A Misplaced Life: The Misplaced Children, #3

By Heather Michelle

Elodie Harper is tired of putting her life on hold.

 

A dead-end job and a host of magical and successful roommates constantly popping in and out of her day are only a reminder her desires and wishes are so very far outside of her control.

 

Uncovering secrets, long hidden, hint at feelings of betrayal as Elodie and her friends embark on a longshot adventure. In this finale, join the Misplaced Children, now grown up, as they search for a key to break their spell and be free to live their lives on their own terms.

 

It's been seven years since Elodie Last traveled to the world of her birth. Working a dead end job Elodie is waiting for her life to start. Instead of waiting patiently she's taking the easy way out, disassociating and slowly watching life pass her by day by day.

 

Through a group effort of Elodie and her fellow Misplaced, they gain the upper-hand on the spell and force their way back to the Twoshy, although how long they can stay is limited and unknown. Join them as they race against the clock, searching for clues with the desperate hope of one day being free from the illusion forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Heather Michelle
• Release date: Mar 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781952857072

Book preview

Chapter One

The date on the thermal paper sent a spark of panic and anxiety rolling through Elodie’s stomach. It was a small, familiar spark, so she ignored it easily. The woman in front of her had that gleam in her eyes. She was ready for a fight, no matter what Elodie said next.

Elodie set the receipt back down on the counter and frowned apologetically. I’m so sorry, it looks like this is outside of our return window.

The woman’s eyes exploded with satisfaction. Her posture straightened, shoulders angling back to build herself taller, and glared down on Elodie. But I purchased it last week. How can that be possible? Her voice was strong and sharp.

Our return policy is fifteen days, and this was purchased three weeks ago. Was there anything wrong with it? The manufacturer’s warranty may cover it. Elodie hoped the woman took the bait. If she just said it didn’t work, Elodie could still run it through the system and return it.

No, there’s nothing wrong with it, I just don’t need it. She slapped her hand down on the receipt. Put the money back on the card.

I’m so sorry, the system won’t process it when it’s outside of the return window, Elodie said with more sympathy and a slight southern accent. Sometimes it softened people up.

Sometimes, but not this time.

What do you mean you only have a fifteen-day return policy? That is absolutely ridiculous. The woman slapped her hand on the receipt again, as though the receipt was a surrogate for Elodie’s face.

We changed it about a year ago, to be compatible with other local retailers of the same products, Elodie said in a polite voice. You can see it here at the bottom of the receipt. She pointed, her smile fixed in place.

The woman slapped the paper again, catching the edge of Elodie’s finger, as she ripped the paper off the counter. She rummaged through her purse and pulled out a sleek metal object. An e-cigarette.

Elodie took a slow, deep breath so it wouldn’t come out as a sigh.

This was temporary. This life, this job. She wouldn’t be here forever. She just had to get through today and think about tomorrow, tomorrow. The small voice in her head said that temporary was turning into quite a long time, but she pushed it away.

The woman was talking again and Elodie refocused. Absolutely absurd. I purchased this last week—three weeks ago, Elodie didn’t say—and I don’t need it. Look, the box is perfectly fine, it just needs a little tape. She held up the small electronic device and shook it in front of Elodie’s face. Her voice was cutting and getting louder as if to summon someone to help her. It’s not even used, just opened. You can resell it fine.

They couldn’t. It had been opened, so it would be counted as a loss. It didn’t really matter to Elodie. Her job was to say no, because that’s what the computer would say. She had the power to override it, but that wasn’t her job and doing so would get her into trouble.

The line behind the woman was getting longer. A middle-aged man with a tie and shiny shoes had glanced at his watch three times in the last minute and shot frustrated looks around the store as if expecting another employee to appear and help him. But they wouldn’t. Most of her coworkers avoided walking by the customer service desk when she had a line for this exact reason.

All the woman had to do was say the seven magic words, and Elodie could stop helping her. The woman paused her tirade, so Elodie recited the next part of her script.

