best to smooth it out. “If I end up making clothes for the orcs, the next thing to do would be reinventing their methods of wash. A decent detergent would go a long way in preserving the fabrics.” Once I was finished reorienting the dress, I started looking for everything else I'd need for the funeral.

I scavenged about for some footwear I could borrow from Dexter. I'd spent the last two weeks going barefoot, but that was starting to wear on my feet. “Dexter already has the shoes he's wearing and judging from all the extra clothing those aren't his only pair.” I searched through the tables of stuff until I found a pair of worn-out sneakers. “They're a bit big,” I thought, holding the shoe up to my own foot. “but it's better than walking around barefoot.” I placed them with the dress as I went to check on Dexter.

As I turned the corner, I saw him rummaging through his own box. He'd already pulled out more T-shirts, some with their price tags still attached, and was just pulling out a new pair of dark blue khakis. “Find what you were looking for?” I asked.

Dexter glanced at me as he put the pants in a separate pile. “Right where I expected them to be.” He replied in his monotone voice, reaching into the box and pulling out a dark red button-up shirt. He seemed a little upset as he stared at the folded shirt. It started to dawn on me how important this event must be to him. He placed it with the khakis and reached into the box again. “Fortunately, I went for a dark color scheme.” He continued as he pulled out a shoebox. He turned to me as he opened the box, pulling a pair of . . I think they're called oxfords . . out of it. They were a dark brown color, had thick rubber soles, and faux laces lining the top. Dexter placed them with the other clothes as he tossed the box on another table. “What about you?” He asked. “You find what you need?”

I nodded as I gestured to the table behind me, the dress and sneakers resting peacefully there. “I found your old sneakers,” I replied. “I don't know if you've noticed, but bare feet doesn't ring as funeral attire.”

Dexter nodded as he glanced down at my exposed toes. “You can keep them after the funeral.” He said, gesturing dismissively. “For the funeral, you can borrow these.” He showed me the shoes he was wearing, a newer version of the shoes I'd found. “As for the difference in foot size, we can just stuff some socks in them.”

I nodded again, smiling up at Dexter as I tried to gauge his mental state. “You going to be okay?” I suddenly asked. “It is a funeral we're attending.”

Dexter was silent for a minute as he stared off. “It's something I need to do.” He finally replied, not meeting my gaze. “My feelings about it don't matter.”

I shook my head as I let out a sigh. “They do matter,” I assured him. “Because at the end of the day it's you who's going to be dealing with them. It's not healthy to just bottle up your emotions.”

Dexter shook his head defiantly. “Then I'll deal with them.” He growled. “I don't need advice on how I should feel.” He turned and walked away before I could try and console him. I stood there as I tried to piece together what he was feeling. “Is he starting to feel responsible? What about his personalities? Are they starting to clash?” A thousand questions ran through my head with no real answer to any of them. I let out a sigh as I turned back to my own task. “I'll just have to wait until he decides to open up to me.”

Dexter spent the day avoiding me. The only interaction we had was during our regular meal time, where we ate in silence as we shared another platter of ribs and bread. He spent the rest of the day flipping through the spellbook as he tried to find the spell he'd mentioned earlier. As for me, I decided to tidy the place up a bit. We had tracked two weeks' worth of dirt and dust around the barn, leaving several books to sit in the mess. I found an old broom in one of the stables and spent the day sweeping out as much dirt as I could. The sun was already starting to set by the time I was finished. I leaned the broom on the door frame as I turned to where Dexter was still standing, gazing intently at the book in front of him. “He's been avoiding me all day. I hope he's not planning something stupid. I'd try and approach him, but he's been great at moving before I could talk to him. The only thing I can do is wait for him to cool down.” I went to bed that night not having spoken another word to Dexter that day. I stared up at the boards as the severity of tomorrow dawn on me. “Dexter is going to be saying goodbye to Shel for good, whether he wants to or not.”