Bloodthorn

Chapter One

Idon’t believe in true love. Months ago, a man pledged his undying loyalty to me, only to break my heart a week and a half later. I will never fall in love again. Call me weak. Call me stupid. But I could never survive another heartbreak.

My heart may be broken, but it has not grown bitter. I will always believe in honor, truth, virtue, and the goodness of humankind. But love? Love is too fickle. Besides, I have better ways to spend my time than moping over what could have been.

The October air brought relief from Houston’s summer heat, for which I was grateful—it was the only thing helping me keep my cool as Mr. Duncan spat in my face.

You’re a hack, that’s what you are. I’m going straight to security to complain. I’ll put you out of business. You hear me? I’ll put this whole operation out of business. The wide brim of his cowboy hat shaded his bloodshot eyes, somehow making him look more menacing.

I’d dealt with skeptics before and usually had them calmed down by now, but Mr. Duncan refused to be reasoned with. I couldn’t understand why he was so stirred up. A moment ago, I’d been chatting with his wife, but after she’d tipped me ten bucks for a therapy session, Mr. Duncan had lost it.

You’ll go to jail, where all you frauds belong—

Duane, his wife said behind him, leave her alone. She helped me. Can’t you see that?

She tricked you. Claimed she was some kind of psychic hoodoo. Gave you a hogwash fairy story and made you believe it. Took our money. And I won’t have it. I work hard to earn a living, and I’ll be darned if some woman takes all my hard-earned cash away from me.

He turned to me, his cheeks so red I was surprised they didn’t catch fire.

Hacks like you make it hard for us ordinary folks to live a normal life.

A crowd had gathered. Usually, Ren Fest attendees gathered around a comedy act or a food cart, but now they were delighting in watching my humiliation. I should’ve put my boot out to collect donations. I’d need it for bail money after I killed Mr. Duncan.

I stood in my rented booth behind a table showcasing the tools of my trade—my mirror case and its five figurines, a dragon, elf, Wult, pixie, and goblin. The table was all that stood between Mr. Duncan and me, and I was glad it separated us. Otherwise, I was fairly certain he would have already strangled me.

Mr. Duncan leaned forward. You’ll get what’s coming to you. I’m heading down to management right now to complain about your shop. I’ll have you out of here by tomorrow. Mark my words. You won’t work here a day longer if I’ve got anything to do with it. He shoved the table before storming away, knocking my mirror case and all the figurines off the table and into the mud.

I’d been through a lot lately, and my mirror case was one of my only possessions that made me feel normal. My throat constricted as I stared at the figurines on the ground. Magic formed in my fisted hands, although I didn’t remember calling it. A spark of amber-white light glowed from my fingers, and without warning, a tiny spark popped Mr. Duncan between his shoulder blades.

What the— He spun around, and his hate-filled eyes met mine.

The crowd applauded. Like I said, I should’ve been collecting tips.

Mr. Duncan stumbled back. "What was that—some kinda firework? Now that’s called assault with a deadly explosive. You’re just making my job easier, sweetie." He leered at me before disappearing into the crowd.

Ruth, Mr. Duncan’s wife, walked forward, her eyes guarded as she looked from me to the mess on the ground. She wore her long, graying hair in a braid that wrapped around her head, and the flower wreath crown of white and yellow daises seemed to clash with her anxious expression. Looking at her broke my heart. She’d come here to have a good time, to lighten her spirits and feel human for a day, and now it had all been ruined.

I’m so very sorry… Her lip quivered. He’s always had a temper, but usually he can keep it in check. I really don’t know what’s gotten into him.

I nodded. Mrs. Duncan had been my client for many years. I’d resolved her issues relating to lost memories from Faythander, but she still suffered from panic attacks and depression. After meeting her husband, I was certain I knew why. She walked with a cane and complained of nerve troubles, so when she stooped to retrieve my figurines, I stopped her.

Ruth, don’t worry about it. I’ll pick them up.

She looked up at me, blinking to keep the tears out of her eyes. But Olive, you’ve done so much for me. Three years ago, I was in a bad place—a dark hole that I felt I’d never escape. But you showed me the truth of my past, and since then I’ve been able to cope. I don’t know if I ever thanked you. You don’t even ask for anything in return. What Duane said—it’s not true. You’ve helped so many people. And most of the time, you don’t even get a thank-you, much less get paid. I—I’m so sorry…

She left without saying another word, and I watched her go. The sun sank behind the rows of medieval-style shops. I wasn’t in Faythander, but coming to the Texas Ren Fest made me feel a little closer to home. I’d been short on clients lately, and the best place to pick up my type of patient was here. Fairy- and dragon-figurine hoarders loved this place, which meant they’d probably been to Faythander, which gave me ample business. So far, though, I’d made more money selling my homemade knit scarves and fairy figurines than I had counseling potential clients.

