This was it. Amber’s whole life was over.
All of the schoolwork, the bullies, the tests she stressed over, the petty fights with her parents, the stupid little arguments that had felt so important at the time. All of it had led here. A hospital bed. A tile ceiling with ugly brown stains above her. Machines breathing and beeping around her while people stood nearby talking about her like she was already gone.
The doctors had declared her brain dead.
Hey, geniuses, if I’m brain dead, how can I still see those ugly stains on the ceiling? How can I hear you saying she’s brain dead?
No one answered, because no one could hear her.
That had been the worst part at first. Not the pain. Not the fear. Not even the paralysis. It was the screaming. The endless screaming inside her own head while everyone around her spoke softly and sadly and never once looked at her like she was still there.
Janine was signing the paperwork to essentially pull the plug on her.
Her own mother.
No. No, Mom, don’t do that. I’m here. I’m right here.
The pen moved anyway.
How could a mother give up hope in two days? Two days. Chelsea had been missing longer than that, and Amber had still known she was alive. She had known it with everything in her. Chelsea would not just disappear. Chelsea would not leave without saying goodbye. Amber had believed that even when the police used the word runaway and everyone else started making sad faces.
So why couldn’t her mother believe in her for a few more days? Give her a fighting chance.
The doctor entered with Janine. Her father had been there for the first day and a half, sitting in the chair by the window with his shirt wrinkled and his eyes red. Then the business trip happened. He had tried to get out of it. Amber heard him arguing in the hallway, voice low and desperate, but her mother convinced him he couldn’t risk his job.
What kind of insanity was that?
His daughter was lying completely paralyzed in a hospital bed, and Janine was worried about how they would pay for things after they literally pulled the plug on her. In the corner of her vision, Amber could see her mother crying. Those were not hopeful tears anymore. They were tears of resolve. Her mother had decided this was mercy.
No. I’m not suffering. Stop saying I’m suffering. I’m scared. That’s different. I’m scared because you’re doing this while I’m still here.
Janine looked to her right and nodded.
The hum of the machines changed.
Then stopped.
The room became horribly quiet.
“I love you, baby,” her mother said through tears. “I’m so sorry.”
Amber wanted to scream. She wanted to blink… to move one finger, one toe, anything. She wanted to prove she was still inside this useless body, watching the ceiling, listening to her mother apologize for killing her.
But nothing moved.
The vision she had been so proud of all her life, the one eye that still worked, began to darken around the edges. The brown stained ceiling slowly narrowed, swallowed from the sides by black. Janine’s sobs grew distant.
In those last few seconds, there was only one thing that truly hurt. Chelsea never came. Chelsea never showed up to say goodbye.
Amber knew that was stupid. Chelsea was missing. She might be hurt, or even dead. But some part of Amber had still expected her to appear in the doorway at the last second, crying and panicked and saying this was all a mistake.
The darkness closed in completely, and her mother’s sobs vanished with the rest of the world.
For a while, there was nothing.
Then came a sound. It was deep. A low bass that seemed to press against her from every direction.
It happened twice. Then again. It was two beats, followed by a pause. Then two more beats.
Amber tried to open her eyes and found nothing waiting for her. She tried to lift her hand and felt something move, but barely. Her arm was sluggish and strange, like it belonged to someone else or had been wrapped in layers of wet blankets.
The bass came again. Two more beats.
She tried to touch her face. Her hand brushed something, but there was no feeling in it. There was no skin. She didn’t actually feel anything. None of it made sense.
Am I dead?
The thought should have terrified her more than it did, but she was so tired. After two days of screaming inside her own head, even confusion felt quieter.
A voice boomed somewhere beyond her.
It was loud, but not clear. The words were muffled, distorted, as if someone were shouting at her from above while she was underwater. She could not understand any of it. Every time she almost caught a sound, the deep bass drowned it out again.
She tried to speak and failed. It was like she could not pull in enough air. Or maybe she did not know how to breathe anymore. Her body moved weakly, uselessly, and the darkness stayed complete.
Whatever this was, she was trapped again.
That should have made her panic.
Maybe later it would.
For now, she had already been afraid for so long that fear felt worn out. Her mother was gone. Chelsea was still missing. Amber had no idea whether this was heaven, hell, or something in between.
The bass kept thumping around her. Two beats. Followed by two more beats.
Amber let herself sink toward it.
She had just been through a very long few days.
Rest sounded like the only sane thing left.
Chelsea
“Nothing for me today. I’m taking the day off,” Fiona said as Chelsea tried to hand her a job posting.
Chelsea paused with the paper halfway extended.
Fiona had one forearm resting against the table, and for once, she looked off. She looked tired. Not sick exactly, but a little worn down around the edges. Her usual intimidating posture had softened, and every so often her nose wrinkled at some smell Chelsea couldn’t detect.
“Are you feeling okay?” Chelsea asked.
“Fine,” Fiona answered too quickly. Then she frowned, as if the word had not been entirely honest. “Mostly fine. Just a little off today.”
Chelsea lowered the posting.
“Off how?”
Fiona waved one large hand, dismissing the question before it could become serious. “Not enough to bother about. Just tired. And the guild smells stronger than usual.”
Chelsea looked around the guildhall. It smelled like sweat, leather, cheap food, and damp adventurers. So, basically, it smelled like the guildhall.
