Finding Elora: Chapter 1

ABBY

My back aches, and I stretch it out with a low groan as I push open my apartment door. It squeaks, the hinges in desperate need of some grease, and I make a mental note to call the maintenance man about it tomorrow morning.

There’s quiet music playing inside the apartment, and the lights are all dimmed. I frown, already knowing what that means as I step inside and kick off my shoes.

Lill must not be feeling well.

The messy entryway proves it. Lill’s sensitive about her inability to work, and she’s made it her personal mission to scrub our apartment head to toe during the weekdays. I come home to the scent of dinner and a lemon cleaner almost daily.

I smell neither of those items today.

Sighing, I bend and reorganize our shoes on the rack before heading down the narrow hallway that leads to the kitchen and living area. Our apartment is small, but it’s cozy, and I plaster a smile on my face as I step into the kitchen.

The curtains in the living room and kitchen have been drawn, which explains how the place is so dark. It’s only six, so we have a few hours before the sun begins to set. Lill usually loves the light, but I know it makes her eyes hurt when her headaches get bad.

Lill’s standing at the kitchen counter making her special tea, her headache cap strapped securely around her head. She hasn’t noticed me yet, and I carefully step forward to peer inside the canister sitting on the counter.

She always keeps it hidden in her room, but I need to see how much tea she has left.

My heart lurches as I see just how little remains.

It’s made with a special plant Lill needs to survive, and while she only needs to ingest a small amount every few weeks to keep the magic in her body alive, she’s running out. Her mother traveled to the human realm with eight canisters, but six were destroyed during their escape.

This is the last one, and I have no idea how long she’ll be able to stretch out the little bit that’s left.

“Hey, Lill,” I say.

Lill jolts and spins around, her eyes wide with fear before she realizes it’s just me behind her.

I used to joke that she could hear a mouse scurrying up a wall from three rooms over, but her senses are dulled now that she’s cutting back on her already small dosage of tea. I try to keep my worry out of my expression, but I can tell Lill recognizes it.

She carries the weight of her guilt and shame in her shoulders.

“How are you feeling?” I ask before she can yell at me for scaring her.

Lill straightens her spine and stands tall, but I see right through it. She’s extraordinarily beautiful, but it’s clear that she’s unhealthy. She’s always been thin, but she’s lost so much weight this past year that she’s practically skin and bones now. It’s jarring, and even her once vibrant hair and bright eyes are dull.

My family thinks she has an eating disorder, they whisper about it whenever I come home to visit. They’re worried about her, but there’s no way to explain that she’s a faerie who’s dying because she’s living in a realm without the magic her body needs to survive.

I think that would raise a lot of questions, and my parents would probably try to have me admitted to a hospital.

I wish Lill’s sickness were as easy as an eating disorder. That’s a serious issue on its own, but at least it’s something with the hope of a cure. There’s no way around the lack of magic here. Lill’s going to die, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

It’s what killed her mother, and it’s only a matter of time before it does the same to her.

Lill’s mom refused to drink the tea after realizing there wouldn’t be enough for her and Lill. She wanted to save what was left for her daughter, and she withered away and died within five years of coming to the human realm.

Lill told everybody it was cancer, which I suppose isn’t too far from the truth.

Faeries need magic to keep their bodies running, but the human realm has none. Not a drop. Lill says the tea is loaded with it, and it’s the only thing that’s kept her alive all these years. Now, though, now she looks just like her mother did in the months before she died.

It terrifies me.

“Stop staring at me,” Lill says. She hurries to put the lid on her canister, but there’s no point. I already saw just how little is left. “I’m just about to start dinner.”

I shake my head and grab her teacup. Her hands twitch, and I don’t want her to spill any. It’s too precious to spill.

Lill’s eyes fill with tears as I lift the cup to her mouth and urge her to sip. I know she’s embarrassed, but this is what family is for.

“I’ll order pizza,” I say.

Lill takes another sip of her tea, and I carefully pull it away and carry the cup into the living room so she can sit and rest. She needs to, otherwise her symptoms will grow worse. The tea is so diluted I know it won’t heal her, but it’ll alleviate the worst of her pain.

At this point, that’s all we can hope for.

“I’ll clean up tomorrow morning,” Lill promises.

I wave away her offer. I’ve told her a million times that I don’t need her cleaning for me, but she refuses to listen. I think it makes her feel useful, and it probably helps remove some of her guilt over letting me support her.

Lill takes a seat on the couch, and I head into my bedroom to change. I desperately need to do laundry, and I had nothing clean to wear to work except for my uncomfortable and unflattering gray slacks. I tried salvaging the outfit with a tight black t-shirt, but all in all, I spent all day feeling bland.

The small marketing firm I work for is full of bright, energetic twenty-year-olds, and they have me feeling old at twenty-six. Objectively, I know I’m still young, but when I show up in my boring gray outfits and they’re in bright green patterned tops, I feel like a fucking crypt keeper.

I change and toss my dirty clothes into my overflowing laundry basket before carrying the entire thing into the hallway. Lill patters around, probably tidying up the living room, as I throw my dirty clothes in the washer.

