Bound by the Mist (Mists of Eria) (2 page)

Despite the dread this caused, she filled every one of his minutes, so even his waking moments were not his alone. He hated this fact, and her at times. And now the veil had appeared.

He glanced up at it. Shaking off his indecision, he stood and squared his shoulders. This opportunity for insight couldn’t be overlooked. Otherwise, he would go mad. Something he couldn’t define itched continually at his skin, at his mind, seeking entrance.

But when he gazed into the swirling mass of fog and starlight, disappointment took hold. Nothing was visible. He turned to go but paused midstride. The veil stabilized as a rift opened up within it, and an image started to appear. He held his breath, afraid any puff of air would cause the wavering picture to disappear. Seated figures that conversed together or studied from books in a large white room dominated the sight before him.

As Relian’s vision sharpened and the clarity of the scene increased, he narrowed his eyes. Two human women walked toward the door. The last one’s reddish-brown hair somehow seemed familiar. His heart and stomach lurched together painfully, making his head swim when she turned her head toward the veil for a brief second before her friend pulled her away.

When the door closed behind the women, something moved on the breeze within the mist. He had to draw on all his long years of elvin inscrutability not to make a scene. What exactly he would have done, he couldn’t say. But as the few intertwined strands of auburn hair came to rest upon his hand, the remembrance of another such occasion sprang up. A chill of horror danced down his spine.

Memory and dream merged. Before him rose up the dreamscape of the woman’s red hair spread across his pillow and the memory of a young girl’s hair. A decade ago, the veil took a plait of auburn hair, allowing it to float through the rift and wrap around his hand. Even though the girl had been but an adolescent, he now arrived at a logical conclusion, one his mind rebelled at. But his assumption made sense. It was so simple, so elegant, so wrong.

Chapter 2

Later that day, Cal’s keychain jangled against the doorknob while she fought to liberate her key from the lock. After she bolted the door behind her, she dropped the keys into a small bowl on the table and trudged to her bedroom. She ignored the dark woodwork and avocado walls of the living room. The very sight nauseated her on the best of days.

Tossing her book bag down on her bed, she let out a weary moan and stretched her muscles. Being stuffed into a chair all day was hell on her body.

Now she could relax. She glanced around. Her apartment might not be much, but at least she didn’t live on campus. Maggie wouldn’t be back until sometime after seven, so the place was hers for a few hours. At a time like this, she could overlook the tiny, outdated kitchen and the even drabber green bath.

A wry smile curved her lips. Apparently the owners had been obsessed with green and even now didn’t want the puke-colored shades changed. She shrugged. The visual assault to her retinas was worth the privacy. Fortunately, the color scheme for the walls hadn’t carried over into her cream-colored bedroom.

A yawn escaped her. She kicked off her shoes and collapsed onto the lumpy mattress in a seated position. The impact knocked her book bag off the edge of the bed, and she winced when it hit the floor with a thud. Oh well, she’d pick it up later.

Hours of coursework awaited her, but sweet oblivion was what she desired. In the corner of the room, her glossy acoustic guitar glowered at her. In the past, practicing the instrument had soothed her, but she couldn’t muster the drive anymore. She hardly felt like herself, awake or in sleep. Either way, she seemed to be lost in dreams.

Cal grimaced. Surely she was only restless and tired, her sleep not being what it should. Too bad the excuse rang hollow.

Strange dreams and visions, ones she couldn’t quite remember when she awoke, had lately overtaken her nights. Only snippets remained, but the common theme always featured a man. No, that wasn’t right. She labeled the male an elf for some reason.

Maybe because of the lilting language he spoke, and oh yes, the pointed ears. Flowing black hair and stormy gray eyes seemed permanently branded into her psyche. That was all she could recollect of him when dreams faded.

Pressing a hand to her still aching forehead, she bent over to retrieve her bag and froze. The floor underneath the bag, underneath her feet, rippled and swelled into a mass of waves.

