Chee-uh. Where have I heard that before?

"Chia, is that some kind of fruit?"

She jots in her notebook in response.

"They're seeds, actually," she replies, eyes still on the book. "Chia are the edible seeds of Salvia hispanica, a flowering plant native to Mexico."

"Right."

"You must've seen them before. Small, oval-shaped colour-like rocks."

"Can't say I do."

The woman looks up from the book. When I examine her face, it comes to me that she's enjoying herself.

Smirk, crease of eyebrow, overall body posture and all.

"They have a nice nutty flavour to them. Appear in just about ever-y-thing too; you'll find Chia seeds in porridge, drinks, and even pudding."

I shrug. "Describe them all you want, but nothing's coming to mind."

She nods, writing something in her notebook, a smile persisting all the while.

"You're missing out."

"They that good?"

"Yeah, definitely!" She pitches enthusiastically, a dramatic flourish of her pen hand tracing off into the air.

"Hrm."

Note to self: buy chia seeds at the market someday. Maybe this lady does know something I don't. From the way she markets it, this 'chia' must be pretty damn good.

Five seconds soon pass. I decide then that I'll ask her what she's doing, having found myself intrigued by her existence.

"So, you live here?"

"Temporarily."

"On business or leisure?"

"Both." An almost pensive glare and a finger on the chin. "Though it leans more to the former in this case." Another stop. "Maybe." Her words trail off into a small laugh, followed by a heightened rhythm in her writing, and ending with a crisp flip of a page.

This whole situation must be pretty strange. Thanks in no part to our conversation topic and how it just sort of sprung into happening. When I think it over, though, I don't actually mind. Objectively, it's a good thing for me. Sharing thoughts and communicating them and all. Doubly so, given that it's with a foreigner of all things.

"Sorry to infringe, but would you happen to have some change?"

She's looking at me straight on, her eyes a telling 'I promise I'll pay you back later' sort of deal. I momentarily reach into my pocket and walk to the vending machine.

"What do you want?"

"Rose basil lemonade."

I slot the corresponding coins. A short, contemplative pause follows, and I slot in a few more for myself. Selecting two rose basil lemonades in the process.

"Mhmmm, thank you, dear."

Tossing a bottle to her, I gulp my own.

For a moment, a pleasant coldness envelops my mouth and throat. The taste itself helps, too, coming with a tinge of sour-sweet and flowery flavour.

"Phew, you English have some good stuff; I'm impressed."

Heh. The way she phrases it makes me want to ask where she's from. In fact, I'm just about to when I see her look at me as if possibly implying she has something to say.

"Say, since you've been so nice and all, how about I help you with a little favour?"

Instinct tells me this should be fine. She doesn't seem to have bad intentions. The impression I'm getting is more of a socially uncaring woman than a scummy peddler trying to get in my good books.

"Sure."

I half-expect her to propose some business deal or describe a foreign connection that'll inexplicably assist me in some way. But instead, she beckons me closer with a hand, like some middle schooler does when encountering a rare beetle, and me entertaining this request, decides to follow.

I'm standing maybe hands-length at this point, waiting for a revelation. And I'm thinking: what'll she say when she hands me the notebook she’s been writing on.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"Check the notebook."

I do just that.

DON'T GO INSIDE

THE APARTMENT

IF YOU WANT TO LIVE.

...What am I reading?

My vision's put through a blurry lens. Save for the text on the notebook; everything else seems to filter out and fade into the background.

I feel like I've just been told my mum's dead, that I'm about to pay rent, and that I have cancer all at once. Deprived of reasoning, my eyes linger on the black words.

“Why not?”

“Because, you might get into more trouble than needed”.

Is she talking about that dumbass I beat up earlier?

“I can deal with Algernon.”

“I know.”

She recognizes his name. That doesn’t make sense. How is that possible? Are they related in some way? I can see in her eyes that she isn’t lying, that what she just said wasn’t a slip of the tongue or anything along those lines.

“Then what’s in there?”

“Your death.”

