The portal opened over a street.

Quentin struck the pavement hard. His jeans, already torn and singed in places, bloomed red splotches over the knees. Quentin barely felt the pain. He pushed to his feet and started running. The ground lurched before he was halfway down the block, sending him stumbling into a light post. Quentin's heart dropped.

The portal hadn't closed in time.

The earth shifted under his feet as he ran, vibrating with the weight of something enormous. There was a bus shelter at the corner of the street. A woman waited inside. Quentin's eyes slipped over her to the shelter's glass walls. He searched the world reflected in them for monsters with bloodstained teeth. His own face stared back, pale and wild-eyed. No monsters. Nothing but cars and trees and buildings behind him.

Quentin looked over his shoulder.

Burning red eyes caught his.

Quentin tripped. He would've dived nose-first into the sidewalk if not for the hand that shot out to grip his arm. Quentin looked up. The woman from the bus stop was frowning down at him.

"I'm alright," Quentin stuttered. "Please, let me - let-"

The monster roared. Quentin's teeth snapped over a whimper.

The woman shifted her grip. Her hand slipped into Quentin's, their fingers interlacing.

"Come on."

The woman broke into a run. Quentin stumbled in her wake, disorientated and confused. He found himself steered through a network of side-streets and narrow alleyways. His lungs protested the hard pace. His feet fell heavy, muscles aching from hours of strain.

The woman veered to the right. They ran through someone's backyard. Quentin tripped over an inflatable kiddie pool.

"Shit, there's a fence!"

The fence exploded in a burst of white light and sawdust. They barreled through the remains, then down a slight incline and across a ditch. Another fence, this one short and easily surmountable, and they were running on grass rather than asphalt.

"We're - this is a park."

"Yes."

"The monster came from a forest. This is its home turf. We should-" Quentin looked over his shoulder. His gait, already unsteady, faltered.

"It's gone," he breathed.

The woman nodded. She looked around, prompting Quentin to do the same. They were in a small clearing. Trees grew around them, clumping densely at their back. A river rushed just out of sight. The sound of water splashing over rocks was clear and sharp.

Silence reigned over all else.

"It's here, isn't it," Quentin whispered.

"Yes. Remain calm."

"You don't know - it's going to kill us. It's going to rip us apart, I saw it happen- I saw-" Quentin gasped for air. His legs were shaking, his hands too.

The woman grasped his elbow with her free hand, steadying him. "Look at me."

Quentin looked up. Large brown eyes caught his. Quentin's shoulders relaxed from their tight clench.

"Talk," the woman said.

"What about?"

"Anything. Yourself. Tell me your name."

"Quentin. Coldwater. That's um, first and last."

"Where did you come from?"

"Fillory. Brakebills before that. Which is in New York. I think." Quentin bit his lip. Awareness was seeping back in. Something - something wasn't quite right. "Where am I now?"

"Chicago. Tell me about Fillory."

The ground rumbled. Quentin looked up. The sky had gone dark above them. The rest of the park was bright with mid-afternoon sunlight. "It's a m-magical world. It's not supposed to exist."

"How did you get here?"

"Portal. There's a place in Fillory where-" The ground shook, violently enough to make Quentin stagger forward.

The woman braced him. "Continue."

Quentin swallowed. "It's a place where a-all the realms connect. Portals open a-at random. I was running from-"

A whining howl bent the crowns of the trees around them. Quentin looked up.

"It's behind you," he croaked.

The woman didn't react. "What are you running from?"

Quentin's eyes darted between the woman and the creature at her back. It stood between two willow trees. It was as tall as them, body covered in moss and ivy and black, tar-like slime.

"You saw it. Back there, on the street." A thought struck Quentin. He looked at the woman with sudden intensity. "You- you are a magician. Aren't you?"

The woman didn't answer. Quentin forced his mind to concentrate, to see her. His eyes slid over the woman's features, finding no grip.

"Quentin. What are you running from?"

Quentin opened his mouth. A forest monster, he meant to say, or, I don't even fucking know.

