15. Ris

Ris

Hey

Are you with Silva?

Ris squinted down at her phone, not understanding the question for a moment. Am I with Silva? She didn't understand the question, nor why Ainsley would be asking in the first place.

Do you mean am I at work? Yes

Three bouncing dots that indicated Ainsley was typing a reply appeared almost immediately. Bouncing . . . bouncing. She rolled her eyes, expecting a novel. Instead, his query was short.

Is she there?

Ris frowned. Ainsley didn't even like Silva, and she couldn't imagine why he was inquiring into her whereabouts, unless . . She pulled a face at the implication, tapping on Ainsley's face immediately. Unless something bad happened to Tate. He answered immediately.

"Is everything all right?" Ris blurted. "Is – is someone hurt?"

Ainsley's voice on the other end of the line was tense, and terser than she'd ever heard. "No, no one's hurt. I don't think so, at least. Is she there?"

Silva had begun taking advantage of the flexible work from home schedule months earlier. Ris knew that her younger coworker had been sleeping in Greenbridge Glen several nights a week, working from Tate's apartment. Either that, or she worked from her own. And he sometimes stays with her? I guess? It had been more than two weeks since the surprising night she and Ainsley had run into Silva and Tate at Gildersnood and Ives, and when she considered it, Ris was positive she'd not seen Silva since then. She certainly hasn't been showing up for wedding stuff.

Of course, she was hardly blameless where that was concerned.

She'd gone rushing into a little dress shop off Main Street just the previous week, breathing hard from her run from the parking lot. She's never going to forgive you. Half the party had already been present – a goblin Lurielle had known from her aerobics class since moving to Cambric Creek, an anxious-looking human, and two empty seats. One for her, and one for Silva.

"I am so sorry," she gasped upon her arrival, quickly taking one of the empty chairs, tucking her long legs out of the way from the sales associate, attempting to be as unobtrusive as possible in her shameful tardiness. "There's a big accident on the highway just before the winery —"

"It's fine," Lurielle had told her, but Ris had been able to hear the unusual clippedness of her tone, and knew it was anything but fine.

She had been a terrible friend. She'd been late responding to things, absent from others, and Lurielle had been too busy for them to catch up at lunch. In her own very weak defense, Ris told herself, it wasn't entirely her fault. Since the afternoon they'd spent visiting his mother, Ainsley had become an octopus. Ris was neither sure what had happened to her laid-back, easy-going casual fuck buddy plus partner, nor what this clingy, somewhat demanding, attention-seeking facsimile had done with him.

He contrived for them to spend nearly every evening together. Begging her to come see his various bands play, buying them midweek performance tickets to the ballet, the symphony, to the theater company. If she managed to beg off an excursion for the night, then he was there, in her condo, cooking in her kitchen, wrapping her in his grasping arms at every chance, or else whining until she came to him. She had been late to work more in these past few weeks than she had been in her entire career. Ris knew she needed to put her foot down, but every time she attempted to do so, the look in Ainsley's eyes would be so wounded and hurt, she didn't have the heart to start an argument.

She had no idea what happened to the agreed-upon parameters of their relationship, no clue where they had gone wrong or what had precipitated it, and she knew that they needed to sit down and have a serious conversation. Because that's what you do! You talk about things. Good communication, clearly stating your needs. Not this flipping the script, beating around the bush, bullshit. What happened?! But like everything else, she had been putting it off.

She hadn't meant to miss so many outings with Lurielle. Her friend had found her florist on her own, booked her venue, all of the things Ris had promised that she and Silva would help with. You've been a terrible friend, and if she doesn't forgive you for this, you can't even act surprised about it. It was a small consolation that Silva had also been absent in the dress shop that day, but notmuch.

"I really am sorry," she'd told Lurielle in a low voice, once they were both a bit isolated behind one of the sitting room curtains from the other girls in attendance. "I know I really dropped the ball with all this, and I don't know how I'll ever be able to make it up to you. If you hate me, I understand."

