Names and Diplomacy

         There are many tales that will tell you that the name of a faery -- or any other magical being -- is important. Once you know the true name of another being, you have power over them. Exactly what the power is, and how important it is varies from tale to tale. In some stories, calling a being by his or her name is the one way to defeat him or her. In others, the knowledge of their true names is the key to casting spells. Without the true name, the spell will not hold. Even with a binding spell that makes the person obey you, he/she will not obey unless you call him/her by name.
         The latter is true in our world. While I don’t know of any beings that can be defeated by hearing their true names said, the knowledge of knowing a being’s true name is the key to casting spells over him/her. There are many things faeries and spirits can do to you magically without knowing your name, but when it comes to controlling your mind, or your choices, you -- someone -- first has to give them that key.
         Giving a false name or nickname is generally a good idea, but giving the name of someone else you know (even if that person is a jerk and deserves it) only leads to misunderstandings and messy situations.
         This faery already knew my name, and had already magicked me. There was only one way we’d ever be close to standing on even ground. At the time I asked, we were across the table from each other, having what’s called a “stare down,” and coincidentally were both holding knives (I was slicing bread, and he was slicing cheese).
          “What’s your name?” I asked him again.
          “Why would you want to know that?” he stalled, narrowing his eyes slightly.
          “I feel somewhat entitled. You know, since I did save your life.”
          “I thought our debts were settled.”
          “They were -- until you fainted and made me drag you to your bed.”
          “I appreciate the gesture, but you could have left me on the floor.” he popped a slice of cheese in his mouth.
           “True, but I didn’t, and you owe me.” I grinned at him.
           The faery smiled and looked down. “My name is Ciaran.” he said, finally giving in.
            I held out my hand across the table. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Ciaran.”
            He shook my hand in a moment I would like to call a diplomatic first between our two races. For a few minutes we sat in silence, pleasantly munching on the strange bread and cheese. After my portion was done, I asked,
            “How is your back doing?”
            “It’s a bit sore.”
            “Can I take a look at it?”

“Please do.”

I took the bandage off of his back carefully, although there was no gentle way to rip off the duct tape. All I could do was stare for a moment at where the gash used to be. In its place was a fine, red line, as if Ciaran had been scratched by a little tree branch.

“Seriously? There’s practically nothing there!” I yelled.

“That’s a relief.” Ciaran sighed, not surprised at all.

I wasn’t done freaking out, so I put my nose next to his. “You almost died! And now you’re fine!”

“Yes, I am. Good job!” he gave me a strange look. “Could you take the rest of the tape off?”

“It is all off.”

“Please, I am begging you. It’s itching like mad.”

I laughed and scratched around his wound for him. “I’m telling you, the tape is gone. You know,” I continued more soberly. “the medicine in those bottles would save a lot of lives.”

“That is why it was invented.” Ciaran agreed, arching his back like a cat.

“So, why haven’t your people shared that with the human world?”

He stiffened. “That’s where it starts. It’s not a bad idea at first. But just think, Ashlyn, if I gave you that medicine to take to your doctors, they would demand that you get more. More medicine, more ways to cheat death. And it wouldn’t stop there. They would demand everything we have, little by little. If I said that bottle was all I had, they wouldn’t trust me enough to believe me and leave it at that.” Ciaran turned in his chair to face me. “And when they cannot trust me, when they fear what I am hiding, that is when I become the enemy. A worldwide threat; something that must either be put under control or destroyed.”

“Not everyone is that greedy.” I said quietly, although it sounded likely.

Ciaran tucked a lock of my hair behind my ear. “Not everyone is like you.”

He was so handsome.

“But that’s why I’ve got to take you back and erase your memories again.”

            “Again?”
            “I have to.” Ciaran repeated. “I’m sorry, but I don’t want anything else happening to you. I’ll make sure you smell like a human again and see that you get home all right.”

“But --”

“It’s either that or stay here, and I know you don’t want that.” He dug through a pile on the floor and pulled out a shirt.

I looked down at my hands and squeezed them together. “What if I did?”

“Then you’d stay here forever and I wouldn’t have to erase your memories.” He didn’t look up but kept digging through the other piles in the room.

“That doesn’t sound so bad.” I admitted.

“You’d change your mind soon enough.”

“Do we have to go back now?” I wanted to see the empty village in the daylight.

