Davie
Sofia still looked unsure as we got off the bus and approached the building. A guy in a convincing satyr costume played a violin outside the door while a couple of stoned-looking blond girls danced.
“That’s not what you meant by dancing, is it?” Sofia asked.
I laughed. “Come on.” I led the way into the building, pulling out my vax card to show the person at the door.
Inside, heavy wooden beams supported the stone walls. A large wooden bar stretched along one wall, and a few small tables were scattered around. An Irish folk trio played in one corner, standing on a stage that was little more than a few pallets shoved together. “This is kinda like being at the Renaissance Festival,” Sofia said. “I feel like someone’s gonna hand me a turkey leg.”
“That’s not a totally wrong take on it,” I admitted. “But think Renaissance Festival meets Burning Man, and you’ll be a bit closer.”
She looked around, dubious.
“Trust me. C’mon.”
I led her to a Green Man tapestry covering a doorway. Behind it, a pair of sliding wooden doors, carved with an elaborate tree design, took up most of one whole wall of the small room. A few other people crowded the tiny space with us, including a girl with a pair of elaborate faerie wings blooming from a sparkly corset, a guy in a black cape with goat horns glued to his forehead, and a couple of girls wearing flowered headdresses with rams’ horns attached.
There was a mechanical noise, and the sliding doors opened to reveal an elevator so old there was an honest-to-Oberon elevator operator, also horned, to work the old-fashioned hand crank. “Here we go,” I said to Sofia, pulling her into the elevator.
The wooden walls inside the elevator were carved and stained to give the impression we were inside the trunk of a very old tree. The floor was green, with a ring of red-capped, white-spotted toadstools painted on it. It always gave me a bit of a thrill, stepping into the faerie ring of that elevator.
The elevator jerked and clunked as we descended. It came to a thud at the bottom, and the doors opened. “Welcome to Changeling,” I said, spreading my arms to present my favorite place in the world.
“Renaissance Festival meets Burning Man,” Sofia said, repeating my earlier description. “I get it now.”
I looked across the sea of horns and wings filling the dance floor, and I was home. Music pounded through the sound system, still all flutes and fiddles and drums, but this was modern, electronic, and gloriously loud.
We danced for a while, and I was impressed by her ability to keep her balance on the heels. Shame on me for assuming she’d never worn shoes harder to walk in than a pair of ballet flats. After a few songs, Sofia declared the need for a break and we fought our way back through the crowd and off the dance floor. “Let’s get a drink,” I said.
As we waited in line at the bar, I noticed her looking at the ceiling and the walls. “This place is amazing.”
She wasn’t wrong. The ceiling was high and curved. I didn’t know whether it was painted to look like stone, or if the club was built inside an actual cave. There were streaks and stripes of brown, the appearance of layers of underground dirt, that I was almost sure were fake. The green moss I was less sure was artificial, though it might have been the real-but-dead craft store variety.
Here and there, colored gems sparkled, peeking out from the stone. Some were painted on, while others were real chunks of amethyst, citrine, and other semi-precious crystals. Fairy lights twinkled here and there, both in the walls and strung across the ceiling.
Changeling was still a nightclub in Barrow City, despite it feeling like we’d entered another world, so they wouldn’t serve alcohol to people under twenty-one. They had some creative mocktails, though, and I recommended Sofia try my favorite, a pink and blue striped concoction called a Love Spell.
I ordered the same thing, and we settled onto a pair of chairs shaped like mushrooms where we could watch the dance floor. “How did you find this place?” Sofia asked, sipping her berry flavored drink. “I had no idea anything like this existed, and I go to a magick school in another dimension.” After another sip, she said. “I think there’s someone checking you out.”
I followed her gaze. A girl with long, black hair wearing a flowy skirt and a peasant top was looking our way. “She’s hot, but sadly I don’t swing that way,” I said.
“No, behind her.”
I looked past the bohemian girl and saw a guy with short antlers poking out between dark brown curls. He was shirtless and wore several necklaces, a mixture of chains and cords, with pendants and charms bearing various signs and symbols.
From the waist down, he wore snug fitting, brown, suede pants and cloven hooves instead of regular shoes. I was deeply impressed by people who could walk on proper costume hooves, which were basically high heeled shoes without the heels. If I’d been able to walk missing a heel, my day would have gone a lot better.
