My eyes slowly opened and I saw my bed and then, beyond that, my bedroom.
In Seattle.
Holy crap!
I turned to my back and looked to the side of the bed. Sitting in one of my dining room table chairs was me.
Or… the other me.
“Circe?” I whispered and she smiled.
“Sit up, my twin,” she whispered back, moving off the chair bent toward me, she helped me pull myself up and arranged pillows behind me.
I stared at her in shock.
Totally me. The spitting image. Wearing my clothes but having had a haircut in the last few months.
She sat back down and scooted a bit forward, taking my hand.
“You know I am not you?” she enquired.
I nodded.
“You know who I am?” she continued.
I nodded again and she smiled.
“You worked out what happened,” she whispered.
I nodded yet again and she nodded back.
“How are you?” she asked.
Flipped out was how I was. Totally.
“Um…”
“Still tired?” she went on.
I nodded.
“Are you thirsty, hungry?”
I shook my head though I was. I was both.
“How…?” I started and she shook her head this time.
“I do not know. Though you clearly have powers, like me. That said, Harold tells me you never did and, indeed, he told me no one in this world does. But he is wrong; those holding power here are smarter than we at home. They keep it guarded, the most guarded secret. This is wise. Nevertheless, it is clear from your extreme exhaustion that you discovered how to spirit yourself out of that world to your home. I felt the same when I…” she hesitated, her face going soft yet cautious, “spirited myself.”
I knew it. She totally bailed.
Good for her. Way bad for me.
“We have been searching,” she continued, “to find a way to bring you home. My magic is depleted. I did not know, though had been warned, but it takes much power to move between worlds, vast amounts. I feel it growing inside me but it is feeble and it may take years, even decades, for it to replenish. But we have located a witch in this world who we thought could help. Before we could try, you returned.” She smiled a small smile. “This is good and has caused our father great relief.”
“Our father?” I whispered and she gave a small, wary shrug, still smiling.
“He has forgiven me for what I’ve done to you, especially since I have worked so hard to locate this witch at the same time trying to find ways to rebuild my own powers to bring you home. My father was murdered by my king when I was very young so that he could um… well…” She stopped then went on, “I have talked much with your father. I have explained things and we have grown close.” Her eyes grew warm. “He is a fine man and has a big heart. He says since my father looked exactly like him, but, of course, through memory, much younger, then he is really my father anyway, in a way.” She smiled again. “But I still call him Harold.”