She’s running around in a circle. Tracing back to the same bloody point she made earlier. Taunting and grasping at my composure.

Then it hits me. I need to pummel her. This woman is probably an enemy. The chances of her coming here, happening to be from overseas, and engaging in polite conversation are too low.

She must be out to get me. What if she’s the murderer I’ve heard so much about? And if she isn’t, then what about what’s inside the apartment? Is the killer there? Are they in cohorts?

My breathing stabilises. The adrenaline is there, but it doesn’t get to my head. Instead, I’m looking at her out of the corner of my eye, wondering over the best way to remove her status as an obstacle.

I flex the fingers in my left hand. Countless uncertainties present themselves. For a moment, I consider that she might be a mage, a practitioner of magic. In that case, I’ll aim for her neck first and shatter her windpipe.

"You know, we don't have to be enemies." she says.

"—Right, and you don't have to kill me either, provided I be a good little mule and do what you tell me.”

Her demeanour is completely unchanged, the same gleeful expression as before.

I can’t say why, but her casual indifference is really ramping up my emotions. The more I look at her, the longer I stare, the greater the feeling. There’s no helping it. I think this is exciting. The prospect of life and death, the pressure of knowing I can actually hurt her so bad with no consequence, is making my head spin.

"Perspective determines what being effed over means. Lighten up a little, and I'm sure you'll take it a lot better."

Hahah. I try to act more composed then I actually aim, making a mild attempt at suppressing the smile on my face.

"Take what?" I ask blankly.

"My proposal, of course.” She tells me. “I am trying to help you, tsk tsk. Wouldn’t want you strolling about and losing your life over something minor, eh?”

I tighten my arm, ready. "Say it."

Go ahead, churl. Talk of something dumb. Mention I need to die or something, and I'll rip your heart out. You’ve given me a reason to lash out and hurt you. Do anything that remotely threatens me and I have my reason.

"Hold on there. No need to look so serious."

Does she know what’s going through my head? Probably. I think that’s sarcasm in her words.

"Try anything, and I'll kill you."

She pauses. "All I'm asking is for a shot at peace. A way we can both walk away, go home, get a good night's sleep and forget this ever happened."

I can’t focus on what she’s saying.

I don't think I've ever wanted to pummel someone this much. Just the thought of it is getting me amped up. Consciously, I know I should strive for peace, try harder to negotiate, maybe settle on an agreement. However, some deep-rooted part of my psyche rejects that notion.

“Tell me what you’re here for.”

She jots in her book, and gleefully admits “On behalf of my superior, I Aedi, am here to propose a trade. That being the relinquishing of your ability, or ‘manifestation’ in exchange for peace. Any refusal will otherwise be met with proper and lethal force.”

Her writing stops. “Sorry for being so professional, but it seemed like you wanted a clear answer, heh.”

I ignore her wit. “Did you give the same offer to Algernon?”

With no hesitation, she answers. “Due to problematic circumstances, that remains, ah, impossible.”

“But it is for me. This peace, that is.”

A nod.

Though I already know the answer, I ask anyway. "And what does this peace cost?"

"Simple," she exclaims. "Your ability."

I have nothing to say. So, this really is related to that, huh? My ability, the crux of my renewed life.

"Hahaha."

Everything comes with a price. I know that well. But in this case, what'll she do if I don't pay up? Logic has it, something particularly terrible and straightforward, but I want to confirm either way.

"I've got an associate in town that'll take it away. Remove it easily, no pain, no bad memories, nothing."

"And, if I refuse?"

After shrugging, she goes to look me in the eye. "I will kill you."

I inhale before asking, "And you have some connections that'll let you get away with it, too, I assume?"

"Pretty much."

"And what if I kill you first?"

"Then you win, and nothing happens to you."

"And what's in the apartment?"

"A colleague working in the same field. One far less friendly than me. And one who chose the path more taken." She laughs. "Though maybe I'm lying; who knows." She pauses. "Maybe your salvation is just a few steps away; what do you think?" And then she laughs again.

With the information at hand I—

Check the apartment.

Attack her