Sofia was right; faun-boy was looking at me. This was why I usually came to Changeling alone. I had rules about dating inside the Bubble, where drama and bullshit could interfere with my academic goals. I came here to socialize, which included no-strings encounters with pretty boys like the one checking me out right now. But this time, I was going to have to decline, because I wasn’t going to abandon my friend. Damn.
“Yep, he’s pretty,” I said, leaning back into my chair.
“Not going for it?” she asked.
“I’m not leaving you alone,” I said. “I’m a bitch, but I’m not that much of a bitch.”
“No, go. I’m good here. I have a comfy chair, and I can watch the dance floor. Go have fun.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. You’re the extrovert here. I’m the semi-introverted psychology buff. People watching is my kind of party.”
“Okay, but if you move, text me. The last bus back to the ‘Vale is at one fifteen. If we miss it, we’re walking three miles along a country road to get back to school.”
“Will do,” she said. “Go have fun.”
I gave her a wink, stood, and looked back toward the pretty boy. I was going to have fun indeed.
Isaiah
“Whatever we watch, it should be short. I’m kinda tired.” Cabot said.
“Me too.” We’d left the walkways, cutting across the grass of the Agora, making the shortest path back to the dorms. “It’s been a long week.”
“Oh, wow,” Cabot said. “I didn’t know there was a bed of Casablanca lilies here.”
“You and flowers,” I said, looking over at him while continuing to walk forward. “Sometimes I think you only dated Ben last year for his access to the greenhouses.”
“Strictly a fringe benefit.” He bent down, sniffing them.
I stopped too, accepting we were going to be there a while. I glanced back in the direction I’d been moving, and my heart stopped. A huge spider, at least an inch long, hovered in the middle of its orb-shaped web a mere six inches from my nose.
It was so close the slightest wrong move could have meant contact. Even a breeze could have swung it toward me. Without any conscious control of what I was doing, I made an awkward lurch away from the spider, throwing myself to the ground, a half-scream, half-gag noise escaping me as I fell. Once I was on the ground, I rolled over several times then continued to move away by scooting on my ass.
“The fuck?” Cabot asked, looking up from his lilies.
It took several seconds to catch my breath enough to speak. “Spider,” I croaked.
“Ew, where?” He looked around, expressing a normal person’s unease with arachnids.
I pointed, indicating the web stretched between two trees, so far away he probably couldn’t even see it. He probably couldn’t, but I still could. I could feel the thing’s too-many eyes on me, offended by my horror, waiting for its next chance to pounce.
“I don’t see it.” He was looking in the direction I was pointing, but much closer, in the open air.
I stood up. I was still too shaky for that, but it had suddenly occurred to me how many spiders were lurking in the grass in any given space. “Between the trees over there. One more step and I… I would have…” If I said it out loud, I was likely to puke. I was shaking so hard it had to be visible.
He looked at the trees, then back at me. “You’re afraid of spiders.” His tone suggested I might not be aware of this new fact.
“Ya think?” It was a lame response, but considering at least eighty percent of my brain was occupied with squirming legs and a bright red PANIC alarm, I thought it could be excused.
“We’ve been roommates for over a year. How have I never seen you react like this before?”
Because I hide it well. “I almost walked into it,” I said. “It was this big,” I indicated the size of a quarter with my fingers. “And I almost walked into the web. I would have glued the fucker to my face. I’d have… oh, gods…” I really was about to throw up.
“It’s okay,” he said. “You didn’t. We’ll walk the other way now.”
He put a hand on my back, trying to be comforting, and I jumped from him like he’d stung me. “Sorry,” I said. “Everything feels like legs right now.”
“Shit, sorry,” he said. He started to reach out again, then stopped himself. “You ready to keep going?”
I nodded. I needed indoors and bright lights right now. And a shower, to wash off the feeling of skittering legs all over my body.
Once I was in the bathroom twenty minutes later, however, showering proved to be out of the question. I’d seen too many movies where an unsuspecting person, eyes closed and head covered in shampoo, was the unwitting victim of a drop-line attack from the shower head. Nope. Not happening. I put my pajamas on, after carefully shaking out each garment, then went to bed.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the spider, six inches from my face, but this wasn’t my first rodeo. I forced myself to think about other things, focused on keeping my breathing even. After an hour or so, I managed to get to sleep.
