Something about this place just wasn’t right. If soldiers were involved, that meant possible bloodshed, and the vampire should be salivating at the idea. Instead, she curled up on the branch and continued to sleep.
“What’s wrong with everyone?” The lock on his door clicked. He turned toward the heavy wooden barrier as the door swung open and Fer-Diorich stepped into the room. Émilien’s gaze narrowed, noticing the somewhat pinched facial expression. “Well? Are you here to take me to Hel? You promised I could see her before we left.”
The Fae’s mouth tightened. “I’m afraid there’s been a slight change in our plans. It seems your ex-wife has disappeared. Does she have a talent I didn’t know about?”
Émilien frowned. “No. She’s gone? How is that possible? Take me to where she was staying.”
“You don’t make the decisions here, wolf.”
“Neither do you, Fae.” He stepped closer and snarled. “Take me to Hel’s last location or you lose a limb. I’m not the same timid creature you are used to. I have thousands of years of battle under my belt, and my skills are unmatched.”
The Fae returned his pointed stare. “And I should trust you, why?”
“Because you have no other choice. No one can sniff out things like I can. It’s why I’m a guardian. I never give up on my goal. Not until the situation is solved or the person saved. Nothing will stop me from guarding Hel. I won’t let anyone or anything harm her. Not ever. Now, take me to where she was.”
Fer-Diorich grimaced and with a slight shake of his head, moved aside and motioned with a sweep of his arm for Émilien to leave the room. “Fine. But you must follow me and not speak a single word. There are beings here who would kill you for just looking at them. Better yet....” A long swath of material appeared in the Fae’s hand. “Lean forward, so I can tie this on you—”
With a sharp glare, Émilien snatched the material from his grasp and wrapped it around his own eyes, then tied the ends into a knot at the back of his head. “Or, you can tie it yourself,” the Fae finished. “I’ve infused the material with a spell, like a two-way mirror. Your vision will not be impaired. This way, you can follow me on your own without me having to lead you, and everyone will believe you are just a new prisoner.”
“While it kills me to say this, thank you. I don’t care much for relying on anyone else, especially if that someone is you. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t trust you and probably never will. Now, take me to Hel.”
“Indeed.”
Fer-Diorich’s low voice sent chills over Émilien, his thick fur standing on end, but he fell into step behind him as he led him from the home, which reminded him of his own small castle back on Midgard. The Fae’s abode, however, was lifeless, without color or comfort as they passed by open doorways of empty rooms.
Stepping outside, the dull orange sun settled over his fur, but instead of warmth, he was covered in a blanket of coolness and immediately thought of Helheimr’s atmosphere. The only thing missing here was the oppressiveness of the death realm.
Helheimr had always confused him because the warriors in Vígvöllr continued their never-ending battles with vigor and exuberance, and in Ævibjoð, the area where the dead continue their lives, everyone seemed happy and content. He, on the other hand, had felt a heaviness, as if he were being weighted down with emotions he couldn’t control.
They entered a smaller two-story home, the creamy earth-toned exterior covered in a thick layer of dust, and there were piles of dirt surrounding the foundation, as if a hard rain had pounded the perimeter, splashing mud onto the lower stone layers. It was the same derelict scene he had noticed from the window earlier.
“Does no one in this court ever clean anything?”
“Why should they? It rains, which washes the dust away.”
Émilien scowled at the back of Fer-Diorich’s head. “Seriously? That doesn’t clean anything. Look around you. Perhaps if everything looked better, if you washed and repaired what they have here, the spirits in this realm might rise. As it is, all I sense from those we pass is depression and hopelessness.”
“That’s the Unseelie Court’s purpose. If it were light and bright, we would be in the Seelie Court. Living on Midgard as long as you have, surely you have heard the expression Yin and Yang? The ancient Chinese belief states that Yin and Yang were born from chaos when the universe was created and live harmoniously in the center of Midgard. This is the essence of the Fae courts. The Seelie are the Yang and the Unseelie are the Yin.”
Once inside the building, they climbed the grand staircase facing the front door then turned right, following the curved landing before it turned left into a wide hallway. He pulled the blindfold off Émilien's face, first noticing the stale, musty odor that permeated the space. With each step, the ancient wood flooring creaked and cracked as they made their way to the end room.
Fer-Diorich twisted the grime-covered glass knob and let the door swing open. Émilien glanced inside the empty room. A small cot rested in the far corner, a single table next to it. On the table stood a wrought iron candle holder with a white tapered candle balanced on top.
Turning, he glared at the Fae. “If this is how you treat your guests, I’d leave too. You’re a terrible host. No blankets on the bed, and you couldn’t even spare a pillow? Even a flat pancake pillow can be folded over to provide some comfort.”
His gaze moved around the room before spearing Émilien’s. “I see nothing wrong with this? I gave her a candle.”
Émilien’s expression soured as he looked down on the Fae. “You’re hopeless.” For the first time, he realized he towered in height over the Fae. How had he missed that before? As a guardian, other than a different type of magic, he was just as powerful, possibly more so, than the man who created him.
Definitely food for thought, but what he could do about it, he wasn’t yet sure. “So, where is she?” He glanced at the Fae and paused when he caught the hint of a confused frown before an angry scowl replaced it. “Fer...”
“She should be in this room. I did not give anyone permission to take her anywhere.”
Anger filled the room, beating at Émilien as it morphed into a tangible force. Stepping inside, he reached behind him and held onto the doorjamb as the Fae’s emotion pounded against him. “Destroying the building won’t help find my wife, nor will it endear you to those outside who won’t like you plotting behind their backs. Dial back the anger, FD, before it kills us both.”
A thrust of wind hit him, feeling like a thousand bee stings all over his front side. Just as he closed his eyes, he caught a slight shimmer in the empty corner across from him, but the stinging sensation was too strong and painful, and he couldn’t reopen his eyes.
“I hate it when you call me that,” the Fae grumbled.