I apologize for the frustration. The system won’t let me return it.

Can you at least try?

Sure. Bright, happy, polite. Scan the receipt, answer all the correct questions. Error. She turned the screen so the woman could see. Sorry, but I’m not able to return it when it’s outside of the policy.

This is absolutely not acceptable. She was shouting now and glanced around at the line behind her. When she received nothing but impatient stares, she took three big puffs of her e-cigarette and blew the smoke out of her nose. The smoke shot downward until it reached the counter, then billowed up in two little spirals, exactly like a cartoon bull blowing steam.

Elodie swallowed and kept her face completely neutral. If she laughed in this woman’s face, the woman would win, and Elodie wasn’t going to lose. She bit the inside of her cheek and breathed in slowly through her nose.

I demand to speak to your manager.

And there it was. The magic words. They weren’t real magic. Elodie knew what real magic was, how it felt to shape and direct. If she couldn’t have real magic in her life, this would have to do.

This is temporary.

She turned away from the woman and pinched the microphone button by her ear. Can I get a manager to the customer service desk, please? She released the button and stepped to the next register and leaned around the smoking woman. I can help whoever’s next right here, please! Elodie announced with a happy, polite smile.

She’d processed one return and was working on another when the manager arrived and went straight to the woman standing with her arms crossed, puffing lightly on her e-cig; the obvious source of the problem. The manager listened to her sob story about why she wasn’t able to make it to the store, and how it had only been a week. He nodded sympathetically and processed the return. He wouldn’t be mad at Elodie for not overriding the transaction. She had been doing her job, holding the gate against the evil return until the magic words were spoken, and he was doing his job by overriding the transaction and pretending Elodie had been in the wrong. The system was a fricking joke. 

She worked through the remainder of her line, some broken things or others returned within the window. It was easy, mindless busywork that got her through the day.

When the line was gone, the store again sank into stillness around her counter.

She loved the stillness when it meant she didn’t have to help anyone, but she also hated it, as she sat on the edge of anxiety, waiting for the next customer.

This was temporary, but she didn’t know how temporary, and that scared her. When life became still, that fear moved back in—the fear of sitting here day after day watching her life pass her by, the fear of waiting forever in one world while what and who she really wanted grew old and faded away in another—so she tried to fill the stillness with TV or a book, or sleep. Anything to distract herself. She reached under the counter for the book waiting for her.

The automatic doors across the store opened again and Elodie sighed and straightened, her professional expression firmly back in place. It was slow today, but not so slow she could get away with reading.

A woman walked in. She was about the same age as Elodie, but where Elodie was frumpy with day-old mascara and a messy bun, one dry shampoo session away from being a powdered wig, this woman was refined and beautiful in her two-hundred-dollar dress and shoes that cost at least as much. She looked like she worked at a fancy art gallery in the city and had just stepped out for lunch. Her cream wrap dress brought out the rich gold tones of her dark skin. Her hair was natural and lovely, pulled back in an elegant twist, every curl in place. The woman crossed the store, heading straight for the customer service counter, her walk graceful, each step filled with purpose. She set her bag on the counter and looked at Elodie with a dry expression.

I need to return this bag. It’s ripped, see? The woman thrust the perfectly fine bag under Elodie’s nose.

Elodie sighed again and leaned forward. She propped her elbow on the counter and rested her chin in her hand. We don’t even sell bags.

The look on the woman’s face morphed into outrage, her perfectly applied pink lipstick bent and contorted as she sneered. This is absolutely unacceptable. I demand to speak to your manager!

The corners of Elodie’s mouth started to lift slightly. Is your life really so empty that you insist on picking fights with menial workers?

The woman sighed and crossed her arms in front of her chest. It wouldn’t be if my best friend made time for me once in a while.

Elodie rolled her eyes. Ness, you’re working days, and I’m working mostly nights. That’s not my fault. You spent last weekend hiding in your studio and wouldn’t even let me see your painting!

Vanessa fluttered her hand at Elodie. Details.

