"The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes."

-Marcel Proust

The enigmatic man that moved in next door laughed nervously, then awkwardly unentangled himself from me. "Well..." His eyes zeroed in on his stylish sneakers, which he scuffed against the hardwood floor of the living room.

My eyes roamed over him after he trailed off. He wore embellished, dark gray jogger pants with drawstrings. A loose black tee draped over his torso. Some of his tattoos were visible and part of me wanted to uncover the rest of them.

There was something else I noticed: the weight placed on his shoulders was evident in the way he held himself.

When he finally got around to what he wanted to say, he sounded dejected. "So, now that you've seen him, I need to keep a closer eye on you." His eyes slowly rose to meet mine and a fierce determination pervaded them. I felt I misjudged him at the bar.

For some reason I placed trust in this man. It was comforting that someone was looking out for me. I just wish I knew why it was needed.

After a few seconds of holding his gaze, I noticed some memories captured on polaroids that hung from mini clothespins on a string along the wall behind his head. There was one that drew my attention.

It was a photo of a young woman with long, dark, wavy hair contained under a red baseball cap that she had on backwards. She stuck out her tongue and flipped off the camera. She had a black crop top on under her faded overalls. The cheeky woman stood on the beach, denim pants legs rolled up to her knees. Behind her was a place I recognized from childhood: the Santa Monica pier.

I vaguely wondered if the woman in the picture was his mom. The photo appeared to have been taken in the early 90s based on the fashion. Impossibly, she looked familiar.

He cleared his throat as if to say 'Hellooo, earth to Riona.' It took me a second to remember what we were talking about.

My teeth bit down on my bottom lip, as I debated whether or not to ask him what 'keeping an eye on me' entailed. Instead, I chose to focus on the man from earlier. "Him, who?"

His response didn't actually give me any answers. If anything, it left me with more questions. "The one who called you Catarina." He looked disturbed.

This was all a bit too much to handle. Couldn't I go back to the days before all of this weird stuff had happened? Ever since this stranger blew into town, my world had gone topsy-turvy. I had the feeling it wasn't his fault, so much as that he was here to help me. He hadn't given me any reason to doubt him, besides not answering my questions. At this point, I don't think I had a choice except to rely on him for help. I still didn't like being in the dark, though.

Being unable to reflect on what was happening without zoinking out into another episode was starting to get to me. If it weren't for my anti-doctor upbringing, I might have checked myself into a mental institution.

"And just who is he?" Of course, I didn't expect him to answer but I tried anyway. If I just knew then maybe this would be easier. "I deserve to know! You're obviously freaked out by this guy. If I'm in some kind of danger, I should be better informed!" I poked him in the chest.

He looked...guilty. "Listen, Cat. I wish things were different. I wish I could tell you!" His voice rose and he sounded angry, though I didn't know if he was angry at me or himself. "But I can't, okay, so just stop!" I flinched at the emotion in his voice.

Why did this stranger care so much about me? A bitter, resentful part of me reared its ugly head. I thought, 'If he cares so much, why won't he tell me what was happening?'

I lost it a little bit, just a smidgen. "I can't stop! This is all too weird. You come into town on 'business,'" I put air quotes around the word, "And all of a sudden, everything starts spinning out of control. Why is that? Who are you?!" I looked down and fiddled with a button on my flannel. It wasn't fair to shout at him like that, to blame him.

At this point, I wasn't too confident in my own sanity. However, there was one matter of which I was absolutely certain—he had all of the answers to the questions burning in my mind. Unfortunately for me, he had the answers under lock and key.

The man in question pinched the bridge of his nose in between his fingers, then let out a long breath. "If we are going to be here a while, at least let me put on some tea." Funny, he hadn't even really been there but he echoed the time spent at my house moments ago when I made him tea.

He rose from the leather sofa. I followed him into the kitchen. No way did I want to be left alone so that I could fall through another door into a dungeon. His kitchen was bright and open, which was comforting. Very non-dungeonlike.

There were a few cactus plants on the kitchen window sill. Through the window, I could see my house and a line of trees that led to the backyard. A bird of prey flew over my yard and a shiver ran down my spine.