“I need you to weed out around the Con Cheese plants.”
I wanted to argue. Dad knew I hated dealing with the plants. I’d do any other task on the farm, but I always had to deal with at least one spider whenever I got into the plants. He didn’t care. In fact, I sometimes thought he did it on purpose, thinking he’d toughen me up. I wasn’t even legally supposed to be working on a cannabis farm before I turned twenty-one, but he didn’t care about that, either. “There isn’t anything else I can do?”
“If the weeds take over and the plants die, then nothing else we do matters, does it?”
“Fine, but I need to change first.” I was wearing shorts and a T-shirt. If I was going to kneel on the ground and pull weeds, I was putting on jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. And high socks. And gloves. Maybe a suit of armor.
“No time,” he said. “It’s almost dark already.” He pointed to the sky, which was, indeed, bruising indigo as I looked. Hadn’t it been broad daylight just a minute ago?
I walked through the gate and into the patch of plants labeled Confidential Cheese. I wondered, now that cannabis was becoming legal in more and more states and transitioning into a normal business, if the names of the strains would ever start getting less ridiculous. I knelt in front of the first plant. The dirt was mostly clear around it, just a few green shoots of unwanted foliage. I yanked them out, then moved to the next one. That was pretty clear, too, and the next three went as quick as the first.
The last plant in the row, though, had a big ol’ dandelion growing next to it. Dad would lose his mind if he saw a dandelion in full bloom in his rows. I gathered the leaves up in my hand, straightening them around the stem. I had one chance to pull out the taproot, or it would just keep coming back. I tugged lightly, making sure I was at a good angle, then yanked hard, straight up.
The taproot came up, a long, thick cord, wider than the stem of the flower and hairy with several offshoot roots. Something was wrong, though. There was movement along the shaft I couldn’t explain. I held it up, close to my face, to discover there were tiny spiders all over the root. Hundreds of them. I screamed, and tried to toss the dandelion, but it wouldn’t leave my hand. The leaves weren’t leaves at all, but the legs of a huge spider. And not just eight legs, but at least twelve, maybe sixteen, all the dark green color of dandelion leaves and hanging onto my hand, tight. The body of the spider was covered in bright yellow, spiky petals.
I shook my hand as hard as I could, screaming, and ran out of the Con Cheese patch. As I passed through the gate, I ran straight into a web stretched across the opening. The dandelion spider was now on my face, using its many, many legs to try to pry open my mouth so it could crawl inside. I didn’t dare open it to scream, or to breathe. I fell to the ground, trying to get the thing off my face without touching it, trying to get enough air into my lungs without opening my mouth, the muffled grunts of my closed-mouth screams all I could hear.
When I hit the ground, the spiders from the grass all around noticed, and charged. They moved over me en masse; I could feel them skittering over every inch of exposed skin. Unable to stop them or get away, I froze in place, hoping I’d pass out soon from the lack of oxygen.
I woke up gasping, in the dark, in my bed. I threw off the blanket, which felt like spiders. I grabbed a book and headed for the common room, knowing that was all the sleep I’d be getting for the rest of the night.
Davie
The pretty boy’s name was Michael. Or Matthew. Something like that, anyway. We danced together for a short while, then I took his hand and led him away, toward the wall opposite the bar. We entered a spiral staircase inside what looked like a huge tree trunk. Like some of the other features of Changeling, I’d never been quite sure whether this stairwell was a real hollowed out tree, or a spectacular fake.
The stairs led up and out, out into a garden. The club occasionally hosted concerts out here, as well as public full moon rituals, weather permitting. There being no such special event tonight, the garden wasn’t crowded, but a smattering of people populated the fairy-tale space. Cobblestone walkways wound their way around and between trees and flowerbeds, with strings of fairy lights draped between the trees and over wooden arbors and pergolas. Matthew (Michael?) and I followed one of the paths until we found a secluded spot behind a fountain and a couple of trees.
“So, do you go to BCU?” he asked.
“Shh.” I kissed him, not interested in talking, or in making up stories about where I went to school.
