Chapter 2 #2
Bridget bolted to her feet, the chair behind her screeching in protest as she nearly knocked it over.
Without looking back, she sprinted out of the reading room and down the marble hallway, her boots echoing off the polished floors.
She burst into the late afternoon air, breath frosting in the chill.
Fumbling with her phone, she scanned the screen.
Three missed calls and a calendar reminder glared up at her, all time stamped from over an hour ago.
Had she really been so engrossed in reading she hadn’t noticed her phone shaking with notifications?
Bridget ground her teeth together and barely resisted the urge to smash her phone into the ground.
She couldn’t believe she’d missed an event. Again.
Bridget shoved her phone into her coat pocket and turned toward home.
If she beat Nylah back, maybe she could come up with a good excuse why she wasn’t at her choir concert.
She was sick or detained at the doctor or something that made sense to a twelve-year-old who still miraculously believed her when she made promises.
When Bridget arrived at their rental house, one a little on the smaller side compared to the two-storied colonial pieces on the rest of the street, she spent at least five minutes undoing all the locks.
The bottom three were her own addition, much to the suspicion of the neighbors.
But she didn’t care. The locks were the only reason she got more than an hour of sleep.
Inside, the hum of the dishwasher was the only sound that greeted her.
The open kitchen and living room were still swathed in a kind of late-day gloom, the velvet furniture and rose-patterned wallpaper faded by winter light.
It wasn’t much. But beggars couldn’t be choosers, and it had been a last minute find when she’d decided to bolt from the hospital in Connecticut.
Bridget dropped her purse onto the granite island with a thud. A lopsided stack of worksheets sat beside it. Nylah’s homework, probably. She ran a hand over her face. Behind her, a toilet flushed.
Bridget’s stomach dropped. There would be no time for excuses. Moments later, Archer wandered out of the bathroom. He raised a brow at her haggard appearance.
“Ah, so you’re not ghosting me. You know, a little emoji of acknowledgement every now and then would be helpful.”
Bridget flinched. Ghost. The word of the day, it seemed. Even now, his presence was a reminder of the past.
Archer frowned. “Why the face? Did you run into one of those haunted tour groups that usually ruin your day with their slow walking?”
“Of my own life,” Bridget muttered.
Silence stretched between them. The kind that used to be awkward, but now carried a quiet understanding. She knew it was Archer’s way of giving her the chance to elaborate. With the amount of time they’d spent together over the last few months, she’d gotten to know him and his quirks very well.
Apparently sensing she wasn’t quite ready, Archer slid a vial across the island to her. “If it’s infected, this should help.”
Bridget stared at it. The thick liquid inside was tinged green, flecked with crushed herbs. It looked just like the ones from his makeshift healing tent back in Elyria. Softening, she put the vial in her pocket. “How did you know?”
“Location,” Archer replied, holding up his phone. “And correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think that’s grape juice on your shirt.”
Bridget half-heartedly glared. “That’s supposed to be for emergencies.”
“It’s fun watching your little bubble when I’m bored.” He eyed her again, and then reached for a bottle of tequila hidden above the microwave. “I think you might need this too.”
Without arguing, she poured herself a shot.
Bridget hoped it would help erase the nurse’s words about her time in the hospital and the image of Cade’s car from her mind.
Along with the notion that Cassia had been wandering around the Boston Public Library.
Bridget downed the alcohol in one gulp. The burn helped steady her nerves.
“I thought we agreed on no magic in the house.”
“I thought we agreed to stop obsessing over what’s happening in Elyria.”
Touché. She guessed they both weren’t keeping their promises, which wasn’t much of a surprise, the more she thought about it.
She had caught him using a spell to help Nylah with her homework last week.
Bridget craned her neck to peek down the hall at Nylah’s bedroom.
The door was closed, and she couldn’t hear anyone else in the house.
A lick of panic shot up her spine. “Where is she?”
“She’s out getting hot chocolate with a friend,” Archer said, and then he held up his hands. “And before you jump down my throat, don’t worry, I thoroughly vetted the mom.”
After a moment, Bridget quietly asked, “How mad is she?”
