But what really caught my attention was the second article and its alleged photos of what had burst out of the museum roof. The images were blurry and none of them offered a complete picture of the creature, but I saw enough: razor teeth, scales, wings, claws.
A dragon. I had summoned a dragon.
I was glad to be sitting as I scrolled through the articles. The world had started spinning around me, leaving me sick and disoriented and very, very freaked out.
A dragon. A dragon. How many people had I hurt? How much damage had I done? The field where Farida said they found me — the big black streak — that must have been a burn mark. And then there was the hole that been blown through the roof of the museum, which looked so much worse in all the photos than Farida’s casual mention had let on. How would I ever explain myself if people found out that had been me?
And what would happen if that kind of power fell into someone else’s hands?
I shook my head. I wasn’t worrying about that. Farida and Masika had made it their life’s purpose to deal with that kind of stuff. They were more than capable of handling it.
I hoped.
Switching to a slightly different tactic, I looked up my own name. I remembered the last time Emily and I had tried looking ourselves up as a joke. Her top result had been some sort of beauty blogger on YouTube and mine had been a porn star. We had laughed ourselves silly over it. Now, when I looked up my name, the first page of results was actually all me.
I clicked the link to a report that a local news site had uploaded less than an hour ago. It led to a video. The news anchor opened the report with a quick, fifteen second recap of what happened at the museum and explained that they did have an update on the missing woman — me.
The clip cut to an interview and my heart stuttered a little when I saw a lanky, shaggy haired guy wearing a faded Ramones t-shirt that was one size too big, which suited him far better than the dress pants and button-down shirts he had to wear for work. Mitch! But he didn’t know anything about where I was or what was going on with me. I had sent him the same text I had sent everyone else: “I’m okay.”
“Something just seemed really off,” he said.
The camera cut to an image of the sign for the street my parents lived on as a female journalist narrated, “Amber Martel was a loving daughter, a devoted student, and — quite suddenly — an ex-girlfriend.”
Mitch appeared again, shaking his head and not quite looking at the camera. “We’d been together for… four, five years. Everything was great. And then all of a sudden she didn’t wanna be here and she didn’t wanna be with me and… I dunno. It all felt really out of nowhere.”
I barely processed the journalist narrating about how I was usually a homebody who didn’t like big changes. Was Mitch serious right now? “All of a sudden” I didn’t want to be with him? I wasn’t even the one who had broken things off — he had refused to consider a long-distance relationship! And I had been talking about going away to try doing my Master’s degree for months.
“I worried that… I dunno. Amber’s a great girl. She’s got a big heart. She’s smart. But I wondered…”
“What he wondered,” the journalist narrated as the camera cut to a montage of my childhood toys and stuffed animals, all angled and lit in a style that made them look forlorn, “was if Amber had gotten tied up in something dangerous. A cult or a terrorist cell.”
“What?” I clapped a hand over my mouth to quell another outraged shriek. My apartment was supposed to be empty.
“… has been in contact with the police. They say they are taking all reports very seriously as they try to make sense of what, exactly, happened this morning at the museum, and they have not yet determined if the missing woman Amber Martel is a victim or a suspect.”
I stopped the video, staring at my screen in disbelief. My head was spinning so badly I wasn’t even sure I had heard everything right. So, despite my better judgement, I rewatched it from the beginning. Mitch’s every word was like a punch to the gut.
Mitch… Mitch thought I could be a terrorist? After dating for four years, falling in love, trying to make plans for a future together… He not only threw me away as soon as my plans didn’t perfectly align with what he wanted, but he thought I was a terrorist?
I wanted to be angry. I wanted to grab my phone and call him and scream at him for proving he couldn’t have really known me or loved me or trusted me. But instead my stomach clenched, eyes blurring over as a sob built and broke in my throat.
Stupid. This was all so stupid. We had already broken up. I’d done all my crying. I’d vented to Emily and my mom — remapped my future into a life that didn’t include him. So why did I feel as raw and vulnerable as I had the moment he broke up with me?