He seemed okay with not talking. He moved from kissing my mouth to my throat. I took the opportunity to check my flower-face watch over his shoulder. The little hand was on eleven, the big hand between twelve and one; still plenty of time before I turned into a pumpkin.
I pulled Michael—or Matthew—fuck it, I pulled Pretty Boy’s face back up from where it had worked its way to my cleavage. I didn’t mind what he was doing, but I wanted to see his pretty face again. His eyes were rich brown and shiny; he could almost have been a real faun with those eyes. I ran a hand across his bare chest, covered by only a thin smattering of hair and the assortment of necklaces he wore.
I worked my fingertips over his skin, moving from his chest to his stomach, feeling the shape of the muscles there. He wasn’t bulky, but I could tell he was strong. Muscles twitched at my touch, enjoying my explorations. He opened his mouth to breathe in.
His lips were full and soft, and he licked them as I stared. I wrapped one leg around the back of his knee and pulled him in, kissing that sultry mouth once again. My hands roved his back, discovering the muscles there were as toned as the ones at his abdomen.
Meanwhile, his hands had found their way to my backside. I adjusted my position to give him more room to explore. I was impressed; I was giving him a lot of leeway, and he was still taking his time, not trying to jam his hands up my skirt to see how far I’d let him go.
Guys rarely seemed to understand that even a girl who’s ready and willing to go as far as they are still wants to take her time and build up to things. Not only did this one seem get it, he appeared to be enjoying the journey as well.
His hands and mouth moved downward again. He ran the tip of his tongue from the hollow of my throat down to my chest. Meanwhile, his fingers fluttered along line of my panties, through my thin dress. I took a second for another time check.
What the actual, spit-shined fuck?
It was ten minutes ‘til one. It had been eleven o’clock just… what? Five minutes ago? Fifteen? This boy was pretty, and I’d been having a great time, but there was no way I’d lost track of two whole hours kissing and fondling him up against a random tree.
Except, apparently, that’s exactly what I’d done.
I pushed Pretty Boy away. “I’m sorry,” I said. “This has been all kinds of fun, and I really hope to run into you here again, soon. But I’m going to miss the last bus if I don’t find my friend right the fuck now.”
“Can I get your—”
“Nope,” I said, without explanation or apology, as I raced away, back toward the stairs.
“Sorry,” I muttered as I pushed past a pair of girls on their way up.
At the bottom of the stairs, I pulled out my phone to text Sofia that I was on my way. To my horror, I had four missed texts from her. The last one had been ten minutes ago, saying she was going to wait for me in the little pub upstairs.
On my way I replied, changing course so fast I almost fell over. As usual, there was a line for the elevator. Why hadn’t I checked my phone before running down the stairs? I could have gone straight from the garden into the back door of the surface building had I known Sofia was in the pub. I waited impatiently, tapping the heel of one shoe, my hands fluttering with excess energy. I dreaded the thought of heading back to school on foot at one in the morning, but the worst part was that it would be all my fault if Sofia also had to walk back, in shoes she wasn’t used to, that I’d made her wear. “Fuck fuck fuck,” I muttered.
A steampunk guy in a purple suit next to me stared. Top hat, pocket watch, goggles, boots, the works. Dude was dressed like the conductor on a time-traveling blimp, and he had the nerve to look at me like I was crazy for being in a hurry. “You about to miss the bus, too?” he asked.
Okay, so maybe sometimes I see negative where there isn’t any. “Yeah,” I said, still tapping my foot. “And this slow-ass elevator isn’t helping.”
“I don’t know what happened,” he said, insisting on making chit-chat. “One minute it was midnight, then the next thing I knew it was after one.”
Just as the elevator doors rumbled open at last, two more girls joined the queue. A blond one wore loose black pants and a black shirt, with a jean jacket covered in pins and buttons. “I can’t believe I lost my phone,” she said to her red-haired companion.
The redhead wore jeans and a T-shirt, with sneakers and what looked like a vintage Swatch watch.
“We’ll track it on the app if it’s not at the dorm,” said the redhead. “If it’s here, we’ll come back tomorrow and claim it from lost and found. We’re going to miss the last bus to B.C. if we keep looking tonight.”
The doors slid closed, and we started to ascend. The elevator operator seemed in no hurry, even though he couldn’t have not heard the two girls talking about missing the bus.