I think I made him nervous by pacing. "You can have a seat, you know."

"Nope, I'm good." I shook my head. The clock hanging on the wall signaled that I had an hour before mom got home. "Shit! I need to make mom dinner!" I turned reluctantly towards the door, pausing in my tracks.

"Listen, you obviously don't want to be left alone. Stay, let me make your tea. And—" He stepped over to his fridge and opened the freezer door—"I have a frozen lasagna in here that I premade just for occasions like this. We can bake that and bring it over to your mom." He sensed my hesitation. "I promise, it's good. You've gone through a lot today. You don't need to worry about cooking, too."

Without waiting for an answer, he preheated his oven and sat the frozen lasagna on the stove. A typical defiant retort got caught in my throat. He turned the knob to heat one of the burners and placed a tea kettle on it. "What kind of tea would you like?"

"Black tea is fine." I crossed my arms over my chest.

He reached for a box of tea from the cupboard above the stove. "Cream? Sugar?" His head tilted to the side when he asked how I liked my tea, causing his curls to fall to the side and frame his face. His blue eyes shone in the light coming in through the window.

I cleared my throat. "Neither." Most people voiced their shock at my sucrose-abstinent tea and coffee but he simply smiled.

He pulled down a fire engine red coffee mug with white script. It read 'Congraduations, Valerie! Class of '95.' He dropped two teabags into the mug. Perfect, I loved my tea strong.

While he waited for the kettle to whistle and the oven to preheat, he settled himself against the countertop opposite of where I stood. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. An idea formed in my head so I voiced it. "Okay, hear me out. You won't tell me anything but could you at least answer yes or no questions?"

His chest rose and fell with a deep sigh. He contemplated for a moment before answering. "That depends on the questions, I suppose."

Then, I'd have to ask the right questions. The one at the forefront of my mind slipped out. "Am I going insane?"

He actually had the nerve to laugh. "Well, no, not really. You're not crazy." Hmm. I didn't know whether that made me feel better or worse. I rested my elbows on the counter behind me.

So, if I wasn't crazy, "Are the visions I'm having real?"

"Yeah." He stroked his chin as he thought further. He decided to give me a bit more information. "Not everything you see will come to pass. Not everything you see is real. But everything you see has truth in it."

It was a struggle to stick to yes or no questions, when all I wanted to do was ask him to expand upon his answers. For instance, how did I know what was real and what wasn't? "Is Nana real?" I held my breath as I waited for validation of her existence.

The recognition in his eyes told me the truth before he did. "Yes. She's real."

My breath came out in a whoosh. "You brought me the amulet from her desk drawer." But I already knew that. So, she had to be real.

His head nodded in affirmation. That means she was closer than I thought, since he was able to retrieve the amulet so quickly. Were the faerie stories my father had told me as a child real?

"Once upon a time, there was a beautiful faerie named Naomi. She was brave and kind. She went on lots adventures with her friends." My dad's voice was soft and comforting. He sat at the foot of my bed, stroking my calf gently. I was a child again, laying down in my room at our house in California.

"Her best friend was named Mara, who was a special young woman. She was right hand to the queen of the faeries. Mara was of elven blood. She and Naomi had studied magick together, taught by the queen herself." Tears formed in my eyes. I had long forgotten the names of the characters from his stories.

His warm brown eyes were gentle. He had short black hair and stubble on his face. I pulled myself up from where I laid on my bed. I reached out to hug my dad but the world around me shattered, so instead I fell through him and landed in the arms of the man in front of me.

The tea kettle screaming forced me back to reality. Tears ran down my face. Will wiped them away before turning around to remove the boiling water from the stovetop and turn off the burner. "What did you see?" he asked while he poured the steaming water into the coffee cup.

"My dad." I trembled as I told him about the vision.

He looked back at me and seemed surprised. "What happened?"

"He told me about Naomi and Mara." He accidentally spilled some of the water. "It was a bedtime story." His silence made me suspicious.

"No." I shook my head; shock colored my voice, "Are you telling me my dad knew about the faeries?"

He sounded mysterious when he spoke. "Your father knew a great many things."

