The flowers were fresh.

I could smell the aroma from here, I could smell the sweetness of the pollen and that damp sugar-smell when you first cut a stem.

From where I lay, I could see each fleck of pollen on the low hanging stamens. See the detail on the tiny drops of dew that covered the petals. I stared at the bright red petals as wide beams of light fell over them, the unfamiliar beauty streaming from the white-curtained windows to a cracked stone floor.

The stone was similar to what I had used in the bathrooms in Rioseco, it had taken me months to find the perfect….

My breath caught, my body tensing under the soft cotton blankets as a heart rate monitor somewhere in the room began to speed up.

Rioseco. The Abbey I had built as a safe haven. The Abbey I had taken Joclyn to.

I remembered.

I remembered everything.

The monitors sped even faster as I sat up, the blanket falling away to reveal a mess of wires and tubes and who knows what else attached to my skin and inserted into arms.

I waved my hand, expecting them all to fall away with one surge of power. But nothing happened. Each tube remained plunged into arms, wires to chest.

I growled, the memory of the imposter from my dream slamming hard against my chest as my heart did. Magic for my memories.

At least, with the limited knowledge that I had, I had chosen my memories. I had chosen my Joclyn.

“I’m coming, my love.” My voice was scratchy and coarse from ill-use, but the word, the phrase, the language, was so missed, so longed for, that it was followed by a sigh anyway.  

I was coming. And I knew right where to go.

She would be in Imdalind, and if I had gotten out of the Ukraine I could be there in days.

I moved to stand, my head spinning with the movement just as the door to my room opened. I turned at the sound, expecting to see Kaye walking in. Instead of the boisterous brunette, however, it was a young Asian man with oversized spectacles that only exaggerated the look of horror he had at seeing me sitting there.

“What has happened?” The man stuttered in Mandarin, his eyes darting behind him as he began to back out of the room.

“Where have I been taken?” I asked in the same language, the shock and fear on his face growing as he took another step, mouth opening to yell at someone behind him. “I mean you no harm, if you could hel…”

“The monster is awake!” He screamed as he stepped back, slamming the door behind him and leaving me staring at the dark slab of wood.

Yells and shouts filtered through the heavy wooden door, the word ‘monster’ repeated over and over.

“Hovno,” I swore loudly, the word feeling awkward without the surge of power behind it.

I didn’t have much time. The screams grew louder as my heart rate increased, the beeping ending as I began to rip off the sticky pads that covered my chest. Multiple monitors flatlined before my fingers wrapped around the tube that was inserted into my arm. The cold tubing pumped gently underneath my fingers, the pulse was as quick as my heart and it stopped me dead.

Whatever it was had clearly been inserted directly into a vein. Judging by the size of the tube, if I just ripped it out I would have more problems than my blood splashed over flowers.

I couldn’t heal.

Although there was a shadow of magic deep inside of me, it wasn’t responding, I wasn’t even sure if it was magic. For all I knew, all mortals felt this way.

And, that is exactly what I was.

I stood, everything spinning again as I searched for a cloth or something to apply pressure so I could remove the tube. I was barely able to grip the nightstand beside the bed before I tumbled back down, the spinning overtaking me.

Screw healing, I couldn’t even fight like this.

It didn’t matter either way, head still spinning, tubing still pumping, the door was thrown open and a line of soldiers walked in, guns drawn.

Scooting back against the headboard, the line of muzzles grew closer, the mumblings of what sounded like Russian, Mandarin, and even English buzzing from the hall.

“I mean you no harm,” I said the words on repeat, moving through every language I was hearing and even adding a few others that were colloquially similar.

The men and women behind the guns began to look at each other, their eyes wide with the same fear that the man who had walked in before had.

It made sense as to why.

Although I had no idea if any of these soldiers were of the ones who had shot me, the last thing they had been told was a story of me soaring through the air, firing infantile magic at people.

I had thought I had been so powerful, so strong. The memory caused me to shake my head. If I had my memories, if I had control of even the tiny bit of magic I had retained I could have been out of here months after they had found me in the alley.

“Where is Kaye,” I said clearly in Ukrainian, the switch from my language tour of before taking a few of the soldiers off guard.

“I do not know what you mean.”

I jerked at the clean voice, the deep English heavily accented with what was clearly Russian. Although the voice itself was not familiar, the tone, the words were filled with enough ice that my magic’s promise that I was safe seemed foolhardy.

“Where is Kaye,” I repeated the words in English, eliminating as much of own accent as I could while keeping my voice strong.

“Is this a person?” The same voice responded, even the soldiers that surrounded my bed were shifting in unease. “Is this the woman from the massacre in Prague fifteen years ago?”

