Chapter 6 Daemon
DAEMON
“Have I mentioned that I fucking hate snow?” I grumble, more to myself than my friends.
No one replies, but I know I’m not alone.
Fox, Jett, and Kastian look as miserable as I am, and the silence is tense as we walk through the woods.
The crunch of our boots grows increasingly muffled as the wind picks up and the snow thickens on the forest floor.
Long shadows stretch between the darkening pines until it grows difficult to see.
The forest that runs alongside Storia is massive. I know it must end somewhere—the border of Thermia is to the north, and if you walked far enough east, you’d eventually hit the desert of Solistine, but I couldn’t begin to fucking guess how long that would take.
I try not to think about it, reminding myself that two kids couldn’t have gone that far…hopefully.
Still, my stomach knots tighter with each passing hour. We haven’t found a single shred of evidence that Archer or Gwen was ever here and the temperature’s dropping fast.
If they were human children, I’d be certain we would never find them alive. A human would have frozen to death by now, but Fae children can’t die from cold. They can still fucking feel it, though, and there are so many other ways to die in these woods.
The sound of chewing makes me stop short and turn around. “What the fuck is that?”
Jett freezes with his hand halfway to his mouth, what looks like half a biscuit clutched in his fist. He swallows and holds the biscuit out to me. “What, you want some?”
“No. Where the hell did you get that?”
“Brought it with me.” He shrugs as he takes another bite and crumbs tumble to the ground. Glancing back at the snowy ground behind us, he’s made quite a trail of crumbs.
I roll my eyes and turn my back on him, grumbling under my breath. “You’re going to attract fucking animals dropping food everywhere. We’re supposed to be focused on looking for the kids.”
“Wolves don’t eat bread, asshole,” Jett says through another full mouth, “and I can look and eat at the same time.”
“I’m more worried about wolves eating the kids,” Kastian comments, putting an abrupt end to me and Jett snapping at each other.
“There are no wolves nearby,” Fox says flatly.
I look sideways at him. “How could you know that?”
Predictably he doesn’t answer, just trudges purposefully onward.
Another hour passes and the snow only gets worse.
I hold my hand in front of my face and see nothing but a shadow. The trees have vanished, replaced by looming gray shapes that materialize and disappear with each gust of wind. My eyelashes clump with ice, and every breath scrapes my throat raw. It’s like being back in Dyaspora.
“We should go back to the manor,” Kastian yells.
He can’t be more than a few yards to my right, but his voice still gets lost in the wind.
“Not yet!” I yell back.
“How are we supposed to find anything when we can’t fucking see?”
Before I can respond, something catches my eye in the distance. I squint through the snow and my heart leaps. There’s a tiny spot of light ahead. A fire maybe or a house? “There’s something over there! Let’s check that out before we go back.”
If they answer me I can’t hear it, but it doesn’t matter. My legs feel like they’ve turned to stone, but the light is enough to drag me forward.
We stumble out of the trees and into a little clearing. Up a drifted path that’s more crater than walkway, is a cottage. The windows are glazed with frost, but the inside glows like a bonfire.
Kastian gets to the porch first and peers through the frosted window. “You think anyone’s home?”
As if in answer, the door swings open and I have to raise a hand to shield my eyes from the sudden bright light.
“Who’s there?” A quavering female voice calls into the wind.
I jog forward, then stop short in surprise. “Mrs. Hilde?”
The baker I met this morning is standing in the doorway squinting through the snow at me. Her face splits into a smile of recognition, and before I can explain what we’re doing on her porch during a blizzard, she’s ushering us inside. “You poor things! You must be freezing out there! Come in!”
She doesn’t have to ask us twice. I lead the way, my friends trailing after me, and we crowd into the small cottage. Mrs. Hilde slams the door behind us, cutting off the wind.
It’s really too small a room for all of us, and our shoulders brush the walls on either side, barely leaving room to turn without elbowing each other.
The ceiling is hung low and Fox, the tallest of the four of us, has to duck to avoid the rafters.
At least it’s warm. A fire crackles in the stone hearth, logs shifting with soft pops that send sparks dancing upward.
The air smells of baked goods, and I breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”
“Of course! Sit down by the fire!” Mrs. Hilde fusses.