Are you on lunch? Elodie asked.

Yeah, can you get away?

Elodie pinched the microphone by her ear again and called for a manager to relieve her. Where do you want to go? she asked Vanessa.

Ooo, how about that new sushi place? I’ve been dying to try it.

Ness, it’s fifteen minutes away. I only have a half-hour lunch.

That’s fine, you should quit your job, anyway.

And do what? A manager showed up and nodded to Elodie. She clocked out and headed for the exit of the store with her best friend.

You can do whatever. I make enough to support both of us.

Since when?

Vanessa had always made good money, but not quit-your-job-and-let-me-be-your-sugar-momma money.

A few steps out of the store, Vanessa stopped and looked at Elodie. Since I got promoted from Assistant to Associate Curator last week, she said with a sly smile.

Ness! That’s amazing! Elodie sprung forward and hugged her friend. Vanessa broke into giggles and hugged Elodie back. Why didn’t you tell me?

Vanessa sighed. Every trace of the tough professional woman gone and in her place stood Elodie’s oldest friend in dressy clothes and makeup, but still the same shining sunbeam.

You know me, I got all in my head about it. Can I handle the new responsibilities, am I going to make a fool of myself, am I just their affirmative action hire, will Margaret ever see me as anything other than the nineteen-year-old college intern she interviewed four years ago? Do I even want the job? Is the additional pay just going to make me stay and settle instead of branching out and taking risks? Vanessa ended her speech with a small flourish of her arms and Elodie smiled.

You know the answers to all of that. You got the job because you’ve been working there for years and everyone in that building knows what an asset you are. You’re going to do amazing. And you need to stop listening to your dad about the rest of the stuff. Just because he scoffs at anyone not willing to spend their first ten professional years as a starving artist doesn’t mean you have to. You love your art, but if it’s all you did, you would go mad. I’ve seen the high you get when you find a good piece to add to a collection, you love your job and you’re good at it.

So you don’t think I’m a sellout? Vanessa asked in a soft voice.

Elodie laughed and gave her friend another small squeeze. No. You’re making great connections and you have plenty of time to focus on your own work. I think you’re exactly where you need to be.

Vanessa nodded once and took a deep breath, straightening her posture. So this means you’ll quit your job?

Elodie rubbed her face with her hand. Shut up and pick where you want to eat. My time is running out.

What are my options?

Elodie gestured to the three fast-food restaurants bordering the small shopping center. The world is before you. Choose and make it yours, she said in a dramatic voice.

Vanessa laughed and started walking toward the closest building with pictures of brightly colored food on the windows. I could say the same about you, El. You’re miserable. When you aren’t working, you’re sleeping. It’s not healthy. You need something more . . . So here’s my plan. 

Elodie flashed her a look, eyebrows raised.

Quit your job and spend the next few months sending out resumes again. I can cover bills until you find something, Vanessa finished

What’s the point? They never hire me, and I don’t interview well. She sighed again. They start asking why I majored in medieval history and economics, and my lies are never convincing. Then they ask me where I see myself in five years, and I freeze up.

Well, Ben said they are hiring, and he’s like, crazy into ren fairs so I bet he won’t bat an eye.

Who’s Ben again?

You know, that cute guy I tried to fix you up with six months ago, the one who works at the office next to the art house. They’re hiring an office coordinator and I really think you would enjoy the work.

Elodie threw her head back and groaned, so many emotions rushing through her, it was overwhelming to try and isolate a single thought. It sounds like a lot of work for something that's not going to lead anywhere.

Vanessa was silent for a long moment as they approached the restaurant, and when she spoke, it was soft. El, I know you don’t want to say yes to anything that’s more than a day’s commitment, but you can’t keep living like this. It’s been seven years.

Seven years, three months, and two days to be exact. And every additional day sent down a crushing weight of hopelessness that threatened to smash her into a gooey puddle. She shook her head. This is temporary.

