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This really throws a wrench into any sense of morality and right or wrong. Time travel is a bitch.
And thinking of Dugald, I finally realize what the Druid was doing. I’m stronger, physically, then I’ve ever been. I was able to hold my own in the fight. I still can’t control any magic and don’t know what to really do with it when it comes but it’s something.
Soon, I will have to decide. I can only push decisions off for so long and I know it. I’m not stupid. I’m scared. Scared of making the wrong decision because, whatever I decide, it’s going to affect everyone. People I’ve never met and probably never will. This isn’t deciding where to go for dinner. It’s deciding the fate of at least two worlds.
Twirling my cup, I watch the lighter streaks mix with the darker portion of my espresso. Even my drink looks like a metaphor. Light and dark mixing, but as I continue to swirl, the dark is claiming the light. Can I let that happen?
Morally we represent bad as dark and good as light, but what if we’re wrong? By that logic this world around me is the dark. At least to the Fae like Dugald. Is that true? Is this all bad? Is the “light” actually better? How am I supposed to know?
I sigh, set the cup down, then roll my neck and shoulders to ease the tension. Looking around the café at the people who are engrossed in their lives, I empty my mind of all thought. I focus on my breathing, inhaling the rich aroma of espresso beans and exhaling the clean air.
What is this big decision that I’m being pushed to make? It’s the same as asking what life is. Anyone’s life is a series of decisions, one leading to the next. I don’t have to make any big decisions right now, but I do have to decide something. I need to know more, understand more. What decision leads to that?
There’s only one that gets me closer to that. Return to the Druid. Return and convince him to continue training me. I inhale deep, hold the breath, then nod to myself. I toss back the last of my coffee. Decision made, I slide out of my booth. This isn’t going to be fun.
ChapterTwenty-Three
While walkingto the alley where I last saw the Druid, I call Savannah. I nervously count the rings.
“Hey, Quinn,” she answers, cheerful as ever.
“Hey, how are you?”
“You know, stressed but good. You need something? I’m about to walk into class.”
“Oh no, sorry. Didn’t realize the time. I’ll check in with you later.”
“Is everything okay?” she asks, immediately leaping to concern for me.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I only wanted to check in.”
“Aww, you’re a sweetie. All good here. Gotta go though.”
“See ya,” I say, and we hang up together.
She doesn’t remember anything. If she did, there is no doubt that, one she’d still be freaked out, and two, that it would be the main topic of any conversation.
Satisfied at least that much of my life is still as together as it can possibly be, I turn all my attention to finding the Druid. As I enter the alley the wind blows hard enough to rattle the ladders of the fire escapes. Eddying whirls take shape and push random bits of trash around like miniature tornados dancing down the alley.
The stench is somehow even worse. It’s all the rot, garbage, and an extra layer that smells something like wet dog. The potholes are filled with fetid water which have rainbow streaks across them from whatever pollutants have been collected. I suppress the urge to gag and walk further down the alley.
“Druid?” I call, but the only response is my own voice echoing off decaying brick walls.
I walk from one end of the alley to the other, but nothing. I have no clue what I’m looking for, only a glimmering hope that I’ll know it when I see it. I stand at the midpoint of the three-block long alley and listen to the cars as they buzz past the opening. The sounds of tires on pavement and engines roaring are so incredibly mundane. Normal, really.
Is it bad?
I don’t know the answer, but it feels like I’m getting closer to a right question. Maybe that is the entirety of my problem with all of this. It’s not a lack of information, it’s a lack of the right question. Isn’t that what the Druid says?
Great. Am I really saying he’s right? Jerk.
I walk along the length of the alley and stop. The breeze turns cooler and makes the hair on the back of my arms stand on end. Staring, I turn a circle, but nothing looks different. I close my eyes and feel. Blocking off my sight forces me to lean into my other senses.
The odor of the alley is nauseating, a thick layer of rot and decay combined with wet cardboard. I force myself to keep my eyes closed longer. A soft tingle plays over my arms and neck. Without opening my eyes, I take a step to my right and the sensation lessens. Working on pure instinct I take a step left and the sensation is stronger.
Good. This is good.
I’m sure I’m onto something. Another step left and it is stronger still. Unsure how close to the wall I am I open my eyes and my awareness of the tingling disappears. I mutter a curse and return to where I started. Once again I close my eyes and repeat the first two steps.