“The longer we wait, the more memories you’ll lose.” He found the book he wanted.  

“But that doesn’t mean we--”

Ciaran grabbed my arm with his free hand (not roughly, don’t worry). His eyes were fierce. “Ashlyn, do you want me to keep you here?”

There was another tense silence accompanied by another stare down.

“No,” I said finally, looking down. “Take me back.”

In the Faery World

There are a few ways to tell if you are actually in the Faery World. One of them is the lighting. The lighting in their world is not noticeably strange, but it is different. There’s a certain tint to their world, like there is a camera lens making certain colors stand out more than they normally would. It’s really quite surreal.

You can see the same effect in many movies and photographs, when the cameraman or photographer uses a filtered lens to create a certain mood. If it’s a sunny day, it will be especially golden. The moonlight is especially silver. Colors are more vivid and intense. If you wake up one morning to a replica of a familiar scene, and there is someone insisting that you take and eat some delicious food or drink, be wary. Check the lighting first.

If the lighting and colors are strangely vivid, you have a few defenses. You can: 1) Refuse the delicious food before investigating further, 2) ask the supposedly familiar person a question only he/she should know the answer to, and 3) force your way out into the open and run around until either you escape or they catch you again.

You can also play along and eat the food, but that has certain... consequences that you may not like.

I woke up to a very golden morning from the floor of the cottage, wrapped in my cloak and feeling very groggy and sore. At first I didn’t remember why I was there, or where this strange room full of papers and books was. I didn’t recognize it in the daylight.

A puff of air behind me made me turn and see the faery sleeping peacefully on his stomach with his mouth open. It made me smile. This faery was a heavy sleeper. He was out cold until the sun was high and warm, but then, of course, he had been seriously wounded the night before. I took a few minutes to yawn and rub my eyes.

One of the papers lying on the floor near me caught my eye. It was a rough sketch of a young man in a T-shirt and jeans. Another was a detailed sketch of the same. There was a head shot, focusing on the face, and another on the hair. These drawings were the faery’s human disguise. This was how he planned it out.

I started browsing through the book that had been left open. The engraved letters on the cover said: Multiple Spell Casting. There were diagrams and step by step instructions. From what I could understand, faeries need only a clear understanding of how a spell works, and the focus to cast it. The book made it seem like the magic faeries use comes their power of thought. I shrugged and put the book down.

My instincts got the better of me and I began clearing off the table and putting back the medicine bottles from the night before. I began searching for food this time. I found a round of cheese, some bread, some fruit, and, hidden in the corner of a cupboard, some packaged oatmeal chocolate chip cookies that did not look faery-made.

“Don’t eat those!” I jumped and turned to see the shirtless faery up and scrambling towards me frantically, hair flying and eyes bloodshot.

“I wasn’t going to eat your cookies,” I said as he grabbed them from me and shoved them back into the cupboard.

“Don’t eat any of it!”

“Why not?”

He stopped in the middle of gathering up the cheese and bread. “This stuff is all right, actually. But you shouldn’t just eat any food you find here.”

“Why, what will happen?”

“That’s up to whoever prepared it.” he said grimly. “But I didn’t do anything to this, so... you can eat it. My mistake. I just woke up and saw you, and I panicked.” the faery scratched his head in embarrassment.

I laughed. “What about the cookies? I’m pretty sure those came from the convenience store.”

He sighed, hanging his head, sitting down in the chair and holding his side near the wound. “It’s true. It’s fine. Eat whatever you want.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make fun of you.”

“You don’t need to. I feel quite pathetic.” He looked up through the hair in his face. “I owe my life to you, Ashlyn.”

           My turn to feel embarrassed. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I was repaying you. If we keep this up, we’ll never get out of debt. Want some bread?” I started slicing it. “Um, faery?”

His head was down on his arms. “Hmm?”

“How about you tell me a few more things?”

“I owe it to you.” he said meekly. “And the damage is already done. Fire away.”

“How did kissing me put me in danger?”

“The goblins... can smell traces of magic. Faeries are very tasty to them, a rare treat, in fact, that when they smelt even a faint trace of the contact I had with you, they attacked.”

“Fair enough.” I conceded. “Second question. Why did you kiss me and let me go if you knew about that possibility?”

