44. Chapter 44
Two girls trampled around the countryside, one blonde and one dark-haired, calling to each other as they ran toward the tree line in the distance.
Yareli, a specter in her dream, followed them, curious.
At the forest’s edge, the blonde one tripped on a root, and the other came back to help her up.
Their brightly colored dresses that had sparkled in the sun lost their glow as they entered the forest, and she lost track of them.
She flew closer to the ground, hovering between trees.
Glimpses of their vibrant dresses danced at the corner of Yareli’s vision, disappearing when she looked in that direction. Voices floated toward her.
“Over here!”
“Going the wrong way, silly!”
They continued to call her, teasing her whenever she went the wrong direction, but falling silent when she was on their tail.
On and on it went until her mind was spinning.
She stumbled on a root, catching herself with her arms before she fell face-first into the dirt.
Yareli stared at her hands, surprised at the sudden change.
No longer incorporeal, she crept through the trees, straining to hear the girls’ faint voices.
Light faded, succumbing to the natural order of day and night.
The trees pressed closer, and she moved more quickly, afraid of getting crushed.
A crack rumbled behind her, and she risked looking back; trees toppled into each other like dominoes.
A path bloomed ahead, and she started running.
The cool swish of air from a falling tree caressed her neck.
Her lungs burned, her heart roared in her ears, and sweat poured down her back, but she pushed harder.
Just as her lungs threatened to burst, she was weightless, falling.
The ground rushed at her, a blur of green, brown, and blue.
Her scream died in her throat as she woke up, cold sweat coating her skin.
Yareli scanned her room, the small lamp on her night table cast a soft glow against her room’s dark shadows.
Smooth, gray stone lined the walls. It was wrong; instead of Allyah’s black granite floors and lush furniture, she was back in her room in Samire.
She blinked, and it transformed to her childhood bedroom.
The distinct scent of fresh laundry filled the air, the radio in the kitchen was set to her mom’s favorite station, and her books were haphazardly strewn about the floor.
She clutched her blanket, as soft as she remembered it, frightened. She hadn’t woken up after all.
Her closet’s doorknob rattled, and she froze. She had always hated that closet; she swore it had opened on its own a few times.
A tall figure emerged from her closet, closing the door behind them, and she shrieked, throwing a pillow at them.
Light, twinkling laughter followed, and Yareli opened her eyes to the blonde-haired Fae in her bedroom. She looked odd in her small room.
“I do apologize for my entrance. It was quite difficult to reach you this time.”
“What do you mean?” Yareli asked.
“Never mind that. Time is of the essence. When you awake, insist on returning to the capital.”
Yareli narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
“You felt it, did you not? The call to power. It awaits you.”
She recalled the strong pulse in the palace, and a craving arose in her, but she hesitated. She didn’t know anything about the Fae who visited her dreams.
“Why should I listen to you? I don’t even know your name.”
“I suppose it’s natural for you to feel suspicious.” The Fae trailed their fingers across her dresser, picking up a dirty, ceramic piggy bank with a missing ear. “After all, you must be wondering where I come from and why I visit you.”
Yareli watched her carefully, wishing she would put it down. It had been her favorite and only gift from her abuelita.
She set the piggy bank down. “You can call me Weni.”
“Okay, Weni, why are you sure that power is meant for me? Because all I want is to return home to my family.” A partial truth.
She wanted to kill Tuom, then return home. A quiet voice told her that was yet another partial truth—she wanted to do more than that, but Yareli shushed it. She wasn’t completely on board with mass destruction just yet.
Weni raised her eyebrows, asking her the question that she had been asking herself for days now. She looked toward her bedroom door. “Are you sure?”
Banging on the door interrupted them; Yareli heard her dad yelling her name.
“Do you remember this memory?” Weni walked toward her door.
Trepidation roiled the contents of her stomach. While she was used to nightmares since her rescue, this was different. It was a memory she had suppressed long ago.
“You had just moved into this house, and you were so excited to finally have your own room,” Weni said, leaning against the wall, hand creeping toward the doorknob. “So, the first time you were in trouble, you locked yourself in here. Except, what happened after, Yareli?”
She swallowed, croaking, “I don’t remember.”
“I ask you again. Are you sure?”
The door shook to the point that Yareli was afraid it would break.
She remembered what happened. She had gotten up on two shaky legs and opened the door.
Her dad had been red in the face, belt in hand, and she…
She dropped her head into her palms, running her hands through her hair.
That was a long time ago; things at home were different now. She was older now.
“I’m sure.”
“Liar.”
Weni opened the door.
Her father barged in. Yareli cried out, hiding under her blankets.
As the first blow landed, she woke up, sobbing.
It had been a long time since she remembered that memory.
She shuddered, holding herself in the dark.
She reminded herself that it was all in the past, and she no longer carried the physical scars.
But they had festered under her skin until they were carved into her bones, and every time it rained, she swore they ached.
She pressed her knees closer to her chest.
The memory had been intentional; she knew that now.
It was a warning, a reminder of the misery of powerlessness.
For whatever reason, Weni wanted her to claim the power, and she had been a fool thinking she deserved it.
If there was something she had learned from her mom, it was not to trust sweet-talking devils. The problem was…
She wanted to listen.