This really isn't like me.
Sure, I've been known to have a good time occasionally, but I'm the type that's fun to party with because I can handle my drinks. I'm the annoying friend that downs a few at the end of a stressful day and pretty much picks up where I left off the next morning– sans hangover.
Never in my life did I think that I would drink so much that I would black out.
That is until I wake up one afternoon in an unfamiliar diner with a horrendous headache and absolutely no memory of how I got there. I don't even remember making the decision to drink. Aren't you supposed to be sober when that happens?
Like I said– this really isn't like me.
My whole body aches terribly. For all I know, I was up all night jumping from rooftop to rooftop. It wouldn't be the first time– Officers can be real sticks in the mud when it comes to staying out past curfew. But based on the pain I'm feeling, it's more likely that I was falling off of them. I swear I've never felt this bad in my life.
Why can't I remember where I am? Last I knew I was camping in the Outskirts for a few days. I don't remember entering any Mega-Cities and there isn't an Identification Chip attached to my ear. That's concerning. No Chip means no access, so unless I suddenly gained the ability to magically teleport into random hole-in-the-wall diners, I'm probably not in a Mega-City.
So where the fuck am I?
I spare a glance at the depressing establishment. Wherever I am, I don't feel very welcomed.
There is a waitress rolling silverware across the abandoned diner. Her weary gaze digs into my back as if she's worried that I'm hungry enough to spring up and devour her whole or something. She made me aware that my presence wasn't welcome here the moment I sat down, but I don't understand what I could have possibly done to offend her.
Maybe she's just having a bad day... but something tells me that's not it.
I'm really not that hungry at all, but I can't remember what pulled me into the diner in the first place. In the moment, I figured the least I could do was order some food. Although, based on the cold atmosphere of this restaurant, I'm not so sure about that thought anymore.
It's too late now.
A wave of nausea washes over me and I groan softly, unable to hide my increasing pain. I swear I have never been this hungover before. I set my head down on the wood table, allowing my blonde curtain of hair to shade the bright diner lights as much as possible.
Deities, what did I do to deserve this? I wouldn't wish this fate on my worst enemy– someone I very conveniently can't remember right now.
"Cheeseburger, extra pickles?" a nervous voice rings out.
I glance up and nod at the worker, barely registering that it's not the same girl who took my order, but an older woman with a messy apron and overworked hands. She unceremoniously dumps the hot plate with a loud clunk on the table and disappears behind the swinging metal door. All before I have the chance to even mutter my thanks.
The young server is still at her station, watching me closely. I wonder if they've deemed me dangerous enough to poison my food– I wouldn't put it past them.
I sigh. I must be spending too much time in the Outskirts if my face is fending off people this easily.
Gingerly, I pick up the burger, mindful of the steam that still wafts from the freshly cooked meat. The warm sandwich emits a delicious aroma that I can't refuse, even with a splitting headache. I take a bite of the burger and find that I'm not disappointed. In fact, the meal is so good that it makes me forget all about the diner's weird service for a moment.
Fuck. When was the last time I had something this good? Certainly not anything I've ever cooked.
I'm on my second to last bite when a dark-haired woman enters the diner. I turn to look as she strides through the door with a self-confident attitude. Her ego permeates the entire room. The sound of her heels on the tiled floor grates against my ears, causing me to roll my eyes and drop the rest of my burger. I guess I won't be enjoying that anymore.
And just when things were starting to look up a bit.
The woman doesn't even glance my way– she seeks out the nervous server and marches straight in her direction. They begin a heated conversation in hushed voices far too quiet for me to make out. I grumble under my breath and turn back to what's left of my meal.
Strangely, the moment my back is turned, a warm sensation blooms in my stomach. It spreads rapidly to my chest and intensifies to a degree that instantly makes me uncomfortable. I clench my burning heart, trying to breathe as it continues to spread up my neck and into my head.
Maybe the cook really did poison my food.
The thought is short lived as I try to stand up or call out for help, but my limbs refuse to answer my brain's silent demands. Fear grips me as I try in vain to yank myself out of the vinyl booth– anything to draw the attention of anyone who might help. Hopefully not that annoying woman.
My body doesn't budge. Everything goes white. An ear splitting ring cries out, making my headache from earlier pale in comparison to the sudden onslaught of sound.
This is it– I must be dying.
Once again I try to move my hands to cover my ears, but nothing works.