Fifteen years.

It was lucky that I didn’t have my magic, I was sure to have exploded at that. Fifteen years since I had seen Joclyn. Fifteen years since I had thought her dead. Although the possibility of her being alive felt impossible, I had seen the images of her and Ry in Prague only seven years ago, I had watched the pulse of her heart as it connected to my magic moments before.

She was alive.

And I had spent more than a decade without her. The loss rose up in a painful pressure, the emotions far more painful without the possibility of expulsion.

I focused on keeping my breathing even, on keeping my face impassive as I stared at the soldiers, the row of unfamiliar uniforms still shielding whoever was talking.

“We believe you are the man from that attack,” he continued on after a moment of silence, “is this true?”

“I do not know what you are talking about.” My voice was much harder than it should have been, so, I shifted my weight, leaning toward the voice. “Kaye is my nurse.”

The wall of blast guards and gun tips stared me down, the hidden faces of the soldiers looking at me with eyes so wide I began wondering if something else had changed in the last few years I had missed since our attempted escape.

Two if my math was correct.

It was not the soldiers that were concerning, however, it was the man who emerged from among them, his lanky frame leaning against the foot of my bed.

The blonde man curled his hands around the metal railing as he leaned toward me, the military uniform diminishing his frame somehow. I had never met him before, but that hardly mattered, I knew the look, I knew the posturing voice.

All of these men were the same.

While normally I could deal with him the same way I would deal with my father. That was no longer an option.

I would have to be tricky. At least I didn’t have handcuffs to deal with this time.

“You are looking for your nurse?” He asked, the confusion growing at my request.

“She was my friend.” I was successful in keeping the frustration out of my voice that time. “Where is she?”

“Do you mean the woman you tried to escape from the SSU with? That leader of the villagers?”

I remained quiet. Although answer or not, we both got what we wanted. He the affirmation of his knowledge of me, me the knowledge of where I was.

“This is not the SSU.”

His eyes sparked at my statement, lip twitching as his hands tightened against the railing.

“We are part of the republic,” his tone made it clear he wasn't going to say anymore. He didn’t need to. I knew little of The Republic, just looking at the nationalities of those who surrounded me, however, I could piece it together.

“And where is this republic?” As much as I tried to keep my tone conversational, he saw right through it-- that same light from before darkening into something treacherous. “Russia?”

He said nothing, he only smiled, a torturous joy taking hold. It wasn't him that I was looking at, however, it was the soldiers on either side of him.

The two men were clearly Asian, although from where I could not tell. Judging by the disdain that came over their face at my question, we were clearly not in Russia.

Russia was clearly here.

Occupying their home.

China maybe. But if I had to guess I would say we were somewhere in the high mountains of Mongolia.

The room itself bore no sign of that, the furniture, the medical equipment, everything about it screamed of western Europe. The long curtains, however, and the fresh flowers that were cut in the vase were little hints to the culture that this smothering Russian was hiding.  

I had spent time in Mongolia several hundred years before, and while I knew the terrain, it was remote enough that without the aid of my power. I could not escape it easily.

“It does not matter where you are,” the man sneered, his accent growing deeper. “Now that you are awake you will be moved back to more… familiar… surroundings.”

His smile grew and my gut twisted uncomfortably, his tone enough to detail what was waiting for me.

“Unless of course, you choose to work with us,” he prompted, the light of eagerness returning. “Unless you choose to join us.”

I hesitated, muscles and jaw tightening. Our eyes locked in an intense stare as the soldiers began to shift their weight, the muzzles of their guns moving to a tighter aim.

The tension of the room increased with each moment that passed, the impossible trap I was locked in becoming more clear.

The simple task of getting back to Joclyn becoming more impossible.

“What do you want to know?”

Keeping my hands tight against the mattress I let my eyes wander to the soldiers searching for any hint, any tell that would guide me toward what I was facing. There was nothing. When I looked back to the Russian he was beaming with an eagerness he wasn’t even trying to hide.

“I want to know everything, ” He said, his greediness a snake that twisted through the air and around my gut. “You see, we know who you are. We know what you can do. And while we have an idea of what the SSU has discovered of you, all of their research was lost when they fell. When Nastya fled.”

He hesitated, tapping against the bar as he took a step back, studying me as I had him before he leaned forward, the simple action twisting my stomach into my chest.

“We wish to learn of you,” he continued, the look in his tensing through the emaciated muscles in my back. “We wish to recreate you. And we do not wish to resort to the same processes as your former captors.”