Allen has another plan he’s trying, Elodie said, as though it was a suitable answer. They reached the building and Elodie held the door open for Vanessa, but she didn’t walk through.

Allen’s plans never work, El. And if it does, that’s wonderful. I’m happy for you. But it could happen in an hour, or in another five years. You’ve been waiting this long, and you’ve been miserable. If you’re going to keep waiting, why not work toward something that will make the wait just a little more enjoyable? Why put your life and your happiness on hold for an unknown date?

Elodie looked away from her friend and blinked fast, trying to calm the flood of emotions raging to the surface. She couldn’t let them out. Life was so much easier when she was numb to it. She didn’t know how to tell her friend that every time she thought about getting a different job, or doing something more with her life, she felt like she was giving up on her hopes and dreams, on the future she wished for with all her heart. It was so much easier to live a temporary minimum-wage life than to admit it might not be temporary after all.

But if she opened her mouth to explain, she would start crying before the second word came out, and then she’d go back to work with puffy eyes. So instead Elodie scrunched up the emotions in a tight little knot and walked through the door she’d been holding open for her best friend and ordered her lunch.

Chapter Two

A sigh of relief escaped Elodie’s lips as she turned onto her street. There had been a small rush of customers right before closing and Elodie had been late leaving the store. She’d run the distance to the docks and barely made the last ferry. Just one of the downsides to living on a small island across the bay from the city. If she’d missed the ferry Vanessa would come pick her up, but the round-trip journey around the bay would mean at least an hour and a half out of Vanessa’s night, and while Vanessa would never complain, Elodie hated depending on other people. It made her feel even more useless than she already was.

The porch light of the old Victorian home was on as Elodie walked up the stone path and pulled her keys from her jacket pocket. The house had belonged to Vanessa’s grandma, a sweet, kind woman who had always treated Elodie like part of the family. She’d lived in this home for fifty years and renovated it constantly, keeping its historical charm while updating it for comfort and convenience. It was three stories of light lilac siding, white gingerbread trim, gray shingles, and an octagonal corner tower. Ornate stained-glass panels depicting beautiful sunflowers lined both sides of the front door, now dark. In the early afternoon, the sun shone through the stained glass, lighting up the house with dazzling sunlight.

Elodie opened the door to a dark foyer and clicked on the light. She was greeted by an indignant meow.

Hey, Mortimer. She took the snacks off the small stand by the door and dutifully doled one out to the cat. The black and gray tabby hopped down from a bookcase and rubbed against Elodie’s khaki pants and ate his treat before wandering off. It was as much affection as he would ever show her.

She wanted a cat. One who was just hers, like Morty was just Vanessa’s. He wouldn’t come to Elodie for snuggles unless Vanessa was out of the house for at least three days and none of their other roommates were home. She looked up the dark staircase to the second-floor hallway where all the lights were off. Her other roommates were never home.

Elodie dragged herself down the hall past a tall vase of wilting sunflowers on a side table, as she made her way to the kitchen. The faint beat of music flowed from the door to her left, leading to the sunroom Vanessa had converted into a studio. She didn’t want to disturb her painting session or get into another conversation like they’d had at lunch, so she didn’t knock to tell her she was home. Instead, Elodie pulled some leftover lasagna from the fridge, grabbed a fork, and took the cold food into the den. She curled up on the couch under a knit blanket Kat had made her for Christmas and turned on the latest show she’d been binging. It was late, and she should go to bed, but it was always hard to sleep right after work. She just needed a few minutes to veg out and forget the world.

Elodie studied the TV, trying to figure out if her favorite character, who had just died, was dead or if they would come back as a surprise twist. In the middle of the main character’s heartbreaking monolog a wet thump and the patter of water on hardwood floor announced a woman materializing out of nothing in the living room of the Victorian house. Elodie glanced to her left at the newcomer steadying herself on the side table. Her straight, black hair dripped and the pale golden skin of her rounded features reflected the light. She was beautiful in a soaking wet and not even trying kind of way. Well, she kind of looked wet. Her clothes were dry but growing wetter by the moment as water seeped into the fabric. It was as if she’d been submerged in water before suddenly appearing in a totally different place and time, wearing dry clothes.

