Chapter Thirty-Three

“No? That’s it? Just, no? You don’t have any theories? Research? How can you definitively say no? What kind of expert are you?” Moira said, slamming her hands against the table. Her heart raced. There had to be something. Some way for her to get home. He had to be wrong.

Torcull stood up from his chair, quietly this time, and walked to a desk hidden in a tight corner of the room. He dug around in the desk, collecting papers and placing them in a neat pile.

Moira slumped back in her chair, suddenly embarrassed.

Torcull dutifully returned to the table, carrying a mountainous pile of papers. He set them down on the table.

“This is my research on a single Outworlder theory. All of this. That is how thorough my work is. I have boxes and boxes of research on the arrival of Outworlders, the theory behind why they’re sent. I even have firsthand accounts of the gods discussing how Outworlders are brought to this world. None of it has anything to indicate anyone returning home. I have no theories of a way back. Only theories as to why it’s impossible. I have done my research, Moira.”

Torcull entwined his hands on the table and stared at her through his glasses.

“Nothing?” she whispered.

“There is nothing. All my theories and research—as you said, indicate that when Outworlders are transported here, their connection to their world snaps and breaks. Their bodies are destroyed through the process and their souls are carried through and remade into new beings. There is no going back. The strain on the soul is immense.”

“Destroyed and remade?”

The blue portal. The intense pain she’d felt, like she’d been dissolved into pieces, it’d really happened. She’d been remade. Duke had been remade. She truly wasn’t human anymore. That thought hit her hard, like her sense of self had just crumbled beneath her.

“Yes. It’s why your race is listed as an Outworlder. Because the system no longer recognizes your new body as human.”

She felt her heart breaking, like her past was slipping through her fingers. She scrambled for anything, any sort of hope. This couldn’t be it.

Moira looked up. “My race isn’t listed.” She’d figured it was just an error in the system because she was an Outworlder, but maybe... maybe it was a way home.

“You must be mistaken.” Torcull stared at her sympathetically.

Another rush of anger flooded through her system.

“I’m not,” she said, gritting her teeth. She wouldn’t be treated as some delicate damsel in distress. She wasn’t a child. And she wasn’t mistaken.

“Miss. That’s just not possible. If it doesn’t say you’re an Outworlder, then you both must be mistaken. The system is never wrong.”

“Well, it’s wrong this time.”

He reached toward her arm. She yanked it away, crossing her arms under the table. He gave her another sympathetic look. “What does it say?”

“It says it’s Unavailable.”

Torcull leaned forward, his glasses perched on the tip of his nose. “Unavailable.” He strode toward the table of figurines and picked up the porcelain Morrigan. “Interesting.”

“Does it mean there is a way home? That there’s a chance I’m not really an Outworlder?”

“I’m sorry. No, it doesn’t change what I said. You can only make that crossing once.”

Moira stood, knocking her chair to the ground. She didn’t bother to pick it up as she strode out of the building and away from Torcull.

The anger in her sputtered out as she walked out the door. A wave of emotion slammed into her as she stumbled into an alley.

Her head pounded. There was no going back. She would never see her family again. They’d never know what happened to her. She’d just be gone.

A small sob escaped her.

Her world was crumbling down around her as the last hope she’d had of making it back home disappeared.

The worst part—some messed up part of her felt relieved. Like a weight had been lifted. Guilt twisted in her stomach, and she fell to her knees and heaved, vomiting onto the stone path.

“Moira?”

Another sob escaped.

Warm arms enveloped her, pulling her away from the alley. Away from the vomit and the guilt and whatever else lurked in the darkness.

Cyrus pulled her into his arms, brushing the hair from her face.

Her teeth chattered uncontrollably. She hadn’t noticed how cold she felt.

“Moira.”

Cyrus tilted her chin up, so she was staring him in the eyes. His lips were pinched into a tight line.

“You’re okay.”

She shivered, fighting back against him.

“Moira, look at me.” He shook her once, dragging her attention back to his face. “You are okay. You will be okay. This isn’t the end.”

“I—I won’t see them again. I’m trapped here,” she said through breaking sobs.

“Listen to me. You are not alone. We are all here for you. Me, Sloane, Myles, Ethan—we’re your family now.”

Moira found herself nodding along to him.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a tight hug. His head rested on top of her. Hers sat situated against his hard chest. She could hear the thump, thump of his heart beating.

She closed her eyes, letting herself take in his scent, pine and smoke. Her breathing slowed, and the shaking stopped.

He pulled away too soon.

“We are here, Mo.”

“They won’t know,” she whispered.

His voice softened. “Who?”

“My Mom, my brothers. They won’t know what happened to me. I’ll have just—disappeared one day.”

