Timothy

I lived. I breathed air into my lungs and sighed and the sun warmed my back. It felt nice.

I was sitting on stone stairs in the university's northern campus. Just me, an ordinary twenty odd male university student enjoying the last warm days of autumn. No one paid any attention.

I smiled at a pretty female student that happened to glance at something in my general direction. She looked away. My smile widened.

I had been human again for a year. There were days when I thought I had dreamed everything. On sunny days when deadlines were pressing, it was hard to even vaguely bring to mind the other world I had formed a part of for two whole years. Yet remembering it gave me happiness in an oddly illogical way: Just mere moments ago I had been sitting in the library by myself, anxious over deadlines. Then I had used the toilet. There had been blood. Just a small amount on the broken machine that rolled the towel out. Probably due to someone having a paper cut. Yet it had drawn my attention. And suddenly I couldn't fathom why I wasted such a beautiful day agonizing over papers under lamplight.

I turned my head a bit to feel the sun on my cheek. Warm. Really nice. The day was worthy of long walks and deep gratitude. I would yet have to go inside though and finish the essay. Just not yet. Not quite yet. Maybe I could even do it on the lawn? There were no sockets though...

"Nice weather. I see you can appreciate it." The woman speaking was one of the students. She too studied linguistics. Most language students were girls. I was an oddity as a male student there. I didn't know her name. Just that she studied French as I did.

"I definitely do," I responded to her. She was pretty with her dark curls and well groomed brows. Most women did that, groomed their brows. Some took them even out altogether and drew them back with dark pens. She had painted her eyelashes too, and powdered her face to perfection so subtle you could hardly even see it wasn't quite natural.

I felt a bit appalled by that. I had seen perfect faces once. Especially one with inky black hair falling back.

I pushed the memory back with another thought: How much time would it take to paint that unnaturally natural looking little piece of art? Did she do it every day? Humans were so curious.

No, wait. I was a human too.

"Why do you sit here by yourself? I never see you anywhere except at lectures, Timothy," she said.

"I like it by myself," I shrugged. "And I am not really a drinker." The university extracurricular events tended to be humid occasions. Not all of them. But most were. Without inside information the distinction was hard to make in advance.

"Alcohol makes me nervous," I added, rising to my feet. "What was your name again?"

I could tell I had offended her by a tension in the air. I had told her the truth. I didn't like what alcohol did to people's minds. And I didn't know her name. She was offended that I didn't share her enjoyment of forgetting everything I did the evening before, and that of all the university people I couldn't recite her name from memory. 

Memory was an interesting power and people were fragile. They got easily offended. Easily forgotten. Easily hurt. Every conversation and gesture was like dancing on thin ice. I had just cracked some open water. Yet I wasn't really scared of offending her. She was after all just a human. A fragile, emotional being.

Yes. Those two dark years brought great happiness to my life.

"Rune. I'm Rune. We have been studying the same subject for over a year now."

"Yes, well, as you pointed out, I haven't been around much."

That was the end of the conversation. I took my backpack, flung it over my shoulder and went searching for a less offensive spot for enjoying my time on earth.

I found myself a dark library corner bathed in yellowish lamplight. I frowned at the offensively weak light source above my head, sighed and laid down a bag containing a laptop. All window seats were taken. Which was more than understandable.

I settled myself for writing the damnable essay. Opened the lightweight tiny laptop I had and shared the phone's mobile data. For a moment I stared at the phone. I should have gotten a new one. I should get a new one. The screen was badly fractured. It still responded to touch. But parts of it were black. I had to always arrange all application icons to the left side. Or try to guess where exactly they were beneath the darkened dots.

But I had dropped it onto the hard kitchen tiles of the Fair Marquise. On a very specific night.

I hadn't returned to Hellebore's tearoom ever after that. He had my number, and he hadn't sent any messages. Never. I knew I had a debt hanging on my head. And I didn't know what Hellebore would ask. How I would pay.