It was just another basic display of magic trumping physics as had become commonplace in their household. Just not so commonplace that Elodie could take part. She took another bite of lasagna and turned her eyes back to the TV as the fading shimmers of ruakh dissipated around her roommate. Hey Sam, she said flatly.

Elodie! You’ll never guess who I saw! Sam pulled up the hem of her somewhat dry blouse and rubbed the water off her face as she rushed to Elodie’s side. Sam’s brown wide-set eyes nearly glowed with excitement.

Sam, you’re dripping on the carpet.

The carpet, like many things in the house, was an antique and while Vanessa wasn’t overly protective of the furniture, believing a home should be lived in, the rest of them tried hard to be respectful of Vanessa’s things.

Yeah, I was in the baths. Sam pinched a lock of her hair and looked it over. At least the soap is gone, and I’m wearing clothes. She grinned. Elodie didn’t grin back.

Sam moved into the kitchen and grabbed the towel hanging on the oven. Come on, El, guess who I saw! She moved to the edge of the linoleum and started toweling off her hair.

I have no clue who you saw in the baths, Elodie said, turning back to her show. She really didn’t want to talk about Sam’s exciting trip to the one place Elodie couldn’t follow.

No, not in the baths. Sam threw the towel, now saturated with water, at Elodie. It hit her perfectly in the face.

Oh, come on, Sam!

"There was a delegation visiting Leronia. It was a delegation from Aluna, and the steward was with them. Your steward."

Elodie sat up. Silas? You saw Silas? Excitement rushed into Elodie’s stomach and hope bloomed in her chest, the show now forgotten.

Yeah! We talked about you.

Elodie was on her feet and in front of Sam in an instant.

What did you tell him? What did he say? Was he okay?

Well, he’s a little older than he was the last time we saw him, obviously, but not like old. She paused. The age gap isn’t big. I think you guys can still make it work.

Elodie’s stomach turned over. Sam, stop. It’s not like that.

Yeah, because you’re stuck here, for now.

The hope in her chest shriveled up and died, and Elodie sighed. She grabbed another hand towel from the drawer and mopped up the worst of the wet spots on the hardwood floor and carpet.

Anyway, did you know he and Allen have been corresponding over the last few years?

Like Allen tells me anything he does. Elodie was done with this conversation. Anything Sam told her now would only make it harder when she went to bed and tried to ignore the heartache, forget the wants and desires that keep her awake.

Well, apparently Silas has been very involved with trying to break the spell, or as involved as Allen will let him. He has all of Aluna’s mages focusing on the topic, and they pass reports and theories to Allen.

Allen must be loving the help. Elodie rolled her eyes and Sam grinned. Allen didn’t play well with others, and he was chronically proud.

The last two experiments Allen attempted were based on some of their plans, so at least he’s being receptive. From what I heard, it sounds like Silas has been incredibly diplomatic, setting the whole thing up so Allen is in charge, and Aluna’s mages are there only for the research heavy lifting.

Elodie smiled and sunk back onto the couch. Now that sounded like her Silas, a leader of people in all the best ways. Elodie let herself hope again, just for a moment. Maybe if Allen’s next plan works . . .

It won’t.

What? The hope again died.

Yeah, he tried already and obviously it didn’t work, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation. That’s actually why Silas was in Leronia; he’d been in Pundica convinced Allen’s last plan would work, and when it didn’t, he went to Leronia following up on some business, so the trip wasn’t a waste.

Ugh. Elodie sunk deeper into the couch.

This is temporary.

A pang of jealousy pounded in her chest. It wasn’t Sam’s fault the ruakh wasn’t letting her travel. It wasn’t Sam’s fault she got to see Silas when it was the only thing Elodie wanted in any world.

Morty pawed at her lasagna. You won’t like that, she told the cat. She shut off the TV and stood. Well, I should get to bed. It’s late.