I was only barely able to restrain the jerk that the words filled me with, barely able to contain the fear. It was not fear for what he said, however, for the admission that he considered me a prisoner. Or for the fact that I was, it was fear for the look in his eyes, fear for the way he looked at me and the odd lustful desire he held.

Although, all of those emotions were not for me. They were for what he assumed was still inside of me, what he assumed he could control.

Just like Nastya.

I could expect nothing less. I was like a shiny toy to all of them, the power inside of me one that they wanted for themselves, and in Nastya’s case, one that she already did.

Except now there was no power inside of me, there was no magic. And if he resorted to the same techniques that Nastya had, there would be no tomorrow.

No Joclyn.

My heart twisted uncomfortably, my stomach washing warm at the thought of her, at the possibility of losing her. I pushed the fearful emotion aside and looked at the Russian straight on, keeping my jaw tight in my wavering defiance.

“The power that you seek is no longer with me,” I said honestly, the few words tangling painfully in my gut. I felt the same warmth at my admission, felt the tension in my chest, but no more than that. There was no flood of strength, there was no electric rumbling, there was nothing but a mortal body.

He smiled at my retort, a single chuckle scratched through the air before he tapped his fingers against the rail and began to pace. The soldiers made way for him, their focus still on me, although a few watched the blonde man as if planning their own attack, their own escape.

“I do not need to show you the images that say otherwise,” he said, rocking on his toes as he stepped closer to me. “You know of them.”

I did, and while I had told him the truth, he was not willing to hear. As much as he wished for my cooperation, I would have to resort to the story he wished for.

“I have told them before, I do not remember…”

“This is not the SSU,” the man interrupted attempting to hide his impatience with flattery. “You do not have to hide truths from us.”

I looked from the Russian to the natives that surrounded me, their fingers twitching as they held their guns to me in restrained horror.

“I see no difference between this and the SSU,” I said, transitioning my words into a smooth Czech, that I could tell only he understood. “It is the same threats, the same danger.”

His frustrations boiled with each word until they exploded, his very body began to shake as he spoke with a clear, concise, fury. “We are not the SSU…”

“Yes, you are the Republic,” I filled in for him, my calm defiance setting him off further. Both his patience and control were wavering. I knew it was a gamble, a bet that perhaps would not pay off, but it was also a risk that I needed to take.

I needed to know more about this man, about what I was trapped in. It was the only way I could get away from this and find my way back home. Back to Joclyn.

“Yes.” The grind of the word made it clear he wasn’t going to say more.

“What is the republic,” I queried, careful to keep my voice light lest I push him even further.

The man said nothing, he only tightened his jaw, struggling to keep his own control.

“If I do not know what you are, how can I trust you?”

The question stopped the man dead in his tracks and while the smile that I had seen before was clearly still present, it was there for a different reason.

“You are not in a place to be given trust,” he said, the wickedness back in his eyes as he nodded once, the soldiers shifting in a reminder of the control he had, no matter how much his emotions attempted to push him otherwise.   

“Then I am not in a place I can tell you everything you ask.”

It was simple. Calm. And it did exactly as I had hoped. The man’s pride bristled, his eyes glancing toward the soldiers for the first time before he tapped his heels, the frustration rippling off him.

“If you tell me nothing, then I cannot help you.”

I stared at him as he leaned over the rail, waiting for something more, waiting for something to click. There was nothing there but a desperation I didn’t understand, however, something about him that didn’t quite fit with the scene I was surrounded by.

Something was wrong.

I looked around the circle once, risking a glance away from the Russian as I searched the soldiers in hopes of gleaning something that I may have missed.

“If I tell you everything how will I know I will be alive by morning?” I asked as a younger soldier caught my focus, his eyes wide with fear as he looked right into me.

Sweat dripped down the soldiers' brow, the muzzle of his gun shaking the tiniest bit. His finger clearly compressing the trigger.

“Or is there nothing you can do?”

The Russians focus pulled right to the soldier at my question, his eyes obviously catching what I had.  

The guns were empty.

The room, everything, it was all a facade.

“Put him on the next transport,” he growled, his Mandarin barely understood through the clench in his teeth.

The soldiers around us looked between themselves in an obvious fear before the man began to scream again, switching between Ukrainian, Russian, and Mandarin so fast I wasn’t sure anyone besides he and I could follow.

“Do it now!” The man continued to roar, his face turning purple in his anger.

It was the last thing I saw before the butt of a gun intersected with my temple and, magic or not, I was plunged back into the world of dreams.

* * *

The handcuffs had made a return.

Although this time they were in the form of zip ties. The thin band of plastic dug into the skin of my wrists as they strapped me to the leg of the chair I sat in. They pulled me down into an awkward fold, the skin rubbed raw from the pressure.

