He needn’t say anything more than that. Carrick is tremendously worried I’m somehow going to get sucked away from him and while, with magic, I suppose anything is possible, I think chances of that happening are slim and the goal is well worth the risk.
I move over to the chairs, then plop down into one. Carrick moves the other around and puts it in front of me so when he sits, he’s facing my direction. He then scoots it in until our knees are touching, and he takes my hands in his.
“Going to keep hold of you the entire time,” he says gruffly, and I no longer think his worries are quite so cute anymore.
My heart recognizes he’s not ready to lose me just yet.
“It will be fine,” I assure him. “I promise I’ll be incredibly careful. If I sense anything bad, I’ll pull back right away.”
He sighs, but offers a small smile of encouragement. “Okay… let’s do this.”
I sit up straight in the chair, close my eyes, and give his hands a slight squeeze. He doesn’t squeeze back, merely tightens his grip.
I obviously have no clue what I’m doing. My first contact with Zora, I stumbled upon her during a dream. My second was sheer dumb luck as Zaid had directed me to the same caves I had seen in my dream.
But this time, I want to go straight to Zora.
So, in my mind, I picture what she looks like. It’s my face, which is something I know well, but rather than conjure the image of me as her identical twin, I think back to my dream.
When I saw her in the dirty mirror above that Underworld bar.
Despite the grime covering the reflection, her hair was a shocking snowy white and her skin was shades paler than mine, which says a lot as I’m pretty pale.
But it was her expression and a certain look in her eyes that I focus on. It was flat and unemotional. As I think back to that visage, my stomach tightens because it frankly scares me to consider what type of person she might be, given how she grew up.
I can feel my hands start to sweat against Carrick’s, but I push that aside. I can’t get distracted.
I call forth her face again, studying every plane and angle. Feel the sorrow well up inside of me because of that dead look in her eyes. Even with the same brilliant green, gold, and blue orbs as mine, hers seem dull and lifeless. I try to imagine her pain and wonder if it’s even pain anymore. Has she become so hardened she doesn’t feel? Does she even know kindness or love?
There’s a slight pinching in my heart, and I take a shuddering breath. The pinching gets a little more pronounced as I lock onto my sister in my mind’s eyes. Does her heart feel it?
There’s a tiny tug.
Then a pull.
At first, I resist, my conscience perhaps recognizing danger, then I remember… I want to go.
To Zora.
I open myself up, feel something yank not at my heart, but perhaps my soul.
Then I’m tumbling through a swirling mist of gray, the sensation one of falling from a great height, and even though Carrick eased my fear of heights, my stomach isn’t immune to the sensation. Bile rises in the back of my throat, and I choke it back.
Then I stop.
My eyes snap open, and I’m back in the Underworld. Except this is definitely different than my dream where my physical sensations seemed a bit dulled. Right now, I can feel the wooden chair I’m sitting on and see the grain texture of the wooden table, the mud walls across from me, and a grimy window.
“Carrick?” I say hesitantly to test how far removed from the Earth realm I am.
“I’m here,” he says back, and I hear him incredibly clear from just a few feet from me. When he squeezes my hands, I can feel that, too.
Just as I can feel my hand gripping onto what I think is a crudely forged spoon. Dipping my head, I let my gaze drop.
And yes… there’s a bowl of some food that’s unrecognizable and the consistency of thick oatmeal. The spoon dips, grabs the grayish goop, and then I can feel it slide over my tongue. The taste is incredibly bland, but there’s a hint of some unknown spice.
I reflexively squeeze against Carrick’s hands, and I can still feel them.
Just as I can feel the spoon.
“I’m in both places,” I whisper.
“What do you see?” he asks.
Before I can respond, a sense of unease hits me and then flat-out apprehension.
But those aren’t my feelings. They’re the feelings of whoever I’m inside of because I can feel Carrick’s presence and I’m quite calm.
It’s incredibly confusing.
“Who’s there?” a female voice booms in my head, and my suspicions are confirmed.
I’m inside of Zora as that’s actually my voice, but more hardened.
“Zora?” I ask in my mind, saving my actual voice for Carrick.
“I told you to leave me alone,” she responds so loud that my brain seems to knock around inside my skull. Then she tries to push against me, and I feel like I’m being squeezed all over. I imagine myself digging my heels in and holding on for dear life. The pressure intensifies. I feel my grasp slipping until something pops and everything goes black.
I squeeze Carrick’s hands, and, to my relief, he squeezes back. I try to strain against the darkness to see something, but it’s utterly black without even a glimmer of light. I fight off the feeling of panic as I realize I’ve never been somewhere before that was devoid of any light, and it’s slightly suffocating.
“Why won’t you leave?” Zora asks in frustration.
I’m startled, because I assumed she pushed me out of her, but I’m starting to think she pushed me somewhere deeper. I can’t see what she’s seeing anymore, and I can feel nothing but Carrick’s hands gripping mine.
“Zora,” I say again, reintroducing myself, which seems silly. “I’m Finley. Your twin sister.”
“Get out,” she screams and I wince, not from the volume but from the anger in her voice.
“Please,” I beg. “Please give me a chance. Please just listen to me. If you do, I’ll never bother you again without an invite.”
There’s silence, but I can still feel her presence. I take that as her assent for me to continue. Hesitantly, I take a big chance that my first words don’t drive her away, but rather help to forge trust.
“I’m no friend of Kymaris,” I say softly. “She’s here in the Earth realm to conquer it, and I’m trying to stop her.”
“What do I care about your Earth realm?” she snarls condescendingly.
I choose my words carefully, trying to be as neutral as possible. “Because it’s where you’re from originally.”
I purposely don’t say, “It’s your home,” because I imagine she had some type of home these last twenty-eight years and I have no clue how she feels about it. If she hates it or loves it or has just become resigned.
Zora doesn’t respond, so I decide to continue talking in a gentle tone. I get the sense she’s like a feral animal, prone to attack or possibly run at any moment.
“Our parents thought they were having fraternal twins, but we were identical,” I say with a small smile I hope she hears in my tone.
“What’s this twin you speak of?” she asks haughtily. “You’ve used that word before, and I don’t understand what it means.”