I smile. “I’m sorry to bother you like this.”
She beams at me, flashing white teeth. “It’s not a bother, but what are you doing out here in a storm? This isn’t about the cake, is it?”
I shake my head and icy droplets go flying around the cramped room. “No, not at all.”
I briefly explain that we’re looking for two missing children. Mrs. Hilde’s face falls. “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“Did you happen to see anyone come this way?”
“I’ve been here baking all day. Except for when I came to speak to you, and bought new ingredients in the village, I haven’t left my kitchen.” She gestures behind her and I notice a wedding cake on the small wooden counter. It’s five tiers high, and the icing looks nearly finished.
I clear my throat, wishing Alix were here since I have no idea what the cake is supposed to look like. “Er, that looks excellent.”
She smiles tightly. “I only wish you’d seen the first one. I will never forgive the boy who smashed my window.”
“Boy?” I ask, my interest piqued. “It couldn’t have been one of the children, was it?”
She shakes her head. “Er, no. I wasn’t actually here when it happened.”
My brow furrows. “Wait, what?”
She laughs lightly. “Sorry, my mistake, I’m just so flustered you’re all here. I should have said that I assumed it was a boy who broke my window. Who else would be throwing rocks?”
I frown. “Alright…”
“Would you like some tea or something to eat?” the baker asks quickly. “Surely there’s something I can get you.”
I glance back at the dark, frosty windows and frown. “Actually, no. We should probably keep looking for the children.”
Jett makes a squawk of protest. “What? Are you insane, Ashwater? I thought we were going to get warm.”
I grimace. We were, but now I suddenly have the strangest feeling that I don’t want to be here.
“I don’t think we’re going to find them in the dark while it’s snowing,” Kastian points out. “We can try again in the morning.”
“Fine,” I growl. “Then we should go back to the manor. Alix might be back by now.”
“Please, at least stay long enough to get warm,” Mrs. Hilde insists.
“And let me make you some supper. You must be starving.” As if on cue, Jett’s stomach growls loudly.
The baker notices and smiles at him in a motherly way.
“Just give me one moment. I’ll run downstairs to my pantry.
I’m sure I can whip something up for you. ”
She turns, dusting her hands on her apron, and reaches for a small door I hadn’t noticed before.
The hinges groan as it swings open, revealing nothing but darkness and the first few wooden steps of a narrow stairwell descending into shadow.
Her plump figure disappears through the doorway, the sound of her footsteps fading with each creak of old wood, until only the four of us remain in the suddenly quiet room.
“I don’t want to stay here,” I say immediately.
“Why?” Kastian asks curiously.
“Just a feeling. Let’s go.”
Jett groans. “She’s a nice old lady. And she’s making your wedding cake, Ashwater. You’re paranoid.”
“I don’t like it either,” Fox says flatly. Then, to my surprise, he elaborates. “It smells like death in here.”
I raise my eyebrows at him. “It smells like cake.”
He shakes his head, but being Fox, doesn’t say anything else. Still, an uneasy shiver travels up my spine.
At that moment, a loud crash, like splintering wood, rips through the cottage. I jump, and nearly knock my elbow into the wedding cake. Fox’s head smacks against a low beam as he startles upright.
In an instant, I’m alert. I cross the cottage in two strides and yank open the door to the cellar. The smell of damp earth invades my nose. “Mrs. Hilde? Are you alright?”
“Of course, Your Majesty!” She yells back, sounding slightly winded. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be right—ow!”
Alarm hits me as she yelps in pain. “What happened?”
“Nothing!” she shouts again.
I glance over my shoulder at the others. Kastian looks tense, Fox worried, and even Jett has stopped smiling. Turning back to the stairs, I take a step into the darkness.
Suddenly, Mrs. Hilde appears at the bottom of the stairs again. She’s holding a flower sack with one hand and a jar of what looks to be molasses in the other. “Found what I was looking for!” she says cheerfully. “I’m going to make gingerbread.”
“What was that sound?” I demand.
“Oh, nothing,” she says as she hurries up the stairs toward me.
I’m forced to step out of the doorway to let her pass, but then I peer back into the darkness. “Let me just go make sure everything is alright.”
