C.E. Murphy - Truthseeker

“Lord Matthew’s Bespoke Tailoring Shop. This is Cynthia, how may I help you?”

“Oh thank goodness, Cynthia.” Lara laughed in relief. “This is Lara. I’ve had the most incredibly strange night, and I’ll tell you about it, but right now I was wondering if you could grab my jeans and shirt from yesterday and bring them to, um, the Arlington farm park? I really need a change of clothes.”

“Lara?” Cynthia’s voice cracked, then turned angry, clashing with the sound of bells. “This isn’t funny. Who is this?”

“It’s—What? This is Lara, Cynthia. Lara Jansen. How many other Laras do you know?”

“I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but call this number again and I’ll report you to the police,” Cynthia snapped. “Lara Jansen disappeared seventeen months ago.”

The phone went dead, leaving Lara to stare sightlessly across the playground. Details filtered in, unattached from active recognition: things she’d noticed without thinking about them. The children wore shorts, T-shirts, sandals. The sun was high in the sky, pouring warmth over the city. There was no cold breeze, no slush, no leaden gray skies. The only dampness was in a ring around her.

Lara handed the phone back. “It’s summer, isn’t it.”

The woman gave her an odd look. “Yes.”

It had been winter when she’d left. Lara nodded, the action mechanical. “Thank you. And thank you for letting me borrow your phone.”

“You’re welcome.” The woman put her hand on her daughter’s shoulder and drew her away.

Lara watched them go, Cynthia’s angry words cutting through the rush of white static in her mind. Lara Jansen disappeared seventeen months ago . Tones of truth in the statement, deep melancholy bells that rang out slowly.

Seventeen months. She would no longer have an apartment. No clothes, no credit cards, no cash. Her mother would be mourning; Kelly would have moved on with only the occasional regretful look back. And Dafydd had lied, twice. First about his own part in the murder, then about the magic that would hold the passage of time in her world to match the time in his.

The music of truth flattened, souring with the last thoughts. Lied, Lara amended, or had been mistaken. She could bend that far, though doing so felt brittle. It hadn’t been his magic that sent her back home, but her own. Maybe truthseeker magic wasn’t meant to open paths between worlds, and had warped the spell.

The how didn’t matter. Cold with disbelief, Lara stepped out of the sandbox and shuffled away from the playground toward a life that no longer existed.

It took almost an hour to hail a taxi: most drivers looked right through her, and Lara, clad in Barrow-lands armor, couldn’t blame them. She wore a tunic and leggings under her armor, but she was reluctant to discard it: it was the sole tangible thing she could offer in explanation, or excuse, for her disappearance. She did tuck her gauntlets, awkwardly, into the belt meant for her sword.

The cabdriver who eventually picked her up regaled her with stories about fighting somewhere called “Pennsic” with a reenactment group specializing in medieval costuming. Lara, too grateful for words, listened silently and wondered what he would think of the real battle she’d seen.

He was now parked outside of the brassiere specialty shop Kelly had worked at a year and a half earlier, waiting for Lara, who pushed the door open with nerves making a pit of sickness in her stomach. A blond girl she didn’t know looked up with a smile that turned plastic with astonishment. “Um, hello. Can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m—” Lara blushed, stumbling over an explanation she knew wasn’t necessary, but couldn’t help offering. “I’m not here to shop. I don’t need a bra. I’m just a thirty-four B, it’s not like it’s hard to find bras that fit, and I know I look really weird—” She bit her lower lip, trying to stop babbling. “Sorry,” she said after a moment. “I was wondering if Kelly Richards still works here?”

The girl’s smile had turned increasingly panicked all the way through Lara’s fumbling explanation, and turned to a squeak of relief at the eventual question. “Yeah, she’s my manager. Hang on and I’ll get her.” She disappeared into the back and Lara returned to the door, waving to let her driver know she was still there. He was on his cell phone, chatting, she imagined, to some other reenactor, telling him about her armor.

“Hi!” Kelly’s voice came from behind her, loud and cheerful. Lara’s hands went cold and she turned jerkily. Nerves seemed ridiculous when it had been only a day or two since she’d seen Kelly, but she still heard Cynthia’s anger. Seventeen months .

Both color and cheer drained from Kelly’s face. She said nothing, only stared with disbelief so profound it didn’t even allow for hope. In her wake, Lara saw the shop assistant shift uncomfortably.

“I need to pay the cabdriver,” Lara finally whispered. “I’m sorry, I just—I don’t have any money, and I didn’t know who else to come to. Mom’s so far out of the city. …”

Kelly jolted like someone had run electricity through her, flipping from shock to business in an instant. “Right. Right, hold on.” She grabbed a purse from behind the counter and swept out of the shop.

Lara reached for a display rack as her knees failed, relief stronger than nerves had been. The assistant squeaked and scurried toward her in concern, but Lara waved her away. “I’m all right.” Polite fiction, not exactly a lie, but not true enough to sit comfortably on her tongue.

The shop doorbell jangled as Kelly charged back in. Lara turned halfway around and Kelly caught her by the shoulders, her color returned and burning hot in her cheeks. “What’ve you—Where’ve you—What’re you wearing? Oh my God, Lara, is it you?”

She burst into tears before Lara could answer. Heart aching, Lara pulled her into a hug and sought the shop assistant’s gaze. “Can we go in back?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” The blond girl ushered them toward the back of the store, Lara guiding Kelly as she sobbed. The assistant—Ruth, Lara finally saw on her name tag—whispered, “I’ll get some coffee,” and rushed out again. A moment later the doorbell rang again, and the distinctive click of a lock told Lara they were safely alone and wouldn’t be disturbed.

With Ruth’s retreat, Kelly dragged in a hiccuping breath and swiped tears from her eyes. “I’m sorry. I just thought I’d never see you again. Lara, what happened? Where have you been?”

“It’s okay. And … Kel, this isn’t something I say a lot, but you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Kelly grabbed her hands hard enough to hurt, eyes wide, like if she blinked Lara would disappear again. “Of course I’ll believe you. You never lie.”

“I know. It’s just that it’s unbelievable.”

“We thought you were dead,” Kelly whispered. “You’re not. Anything’s believable, if you’re alive. My God, Lara. What—You have to tell me. You have to tell me.” Then dismay contorted her features even more, words tumbling on top of one another: “Unless, I mean, unless you don’t want to. If it’s been horrible and of course it probably has been—”

“It’s only been a day,” Lara blurted, stemming Kelly’s apology more thoroughly than she’d imagined possible. “I know,” she said as confusion and worry overwrote the dismay on Kelly’s face. “I know, it’s impossible. But it’s not like I have amnesia or am missing a year and a half of my life. It’s been barely twenty-four hours since we helped Rachel move, as far as I’m concerned. Do you still have the Nissan?” she asked wistfully.