Chapter 11
Crisp early morning air wove around me, nipping at my loose hair, biting into my bare hands.
I’d been in Iceland for less than two hours and it already felt like the island was trying to blow me away. My numb fingers tapped on my notes app, pulling up the directions to the hostel Shanley had given me—a recommendation from the Finland pack.
So, I was already on Rainbow Street, clearly: bright red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple stripes ran along the entire length of the road, gleaming against the dark of the asphalt.
Now I just needed to find the right alley…
Tucking my phone into my pocket, I breathed into the cups of my palms to heat my hands and scoured the cobblestone lanes tucked between the colorful buildings.
Nothing screamed hostel. My stomach, on the other hand, was fiercely grumbling at the earthy aroma of coffee and something oily—burnt cheese—wafting from the line of cafés.
Tourists clinked their mugs, picked over souvenirs, and stuffed their faces with pastries that had to be the culprits behind the smell in the cozy warmth of the buildings.
A prickle raised the hairs on my arms. It wasn’t a choice to freeze my ass off out here, but I had to find my hostel.
I turned away from the windows, hoisting my backpack up to give my shoulders some relief, walking until I reached the courtyard of a curved, white granite cathedral—the end of the block.
Still no hostel.
I was beginning to think I’d been punked or I was just really bad at directions.
A water droplet splashed my cheek. Rain, again.
Flipping the hood of my windbreaker over my hair, I hustled beneath an awning.
A flutter of movement across the colorful road caught my attention.
Two people, the only other brave souls who seemed able to bear these frigid morning temperatures, disappeared into a narrow street—an alley I hadn’t noticed despite checking nearly every building—with a swish of their long, tweed jackets.
Backpack flopping against my tailbone, I scrambled after them, but between one blink and the next they just… vanished. I stopped mid-stride, the thin air stinging my lungs.
What the—? How did they just disappear?
The alley didn’t seem special; it was merely a path between two thick, stone walls.
No doors, no gutters—no wonder my eyes had breezed over it.
And it was long, far too long for them to have run down in one second.
It stretched out in front of me, glaringly empty.
There wasn’t even a dumpster to hide behind, or in.
An iron arch marked the entrance, which felt a bit gothic for such a modern and vibrant area.
The curves and swirls came together in the center to make a design that put it somewhere between nautical and floral.
My eyes went wide. It was a compass rose, a symbol I’d seen at the moonrocks and at that magical pub Ryder had taken me to so long ago.
My heart thumped loudly in my chest. This was supernatural-marked passage. Annae Ríki Hostel had to be down there.
The moment my foot stepped under the arch, another world unfurled around me, as if the bare cobblestone alley was nothing but a canvas that the magic painted over in one, shimmering sweep.
I spotted the figures I’d originally seen and trailed behind them, nearly jumping out of my skin when a pair of shutters opened and a buzzing creature I could only describe as a fairy started watering the flowers in their window boxes.
I was so caught up, I didn’t see or hear the scooter until it swerved around a pothole and almost flattened me. I had to practically fling myself into a wall as the driver whizzed past in a blur of green spikes.
Shanley had mentioned these kinds of beings lived more out in the open in the Nordic countries, but damn, there was hardly any effort put into concealing themselves. They lived so… authentically. Freely.
Meanwhile, the strangers I’d been following leapt up the steps of a busy parklet and tossed their jackets onto the last empty bench seats. I caught a glimpse of their faces as they turned their heads—one with horns, the other with silver pools for eyes—totally unbothered.
I was not the strangest thing here, not by a mile.
Keeping my steps light, I walked up the small set of stairs, gripping the banister tight.
Sunlight poked through the clouds, reflecting off a pair of brass-plated double doors. The name I’d been looking for, Annae Ríki Hostel, hung in mismatched letters over the frame.
I’d made it. With a sigh, I pushed open a door and entered a lively common space.
The air was thick with espresso and magic.
Careful not to hit anyone with my outrageously big and overfull backpack, I shimmied between the long communal tables, still managing to graze the backs of heads.
Every hunger pang tempted me to drop my stuff on the floor, right then and there, and head to the spread of cheeses, meats, and scones.
A more informal seating area lined with warped bookcases and antique lamps that gave off the coziest vibe led me to the check-in area.
I wove through the aged chairs and clunky side tables.
