Chapter 17

It was past dark when the outpost came into view. Zoey’s legs ached from the walk. She hadn’t been an inactive person back home, but she’d been exerting herself (in more than a few meanings of the word) constantly since waking ten hours ago, and the activities had taken their toll. Fortunately, she had magical assistance to lean on. The murky-yellow potions they’d looted provided a supernatural boost in stamina which eased her pained muscles, and the blisters she had started to collect were washed away by their red counterparts, the health potions.

Magic. Super convenient stuff.

They had stumbled on a dirt path after an hour of walking. Whether by providence or luck, Zoey didn’t know. Rosalie said it was faster than usual, but most ventures back to town were short things. From there, a two hour’s trip led them to the edges of a tiny outpost. She meant tiny; there were six or seven buildings in total. Outposts were scattered all throughout the Fractures, ready to host people in her and Rosalie’s situation, and since the Fractures were already less populous than Haven—where the bulk of this world’s society lived—these outposts usually held less than twenty people, and much of them were migratory.

Zoey admired the architecture as Rosalie beelined to the inn, where they’d be resting for the night. The buildings were well-made but distinctly medieval-European. She intuited a few answers to her earlier musings: the world’s technology level wasn’t quite caught up to Zoey’s. That was bizarre to think about. She hoped she wouldn’t be lacking too many modern amenities. Zoey would miss cellphones and being able to look up whatever she wanted, when she wanted, but it wasn’t something she’d die without. Running water, plumbing, air conditioning, and such? She hoped Rosalie’s world had figured out magical alternatives to those, because she’d feel those absences much more sharply.

Entering the tiny inn (at a guess, it could host up to four; these outposts weren’t meant to be stayed at for long, or see traffic in general) Zoey saw they had at least figured out pseudo-electrical lighting: warm yellow lights hummed in the ceilings, some—what appeared to be—arcane symbol carved into the glass, and only visible because Zoey had squinted up at it in curiosity. The lantern left a black afterimage. Zoey briefly, and humorously, wondered if a health potion would make it go away faster, but she didn’t test it; she simply blinked the imprint away while Rosalie greeted a heavyset innkeeper at the counter.

Emphasis on heavy-set.

For, uh.

A couple reasons.

The man was made of granite.

What the hell, Zoey thought. She had given thought to the possibility of other races existing in this world, but she’d forgotten about it, truth told. Until here, now, with an animated piece of rock hunched over the counter and speaking to Rosalie.

“One night, and a meal in the morning, if you please.” Rosalie spoke to him with the dismissive nature of someone used to making these professional arrangements. The fact he was a person composed of chunky, interlocking blocks of stone didn’t provide the slightest reaction; this was an utterly mundane sight to Rosalie.

The innkeeper didn’t seem offended for Rosalie’s brusqueness. He was blinking sleep out of his eyes, with her and Rosalie having arrived past when he’d settled down for the night. The bleariness was seriously odd for how humanizing it was. Zoey shook away the disorientation; she didn’t want to be caught staring. This should seem normal to her, even accounting for amnesia.

“Two rooms or one?” the rock-man asked.

“Tw—” Rosalie barely started, before being interrupted by Zoey.

“One is fine.”

Rosalie narrowed her eyes at Zoey, but after Zoey grinned at her, she conceded. “One is fine.”

Coins passed hands, and the innkeeper handed them a key and gave directions. He ambled off through the door behind him. To his own quarters? Zoey stared at his enormous back as he went. The rock-man was built like a boulder, forgive the pun.

Rosalie and Zoey walked up crickety stairs and retired in a small but well-furnished room. Zoey explored the space, interested. With her first impression of the old building, she’d expected using the restroom would include an outhouse, but she quickly found that wasn’t true. There was a bathroom in the inn room, their own, and it was furnished with running water, a sink, toilet, and a metal tub. There was even a shower head sticking from a pole. Zoey released a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. She wouldn’t have to be dealing with medieval-times bathroom procedures. Maybe not quite up to modern standards, but there was plumbing. How? Magic, Zoey was sure. She didn’t care. Hot water, and a shower, sounded heavenly.

She paused at the mirror above the sink. It was the first time Zoey had seen herself since the changes. A hand traced her cheek and nose as she inspected herself, an inexplicable feeling of dread settling in. This wasn’t her face. Or even her. This person in the mirror was too beautiful, too flawless. There were hints of Zoey, sure. She recognized her features. The ratios and structure were similar. But anything that could remotely be called a flaw had been smoothed over. Her hair was a glossy, gorgeous black, almost comically attractive for how chaotic the day had been. It ought to be covered in grime, dirt, and tangled. Which it kind of was, but looked rugged for the fact. Good, not gross.

She grimaced and looked away. Maybe eventually she’d be appreciative of what Ephy had done to her, but right now, it bordered on upsetting. Zoey had liked her face. It wasn’t perfect, and she’d been fine with that. She hadn’t needed, or wanted, ‘fixing’.

And that was just her face. Her body had seen plenty of changes too. More comprehensive ones.

Deal with it later.

A smaller voice said, or never. Don’t think about it all.

“Hey,” Zoey called. “You want first shower? Or do you want to share?”

Rosalie appeared in the bathroom doorway. “I permitted this under the assumption you wouldn’t be ... well, yourself. Don’t push things. You take the first, and I won’t be joining.”

“Just offering,” Zoey grinned. “A ‘no’ would’ve been enough.”

Rosalie rolled her eyes and left. “Don’t take too long,” she said. “I feel disgusting.”