Vivian

This has to be a dream.

The heavy door creaks open, and Draven walks inside with purpose. I have no choice but to follow him, but that doesn’t mean I trust him. I can stay with him long enough to get a lay of the land and then I need to figure out a way back home.

His handsome looks have absolutely nothing to do with it.

The inside of the tavern brings my thoughts of home to a jarring halt.

The crooked, faded sign of Dreaghor’s Tavern hanging on its last chain link loop is a good representation of the shoddy, run-down interior, but where I expected a cold, dismal atmosphere, I’m struck by warmth.

Despite the crooked walls and a door that’s seen one too many aggressive shoulders, people huddle together with smiles on their faces nursing tankards double the size of their fists. Candles line the walls and dot the tables, fighting for life against the drafts that blow through every so often.

Wooden tables creak under the weight of amused men snorting with laughter and overflowing tankards being slammed down to the sound of scattering coins. A few curious people glance our way, and their eyes track Draven as he weaves expertly around tables toward a dark corner tucked at the back.

I’m less graceful. The uneven floor catches on my sneakers, and my attention drifts from the array of threadbare cloaks clinging to tired shoulders to the glint of real, honest-to-good swords hanging from the belts of those who prop themselves up on the bar.

This place is like Santa Monica spat out a larping event.

My awe slows my steps until Draven’s hand closes around my wrist, and he pulls me forward just in time to avoid a tired-looking woman who spins near me with a tankard filled with sloshing liquid. The sharp, almost buttery scent of some kind of alcohol cuts through the faint mildew in the air.

I allow Draven to pull me along only because I trust his ability to weave unnoticed through the crowd.

“Draven!” A voice rises above the murmur of all others and Draven is suddenly yanked down by another man. “You cunning dog. How in the gods did you come back unscathed? You took off like death himself walked through that door.”

“Yeah, and thanks for the help Neiman,” Draven replied, shoving hard at a man who I assume is his friend. He drops into a rickety stool next to Neiman and I follow suit.

The wood is uncomfortable against my ass, but after all that running and hiding, it’s nice to sit and take a moment to breathe.

“And what was I supposed to do?” Neiman snorts over the curled lip of his tankard. “Throw myself at their feet and confess to my own bounty? No chance. I knew you’d need someone to bail you out.”

“So you were looking out for my best interest, was it?”

“Aye!” Neiman laughs heartily, then he lowers his voice and leans in close. “Bit risky though, coming back here?”

“So risky that it’s the safest place to be,” Draven replies.

It strikes me that while Draven is literally the only person I know in this bizarre place—sort of—those men were chasing him for a reason. I watch his face light up as he explains his escape route to his friend like he’s telling a child some elaborate adventure story.

Neiman drinks it up as heartily as his drink.

While Draven talks about running through alleys and up and down stairs, my attention drifts once more and tiredness aches behind my eyes.

I need to get out of here. I need to try and get back home, gather my things and then. . . my heart sinks.

What am I going to do? I don’t have the cash to run far enough to get away from my father’s debt. And then again I can hardly leave while my father is still missing.

What if he comes back, finds me gone, and walks right into those debt collectors? What if he can’t smooth talk his way out of it?

And this place? It’s like I’ve fallen into a painting.

I quickly scan each face and find myself falling into the familiar habit of checking who isn’t keeping an eye on their wallet, and who wouldn’t feel my fingers in their pocket. It’s comforting to think about that now that I have a second to really think, until I get the distinct feeling that no one here actually has a wallet.

“And who is she supposed to be?” Neiman’s voice draws me back to the conversation. “A new jester? What is she even wearing?”

“Me?” I say, indignation rising. Draven lifts one brow and the way he looks me up and down sends an unexpected flush of heat cascading through my body.

I lift my chin and swallow down the feeling. “I’m wearing clothes.”

“No clothes I ever saw,” Neiman snorts.

