Chapter 2: The After
The key turned in the lock with a gritty, familiar sound. Eliza shoved the heavy wooden door of her cottage open with her shoulder, the travel case thumping against the frame. The inside air hit her—cool, still, smelling of dust, dried lavender, and the faint, forever scent of old paper.
Two streaks of movement blurred from the shadows of the bookshelf. Milo, a massive ginger with a perpetually offended expression, wound himself insistently around her ankles, his purr a loud, rusty motor. Susie, a sleek little tortoiseshell, chirped from the top of the wingback chair, her tail twitching like a question mark.
“Hey, my guys,” Eliza murmured, her voice hoarse from the recycled airplane air. She dropped her bag and knelt, scratching behind Milo’s ears. “Yeah, I know. I was gone too long.” The deep rumble of his purr vibrated up through her fingers. It was a grounding, ordinary magic.
Jessica had done fine. The water bowl was full, the food dispenser programmed, the litter box suspiciously pristine. Her neighbor had even left a note on the kitchen counter, under a mug shaped like a grinning skull: "Milo yowled at the moon Tuesday. Susie stole my hair tie. All normal. Welcome back! – J"
Normal. Right.
Eliza filled the kettle, the ritual of it feeling both comforting and alien. Her body was here, performing the motions of home, but a part of her was still back in that room of tatami and lantern light, the scent of him and sweat and crisp linen clinging to some deep part of her memory. The emptiness wasn’t in the cottage; it was inside her ribs, a quiet, echoing chamber she’d forgotten existed.
She’d made her flight. Barely. Kenji had, true to his word, somehow orchestrated a seamless, panic-free exit from the palace grounds, a silent car, a cleared path through security. He’d kissed her at the departures curb, a hard, fast kiss that tasted of promise and goodbye. No sentimental speeches. No false assurances. Just a look from those hazel eyes that held the whole, mad night in it, and then he was gone, swallowed by the morning crowd.
Now, rain began to tap a soft, erratic rhythm on the slanted roof. The wind picked up, howling through the bamboo fence outside. The cottage creaked, a living sound. She carried her tea to the window, staring out at the churning, moon-silvered sea below the cliffs.
She hadn’t given him her number. He hadn’t offered his. It was a clean break, the kind she was supposed to be good at. A brilliant, contained encounter between two adults. A digestible memory.
It felt like an amputation.
A loud, impatient meow cut through her thoughts. Milo butted his head against her shin. Petting time is not over, his posture declared. She smiled, a real one, and sank into the worn cushions of the chair. Susie immediately claimed her lap, a warm, vibrating weight.
Susie immediately claimed her lap, a warm, vibrating weight. The tea cooled on the side table, forgotten, as the rhythm of their purring and the rain's steady hush filled the quiet chamber of the cottage. Eliza stroked Susie’s head, her fingers tracing the intricate, familiar pattern of her fur, but her mind kept reconstructing the feel of different fabric, of a crisp linen sheet.
The memory had texture, scent, weight. She could almost feel the ghost of his leg slung over hers, the solid anchor of his arm. She shook her head, a sharp, frustrated motion that dislodged Susie with a chirp of protest. Get a grip, Heart, she thought. You had a one-night stand with a spectacular mage.It was phenomenal. Now it’s over. Catalogue it, file it, and move on.
Her body ached with a different kind of exhaustion, a residue of travel and spent passion. The chair was deep and enveloping. The rain whispered promises of stillness. Her eyelids grew heavy, the cat’s purr syncing with the slowing beat of her own heart.
She must’ve fell asleep because before she knew it sunlight was assaulting her eyeballs. She felt so groggy; she hated jet lag. Her phone was buzzing. She picked it up and said hello. She didn’t even look at it. It could’ve been a scammer for all she knew. She was too tired to care.
She heard a deep voice say, “Just calling to check in. You were supposed to come back today.”
It was her older brother Marcus, her twin brother to be exact. He was older by two minutes and he never let her forget it.
She sat up, groggy. “I fell asleep on the couch. Got in late last night, I don’t know when—some ungodly hour with the time difference.”
“Good. I’m glad you made it.”
Then she heard a female voice in the background say, “Is that Eliza?” It was her sister-in-law, Lily.
She heard Marcus say, “Yeah, she’s home. She’s safe, little groggy.”
Lily said, “Put her on speaker.”
Marcus said, “I’m putting you on speaker.” She heard the distinct tap of him putting her on speaker over the cell phone, and then Lily’s voice, clearer now, enveloped the room.
“Have you eaten yet? Do you want me to come over?”
“No,” Eliza said, rubbing her eyes. The light was cruel. “You’re thirty minutes away. You don’t need to come over.”
“You just got back,” Lily pressed, her tone warm with concern.
“Yes, and I need to re-situate myself,” Eliza replied, swinging her legs off the couch and wincing. Everything ached. “Because I don’t even know what date it is right now.”
Her brother chuckled. “You were always a mess after travel.”
“Tell me about it. Do you at least have a break?” Lily asked.
Eliza took the phone away from her ear, popped it on speaker, and set it on the coffee table. “Let me look.” She pulled up her calendar app, squinting at the bright screen. The University logo stared back. “I have a new contract starting next week at the university. Just a temporary three-month thing. Nothing spectacular. Just deciphering some old French ledgers they found bricked up in a Newfoundland fishing hut.”
“Sounds thrilling,” Marcus said, his voice laced with fond sarcasm.
“It pays the mortgage. Gives me time to wait for the next ‘Lost Empress’s diary’ to show up.”
There was a slight pause. She could picture them sharing a look in their sunny, normal kitchen, probably over coffee they hadn’t fallen asleep before drinking.
“So,” Lily began, her voice softening in a way Eliza knew meant trouble. “The mountain job… anything else interesting happen over there?”
Eliza’s hand, which had been stroking Milo again, stilled. The cat nudged her impatiently. She saw the pillar. She saw the lantern light on his face. She felt the teleport’s strange lurch in her stomach.
“It was work,” Eliza said, her voice carefully even.Too even. “The texts were fragile. The weather was cold. I got paid.”
“Uh-huh,” Marcus said. He knew her too well.
“I’m going to go make some very strong coffee,” Eliza announced, standing up too fast. A wave of dizziness hit her. “And possibly stare at a wall until my brain comes back online. I’ll call you guys tomorrow.”
They said their goodbyes, Lily extracting a promise that she’d eat something more substantial than ancient crackers. The call ended, leaving the cottage in a silence that felt heavier than before. The emptiness was back, sharpened by the forced normalcy of the conversation. She paced to the kitchen, the old floorboards creaking under her bare feet. She scooped coffee grounds with more force than necessary, the rich, bitter smell a small rebellion against the lingering scent of mountain incense and plum wine that still haunted her.
The coffeemaker gurgled to life. Through the window over the sink, she watched the churning grey Atlantic. The cliff’s edge felt less like a sanctuary and more like the end of the world. A clean break, she repeated to herself. But the silence was filled with the echo of a single, unasked question, a question that felt like a spell she couldn't dispel: what if she didn’t want it to be clean?