I flung myself out of the elevator as soon as the doors were far enough apart to fit me, and looked wildly around the pub for Sofia. I found her by the door, pulling out her phone to text me yet again. “Sofia!” I called, running across the small room.
“Davie! Thank God!”
“I’m so sorry. I looked at my watch and it was only eleven, I don’t know where—”
“It’s okay, but you said the last bus is at one-fifteen, yeah?”
I nodded.
“Then we need to hurry. Come on.”
We ran out the door and into the night. It felt chillier out here than it had in the garden. I looked across the parking lot, toward the bus stop. The busses heading both directions, toward Greenvale and toward Barrow City, shared a single stop on the far edge of the large, gravel-covered parking lot, so the clubgoers didn’t have to cross the highway on foot. The B.C. bus was pulling in as I looked. The bus to the Vale was already there. I picked up speed.
All things being equal, Sofia was in better shape and could run faster than me. I was the only one of the two of us, though, who could run flat out in high heels. If I could get to the bus in time, I could make the driver wait for her to catch up.
Except I didn’t make it, either. I’d covered about half the distance when the door closed. The bus squeaked as the driver shifted gears to move. I waved my arms over my head, dignity be damned, and called out “Wait! Wait for us! Please!”
The driver either didn’t see me, didn’t care, or was a sadist who derived a sick joy from stranding people miles from civilization in the middle of the night. “Asshole!”
“Shit,” Sofia said, catching up to me. “We missed it? That’s not—”
“That’s the bus to B.C.,” I confirmed.
“Any chance we could take the Barrow City bus then take another from there back to Greenvale?”
Quick thinking, but it wasn’t going to pan out. “Nope. That was the last bus to the ‘Vale, period. We’re walking or hitchhiking.”
She looked down at her feet, then up the road. “Guess we’d better get moving.”
I nodded. I let her lead the way, so she could set the pace.
We walked on the shoulder on the left side of the road, facing any would-be traffic, so we could stay on the pavement and not have to fight with high heels on soft dirt. Sofia’s heels were blocky, giving her a bit of stability, but mine were narrow spikes. I wore high heels every day; I had no problem with balance or foot pain. But the spike heels drove right into the dirt every time I had to step off the asphalt. It was going to be a long walk back.
“So,” I said, trying to make small talk, which I was shit at doing. “You and Cabot going to the Samhain ball?”
“We are,” she said. “I don’t really understand what it is, though. I’ve seen that word before, in horror movies or something, but I never knew what it meant. And it isn’t pronounced at all the way it looks. It looks like sam-hayne, but you all say saw-win?”
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s an Old Irish word. It’s the original version of Halloween.”
“I figured the Halloween part, considering the ball is on October thirtieth. So, Samhain is the day before Halloween?”
“No, it’s the thirty-first. But since there are a lot of Wiccans and other Pagans at OTA, they hold the ball the day before, so people can do religious rituals on the actual night. I assume you’ve noticed Samhain’s a big deal at OTA.” She couldn’t have missed it; not many schools had a three-day class break for Halloween.
“Are you going to the ball?” she asked. “Shit!”
I caught her before she landed on her ass. “Yep.”
“Who are you going with?”
“Nobody.”
“Really?”
“I don’t date inside the Bubble.”
“Ever?”
“Ever. It’s too complicated. You break up with someone and you’re still trapped in that tiny little world with them. No, thanks.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Cabot and Ben broke up last year, and I haven’t seen any drama. Ben’s clear across campus in the Cryptid Studies department all day; I don’t think they ever even see each other.”
I didn’t want to disagree and cause her any unnecessary worries. I hadn’t observed any lingering drama between Cabot and Ben either, but that didn’t mean it could never happen. Their classes might be across campus from each other, but the Academic dorms were right next door to the MAPA dorms, and we all shared the same dining hall, recreational facilities, Library, and Agora. If Cabot and Ben really never ran into each other, that was by their own design. “Cabot and Ben are reasonable people. I don’t trust people to be reasonable.”
She frowned. Either she thought I was being overly suspicious, or I’d caused her to be. Way to go, Davie.