"I don't hate you," Lurielle had laughed, rolling her eyes. "I mean, yes, you have totally dropped the ball. You took the fucking ball and popped it. I'm just glad everything is done though, it's fine. I might wind up smothering Khash before we actually get to the wedding part, but it's fine."

Ris had laughed, flinging her arms around the shorter elf. "I know it's not fine. But thank you for saying that and trying to make me feel better. I know I absolutely don't deserve it. Ainsley has just . . . I don't know, he's done a total 180 on me. I don't want to say that we're in trouble, but . . . I don't know. Things feel very strange with us right now. Where is —"

"I don't know." Lurielle had cut her off, her voice going curt, already intuiting that the question was about the missing member of the bridal party. "I don't know why I thought she would show up today, she hasn't returned my calls for anything else. I can even remember the last time I saw her in the office. That day she brought in the binder? Maybe once after?"

Ris had frowned, but the day had not been about her or Silva or their individual relationship woes. It was about Lurielle and finding their attendants' dresses, which they'd all managed to do. Each of them would wear a soft pastel, choosing styles that suited them in the same fabric. It was going to look ethereal and beautiful. Ris loved her soft, peach-colored dress, and had already been picking through the selections at jewelry consignment shops, looking for old Elvish accessories.

"Can you call her?" Ainsley asked in a strained voice. "I've called her twice and she's not picked up, but it's not exactly like I'm her favorite person."

Silva not being in the office that day wasn't unusual at all, but her absence, coupled with Ainsley's cryptic call made Ris shiver. Payroll verification and reconciliation was not her department . . . but that didn't mean she was unable to access their records. It only took a few minutes at her keyboard to ascertain that Silva had not been in the office since the week she and Ainsley had seen her in case at Gildersnood and Ives. And now she's not answering her phone? Her stomach flipped at the insinuation.

"I'm going to her place right now." It was a snap decision, but it wasn't as if there were any other good options, she thought, snapping her laptop shut and pulling her purse from the locked compartment at her desk. "Ainsley, what am I going over there to find? Don't make me walk into this apartment to find my friend missing her —"

"He's gone." Ainsley's voice was flat. "Tate's gone. I got a call from Thessa from the restaurant. She said they'd been expecting him back more than a week ago. No calls, no communication, no nothing. Elshona, she's the chef, remember? You met her at that little club? Anyway, she apparently had a key to the apartment. Thessa said Shona went up there this morning and didn't come back down for two hours. Had obviously been crying. Told them he's gone. They were closing for the rest of the week, but then they needed to get back to work. And that's all she's said to anyone since."

Ris slowed as she approached the elevator bank, squinting at Ainsley's words. "Okay, what does gone mean in this context? Like, gone as in he and Silva fucked off into the sunset together? Or gone as in his head is in the freezer?"

Ainsley laughed weakly, although there was no humor behind it. "Nanaya, I wish I knew. I'm going to convince one of my buddies to cover for me, and then I'm going over there."

It was difficult, she thought, being the adult at the center of this web, holding things together. "Okay. Sit tight, I'm going to Silva's place right now. I'll let you know."

Silva's adorable little apartment had been locked. Okay, that's good. No signs of forced entry. Ris knocked at the door, to no avail. Her calls to Silva's cell went unanswered. Maybe you should call the police. Maybe you should check with the super, see if they'll let you in. Or . . . She'd cocked her head, considering.

Brogan worked at Saddlethorne, which ironically had turned out to be Lurielle's wedding venue. Ris knew him from the various bars around town, and if there was one universal truth about the big minotaur, it was that he was always reliable. He was a reliably good fuck. He was a reliably good time. And most importantly, he was a reliably good guy, who had once boasted to her that he had taken up lock-picking as a teenager and there was no door, padlock, locker, or safe that he couldn't defeat.