Shaking my head, I dragged my thumbs below my eyes to clear my face of tears and tried to get my breathing back under control. I didn’t have time for this. I had to get out of here. If the police took Mitch seriously… I didn’t know how I could clear my name. Explaining magic wouldn’t do me any favours and there was no actual, tangible person I could point to as a better suspect.
Grabbing the tin of change out of my drawer, I stuffed it into my backpack. It was only $80 dollars, but it would do in a pinch. I rushed around my apartment, grabbing clothes and toiletries and stuffing as much of it into my bag as I could, removing the giant textbook to make more room. Then I crept to the door, eased it open, and peered out into the hallway.
No one. Good. Now I just had to hope that I could find Farida and Masika again. If I was going to be neck-deep in a mess caused by magic, they were my best bet for getting help dealing with it.
The echo of my footsteps on the stairs was far too loud and conspicuous; I might as well have screamed to the building that I had come home and was fleeing the scene. When I stepped out into the cool night air, my eyes were immediately scanning the parking lot, desperately hoping I would spot the blue G6.
It seemed too good to be true when I actually found it, spotlighted under a light pole like a beacon of hope.
I rushed over as fast as I could without drawing attention to myself, conscious of the fact that it was entirely possible this was somebody else’s car — it wasn’t exactly uncommon. When the driver-side door swung open, however, I immediately knew I’d picked the right one. Farida stepped out and waved me over; her expression seemed to war between joyful surprise and suspicious concern.
“Did you change your mind?” she asked.
“Let’s talk in the car.”
I crawled into the backseat, steadily avoiding Masika’s eyes. I could already feel her silently skewering me. Instead, I focused on Farida, who had climbed into the backseat beside me. I filled her in on the news report I just watched and the fact that I might be suspected for terrorism.
“Oh my god,” she whispered when I was done. “What are you going to do?”
“She wants us to protect her,” said Masika. Now I did look at her. She studied me with narrowed eyes and pursed lips — and I couldn’t even really be mad at her about it. She was right, more or less.
Biting her lip, Farida glanced between Masika and me. Finally, with a small shake of her head, she said, “We aren’t some kind of witness protection program. Dealing with magic… you’re either all in or all out. Nothing in between.”
“And no backing out once you agree to be a part of this life,” Masika added.
Never? I hugged my arms around my stomach as nausea crashed over me. It was too much, too sudden, too out of my control — and that would be the rest of my life. I started shaking my head, already regretting getting into the car again.
“Amber,” Farida said, leaning toward me. Her hand found my knee. “You need to think really critically about this. If you go talk to the police and try to clear your name, maybe they’ll listen to you — but maybe they won’t. You could end up in jail. You might never be able to prove you didn’t intentionally cause destruction at the museum. There’s a chance you could get your nor
mal life back, but there’s also a chance that you could spend the rest of your life behind bars, powerless. Or, you can come with us. It’ll be hard and chaotic and it’ll get dangerous sometimes, but…” She paused, smiling a little. “But you’ll have choices. You’ll have freedom.”
‘I might get killed by a snake monster.’ But I couldn’t say that. Because she was right. Going home might not actually mean going home. I didn’t know if I could ever like the type of life they lived, searching for stones and fighting magical creatures, but I definitely knew I wouldn’t like jail. And, if I was honest with myself, I was scared of being without their protection. Between unleashing a dragon and being with them when they got attacked by that strange woman, I had to wonder if maybe I had gotten a target put on my back, too.
Still, even as I slowly nodded and agreed to go with them, I was hit with a wave of exhaustion that only comes along when you desperately, desperately want to go home.
~
I wasn’t the only one who was tired. Farida was still recovering from her fight earlier, and even Masika agreed that we were all in need of a good night’s rest. The problem was that Masika expected us to drive all the way to some squat way outside the city. Both Farida and I opposed it, pointing out the very likely possibility that we might get attacked again on the highway.