Maybe I'd buy a new phone once the debt was exhaustively settled.

I wondered if it could be settled. I owed the blind alchemist more than just my life.

I shook myself out of it and concentrated on the dialectal map of Atlantis that lay open on the laptop's unfractured screen. I was in the Capital city of Atlantis, called Breasinghae--the place of hills, as we were far enough from the sea and close enough to the mountain range covering most of the inland. Breasinghae was indeed built in a river valley. Spreading onto mountain roots, hills. The Black mountain being the closest almost-a-mountain, rising 500 meters from the city.

The capital dialect of the Atlantean language was a mess and resembled little the written standard. Most words were said much shortened. Assimilations and dissimilations were frequent and some postpositions were replaced by one sound endings. It was a quick paced dialect, meant to transmit as much information in as few sounds as possible. Breasinghae was no cultural center. The old castles were by the island's western shores. And often even native speakers found themselves gaping helplessly as someone from the capital came to visit them, at a loss as to what to say, since mostly they didn't understand a word.

And a very big reason for the apparent difficulty to understand the language was due to the fact that the north east parts of Atlantis had for many a century been ruled by a queen of French origin. And nasal sounds had apparently rubbed off.

And I was to write a very short summary of that.

Well, a small summary complete with an index and at least 12 pages. The sources or illustrations didn't count but were appreciated.

Why had I come back to the university again?

"Hey? How are you doing? Like to come to lunch with us?"

I startled at the familiar voice. And lifted my head.

Opposite me a young woman had laid her hand to the shoulder of another young lady. I hadn't paid any attention to the sitting blonde girl as I had claimed my own seat. And only briefly noted her startlingly blue eyes. Instead, my attention snapped immediately to the darker of the duo. The standing girl had dark wavy hair and features proclaiming her of Latin American origin. She stood straight and had a steady presence. Her name was Valentina. And I had known her when I first came to the university. Before my dark years. We had been of age and studied the same major.

"Oh my gods. Valentina!" the blond exclaimed. "What time is it?"

"Almost two. Are you quite okay, Lavender? As your tutor, I am worried. You look tired."

The blond girl, Lavender, rubbed her eyes. "I haven't been able to sleep. Must be the stress..."

"The term has hardly even started!" Valentina snorted. "Come, let's go eat."

The girl muttered some half-hearted words about the older girl not being her mother, but Valentina had taken it to herself to pack the other one's belongings off the table and into a neat bag she finally hung over her own shoulder, even as she herself was already wearing a backpack.

My memory tugged at something.

"You really don't need to, you know," this Lavender muttered. She was redoing her long blond ponytail.

"I know," was all Valentina said.

She was just leaving with Lavender in tow, when her eyes met mine. For a moment she stared.

I found a small, shy smile for her. "Hi, Valentina."

"Timothy?" She asked, carefully.

I nodded. She circled the table and came to stand by me. "I thought you had quit."

"Well..." I said. "I kind of did. But then, after a bit of a sabbatical. Well. Two sabbatical years really, I decided to come back and try to scrape together a degree."

"That's great. You should come back to the dojo too." She smiled at me warmly. "Almost all have graduated or just slipped away, there probably won't be many you know anymore. Well. Blizzard is still there, but even he can't stay there forever. Though he is clearly trying. You were friends, weren't you? You'd be more than welcome back to the club, if you ever feel like it."

I made a face. "Yes, well. I am kind of trying to avoid Blizzard." I confessed.

"Okay." Valentina lifted her hands in a sign of forfeiting the battle. "But he only ever comes in the evening. You could take one of the starter courses at least. They are held at six. Blizzard won't come before sparring at nine."

"I'll think about it." I smiled charmingly.

Valentina rolled her eyes. "Do you want to come with us for lunch, at least?"

I found myself nodding.

