3. Rae
RAE
THE HUMAN REALM, PRESENT DAY
“All right, my fellow plant fiends,” Professor Garber called from the front of the room. “That’s all for today. Don’t forget that your lab reports are due at the end of the week. No extensions.”
I straightened from my spot at my lab table, my back flaring with fiery pain. It didn’t matter what position I tried; microscope days were the absolute worst.
“Back again?” Pax asked with a lopsided smile, his light-brown hair looking like he’d run his fingers through it one too many times.
My best friend knew me all too well.
“I’m not made for the lab,” I admitted. I wasn’t sure what that meant for my future in botany, but I hoped I could land a job on a plant conservation project.
Or maybe at an arboretum or public garden.
Nothing too perfectly groomed. Something that felt like it fit me, and I was chaotic on a good day.
“What happened to the standing mat I got you?” Pax asked.
I winced. “I forgot it.”
He just shook his head. “You would lose your head if it weren’t connected to your body.”
I chuckled as I gathered up my notebook and textbook. “That is…unfortunately accurate.” Memorizing strands of plant DNA? No problem. Remembering that I’d put my to-go cup of coffee on the hood of my car? Doubtful.
“Hey, Rae. Want to hit up the Brew tonight for drinks?” Nisha asked as she swung her messenger bag over her shoulder.
I shook my head. “My bed is calling me. That last exam wiped me out.”
Brian sent me an exasperated look. “We knew we’d never see you again when you moved to West Bumfuck.”
I frowned at him, my annoyance flaring. He was always pushing for just one more drink, party, or whatever.
But that wasn’t my thing. The problem was that our cohort was small.
And despite being an incredibly competitive program at one of the country’s top universities, we were tight.
We studied together, worked together, and spent downtime together.
Until I had moved into a rental about an hour outside of Boston last semester. But I’d needed it. The city had started to feel stifling. My headaches had been getting worse, and I craved nature. I didn’t know how they didn’t, since they were plant geeks like me.
“Maybe she just wants to get away from your ugly mug,” Pax chided as he stepped up next to me.
Brian scowled at Pax. “You’re the stage-five clinger.”
Pax was protective, to say the least. But I was the same with him.
Likely because we’d bonded at a time when we needed each other the most. Pax had been the person who was really there for me after my parents’ death.
And I’d been there for him when his parents were less than accepting of his coming out.
Neither of us had felt like we belonged—except for with each other.
“Okay,” Nisha cut in, trying to stop the bickering before it started. “Next weekend, you’re mine, Rae baby.” She leaned in and gave me a quick squeeze.
“We could go to the Japanese Garden,” I suggested hopefully.
She just laughed. “My little nerd forever.”
I grinned back. “That’s not a no.”
Grabbing my tote, I started for the door, but before I could reach it, Pax lifted my bag from my shoulder. I glanced over at him. “You know I can lift that, right?”
“Come on, let me feel like a gentleman. Your back’s hurting.”
“Well then, thank you, kind sir,” I said, giving him a little mock bow.
“Little nerd, indeed,” he muttered.
“Hey. I’m super cool. The other day, I successfully bred two different species of orchids. I’m just waiting to see what color the blooms will be.”
“Oh, yeah,” Pax agreed. “Suuuuuuper cool.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. And as we stepped outside, I inhaled deeply. The first tendrils of spring were making themselves known, and I could smell it in the air. After being stuck in a classroom all morning, I desperately needed it.
As we headed to one of the student parking lots, something tickled my spine: a prickle of awareness, like someone watching me. I glanced around the campus but didn’t see anything that would warrant that sort of reaction.
A group of students was eating at an outdoor table, even though it was still only in the forties. A scattering of others walked to and from class. A groundskeeper was fertilizing a plant bed. All very…normal.
“Rae? Are you okay?” Pax asked.
“Sorry,” I mumbled. “I just got a weird feeling. You know, like when someone’s watching you?”
He was instantly on alert, scanning our surroundings like a secret government operative, not a botany graduate student.
I reached out and touched his arm. “No one is. It was just a weird feeling.”
It took a handful of seconds for his gaze to return to me, but it finally did. “You’re sure?”
I grinned up at him. “If I have a stalker, they’re probably regretting their life choices right about now.”
Pax quirked a light-brown brow in my direction. “And why’s that?”
“My life is very boring.”
He barked out a laugh. “Protection by boredom, who knew?”
“Safety first,” I singsonged as we reached our cars.
Pax’s parents might’ve been total jerk faces, but they couldn’t do anything about the trust fund his grandparents had left him.
One that meant he wanted for nothing. He drove a top-of-the-line Range Rover and never had to worry about the cost of anything.
I, on the other hand, had a used Subaru with a back hatch that stuck and clipped coupons for my meal-prep Sundays every week.
The aunt I had gone to live with after my parents died might’ve offered me funds to cover the incidentals my scholarship didn’t, but I knew I’d been a drain on her.
I didn’t want to heap more on her plate.
Pax offered, too. He was constantly trying to pay for things.
He’d even offered to buy me a new car. And I got the sense that it annoyed him greatly every time I said no.
Opening the back door for Pax, he frowned as he deposited my bag on the seat. “Is your tire pressure low?”
“I don’t think so. The little alert didn’t go off.”
“I’ll check them when I come by tomorrow,” he told me.
“Or I could, you know, drive it to the tire shop.”
Pax shook his head. “Stop trying to steal jobs from me.”
“You mean ones you don’t get paid for?” I asked, amused.
“I like to feel useful.”
“All right, all right. I will leave my possibly low tires all for you,” I assured him. I might not let him pay for new tires, but I could give him this.