I heard a little girl begging to see the firework again, but she was quickly towed away as the crowd dispersed to find better entertainment.

Tears of anger burned in my eyes as I knelt to pick up my figurines. Mr. Duncan had no idea how much his words had hurt me. I tried to keep my inadequacy issues in check, but since I’d returned from Faythander ten months ago, I’d become a different person. I was angry all the time and flew off the handle without being provoked. What was worse—as a therapist, I knew exactly what was wrong with me, but I couldn’t face up to my own issues.

I knelt to gather my figurines, making cold mud squish under my knees and soak through my cotton tights. My dragon statue had landed with his head in the muck, and his elegant tail poked up in an undignified manner. I pulled him out, feeling the magic inside trying to calm me as I wiped the grime off his face.

I reached for the elf statue when a brown-skinned hand grabbed it before I could. I looked up, surprised to see Dr. Hill squatting beside me. He wore a Robin Hood costume complete with the red-feathered hat, boots, and neon green tights. I’d only ever seen him in a suit, and to see him now shocked me.

Doc Billy? What are you doing here?

Please, it’s Dr. Hill, remember? And the reason I’m here is to check on you.

Check on me?

Yes. He handed me the elf statue. I took it from him, then hastily grabbed my mirror and the rest of my figurines.

I could guess the real reason he was here, and I didn’t like it. I’d been avoiding him for a while now—ever since he’d suggested I had coping issues.

He followed me inside my rented space. It wasn’t much. Three walls with an open area in front where I’d put the table. I’d placed several chairs inside and had a few collectible figurines for sale—mostly to attract potential patients. I’d decorated it better than my apartment, though, with a rack selling my handmade knit scarves and a few posters with fantasy landscapes covering the walls. I’d even broken down and bought one of those plug-in fountains that I kept on an end table. It was cute, and I liked the sound of running water.

Dr. Hill took a seat in one of the chairs, and I sat across from him. I placed my muddy figurines and mirror on the table. Outside, the sunlight was fading, making the October air turn chill. It wouldn’t be long before the parade started, so, if I needed it, I would have a good excuse to end the conversation.

Dr. Hill smiled, but I could tell it was one those fatherly, I’m-here-to-help-you looks.

Your costume is nice, I said.

I rented it. I wanted to fit in, but, he said, smoothing the bright red feather in his hat, I may stand out worse than I thought. However, your costume looks authentic. You seem to have no problem fitting in.

I pushed my hair behind my ears. Because I was half-elven, my ears were tapered at the top, not a big deal most of the time, but occasionally I got stares. Being at the Ren Fest made me feel as if I fit in a tiny bit more, even if it was for just a few weeks.

My leather skirt and gray peasant’s shirt were genuine, Wult-made articles from Faythander. I hated wearing them both. They reminded me too much of what I wanted to forget. But, I was too poor to rent any of the nice costumes, so I was stuck wearing my authentic garb. Every time I got a compliment, I cringed. However, I did my best to look happy for Doc Hill.

I hope I’m not being too forward, he said, but I’m concerned for your well-being.

I’m fine.

Are you?

Yes! Never better. Really.

He raised an eyebrow. Is that why you hung up on me the last time I called?

I was upset. It happens.

Yet you’ve never done anything like that before, and you had no reason to be angry.

You accused me of having anger issues! My voice rose.

Do you?

Of course not. I’m a therapist. I know how to handle stuff like this.

He smirked. "Stuff like what?"

I inhaled, feeling my anger bubble inside, screaming to be let free, and then exhaled. Fine, I said. Maybe I am having some issues.

Would you like to talk about them?

I’m not happy. I’m lonely. My mom and dad are gone someplace exotic and I don’t want to know what they’re doing anyway. I don’t have Brent anymore.

I miss that stupid Viking brute so bad that I cry myself to sleep at night.

I couldn’t tell Doc Hill any of that, so I settled on something else. Now isn’t a good time. Maybe we can talk later?

We’ve both heard that excuse a few times, haven’t we? Tell me, what do you do when you try to counsel a patient who’s as stubborn as you?

I don’t know. My patients aren’t usually this stubborn.

He sighed. You’re making this quite difficult.

I didn’t answer.

Have you tried to go back? he asked.

