The 200-Year Bride Swap

(Alicia)

I wake with a start, the incessant buzzing of my phone against my thigh having done the trick. I ignore it, let it buzz to its little heart’s content. Whoever it is can leave a message.

But now that I’m awake, I take note of my surroundings. Oh hell. What did I do?

The room smelled like old beer and too-much perfume and something warmer, darker. Six people lay scattered across the furniture, asleep in that awful, sudden way that follows too many drinks and too little care. I knew two sets of breathing: Shannon and Phoebe, Ruben and Dimitri. The other two were strangers, unfamiliar weights and a human scent that didn’t belong to our crowd.

They’d been close together, careless and collapsed. Phoebe’s face rested against a stranger’s chest; Shannon was half-rolled beneath Dimitri; Ruben had an arm flung across someone else. The scene said the night had been loud and messy. It said things I didn’t want to commit to memory.

I reached up and discovered a sticky smear across my collarbone. Someone had spilled something, left heat and residue where skin should have been. I gagged, grabbed a stray bra from the arm of the couch and wiped at it with one hand while keeping my tank top clutched open with the other. I’d stayed clothed, as usual. These cargo pants are so tight they need peeling off, anyway. That was a small mercy.

The buzzing starts up again, but I leave it safely in its side pocket against my thigh while I sit up and rub my face. I may have partied a bit too much, and this lot clearly did too.

I slid from the couch on bare feet and padded to the door. Where the hell are we? The corridor outside smelled of stale smoke and the echo of the night. At one end a door gave to an emergency exit, then to an alley and sunlight. I pushed it and let the brightness punch the dark out of my eyes.

The bloody phone starts buzzing again. I fish it out of my pocket and stare at the screen. Hell no.

Without answering, I put the phone back where it came from and look around. At the end of the alleyway cars are zooming up and down a busy street. My feet take me in that direction.

I really should try harder not to end up in situations like this. Sighing, I look up and down the street for any clues as to where I might be. Juniper and Close, the street signs on the corner said when I looked that way. Another sign on the wall next to me read 'Mike's Bar'. Not a place I’d planned to remember.

I fish my phone out again and type in the location. I’m in an area downtown that I’ve never been to before. Just going by reputation, this is not an area I should be in either. It’s one of those spots we tend to avoid because its right on that murky line where several supernatural species’ borders meet.

I think about going back and waking my four acquaintances, but then I hesitate. It’s better for me if I make a clean getaway before they wake up. There’s four of them, they’ll be fine, I tell myself and open my Uber app. Time to go.

My phone buzzes another five times on the drive over to my place. It vibrated like a tiny, insistent animal the whole way home. Every time I glance at the screen, note the caller, and ignore it. I don’t have the energy to deal with my father’s lackeys right now. He can wait. Nothing can be that important.

Safely back home, I strip and almost run into a scalding hot shower. The shower was a small baptism. Hot water hammered the night off my skin and out of my hair until the water ran clear and I could tell myself the world had been washed of it. I pulled on soft tights, an oversized hoodie, Uggs and the armor of indifference. I plan on binge-watching something. But first, breakfast.

I really, really want bacon and eggs, but I really, really don’t want to go through the effort of making it myself. And I am too hungry to wait for a food delivery service, so I settle for cereal and milk and start planning what pizza to order for later.

Halfway through my bowl of cereal there is a loud knock on the door. Sighing, I put the bowl down and went to open it. My mood sours as soon as I see who is waiting outside.

“Princess Alicia. You have been summoned,” the dour-faced man in the three-piece suit says before I can close the door in his face. He is flanked by two heavies. They are clearly not going to take no for an answer. Maybe I should have answered those phone calls, or at least have listened to the messages without deleting them.