The horizon lit up with the lights of an approaching car, and we moved onto the shoulder. I was watching Sofia, making sure she didn’t lose her balance on the uneven ground, when my own left heel sank into the dirt. “Fuck shit mothercrapping smurf!” I yelled as I went down. The gravel biting into my ass through my thin dress was a lot less pleasant than Pretty Boy’s hands had been back there.
I stayed on the ground for a moment, waiting for the car to pass. The last thing we needed was some asshole seeing her helping me up and deciding we were poor, helpless females in need of a ride.
The car slowed, a little up the road from us, but didn’t stop. Something flew out the passenger side window, then the vehicle sped back up and whizzed past us. Illegal dumpers then, not over-helpful strangers.
“What did that car toss?” Sofia asked, helping me back to my feet.
“I don’t know. It was bigger than a fast food wrapper, but smaller than a garbage bag. Whatever, let’s just try to get back to school before dawn.”
She agreed, and we resumed walking. I’d almost forgotten about the car and its mystery expulsion, when we came upon a duffel bag on the ground. “Guess that’s what they threw,” I said.
“You don’t think it’s anything bad, do you?”
“Bad how?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “There aren’t a lot of good things people leave lying around in duffel bags.”
“Maybe they didn’t wanna wash their gym clothes.”
“Maybe they didn’t wanna get caught with the murder weapon.”
Damn. Such a dark imagination on such a sweet girl. “You think we should look?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Probably not. But if we check the news later and find out a driver died because a bag of C-4 blew up on the side of the road…”
“Where do you even come up with—no, never mind. I don’t think I want to know. So, we should check?”
“I think we should.”
“If it really is something like a bomb, won’t us fucking around with it cause it to go off?”
“Not likely,” she said. “Explosives like C-4 require a detonator, and a bomb would have a timer. If the timer was set to go off right when we were near it, that’d happen whether we messed with it or not. Anything we could set off by messing with the bag, like a land mine, would have gone off when the bag hit the ground.”
I took one more moment to wonder about my strange roommate and her weird knowledge, then looked around for a stick to poke the bag with. We were beside a cornfield, not woods, so there weren’t any fallen sticks or branches, but I found a long, red, plastic spoon near the side of the road. Fucking litterbugs. But it would help in this moment, so I kept my bitching to a minimum. I picked up the nasty, used spoon and approached the bag. I was about to give it a poke, when it moved.
Sofia and I both jumped back; so much for her certainty it wasn’t going to blow up on us. When nothing else happened for a few seconds, we leaned forward. It wiggled again, and this time there was a sound.
A meowing sound.
I looked at Sofia. “Cat?”
“Cat.”
I dropped the spoon and carefully unzipped the bag. “Oh, I motherfucking hate people,” I said. The fuzzy, golden-colored tabby cat was small, but appeared to be an adult. It was dirty and skinny and hadn’t been taken any kind of care of, and it begged us not to hurt it with its tiny, pathetic meow. I started to pull it out of the bag, but it let out a yowl of pain. I placed it gently back down, and tried to look it over.
“Is it okay?” Sofia asked, watching over my shoulder.
“It sounds like it’s in pain, but I can’t see well enough to check for injuries.”
She pulled out her phone and turned on the flashlight. “That help?”
“Yeah,” I said. The cat’s eyes flashed orange at me, and I considered how bright the light must be to it. “Pull it back a bit?”
She moved a couple of feet back, so the wash of light was gentler but I could still see. I pulled the sides of the bag open, keeping one hand on the cat so it wouldn’t try to run away. I didn’t blame it for not trusting humans at this point, but I was trying to help.
I needn’t have worried. There were some old scars, including a chunk missing from one ear, but I didn’t see any new cuts, no blood. One of its legs wasn’t moving with the other three, though, and when I gently touched it the cat let out a yowl. I didn’t know whether it was already broken and that was why the asshole driver had decided to ditch it, or whether it had broken when it landed after being ditched. I wished we’d gotten the car’s license plate.
“Its leg is broken,” I told Sofia. I zipped the bag back, leaving kitty’s head poking out, and lifted it as carefully as I could manage. “We’re taking it back with us.” It would to be an even longer walk back to OTA with an injured cat in tow, but I wasn’t leaving the poor thing on the side of the road to die.
“Are cats allowed in the Bubble?” “A place with that many witches? Of course they are. How do you feel about a third roommate?”
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