Back? I asked, confused.

Yes. It seems that your problems started shortly after you returned from fairy world, so whatever is bothering you must have happened while you were there. If that’s the case, then the only way to remedy this situation is for you to return and fix whatever must have happened there. You have to go back.

No, I answered. I won’t go back. That’s out of the question.

Why?

Because I won’t. Besides, you’ve never believed in Fairy World to begin with, so why are you suddenly okay with it?

I’ve always treated it is as a plausible alternate dimension—or at least a healthy delusion. However, as it is, I’m no longer certain that I can classify this fairy realm as healthy. I’ve come to check on you, yes, but I have also come to make sure you’re not mentally compromised. I’ve been referring my patients to you for almost two years. I need to know that I still can.

I see. I closed my eyes, wondering if this day could get any worse. I’d been verbally assaulted, belittled, had my prized possessions thrown in the mud, and now I was in danger of losing my job. I’ve told you I’m fine. What else can I do to convince you?

Come in to my office for a psychological exam.

Out of the question.

Why?

If you haven’t noticed, I’m a little broke at present. I can’t leave my shop for a whole day just to go get evaluated.

He let out a long sigh. Then I will conduct the evaluation here if need be, although it’s not my first choice, and it will have to wait until tomorrow.

I don’t need to be evaluated. I’m fine, and I don’t understand why you won’t believe me.

He gave me a shrewd look. If you want me to believe you, then tell me what happened in the fairy realm.

I didn’t want to remember. I’d been trying so hard to forget. Dragging it out again seemed counterintuitive, but I knew he was right. If I ever wanted to heal, then I had to face my demons.

I was supposed to help restore the magic, I said quietly. The goblins burned down a magical tree, which would have destroyed magic forever, except that the tree left behind a bloom. I was tasked with finding where the bloom should be kept so the magic could be brought back.

Dr. Hill nodded.

We knew the bloom belonged on the outer isles somewhere, so we found a ship and made it there. Restoring the magic wasn’t easy, but we managed to accomplish it, only to find out the real reason the goblins had taken away the magic. They didn’t need it gone forever, just long enough to kill the elven king.

Kill their king? How did the elves react?

Not well. The elven princess used a spell to eradicate the goblins—every single one. It’s not something I like to contemplate.

An entire race was destroyed by a single person?

Yes.

And is this the cause of your anxiety?

I wanted to lie and tell him yes, but I’d never been a skilled liar, and he’d figure it out sooner or later. Actually, there’s a bit more.

He nodded.

I met someone there. He led me to believe I meant something to him, but that turned out to be false. I didn’t want it to end, although I knew it most likely would. He’s a prince—a king now, actually—and I’m a nobody, so it shouldn’t have been such a surprise that he chose his kingdom over me. But I also don’t understand why I can’t get over it. I’ve had plenty of time, so I should be over him by now, shouldn’t I?

For some, healing comes quickly, but perhaps that’s because their attachment was never very strong. I suspect that your attachment was stronger than you admit, and it will be much harder than you assume for you to heal. However, the time will come when you’ll no longer think of him, and perhaps you’ll find someone better to replace him with.

You know, you’re actually making me feel more depressed.

Why? Do you still wish to have a relationship with this man?

No, of course not. We live in different worlds. He’s a king. He’d never take me back.

He eyed me as voices echoed from outside. Orange slanting rays of light shone from the west, creating long streaks over the floor, illuminating the dust particles floating through the air.

Then you must go back, he said.

Why?

"Because you still have unresolved issues, and if you ever wish to be free of your pain, then you must confront them. And you must confront him."

I almost laughed. That won’t happen.

Why not?

Because I never want to see him again.

Is that so?

Yes, it is. My blood was starting to boil once again, and I could tell it was only a matter of time before I snapped.

You know what I say is true. Your clients don’t heal until they’ve confronted their own pasts. Why would you be any different?

Because I can’t go back. Trust me on this one.

He leaned forward. Yes, you can. Confront your past.

No.

You refuse to go back?

I fisted my hands. Don’t you think I’ve tried? You have no idea how many times I’ve woken in the middle of the night, plagued by nightmares, seeing visions of goblins being cut open and experimented on. Worse, I was alone, with not a soul in the world to comfort me. A few times, I decided to go back. And then… I tried, but when I put my hand on the glass, the portal wouldn’t open.

Why?

I’m not sure. There’s got to be something wrong with my mirror. It must’ve been damaged when I was in Fairy World.

Damaged?

Yes. I crossed my arms, the anger replaced with a raw emptiness that had been my constant companion lately.