There was a motel a few blocks from my apartment. Masika didn’t like the idea of staying there — apparently it would be too conspicuous — but I argued that we could just send Farida in with my money (and my credit card, in case they didn’t take cash). No one was looking for her face.
We didn’t bother unpacking the car when we got our room. Inside, two double beds with lumpy pillows and too-hard mattresses awaited us. There was a TV stand missing its TV, a small desk, and an open door leading into a narrow hallway of a bathroom. The scent of bleach and cleaners was overpowering, but it did not convince me that the room was actually clean.
“Alright,” I said, letting my bag slide off my shoulder. Other than the little backpack Masika carried with her everywhere, she and Farida hadn’t brought anything in from the car. Everything I had left of my life was in my bag, though, so I was keeping it close. “I’m going to—”
With a squeal, Farida launched herself onto one of the beds and buried her face in a pillow. She let out a long, grateful sigh. It suddenly occurred to me that it had probably been a very long time since she had slept in a proper bed.
“Er, I’m gonna shower,” I finished, edging toward the bathroom — only to hear the door click shut.
Raising her head, Farida laughed softly. “You’ll have to wait until my grandmother is done. She hates living on the road. I just hope she leaves some soap for us.”
She wasn’t wrong. Masika took thirty minutes in the shower. It was a miracle there was any hot water left by the time I got in. I knew I would have to be quick if I wanted Farida to avoid washing herself in ice water, but it was hard to rush myself. The shampoo felt like heaven on my scalp. I hadn’t truly realized how filthy I was until I saw dirt and dried blood and bits of grass swirling toward the drain.
I tried to savour the normalcy of the moment; I could almost pretend that I was back at my parents’ place. Almost. The water pressure wasn’t right, the shampoo smelt vaguely musky instead of fruity like my usual satsuma products, and I wasn’t blaring any indie rock, but it was certainly the closest to home I had felt in days. My homesickness had been simmering under the surface since I had arrived in my apartment, but it had taken the absolute catastrophe that was today in order for me to really realize it. I closed my eyes, trying to convince myself that my mom would come banging on the door any minute, yelling at me for using too much hot water.
I felt uncomfortably close to tears again.
‘They want me to use magic.’ I shivered at the thought despite the heat. Could I really do something like that? Could I throw fire around like Farida? I didn’t know if I was cut out for any of this. I wasn’t a fighter! I read books and watched movies. The only way I kicked ass was figuratively, like kicking ass on trivia night at the campus pub with Emily during my undergrad. The thought of actually fighting someone — bloody, painful, chaotic fighting — was enough to make me nauseas.
And they had mentioned that magic had to be used “safely”. What would using magic do to me? Would I just keep ending up paralyzed and in pain? Or could something even worse happen?
I guess I would find out soon enough. And I would need to be well-rested.
With a sigh, I reluctantly turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. I quickly toweled dry and pulled on some clean clothes from my backpack. A cloud of steam followed me out into the bedroom. In the light from the bathroom, I could see Farida already curled up under the covers of the bed she had claimed earlier. I guess I hadn’t needed to worry about using up all the hot water after all. Masika was at the end of Farida’s bed, awake and sitting up. She stared out the window.
“Is something wrong?” I whispered. I hovered in the doorway, hand on the light switch.
“Go to sleep,” was all she said.
There was definitely something on her mind, but I wasn’t in the mood to pry. The call of the warm bed was too appealing. I flicked off the light, stumbled through the dark to the empty bed, and collapsed gratefully onto it. I was asleep before I realized my eyelids had grown heavy.
Chapter Five
I woke to the feeling of being roughly shaken. As soon as my eyes opened, Masika’s face disappeared from view. She was speaking rapidly, but I couldn’t make sense of the words. It was only as I sat up, rubbing tiredly at my eyes, and heard Farida respond that I realized they weren’t speaking English.
“What language is that?” I asked through a yawn.
