After numerous encounters with wicked furniture that added to the growing collection of bruises on his thighs and accidentally knocking more items to the floor, he found a door. It opened into a long, empty hallway, which greeted him with cool lavender scents. A thin strip of light ran between mahogany wall panels and in all the corners, illuminating his path. He brought his useless eyes close enough to recognize the stream of liquid magic flowing through a thin glass tube. 

“Remarkable,” he mused, wondering where it was coming from and where it ended its journey. 

The cushioned rug quieted his footsteps as he continued on, eager to learn about the house connected to that magical laboratory. He heard a door opening and closing and rushed forward. Yes, this was exactly what he needed. Someone with answers.

“Hey!” a voice made him jump. “How did you get in here?”

It belonged to a young woman, but she stood too far to be more than a hazy blob of bright white. 

He heaved a sigh of relief. “Hi. I was hoping you could help me.”

Her tone changed from accusatory to a pleasant surprise as she came closer. "I'm sorry. I didn't know anyone was coming over.”

The hazy blob turned into a tall and tan woman dressed in a white business suit. She was human as far as he could tell but didn't seem to mind that he was not. She tilted her head as she looked at him, her smile growing, but then she gasped, "Sweet angels, your hand. Are you okay?"

He looked down at his red-stained fist. It throbbed to the beat of his heart, but at least it stopped bleeding by now. "It's just a glass cut."

"Come, there's a first aid kit over here stocked with a Golden Drop."

He followed the staccato of her heels through the tiled floor which muted when they stepped on the carpet. When she opened a door from the hallway, the lights turned on their own, illuminating a small bathroom.

"Whoah," he said, squinting at the glowing strips that lined every corner. "How does it light on its own?"

"Threshold runes activate automatically when you pass by them. It's an old MaaS invention."

He rinsed his bloody hand under the faucet while she rummaged in a drawer for what he assumed was a gauze.

"Do you live here?" he asked.

"No, though sometimes it feels like it," she chuckled. "I was on my way home already, but then I saw that flash of light and worried that something went wrong with one of his experiments. I'm Tristine, Merlin's personal assistant."

She retrieved a small vial and emptied a few golden drops on a cloth which she dabbed on his hand. It stung at first, but then, relief washed over him. It was official—he loved all forms of magic.

"What's your name?" she asked.

He sighed and tested his healed hand by opening and closing his fist. "I don't know. I was hoping you could help me figure it out. I think I'm suffering from retrograde amnesia." He paused, taken aback that he knew that term when he didn't even know his own name. "Where am I?"

She put the supplies away and frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Who lives here? I hope they could help me figure out what's going on. And I'd love to get a tour. This house is so interesting."

She blinked, frowning so deeply, even his defective eyes could tell that her mood changed. "I thought you're... I thought… You're not Merlin's... guest?"

"Is that who lives here? I'd love to talk to him. Where could he be?"

She covered her mouth and retreated from the small room with awkward jerky moves. “How did you get in here?”

“Through the lab, but I don't remember how I got there. I have amnesia.”

“Right. Amnesia,” she said, then she called out in the direction of the laboratory. "Master Merlin?"

"There's no one in the lab. I just came from there."

“I don't get paid enough for this shit,” she whimpered, backing away from him. "I don't know how you got in here but you-you need to leave. You shouldn't be here."

He lifted and dropped his arms. “I don't know where I'm supposed to be. I don’t know what I’m doing here or even where here is. I woke up in that lab with no memory of anything, not even my name. Maybe if we found this Merlin guy, he could explain.”

He tried to move forward to convince her but she shrieked. “Don't come any closer.” She fumbled for something in her pocket while speaking in a rush. “I don't know how you're expecting Merlin to fall for that tale, but it is not going to earn you a private audience. He doesn't entertain stalkers. You need to leave.”

“Stalkers? I'm telling you the truth.”

She was too far for him to see what she pulled out of her pocket, but he heard a light beep. "Police are on their way,” she said, putting it away.

“Police?”

She took another step back, but her voice no longer shook. “If I were you, I'd call this burglary a fail and run already.”

“I’m not a burglar!” he snapped but now he too started backing away in what he hoped was the direction of the exit.

"Then who are you?”

“If you'd only let me talk to that Merlin guy...”

She scoffed. “Not a chance, kid. I don't know what you were hoping for but Merlin doesn't have visitation hours in his private residence. You have to schedule a visit to his factory as everyone else.”

He backed up into a stained-glass door, which he cracked open and hesitated with his hand on the handle, hoping that Merlin would come out and clear everything up. He waited for a heartbeat, but then, he might have imagined it, but he thought he heard a police siren wailing in the distance. If this woman wouldn’t believe him, neither would the police. He didn’t know his own name, but he knew that amnesia wasn't a convincing alibi.

“Fine,” he hissed and rushed out of the house onto a moonlit lawn. He ran into a thick cover of trees, hoping he could disappear into the night like a nameless cat.