“It didn’t go according to plan. I mean, I wasn’t planning on it -- I... you didn’t want to stay in my world. There were other ways to persuade you, but... I knew you’d be sad later on.”

I was touched, but still added, “Is it normally your habit to try and abduct young girls?” and then felt like a jerk.

“No. But I’ve been trained in the methods of doing it, the certain spells and so forth. I’m very good at it. But with you... that was the first time I’d really tried it. I lost my nerve.”

            I wanted to ask what made me so special, but, “Third question. Not to humiliate you or anything,”
            “It’s too late for that.” he murmured.

“Were you planning on keeping me here after you abducted me?” I gestured around the small, cluttered room. “Because it’s not very... um, enchanting.”

He pulled the plate of cheese towards him and began cutting a slice for himself. “No.” he answered. “I told you, nothing went according to plan. However,” he looked up with a mischievous grin. “I do have you here now, don’t I?”

There was a tense moment of silence at the table.

“Fourth question.” I said. “What’s your name?”

Past Midnight: Part II

“I’m sorry.” he said again.

I stroked his soft, black hair since he seemed so distressed. “You don’t have to apologize. You did save me after all.”

He was quiet for a bit. “I almost didn’t.”

My hand froze.

The faery lifted his head. “I told myself I wasn’t going to see you anymore, that whatever happened to you after that night was none of my business, but, I saw them take you. I saw their shadows swallow you out of sight, and I wasn’t supposed to interfere. As I told you, goblins have to eat something. You might have escaped on your own; you’re clever, after all. But you didn’t, and I couldn’t stand by and watch, so I... I broke another rule.”

I felt paralyzed until he swayed suddenly and I had to hold him up. “Let’s keep walking.” I said, pulling his hood back up and supporting him again.

“Can you forgive me?” he asked.

“For what? Breaking the rules, or for trying to follow them?” I started walking faster. “What kind of rules are these, anyway? Some kind of animal treatment laws? Is that what humans are to you?”

“No! Not at all! To us humanity is more like an unfriendly foreign country.”

That worked for me. “And that would make you a spy? That means I’m aiding an enemy spy!” It was somewhat delightful to think about, like the old WWII shows I used to watch with my dad.

“You jumped on that idea quickly.” he grew heavier again.

“What’s wrong? Is the pain getting worse?”

“It’s catching up to me. It’s only thanks to that liquid fire your friend used that I’ve made it this far.”

“Liquid fire? You mean the vodka?”

“Whatever she poured on the wound. It helped to slow down the poison.”

“Poison?!” At this point I was panicking and could only repeat him.

He squeezed my hand. “Don’t panic. I should have the cure at home, and we’re halfway there.” This wasn’t reassuring, though, because he said it as he was becoming too heavy for me to hold up and was thus dropping to the ground.

“Halfway there?!” I repeated, trying to pull him back up. “Only halfway?” With how high I was raising my voice, it’s a miracle no students or security guards on campus noticed us. The whole place was deserted. Eventually I hoisted the faery up so I could carry him piggy-back style, and I jogged up the hill as fast as I could in panic mode. He wrapped his arms around my shoulders and nestled his head against mine as if he were hugging me for reasons other than the fact that his life was in danger.

“Stop distracting me!”

“Sorry.” he said meekly.

We finally made it up the hill to the building where I had met him at that dance. “Where do I go from here?”

“Towards the gardens.” the faery pointed the way until we had gone through several of the differently themed gardens and there was no more sidewalk to be had. I tried walking up the steep, grassy hill, but it was wet and a bit muddy from the sprinklers. There was no traction. I slipped and fell, dropping to my hands and knees and buckling under his added weight. We lay on our backs and rested for a moment on the hill, being streaked with mud and recovering from the fall.

“The sky is very pretty tonight.” the faery remarked conversationally.

I laughed shakily. “Yes, yes it is.”

“The stairs would have been faster, you know.”

“Not if this hill wasn’t wet!” I started ranting.  “If they would just run the sprinklers during the day when it’s hot and everyone’s in need of cooling off instead, this would have been faster!”  

The faery turned his head toward me and took my hand, like a dying person in a hospital bed. His grasp was weak.  “We’re almost there.”

I sat up. “Can you move at all? Do you think you can crawl up the slope?” He nodded and tried. “Where do we go from here?” I asked him.

“Through the hedge, Ashlyn. Don’t you remember?”