My foot hooked on a leg—not a furniture leg, a human leg, I realized—but it was too late, I was already falling into their lap.
“Oh my God.” I shot up, but my backpack pulled me down, and I scrambled like an overturned turtle. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Beneath a long set of lashes, he glanced down at his stained linen shirt, the material damp against his dark brown skin.
“It’s… fine.” His voice was warm but cautious. Slowly, he stood, holding an empty paper cup and a sticky baked good. “But can you get me a napkin?”
“Of course.” I scurried to a table, my gigantic bag almost knocking out someone else, and grabbed an entire stack. “Here.”
Placing his breakfast on the armrest, he lightly dabbed at his shirt. A smirk spread over his lips. “Be careful where you fling that thing.” He nodded to my backpack. “You could really take somebody out.”
My face burned. “Sorry. I might have packed an extra wetsuit. Or two.”
“Diver?” He raised a thick brow.
I shook my head. “Surfer.”
Curiosity lit his face. “Have you been in Iceland for long, or are you just getting in?”
“I got here this morning. From California.” My jaw clicked as I held back a yawn. “I’m beat. I’m also uncoordinated. Doesn’t make the best combination.”
He chuckled lightly, the twists of his hair sweeping out from his beanie to skim the tops of his shoulders. “Me too. I mean, I’m tired—I have a little more swag.” The corners of his eyes crinkled with the trace of a smile. “I just got off the night shift.” He held out his free hand. “I’m Gunnar.”
“River.” I met his firm grip, his skin soft and delightfully warm, thawing me from far too long out in the uninviting chill I’d been wandering around in all morning.
“Nice to meet you— although…” I bit my lip as I sought the words, pushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear.
His eyes twinkled down at me as I quickly added, “I wish it were under better circumstances.”
Laughter shook his chest—his sopping-wet chest. I cringed, embarrassed all over again.
“So, what do you do for work?” I asked, changing the subject before the flush returned to my cheeks.
“Security... of sorts.” Eyes narrowing, he tilted his head, as if realizing something I didn’t.
“I’ll save you the trouble of going to reception.
Check-in isn’t until four.” He strode to the bar, leaning against the counter.
“You can place your bag behind here if you don’t want to lug it around until then. ”
“Are you… sure?” I asked, already slipping off the thick straps.
“Yep. My friend works here—she won’t care.” He curled his fingers to gesture for me to hand it over. “Bring it here.”
“Oh, thank God,” I breathed, as the weight left my shoulders for good. I stretched my arms overhead, relishing the lightness. “That feels so much better.”
“Ekkert ae takka.”
My brows dipped inward. Huh?
“It means ‘no problem’.” A breeziness draped his tone. “You don’t need to thank me.”
He turned to leave.
“Well, at least let me buy you a coffee.” It came off a little desperate but, honestly, the last thing I wanted to do was be alone.
And Gunnar was nice. And a local. Maybe he could fill me in on the lighthouse.
“I owe you one,” I added, forcing a coolness I didn’t possess.
“Literally, since I’m the reason you’re wearing yours. ”
Not a single part of him moved. Not a blink, not a breath. It was supernatural, really. He was thinking. The gears were turning, intrigue and suspicion flashing across his umber eyes like lightning on a dark, stormy night.
Maybe he was just being nice, and I had overstepped. Maybe I did just need to go my own way. Or maybe that fringe group had in fact reached Iceland and he was realizing who I was…
Sweat dotted my upper lip.
“Alright.” He returned a full smile, brighter than the anemic sun outside. It melted some of the anxiety away. “But in order to function like an actual person right now I’m going to need something stronger than drip coffee. Cappuccino?”
The words puttered out of me. “Yes, of course! I need like a quad.”
He pulled out a stool.
“Thanks,” I said, plopping onto the seat.
“Hey, G!” a waitress called from the other end of the bar, flashing a big, toothy grin. She poured a round of coffee, wiping up stray stains with a rag.
“What’s up, Frey?” He removed his beanie, placing it on the counter. The pointy tips of his ears poked through his hair.
Surprise inched its way up my throat, but I wouldn’t let it out. I shook my leg, the tip of my shoe tapping against the subway-tiled wall.
Clearing dirty plates along the way, the waitress made her way over, her steps so fluid and graceful she might as well have been performing ballet. “I was wondering when you were going to make it in. Long night?”
Gunnar pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. “You have no idea.”