34. Amber

Chapter thirty-four

Amber

I f you’ve ever had to hitchhike in a tattered elven gown, I don’t recommend it. It does nothing to protect from mosquitos or woodticks. The one thing in my favor was that the Darkening Woods had cast such a pall over the area that an old woman in a banged up SUV believed my story without many questions—that I had escaped the Woods and wanted to go home to Minneapolis.

My rescuer kept the drive lively, with a lot of commentary on how it was the overuse of antibiotics and GMOs that led to the worlds merging, but at that point I was too tired to do much other than hum in agreement. Yep, the GMOs were what put elves in our backyard. Yep. I suggested it was microplastics, just to keep the conversation spirited.

But she was a kind woman who fussed over me and fed me beef jerky. She left me at the train station in Elk River with enough money to buy a train ticket back to Minneapolis, which miraculously ran when I needed it, and then it was a hop skip and another hop to Phoebe and Emily’s house via public transportation. Lucky for me, Renaissance chic was a bit of a subculture, so no one gave me a second look.

Alright, I got lots of second looks, but that was probably due to the fact that I clearly hadn’t had a proper bath in weeks. And there was blood on my torn dress that I explained away as spilled chocolate milk. And my face had a few cuts. And my hair was wild and legs and arms covered in scratches. And I had that spider bite. I had obviously spent a long time in a woods, but people had seen far stranger things by this point, and thus no one bothered me, other than to offer me some acetaminophen.

I gratefully accepted.

Thus, it was roughly six hours after Eldrin and I said goodbye when I hesitatingly knocked at Phoebe and Emily’s door. I needed a friend. And I needed to make sure I had a home to go back to before making that trek. The job was likely gone, and who knew what happened to my apartment. “Kidnapped by an elven prince,” was the new “food poisoning” excuse for calling in sick.

“Amber?” Phoebe squeaked, opening the door to rush me inside. “What happened? Where were you?”

Within moments I was greeted by an onslaught of jackalope statues hanging on the walls, a plush rug shaped like a turkey, and a familiar scent of baking and Christmas that made me want to cry.

Shaking, I gave her a big hug, smashing my body against the shortest person I had touched in weeks. “Can I take a shower?”