I hadn't had lunch with other students for a long while. And found my heart almost fluttering with excitement. Such a mundane pleasure. But I appreciate it wholeheartedly. Valentina had always been lovely company. She was light in her movements, but possessed a presence and a smile that could have melted Antarctic ice. She easily radiated energy all around her.

Lavender was much more silent, less radiant. And there were dark circles under her sky blue eyes. I wondered if she might not have been just very tired. To confirm this suspicion she yawned deeply as we stood in line to wait our turn in the school canteen.

"You could try one of the infusions Hellebore sells, if you can't sleep," Valentina said to her friend.

"I tried asking him for one," she answered and took onto her plate a slice of fish from the buffet. "But he said he didn't have anything for me."

"Is that why you are avoiding The Marquise?" Valentina asked. She was waiting until we reached the vegetarian end of the line.

"I don't know. It just feels weird. There is something funny about the whole place," the blond said, still yawning.

"I can't really explain it. I just don't feel like going." She smiled charmingly. "I'll find a table for us."

She proceeded to pay for her lunch as I was stuck with Valentina waiting to get to the very end of the table to get some of the noodle wok intended for vegetarians.

Finally we made it out of the line to search for Lavender. We found her talking to yet another student, seated at a table for four. I could only see the back of her head. Cropped vividly green hair.

Something in me reeled at the sight.

I stopped as Valentina went to greet her friends.

I stepped closer. My apprehension doubled. I was sure I wanted nothing to do with this student who was sitting her back to me. There was something wrong.

"So, this is Timothy, a friend of mine we ran into at the library," Valentina was saying.

I was forced to step forward, fully inside the disgusting, yet oddly familiar, presence of this small individual.

"So pleased to meet you, Timothy," the young woman said, turning. She was wearing glasses. And her eyes were the same green as her hair. She was smiling, as if all were well in the world.

Suddenly, I knew her hair wasn't dyed. She was a witch. And carried something. Maybe a small talisman, meant to repel vampires. I had met witches before. I recognized the feeling.

Despite every instinct protesting within me, I extended a hand. I wasn't a vampire. I could touch her. I was human. She was human. Kind of.

"I'm Clover. My thesis is done but there are still some credits to complete before I can graduate." She reached to clasp hands.

"Lucky you," I said as flesh met flesh.

There was a small electrical charge that made both of us startle. A laugh followed.

I took my seat.

The feeling of Clover's nauseating presence pressed onto my senses. I ignored it. Sometimes I felt things, heard noises and saw details not meant for mortal eyes. And I was starting to be excellent at ignoring these sensations. Most of times, at least.

I lifted some of the wok into my mouth and chewed, listening to the conversation I was supposed to participate in.

"Are you feeling better, Lavender?" Clover was asking. The light caught at the edge of her glasses. "Did you try the herbs I gave you?"

"And the crystal too." Lavender sighed "And half a thousand things from the pharmacy. I don't know. It just seems to be getting worse."

"The nightmares?" Clover asked.

"Mmm."

"What do you see?" She pressed.

But Lavender just shook her head. "I would not like to think about it. I want to eat... And some of them are... Graphic."

Clover let her be.

"When are you going to join me in the club?" Valentina asked the green haired witch.

She touched lightly the frame of her glasses. Were they where the spell was bound?

"Don't know. Maybe some of these days. I am not a fan of... The man that looks like a groomed black bear. Just ginger. He makes my skin crawl."

"Blizzard? But he is a true gentleman. And good. The club will fall to pieces once he leaves. He is amazing." Valentina smiled. "You should just come and get to know him."

"He," Clover seemed to struggle with the pronoun, "is a way deal more than just a head taller and twice as wide as I am."

Valentina gave one of her characteristic eyerolls "Honestly, guys, I thought I was the one that had a problem with men. Blizzard is as lovely as they come. You should get over it, both of you." She cast a meaningful glance in my direction.

I poked a noodle with my fork.

