There was a scuffling of objects as someone moved towards the other side of the kitchen door, snapping me from my internal crisis. I darted from the doorways and wove as efficiently as possible back to my seat, trying to sit down like nothing was amiss.

That attempt lasted nearly seven-tenths of a second.

"What's wrong?" Elise asked, looking up from her book. I'm not sure if Elise is just very attuned to my emotions, or I am just a horrible actress. I like to believe it's the former.

"I'm not entirely certain. I think someone here knows my— my mother." I managed, staring down at the wood grain.

Elise slipped her well-worn lucky bookmark into The Art of War and placed the closed book in her lap. "Who?"

"The waitress, but I'm not entirely sure how. I overheard her talking."

Elise paused for a moment, pondering the information like a chess player preparing to move her queen. "Well, how do you want to approach the situation? Do you feel comfortable enough to find out what she knows, or do you need backup?"

I gnawed away at the inside of my lip. Reese wasn't overly frightening, and I did want desperately to know more about my mother, but alarms were going off in my head. "I'm not... I'm not sure."

My aunt is one of the best storytellers I have ever heard, but she had only ever used a handful of adjectives to describe my mother. She was kind and reliable and dead. I didn't know when she was born, or where she'd gone to school, or what her favorite color had been.

Auntie tells stories of phenomenal depth about characters with detailed backgrounds and personalities and love. And yet, I didn't even know my mother's first name. At the mention of my mother, Auntie shuts down, and Uncle Coy walks away.

All I had was a faded picture, a silver necklace, and a handful of adjectives. Perhaps that is why I was terrified to ask the questions I didn't know the answers to; speaking of my mother would disobey the silent rule that I had followed for fifteen years.

Elise nodded. "I wish I could assuage your concerns, but I don't know enough about the situation to help. Sorry."

"No, thank you, Elise. You'll make a great psychiatrist one day." I grinned, forcing my feelings back with sarcasm.

"Psychiatrist?"

"Oh, are we back on surgeon?" I teased lightly.

"Lawyer, remember?" She smiled. "Last week, I decided too many psychiatrists get killed by their patients."

I snorted. "How could I forget?"

She shrugged breezily, looking back towards her book. "I'm not sure." She took out a highlighter, running it over a line of text.

"Why are you reading that book again?" I asked. The book was long and such a dry read.

"It's my favorite." She answered defensively, capping her highlighter. "Every time I read it, I discover something that I hadn't before. Haven't you read To Kill A Mockingbird three times through?"

"I only read that twice for school. Besides, To Kill A Mockingbird isn't my favorite book." That book gave me nightmares the first time I read it.

She rolled her eyes. "You better not be referring to your aunt's book."

I snorted in return. "At least it's not as boring as The Art of War."

"It's a children's book, Gwyn," Elise argued with a dismissive tone. "The Art of War is a classic discussing psychological warfare at its best. The old collection of obscure fairy tales your aunt read to you as a child are meant to entertain. You can't compare them using the same expectations."

"Really?" I took a ragged breath. "That's a pretentious way to think. Just because the stories are less mainstream than Sun Tzu doesn't mean that they aren't worthy of your respect."

"That's not what I was trying to say, Gwyndolyn." She looked past me to the rest of the restaurant. "It's like trying to compare the quality of an elephant and a sock. They are too dissimilar to compare on the same quality scale. The Art of War is meant to be analyzed and internalized.

"Your childhood fairy tales are meant to ensure children dream about pleasant things like princes and magic. I don't understand why you still cling to fiction so strongly."

"I do not. It's—"

"Gwyn," she interjected. "Hasn't experience already taught you just how ludicrous fairy tales are?"

"I know that. I just..." I couldn't find the words to argue my point any further. Elise was right, of course. I had stopped believing Auntie's captivating bedtime stories the day Sloane died. But the way Auntie could craft a story used to make me feel like some magical world could be waiting outside my front door, so I still reread the same tales, allowing myself to slip into that magical world for even just a short time.

Elise seemed to take note of my sadness and sighed again. "Look, Gwyn. I know what those stories mean to you. The fact that—" She paused, tilting her head quizzically for a moment before speaking again at a much more cautious speed. "I will only ask one question: Does your fear of confrontation outweigh your desire to learn more about your mother?"

I didn't answer. I was too busy following Elise's gaze to the entrance door of Bumsnort Barbecue. Reese tugged the front door open, tossing a farewell to a young busboy and stepped outside.

It was now or never. I stood to take action only to sink back down when anxiety took up arms against me. Suddenly, a million problems came to my mind, followed by their disastrous results. My heart hammered in my chest like I was running a race. "I— I— I can't do it."

"Nonsense," Elise tutted. "You want this, don't you?"

"Yes, but—" I have no idea what to say or ask or do. I don't know if I can ask. I don't know if—

"Here." Elise fished her lucky bookmark from the pages and stuffed it into my hand. "It's never lead me astray."

I looked down at the bookmark, still hesitant.

"If you don't go, I will buy a tub of peanut butter at the gas station, and I will keep it open the rest of the trip," she threatened, her eyes sparkling with an evil earnest. She knew how much I hated the smell of peanut butter, and she would do it. I had the experience to prove it.

I forced a smile. With a threat like that, what could I do? I tucked the metal bookmark into my back pocket for luck. Elise stood, pulling me up out of the booth and pushing me towards a most unfortunate chain of events.

