Tuesday, September 23. My Apartment.

I slept like the dead.

Or maybe not. The dead probably don't dream.

These weren't the usual disconnected nonsense my brain served up. They came in flashes. A glimpse of something just beyond my vision. The certainty that if I could only turn my head a little farther, I'd finally see it.

I never did.

When I woke, the images were gone. Only the feelings remained.

Desperation.

A grief so deep it didn't feel like mine.

And the nagging certainty that something, somewhere, was terribly wrong.

I felt worse than I had yesterday.

My stomach demanded food. Loudly. My skin prickled with gooseflesh. My tiny apartment felt like an icebox. I couldn’t get warm.

Great. Now I had a fever to go with this bug.

At least I didn't have to drive to the office. My computer and files were already sitting on the kitchen table. I pawed for my phone and messaged John, my group lead.

Me: Working from home today. Unscrambling MacMarster.

No one was going to question me taking a work-from-home day after being handed the MacMarster account. They were supposed to be reserved for deep crunch time, and MacMarster certainly qualified. 

My original plan had been to get a few hours of work done after dinner last night so I'd have a prayer of leaving on time for my date with Sarah. 

That hadn’t happened.

I got up long enough to fish a blanket out of the closet and throw it on the bed. I usually slept with just a sheet. Maybe a blanket when the weather turned cool. Last night I'd wrapped myself in both, plus the comforter, and still couldn't get warm.

Burrowing beneath the pile helped enough that I drifted back to sleep.

Hunger dragged me awake several hours later.

My phone glowed accusingly from the nightstand.

9:15.

Get it together, Halberg. You have work to do. 

I dragged myself into the kitchen. A quick perusal of the fridge confirmed my stomach still considered everything inside inedible.

At this point, I’d have killed for a stale saltine.

I started opening cabinets.

Cabinet after cabinet came up empty.

Then—there. A can of chicken noodle soup. That was supposed to be healing or something, right?

One cabinet over sat a half-crushed box of saltines.

Jackpot.

The soup had another month before it expired. Lucky me. The crackers were probably stale, but my own arm was looking tempting at this point.

I dug out the can opener, poured a glass of water from the filter pitcher Sarah insisted on keeping stocked, and set the soup to heat.

The water disappeared in one go.

I stopped. 

Looked at the empty glass. 

Okay... 

That wasn’t normal. 

I hated water. I’d drink anything besides water given the choice. Yet I was already pouring a second glass, like I couldn’t get it down fast enough. 

This time I forced myself to slow down before I tried a saltine. 

Yup. They were stale. 

And tasted like cardboard. 

My stomach gave a little warning flip. 

Nope. 

Maybe the soup. It almost smelled edible.

The microwave dinged. I pulled the bowl out and let it cool just enough to risk it.

My phone pinged.

Tina: Thanks so much for your help yesterday. Good luck with MacMarster.

I left it unread. Not today, Tina. She wouldn’t have messaged unless she had screwed something else up. 

If I had enough brain cells to rub together, they were going to MacMarster—not her latest fire.

I took a cautious bite of soup. 

It was…better. Not good, but better.

Halfway through the bowl, my stomach lurched. 

Oh no. Oh he— 

I barely made it to the bathroom. 

When it was over, I was shaking so hard my teeth chattered. The only thing that chased away the chill was a shower turned as hot as it would go.

My chest ached like a hand was squeezing it. 

I closed my eyes instead of looking at the tattoo.

At the branches that only appeared to sway, as though caught in a breeze I couldn’t feel.

Bug. Definitely bug. 

At least my side wasn’t as angry. The welts were still red, but no longer puffy.

I crawled back into bed.

Sarah. 

I needed to tell her I was tied up with work after all.

There was no point mentioning I felt awful. She would want me to go to the doctor. Doctors cost money.

Worse, she’d want to stop by, bring me something. 

Whatever this was, I didn’t want to share it…or figure out how to explain my new ink or why my side looked like I’d pissed off a very large cat.

Sleep for now. I’d text her later.

Productivity was no longer a realistic goal. I shuffled through the folders I’d brought home for MacMarster. Opened the project file. 

Stared blankly at it. 

Checked email.

Convinced myself all I needed was a quick nap. 

On repeat.

Finally admitted defeat that evening. If I could stay awake long enough to make it to my bedroom instead of passing out on the couch—or the floor—again, I'd call it a win. My stomach growled almost constantly. If I hadn't been so tired, I would've gone to the store and bought the first thing that passed the smell test.

I remembered to text Sarah—an hour before I was supposed to be at her place.