Fiona leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Chelsea, you know your uncle pretty well, right? Do you know if… uh…” She glanced across the room toward Dewey, then immediately looked back at Chelsea. “If he likes pretty smells?”
Chelsea looked up at the giant woman.
“You know, I don’t know for sure.” She set the job posting aside. “I’d be happy to find out for you.”
It had been less than twelve hours since they announced to the family that Chelsea had turned them into overnight millionaires, and she was already back in the guildhall sorting jobs. Adriane wouldn’t let her quit adventuring. She had a responsibility as a champion. She had to stay active. She had to keep growing. She had to continue being useful to the world and not hide in a manor treasure room counting gold like a tiny winged dragon.
Blah blah blah.
Fiona sagged in relief. “I just thought maybe…” She stopped and rubbed at the back of her upper arm. “I know I’m not traditionally pretty, but I can do things that…”
“Stop right there,” Chelsea said.
Fiona’s mouth closed.
“Yes, you are,” Chelsea continued. “I’ve met other large einherin women now, and you are definitely on the higher end of pretty. Especially since you’ve been trying. I’ve noticed.”
Fiona looked away, face coloring slightly. “You noticed?”
“Of course I noticed. You’ve been taking better care of your hair. You smell nicer. Your clothes fit better. You look like you’ve started looking in mirrors.”
That got the tiniest smile out of her.
“I, umm… yeah, I guess.” Fiona shifted in her seat and glanced toward Dewey again. He was across the room near one of the guild’s grinding wheels, dragging his axe edge along the stone in slow, practiced strokes. “It’s just. I want to make this work. I really like Dewey and want to stand out.”
Chelsea softened a little. Fiona the Brutal was fidgeting. Actually fidgeting.
“How will you ask him?” Fiona asked.
Chelsea turned her head toward the grinding wheel.
“Hey, Uncle Dewey!”
Fiona’s eyes went wide. “No.”
Dewey looked up from his axe. Chelsea waved him over.
“Wait, what are you doing?” Fiona whispered in a panic, both hands suddenly hovering in front of her like she could physically push the situation back into Chelsea’s mouth. “No really, Chelsea. Forget I asked.”
Chelsea smiled at her.
Dewey walked over, wiping a bit of metal dust from his hands. “Littlest Niece? Something the matter with my job?”
“No, no. Just some silly questions.” Chelsea gestured vaguely toward Fiona without actually pointing at her. “Do you notice smells much?”
Dewey’s brow furrowed. “Smells?”
“Like you always smell like steel and leather. Do you notice other smells around you?”
Dewey looked at her for a long moment. “Littlest Niece, if you are saying I need to take a bath, you can just tell me.”
Behind Chelsea, Adriane let out a quiet huff of laughter.
“No,” Chelsea said quickly. “You smell fine. I mean things like flowers, fruits, soap, that kind of thing. Do you like nice smells? Or do you prefer… your smells?”
Dewey’s gaze lifted slightly as he thought about it. Fiona, meanwhile, had gone bright red and was staring very hard at the table. One of her hands rested against her exposed abdominal muscles for a second before she notices and moved it to her lap.
“I don’t think about smells much,” Dewey admitted. “When hunting, I think about wind direction and whether something can smell me. But I suppose I do like nice smells.”
Fiona looked up despite herself.
Dewey turned toward her and smiled. “Like the hair soap Fiona uses. I like how it makes her smell.”
Her normal color began returning, but the smile she gave Dewey was softer than Chelsea had ever seen from her. She looked like she wanted to ask if he really meant it, but too many people were nearby, and she was still Fiona the Brutal.
“Here you go, Uncle Dewey,” Chelsea said, putting a posting into his hand and emphasizing the uncle just enough to make him smile. “Fiona is taking the day off, so I have a pretty fun solo job for you.”
“Oh? What is it?” he asked.
“Small band of hill goblins keeps attacking a town. It looks like they’ve been stealing livestock and smashing fences more than killing people, but they’re getting bolder.”
“That is a fun one!” Fiona agreed, her energy returning for the first time that morning. “Stomp and squish job.”
Dewey nodded seriously. “A good job.”
Chelsea glanced at Fiona. “If you’re not going on a job, any fun plans today?”
“No,” Fiona said.
Dewey leaned over and kissed the Fiona’s forehead before heading off to take the posting to the clerks. Fiona watched him go, trying very hard to look normal about it.
Chelsea sorted another request into the D-rank pile. “I’m planning on doing a super quick job with Ivy, then dragging Adriane and her around afterward. I haven’t been to the traveling merchant quarter yet, and I want to see what’s there. Care to come with?”
Fiona seemed to think about it longer than Chelsea expected. She shifted in her chair, then rubbed lightly at the side of her neck. “Traveling merchants are expensive and pushy. Are you sure you want to go?”
“I have money now.”
“That makes them even worse and more pushy.”
Chelsea smiled. “Good. Then I definitely need someone scary with me.”
Fiona’s gave a cute nod.
“And,” Chelsea added, softening her voice slightly, “if the guild smell is bothering you, fresh air might help.”
After a moment, Fiona sighed. “Fine. I can go with you.”
“Perfect.” Chelsea nodded with a smile.
“But if one of them tries to sell me perfume made from fairy spit again, I’m leaving.”
Ivy looked up from the posting she was reading. “Wait. Fairy spit?”
Chelsea held out a hand. “Nope. Nope. I am not learning about that..”