He brushed his thumb against her cheek, catching a tear. “You’re right. They won’t know. But they will live. They’ll wonder and search, and then they’ll grieve you. But I can guarantee, whether or not they know, they’d want you to live your life. They’ll wish against all hope that you’re out there somewhere. And that you’re happy. You can’t let them down, Mo. Because you’ve already fulfilled that wish. You are out there. Now you just need to find a way to claim your happiness.”

The twist in her stomach loosened. She brushed her fingers against the engraving on her bracelet.

She nodded, brushing the snot and tears from her face.

“Do you want to go back to the house?” he asked.

“No.” She met his gaze. “I need a distraction. I can’t just go back there and sit in these feelings.”

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The side of his mouth twitched up. “I know just the place.

#

They could hear the drunken yelling a street away. Cyrus opened the creaky wooden door, holding it open for her. It was a dinky old bar with faded, peeling red paint and wobbly wooden tables.

Her shoes stuck to the floor from years of spilled beer. She turned to Cyrus. “This is perfect.”

The place was packed with drunk dwarves. Tables were smooshed together and crowded with chairs. Red lights hung from the ceiling, giving the place a red eerie glow.

A rotund dwarf with blond braided hair stood on a low stage, microphone in hand. He waved his arm and the thump of drums, and the notes of a fiddle began. The dwarf took a deep breath and started singing off-key.

Moira clamped her hands over her ears at the grumbling off-pitch singing.

The crowd cheered, raising their glasses as he belted out the lyrics to the song.

Moira looked up at Cyrus. “Karaoke?”

“The dwarves are known for their karaoke bars.”

Moira couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Singing dwarves, who knew?

Cyrus grabbed her hand and tugged her towards a table situated in the back of the bar. Drinks were quickly passed their way, and Moira grabbed one and tossed it back, chugging the beer.

The dwarf was still singing, dragging the corded microphone with him as he stumbled across the stage. As the dwarf finally finished and bowed deeply. The entire bar rose to their feet and clapped boisterously.

As a female dwarf approached the mic, Moira turned to Cyrus. “So, how does it work? I don’t see any musicians.”

“See the dwarf back there,” he gestured to the back corner of the bar, where a dwarf stood with a mischievous smile on his face. “He’s the owner and a bard. Dwarven bards have developed a skill just for karaoke. All you have to do is think of a song, and he’ll create the music. It’s a highly coveted skill among the dwarves.”

Moira watched as the bard gestured towards the dwarf on the stage. She nodded back to him, and a piano started playing.

Her head felt lighter, and she swayed to the music.

This time, the song was slow and sensual. She sang of two lovers who’d been separated by circumstance. Her voice was soft and ethereal, drawing them in. Several dwarves burst into tears, sobbing into their beer mugs. As her song ended, the crowd was silent for a second before everyone stood and cheered their glasses to her. The dwarf blushed and bowed.

Another drink was passed to her, and she took a large gulp, closing her eyes as another song began playing.

She leaned against Cyrus, breathing him in. When she opened her them again, she noticed his striking brown eyes staring back at her. Her breath caught; the bar seemed to fade into the background as their eyes met.

The song ended, and the bar leaped to their feet clapping, breaking them free from the moment. Cyrus leaned in, whispering in her ear, “How about we join in on the fun—I want to hear a song from your world.” His voice sent chills down her back.

Moira threw back her head, letting the alcohol take over. She didn’t want to think about anything. She just wanted to turn her brain off for a moment. Moira reached toward her beer and finished it off.

“I’ll go up if you do—but you have to go first.” She grinned.

“Deal.” He pulled her towards the stage. “Now, you can’t get out of this. I’ll be watching you.”

He strode up to the stage, bypassing the stairs, and leaping onto the stage and grabbing the mic. He gestured to the bard in the back. Music started playing, floating throughout the room. Cyrus winked at her and sang.

Someone could only categorize the song as a rock ballad. An electric guitar started to play, the steady thump of drums in the background.

He drew in the crowd with the song, raising the energy in the room.

But he sang only to her, his eyes never leaving hers. His smile made her heart flutter. She didn’t stamp down those feelings as she normally would have.

As the music faded away, he bowed deeply to the crowd, winking again at Moira.

The dwarves cheered in a drunken standing ovation.

He clapped his hands together. “Thank you. Now, welcome to the stage—Moira.” He swept his arm toward her.

She walked up the steps, and he held out his hand to her. She took it, stepping onto the stage.

She had quite the act to follow. But she knew just the song to rile up the dwarves. The perfect karaoke song, straight from the late 1970s, Moira gestured toward the bard, focusing on her song, just like she’d seen Cyrus do.

Moira froze as a familiar guitar rift began to play, along with the sound of a tapping foot, echoing softly like a metronome in the background. A song she hadn’t heard in two years. A song she’d avoided like the plague.

