The teenagers tried to retrace their earlier path, but soon found the task impossible. Within five minutes, they were hopelessly lost.

"Come on, guys, let's try to get back to our rooms," Jason finally said. They turned, only to find Polly standing in front of them, hand behind her back and a wide smile on her face. She was the picture of youthful innocence.

"Hullo!" she chirped merrily, slinging her arm through Rowen's and marching determinedly down the hall.

"Were you following us?" demanded Rowen.

"Yes," Polly said plainly, voice free of guilt.

"Why didn't you help us?" Rowen asked angrily.

"I could say that I was testing you, but really, it was funny, watching you guys stumble around like a bunch of clueless ducklings!"

Rowen freed her arm from the young girl's surprisingly powerful grip and shot a disbelieving look at Ayren. 

"Give her a chance," he whispered in her ear, so as to avoid being overheard.

"I like you," said Polly decidedly, pivoting on one heel and pointing a finger at Ayren, squinting and cocking her head so it looked like she was staring down the barrel of a gun.

"Thanks," murmured Ayren, obviously embarrassed at having been overheard yet again.

"Now, who's hungry?" asked the child, swinging open another door identical to all its neighbors and ushering her companions in.

The "dining hall" that Rowen had envisioned--perhaps an old-fashioned type place with a long oaken table so loaded with food that it creaked disturbingly--was about as far from the actual room as possible.

Three plush armchairs in three colors (red, green, and blue) sat in a sort of half circle around an uncomfortable-looking, wheeled, wooden chair. An end table sat in front of each with a single empty platter.

"This is where we're eating?" said Rowen dejectedly. Remembering her manners and who she was talking to, she hastened to add, "It's lovely, just not really...what I was expecting."

"That's life," Poll commented indifferently, jumping into the wooden chair and spinning around.

Rowen decided she had complained enough, and settled uncertainly in the green chair. Jason claimed the blue, while Ayren took the red.

Polly focused on her platter. It curved into a bowl. Pointing her fingers at it, she began streaming what looked like buttered noodles into the cupped dish.

Finally, the bowl was filled. Polly turned to Jason. "What do you want?"

"Um...can you come back to me?" Jason asked with an embarrassed laugh.

Polly nodded briskly and looked to Ayren, who ordered fish and chips.

Rowen knew what she wanted--fettuccine alfredo sounded sublime. After Jason ordered a steak (BBQ sauce on the side included), Polly started turning toward Rowen.

"I'll have--" Rowen began, but Polly cut her off.

"Uh-uh."

"Wh--what?"

"No. You're magical--get your own food."

"Why didn't Ayren have to--"

"I'm not training him."

"I can't--"

"Focus. Think clearly about what you want. Then raise your hand and make the food."

"I need to make a bowl first."

"I'll do that part." As Polly focused on Rowen's platter, she explained, "I only have five plates slash bowls. Can't have you breaking any."

Rowen swallowed hard and focused deep within herself. Her drifting eyes focused on Rowen's light blue ones. The skin around them crinkled slightly as he smiled encouragingly.

Rowen's concentration shattered. She shut her eyes firmly and tried to find her calm again. It was difficult, but eventually Rowen could sense something deep within her brain, a kind of power source. Carefully, she tapped into it and thought about what she wanted.

Opening her eyes, Rowen aimed her fingers at the bowl and took a deep breath.

Noodles exploded from her fingers, filling the bowl in a matter of seconds and then falling to the floor. Just as quickly as it had come, it stopped. Rowen's vision darkened and she slumped over. Jason, who was closest, righted her and squeezed her shoulder.

Rowen's head ached. Her entire body hurt, completely drained of energy. She didn't even have the strength to move.

"Which of you has known her longest?" asked Polly conversationally, as if her new pupil hadn't just completely exhausted herself by shooting noodles from her fingertips.

Jason raised his hand timidly. Polly nodded and turned to Ayren. "Take her to her room. I'll have food delivered."

Every word bore into Rowen's skull. She grimaced and squeezed her eyes shut, trying in vain to block out the light and noise of the stark room.

Ayren poked her shoulder. "Rowen? We need to go now?"

She curled herself into the fetal position and ignored him. Pain wracked through her body.

Ayren, after a slight pause, carefully picked her up and turned to Polly. "I can't find my way in this place."

"I can walk," growled Rowen, feeling like a knife was twisting deeper into her skull with each word and knowing full well that the statement was false. Ayren ignored her and accepted the map Polly offered him.

"I'm not helpless," murmured Rowen as Ayren carefully walked down the hall. Every step sent a spike of pain boring into her skull. And yet the pain was beginning to recede.

"'Course you're not," Ayren said comfortingly. "You can wield a mean noodle."

"Stop it," Rowen whined, laughing. As the pain began to face, she became increasingly self-conscious of being carried. Again. By the same boy. Who was annoyingly cute. And nice. And smart.

Rowen turned her face toward Ayren's shirt so he wouldn't see her blushing furiously.

Finally, she demanded to be put down. Ayren obeyed.

Rowen broke the uncomfortable silence, trying to stay upright as more of her strength returned. "My mom would love my powers."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. She's a big fettuccine alfredo fan. Same as me."

Ayren chuckled. "You guys are pretty close?"

"Yeah. When...when my dad ran out on us, Mom kinda gave up on being an adult. She acts twenty constantly. Sometimes it's nice because I feel like I can tell her anything, but I'm kind of sick of having to pay the bills and cook every meal." Rowen shut up. She had never told anyone that much, let alone someone she had only met about a week ago.

"It's still good that you guys are close. My parents--" Ayren stopped and clenched his jaw.

"What?" Rowen asked out of habit, hastily adding, "You don't have to tell me."

"My dad wasn't the most...stable...guy." Ayren's hand drifted to his neck seemingly involuntarily. Rowen hesitantly reached up and slid it away from a huge, ugly scar near his pressure point. She gasped.

"He missed," said Ayren in a hopeless tone. He picked up his speed.

*

Late that night, Ayren still hadn't figured out why he had told Rowen about his father. Sure, he hadn't told her everything, but he had told her enough.

He wasn't expected to share his past with her. It wasn't in the plan.

Ayren's hand again drifted to his scar. Flashes of the memory shot through his head.

His father, drunk.

His eight-year-old self, eager to show off his new toy to impress his father.

His baby sister's teething toy tripping him so he knocked the bottle out of his father's hands.

The sharp pain of his father's knife driving into his skin...