The Writer's Escape

5. The Trio

Patrick shook Serena's extended hand, bemused. "I still don't know who you are," he said with an apologetic smile. 

"Never mind the introductions," Berry said. "Where's the rest of the coven, huh?" 

Patrick gave a helpless shrug. "I was just here to heal Esther—" 

"From her fight with the demon," Serena said excitedly, without thinking. Just days earlier, she had written Esther's epic battle with one of the sorceresses' demons that had tried to destroy a village, a particularly tricky scene to write. Esther had gotten away, but was badly injured. It had taken Serena hours, and several cups of coffee, to find the words for describing that fight. 

Patrick opened his mouth, then closed it. "I guess you heard about it?" 

"Something like that." 

Patrick opened his mouth, then closed it. "Well, yeah. I was healing her, then a few hours ago, the weirdest thing happened. They all just . . . got up and left. All they said was that they had to go defeat the sorceress." 

Berry narrowed her eyes. "Just like that?" 

"Yeah! Esther still had shards of metal in her leg. I tried to talk to them, but they wouldn't say anything to me. It was like they were . . . possessed or something." He shuddered at the memory. Then his eyes widened. "Wait, do you think they were possessed? Oh stars, I should have tried to stop them." 

"As if you could!" 

Patrick blushed. "But d'you think it's possible?" he pressed. 

Serena cleared her throat. "I may have accidentally possessed them." Guilt twisted her stomach, which annoyed her. These are figments of my imagination— I owe them nothing, the rational part of her mind insisted. Though believing that became harder with every minute that passed under the glaring sun. The blisters that had formed on her hands throbbed too realistically for her to be able to convince herself she was dreaming. 

Patrick gaped. "Uh, sorry, what did you say?" 

"What she said," Berry said, stepping closer to Serena, the gleam in her eyes becoming dangerous, "was that she thinks she can waltz in and go around changing things she don't like." 

Serena straightened her posture, refusing to back down from Berry's glare. "I didn't—" 

"Didn't think. Uh-huh. You can't just go around messing with people's lives." 

Serena felt ugly red splotches start creeping up her neck, the same way they always did when her temper flared, but she couldn't bring herself to care about her appearance. She had been dragged through miles of sand, watched monsters explode, and was now being goaded by her own creation. "None of this is goddamn real," she burst out. "Get off my back, you think I actually want to be here? You wouldn't even exist if it wasn't for me, you know." 

"Lucky me," Berry grumbled. 

"Excuse me," Patrick said, a shrill edge to his voice. "Will somebody please explain what in the spirits' name is going on?" 

Serena tried to regain some kind of composure, tugging down the sleeves of her shirt over her elbows. 

Berry threw Patrick a look that was almost sympathetic. "All right. For his sake. But you gotta explain, princess." 

Great, another fictional character to explain her situation to. "This may take a while," Serena said. "Should we . . ." She gestured at the remains of the flayers splattered all over the cave. "I don't know, clean this up or something? 

Berry snorted. "I ain't a housekeeper, and I ain't scraping monster goop off the ceiling. Although," she added, eyeing the dead monsters with an unnerving gleam in her eyes, "Fried flayers are a delicacy in some parts of the desert."