“Egyptian,” Farida said as she hastily pulled on her shoes. “Come on — hurry up.”
“The police are here,” Masika said matter-of-factly, stepping away from the window where she had been peeking around the curtain. I slid off the bed and crept closer, grabbing my backpack on the way. Nudging the curtain aside, I looked outside. It was still dark out, so I wasn’t sure if it was late at night or early in the morning. A squad car was sitting outside. It looked empty.
“Where’s the police officer?” I asked.
“He went in to talk to the lady at front desk,” Farida said. She was hurrying around checking the bathroom and under the bed to make sure we weren’t leaving anything behind even though I knew we had left everything in the car.
I held on to dim, ridiculous hope. There was no way this was actually happening. “Are you sure he’s looking for me?”
“I was eavesdropping: He said he tracked the credit card activity of an Amber Martel to this motel,” Masika said. “That’s you, is it not?”
Shit. Why couldn’t the motel have just taken my cash?
Farida joined Masika by the door. “Ready to go?”
“Can we go?” I asked.
“If he’s inside and we leave quietly, he might not notice right away.”
I felt like my heart had lodged itself in my throat, choking me with its rapid pulse. I was, quite literally, running from the cops. This was so wrong. I was not a rule-breaker. I’d never even stolen a chocolate bar when I was a kid. And now I was wanted as a suspect in an act of terrorism, had trespassed on a crime scene, and was dodging the police.
Our car was right by our door. Slipping from our room to the car was easy enough, but the car doors creaked when they opened and didn’t like to be shut gently. Farida backed out quickly, not even giving us time to buckle in first, and glided past the squad car. I found myself holding my breath. It was like I was a kid again in the backseat of my parents’ car, holding my breath every time we passed a graveyard so the spirits wouldn’t get me.
I didn’t breathe easy until the motel faded from sight in the rear-view.
“We should avoid the city from now on,” Masika said.
“Where else do we go?” I couldn’t keep the tinge of panic out of my
voice. I’d never been in a situation where I didn’t have a stable, dependable place to live. Now I not only couldn’t go back to my apartment, but couldn’t even be in the city.
“We could call Alicia. Masika, do you still have the—”
“Absolutely not,” Masika spat. “We’re not bringing trouble like this to her doorstep.”
“Who’s Alicia?”
Masika’s only response was to shoot me a dirty look. I didn’t need to ask twice to know that was my cue to shut up.
“We’ll drive to another squat. There’s one not far from here,” Farida said. She stifled a yawn.
I studied her as best as I could from the backseat. There were dark circles under her eyes still, but those paled in comparison to the dark bruises and still-healing road rash from the fight.
“I’ll drive once we’re out of the city,” I said, surprising myself. I hated driving. I’d only gotten my license at my parents’ insistence, and even after I earned it I barely drove unless it was unavoidable.
“You don’t have to do that. I—”
“You need to rest.”
I caught her grateful smile in the rear-view. “Thank you.”
“No problem. But first, we need to make a pitstop.”
~
According to the clock on the dash, it was 2:17am. The sky was still as black as it had been at midnight, though the further we got from Fredericton, the brighter the pinpricks of starlight became. I eased the car into the parking lot of a gas station just outside the city, feeling paranoid after our earlier close call. Thankfully, the lot was deserted. The lights in the convenience store were on, but there didn’t seem to be much movement inside. I parked the car, pulled up my hood and put on a pair of Farida’s sunglasses, and hurried out of the car over to the ATM.
It was only after I had popped my credit card into the machine and starting pressing through the menus to make a cash advance that I realized just how loud an ATM was in an empty lot. And that there was probably a camera right over my head. My hands were shaking as I put in for the largest cash advance I could make, then waited as the machine whirred obnoxiously before spitting out my wad of bills. I clumsily crammed the money into my backpack where I was keeping the other $80, mentally apologizing to my parents. Dad would be livid when he saw the amount of interest I was racking up.
She Who Rises Page 4
