A Curse of Shadows

The hasty attendant cuts me off with glowering, brown eyes. “You’re blocking traffic, ma’am. Pay the toll. There’s no need to be difficult.”

“I wasn’t trying to be.”

Before I can say anything, she shoves the card scanner toward my face.

Maybe I should have just stayed on top of the mountain.

I grab my debit card from my purse and grudgingly pay the stupid toll. She doesn’t even thank me, just ushers me along toward the ginormous bridge.

I’m doing okay until the pavement turns into what looks like a steel grate for a road and my car begins to rattle, vibrating my body and making my teeth chatter. “Don’t you dare break down on this bridge, Susie. I will send you to the scrapyard.”

Hovering over my steering wheel, I pull down my visor to block the rising sun’s rays and ignore the frantic beat of my heart. This is just a new adventure. Everything is fine. I’m not going to die. I’m not lost. Life is great.

The glare of the sun grows brighter, and I take my foot off the gas because I can’t see a damn thing. If I hit someone right now, I will jump right off this bridge.

Okay, maybe not really, but seriously, I can’t handle an accident on top of taking the wrong road twice, getting myself farther from home each time.

The shaking stops as heat fills my car, seeping through my skin, calming my racing heart. Well, that’s odd. I blink several times, but the light only grows brighter until there’s nothing other than a blinding kaleidoscope of fiery oranges, pinks, and reds surrounding me.

This is getting too weird.

I move my foot, intending to press on the accelerator again, but there’s nothing there. One second, I’m sitting in the driver’s seat, and the next, I’m in a ball of light, floating within its warmth and inhaling…flowers? Sugar? Something sweet, but that’s not the point here.

I’ve officially lost my mind.

Closing my eyes, I try to pinch myself, but controlling my own movements doesn’t seem possible. In fact, I’m not even sure I’m still alive. Holy shit, did I just die?

I wasn’t even going thirty miles an hour. Did the bridge collapse and I can’t remember those last few moments as my car plunged into the Columbia? No freaking way.

“Welcome back to Lunara,” a man’s kind voice says as I’m still surrounded by light. “Did you have a—” There’s a sharp gasp before he adds, “Princess Isobella, you’ve returned.”

My vision clears, and what the hell is this?

I’m in a cave of sorts. The cavernous area is a mix of light and shadows and shimmering rock walls, with a ceiling that seems to disappear into the darkness above. The air is cool and crisp and causes goosebumps to rise on my arms.

When I look down, I’m no longer dressed in the yoga pants and sweatshirt I was wearing two minutes ago. I’m clothed in a floor-length gown made of silk that feels weightless against my body. The dark-blue color clings to my curves but doesn’t restrict my movements as I turn around.

There’s only darkness behind me, and I notice I’m standing on a platform made of engraved stone and a metal emblem that seems to pulse with some sort of vibrating energy.

I start to kneel, feeling lightheaded, but I catch the stare of the man who greeted me, reminding me that I’m not alone.

The stranger is on one knee, dressed in dark, cotton pants and a matching long-sleeved button-up shirt and holding some sort of silver staff with a blue stone at the top that resembles the color of my dress. His head is bowed, but his light-green eyes keep flickering toward me.

When he finds me watching him, there seem to be a million questions dancing within his stare, but he manages to settle on just one. “Are you in distress, Princess Isobella?”

“Um, I’m not sure. And my name is Isla, not Isobella,” I tell him, then that twinge in my chest returns.

His face contorts briefly. “Your face and essence… You must be our lost princess.”

I’ve officially lost my mind, or maybe I’m dreaming. Yes, that must be it. I drank too much wine last night as I pouted over having nothing to do on a Friday night. This is a hangover dream, one I’m ready to be done with.

I start to pinch myself and notice perfectly manicured nails gracing my hands. Not only that, but the scar on my right ring finger that’s been there since I was in third grade and cut myself on a can of ravioli is no longer present.

“What the hell is happening to me and why can’t I wake up?” I ask myself, but this stranger seems to believe I’m speaking to him.

He’s still bowed, and his frown only deepens. “I’m going to alert King Asher.”

“I need to wake up. I need to wake up. I need to wake up!” I close my eyes and grip the sides of my hair. The tips of my fingers brush over a cool metal, and when I reopen my eyes, my normally blonde hair is…rose gold with white and auburn highlights. This can’t be real. It’s not possible.