Brogan was reliable, and Ris was unsurprised that he responded quickly to her text, assuring her that he would be there in ten minutes time, which meant fifteen minutes later, she was standing in Silva's living room, waving silently to the big Minotaur as he shut the door behind her.

"Silva? Silva, are you in here? Honey, are you okay?" There was no trace of anyone in the living room or kitchen. Ris walked down the tiny hallway, poking her head into the dark bathroom, breathing a sigh of relief when the tub was empty. "Silva, please be alive."

She was in the bedroom, curled on the bed like a kitten, bundled under a throw blanket. Her head raised a scant few inches on Ris's entrance to the room, dropping in disinterest half a heartbeat later. She didn't turn around again and said nothing.

"Un-fucking believable! You couldn't say something so I knew you weren't dead?! I came over here assuming I was gonna find . . . You know what, never mind. Silva, are you okay? You haven't been to work in weeks. People have been calling you, why haven't you answered? I literally thought you were dead!"

Her younger coworker seemed listless, and not at all interested in sitting up and having a conversation.

"Silva, you have to —"

"He's gone." Her voice, normally a sweet little chirp, was a hoarse whisper, rough with disuse. "Tate. He's gone. I – I don't think he's coming back."

The drive to Greenbridge Glen was silent, for the most part. Ris was able to get out of Silva what the younger elf was willing to say, which wasn't much.

"We went to a wedding at the winery."

Ris nodded from behind the steering wheel, glancing over to where Silva sat curled in the front seat as if the act of sitting up was beyond her ability. "I remember. You told us that night at Gildersnood. Tate said you were crashing a wedding."

Silva nodded slowly. "I – I don't know what happened. I think I must've blacked out, or something? Maybe I had too much to drink?"

Ris's eyes slid Silva once more. Her voice was slow and stilted, as if she were trying to make an image come together in her mind and couldn't.

"I remember talking to the bride and then . . ." Her wide green eyes filled with tears. "I don't know what happened. I don't remember, but I feel like it was something bad. I'm afraid to even remember it. And then Tate brought me home. We were talking, but I barely remember that either. When I woke up the next morning he was gone. We were supposed to —" her face crumpled, her voice breaking off on a sob.

Ris took her foot off the gas, pulling off the berm of the rural highway. She stretched out her hand to place on Silva's arm, but the younger elf flinched away.

What the fuck happened to her?

"He was going to meet my Nana. I was going to tell her . . . but he never showed up. I got home and I tried calling him, but —"

"Everyone has been trying to call him," Ris cut in. "Ainsley, his chef. He's not answering for anyone."

Silva nodded. "That's because he left his phone on my dresser. So unless he has another one and they have a number that I don't, he's not going to be answering that phone anytime soon."

Silva's willingness to continue talking extinguished at that point. She'd curled back up against the seat, staring listlessly out the window as Ris continued on to the resort hamlet. Ainsley was pacing in front of the building, when they arrived at the Plundered Pixie. Silva made no move to get out of the car.

Thessa, Ris realized, was the tiefling who had served them that very first weekend when they had come for brunch. She was sitting on the curb in front of the bar, her legs crossed at the ankle, her distressed jeans showing more of her skin than they concealed. "He's gone, Ains. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it for myself."

"What happened," Ris asked urgently, putting her hand on Ainsley's arm to slow his pace. "Did you all find out where he is?"

"He's gone," Thessa repeated. "He had his shit all packed up, I saw it. Boxes and trunks, stacked in the kitchen, instructions on where to send them. The car is in the back, up on blocks. The bike is in the hallway. He just left."

Ris whipped around to ensure Silva had not followed her. "Where did he go?" she hissed. "Are you fucking kidding me?! What kind of a piece of shit just leaves without telling anyone? Not telling his girlfriend? Without telling his managers?!"

The tiefling shrugged, looking a bit lost. "Back to Ireland? I have no idea."

"Where's Shona?" Ainsley's voice was pulled thin, like a rubber band that had been stretched beyond its capacity, ready to snap back painfully

"Back at Clover."