Is it possible that the practitioner is at fault, and not the mirror?

Doubtful. I exhaled. But it is a possibility.

Then we’re stuck at an impasse. You must return to Fairy World to be healed, yet you can’t cross because you’re damaged, and the only way to repair said damage is to return where you can’t go.

I sniffed. Yes. Sounds about right—typical really—for my life.

Olive, he said quietly. Don’t give up yet. With time, wounds can be healed, and one day you’ll wake up and find that you no longer remember him. You may even find that you’re happy.

I could have lost it right there—broken down and started bawling—because I knew he was wrong. Maybe happiness existed somewhere in the great beyond. Maybe it existed for people who weren’t me. But since I’d returned from Faythander, loneliness had been plaguing me until I no longer felt like I was myself anymore.

Dr. Hill, I answered, I’m fairly certain that day will never come. But, I truly do hope you are right.

Chapter Two

Drumbeats announced the beginning of the parade. Doc Hill followed me out of my shop, and I locked it up, making sure to push the table inside and pull the front gate down, then latch it tight.

We stood alongside the path with the other festivalgoers to await the procession. Medieval-style, two-story shops lined either side of the path, and every inch in front of them was crowded with bodies, which made it hard to find anywhere to watch the parade. We navigated through the crowd until we found an open area in front of the Bratwürst Eatery and Pub.

I glanced back at the pub. As one of the only places you could go inside and take a seat, it was usually overcrowded. To see it empty made me wonder what had happened, but I didn’t argue as Doc Hill and I stood at the pub’s entrance to watch the parade.

The sound of lutes and drums mingled with the conversations surrounding us as the procession came into view.

First came the Naiads and Dryads who played the lutes and drums. Some of them wore antlers and sported hairy legs that ended in cloven hooves—they’d clearly spared no expense with their costumes. Next, a group of giants strode past, followed by horse-drawn carriages filled with dignitaries. A group of fairies passed, wearing wings and colorful clothes.

I cringed when the performers dressed as Gypsies walked by. The young girls were trained pickpockets, and while they carefully handed flowers to revelers, they used the distraction to steal whatever they could. Madame Glitter, the Gypsy mother, had come into my shop last week, and she passed me now. She gave me a slight smile, and while she was an attractive woman with dark hair and a thin frame, she made my skin crawl. I still wasn’t sure why she made me so uncomfortable. After the Gypsies moved on, the shop owners came next.

My mind wasn’t on the festivities. I couldn’t stop thinking of Dr. Hill’s words. Would I ever be happy again? I couldn’t go back to Faythander. I didn’t belong there. It wasn’t my world. My place was here among humans. Besides, something screwy was going on with my mirror. I hadn’t investigated it much, mainly because I had no real reason to fix it, but Doc Hill seemed convinced that I had to go back.

I couldn’t.

There had to be another way.

Shouts came from the parade route. The barbarians marched behind the shop owners. With their bone-handled weapons, fur-rimmed cloaks, and bearded faces, they reminded me too much of the man I had been trying hard to forget.

I’d been avoiding this crowd since I got here and had been doing a pretty good job of it. But now, I couldn’t seem to look away. The fellow with the red beard and protruding belly near the front looked so familiar. I could have sworn it was Brodnik—a Wult warrior I’d traveled with on my last trip through Faythander. A young guy who also wore a full beard walked next to the redhead. Rolf’s boyish face had been almost hairless when I’d seen him last. He hadn’t been able to grow a beard to save his life, so the young blond man couldn’t possibly have been him, could it?

No. It wasn’t possible. Wults didn’t cross worlds often, and they would be too busy remapping their borders in the goblin lands to come to Earth now.

Still, those two barbarians looked strikingly similar to the two Wults I’d called my companions not long ago.

The procession moved forward, and soon Robin Hood and his merry men replaced the barbarians as they walked along the route. I rubbed my eyes, feeling a headache growing, and realized I must actually be losing it. Was this what it felt like to have a mental break?

Are you all right? Doc Hill asked.

I don’t know. I think I need to sit down.

I left the parade, walked into the restaurant, and found a seat near the front counter. Mr. Kaufman, the shop owner—a man with a thick mustache who had recently been a client of mine—stood wiping the tables. He focused on us as we found a seat.

Sit anywhere you like. There’s plenty of space, he said in his thick German accent. Unfortunately, he added after a pause.

Doc Hill led me to a table where we sat.

You look pale, Doc Hill said. Have you eaten recently?

No, not since breakfast.