I paused at the doorway before stepping outside of Bumsnort Barbecue. Looking back now, I know it was a stupid idea to leave the restaurant without a buddy. However, in my defense, Reese looked like a sixteen-year-old, preppy, blue-eyed cheerleader-type that was maybe five feet tall.

As hesitant as I was to address her, it was fear of social interaction, not physical altercation, that made me pause. She seemed physically harmless. I spotted her trying to lean against the metal statue of a buck sitting on a toilet. She corrected her action when the figure started to shift from its concrete stand, but her eyes remained glued to her neon yellow phone. I squared my shoulders and approached.

"Hello?" I asked, trying to catch the waitress's attention when she didn't notice me walk up. She remained focused on the phone in her hands. "Excuse me?"

"Gwyndolyn Dare?"

I turned as I realized the voice hadn't come from Reese. Confused, I looked towards the source of the noise. As I craned my head up to take in the tall, imposing, scary woman casting her shadow upon me, I lost the ability to create coherent thoughts.

"You are Gwyndolyn Dare, correct?"

"Uhhh..."

"Tyro!" The scary lady barked at the waitress, which finally caught her attention. "Is this the girl?"

Reese snapped to alert, pulling out her earbuds and noting my presence with a slight look of confusion. "What are you doing out here?"

"Tyro," Scary Lady warned, "this better be the girl."

Reese nodded before offering me a bright and encouraging smile. "Right, yes. This is her. Can't you see the eyes? Can't you feel it? She is practically radiating with power."

What was she talking about? Radiating? I don't radiate. I sweat profusely in the intense humidity of the Deep South.

The Scary Lady peered down at me, her jet-black hair falling around her face and creating a stronger contrast to her intense hazel eyes. I fought the urge to squirm under her sharp gaze. "I think you are right, Reese."

"Wait, honestly?" Reese exclaimed; her voice leaped up an octave. "I got it right? I got it right! This is so spectacular and amazing and—"

"Tyro!"

"Right. Sorry. Do I still get to say it?" She asked, looking disheartened.

Scary Lady clenched and unclenched her right hand and muttered something softly to herself, but Reese took that as the go-ahead and turned her bright eyes back on me. She grinned again like a child at Christmas. She straightens up to full height with her chin tilted up. "It is my honor to tell you, Miss Gwyndolyn Dare, that we are here to rescue you!"

"From what?" I glanced sideways, watching for anyone exiting or entering the restaurant, but nobody came.

"The mundane depravity that is human existence," Reese explained loftily, eliciting another dissatisfied noise from Scary Lady.

"Tyro, stick to protocol," Scary Lady barked.

"Right. Sorry. I was trying to make things a little more exciting."

They're already exciting enough, I wanted to say in my best sarcastic drawl, but the desire didn't overtake my reason. I focused on the narrow opening between Reese and the statue's edge.

"Please step out of my way."

"No," Reese stepped forward, pushing me back towards the statue. I grabbed her elbow in an attempt to move it out of my way, but Scary Lady took hold of my arm in a vise-like grip. My fear shot up several degrees.

"Protocols dictate that we escort you to your immediate superior. As a mikros, that would be your parents, but since—"

Channeling the confidence of Elise and the willpower of Colel, I interrupted her with a cool, crisp voice. "Let me go, or I will scream." I needed to get back to the surrounds of other people.

"She doesn't want to come?" Reese asked, glancing at Scary Lady. I took that instance of distraction to try pulling free of Scary Lady. She let my arm drop but effectively boxed me in with a solid armbar.

"It does happen on occasions such as these. This realm is all she knows. She doesn't remember anything of Roanoke," Scary Lady explained.

"What?" The word fell awkwardly out of my lips. Are they talking about my mother?

"Roanoke," Reese supplied. "The land of the Telvi."

The Telvi? An alarm of a different breed overtook my face. Surely she hadn't said that. She must have said something else—'Tell Tea' or perhaps 'TV.'

"The Telvin race. You don't even know who the Telvi are?" She repeated the word, scaring me further. Her eyes were as wide as saucers. Why was she saying that word? How did she know?

"Wait," Reese paused, looking over my face, quizzically, "do you think that you're human?"

What was she? How did she know of the Telvi? Was this some sick joke? My heart was exploding against my chest. I needed to get away from these crazies as soon as humanly possible.

"This may be a joke, but this is your last warning," I threatened even as anxiety was stuffing my throat with doubt. Screaming would probably work eventually, but if someone would just walk past me, or notice through the tinted restaurant windows, or... a foolish thought came to my head.

"Seriously, though?" Reese repeated like it was the funniest thing in the world. That girl was nuttier than a five-pound fruit cake.

"Focus, Tyro," Scary Lady reminded her. "We have a job to complete."

I knew what those words meant. Scary Lady grabbed for my arm, but I lunged backward, steeling myself against possible injury and sending out a prayer to the universe. I ignored the painful crack in my shoulder as I drove my body weight backwards into the ugly statue. The beast wobbled and fell, crashing through the window of Bumsnort Barbecue.

"Help!" I screamed. "Somebody help me!"

"Tyro! Get the car!" Scary Lady shouted.

The last thing I saw was a flash of movement before darkness descended upon me.