Ris cast a glance back to where Silva still sat in the car, staring out the window without seeing, before hastily following Ainsley who had taken off on foot in the direction of the bistro, up the block.

"What do you think —" she said at his back, but he never slowed or turned.

"I don't know."

They found the orc woman in the office. She had obviously been crying. Her eyes were still glassy, ringed in red, a pink flush at the tip of her green nose. For the first time, Ris took Elshona in closely. She and Ainsley were the same age, which was just a year younger than she was herself. She had fine features, sharp cheekbones and a strong jaw, the shape of her brow strangely reminding her of Tate. It occurred to Ris for the very first time that chef and owner were possibly related.

"I don't know what you want me to tell you, Ains. I don't have anything to say. He's gone. He's not coming back. There's a note for you, if you'd like it."

"He left a note?"

Ainsley's voice was flat, and Ris couldn't help the hand that rose to her mouth on its own accord. I think your boyfriend is in crisis. Perhaps, Ainsley had been right. Tate had been in crisis and Ainsley had been the only one to notice, although no one had intervened.

Her mind instantly went back to that night at the bar of Gildersnood and Ives. Once they had vacated their booth, Tate and Silva announcing that they were leaving, taking a walk downtown before heading home, she and Ainsley had relocated to the bar, finding two empty stools near the end. Ruby was bartending that night, Ris's favorite employee. As they were leaving, Tate had said something to her, something that made the barkeep throw her head back and laugh uproariously. The conversation had been too fast for Ris to understand, too laced with industry jargon and slang, but Ainsley had thrown his hands up when a crack was made at his expense. Tate had put his arm around Ainsley's shoulders as he shook with laughter, leaning in and kissing the shaved side of his head.

"You're the best anyone could possibly wish for, lad. Don't ever forget it."

That was what Ainsley had been referring to when he had told his mother Tate had been uncharacteristically nice upon his exit that night.

"He's not up there swinging from the rafters, if that's what you both think."

"What am I supposed to think?! For fuck's sake, Shona, you're the only one who seems to know anything and you're keeping mum. Forgive us for being concerned. You can either tell us what you know or —"

"What I know is that he's gone. He's gone, Ains. He's not coming back. The best thing you can do is make your peace with it and move on. Because it's not going to change anything if you don't."

"Tell me where he is." Silva's voice came from behind them, soft and defeated sounding. Ris and Ainsley both whipped around, but Elshona only closed her eyes, squeezed shut tightly, as if she might be able to wish herself away. "I'm not leaving until you do."

For a long, terrible moment, the only sound in the office was the steady picking of the antique mantle clock on the top shelf of the desk, before the orc woman broke down. She began to cry furious tears, spinning in her chair.

"What do you need to hear, Lamby? Do you want to know that he's a bogeyman? Do you want to know that he's a ghost, haunting an entire village? Do you need to hear that he's the cautionary tale people tell their children, so that they don't wind up disappearing one day? 'Don't ever go into the forest, Gorza. There are strangers there who will take you away.'" She broke off for a moment, choked on her tears.

Silva moved further into the office, obliging Ainsley to step out of her way as she pulled out a chair, dropping into it calmly, uncaring of the other woman's tears.

"Tell me everything."

By the time Elshona was finished speaking, Ris wished she could go back to that morning, before she'd chosen to go into work that day, before she had glanced down to her phone to see Ainsley's text. A small part of her wished she could go back a full year ago, a year and a half. Before they had befriended Silva, she and Lurielle. Before they had let her into their circle, before they had asked her to come on a weekend trip in place of Dynah. Before she had ever come to this strange little town, before any of these people had been part of her life.

Elshona had choked her way through the rest of Tate's story about the day he'd attempted to meet his father. The orcs had turned him away, and that is where the story had ended, the way he'd told it.