"The Beast," slipped out instead.

The monster bellowed. The mass of shadows shifted, then knived forward. Quentin scrambled for a spell, a spark of magic. "I need my hands free, I need to..." he babbled.

"Spri."

The woman let him go. Quentin didn't notice. Teeth the size of his forearm glinted above his head. The creature had curled over them, clawed hands gouging the earth as it leaned forward on its hind legs. Its mouth hung open. Growling breaths rattled out of its chest. The air stank of rot.

"Do not be afraid," the woman said.

Quentin grunted. "I'm trying."

"Not you." The woman raised her arms, palms up. "Not everything is about you, Quentin Coldwater."

The monster huffed. It slowly bent its head. Its scarred muzzle pressed against the woman's hands. Quentin inhaled sharply. A snap of the creature's wolf-like maw, and she'd be done for.

"Do you wish to go home?" the woman murmured.

God, yes. Quentin bit his lip, trapping the words. She wasn't asking him.

The monster whined, shrill and high. Quentin stiffened. That was the sound it'd made right before it had-

The monster's head snapped up. Its mouth split in a snarl.

"Do not," the woman warned.

Quentin shook his head. He couldn't- this was too much. "It ate her," he choked out. "It - it ripped her heart out and ate-"

The monster screeched. Quentin pressed his hands together. Magic rushed through him. He knew it wouldn't be enough, but he had to try, he had to do something.

Silver light swallowed the clearing.

The light disappeared. So did the monster. In its stead stood a humanoid creature with olive skin and wide, lost eyes. The woman had her hand wrapped tight around its throat. The creature didn't struggle. Its arms hung limply at its sides. Hair the color of bark fell over its shoulders.

"I can't let you go," the woman said.

The creature nodded. Its eyes were on Quentin. Blood-stained lips parted open.

I'm sorry, a soft voice whispered in Quentin's mind.

Quentin gasped. "Don't-"

The woman tightened her grip. A spark of magic, a sharp crack.

The creature slumped. Its head rolled forward on its broken neck, hair falling to obscure its face.

Quentin fell back. He shook his head, eyes wide. His breaths came hard and uneven. The creature's body became Margo's in his mind, small and broken and dead dead dead-

"Quentin."

Quentin raised his hands. Magic shimmered between his fingers, burning red and angry.

The woman turned to face him. The battle spell dissolved on Quentin's tongue. 

She was beautiful.

Achingly, terrifyingly so.

"You - you aren't human."

"No." The woman studied him, eyes appraising. "Not entirely."

"And the monster?"

The woman's expression tightened with pain. "This is its true form."

"Then why...?"

"Instability. There is something wrong with the world it came from. Tell me how it happened. Tell me about your Beast."

Quentin stiffened. "He's not mine."

"Are you certain?" The woman stepped closer. "Monsters come from all sorts of places. The worst ones, the ones that hurt us most, are born in us."

Quentin shook his head. "You're saying I - what? Thought up the Beast, and he came to life?"

"I do not know. That is why I am asking."

"The Beast made himself into what he is." This, at least, Quentin knew for certain. "I - we're trying to stop him, but it's so hard, so goddamn-"

Warm hands cradled his face. Quentin took a deep breath.

"Help us. He'll keep doing it. He'll keep killing, and we can't - we aren't enough."

"You are enough. Never say otherwise." The woman leaned forward and pressed her lips to Quentin's forehead. "Words hold power. Take care in how you wield them."

The clearing was bright again. The world was melting in silver.

Quentin's throat ached. "You're sending me back."

"Yes. Perhaps we will meet again, in a time to which we both belong."

"Will I remember you?"

The woman smiled. "Even if we do not remember this day, we will know each other. You carry my blessing, Quentin Coldwater, and the samodivi are possessive creatures. If we meet again, you will have my help."

The world washed white. Quentin's forehead burned where the woman had kissed him. The warmth of her magic was the last thing he felt before he was wrenched back through the sands of time.

-----

*Spri (спри): stop (Bulgarian)

Word count: 1488