Book 2 – Chapter 3

As quietly as he could, Noah slipped the room key into the lock and turned it. Pressing one hand against the door, he eased it open, pausing with a wince when the hinges gave a soft squeak. A faint squawk answered from inside, and he shook his head as he slipped through and closed the door behind him.

I’ve got to oil those hinges if we’re going to stay here much longer.

Knowing the griffon hatchling was now awake, he abandoned all pretense of stealth. He kicked off his black leather boots and crossed the room, unbuttoning the brown gambeson he wore and hanging it on a stand near the window. Then he crouched beside the small box he’d tucked beneath the desk before leaving. The enchantment on it was still active—cold air spilled out in a thin mist as he opened the lid, frost lining the interior and keeping the two glass jars of luroch milk chilled.

Cost me a good chunk of my savings too, so it’d better still be working.

He reached in and pulled out one of the wide‑mouthed jars, before closing it tightly again. Then, he found one of the rags he’d sterilized that morning in a pot of boiling water. Holding both items in one hand, he knelt next to the bed and reached underneath it, pulling out a small wooden box. As gently as he could, he lifted the lid and set it on the ground beside him.

A pair of bleary green eyes looked up at him. The griffon hatchling squawked again, flapping its black‑feathered wings. With his free hand, he scooped up the small creature and held her to his chest as he examined her. Her head bobbed up and down before she nuzzled against him, emitting a soft purr.

He sat on the bed next, propping up some pillows so he could lean back. Balancing the bottle between his legs, he dipped the clean cloth into it, wrapped it around his finger, and brought it to the griffon’s mouth. She latched on instantly, drinking the milk with her eyes closed.

“Good job, Piper,” he murmured, stroking his thumb across her surprisingly soft fur.

A wave of exhaustion washed over him as he sank into the pillows. Between the grief of his brother’s death, waking every two hours to feed the runt griffon hatchling, and the morning’s revelations about Ken’s fear of the Winter Fae, he felt like he’d been sprinting nonstop for two days. His eyelids grew heavy, and his conscious mind fought a losing battle to stay awake.

Maybe just a ten‑minute nap.

Suddenly, Noah found himself sitting on the couch in his old apartment. A map of the world hung on the wall, push pins connected by red string. A stack of postcards from Lucien sat neatly arranged on the coffee table. As he’d done countless times before, his eyes darted between the pins, tracing his brother’s wild movements across the globe.

New York. Casablanca. Cairo. Turkey. Russia.

“Quite the collection you have here,” an effeminate voice called from behind the kitchen wall.

“Who’s there?” Noah said, instantly on his feet.

A man in a crisp white shirt and black leather pants stepped through the doorway, his knee‑high boots clacking against the cheap tiles. His bald head gleamed under the halogen lights. He twirled the end of his moustache between his fingers, smiling menacingly.

“Guess who?” He called in a sing-song voice.

“Borin Ohnar.” Noah narrowed his eyes.

“I was reading through your books while you were gone,” Borin said, gesturing toward the bookshelf. “Fascinating, really. Such rich stories. Though the antagonists lack a certain… style.”

“Not all of them can look like cartoon villains. That’d be stealing your bit.”

“Oh ho! Touché.” The pirate grinned. “And not all heroes take time to care for abandoned animals. That’d be stealing your bit.” He nodded toward the flyers for the animal shelter Noah volunteered at.

“Fuck off, Ohnar.”

Ignoring him, Borin continued, “Tell me—why is it that you care for them? It’s not because you simply love animals, or you’d have one of your own. It’s not for social status either—you barely talk about your volunteer work.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“I have a theory. Want to hear it?”

“If I say no, you’re going to tell me anyway, aren’t you?”

Borin chuckled. “Right you are, my boy. I think you like collecting broken things. You like trying to fix them.”

“Wow, so insightful. An engineer who likes to fix things. Who ever could have guessed?”

“Your sarcasm tells me I’m getting closer,” Borin said, his brown eyes locking uncomfortably with Noah’s. “The reason you like to fix broken things is because you, my dear, are fundamentally broken. When your parents died, you cracked. When Lucien disappeared, you broke. And when you found his grave, you shattered.”

Noah’s crossbow was suddenly in his hand, cocked and loaded. He raised it at the pirate’s face. Borin sneered and stepped forward.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“I’m not the one who killed your brother,” Borin taunted. “You did that by not keeping closer tabs. By not making more of an effort to stay in touch.”

“Enough!” Noah roared as he pulled the trigger.

The bolt flew straight and true, embedding itself between the pirate’s eyes. His body toppled backward—

Only it wasn’t Borin Ohnar’s body.

In the instant between the shot and the impact, it had changed. The bald head became long blond hair. Brown eyes turned blue. The pirate’s outfit became a white T‑shirt and jeans. Pale skin. Taller. Lankier.

Lucien.

Noah woke with a gasp. Piper squawked loudly, scrambling up his chest. He jolted, knocking the jar to the floor, where it shattered.

“Of course that would happen,” he groaned. He reached for the trembling hatchling and softened his voice. “Hey. It’s okay. I’m sorry I startled you.”

He stroked her pitch‑black fur until she calmed, then wiped the white liquid from her face—luroch milk, he realized belatedly.

A knock sounded at the door. “I heard something break!” the tavern owner shouted. “If you’re breaking things in there, I’m charging you extra!”

If they see her, they’ll either try to kill her or kick us out, Noah thought. “Just a little accident!” he called back.

“I’ll be the judge of that! Let me in or I’m getting the key!”