Finally, I'm able to open my eyes, but I quickly find that I'm no longer in the rundown diner. Instead, I'm surrounded by hundreds of overflowing bookshelves. Most of them reach higher than physics should allow, brushing what must be a twenty-foot ceiling. I'd hate to be here during an earthquake. This can't possibly be up to code.
It's a stone building, I realize– a very strange choice in building material. Most Tsulonian buildings are made out of glass or metal, not carved from stone.
Seriously, who has the patience for that?
"Noelani," a voice utters urgently, breaking through my reverie. "I need to find the Niraki. It's important."
I notice the two women in the room, seated across from each other at one of the many large oak tables. Their clothing is strange. One wears thick leather pants and a cream-colored blouse while the other is dressed in a big poofy dress. It's like something I'd expect to see in a kid's fairytale. Actually, that would make sense, considering the stone library I find myself trapped in.
Is this a dream?
Deities, I must have slipped out of that diner booth and hit my head on something.
The younger woman, Noelani, scoffs. "We both know the Niraki isn't real," she says. "All this time has passed and you still haven't given up on your delusion. Haven't you taken enough from me, Ettiana?"
"Noelani, please." Ettiana reaches a hand towards the brunette, but Noelani quickly pulls away, a look of disgust twisting in her dark brown eyes.
Ettiana places her empty hand on the table and sighs. "I have a daughter like you," she confesses. "Another bloodsorcerer." She pauses, taking a moment to compose herself. "I just don't want her to grow up like this."
Noelani scoffs. "Ettiana, you know that you should not have involved me in this."
She violently flings out of her seat.
Yes, violently flings– there's no other way to describe it. The silver charms sown to the hem of her dark blue dress twinkle in the cold silence, making me shiver involuntarily.
She pierces Ettiana with her sharp gaze. "Mother won't be happy to hear that you've lied again–"
_____
"Excuse me?"
I snap my head up, my hands harshly gripping the diner table. I haphazardly take in my surroundings, my half-eaten plate of food quickly reminding me of where I am.
What the Deities just happened?
"Hello?"
That woman from earlier stands in front of me, hips cocked and an impatient scowl painted on her face. I didn't get a good look at her before, but now I notice her finer features– black, inky hair, chocolate brown eyes, and perfectly flawless skin the color of a rich caramel glaze.
She's an exact copy of the girl from my daydream.
That's just a coincidence, right?
"Uh, hello?" I utter in shock.
She stares at me as if I've lost my mind, which to be fair is probably not too far off the mark.
"I'm Mayor Desai," she says, shoving her hand in my direction.
I grip it firmly, trying to hide my surprise. She doesn't look much older than me. She's got to be way too young to be a mayor.
"Mila," I respond. The mayor pauses as if waiting for more. "Mila Wilde," I finally say, resisting the urge to roll my eyes.
Mayor Desai nods, retracting her delicate hand and using it to smooth the invisible wrinkles on her perfectly tailored maroon dress.
I smirk. She almost manages to hide her disgust at the feel of my dry and calloused hands. Almost.
"Miss Wilde, I understand that you've just arrived in Moonwake. I'm sure you've noticed that it's a bit of a...strange town."
I nod, despite having no recollection of entering a town called Moonwake. What's so strange about it? I wouldn't know. Is she talking about the fact that the server is absolutely terrified of me? So far, that's the only strangeness I've encountered.
Well, that and the fact that I just had a dream with her face in it despite never having met the woman before.
Through my mental rant, the mayor keeps talking, a plastic smile appearing on her pretty face.
"Unfortunately I'm running a little late to a meeting, but if you'll meet me for a drink later I would be happy to tell you all you need to know about our charming little town."
"Um, okay," I agree reluctantly.
I'm not exactly eager to learn anything about a place described as "charming," but the mayor's piercing stare makes me think that I don't really have a choice in the matter. There may be a smile on her face, but her eyes say it all– I'm not allowed to decline.
Whether or not I actually show up, however, is still up for grabs.
"Great," she says, handing me a business card. "Seven o'clock. Don't be late."
Before she leaves, she sends the girl behind the server's station a look that I don't quite understand. They seem to have some sort of silent conversation and then the mayor is striding out of the door.
No goodbye is as good as any, I guess.
I take a moment to look over the business card she's just handed me. There's nothing but a name, an address, and a phone number. It's simple and concise without any fancy graphics or logos– straight to the point. It seems fitting for someone like her.
For a moment I don't trust my own eyes as I read the name on the card. Yet there it is, printed in a plain black font, so I know that I'm not mistaken.
Noelani Desai, Mayor of Moonwake.
Well, fuck. I guess I'm going to that meeting, after all.