Chapter Thirty-Two

Moira cleaned up in the small bathroom attached to the room she shared with Sloane. Sloane snored like a train on the bed. Not wanting to bother her, she nodded her head towards the door. Duke hopped up and padded after her.

Moira gently closed the door and tiptoed away from the room. She turned the corner and she stopped.

“I don’t understand, where’s Achlys?”

Moira froze, and she began to turn around when Elise spoke again. “Oh, honey, did you split up?”

Suddenly it was like she’d found the missing piece as she realized why Ethan had seemed so broken-hearted. He hadn’t just lost a friend; he’d lost his partner. She kicked herself for not putting it together sooner.

Her heart broke further when she heard him whisper. “He’s dead.”

A loud gasp escaped the living room.

Moira swallowed. She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. She coughed loudly and stepped into the room.

Ethan was red-faced, and Elise had a hand on her mouth. They both turned as she entered the room.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. Sloane’s sleeping so I just thought I’d let her be, but I can go?”

Ethan wiped his face.

Elise jumped up, forcing a fake smile. “No, of course not. You’re a guest. Sit down, please.”

Moira eyed the door and shifted uncomfortably. “No, that’s okay. Duke needs to get out, anyway. He, uh, can’t stand to be cooped up.”

Duke whined in support.

“You heard.” Ethan said dryly.

“Yeah.”

“You might as well sit.”

Moira glanced at the door again, looking for a way out. She wasn’t really one for emotional conversations. She kept herself blocked off, couldn’t handle all the feelings that welled up.

Elise jumped to her feet. “I’ll go get some drinks.”

Moira sighed and sat down on the chair across from him.

“I’m sorry,” she said simply.

“It’s not your fault he died.”

“I know, but—still.”

He nodded. There was nothing else to say. Nothing else someone really could say. They both knew that.

“Did they know you two were together?” she finally asked.

“No. I wanted to keep it private. Relationships are hard in Quest groups. Groups get torn apart and trust breaks down. Your partner becomes your priority over the group.”

Moira nodded. “Achlys wanted to tell them. He never liked the idea of lying.” Ethan looked down at his hands, regret filling his eyes.

A loud cough came from behind. “Achlys always had a big mouth.” Myles strode into the room, sitting down beside Ethan. Cyrus leaned against the wall.

“What?”

“He told us the first time you two kissed. He could never keep a secret,” Myles said.

“Yeah, he uh—was very descriptive about your relationship.” Cyrus rubbed his hair.

Ethan put his face in his hands, sobbing. Myles set his hand on Ethan’s shoulder. The sound grew louder, and he lifted his head. He was laughing. Tears spewed from his eyes, his face beet red, as he laughed.

Moira watched, partly horrified. “Are you okay?”

“He—I, we.” He lost it again, falling into uncontrollable laughter. After another minute, he could finally talk. “He swore to me he wouldn’t tell anyone, and after he died... well, I didn’t know how to talk to you guys. How to tell you we’d been together and lied to you about it.” Another tear slid down his face as his laughter faded. “I should’ve known he couldn’t keep it a secret.”

“I mean... it was Achlys, Ethan. What did you expect?” Myles said wryly.

Ethan smiled weakly.

Cyrus sat down on the coffee table across from Ethan. “We’ll get revenge one day. We’ll kill that creature. For Achlys.”

Ethan took a deep breath and nodded. A new fire in his eyes.

The door opened, and they all turned as a male harpy entered. “Ethan?” he said in surprise.

After a round of introductions, they sat around the dearg wood table, with food heaped on their plates. Sloane had peeked her head in at the commotion and sat beside Moira.

The harpy was Sam, Ethan’s father, and a member of the Council.

Dinner continued with light conversation about how they’d all been and where they’d travel, but as everyone finished, Sam turned toward Cyrus, his face turning serious.

“You’ve requested an audience with the Council?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I heard mention of void beasts. That they’d attacked a town near here?”