She jerked her legs up on the bed, her heart plummeting. As she whimpered, her gaze stayed fixated on the floor.

A glittering mist formed on the ground, overtaking the strange ripples and leaving her blind while it crept over the bed. She yelped and scrambled for the covers. Her fingers, shaking so badly they hardly functioned, pulled frantically at the comforter and sheets. Desperation lent strength to her hands, and she managed to fling the covers over her head. Not even for escape would she get off the bed.

Her blood tried to pound itself out of her veins, and her body shook uncontrollably. Inside the cocoon of her blankets, there was nothing but the darkness. She focused on her breath, the rasp of it as rose and fell. What would the fog do now? Would it take—

She shook her head. No, there was nothing out there. Pretend the mist didn’t exist, and it wouldn’t. Denial was easier and less painful. It had always meant no pills or pitying glances.

How long she stayed huddled under the covers, she couldn’t guess. Her thoughts turned to mush, fatigue and reality melding together in some kind of bizarre dance. Her bone-deep exhaustion finally took over, and sleep crept over her.

Even in sleep, her chaotic mind retained a disjointed awareness. Images of black hair and eyes the color of an angry sea flowed through her mind. Nothing else of his appearance was important. Then the scene changed, and she appeared beside him. Acutely aware of his body inches away from hers, she shivered at the heat between them.

Reaching out, he pulled her to him with a familiarity that settled deep into her bones. His touch burned through her like lightning as the callouses of his fingers left a lingering thrill of sensation on her skin. He lowered his head and covered her mouth with his. The taste of mint hit her tongue. She groaned and deepened the kiss, wanting to crawl into his very being.

The scene skipped forward. A bed appeared and bumped into the back of her knees as he pressed her down. Desire hummed though her at the feel of his body, of silk and muscle, bare against hers. Her hands roamed over him, and he moaned, the rasp of his breath in her ear. Settling over her, he joined their bodies, and hair of auburn and black lay fanned across the pillow.

With that last image, she shot up in bed, her breath rapid. Her mind spiraled into chaos as shudders racked her. The dream seemed so real. She could still feel his hands on her body, her skin tingling from that ghostly touch. Cal frowned as she pushed herself into a seated position against the headboard. Was she forgetting something important?

Slowly, the events of her day came back to her. Remembering the mysterious fog that formed on the floor, she crawled on trembling hands and knees to the edge of her bed. No mist lurked in the air. Now for the floor.

She took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes tightly shut before looking down. Nothing. There was nothing, nothing except the old harvest gold shag carpet and her bag.

Cal’s hands covered her face. Her life was spinning from the path she’d carved. She didn’t know what anything meant, didn’t want to know. All she wanted to be was a college student in her last year, getting ready to graduate. That was her definition of normal, one she’d thought possible.

Her mind sought solace by attempting to place these outrageous events into some semblance of a pattern. Any pattern that would tell her why control of her life, of her dreams, slipped from her fingers like too many grains of rice piled high.

Could he be the same male—the one from the tree-lined clearing ten years ago, the one in her recurring dreams? Every part of her cried out he was. There was also the hair fetish thing. Two separate times the mist took her hair. Every time, it and her elusive hair seemed to work in tandem, actively seeking
him
out.

She’d only been twelve during that first encounter with the mist, and therapy convinced her the occurrence was merely a manifestation of a psychotic mind or, at least, of an overactive one. But even that knowledge, along with a bevy of medications, had failed to stop the dreams and visions.

Her mind had, over the years, created a fantasy world—one
he
inhabited. And these improbable thoughts painfully intruded when she least expected it. She’d come to believe she embellished upon her original hallucination over the years, making him more awe-inspiring than reality demanded. No being could be so handsome and so...not human. Admittedly, all the mythical beings in that clearing had been shockingly attractive.

While she hadn’t quite understood his pull over her when she was young, she now recognized the feeling as an attraction. He drew her physically, even while dread repelled her.