"Please," I said silently, "give it time Valentina." I lifted my gaze to meet the witch's on the other side of the table. I held her green gaze. Spoke to her as much as my old friend. "But I get why Clover could feel a measure of apprehension. Blizzard can be truly wicked, if he so wishes."

Clover looked at me thoughtfully. Once again she adjusted her glasses.

We drifted to other topics. Life moved on. I laughed at some jokes Valentina cracked. Let myself be drawn into a long debate with Lavender over the use of nuclear energy, apparently the girl was in favor of more power plants. Her parents were engineers. Clover proved silent and warm.

Before I knew it, I had agreed to a study group with Lavender, the blond I hadn't known but for a few hours. And Clover had finally given in and agreed to try out Valentina's Self Defense club. Somehow, I had promised to meet with them at some time too, but only the two of them.

Thus I made my way home somewhat dazed. I had been alone for some time. Two years was a long time. Most of my previous friendships had been severed by my willful absence.

I ended up walking home, which took me a bit over two hours. Yet the weather was truly fine.

I lived at the very edge of the capital city of Atlantis. Nearing the border with the neighboring city of Casabassa, but just on the side of Breasinghae so I could enjoy the lower tariff when riding a bus to the University. It was my parents' house really, but as fate had it, they had moved out before me and my sister. Then Mimosa had moved out too. I lived now alone in our home, meant for four people. Had lived for years, at least on paper.

I climbed the steps to a stone porch. And looked up. Two stories up. I had space to spread. Many a person would have felt weird living at their parents'. I had felt weird. I had been eager to move to my own shared student apartment. But then... Then a period of my life had made me understand that living in a big nice and cozy house was kind of nice.

I tossed my pack on the floor of a spacious entrance hall. I left my hoodie on top of it. A real Persian carpet led to a living room where there were door frames to the kitchen. There were two frames but not a single door, though a curtain served the purpose hanging on one frame. I used the other frame with no door nor curtain. A yogurt, I wanted a yogurt. There was one in the fridge.

With my strawberry tasting loot, I came back to the hall. The door to our little spa-like sauna room was slightly ajar so I kicked it shut on my way to the stairs.

There were three rooms upstairs. The smallest had been my bedroom since birth. The biggest with a balcony attached was still my parents' when they came to visit. Even as they never really did anymore. The third had been my sister's. I opened that door and went in.

It was furnished as a guest room. Mimosa had left behind her bed. Like out parents had left behind all the funiture. I sat onto the bed. A big television with a Playstation faced me. I had bought the Playstation when I had been... When I hadn't been human. As Hellebore had given me a new life, I had gotten rid of all the games, but the equipment was still in the room. Maybe just in case I...

My phone rang.

I was startled by the unexpected sound, expecting at least bursting flames from somewhere. Then I picked the phone and answered my aunt. She started by asking some common pleasantries, then moved on to why she had really called, which was some technical issues with her printer.

As she described the problem, I rose and spaced a bit. I really didn't know that much about printers. Absentmindedly, I wandered to the upstairs corridor and onto my parents' bedroom and then to the balcony. I often felt I could think more clearly in the open air. I promised my aunt I would make a visit the next day and see what I could do about the printer then. Then I closed the phone.

Night had finally fallen. I could see small lights everywhere. Beyond the backgarden street lamps were lit. I still very much enjoyed the freshness of the night air. I might not want to spend an eternity in the night. Yet I still enjoyed its beauty. Night for me was still an enchanted part of a day. It seemed to somehow soften all hard edges which were revealed by the ruthless stark sunlight that reached everywhere. But lanterns, stars and the moon, they were all local and less intruding. Forgiving.

And yet. I felt somewhat separate from the night's mysteries. My senses–even as I sometimes enjoyed some extra sensory input–were dull, my mind always a bit misted over. Though just in comparison. Just in comparison. I could still sense a passing night's spirit below me on the lawn covered backyard.

I rested my elbows on the rail and let my mind drift.

