The Misadventures of Anna Cabbot

Dierdre

The last time she couldn't sleep she'd tried a walk by the river only to have a naked man flop out of the Niagara and meet a Lady of a Lake who called her a witch of convenience without actually saying the words.

Not wanting to risk what else might come out of the water, Anna tried the MetroRail instead.

She'd done a lot of thinking and sketching on various trains while abroad in Europe, and she was on a trip from University Station to Erie Canal Harbor when she looked up to find she was the only passenger in the car.

She pulled her earbuds out.

The doors closed; the train lurched forward from Amherst station.

Anna went back to her sketch when, unexpectedly, the train slowed to a stop. The hair on the back of her neck prickled. She set her book and iPod on the seat next to her and stood, one hand wrapped around the nearest metal pole.

The lights flickered and, very faintly, there was the creak of old wood. Nothing had explicitly pinged her witchsense, but there was something hiding out of sight.

Her pulse skyrockted.

The lights went out completely, plunging the train car into darkness. Anna didn't dare move for fear of tripping until, seconds later, everything powered on with an electrical snap.

Still, the train didn't move.

She rubbed the middle of her sternum, and took deep, measured breaths. There was — she spun on her heel and found a petite white woman in a flowery sundress holding her sketchbook. On the floor, by their hot pink pumps, was a lantern more commonly found on the back of a ship circa the Napoleonic Wars.

The sound of a cello echoed lowly; Anna flinched hard.

Death patted the seat next to them. "Come sit, Annabelle."

With her hand still on her chest, Anna did as she was told. The lantern sat between them, and in an effort to cut some of the tension — and calm herself — she pointed to it. "That's a fabulous accessory, but I'm not entirely sure it goes with your shoes."

They smiled. "There's a fine line between bravery and stupidity, and you flirt with it like you're trying to convince it to come home with you."

Anna shrugged with forced nonchalance, folding her fingers together tightly. "Carpe diem and all. It's not like you weren't there."

"Indeed." They closed the sketchbook and set it aside. "You were an oddity to me, Annabelle. You still are." They smiled sharply. "You had flatlined and you were more concerned with figuring out who was outside your door."

"And now you're what? Keeping an eye on me? Are you following me?"

Her pulse had settly, most likely because this was so far outside the realm of anything her mind could even come up with for a nightmare that her reflexive fear was on a time delay.

"We like to keep tabs on certain people," they said easily. "Most of them are those who have a little of us in them. You, in particular, fascinate me."

She shivered. "Can I ask why?"

"You can, but I'm not inclined to tell you."

"Does this have anything to do with what I'm doing for Erin?" Anna rubbed her forehead.

"No, though it will be better for everyone involved if you finally used your magic."

Anger was easier than fear, and she grabbed it with both hands.

"I already use my magic. Always have."

The look she received was meme levels of sarcastic skepticism.

"I know you, Anna Cabbot," they said, reaching out and tracing a finger over Anna's sternum where her scar was.

Just for a moment the illusion dropped and her wires hurt in response to the skeletal hand inches from her beating heart."I know your soul because I have seen it."

Anna sat stock still, hardly daring to breathe.

"The reason I touched your soul is because, beneath all your fear, you were as curious in regards to me as I to you. Curiosity and kindness, with a stubborn streak to the size of an ocean when you feel it necessary."

Anna's nerve endings in the muscle over her patched together breastbone howled sharply in agony.

"I want to see the full measure of you, Anna Cabbot." They withdrew their hand; she took a deep breath. "I want to know if what I saw was right."

"Jesus," Anna muttered, refusing to rub her chest as her pulse calmed.

They stood, picking up the lantern.

"Is this why you let me live?" she blurted. "That's...that's what I don't understand about all of this. I don't understand why you let me live."

"You convinced me to."

Anna gaped helplessly. "I — what?"

"You don't remember our conversation in the space between seconds?" Their eyes softened. "You were wholly suspended between the two worlds, and underneath your fear was this curiosity, and yet, your soul convinced me to let you stay. Do you not remember it?" she added, head tilted to the side.

If she did, Anna's mind hadn't yet found it for her. She shook her head.

"Pity." They held the lantern in front of them with both hands. "I will, however, give you some advice. Remember what your doctor told you and apply that elsewhere."

Anna rubbed her hand over her cheek. "I had a lot of doctors who said a lot of things. Can you be a little more specific?"

Death snorted inelegantly. "No. You'll figure it out."

"Of course." She slumped back in her seat, arms over her chest to hide her shaking hands. Almost as an afterthought, and still waiting on her time delayed fear-induced adrenaline dump, she said, "If you're going to keep popping in and out, is there something you'd like me to call you?"

The lights in the train flickered.

"Deirdre," they said. "You may call me Deirdre."

There was the sound of creaking wood again, and the lights went out. Seconds later, when they came back on, Deirdre was gone and the train continued its journey to the next station.

Her sketchbook sat on the seat next to her still, and she hastily stuffed it into her bag with trembling fingers. She clutched her backpack to her chest and breathed, slowly and carefully. Her sternum ached, her pulse pounding in her ears.

She was still decidedly unsteady when she reached the bus station downtown, stopping just back from where the automatic door sensor would register her movement to stare at her own face reflected in the glass. Her hair was a mess, and wide green eyes looked back at her.

I want the measure of you, Anna Cabbot.

She bit her lip, the woman in the glass taking on an indeterminate expression.

I want to know if what I saw was right.

"That depends on what you thought was there," she murmured.

Tired and achy in more ways than one, Anna shifted forward enough to trigger the sensor. The doors slid apart, taking her reflection with it, and she went inside to wait for the bus to take her home.