Moira stared down at the microphone in her shaking hands. She couldn’t do it. Not this song. Not today.

She started toward the edge of the stage. Cyrus stopped her, hands firmly on her arms.

“Come on. You can do it. You just watched me make a fool of myself up there.”

“No. You don’t understand. This isn’t the song I chose.”

He looked back at the bard. “Maybe it’s the song you’re supposed to hear.” He gently but forcefully pushed her back onto center stage just as the beginning guitar piece to Blackbird started playing again.

Moira clutched the microphone close, holding it like a security blanket as she quietly began to sing the familiar words. The words her father sang to her almost every night before bed. Blackbird had become their special song. His lullaby to her.

Her dad had loved The Beatles. He’d listened to their albums on repeat in his art studio, a shed in the back corner of the yard, with baby blue paint peeling off the old wood siding.

He’d scream-sing Eleanor Rigby and Yellow Submarine into the air as he threw paint against a canvas. Her Dad had never been much of a singer, but that hadn’t stopped him. When she was little, she’d watch him paint, sitting in the banana yellow beanbag, that always sat in the middle of the room. As she’d gotten older, they’d scream and dance to songs while splashing paint against whatever project he was working on.

But Blackbird, he’d always said that was her song. That she was his little blackbird.

That last phone call. They’d been arguing about her grades and school. A common argument between the two of them in those last few months. He’d wanted her to switch majors, to find something she was passionate about. Moira hadn’t known what she wanted. Still didn’t. And she’d lashed out, telling him she wanted to be more than an artist who could barely make enough for a cup of coffee.

She could remember the way he’d sighed, the hurt in his voice.

As she continued to sing in that dirty dwarven bar, his last words replayed in her mind.

“Oh, Mo—all I want is for you to learn to fly.”

Those words hit her hard. It was too difficult to admit to herself how true it was. That she was flapping her wings alone on the ground, unable to fly.

Then came the car crash. And everything that came after. She’d stopped even trying to fly. Content to stay safely on the ground.

A Tear dripped from her eye as she sang the final words to the song. She could almost hear her father’s voice joining in on the last verse.

Maybe Torcull was right. Maybe she had lost her connection to Earth, let it fade away as she’d hidden from the world. Her stomach clenched with guilt. It’d felt like she’d been waiting her whole life for something to happen. Just slipping through life, waiting for a moment to arise.

Maybe Cyrus was right, too. Maybe she needed to find a little piece of happiness. That was what her dad had wanted. To find something she could be passionate about.

The guitar music faded away, and the bar was dead silent.

The bard stood up from his wobbly stool in the back of the bar and slowly clapped. Scattered claps turned into thundering applause.

Moira panted as exhaustion settled into her. It was all too much. The song. That there was no way back home. At least, none that Torcull could speculate. She needed a different distraction. The beer and the bar wasn’t enough. She needed something else. Anything to get her mind off it all.

She stumbled toward the stairs where Cyrus was waiting.

“That was-” He never got the chance to finish what he was going to say as she pulled his face toward her, smashing her lips against his in a desperately frantic way. She needed to feel something besides regret.

He stood frozen for a moment, surprised by her sudden attack. Then he softened and his lips moved in tune to hers. He pulled her close, running his hands through her hair. Her core warmed with excitement. His lips were velvety smooth, like flower petals at the beginning of spring.

Her tongue flicked against his lips in question. He opened his mouth in answer.

He felt both familiar and thrilling, like a lover she’d seen but never fully explored.

His hands traveled down her back, slipping lower. She clung to him, willing him closer. He grabbed her ass and picked her up, bringing her closer to him. She wrapped her arms around his waist as he carried her down the stairs and fully off the stage.

Hoots and hollers sounded around them as the drunken dwarves enjoyed the show.

He brought her to a dark corner, hidden in the shadows of the bar. She clawed at him as he pulled away. His eyes darkened with lust.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. Just—don’t stop,” she said, pulling his face back toward her.

He met her gaze, pulling back slightly. “Are you sure about this? You don’t seem okay.”

“Please. I need a distraction. I need to feel something. Please, Cyrus, just do this for me.” The desperation, painfully obvious in her voice.

He pulled back. His eyes flickered with hurt. “A distraction?”

“Cyrus.”

“I can’t be your distraction, Moira. I’m sorry,” he said, pulling away and setting her back on the ground.

Moira gritted her teeth. “Fine. Then I’ll find someone else.” She yanked her arm away from him and strode toward the bar. If he wasn’t willing to distract her, then she’d find someone who would.

He yanked her back toward him, pressing his forehead against hers as he sandwiched her between himself and the wall. “I’ve changed my mind.”