Lavender

Dew had stationed himself in the small living room and played a construction game on his huge PC. He had one arching screen and an around ears headset. I could see a small light reflected against a dark hoodie by his right shoulder, indication that the headset was on, blocking most of the ambient noise. My boyfriend was absolutely a goner. He didn't see as I came in. Only when I bent myself to his eye level, did he pause the game.

"Honey!"

I let him kiss me.

"You were late."

"Mmm." I agreed. "Lots of schoolwork. I should think of my bachelor's work too."

"Are you feeling any better?"

"Little by little." I kissed his cheek. It tingled in a way that was familiar, and yet... "Go back. You'd had a long day too."

He gave me a long look, but shifted the headset back in place and clicked on continue. I stayed to watch for a moment as he drew blueprints to a sewers. Building simulations were his favorite.

Usually Dew talked about what he was building if I stayed to watch.

I could have stayed. Made familiar, loving small talk. Maybe even told I had met a new friend today, one Timothy, apparently a friend of Valentina's. Dew liked Valentina. He would probably like Timothy too.

I thought about the brown haired, casually dressed youth with his broken phone. He had been polite enough to be likable and interested in what you had to say. But also somehow very careful, a bit restrained. He had seemed genuinely happy to meet new people. I knew I liked Timothy.

I didn't say anything.

I left my clothes on the floor of our bedroom. In a corner where I thought Dew wouldn't accidentally step on them. He sometimes didn't look ahead of himself. And most of the clothes were well serviceable still the next day. I didn't sweat much by habit. Unlike Valentina who should have drunk her weight in water to compensate. Every day. She felt always a bit too hot and sweaty in every hug.

Clover on the other hand was always fresh. I had known her since high-school. And she was lovely. Clover was impossible when it came to scheduling even the simplest of meetings. But to compensate she was the kindest and most genuine person I had ever known.

I opened the bathroom door. By the sink rested a yellowish crystal. Clover had given it, the citrine was supposed to help against bad thoughts, including shrilling nightmares.

Clover had her head in the clouds. I loved her. And she was mostly harmless. But where Valentina had offered to take notes for me in class, Clover had given me magic rocks. Valentina was all about practical things, and always punctual. She also sensed when her help was needed, and made you room. Clover came when it suited her, and she wouldn't drop her meditation afternoon for anything.

I turned the shower handle.

Hot water felt good. I hadn't realized the evening had been so cold. Feeling returned in glowing rivulets to my fingers.

Such delicate fingers.

I brought the hand to better inspect it. I was sure it was the same hand as in my nightmares. Except it had all the fingers left intact.

I touched my right index to the gleaming metal of the shower. The metal swirled and warped my features, forming in my tired eyes the countenance of a man.

I was sometimes, often even, male in my dreams. Not just dressed as one, but truly with all parts... I felt myself blush.

Every unwelcomed dream wasn't a nightmare, in the strict sense of the word. Which didn't mean I wanted to wake up with them fresh in my mind in the morning. They made it sometimes a difficult task to look anyone in the eye, male or female.

And there were so many dreams. Of so many viewpoints. I had always had a very imaginative subconscious. But for months it had felt more pressing. The dreams carried more details. And sometimes I woke up confused, feeling still like the one that had been dreaming, my dreaming self, and couldn't understand where I was. It only lasted seconds when it happened. But every time I felt shaken to my core.

I stepped out, found a towel and returned to the bedroom to retrieve my pajamas. I looked at myself in a mirror, hung opposite the bed. Dew found it creepy, to hang a mirror opposite where we slept, but I was nowdays happy I had insisted. When I had first woken from a dream in which I had killed someone, with a knife, I had been greeted by my own delicate female features. A long ponytail. There was no blood anywhere. No vampire queen waiting for me in a side tavern. Just school assignments waiting to be written.

It wasn't real. Just dreams.

My phone rang.