“No, because someone tampered with my memories.” I retorted, helping him to kneel up. He smiled and climbed up on my back again, and we trudged through the cedar hedges, which seemed overgrown now; green and prickly. On the other side was the Faery World.

It looked the same as another part of the gardens at first: trees, grass, flower beds. My faery, who was getting worse every minute, directed me to a road at the edge of the trees, which led to a village, an old-looking village, with thatched roofs and wooden shutters on the houses. The houses were all dark and silent, like they had been abandoned.

He started having trouble breathing by the time we reached it, and his temperature rose a great deal. He told me to enter one house that looked the same as all the others to me, but was apparently his. I pushed the door open to a dark mess. Books and papers were everywhere. There was an empty chair next to a table, so I sat him down in that.

“Okay, where’s the cure?” I asked. He hunched over, leaning onto the table. His pain looked agonizing. He pointed to the cupboards on the other side of the table, and I frantically searched them until I found one with little bottles and jars that looked like medicine.

“Which one is it? They aren’t labelled!” I dropped a few on the floor.

“It’s a blue glass bottle. It should be towards the left of the shelf.”

“Don’t say ‘should’ as if you’re not sure! I can't even see what colors they are!” I said, wringing my hands.

He calmly pushed some papers aside on the table and uncovered a candle and some matches. I hurried and lit up the candle.

There must have been at least thirty bottles in there, of all different colors. I brought him several blue ones, but he shook his head at them while fumbling with the clasp at his neck. Finally, I brought them all to the table, armfuls at a time, and he found it, a little blue bottle stopped with a cork.

“You have to pour it on the wound.” my faery said apologetically while he handed it back to me.

I threw the cloak away from his shoulders and started ripping off the duct tape that kept the bloody bandage on. He tried not to cry out, but he was a delicate faery after all. Pulling the cork out with my teeth, I poured a shiny substance into the angry gash on his back. It began bubbling. His hands were clutching the table edge, knuckles white. He drew in his breath quickly, as if the medicine burned him as it cured the poison. For all I knew, it hurt as much as the knife did in the first place. I put my hand on his shoulder, feeling helpless. Finally, he heaved a sigh of relief.

I looked at the wound again. It was frothing bubbles, but when I wiped it off with a towel it looked much better. The faery handed me another bottle that was supposed to close up the wound. I poured that on as well. I looked around for another bandage, and found another hand towel that felt clean, so I used that along with the few remaining strips of duct tape that were still adhesive.

With difficulty, my faery pushed himself away from the table and turned to face me. He sat up and put his hand on my face, looking meltingly grateful. “Thank you, Ashlyn.” And with that he immediately fell out of his chair and collapsed to the floor in a faint.

I groaned and looked around the messy room. There was a bed (unmade and also covered in books and papers) not six feet away. “Aw! You couldn’t have waited until you were in bed to faint? Honestly! It would have been two seconds! What am I going to do with you?” I eventually cleared the literary debris off of his bed and started dragging him towards it with difficulty.

            “Some enemy spy,” I grumbled. “Why don’t you just levitate yourself to bed? Isn’t there a spell that does that? One that you can do in your sleep?”

Past Midnight

Sadly, this didn’t last long. A few hours later (at about 3 A.M.) I heard a thump and was suddenly wide awake. Cautiously I crept out of my room and found the shirtless young man on the floor of the living room, apparently collapsed from the effort of trying to crawl towards the door.

“What are you doing?” I hissed, hurrying to him. “You’ll start bleeding again!”

He blinked until he recognized me. “Ashlyn, I have to get back. I can’t stay here.”

“Of course you can. Come on, I'll help you back onto the couch --”

“No. I can’t keep it up much longer. It’s too hard to concentrate with the pain.”

“Are you talking about the spell that makes you look like a human?”

He looked at me sharply, in panic. I smiled at him.

“It sort of faded in and out while you were asleep. Where do you need to go?”

“Home. It’s not that far, I have to get to there...”

“You can’t wait until the morning?”

“No. I should have been back hours ago.”

“I’ll try to help you get there. Hang on.” I padded back to my room and got my coat and shoes on. “Here!” I said, handing my cloak (it’s like a blanket except with a hood and a clasp at the neck to keep it on) to the young whatever-he-was. “You can keep this on, and then no one will see what you look like. It should make it easier.”