The stairwell is somehow even narrower than it looked, with damp rock walls that squeeze in close enough to brush my shoulders. It smells like wet earth and something faintly sulfurous, like rotten eggs someone tried to cover up with cinnamon.
My hand finds the wall and I inch downward, hyperaware of Kastian close behind me. Fox and Jett are right behind him, so when Mrs. Hilde tries to protest again, her voice is muffled by four large bodies stubbornly squeezing into a space built for one.
“Really, it’s nothing,” Mrs. Hilde calls down, her voice ricocheting off the stone. “It’s dirty down there, you shouldn’t—”
“Kas, conjure a light,” I mutter, and the words barely leave my mouth before he responds.
The flare of magic is bright and fast. A little flame materializes in his palm, and throws every shadow into sharp relief.
It also immediately reveals that Mrs. Hilde was lying: the stairs, yes, are filthy, but the bottom of the cellar is anything but.
The floor down here is packed hard and smooth, swept clean of dust, and lined with square flagstones, a distinct improvement over the upper staircase.
The shelves along the far wall are stacked high with baking supplies—jars of jam, bottles of cordial, mysterious preserves in brown glass jars, and baskets of brightly wrapped candies.
There’s even a row of smoked sausages hanging from the ceiling, which draws Jett’s attention instantly.
My eyes land on the only thing that seems out of place: splintered wood and cornmeal cover a patch of floor near the wall. It looks as if one of the heavy barrels exploded of its own accord.
I stride over to the broken barrel and bend down to pick up a handful of cornmeal. My brow furrows in confusion.
Kastian’s hand lands on my shoulder, startling me. “Do you smell that?” he whispers, low enough that it probably shouldn’t carry, but the cellar amplifies every sound.
“Yeah,” I say, and everyone else nods. The sulfur smell is stronger here, and now there’s an edge of rot to it—something not even cinnamon could hide.
I twist to look at Mrs. Hilde, who is halfway down the stairs and clearly trying to herd us back up.
She’s clutching the jar of molasses, brandishing it like a weapon.
“Don’t worry about the mess. One of my barrels just cracked, it’s nothing to worry about right now.
I have everything I need for gingerbread.
I’ll have the cookies ready in no time—”
Fox grabs my arm and pulls me to the left, toward a wall stacked with old potato crates. “There’s something behind here.”
“Excuse me,” Mrs. Hilde barks. “Please don’t touch that.”
I ignore her. “Someone help me move it.”
Jett, who was halfway through stealing a sausage, drops it and comes over to help.
The two of us grab the edge of the crate and shove.
It’s heavy with potatoes, but not so heavy that we can’t manage it together.
The crate slides to the side with a scraping noise that makes my teeth ache, and behind it is—nothing.
Just a wall, rough stone mortared badly together. Except—
“There’s a seam here,” I say, running my fingers along the line where the stones meet. “Like a hidden door.”
Mrs. Hilde shrieks, a high, shattered sound.
“Don’t touch that! It’s dangerous!” she yells, but I’m already pressing my shoulder into the seam and testing it with my weight.
Fox and Kastian jump in to help, and together we manage to pry open a narrow wedge of space, just enough to see darkness beyond.
The smell hits us full force, a ripe, wet, animal stink that makes my stomach heave. Jett recoils. “What the fuck is that?”
Kastian’s flame flares brighter, casting long shadows across the hidden chamber. The light catches first on something white—a femur, then a skull, then dozens more, scattered like fallen leaves across the packed earth floor. “Holy shit.”
A muffled whimper draws my eyes to the far corner where two small, blonde figures huddle against the damp stone. Their wrists are raw from rope burns, mouths stretched around filthy gags. When they see us, their eyes widen, and they thrash wildly and try to scream around the cloth in their mouths.
Rage courses through me and I whip around and see Mrs. Hilde darting back up the stairs. “Grab her!”
Fox’s boots scrape against stone as he lunges forward, fingers outstretched toward Mrs. Hilde’s apron.
The fabric slips through his grasp like water.
She scrambles back up the cellar stairs, surprisingly nimble for someone so old.
Fox’s hand drops to his sword hilt, but it’s too late—Mrs. Hilde’s silhouette vanishes into the light above and the door slams shut behind her.