Wait here. I’ll grab something for you.

You don’t have to.

He waved me off and went to the counter. I watched the parade continue outside as he ordered. I felt sheepish for making my boss take care of me like this. Still, something must have been wrong with me. Seeing things—or people—that weren’t really there was never a good sign.

But what if I wasn’t seeing things? What if they really had crossed? Would they have come alone?

Oh no. No, no, no… I can’t let my mind go there.

A thin sheen of sweat formed on my forehead as Doc Hill returned with a lemonade and a bratwurst. The spicy scent of sizzling meat filled the air. I sipped the lemonade as he took a seat across from me.

You really aren’t looking like yourself. Can I get you anything else? A Tylenol, maybe?

No, I’ll be fine. I just feel a little lightheaded.

He eyed me. In that case, perhaps you’ve been working too hard. Let me think… I’m usually quite talented at cheering people up. Did I ever tell you why I don’t like to be called Billy?

No.

"It started when I was in junior high. I’d been called Billy since I was old enough to remember and never thought it would bother me, until that year’s school annual was released. Under my photo, the caption read Hill, Billy. It gave all my classmates a great laugh. And it gave me a complex. That’s when I decided I’d rather be called William."

I smiled. Good to know. I’ll try to remember.

The blaring of a trumpet came from outside, announcing the end of the parade and the start of the closing ceremonies, including fireworks over the lake.

Will you be attending the closing ceremonies? Dr. Hill asked.

No, you can go ahead without me.

I hardly think that would be wise given your current state of health.

I’ll be fine. Besides, I need to check on some things in my shop. You can go ahead.

I would really rather not leave you alone.

Doc Hill, I said, I appreciate your concern, but I really do need to go close up. They won’t allow patrons in here after dark, so it’s probably best that you go now. I’m glad you came. I hadn’t talked to anyone in a while, and it was nice to have a normal conversation.

Very well, but if I must go now, then I’d like to leave you with a word of advice.

I see. And if I take your advice, will you keep sending patients my way?

He nodded.

Fine, I answered reluctantly, "what’s your advice? And please don’t tell me to confront my past, because that is not a possibility."

You’re quite sure?

Positive.

All right, if that is the case, then my advice to you is to forget about the past and move forward. Let go of the things—or the people—that are holding you back. Make some new friends. Go out and have fun. Try to live again. You’ll find that you don’t even remember your old life, and pretty soon, you’ll feel whole again.

Can you do it? I asked myself. Can you really forget Kull just like that?

You’re right. I don’t need him anymore. My happiness doesn’t depend on him.

Good. He smiled, then stood. Shall I walk you back to your shop?

I glanced at my uneaten bratwurst. No, I’ll finish up here and then head back. Thank you again.

He nodded, gave me one last good-bye and good luck, and then walked outside. I watched as he went, his red-feather cap blending with the evening sunlight, until his silhouette disappeared.

I took a bite of my bratwurst and immediately spat it out. It had the overpowering flavor of salt, with a hint of something less pleasant beneath, although I couldn’t put my finger on it. Mold, maybe?

Looking up at Mr. Kaufman, I tried not to let him see as I took my uneaten food to the trashcan and dumped it inside.

You don’t eat it all? he asked.

No, sorry. Guess I’m not too hungry.

Ah, he sighed, still wiping the tabletops. This is how it is since I opened shop. Trashcan full of uneaten food.

Perhaps if he actually ate his own food, then he would see for himself why the trashcans were full, but I held my tongue. Who knows—maybe some folks actually liked it.

Will your booth be open tomorrow? he asked.

Yes, I answered. Would you like to set up another appointment?

If it’s not too much trouble.

Not at all. I’ll see you tomorrow, then?

He nodded. Perhaps after the morning rush—if there is a rush. Have a good evening, he said.

You too, I answered as I left the shop and made my way outside. I headed through the near-empty lane toward my shop. The cobbled path showed evidence of this evening’s parade. Trampled daffodils and carnations, compliments of the Gypsies, lay strewn about the ground. In the distance, fireworks exploded in hues of green and pink followed by a delayed boom as the sound traveled the distance between us.

I made it to my shop, unlocked the latch and pulled the gate up, then stepped inside. The darkness caught me by surprise. I never turned out my lights until closing time—had I turned them off earlier without thinking?

Without another thought, I switched on the lights. The faux-candle lanterns illuminated the room in a pale yellow glow, and I gasped as I stared at the table by the chair. Someone had moved my water fountain. Instead, my mirror box sat on the small table. It had been wiped clean, not a trace of mud