I helped him sit up and put the cloak on him, tugging the hood down.  “See? Now I can only see your mouth. You can change back if you want.”

For a minute or two he sat there, hunched over. “Ashlyn... how -- how can you accept me so easily? You don’t know anything about me.”

“Yes, I do. I know you can use some sort of magic, and that you're trying to keep up some kind of disguise, since your hair keeps changing colors while you're asleep or in pain, and finally, I know that you already knew my name back in that alley.” Rachel snored from the loveseat, making me jump. I lowered my voice and put my hands on his shoulders. “I know you saved my life. So as long as you need help, I’ll help you.”

He opened his mouth, and closed it again.

“Now come on. Let’s get you home.” I helped him to stand and pulled his right arm over my shoulders. “Just tell me where to go.”

We started walking towards the college campus, which was mostly uphill, and he grew heavier with each step. I had to put my arm around his hip instead of his side because it was too close to his wound. It was a chilly night, but with the cloak around us both it wasn’t too cold. The moon happened to be large and high above us, so we didn’t need a flashlight.

“Why don’t you tell me who you are?” I suggested. “You know, just to pass the time.”

He chuckled. “That would make the disguise useless, wouldn’t it?”

“I can’t see you anyway. Why don’t you tell me how you know me?”

“We’ve met before.”

“What? No. I’d remember that. Were you one of my mysterious childhood friends?”

He laughed and I made a few more ridiculous guesses. Somehow it felt very natural to walk with him like that -- to walk with and support a wounded not-human in the middle of the night. He smelt of blood and sweat, but also something else quite nice. Like a good spice...

“I really wish you could remember,” he said. “I really wish I could tell you anything.”

I looked at his face, half shrouded by the hood. “Why can’t you?”

“It’s the law.” he said flatly. “And I can’t break it.”

We fell silent after he told me to take a turn near the school library.

“It’s my fault!” he said suddenly.

“What?”

“It’s my fault that you were attacked. You shouldn’t thank me. I only got you in trouble and then tried to help you get out of it, and now I’m causing more trouble for you! I should never have come here!”

“Woah, take it easy!” I stopped, facing him. “How is it your fault that I got attacked by those two goblins?”

He just stood there with his head hanging down. “Because I kissed you. And then I let you go.”

From where we were standing, I could see a drop of water from the sprinklers slide off a blade of grass. Fragmented images returned to me, getting more and more clear. The dance, his hands, the kiss. He tried to stop me, but I pulled his hood down from his head.

He had a pale, slender face framed by long black hair (blowing dramatically in the wind, of course), and yes, purple eyes. He looked different than he did before (he was previously tanned and had short brown hair), but it was him. He looked at me sadly, and hesitantly bowed his head down so far that it touched my shoulder, as if he was afraid that I’d shove him away.

“I’m so sorry, Ashlyn.”

           My faery...