I hate how she feels the need to clean constantly, but she gets angry whenever I try to tell her to stop.

She collapses onto the couch when I finally emerge from the hallway, and I resist the urge to groan as I spot the freshly cleaned coffee table. Lill tries to pretend she didn’t just do anything as she sips her tea, but I can tell by the shaking of her hand that the few minutes of cleaning took it out of her.

I wish she would just open a damn portal to the faerie realm. She refuses, for reasons still unknown to me, but I know just breathing the magic in the air would be good for her. I’ve picked up through context clues that her mom was running away from something or someone, but Lill was a child when she came here and I doubt anybody would recognize her.

She’s told me most faeries have white hair and purple eyes, so she wouldn’t stand out.

She could live in a small cabin in the middle of nowhere. I’d miss her terribly, but at least she’d be alive. Plus, she’d be strong enough to open a portal and visit me whenever she wants.

Fuck, if she’s so adamant about staying away, I’ll go over and find the damn plant for her. She’s told me that it’s rare for humans to be in the faerie realm, but it’s not unheard of. I’ll just say I’m a traveler, and I’ll buy and bring back fifty fucking canisters of her tea.

I doubt the faeries take human money, but I’m not above selling myself for a quick buck.

I’d be in and out.

“Did you order the pizza?” Lill asks.

I shake my head and pull out my phone. Should I bring up the idea of traveling to the faerie realm and getting her the tea? It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve offered, but Lill gets so angry when I try to discuss it.

She seems to think her world is too dangerous for me, but I doubt it. I’m not naive enough to go trapezing into a city full of the gremlins she’s whispered treat human meat as a delicacy. I’ll stick to the faerie lands, which she told me herself is relatively safe for humans.

She said they think we’re cute—like magicless, small pets. I’ll be very fucking cute, and I’ll secure her all the damn tea in the world.

I hesitate before pulling up the number for our local pizza shop. Lill’s already having a bad day, so I’ll wait to start this argument when she has more energy to engage.

“What kind do you want?” I ask.

Lill shrugs, not giving an opinion, before taking another sip of her tea. I can’t help but stare. The drinks she used to make for herself were once so dark you couldn’t see the bottom of the cup. Now, it looks like nothing more than tinted water.

“I’ll get a veggie,” I decide.

My voice cracks, the sound giving away the emotions swirling through me. Lill purses her lips, and I turn away before she says anything. She gets annoyed when she sees what she perceives to be pity in my eyes. It’s never pity, though, it’s fear.

Fear over what’s going to happen when she runs out of tea. Fear over how I’m supposed to live life without my best friend in it.

My bottom lip wobbles, and I bite the inside of my cheek until the physical pain overshadows my thoughts. It never takes me long to compose myself, and I quietly clear my throat before calling the local pizza shop to place our order.

It’s a good distraction, and I head into the kitchen to tidy up while I wait for the delivery to arrive. Lill cleans so often that there isn’t much to do, but I wash the few dishes in the sink before putting away the heavy pots and pans she struggles to lift.

“How was your day at work?” Lill asks, stepping into the room.

Her cup is empty, and she visibly hesitates before setting it beside the sink. I snort, already knowing what she’s thinking. She’s probably mad at me for cleaning, and I shoot her a broad smile as I grab her dirty cup and give it a quick wash.

“I’ll do that tomorrow,” she argues.

I ignore her.

“My day was fine,” I say instead, answering her earlier question. “I spent most of it trying to convince Mark to update our bookkeeping software…”

It’s an argument we’ve had for weeks now. Mark hates spending money, but our current software is full of glitches and next to impossible to use. I almost missed payroll last week due to an error in the system, and it’s not the first time.

Mark seems to think it’s fine since I was able to find and fix the issue in time, but he fails to understand that I’m an accountant, not an IT wizard. He can’t rely on me to fix every technological issue the company comes across, and I hate how I’m always blamed for the few that slip through the cracks.

Sometimes, I wonder how he even managed to start our company.

Lill’s always telling me to quit and find a new job, but we both know I can’t do that. The town is small, and unless I want some crazy long commute or to move into a place with rent easily twice as much as it is here, there’s no leaving.

Besides, the pay isn’t bad.

It’s enough to comfortably afford our small two-bedroom apartment, and I always have a little left over for pizza nights and overpriced coffee.

Plus, I worry I’m going to have to pay for some sort of home care as Lill’s health continues to dwindle. She’s managing well enough on her own for now, but I predict it’s only a matter of time before she needs help with her everyday tasks.

That care will be expensive, and I need to save all I can now.

Our doorbell rings, and Lill grabs plates while I answer the door and get our pizza. It smells delicious, and I pay the delivery driver before kicking the door shut and carrying it into the living room.

We usually eat at our small, round dining table, a tradition Lill insists on, but pizza deserves to be eaten in the living room while watching TV. It’s a hill I’m willing to die on, and after countless arguments and even some tears on the rare occasion, Lill’s conceded.

Well, mostly. She still sets up TV trays and makes me lay a napkin across my lap like I’m in a restaurant, but I’ll take what I can get.

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I'm so excited for this story! Updates will be every Friday!