Vivian

Darkness. Complete and utter darkness envelops me. It’s as if the world has ceased to exist, leaving nothing but an endless void. My heart pounds in my chest, the only sound in this emptiness. Is this what Dad meant about the dangers of the disappearing act?

Am I lost forever in this nothingness?

But before panic can fully set in, before I can even draw a breath to scream, the darkness shatters.

Suddenly, I’m falling. The void gives way to a rush of sensations—wind whipping past my face, my stomach lurching, and then—

Impact.

I crash into something solid, the breath knocked from my lungs as I hit the ground hard. Pain radiates through my body, and I can feel dirt on my cheek. I lay there, dazed and disoriented, trying to process what just happened.

Did the spell work? Am I safe from the loan sharks?

Before I can gather my wits, I feel a touch on my arm. My heart leaps into my throat. They’ve caught me.

I look up, a defiant retort on my lips—and the words die in my throat.

This isn’t one of the loan sharks. This isn’t anyone I’ve ever seen before.

My eyes meet a pair of startlingly green ones, set in a face that makes my breath catch for reasons that have nothing to do with my rough landing. The man looking down at me with a mixture of confusion and concern is, quite simply, the most attractive person I’ve ever seen.

He’s tall—incredibly tall. Even kneeling beside me, I can tell he must be well over six feet. Shaggy dark brown hair falls to his eyebrows. His face is all angles and planes, with a strong jaw and high cheekbones that give him an almost regal look, despite the dirt smudged on his cheek.

As my gaze travels downward, I notice he’s slender but well-built, his body speaking of a life of physical activity rather than deliberate training. His clothes are odd—simple and somewhat ragged, nothing like what I’m used to seeing back home.

Who is this man? Where am I? What's going on?

We stare at each other for what feels like an eternity but must only be a few seconds. There’s a wariness in his eyes that matches what I’m feeling. He looks as confused by my sudden appearance as I am by. . . Well, everything.

Suddenly, his head snaps up, his body tensing. In the distance, I can hear shouts and the sound of running feet. The man’s eyes meet mine again, and this time there’s a decision in them.

Without a word, he grips my arm and pulls me to my feet.

“Come on, we have to—” he starts to say, but I jerk my arm free before he can finish.

“Don’t touch me,” I order, my tone a warning. I glance around at my surroundings, assessing the situation.

Years of living on the edge in Santa Monica have taught me to never let my guard down, especially around strange men—no matter how attractive they might be.

“Listen,” he says urgently, “there are men coming. Dangerous men. We need to move, now.”

I pause for a split second, trying to think through what I should do. The smart thing would be to run, to get as far away from him and his pursuers as possible. But I’m in an unfamiliar place, with no idea where to go or who to trust. At least this guy seems to know the lay of the land.

“Fine,” I say curtly. “Lead the way. But keep your hands to yourself.”

He nods, and we take off at full speed. The world around me is a blur as we race through what seems to be a town.

But it’s like no town I’ve ever seen before.

The buildings we pass are a hodgepodge of styles, all of them looking old and somewhat decrepit. No cars line the dirt roads, no streetlights, no neon signs. Instead, I see horse-drawn carts, oil lamps flickering in windows, and signs swinging in the breeze advertising things like “Smithy” and “Apothecary.”

As we run, the oddness of this place hits me in waves. The air smells different—a mix of wood smoke, animals, and something I can’t quite place. It’s as if I’ve stepped into a historical reenactment, but one that’s all too real and gritty.

We dash down a narrow alley, the man leading me with a surety that speaks of intimate familiarity with these twisting passages. Behind us, I can hear our pursuers.

“Where did they go?” one shouts hoarsely.

“Check down there!” another orders.

“Don’t let them escape!”

My heart is pounding, my breath coming in gasps. I want to stop, to demand answers, but the urgency in the man’s movements tells me this isn't the time for questions.

We emerge from the alley onto a wider street. The man pauses for a split second, his head swiveling as he seems to consider our options. Then, with a grunt of decision, he pulls me toward a dilapidated building that might once have been a house.