Applying First Aid: College Style

       It was 15 minutes before my friend Rachel (the nursing student, and my next door neighbor) pulled up outside the alleyway in her ridiculously purple 1969 Volkswagen Beetle. She came running up to the bleeding young man and I with a mini-suitcase rolling behind her, and imperiously held out one finger.
       “Skin Lacerations Treatment Check-list!” she announced, her long hair blowing in the night breeze. “One: apply pressure!”
       “I’m doing that.”
       “Two: assess damage!” She put up another finger.
       “It's a gash across the side of his back, about four inches long!”
       “Check: is the cut spurting blood or just oozing? ”
       “It's...somewhere in between, I think?”
       “It's the difference between a cut artery or just a vein! Make up your mind! Spurting, or not?”
       “I don't know, just take a look at it!”
       Rachel finally knelt beside me. “Well, I can't see with your hands in the way, can I?”
        I moved my hands and she stopped me, crying out. “No! You have to keep applying pressure!”
        “Rachel! Help this man!” I growled, exasperated. “Are you high or something?”
        She straightened up. “Of course not. How dare you suggest such a thing.” It wasn't a question. “I have merely been studying for the last 27 hours.” She unzipped her suitcase and pulled out a flash light. “He hasn't lost too much blood. And...” peering through my fingers,“the blood does appear to be oozing. It's not an artery.”
       I sighed with relief, and stopped as my friend pulled out a bottle of Vodka along with a bag of cotton balls, bandages, scissors, and some duct tape.
       “What are you doing? Vodka? Duct tape?”
       Rachel put down the flash light and twisted the cap off. “Step three. We've got to clean the wound. This is all I had.” She paused and used the scissors to cut away his T-shirt.
       “Wouldn't hydrogen peroxide hurt him less?”
       “Well, yeah, but you said to hurry.”
       “Oh, go ahead.” I moved my hands away and glanced at the poor young man's face. His eyes were still closed, but when she poured the vodka on his wound he flinched and cried out. My scraped fingers also stung. Rachel made a rueful face at me and began quickly wiping the blood away from the wound.
         “Time for Step four. Hand me the bandage, would you?” I did so, and she pressed it onto the wound. “Duct tape! Make four –- nope, six strips about -- so -- long!”
         My bloody hands slipped over the duct tape, but I managed to snip it properly a few times and handed the strips to her one by one. She attached the ends of the strips to either sides of the bandage to try and close the gap in his skin. I questioned her methods, but it was probably half-right, at least.
        “Why didn't you just take him to the hospital?” Rachel asked me.
        “He made me promise not to.”
       She laughed. “Why? Is he a criminal? Famous bank robber?”
        “I have no idea.”
       “Wait, you don't know him? A random (but dangerously anonymous) hero just appeared to save you from getting mugged?” She pulled out wet wipes and handed one to me. I took it and shrugged.
       “I guess. Can we move him in your car? Mine's in the store parking lot.”
       “No, that's a bad idea. The back seat is too small, and the passenger seat doesn't recline at all. Go and get yours. I'll stay with him.”
        “Okay. Thanks, Rachel. I'm sorry to ask so much of you.”
        It had started to become a serious, heartfelt conversation, but her strange, sleep-deprived self emerged again in an instant.
        “Say no more! I was happy to be of service and display my highly competent skills! Now go, my friend! You can trust me with your wounded!”
         I ran off, trying not to laugh or trip. My groceries were still outside my car and fairly intact, although a few apples had rolled out of their bag. I scooped them up quickly and tossed them on the floor in back. My keys had fallen to the ground as well. I was lucky no one had picked them up. I guess this town was still somewhat small and safe, eh?
         I parked my car behind Rachel's, and reclined the passenger's seat as far as it would go, which was almost flat. Rachel had stood up and hoisted the young man over one shoulder like a fireman.
         “Open the door for me!” She called. We set him down and leaned him over so he was essentially lying on his stomach, hugging the seat. He moaned here and there, but was still out. Before I got in the driver's seat, Rachel stopped me.
         “You know, he's a bit of a wuss, your friend.”
         “What? Why?”
         “He didn't lose so much blood that he should have passed out. I guess he doesn't fight muggers every day.”
          I decided to say nothing about the flash of light and the fact that the muggers became flies afterwards, and how maybe this wuss wasn't human, or that maybe he had performed a draining sort of magic when he saved me.
         “You're really taking this guy home, huh?”
         “I don't know where else to take him.” 
         “Well! Keep pressure on that cut. I'll change his bandage in the morning.”
         “Thanks, Rachel.” My hand on the car door felt a little shaky as the adrenalin started to wear off.
          She looked at my face closely. “I'd better treat you for shock after we get him settled.”
           I drove back with one hand, as the other was pressing the young man's wound. There was hardly any traffic, so I was able to shift gears slowly. Rachel sped ahead of us and helped me get him into my apartment, which was hard, since I lived in a ground floor unit that was far away from the parking lot. I put garbage bags over the couch cushions before the sheets and put down my pillow, since I didn’t have an extra one. Soon we successfully had him tucked in and sleeping peacefully.

Rachel ended up passing out on the loveseat in the middle of a sentence. I was on my way to bed, when I heard the young man’s breath quicken. I had to stare, for every time he exhaled, his hair and face would change a little: skin paler, hair darker and longer. But when he drew in breath again, it would revert back to what he had looked like before. I shook my head and dragged myself onto my bed, bunching up my blankets so my feet would be raised.

           And that was how I ended up living with a wounded faery.