“She’s not mad.” Archer sighed. “She’s…”
If there was one thing she’d learned about Archer in the five months they’d shared a roof, it was that he loved to talk.
Constantly. He filled every silence, even when she ignored him.
He talked about music, about Elyria, about why toaster ovens were superior to regular ovens.
Watching him struggle for words made Bridget’s stomach twist. “She’s what? ”
“She misses you.”
“I’m right here,” Bridget said, backing away from him.
He’d said something similar a month before, and she’d shut him down then. She knew him and Nylah had bonded while she was in the hospital, it was one of the reasons she let Archer stay with them during their move to Boston. “Why didn’t you say anything this morning? I could have used the reminder.”
Bridget pinched the bridge of her nose and tried to swallow down the regret that wanted to drown her. She’d also missed the fall one, too busy obsessing and watching the gate to notice the time. How had she let it happen again?
“I did,” Archer said, taking his own swig from the tequila bottle. “If I remember correctly, you said you were running a few errands and would be back in plenty of time. I don’t remember you mentioning another visit to the library.”
“I just want answers. You know that,” Bridget said, the words flat from overuse.
For the past month, she’d suspected Archer no longer believed her—that he knew she wasn’t just trying to understand why she still remembered.
Especially not after they’d picked the question apart, again and again.
Still, she clung to the lie. If he, or Nylah, knew half the things that plagued her subconscious, they would never look at her the same.
“You’re not going to find them here.”
Anger sparked in her chest. “You don’t know that. There was a time when there were working gates all over. And today…”
Archer held up his hand. “It’s just you and me here right now, Bridget. You don’t have to hold back.”
His words broke something inside her chest, already fragile by the day’s events.
“You’re right. I have been looking for… more.
” Bridget glanced at her closed bedroom door, where a stash of information and secrets were hidden under her bed.
Part memories. Part truth. Part delusions she wrote down in the middle of the night.
Throat constricting, she admitted, “I’ve been having these dreams… ”
“I know,” Archer said softly.
Bridget’s gaze snapped to his, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, he reached across the kitchen island and squeezed her hand.
“I can hear you,” he added, voice low.
Heat traveled up Bridget’s neck. Nylah was in the room next to her. If he could hear her, halfway across the house…
Her throat tightened. “They feel so real.”
“I’m not surprised. Your brain has been messed with more than anyone I know.”
Bridget shook her head. “It’s not only dreams. I convinced myself I saw Cassia today. And there was this guy at the library… Something about him was so familiar.”
Closing her eyes, Bridget chastised herself. She should’ve paid closer attention to him and asked more questions, especially when he had mentioned druids…
Something small pressed into her palm. She looked down.
“Take it and sleep,” Archer said, closing her fingers around the object. “You haven’t had more than a few hours since October.”
Before she could protest, he added, “It’s not magic. It’s Ambien.”
“Sleep isn’t going to help me. I need answers,” Bridget snapped.
Dread filled her stomach just thinking about closing her eyes.
It was the last thing she needed. “There has to be a reason why I feel like this… and an explanation for why I keep having these dreams and seeing things. Plus, last time I was in the way because I didn’t know anything. I want to be able to help.”
Archer stared at her incredulously. “Last time? The only time. You’re not going back.” He paused, then let out a hollow laugh. “Unless you think you are.”
“I’m not going back,” Bridget said, almost choking on the spark of longing she crushed down hard.
She wasn’t. She couldn’t. Nylah was here. And Cade… was going to be married soon. If he wasn’t already. Bile rose up her throat.
“Who are you lying to?” Archer challenged. “Me or yourself?”
Bridget’s hand shook as she grabbed the tequila bottle again, anything to steady her. He didn’t get it. He couldn’t. Even if she never set foot in Elyria again, someone from that realm would find her. She knew it. Felt it in her bones. Her connection to Elyria wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
“I’m not lying,” Bridget croaked, chasing the words with another burning shot. “I just mean that I want to be ready when someone eventually finds us.”
Archer’s jaw clenched. “Bridget… it’s been months.” His voice was careful, like he was trying not to break something fragile. “No one is coming for us. No one is looking.”