"Who are you? Why do you live in a well? Why—" I look at Cherry, who's standing behind Well Boy, Fahj-Dsal wound around her bare shoulders. "What was with those crossbow bolts earlier?Why do you look like Cherry?"

"My name is Ransom, I live in a well because real estate is expensive, I don't like people shoving their heads into my doorway, and I was hoping you two could explain to me why I look like her."

He speaks in an even, measured voice, which infuriates me. None of those answers are helpful. What kind of a name is Ransom? Why do unaffordable real estate prices mean he needs to live in a well? Also, it's not a doorway, it's the mouth of a well. And, again, why do he and Cherry look like they could be related?

Oh.

Well.

Obvious answer: because they're related. Ransom looks... maybe late teens, early twenties? They could easily be siblings. But even that doesn't really help.

"How much—do we—I'm sorry, what exactly is going on?"

Cherry seems as mystified as me. "I have no idea." She turns to Ransom. "Did you—did you build this place?"

Ransom shrugs. "Kind of? The well was here. I just turned it into this."

"How?" Cherry asks, eyes wide and desperate for answers.

"Instinct? Skill? I mean, magic, mostly. Definitely magic," he says, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

He's wearing rumpled black pants, one of those rumpled white shirts that seems to be worn exclusively by pirates, princes and vigilantes, and a black leather coat. His black hair is short and holds a slight curl, falling just a bit past his ears. His eyes, like Cherry's are hazel with that kaleidoscopic quality. And, like Cherry, he's uncannily attractive.

"Were you... okay. This is going to sound really dumb." Cherry sounds like she's bracing herself—allowing herself, finally, just the littlest bit of hope. "Did you ever live in a tower? With a mage?"

Ransom freezes. "Yeah. Well, no. It was a cave for me. But—how do you know that?"

Cherry makes this noise that's half laugh, half choke. "I did too. In a tower. With the mage. And I have magic."

"And you got rescued too?" He asks.

"Yeah." She points at me. "He got me out around a week ago."

"A week?" Ransom asks. "I got out when I was seven!"

"How old are you?" Cherry says.

"Twenty-two."

"How'd you get out so early?" She asks him.

"A farmer found my cave and managed to help me out. How did it take so long for someone to find you?"

"Oh, it didn't take long." Cherry's voice sours. "There was just no one I wanted to go with."

"What do you mean?" Ransom asks. "Freedom is freedom."

"It wasn't, though." Cherry snaps. Her voice is broken glass—cool, smooth, wickedly sharp.

"What you said to me," I remember. "'If you rescue me, you won't get to marry me'. That came from someone?"

"Multiple someones." She spits the word 'multiple'. "First one came when I was eight. Mentioned what a great match I'd be for his son. I turned him down. There were a couple others. But then when I turned eleven..."

Cherry swallows down a lump of anger or sadness or both. "That's when the offers started rolling in for me. I wanted out of that tower, but I wanted a life, too."

My heart twists. It reminds me of some of my own experiences with men—oily gazes, slimy words, simpering smiles. Not all men are bad—I know that. I've had a couple friends who are boys, and they're pretty great. But others...

"I'm so sorry," I tell her. I want to do something to comfort her.

Cherry sighs. "It's fine. You wouldn't understand, anyways."

Oh, but I do, Cherry. I do.

I don't say that, though.

"That's awful," Ransom says. "I never even thought about it."

"No one expected you to," Cherry replies. I can tell she doesn't blame him, but she also doesn't agree with how boys often don't even consider the everyday impacts of what women go through.

"Anyways!" She forces a smile. "That's not important right now. What is important is figuring out what's going on here. What do you remember about the mage?"

"Not much," Ransom says. "He had a scar right here." He taps his eye. "He always made me drink these potions. Every day."

"Every day?" Cherry frowns. "That doesn't make sense. I was only given them once in awhile."

"Maybe... he could've been testing something?" Ransom suggests.

Cherry opens her mouth, probably planning on suggesting some other theory. But then she shuts it.

I know that look.

Something's wrong.

"Everyone be quiet."

Nothing. Nothing. The slow drip-drip of condensation.

But then...

Oh, no. Shit, shit, shit. This is not happening.

Dread congeals in the pit of my stomach. How long have we been here? Not long, right? Not long enough for—

Hissssssssssssssss

No. No.

Water sloshes. The sound grows louder. Panic starts to drown out the world. My back starts to throb as much as it did when those snakes were being pulled out. I stumble against a wall.

"What is that?" Ransom's gaze darts between the two of us—the shaky, trembling mess that I've become and Cherry's statue-still urgency.

"Tracker snakes," I force myself to say. "One of them was shot into me when I got her out."

"The enchantment?" Ransom asks.

"I guess?" Cherry says.

"What enchantment?" I ask.

"I'll fill you in later," she promises. "But shit, yeah—I didn't even consider that's what it was. But it got inside him, and I had to pull it out."

Ransom looks queasy. "Oh."

"Anyways." I don't want to relive the experience. I mean, yeah, I'm technically reliving it right now. But still. "They've been following us. What's the fastest way out of here?"

Ransom's face goes slack. He seems gripped with fear. "This is not good. Not good."

"Yes, obviously," Cherry says insistently. The hissing grows louder, an eerie chorus of something that sounds not quite from this world. "But how do we get out?"

He looks at us, regret written across his features.

"Back through that tunnel."