"He went into the woods," she rasped. "After they'd turned him out, he probably thought it would be a faster way back to Castlemartyr. And he never came out. His family went looking for him, but he was gone. Until the day he wasn't." She'd shuddered, lost in a memory she'd needed to shake herself out of. "That was the story I heard growin' up me whole life, the story everyone in our clan knew. My grandmother told it to us, just like her grandmother had told it to her. When I met him he was tendin' bar in the next town over. Barely looked a day over twenty. Later that year, he was meant to go to Dublin, open a new pub for a mate of his. He never made it. I think he knew then, too, that they were comin' for him. He put me on the train that night. He'd never bothered with that before. We'd been at a party, and . . . he put me on the train, told me to go straight home. And then he calls me out of the fuckin' blue ten years later. 'Culchie, have you missed me?'"

Elshona had choked on her tears then, cutting off. The tension in the small office was making her temples throb, and Ris began to scan the shelves for the barest hint of a bottle of painkillers.

"Who?" Ainsley had demanded. "Who was coming for him?!"

"The man," Silva had said tonelessly, the first time she'd spoken since Elshona had begun her story. "From the other side of the wishing well."

Elshona had looked up miserably, first to Silva, who said no more to clarify her strange guess, then to Ainsley. "The strangers. To take him back to the Otherworld. He's gone, Ains. And there's no reachin' him."

The knowledge that she had even known someone from the other side of the veil made Ris shudder. "I feel like the Bureau for Otherworld Activity is going to come knocking on our door," she said with a toneless laugh.

Beside her, Ainsley looked shell-shocked. "I . . . I mean, there has to be something we can do, right? Someone we can call?

Elshona cut him off immediately. "Ainsley, who are you going to fuckin' call? Do you think there's a hotline for this sort of thing? ‘Has your loved one been affected by the Fae? Call this 800-number today.'"

He scowled as she laughed, a broken, hollow sound. Ris gripped his wrist, as the orc woman continued.

"He forced me to put the restaurant in my name." Elshona murmured. "A few months ago. That's what we've been going rounds over the past year, Ains. That's why we've been at each other's fuckin' throats. He told me I could do it or he would turn me out and that the choice was mine. He knew this was coming." She looked up, her eyes bright with tears. "Everything will be in probate for a few months, but the process has been started for everything. He left labels on the things to be shipped, an account set up to take care of his mam. There's bleedin' notes for everyone. He's not comin' back."

"He told me not to wait for him." Silva was staring at some fixed point on the floor, her eyes unseeing and her tone flat. "I'm sure . . . we were talking before he left. I don't know why I can't remember anything. It feels like someone took a black marker and scribbled over parts of that night . . . I'm positive he told me not to wait for him. I thought he meant going to sleep."

They were all silent, before Elshona spoke once more. "You know, I asked him once what it was like. This was years ago. I'd just emigrated. He did all that, you know. Bought my plane ticket to come here, to open this place with him. Sponsored me, gave me a place to live. We almost killed each other. But we were sitting on the roof one night and I asked him what it was like to just . . . go on the other side. He said it was like drowning. People think when you're drowning you're kicking and screamin', makin' a right racket to attract attention. He said to me, ‘Shona, that's no' what it's like at all. If you're able to scream for help, you're still breathin'. When you drown, it's silent. Nobody notices because you're already gone.' Lamby, if he told you not to wait for him, then don't. There's nothing to be done. All we can do is make our peace with it and be glad they're not comin' for the rest of us."

Ainsley decided, for the first time in two weeks, that he needed some time alone. Ris almost choked on her laughter. "Really? Now? Now you need time alone?"

She'd not argued, too frustrated with the situation and desperately possessed with the need to go home and shower it all away.

First, though, she needed to bring Silva home.

"Silva," she murmured, reaching out for the younger elf's hand once they had reached her building. "Sweetie, saying I'm sorry doesn't hack it. I can imagine what you must be feeling right now." Silva only nodded, saying nothing. "Come on, let's get you inside. Unless . . . Would you rather go to your mom's?"