Pax gave me a mock salute. “Thank you. Now, drive safely. You know people get reckless on the roads once we hit spring.”
He was right about that. It was something about the snow and ice melting. People thought they were invincible. I, on the other hand, was never much of a risk taker.
“I’ll stay in the slow lane,” I vowed. “Let me know how the date goes.”
He made a face. “See you tomorrow, Rae.”
“Tomorrow,” I called as I climbed into my hatchback.
Connecting my phone to the car stereo, I hit play on the ridiculous conspiracy podcast I loved: Fable or Fiction. Today’s episode was all about Roswell and the alien life forms the government may or may not be holding there.
I let the hosts’ bickering keep me company as I made the near-hour drive to my small rental cottage. It was fairly old, but it came with the most picturesque garden, which made the iffy water heater and the stove with only two working burners worth it. Plus, it was quiet.
As I pulled into the driveway, I cut off the podcast and let some of that quiet in. I climbed out of the car and grabbed my bag as the fresh air filled my lungs. Soon, the scents of flowers would be in the air. Roses and honeysuckle. Gardenias and lilacs. I couldn’t wait.
Slinging the tote over my shoulder, I headed for the front door. As I unlocked it and moved inside, I could feel the beginnings of a headache gathering behind my eyes.
I muttered a curse. I shouldn’t have listened to the podcast on the way home. It was likely too much after a full morning of classes indoors.
It was probably already too late, but I still grabbed a Diet Coke from the fridge and headed out onto the back patio.
There was a chance I could stave it off with caffeine and fresh air.
As I sipped the soda, I wandered around my yard, checking on various things and making a plan for what I could start working on this weekend.
The pressure behind my eyes built, and the telltale auras of light flickered across my vision.
Dammit.
There’d be no escaping it now, which meant I had to get horizontal fast. Crossing the yard quickly, I stepped inside, stopped to grab a bowl in case I needed to upchuck, and moved straight for the couch in my living room.
The migraine hit just as I grabbed a blanket to cover my eyes. Waves of agonizing pain rolled through me, one after the other, accentuated by the nausea accompanying it. But I managed to keep my lunch firmly in my stomach.
I wasn’t sure how long it lasted, but by the time it was over, my entire body felt like I had run a marathon. I knew I should try to eat something but gave in to the pull of sleep instead.
Fire was everywhere, but not wild, out-of-control flames. These were beautiful—flowers and trees made of sparks.
I wanted to take them in. To know what made them. But fear pressed me onward. My legs ached, and my lungs burned, but I knew I had to keep going.
“Faster, Soraya. We must go faster.”
I looked up at the older woman running next to me. I loved her. Trusted her. So I listened.
I pushed myself harder, my shorter legs trying to make up the distance.
“They’ve breached the border,” a deep voice called from ahead. “We must go now.”
I gaped at the man. He was huge, with black hair and olive skin. His eyes were a liquid gold. But I couldn’t make out the rest of his features. It was as if they were hazy in my dream state.
“Take her,” the older woman begged. “Take her and keep her safe.”
“No, Grams! I don’t want to go!” Tears pricked my eyes, then streamed down my face.
“You must, my sweet girl. You will come back to me. But you must trust,” the woman said.
A piercing cry split the air. It sounded like an animal.
The man moved toward me. “They’re here. We have to move now.”
I could hear the slight panic in his voice as the woman lifted me into his arms. Fear pulsed through me, but bizarrely, I wasn’t afraid of him.
As he held me to his chest, massive black wings snapped into existence around us.
His wings. Wings with an orange and red pearlescence, as if they’d been dipped in liquid fire.
I wanted to touch them. They were some combination of what you might imagine a fallen angel and a nocturnal butterfly might have—but stronger. They were made of something more substantial than feathers and whatever made up a butterfly’s wings.
There was no time to think more about it because we were suddenly airborne, flying through the night sky as another animal’s cry rent the air.
“Hold on, Petite étincelle.”
And I did, even as I had no clue what the name meant.
I clung to the man’s neck, but I should’ve shut my eyes.
At first, I thought what I saw was a flock of crows, wings beating against the starless sky, but I was so very wrong.
They were monsters. And leading the charge was a masked rider with white eyes sitting atop a beast of nightmares.
It would haunt me for the rest of my days.
A smoky hand reached out, trying to snatch me from the man. Tendrils of smoke slid across my shoulder, making me scream in agony.
I jerked awake, sitting straight up as I struggled to control my breathing.
The dream that had haunted me since I was a child had been happening more often lately.
No, not a dream. A nightmare. And every time, it felt more real.
Every time, it lasted a little longer, letting me see a little more.
But as soon as the dream ended the pieces would grow hazy, as if I could only see the broad strokes of an impressionist painting and the voices and words became garbled.
I reached up to the puckered skin of my scar—the same place the monster had touched me in the nightmare.
Blood pounded in my ears. Unlike when the dream had started, I had no parents to comfort me now.
An ache settled deep in my chest in the place that would always belong to the couple who’d taken in a traumatized eight-year-old girl and given her a beautiful life.
The parents I still missed with every fiber of my being, after some home intruder had stolen them from me.
They weren’t here, so I had to console myself.
I wrapped my arms around my middle and reached for what I always did: logic.
The dream was simply my brain trying to make sense of something I couldn’t remember.
That was all. Some fantastical story it conjured to process the trauma of the fire I’d lived through before being adopted by the Greenwoods.
But a little voice in my head called BS and asked one question.
If it was all just a trauma response, then why did it feel so real?