AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I…I should really go home.
Instead, I squeeze my eyes shut, lift my hand again, and knock a little louder.
“What the—” A woman mutters a swear. “Zy, is someone knocking?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“An excellent question.”
The door whips open, displaying the small alt woman in a cascading nightgown. Her tiny frown shifts toward surprise when our eyes lock, then a grin broadens her mouth into a devious smile. “Brittny, hi!”
W-why does she know my name?
Is she actually a witch?
Am I going to die here?
Stepping aside, she lets me in, and I move on programming alone, feeling a sudden, undefinable sense of dread as the door closes behind me. I have not performed a social gathering for approximately a year and three months. Let’s just say the jerk I moved for didn’t want me around his friends, and after he left, I threw myself into work and Oxford with a valor that would put knights to shame.
Have I really been in isolation for over a year? Going from home to work, then work to home, with the occasional trip to the pet store thrown in?
“So glad you could make it,” the alt woman says, immediately wandering into a pale blue kitchen that smells faintly of popcorn and strongly of chocolate.
My gaze tracks toward the man I met last time I was here. He’s leaning against the back of one white couch, eyeing me. Arms folded, he watches me with a severity that feels somehow predatory. I tell myself it’s the social anxiety making me feel hunted. I tell myself Doliver isn’t here since the alt woman is still with the same guy from before.
I’ve come all this way for no reason, because there’s something seriously messed up in my brain.
“Are you sure Cael can’t make it?” the alt woman calls from the kitchen.
The man’s eyes close, a smile softening his lips. “Darling, he wrote us a letter sending his deepest regrets and warmest regards.”
She emerges with a bowl of popcorn and a tray of triple chocolate chip cookies. “I know. Who does that?”
“Sheltered people who rarely go outside, probably.”
“Maybe we should organize a heist.”
“We’ve a guest.” The man doesn’t need to look my way for me to gather he’s talking about me. As far as I can tell, I’m the only other one here.
“I’m sure all present parties would be more than happy to go on a heist.”
I would not. I already have regrets. I would like to go home.
What was I thinking?
Was I thinking?
Probably not.
People aren’t supposed to meet their heroes. This was a bad idea no matter how it played out, but now I’m stuck. Do I sit? I’ve not been invited to take a seat. Do I run while the man’s focus is on stealing a cookie from the woman’s tray?
“Willoughby,” a familiar voice causes my heart to stop, and I jerk my attention up off where it’s fallen to my toes.
Time slows down.
Doliver rustles his messy sandy brown hair as he emerges from a short hall. Arm flexing. Eyes half-lidded and sidelong.