"No."

She said nothing more, getting out of the car. Ris sighed in exasperation, quickly following behind. A cursory exploration of the kitchen showed the younger elf was out of virtually everything.

"I'm going to have groceries delivered for you, okay? You need to eat. You need to keep up your strength. I'm really worried that you've been laying here for two weeks not taking care of yourself. First though, I'm going to order you dinner tonight. Do you want something from that little place by the bookstore?"

"A steak. Can I have a steak? Rare. As rare as they can make it. I don't care about the sides, whatever it comes with. Here, let me get you my credit card . . ."

It was the shock, Ris told herself. Surely, it was the shock. "Don't worry about your credit card, I've got this. Fuck, do you have any painkillers? If you're like me, my brain is trying to eat its way through my forehead." She located them in the kitchen, on a little shelf above the sink.

"Can I have some of those?" Silva asked, holding out her hand. Her perfect eyebrows turned down in confusion when Ris shook a handful into her hand. "Just three, it says on the label."

Ris Shook out her own handful, fishing ut an extra for good measure. "Yeah, that's the dosage for humans."

It was Silva's turn to look confused. "What-what do you mean?"

Ris was flummoxed. "Silva, everything they sell in the store, it's formulated for humans. Not for us. We have to take twice as much for it to work."

Silva looked down at the floor, her eyebrows still together in a look of consternation. "Is that why they don't work sometimes? I-I used to get everything from the pharmacy in the enclave. Or from Ta—" her voice wavered over his name, and Ris was certain Silva was about to vomit on the floor. ". . . he always had some in his apartment. I only just started buying this stuff in town since I've been back to work this month. What – what about doctors? If we go to a human doctor . . .?"

"Probably don't believe anything they tell you," Ris said, feeling a bit exasperated that they even needed to have this conversation.

Remember what you told Ainsley's mom? She is still a baby in the grand scheme of things. This is the first time she's been on her own, be patient.

"You should probably avoid going to human doctors in the first place," she continued in a gentler tone. "It's well documented that they really only know how to treat themselves. They underdiagnose and misdiagnose other species all the time. And like I said, almost all medication is formulated for them. Everything. Painkillers, birth control, allergy suppressants. We have to take twice as much. You haven't been going to a human doctor, have you?"

Silva shook her head slowly, accepting the eight pills Ris handed her. "Once. When I was in school. I came to Bridgeton for . . . It-it was just the once."

Ris trailed behind as Silva walked like a zombie back to her living room, sinking down onto her sofa. "Look . . . I'm gonna put in for vacation time for you, okay? I don't know how much I can get away with. You need time to process this, I get it. Silva, this is a mindfuck. If you need anyone to talk to, no matter what time it is, please just pick up the phone and call me. I'll come by and check on you tomorrow, okay?"

Ris waited until the food was delivered, ensuring that it was taken out of the boxes, and that Silva would actually eat.

"I'm gonna pop in tomorrow after work, okay? Remember what I said. Just pick up the phone and call me if you need anything, or if you just want to cry. This whole thing is a mess. It's okay if you don't know how to feel."

Ris hightailed it across the parking lot, sliding behind the wheel of her car, almost surprised to find that it was still daylight. She felt as if she had just lived three lifetimes in that cramped, tension-filled office. Fucking Tate. He really was a switchblade rabbit. She wanted to go home. She wanted to wash away the stress of this day and the nagging feeling that she and Ainsley were going to need to have a conversation about everything, but first . . .

She cocked her head, considering. She had tried to be as good of a friend to Silva as she could that day, all things considered. And you've been a completely shitty friend to Lurielle. Her shower could wait. This was not gossip that would keep until morning.

"Hey," she said into the phone, as soon as Lurielle answered. "Are you home yet? Are you alone? Okay, perfect. I'm on my way over. You are never going to believe the fucking shit show I've been in the middle of all day."