Sam put a hand on her shoulder to stop her before she went upstairs. Listen, Elodie, we will figure it out. We’ll solve this eventually and break the spell.

Elodie nodded, though sometimes she didn’t believe it. She looked down at the vase of sunflowers wilting on the small table. There was just enough ruakh clinging to Sam so soon after her travel that Elodie could feel it. She gathered it to herself, reaching down deep inside to the sleepy forgotten pocket of magic inside of her, and pushed it out into the flowers, bringing the sunflowers back to brilliant health.

She let out a breath. It was a small act of defiance against the spell that held her. Trapped in this world of no magic, not even able to travel back to the life she wanted.

Elodie climbed the stairs to her second-floor bedroom next to Vanessa’s. As kids, she and Vanessa always took over the tower room, and when they moved in during their second year of college just after Vanessa’s grandma passed and left the house to her only grandchild, Elodie and Vanessa had again slept in the small tower room while they packed up the rest of the house with the help of Vanessa’s parents. When Vanessa moved in full time and asked Elodie to move in with her, she’d offered the tower room to Elodie, but eventually they decided to take the two larger bedrooms on the second floor and turn the tower room into a library. Elodie was glad, climbing those stairs every night would have sucked.

Turning on her bedroom light, she was greeted with the soft lily-pad-green paint poking out from behind her bookcases and shelves. The wall behind Elodie’s desk was covered in a garden scene, or what a garden would look like if Elodie was only a few inches tall. Beautiful flowers, old gnarled roots, and climbing vines covered the wall in a cascade of colors. Vanessa had painted it the weekend before Elodie moved in as a surprise, and it was Elodie’s favorite part of the house.

She lightly touched the dry flower sitting in a vase on her dresser and changed into her pajamas. She was tired, but she didn’t really want to go to bed yet. Lying in bed and staring at her phone for a few hours felt like a reliable solution, so she turned off the light and crawled under the thick quilt.

With the lights off, the old flower sitting on her desk glowed softly in the dark. It was a flower not of this world. A sprig of fairies’ breath, picked for her by Silas on her last travel. In the Twoshy the flower would glow every evening at twilight, but here in the magicless illusion it only glowed when the ruakh was close. With Sam having recently traveled back, there was enough ruakh to spread the soft moon glow across her room.

Elodie sighed into her pillow and set down her phone. Closing her eyes, she could imagine the ruakh was there for her, that it was scooping her up and tossing her through the infinite nothing, spinning and twisting through darkness until she landed on her homeland. Gedas, her longtime mentor, would be there waiting for her, and by his side would be Silas.

Her phone buzzed. Elodie groaned and picked it up. It was a message from Asher. He was the most recent addition to their group of Misplaced Children, and as far as any of them could figure, he was the last one they could find.

When they’d been trapped in the illusion as babies, the spell had captured all the heirs of the fourteen kingdoms of the Twoshy within a specific age. Kat’s older brother, Thomas, was the oldest of them, about four when he was taken. Slowly, as they traveled, they found each other. Diego and Thomas met first, and then he found his sister Kat at the magical university where she knew Allen. The twins, Christopher and Kirk, always traveled together, and they found Tristan. Then slowly the group merged and they met up with the others, Sam, Rick, and eventually Elodie.

Thomas, the responsible elder by a few months, had made it his mission to find them all, and then get together once back in the illusion. The support, of knowing you weren’t alone, was everything. Roughly two dozen kids had been Misplaced, but from what Thomas could find, only eleven had ever traveled back.

Asher was from a smaller kingdom in the very north of the Twoshy, and he kept pretty quiet up there. It took a long time for Thomas to find him and for him to join the rest of them. Elodie had never met him in the Twoshy, but they’d exchanged a few texts and emails in the pursuit of breaking the spell and played a few video games for pure enjoyment. He was brilliant. His mind worked faster than Elodie could follow, and his understanding of magical theory was staggering. He