“It’s true,” Ethan said.

“And they weren’t the only ones. We received a quest several months back to take down a dragon. When we arrived, we discovered it was a void beast. And now, with the attack on Parvus—we think someone is creating a rift and summoning them,” Cyrus said darkly.

Sam leaned closer. “You can’t really believe they were void beasts? They haven’t been seen in a millennium.”

“They were. Everyone bitten, dissolved into dust.”

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“Dad. It killed Achlys.”

Sam turned to Ethan despair written plainly on his face. Light shuttered out in his eyes as he looked fully at his son for the first time since arriving home. He seemed to finally notice how Ethan sat hunched slightly with dark shadows under his eyes. How grief dripped off him.

Sam leaned back in his chair, his voice darkened. “We’ll have to broach this carefully with the Council. They’ll be inclined to brush it off as over eager Questers trying to drum up excitement.”

“We brought a villager with us, one that has family here. He can corroborate our story.”

“Good. We’ll need that. In the meantime, I’ll go talk with some of my connections. Prepare them.” He stood up, nodding to Cyrus. He placed a hand on Ethan’s shoulder as he left, as if imparting a silent prayer.

Moira squirmed in her chair. The energy in the room felt suffocating. She flexed her hands, willing herself to calm down. Cyrus was focused on the void beasts and the Council, but she’d only joined them here for one reason—to find a way home.

She knew it wasn’t fair to ask after the expert now, with everything going on, but her heart couldn’t handle leaving her family without knowing what happened to her.

How her mom would take charge, plan searches, call the police, and the news. How her brothers would come home to stay with their mom. How their world would be bent a little bit more by her loss. It’d already been bent enough; she couldn’t be the reason it broke.

Cyrus rose, pushing his chair back from the table.

She grabbed his arm. “What about your Outworlder expert? You promised that if I came with you, you’d help me find a way home. It’s time to fulfill your end of the bargain.”

He drew his hand back as if he was going to brush her off again, but then he stopped as he met her gaze. His eyes softened, and he gave in. “Okay. You’re right. I just hoped you’d reconsider. You saw what happened to Parvus.”

Moira swallowed, guilt bubbling up as she was reminded of Gemma and her little boy. That while this wasn’t her world, there were still innocent people. Could she really leave them? Could she handle that on her conscience?

She pushed her chest out, willing herself to exude the calm confidence that Cyrus always seemed to have. “I need to know if there’s a way back home. I have to know. You can’t make this decision for me.”

Cyrus reached down, brushing a stray hair from her face. She shivered at his gentle touch. “Okay. I’ll take you now.”

Moira followed Cyrus down winding staircases and dark hallways. Night had fallen, and floating lanterns lit the way. His shoulder brushed up against hers as they made their way through an especially narrow passageway.

Duke had stayed back at the house with Sloane, enjoying a quiet night being pampered by the young elf.

“How do you know this expert, again?” she asked.

“He’s a friend of my father’s.”

“Is your father an academic?”

Cyrus pushed back his hair. “No. He just likes to—stay informed.”

Before she could ask any more questions, he gestured toward a short red door on the left. “We’re here.”

Cyrus held open the door, and she ducked down to enter without hitting her head. Cyrus hunched down, almost bent in half as he entered through the short door.

“Torcull. Are you in here?”

The sound of banging could be heard from a room deeper within the confines of the building.

“Torcull?” he yelled again.

More banging and the sound of muttered curses flooded the entryway.

Cyrus turned toward her. “You wait here. He can be a bit—eccentric.”

Moira nodded, and Cyrus stepped deeper into the building.

She took a moment to look around. The room was filled with knick-knacks and books, with old, mismatched furniture shoved together, making the already small room appear even smaller.

She ran her fingers along a deep bookshelf, noting the names: A Study of Time Magic and its Functionality, Barrier and Phases: A Discussion, The Total and Complete History of Caleum.