I looked at the small box a bit incredulous. Who called me, ever? Let alone at ten o'clock in the evening?

"Alfonso?" came the questing voice.

"Who?" I asked.

"Ah" A pause followed. "Pues, Alfonso, tengo tu pañuelo, lo olvidaste aquí. Pero te lo guardaré, no te preocupes."

They hung up as my brain was still trying to process the Spanish. This Alfonso had forgotten his scarf somewhere. Though why tell that to me, as the caller could hear I was a woman and not this Alfonso they had tried to reach?

I looked at my phone.

On an impulse I checked the log.

I felt cold air against the nape of my neck.

They had called before. And someone possessing my phone had answered. Today.

Before I had time to think I deleted the number.

When had I left the phone unguarded? The call had last come at six fifty two. I took a calming breath. I had left the library at around four...

I had left the library at around four.

And I remembered nothing since four.

It was a long way since four o'clock.

Plus I didn't remember taking off the silk scarf I wore against autumn drafts. It hadn't been with me as I had come home.

Breathe. Lavender, breathe.

I felt blood rushing to my brain. Maybe I hadn't even taken the scarf with me.

I stood. I would see if I had the scarf.

The world flipped sideways. I saw a man, a blond man with my eyes and medieval garments staring at me from the mirror. He was holding a book.

A dream swallowed me.

Valentina

Light came above my head into the basement, illuminating small particles of dust in the yellow room. I was sitting on the university dojo, back resting against a wall. To my left was a glass wall of mirrors, to my right the entrance. Relatively soft thick tatami mattress covered the floor. It, as the walls, was yellow too. It wasn't a pretty space. But practical. Familiar. Safe.

It was morning. Judging by the light. The people walking past.

Maybe in a few hours I would have lectures. I had everything in my bag. My laptop, keys, phone.

I was dressed in fitting clothes.

I looked at myself in the mirror. A lavender blouse, and straight black pants. I didn't have shoes on me. They were by the entrance, left outside the dojo. They, and my training suit were the only clothes I had with me that were mine. Even the bras under the blouse weren't mine.

I had gone over my memories of the last night, multiple times. But there wasn't much to remember. We had had a practice, gone over some boxing between the club members. Wrestled a bit. I had had Blizzard as a pair in the end. And he had asked if we could stay to see a few wrestling techniques together as others were already leaving. I remembered going over them. I remembered dressing in my own clothes. I hadn't used the shower. I was sure of that. I intended to go straight home. Maybe by a supermarket.

I left with Blizzard. We locked the door. I clearly remembered lifting it a bit as I turned the keys.

I had been sweaty, in my own clothes.

"Valentina," I remembered Blizzard's voice, the way he always said my name. I had meant to ask the man if he knew Spanish.

"Sí?"

I remembered him, more than a head taller. I remembered his smile. It was dazzling. It wasn't hard to understand why all the club adored him.

"Duerme un poco." Sleep a little.

I remembered thinking I had my answer. He did speak Spanish, with a clean European accent too. And I remembered the light circles around his black irises. I hadn't noticed the contacts before.

It was the last thing I remembered clearly.

There were other pieces. But I doubted they were memories. I had dreamed of a warehouse. And of a dojo. But the dojo of my dream had been with a worn wooden flooring. Yet I clearly remembered people fighting and laughing amicably. A sparring time between friends.

I resisted an urge to scratch my ankle.

I looked at it. Lifted the black sleeve of my trousers.

When had I bathed? Why was I dressed in foreign clothes?

And why, for the love of God and all the saints, was there a tattoo on my left ankle?

A neat Chinese character whose meaning I could only guess. I knew no one who spoke Chinese. Not to my knowledge at least. And I knew so little, the marking could have as well been Korean or Japanese. The character wasn't easy to search in a dictionary for someone who had used the Latin alphabet for all her life. Had I been branded in German, at least I could have easily found out its meaning.

The skin around the tattoo was red and itched abominably.