Me: Sorry. Swamped with work. Rain check?

Threw in the most apologetic gif I could find. Didn’t want to survive this bug only to end up in the doghouse.

It wasn’t a lie. I hadn’t made enough progress on MacMarster.

It also wasn’t the truth.

I was dimly aware of burrowing under my ridiculous mound of covers, then sleep overtook me.

I dreamed again. 

I was…outside. 

I think. 

The sky stretched wide and clear, stars burning brighter than they should. Bright enough to show bare earth and broken trees shoved into jagged piles. 

Something had been destroyed here. 

I didn’t know what, just—anger, sharp and choking. Grief, vast enough to drown in. 

I wasn’t standing. 

I wasn’t anything.

Just…there.

Untethered.

As if gravity had let go of me. As if, without something to hold onto, I might simply fade.

Something flickered at the edge of my vision. 

I turned— 

It vanished. 

There—again.

Gone. 

Then came the pull.

Something latched beneath my ribs.

Not gentle. Not optional.

Forward.

My feet followed.

—or something moved them.

The world lurched.

Shifted.

My apartment.

Keys in hand.

I didn’t remember picking them up.

Cold air. Night.

Dim stars overhead, drowning in yellow city light.

Quiet engine hum.

Whisper of asphalt beneath tires.

Driving.

I knew this, but didn’t feel the wheel. 

Didn’t feel the pedals.

Just the motion.

Dark highway stretched ahead, nearly empty. A semi thundered past. A pair of taillights slipped by in the other lane.

Athens fell away. 

City glow faded. 

316 stretched into the darkness.

Stars burned overhead.

Brighter.

Too bright.

A turn off the highway.

A familiar street.

Took a moment to place it. Briarwood Court.

Matt’s neighborhood to the right. Why—

Turning left.

The car rolled into the construction site. 

Gravel crunched under tires. 

Machines loomed in the dark, silent. 

Hulking.

I was already out of the car.

Walking.

Cool dirt under my feet.

She stood there.

Pale. 

Still.

A sheet of black hair falling past her shoulders.

Her eyes—

I tore my gaze away.

No. 

I couldn’t look at them. 

Ancient. 

Too much in them. 

Too much behind them.

Red and gold drifted around her like fire given cloth.

Gemstones caught the starlight.

Crisp leaves.

Warm earth.

Something faintly spiced.

The scent drew me closer before I could think better of it.

I forgot how to breathe.

—and snapped awake.

I expected my ceiling. My bed. My room.

My heart raced. 

Cold air brushed my skin.

I wasn’t home.

She was still there.

Pale.

Motionless.

The same sheet of dark hair. The same eyes I glanced at before looking quickly away.

The fire had gone out of her clothes. They hung still now, a solid color I couldn't quite name. The gemstones were beads carved with tiny lines. 

She should have been a stranger.

Somehow, she wasn't.

“I have been calling you,” she said. “Why did you not come?”

Something pulsed beneath the tattoo.

Once.

Hard.

The lie shattered.

Memories slammed into me. 

Not new—just…there. Like they’d been missing.

Sunday.

Waiting for my ride. Hearing a scream. Rushing to help.

The teens. Her plea. Moonlight piercing me. Feeling like I was on fire.

“You,” I wheezed, forcing myself to stand straight. 

The pieces finally started fitting together. Somehow—crazy as it sounded—she had to be responsible for my mystery tattoo. No other explanation made sense. 

My rational mind fought back. How could she have done anything to me? She hadn’t even touched me.

But I’d woken up…wrong the next morning.

She stepped closer. 

I tried to back away.

Nothing.

She placed a pale hand over my heart. Over the tattoo. Warmth spread from her touch. The pain eased. My lungs finally filled.

She seemed almost transparent. Like she wasn’t quite here.

Wind moaned softly.

A shiver ran through me.

Bare feet.

Cold earth.

Where were my shoes?

I’d felt like crap for the better part of two days and now I was outside in a tee and lounge pants. No shoes. No jacket.

“You are not well,” she said softly.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” I managed. It came out weaker than I wanted. Lacked the growl of defiance. I still couldn’t figure what I was doing here and why I wasn’t at home under my blankets.

“Poison,” she said, lifting her hand. A brief, puzzled frown, as if she still wasn’t sure.

“Excuse me?”

“Your blood reeks of it. Your body cries—can you not hear?”

“Lady, what are you talking about?”

“You cannot consume poison. The bond will reject it.”

“Bond? What bond?”

A small shake of her head. Then she stepped back.

“What have you done to me?” I demanded.