Thinking fast, Noah cradled Piper and rolled off the bed on the side without glass. “Just a second! Let me put some clothes on!”

He grabbed his coat, tucked the hatchling into an inner pocket, and buttoned it up. Thankfully, she curled up quietly. He cracked the door open, leaning against it to hide the pocket.

Rhavin, the balding tavern owner, eyed him suspiciously. “What was that noise?”

“Just me being clumsy,” Noah said with an apologetic shrug. “Dropped a jar.”

Rhavin poked his head inside, then nodded. “Fine.” He thrust a wicker broom at Noah. “Clean it up. I don’t want my next guests stepping on glass.”

“Sounds good. Thanks.”

Rhavin squinted at him. “You’re bleeding. What happened to your shirt?”

Noah looked down—several small cuts where Piper’s claws had pierced the fabric and his skin. “Huh. I didn’t notice.”

“You didn’t notice?”

“I was having a nightmare. Must’ve scratched at it in my sleep.”

“Must’ve been some nightmare.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“You’ve got some darkness in you,” Rhavin muttered before leaving. “Just clean up your mess.”

Noah waited until he was gone, then locked the door and gently lifted Piper from his coat. She tilted her head, green eyes fixed on him.

“You’re trouble, you know that?”

She squawked and flapped her wings.

He softened. “You’re also too cute to stay mad at. Here—sit on the bed. I’ll clean this up.”

He set her on the blanket. She circled once, then curled into the warm spot he’d left, eyes tracking him as he moved.

“Huh. We must’ve been asleep for a while,” he said, noticing the setting sun.

He found the garbage bin and began sweeping up the glass. As he worked, another realization struck him.

“There’s not a lot of milk on the ground.” He looked at Piper, remembering the milk on her face. “Did you drink it all?”

She fluttered her wings and bobbed her head as he gestured to the broken jar.

Griffons are intelligent. Just like humans, He realized, eyes wide. “Can you…understand me?”

She bobbed her head again.

“You know, before this I’m pretty sure if someone told me a griffon could understand what I’m saying, I’d have called them crazy.”

Piper simply laid her head down, closed her eyes, and purred.

Well, I guess that means I don’t have to feed her by hand anymore. I’ll set out a jar of milk for her instead, he thought as he finished sweeping and sat on the bed beside her. That’s a wild rate of growth for one day, though. I wonder when she’ll be ready for solid food.

He slumped his shoulders. It’d be helpful if I knew whether any of this was normal. I’ve never raised a griffon before.

A moment later, Noah heard the click of a lock. He instinctively reached over to shield Piper from view, but relaxed when he saw a shock of pink hair. His Fae girlfriend stepped inside, looking between the griffon hatchling and him, brow furrowing.

“You are injured,” she said, closing the door behind her.

“It’s a just scratch.” He brushed it off. “And it’s my own damn fault anyway.”

“What happened?”

“I was feeding Piper and fell asleep. I had a nightmare and scared her, so she climbed up me.” He shifted as Ciri sat on the bed beside him. “She didn’t mean to do it.”

“I see.” Ciri glanced down at the small black form curled on the blanket. “It is unlike you to have nightmares.”

He shrugged. “Everyone gets them sometimes, I guess.”

“In my research, I learned that strange dreams and nightmares are a common symptom of grief. Do you believe they are linked to your brother’s death?”

Right. She prepared for this. Far more than I did, Noah thought before answering. “Yeah.”

“Do you wish to speak about it?”

“Not really.”

“You promised you would speak about it eventually,” she reminded him gently.

He exhaled and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, her golden eyes were fixed on him, her expression tight with worry. Nodding, he recounted the dream as best he could. While the exact words Ohnar had used eluded him, Noah managed to convey the feelings they evoked well enough. Ciri listened without judgment, interrupting only to ask clarifying questions.

“So yeah,” he finished. “That was the dream.”

“You appear to be dealing with many emotions simultaneously,” she observed. “Primary among them is guilt, but also grief and anger.”

“I’d say that’s accurate.”

“Do you believe those feelings to be rooted in reality? Or your perception of reality?”

“A little of both?” he hazarded with a shrug. “In the dream I remember Ohnar saying something like ‘he isn’t responsible for my brother’s death.’ That part is true.”

“Neither are you,” Ciri insisted, reaching out to squeeze his hand.

“Logically, I know that. Emotionally… well, I’m working on it.” He promised her. “But someone is responsible for his death. He didn’t just die. He was killed.”

“That is correct.”

“I know revenge isn’t going to bring him back, but… if the person—or people—who did this are still out there, I want to see them brought to justice. If only so other people don’t have to go through what I’m going through.”

She studied him for a long moment before nodding. “I will help you.”

“Thank you,” he said sincerely. “Æven thyræl quoris velæn.”

“Æven thyræl quoris ænthor.” She paused. “I have an additional question.”

“Ask me anything.”

“You said your dream took place in the apartment in your realm.”

“Yes.”

“Does this represent a subconscious desire to return?”

“No,” Noah said instantly, shaking his head.

“Are you certain? I would not be upset if some part of you wished to return. Especially given that your quest—the purpose which originally brought you here—is now complete.”

“I am positive. As dangerous and scary as this world can be… it’s led me to you. And to Hannah, and Ken, and Piper, and your tribe. I care about this place and the people in it. And more than that, I think I can make a difference here—a lot more than I can in my own world.”

“Perhaps your dream was correct,” she said softly. “You do enjoy repairing things.”