The Misadventures of Anna Cabbot

The Calico Lady

She was dragged up and up and up by one arm, a scream lodged in her throat. Her sternum burned like it hadn't since that first night in ICU, and the expansion of her ribs with every breath stabbed like knives. The cold had stiffened her muscles; unbending her legs was hell but she did it anyway, aiming blindly for where she thought someone might be near her.

Carson. She'd been with Carson. She had to find Carson.

She dropped gracelessly onto something hard and rough, like wood, and fought her way to hands and knees. She couldn't get to her feet — she fell back on all fours when she tried. There was muffled commotion to her right, blotted like everything was still underwater.

There were flashes of color and bits of sound, and her brain couldn't make sense of any of it except for her need to find Carson. He had to be there. If he wasn't then she had to find him. She had to —

Her legs shook but she was miraculously on her feet. She tried for her Evrael and...her magic didn't respond.

Anna sobbed as her knees gave out. She curled in on herself with a gasp and didn't move again.


It was hot as fuck and she couldn't move. Granted, her limbs felt like they weighed hundreds of pounds each and something was tucked securely around her. She scrounged enough energy to properly open her eyes for the first time in what felt like days, and found the plain, wooden ceiling above her absolutely no help in figuring out where she was.

At least she wasn't drowning.

"Anna? You actually awake this time?"

She rolled her head on the stiff, scratchy pillow and blinked sleepily at Carson's worried expression.

"Oh, oh thank you, God," he muttered, forehead resting on his steepled fingers. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

Anna didn't try to speak — she didn't have the motivation and she wasn't sure she'd make any sound — so she listened to Carson's countless thanks to God. That's what she thought they were — he'd switched to Welsh about halfway through.

More awake and coherent by the minute, she picked her aching head up and looked toward her feet. She'd been tightly bundled into someone's bed and down by her toes was a raven.

It preened its feathers, ruffled its wings, and settled in near her right ankle. She inhaled sharply.

"We found the bird with you," Carson said. "And he won't leave."

That was a mystery for a time when her head didn't feel stuffed full of cotton.

Anna snuggled into the bedding and looked at Carson as long as she could before exhaustion dragged her under again.


The next time she woke she was chased out of a nightmare she didn't remember the details of and tried to bolt upright. She struggled against the bedcovers, and it was only when she worked an arm free that she realized the person sat next to her wasn't Carson.

"Who're you?" Anna croaked, and good God, it sounded like she'd been swallowing glass.

"I could ask you the same thing," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. She wore a linen shirt, and her voluminous black hair spilled over her shoulder and around her tan face.

"Anna Cabbot." She freed her other arm and promptly grabbed for the edge of the blanket. She was naked with no idea who had stripped her or when it might have happened. "Where's my clothes and where the hell is Carson?"

"Your creature companion?"

Anna went rigid. "What did you call him?"

The woman pulled a wicked-looking knife from somewhere and began to clean under her fingernails. Calm as could be she said, "I don't think you're in any position to make demands, do you?"