My Second, Surprisingly Scary Contact

           A week or two later, I was walking back to my car after shopping. It was dark, and I had parked rather far away from the store. I set one handful of grocery bags down to dig my keys out of my pocket, and suddenly felt my feet slide out from underneath me as if it was icy. That would be perfectly normal in the winter, but remember, this was still May. I yelped and fell, hitting my head on the asphalt. I didn’t quite black out, but could tell that my body was being dragged underneath the car by my feet. There was nothing to hold onto, and I couldn’t stop it, though I tried.
          My arms and back were soon stinging, and I looked toward my feet to see a dark shadow, human in shape, but too big and bulky, reeling me in with one hand. I reacted with a scream, but a dark hand covered my mouth (and nearly my whole face). He must have pushed my head back down onto the pavement next, because I did black out then.  
           I go to college in a relatively small and safe town, but apparently there are still some narrow, abandoned alleyways here. I regained consciousness in one of these alleys, hearing two men grunting over me.  
           “See? I told you I smelled one in this town.”
           Two abnormally large nostrils neared me and took a good whiff. “It’s still just human, but you’re right. I can smell something else, like a good spice.”

“Yeah, she’ll be tasty.” the other agreed.

“You’re sure this is a good spot, too? No one’s going to barge in on our meal?”

“What do you take me for? We’re good at this time of night.”

I tried to lift my head up from the concrete. “Please, don’t -- don’t eat me!”

“Aw, it’s waking up. Kill it before it makes more noise.”

“Okay.” the other pulled out a knife and knelt toward me. Panicked, I kicked him somewhere, and it must have landed well. He cursed something unintelligible and the knife went clattering to the ground, so I rolled over and started crawling and hobbling away. Like a nightmare, I wasn’t fast enough. One grabbed my feet and pulled me back. I screamed, knowing I really was going to die this time.

There was an incredibly bright flash of light. I was blinded along with my two assailants, and they let go of me momentarily. Someone with much smaller hands grabbed my arm and hoisted me to my feet.

“Run, Ashlyn!” A man’s voice said.

“I can’t see!” I protested, although I was trying to run.

The creatures behind us were angry. I could hear them stumbling towards us, and getting closer. “Now I smell something even tastier!” one of them snarled.

I was suddenly pushed to the side, slamming into a wall, and I heard a cry of pain. Not from the creatures, since their voices were deeper. It was the one rescuing me. The creatures laughed and stomped closer, but there was another flash of light -- a flash of something -- that I could only feel. It was quiet, then, just the sound of hard breathing from two pairs of human-sized lungs.

“Are they gone?” I asked tentatively. “What happened?”

My rescuer took a sharp breath. “I turned them into flies. I’m not proud of it. They’ll -- die in a few days. Ow.”

“Are you hurt?”

“Yes, to my shame.” he panted. “Are you?”

“I’m scraped up a bit. I still can’t see.”

“Sorry about that; it should come back in a minute. Ow.”

“What were those things?”

“Goblins.”

I laughed shakily. “Right. And they wanted to eat me.”

“They almost did.”

“Why?”

“They’ve got to eat something.”

I could accept this easier than I normally would have, since I was almost eaten a few minutes before. “Well, thank you for saving me.”

My vision started to come back. I squinted in the darkness and saw a young man lying on his back, bleeding onto the concrete. I gasped and turned him over to see the wound. It was a four-inch gash starting from under his shoulder and going towards the spine.

“It could be worse.” the young man said. “They couldn’t see where they were slicing.”

“This looks bad to me!” I brushed some gravel away from the gash, which was freely oozing blood. “I need to apply pressure and get you to a hospital.”

“No!”

“What?”

“No hospital! You can’t take me there.”

“But you --”

“Promise!” He was sounding weaker. “Promise you won’t.”

I hesitated, since it might have meant the difference between life or death for him. “I promise.”

He relaxed and put his head down on his arms.

“I have a friend who’s in the nursing program who would know what to do. I’ll call her, okay?”

“Okay.” his voice was muffled.

“Where are we?” I pulled my phone out with one hand and began dialling, trying not to get too much blood on it.

“Near the store.” he answered. I craned my neck to the store’s neon sign only two blocks away, too.  My friend answered, and, being a good friend, said she’d be right there.

“She’s coming; you’ll be okay.” I could see the side of his face. He was sweating from the pain, but he nodded. I put away my phone and pressed on his back with both hands. His breathing was getting slower and louder, like he was losing consciousness.

I sighed and whispered: “I hope you don’t die."