The door hangs crookedly on its hinges, creaking ominously as he pushes it open. Inside, the air is thick with dust and the musty smell of abandonment. Broken furniture and debris litter the floor, and I have to watch my step to avoid tripping.

The man leads me unerringly through the gloom toward the back of the house.

Eyeing the doorway suspiciously, I begin to shake my head. Oh hell no. “I’m not going in there,” I state firmly, “For all I know, you could be leading me into a trap.”

“Look,” he says, frustration creeping into his voice, “I’m trying to help you. Those men will be here any second.”

As if on cue, we hear voices in the distance. My eyes narrow as I weigh my options. Goddammit. Fine. I dart inside and he follows quickly, shutting the door behind us.

My stance is tense, ready for action. Every instinct I’ve honed on the streets of Santa Monica is screaming at me to be alert, to be ready for anything.

With no time for explanations, he leads me further inside. There, partially hidden by a fallen beam, I see a trapdoor in the floor. He heaves the door open, revealing a set of stairs descending into darkness.

I eye the door warily. Following a stranger into a dark cellar in a world I don’t understand—every instinct is screaming that this is a bad idea. But then I hear the shouts again, closer now, and I realize I don’t have much choice.

“After you,” I say, my tone brooking no argument.

He hesitates, but there’s no time to discuss. He descends the stairs quickly, and after a moment’s pause, I follow, pulling the trap door shut behind us.

Darkness envelops us once more, and I freeze on the stairs, my heart racing. I've had enough darkness for one day. I feel a hand on my shoulder, and instinctively flinch away.

“Keep moving,” the man whispers. “I know the way.”

Grudgingly, I follow his lead, keeping one hand on the wall to steady myself. We make our way down the stairs into what must be a cellar.

It’s marginally lighter down here, thin slivers of daylight peeking through cracks around the door. As my eyes adjust, I can make out shelves lined with dusty jars and bottles, a few broken crates, and not much else.

The man leads me to a corner furthest from the stairs, where we both kneel down behind a large crate. Only then, in this moment of relative safety, do I open my mouth to ask the questions that have been building.

He turns to me, pressing a finger to his lips in a clear gesture for silence. Irritation courses through me at the cheek of this man and I want to scream at him, But above us, I can hear thumps on the floorboards. I immediately close my mouth.

We wait in tense silence to see if we’ve successfully evaded capture, and I find my gaze drawn once again to the man beside me. His features are cast in shadow, adding an air of mystery to his already intriguing appearance.

A bead of sweat trickles down his temple, and I watch its path, tracing the strong line of his jaw. His eyes are focused upward, alert for any sign of danger, and I can see the muscles in his neck and shoulders tense with readiness.

Who is he? A fellow fugitive? My rescuer? Or have I simply jumped from one danger into another?

I try to focus on our predicament, on the very real threat above us. But I find it increasingly difficult to concentrate on anything but the questions still swirling in my mind, Where am I? Can I trust this stranger?

Suddenly, a voice rings out above us, startlingly close. “Where did they go? They can’t have just disappeared!”

I tense, every muscle in my body coiled and ready for action. Fight or flight—I’m prepared for either. I’ve been in tight spots before, but this. . . this is something else entirely.

The man glances at me, our eyes meeting in the gloom.

For a moment, the danger above seems to fade away, and I’m lost in those green depths, seeing a mix of determination, wariness, and something else I can’t quite name.

My heart is pounding. I’m not sure if it’s from fear of discovery or from the intensity of this stranger’s gaze.

As we kneel there in the musty darkness, ears straining for any sign of threat, eyes locked on each other, I can’t shake the feeling that my life has irrevocably changed. That somehow, in using that forbidden spell, I’ve been set on a path I never could’ve imagined.

And as I study the face of this handsome, mysterious man, I wonder if perhaps he might be the key to understanding this strange new world I’ve fallen into. But I remind myself sternly—I can’t afford to trust him. Not yet. Not until I know more.

In this bizarre, dangerous new world, the only person I can truly rely on is myself.