Reluctantly, Ostrik took the ring. He stared at the shiny golden circle before raising his gaze to Émilien’s. “How do I know she still won’t kill me? Most goddesses don’t like demons.”
“Hel is not most goddesses. Guard it with your life, Ostrik, because that was her wedding ring.”
7
Émilien tossed and turned on the uncomfortable cot, finally rolling onto his back and throwing one arm over his eyes. He listened to the pounding of blood rushing through his veins and sore head. Lack of sleep was getting to him. Worry over what was happening in the Shadow Lands, why it was taking Ostrik so long to return, not to mention whether Hel had kept her promise about telling Shalendra he wasn’t her brother, beat at him. His distress, incessant.
Staring at the ceiling, he noticed a large crack crossing through the largest boulder overhead. With a slight frown, he pointed one claw at the fissure and, using his healing magic, the rock reformed without blemish. He listened to the sounds of nearby snoring and knew the fire demon still hadn’t returned. Time moved slower in this realm but still, he should have been back by now.
The sound of muted clanging and something scraping across metal told him Madoc, at least, was up and about. Not that he should be, given what happened to him yesterday. He knew the coblynau, though. Nothing would keep his little keeper down, not even death.
Pulling himself off the bed, he fastened the leather belt around his chest and tucked his small bag behind it so that it couldn’t be seen. Now, he felt more like himself as it settled against him, like an old friend. “I’m pathetic,” he muttered. “I need to socialize more.” Catching sight of his reflection in the washroom mirror, he growled in disgust. “Oh yeah, that’s right, I’m a terrifying wolf who no one wants to be around.”
Madoc poked his head around the corner, his tall pointy ears twisting outward. “Stop talking to yourself and come help me fix breakfast. Our guests will wake up hungry, and I don’t relish being in the same domicile with a starving werewolf, ravenous panther, and a fire demon who can eat everything in sight, if he gets back in time. Delara is the only one with a tiny appetite, and even she eats more than one would think.”
“Fine. I’ll help you, but this time only. Can’t let you start slacking off, you know.”
“Ha, ha, ha.” The coblynau disappeared into the other room, and Émilien blew out a long breath as he followed. Standing in the doorway, his heavy brows rose at the amount of food spread out over the table and small island. Madoc stood in front of the large stove and flipped several pancakes before adding three more to a rapidly growing pile perched on a nearby platter.
“What do you need for me to do?”
“Can you slice and dice those potatoes, please? When you’re done, add them to that,” he said, pointing to a deep skillet. Sizzling in the bottom of the pan were diced onions and other herbs, making Émilien’s mouth water in anticipation.
Using his claws like knives, he made short work of the potatoes and added them to the browned onions. Using a nearby spoon, he stirred everything together then stepped back. “What now?”
“Can you pull down the plates and make sure everyone has, at least, a fork—not that they’ll use them, but it’s worth a try.” He poured the last of the pancake batter on the griddle. Two minutes later, the pancakes were done, and the overflowing platter moved to the center of the table along with the syrup and butter.
A popping sound came from the other room followed by a yawn, and their two sleepy guests appeared, apparently drawn by the tantalizing smells drifting through the cave. Cattarix purred with his forelegs out in front of him, arched his back in a long stretch, ending with the stretching of first his front legs then his hind legs.
“Please tell me you have meat too. Pancakes are a nice treat, but I need meat.” Cattarix jumped onto the nearest chair, his long tail swishing the air behind him.
Delara flapped her wings in excitement and hopped to the tabletop. “Oh, I love pancakes with syrup! Mama never lets me have any.”
“Because the syrup gets all in your feathers and you get sticky from crown to feet. It also has a lot of sugar, which isn’t good for your body,” Émilien said.
“Then why did you cook pancakes?” she asked with a slight frown, her gaze never leaving the high mound of golden cakes.
“Ididn’t. Madoc did, so your mama can get mad at him.” Émilien pulled out a chair and sat next to Cattarix, leaving a chair between himself and Delara for Madoc. “Has anyone heard from Ostrik?”
Delara’s bright gaze dimmed. “No, and I’m worried. He shouldn’t be gone this long, should he?”
Émilien shook his head. “I wouldn’t think so—” A bright silvery light burst into the room, and disappeared a second later, showing Ostrik curled in a ball.
“Ostrik! You’re back!” Delara leaped from the table and scurried across the room to where the little demon lay. She patted his head with the tip of one wing. “What took you so long?”
Ostrik unrolled his chubby body until he was sitting. Instead of answering the young chick, his yellow gaze speared Émilien’s. “Hel wasn’t there, but an overly muscled, surly man was.”
Émilien frowned, trying to figure out who he was talking about. “Can you give me more than that? What did he look like?”
“Dressed in brown leather pants, legs the size of tree trunks, long blond hair with a bun and long braids, woven with gold and silver beads just over each ear, and blue eyes.”
Cattarix nodded. “That’s descriptive. Bravo, demon.”
Émilien agreed. “You met Baldr. He’s like Hel’s assistant. What did he say?”
“Nothing good. Hel called a conclave of death lords, Egyptian, Greek, and Celtic, I think he said. They were trying to figure out why the spirits in the death realms were disappearing. Before they came up with a plan, Hel was summoned to Midgard—something about a young girl and her missing brother. I was able to escape when they began arguing again.”
“Ostrik, since you were able to transport to Helheimr, do you think you can transport to other worlds?” Émilien asked.