Or tried to. My teeth chattering kind of ruined it.

“You swore to be my warden.”

“I did no—“

Will you ward me. 

Her words. 

They’d seemed odd at the time. But, being the gentleman that I am, I had said yes anyway. 

I wanted to kick that “gentleman.”

Tried again. 

“Lady, are you trying to tell me I am in some—“ I floundered, searching for the right word. “—some kind of magical contract?” 

My brain latched onto the only stupid reference it had. “What’s next, you hand me a top hat and a demon butler?”

Silence.

She studied me.

I had to look away from that gaze. 

“It seems much has changed,” she said. “Yes, I suppose that is as good an explanation as any. You are contracted to me.”

Icy fear flashed through me. Please let this all just be a dream.

But I had to ask.

“For how long?”

“Until I release you.”

I stared at her.

“Come again?”

I couldn’t read her expression. 

A flicker of impatience and frustration—not mine—slipped through me.

Where had that come from?

Yeah, that was it. I was done. I turned to march back to my car—

—or tried to.

“Stay.” 

The words hit like a physical weight. Cold. Sharp. Final.

I turned anyway.

My legs didn’t.

I pitched forward, landing hard in the dirt.

Move! 

I tried again—forced my muscles, fought for it like pushing through deep water. 

My body locked. 

Chest tightened, breath stuttering, that same pressure from before clamping down harder—warning.

“Do not.” A breath. Little more than a whisper. 

Impossible to miss.

The moment I stopped fighting it, the pressure eased. My lungs unlocked. 

I pushed myself up slowly.

Turned back to face her.

I tried to tell myself it was just coincidence. Had nothing to do with her—

—and didn’t believe it.

“This contract entails…what, exactly?”

I tried to keep my voice even. Like I was talking about the weather. Didn’t quite manage it.

Tried to shove the part of my brain screaming to run back into a corner.

“Heal first, Nathaniel. Then, we will talk.”

I bristled. 

Nathaniel. 

There it was again.

“Heal,” I spat, the word coming out sharper than I meant. “From poison, you say. I haven’t ingested any poison, lady.”

“Everything you have consumed since our bonding has been laced with it.”

“I have not—“ The words died in my throat. Sarah had said something—what was it? 

One of her friends was tough to hang out with these days? Something about not eating processed foods anymore. That everything was—

“Oh, no,” I said. “He—“ I caught myself. “—heck no. No way am I becoming vegan. I am not giving up pizza. Or cheeseburgers.”

“What is this…vegan?”

“How do you not know what vegan is? They’re the kids that don’t eat anything from animals. To save the planet or something.”

“Are you asking if you must abstain from meat?”

“I won’t.” 

I crossed my arms, mostly to hide that they were shaking. From cold, anger, fear—I couldn’t tell.

She took so long to answer I started to get nervous.

What if I tried to eat pizza and this contract—I gritted my teeth at the word—stopped me? Forget eating something and puking, what if I couldn’t even pick up food I liked?

“Meat should not be a problem,” she said at length. 

I breathed a sigh of relief. 

“—so long as it does not contain poison like the rest of your food.”

Anger flashed through me, white hot.

“And where am I supposed to find stuff that this—“ I jabbed a thumb at my chest. “—approves of? I’m not made of money. I can’t just go around buying things to see if maybe I can eat this without puking.”

She leveled a look at me as if I’d just asked where eggs came from.

This conversation had gone spectacularly off the rails. 

“Do you have a name? You seem to know mine already, though I prefer, Nate,” I said.

“I am called Lusa’ta.”

“That is…unusual. Is Lusa okay?”

“Do you take issue with names longer than two syllables?”

I blinked. What was wrong with a shorter version? No one wanted to run around saying Nathaniel all day. It was a mouthful.

“I—it’s a lot to say.” The words felt lame. 

She turned toward the thin stretch of forest. “Go, Nate. Heal.” 

I didn’t miss the weight on my name.

“Come find me this time two days hence. We have much to do and there is little time.”

It was clearly a dismissal.

Tires crunched on gravel. A white work truck turned into the site. 

I cursed and dashed back to my car, yanking the door open.

The dash clock said 5:45.

5:45?!

She wanted me here on…what day was it—Wednesday?

Friday, then. 

Friday at five in the morning?

There had to be a way to contest magical contracts. No way was I going to be stuck doing her bidding until she deigned to release me.

She'd neglected to mention when that might be. 

Of all the fan-fu—

Another car pulled into the site. 

I had better get out of here before someone figured out I did not belong and I got charged with trespassing.