Moira coughed as a layer of dust plumed up from the shelf. She turned away, and her attention was drawn toward a small table with an eclectic collection of figurines.

Voices echoed from the back room. Moira cocked her head, listening.

“Oh, your Ma-”

“I need your expertise on something.”

“Of course. Of course. Anything. I’m at your disposal.”

“Thank you. And I’ll need your silence on this matter. Even from my father.”

“But-”

Whoever it was must have been interrupted, because all that followed was silence. Cyrus was still hiding things. As much as she wanted to trust him, she couldn’t.

She turned back to the figurines. One caught her eye, a porcelain figure swathed in a dark iridescent cloak, with pale glimmering skin, and raven black hair. Moira picked it up, feeling the downy feathers that made up its clothes. It reminded her of the Morrigan.

“Aw, I see you’ve found my collection.”

She turned, nearly dropping the figurine.

“Sorry, miss, didn’t mean to frighten you.” A dwarf stood behind her, nervously massaging a cap in his hands. He was much smaller than the other dwarves she’d met, barely reaching the top of her hip.

“No, I apologize. I almost dropped your-”

“The Morrigan.” He grabbed the figurine from her hands, adjusting his glasses as he got a better look at her. “Interesting that you picked up this particular figure.”

A less than subtle cough caused the dwarf to jump. The figurine slipped from his finger and went flying into the air. Moira leaped forward, deftly catching it in her hands.

Cyrus grabbed the figurine from her grasp, placing it gently back on the table. “Enough of that. Torcull, you said you would lend us your advice.”

Torcull placed his cap on his head, pressing it down against his ears. “Yes, sir. Of course.” He gestured toward a small table situated in an alcove next to the kitchen. “Come. Sit and we can talk.” He bustled into the kitchen. “Let me just get us some tea.”

“Torcull. It’s late. Let us talk now,” Cyrus said, bristling with impatience.

Torcull nodded, fidgeting with his hands as he settled into a seat at the table.

Moira sat down across from him, noting his nervousness around Cyrus, his need to defer to him.

“Torcull, this is Moira. Moira, this is Torcull, the expert in Outworlders that I mentioned.”

“Pleased to meet you, Miss.”

“Torcull, we’ve come to you, because to be frank, we believe Moira is an Outworlder.”

Torcull’s eyes widened, and he pulled his cap back off his head, fidgeting with it in his hands. He pressed his glasses further up his nose, squinting at her, as if the harder he looked, the more secrets could be revealed.

He stood suddenly, knocking his chair back as he muttered, “Outworlder, first in centuries. I must get my research.” He wobbled over to his bookshelf, pulling out books and setting them aside haphazardly.

“Torcull,” Cyrus said. “We have questions we need answered.”

“What?” Torcull turned his eyes blurry with excitement. “Oh, right.” He half-ran back to the table, picking up his chair from the ground.

When he was seated again, Moira asked. “Torcull, we came here because I need to know: Is there a way for me to get home? A way to return to my world?”

“A way back?” Torcull scratched at his beard. “A way—why would you want to go back?”

Moira sat back in her chair, taken aback by his question. “I—what do you mean why?”

He flushed, “Sorry Miss, for my impertinence. I just mean, well from my research, of course, it seems that those that are chosen from other worlds, are chosen because of their lack of connection to their own world. It’s what allows the gods to cut them off from their own world and pull them here.”

A kernel of anger bristled in her core.

“That’s not true,” she snapped. “It doesn’t matter why I want to go back. I asked you a question: Is there a way home?”

How dare he suggest she wasn’t connected to her home. She had her family and her job and her frie—well maybe she didn’t have friends, but she would’ve made friends. She was still new to the city. And maybe she hated her job and the fakeness of a corporate life. But she had her family, and that was enough.

Torcull stared nervously at Cyrus. “Sir. I’m sorry.”

Moira interrupted. “I asked the question. Answer me. Is there a way home?”

Finally, Torcull answered the question she’d been asking since she’d first arrived. “No.”