I’m about to snap back at him when I realize that as strange as this entire place is to me, everyone else fits. I’m the odd one out.

“Neiman, what happened the last time you talked about a woman’s clothes?” Draven remarks sharply. “Or do you want me to go and find Freya again? I’m sure she still has a few choice words for you.”

Neiman buries his face in his tankard and when he comes up for air, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Maybe if you stopped picking up stragglers, I wouldn’t have this problem.”

“Aye, ‘cause I’m the reason you’re a thickwit,” Draven groans.

“My name is Vivian.”

“Vivian?” Neiman repeats my name as if it’s a strange taste in his mouth. “You ain’t from around here with a name like that.”

A thunk sounds from under the table as Draven’s eyebrows shoot upward and Neiman grunts and nearly doubles over.

I bite back my snort of amusement and nod. “You can say that again. I’m. . .” I hesitate. Draven already seemed alarmed by my questions back in the cellar. What do I even say here?

Draven’s green eyes linger on me as I quickly mull it over, even as his head tilts away. It’s like he’s watching me. Like he knows something and is waiting for me to trip up.

I can’t say the attention makes me uncomfortable. In fact, getting checked out might be the only normal thing about this entire place.

“I’m a traveler,” I say, feeling like it’s the only acceptable answer. “I’m just passing through and took a wrong turn. The next thing I know, your friend here is crashing into me because he’s getting chased, and I just sort of. . . went along with it.”

My heart begins to race. As lies go, that’s pretty terrible but I have no idea what else to say. This entire place is so incredibly unfamiliar that there’s a strong chance something I say could get me into a lot of trouble.

“Aye, he does that,” Neiman snorts. “I’m tellin’ you now. Turn your pretty head and run as far away from Draven as you can. He’s all trouble.”

“Shut up.” Draven smacks his hand over his friend’s head. “How much mead have you had? I noticed you drank mine too, when you were so worried about what those bounty hunters were doing to me.”

“It was a pressing time,” Neiman murmurs and his voice turns soft, gently mocking. “I had no idea if you would come back to me!”

“Aye.” Draven rolls his eyes, then he stands abruptly and when his green eyes lock with mine, all noise from the tavern melts away. “Come on, it’s late. I know a place you can rest for the night.”

We bid farewell to his friend and slip back out the door. I huddle in my clothes and make it three steps away from the tavern before Draven suddenly drapes a cloak over my shoulders.

“What the—?” It’s heavy and smells musty, carrying the stink of wood smoke and ale with it.

“Your clothes make you stand out,” Draven says with a nonchalant shrug. “Better safe than sorry.”

“Did you steal this?”

He sends me a smirk. “What answer would make you happy?”

I choose to accept it and huddle in the cloak, toying with the rough fabric as we walk the slippery, cobblestoned streets. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere safe.”

“For me or you?”

“Don’t you trust me?” Draven glances at me once more.

“No. Do you trust me?”

He shakes his head, despite the light amusement in his eyes. “Then we will distrust each other together but not on the streets. Too many eyes.”

I know that feeling all too well.

A blanket of darkness covers this strange town, and alleyways become yawning black caverns with threats lurking in the shadows. The creak of window shutters turns into the call of unfamiliar animals, and each cloaked person we pass becomes an unknown threat.

I find myself walking close to Draven. I don’t expect him to protect me but in a bad scenario, I just need to run faster.

He strides with purpose while my sneakers slip on cobblestones smoothed with age. The air, soured with the stink of piss and waste, even smells different underneath.

Deep down, I know I’m far from Santa Monica.

My tired thoughts run, turning as they always do lately—to my father.

Could he be here? He vanished so completely that it’s entirely possible that he could be in this place if he tried the same spell I did.

“Careful.” Draven’s arm comes out and he guides me around some crumbling stones in the road, then he comes to a stop in front of a small, ramshackle house that’s easy to miss.

“What is this place?”

Draven looks at me silently for just a second. “It’s home.”