It was the line of pressurized fire around my wrists that I felt first. A pain in my head came second as the chair shifted, rocking me to the side and slamming me into the hard metal seat in front of me. The world spun as the pain doubled, the impact from where the gun-butt had knocked me out swelling as a new pain flowered over my skull.

Groaning as everything shifted, the world slowly began to shift into focus. The sound of wheels on a track buzzed in my ears, the signature chug-chug that I had heard for so many years when I worked on the railroad rising to meet it.

I attempted to shift my weight, but my arms held me in place, awkwardly folded over as the train continued to shift and sway. Resigning to my uncomfortable fetal position, I opened my eyes to a battered train car. Ribbons of moonlight flowed over the darkness of the lengthened space revealing dilapidated chairs lined beside broken windows that worked to flood the cabin with frozen air. Everything shifted as the train jerked again, an old chandelier rocking dangerously from a single wire as a chair two rows up completely toppled over.

A groan followed the collapse, the sound out of place against the creaking of metal and wood. It was only after the sound, after the chairs began to shift against their bolts that I realized that this must be the transport that the Russian had spoken of.

Attempting to shift again, I looked from chair to chair, seeing the shadow of a few others as they flitted in and out of the dark blue light. Each occupant swayed awkwardly from their own chair, their bodies flopping dangerously from the weird positions they had been placed in. Heads rolled, mouths lolled, and each and every one of them was as unconscious as I was supposed to be.

The train shifted again, slamming my head into the heavy metal chair once again. Pops of bright white light speckled my vision as pain blossomed through my skull. The pain spread through my bones in a rattle before congregating in my joints in little tense pockets. Clenching my teeth, I kept the yelp of pain restrained, although only just.

“Hey,” I hissed through the dark, my voice a slur thanks to some drug they had given me. To ensure ‘safe passage’, I supposed. Either that or this was just how it felt to wake up from being knocked out.

The train rocked and this time I groaned, the same word coming again, although, I wasn't sure if it was said to the other unconscious passengers, or whoever was supervising. Neither responded. It was only the groan of wood and creak of metal as the train continued its journey down the tracks.

Pain swelling, I watched the light shift over the others, the blue and black making the already forgotten space look haunted. It was calming, somehow, although that sensation could have been from the injury mortality infected me with.

Either way, it made every sway of the train feel like a gentle lull…

I wasn't sure if I fell asleep or was just startled by the loud horn of the train. The angry sound bled twice through the icy air as the train began to turn, every limp body twisting to the left as everything rattled and shook. I tensed at the motion, unable to fight the pull of gravity as my body was jerked to the side.

As though it was a dance, every rag doll shifted. Everyone but one.

A woman that I recognized at once.

“Ovailia?” The question was fused with confusion as she scowled down at me, a million emotions hidden behind the hate in her eyes.

“Hello brother,” she glowered, the sound of her voice barely audible above the sound of the train. She herself was barely visible. Dressed all in black and hidden underneath a sleek leather coat, if it wasn't for the long hair she always wore down, and the haunting blue of her eyes, I may never have seen her there.

“I didn't expect to see you here. I wonder if they know the prize they have caught.” She grabbed the strands of my hair and pulled them back so I could see her. “With these buffoons I doubt it.”

“What are you doing here?” I hissed through the clench in my jaw, trying to pull my head away and relieve some of the pressure from my neck, but she held on tighter, shaking me around a bit as the train shifted.

“Collecting what belongs to me.”

I tensed as my head finally dropped, the heavy thing looking back to her as she drifted in and out of focus.

Her hand moved from my head to my chest, palm flat against the tattered shirt I wore as my heart rate accelerated past what was normal or healthy.

“I will leave this for later, however, I have more important charges.” She smiled at me as my head looked back, only seeing the bright blue of her eyes for a second before she leaned over me, lips nestled in the hollow of my ear.

“Take care of it will you,” her voice had changed, the tone filling with a sincerity that wrapped around us both, so many memories of growing up together traveling on its back.

Her breath was hollow in my ear as she waited for an answer, hand tightening around my shoulder as the scent of her perfume permeated the icy air. I said nothing, I couldn't. I could only watch as she kissed me on the cheek, the love I saw there fading as she stepped away.

“Ovailia,” the whisper of her name never left my lips as the train continued to rock, the motions pulling her in and out of my vision like the flicker of a candle. Until, with one final rock she was gone altogether, leaving a girl with spiky black hair and a nose ring behind.

I only saw the unfamiliar girl for a moment before she too left with the rock of the train, another horn sounding as we began to turn, and my head intersected with the chair once more.