Her control of that intruding world had been fragile before, but now it was nonexistent. She no longer imagined she saw shadows of a world in the peripherals of her vision. Now they appeared before her like translucent moving pictures, astounding her with their reality. Human-like beings, all with pointed ears, populated this lush, green world. However, she only caught snatches of the images before they floated away. Surely she couldn’t imagine such a place, let alone fabricate the intricacies she saw so briefly. But memory always quickly drifted away like mist, making her doubt the veracity of her beliefs.

Cal shook her head and withdrew her hands from her face before she straightened out of her slump. The parallels she’d drawn were neither helpful nor healthy. Madness would be her only companion down that road.

She’d more important things to worry about such as school, her part-time job, and family. If her parents and brother suspected a relapse, they’d demand she transfer to be closer to them. Cal shuddered. Insanity, whether real or imagined, was not a priority on her list. Psychosis would just have to wait its turn like everything else.

Throwing off the blankets, she pulled the sheets and comforter up and paused. Something was on her pillow, and the color of it tied her stomach into knots as she reached for it. Her hand paused before it reached its goal.
No, impossible.

With a shaking hand, she picked up the hair. In her palm rested reddish-brown strands that curved around longer black ones. She couldn’t be so crazy that she imagined what she held in her hand. The auburn and black strands behaved in a very peculiar manner, because no matter how many times untwined, they reunited moments later. Cal sat down with a thump on her bed, not moving for a very long time.

Finally decided upon a course of action, she rose from the bed and phoned the little boutique and gift shop where she worked. It wasn’t much of a stretch to sound sick. After she clicked off the phone, she booted up her computer. Sleep would have to wait while she did a little investigative work. Answers came first because ignoring the past apparently wasn’t working. She would prove to herself she wasn’t delusional.

***

Cal, against her better judgment, stopped in front of the brick façade of the Mists of Avalon bookstore. Her little Internet search of the week before, though informative, hadn’t truly shed any light on her situation. Desperate for an answer, she felt compelled to come here. She didn’t hold out much hope of discovering one at this place, but she wouldn’t be able to rest until she knew.

According to Maggie, the community recognized the store for its wide selection of all things fantastical. And Maggie would know, wouldn’t she? She’d lived here all her life. The owner was reputed to be missing more than a few brain cells, though, so many avoided the place.

Cal hesitated, but the last grip of hot August air made the decision for her. She pushed the door open, and bells jingled.

The smell of old books hit her nose and caused it to twitch. Great, her allergies were flaring up. She rubbed the back of her hand against the offending itch. Still, the place had an offbeat charm to it with knickknacks scattered around and incense softly burning. A short, plump woman smiled at her from behind a desk where an old-fashioned cash register stood. Her lightly lined face and silvery-blue hair made her look like perfect grandmother material. Cal offered a small smile in return.

Surprisingly, quite a few people milled around in the aisles. This assortment included young college students in t-shirts and jeans to elderly churchgoers dressed in their Sunday best.

At the back of the store, she found herself in a section entitled “Elves, Faeries, and other such Creatures
.”
Looking over the selection of titles, she didn’t know where to begin. She grimaced. Somewhere, anywhere—just take the first step. Plus, since it was the weekend, she’d finished her shift at work and didn’t want to go home. If she went home, she would sleep. If she slept she would dream, and that was too disturbing to contemplate right now.

She rubbed her tired eyes and reached out to pick a title at random. The small print of the pages caused her to squint while she flipped through the book for a few minutes, pausing now and then to read a promising passage. Her endeavor was impossible. The words blurred together. After snapping the book closed, she slid the tome back where it belonged. She wiped at her eyes again and grabbed another book. Then another. And still no real answers.

Cal closed her eyes and leaned against the bookcase. A strong reference point to guide her, to tell her what was believable or not, would’ve been nice. She scoffed at herself. As if there would be such a thing for this. A neat and tidy book to wrap up all details. This wasn’t one of her classes. She couldn’t treat it as a research project to tackle and wrap up all prettily. What did she expect because, really, how common was her situation?