The oven signaled it was ready for the lasagna. He opened the door, placed the food inside, and set the timer for an hour and fifteen minutes. I pulled my phone out of my back pocket and texted my mom, 'Hey, our new neighbor is cooking us dinner. Hope you're in the mood for lasagna!' It took a moment for my message to send.

Will picked up the mug and gestured for me to follow him into the living room. He lowered himself to the leather couch and patted the spot beside him. I sat down cross-legged facing him and took the mug from his outstretched hands.

My phone buzzed. I reached the cup to my mouth with one hand and held my phone to read the text with the other. 'Ooo, the cute newcomer? He'll be joining us, then?' I nearly spat out my tea, then internally groaned.

William having dinner with us was sure to be embarrassing since Mom tended to go overboard. "Mom wants to know if you'll be joining us for dinner."

He flashed a grin. "Is that an invitation?"

Was it? I didn't bring men home for dinner. Especially not men I hardly knew.

Well, he was making us dinner and it would be rude to take his food and run. "Yeah, it is." I couldn't believe the words coming out of my mouth.

"All right, then. Sounds lovely." He had a faint accent that came and went.

'Yeah, he can join us but you better be on your best behavior.' I sent the text and she responded immediately with an angel emoji. Rolling my eyes, I set down my phone.

Once the food was done, he made his way to the kitchen and removed the bakeware with super girly unicorn oven mitts.

"What's with the unicorns?" I chortled.

He actually blushed. "They belonged to someone important to me," he admitted. Sheesh. This guy was so sentimental.

He packaged the lasagna in an insulated casserole keeper with a convenient strap and handles to boot. Look at me, I sounded like an infomercial.

Pretty soon we were ready to go. I followed him through the kitchen and livingroom to the front door. Will placed his hand on the doorknob and stepped outside. I was right behind him but the door didn't lead me to the sidewalk that should have been awaiting my next footstep outside the door. Instead my foot crunched on leaves and twigs of a forest floor.

Trees now surrounded me in the dense woods. Directly ahead, there was a large tree stump. Gnarled roots tapered out from the stem and on top the trunk was smooth and flat, its rings on display. A few items were laid out on the rings of the tree: a knobby wand made of a dark wood, an ancient-looking dagger in a curved, jewel encrusted sheath, and a pair of iron gauntlets.

Was I supposed to choose just one? Was I supposed to pick up all of them?

After a moment of deliberation, I grabbed the dagger. The other two objects caught fire and soon became etched into the flat surface of the stump, like someone had woodburned them artfully onto it. Choose one. Got it. Hope I made the right choice, I thought.

Upon unsheathing the curved blade, I discovered that it was marked with roses and text I could not read. I trailed my finger along the blade. A drop of silver blood oozed from my fingertip, then glowed and absorbed into my skin. It left it feeling all tingly.

No, not weird at all. I sheathed the blade and carried on through the forest. The further I went, the sparser the trees became. The light became brighter and brighter, until I had to shield my eyes.

"Catriona?" The world came back into view around me.

My finger stung where I had pricked it before in my room, where I had cut it with the blade. Will was standing in front of me on the sidewalk, en route to my house.

Eloquent as always, I simply said, "Huh?"

So smooth.

He pointed to the object in my hand. "So, you chose the blade? Interesting choice."

No way. In my hand was the blade from my vision! "You mean, that was real?"

"The proof is in the pudding, puddin'." Sometimes I wished he wouldn't say things.

But he was right. I held the proof in between my fingers.

His eyes lit up as an idea flashed across them. "Hey, hold on to this real quick!" He unloaded the lasagna into my hands in its insulated traveling case. I awkwardly held onto the blade and the food.

"Where are you going?" I protested but I stayed put. I decided to minimize the amount of time I spent walking through doors.

"Trust me!" He called from inside the door he had left ajar. He rummaged around through a drawer in the livingroom then returned quickly, shutting the door behind him. "Here, trade me."

He took the food and handed me an old leather strap with a loop to hold something. Wait. "It this a holster for the knife I just pulled out of a stump in the woods...?" I muttered in disbelief.

He scratched the back of his head. "Well, yeah. It is." His grin spoke of untold mischief that I was sure awaited me at the end of this journey.