Chapter 4 #2
I blink at Henri. “What do Deathless…do?”
His keen eyes glitter. He’s almost hard to look at. “Well—”
“Do not answer him,” Cary interrupts. He’s ahead of us by a few feet.
Henri’s face wrinkles. “But he asked!”
“He is a mortal. Do not feed his curiosity.”
“Hello,” I say loudly in Cary’s direction. “You don’t have to talk around me. I’m right here, you know.”
“Unfortunately.”
Even with his back to me, I can tell Cary’s frowning.
“We each have a role,” Henri finally answers. “He is the ferrier. A guide, if you will. He escorts souls from your realm to ours. He’s also the only one who can lift the bridge that crosses the—”
“Enough,” Cary snarls.
Henri tuts. To me, he whispers, “And he’s also what you mortals call emo. Very brooding. Very boring.”
Laughter escapes my mouth before I can silence it.
Over his shoulder, Cary’s eyes narrow callously. I don’t run from his glare. I stand taller, ready for another fight.
He looks away.
“What about you?” I ask Henri.
“Me?” His long fingers squeeze the charm at the end of his gold chain. “I’m a messenger. Of sorts. A guide as well.”
“Like him?” I motion toward Cary. The light breeze moves through his hair, loosening curls. I try not to stare.
“Not quite.”
I wait for Henri to explain. Instead, Cary says, “We are here.”
Looming in front of us is a large gate. The wrought iron design reminds me of the balconies above State Street Promenade’s shops.
Around the vertical bars, golden vines bloom into sculpted flowers with six-pointed petals like the ones on the guards’ chests.
I can’t remember the species’ name. My mom would know.
A breath hitches in my throat. Will I ever see her again? Or my dad? Am I trapped in this place, this underworld forever?
I clench my fists at my sides. No, there’s no time to think about that now. I need to stay vigilant.
Beyond the gates, a building reaches so high, it feels endless. Somehow, it’s slender like a skyscraper and sweeping like a palace. Imposing but beautiful. Light winks off the inky surface.
The gates sway open.
I lean forward for a closer look. “What is—”
My words are cut short by Cary’s stiff “Do not make any sudden movements.” His warning is followed by howling. Snarls coming from multiple directions.
Instinctively, I think to run. But where to? I have no clue where I am or what this place is.
Fingers coil around my wrist. Cary’s firm grip holds me still. Slowly, he steps in front of me. We’re so close, my chest almost pressed to his spine. He positions himself between me and whatever is emerging from the billowing mist ahead.
Then I see them. A trio of Great Danes. Their fur is smoky dark. Wild eyes bluer than the Pacific stare me down. They’re big, stalking closer, pointed teeth bared.
My eyes flit to Cary. Over his shoulder, his face is fearless, almost bored.
Henri yawns. “Is this really necessary?”
The dogs’ barks echo like thunder.
When I refocus on them, there aren’t three Danes anymore. Just one enormous hound towering over us. A three-headed monster.
“Call off your beast, ferrier.” Henri flaps a dismissive hand. “We get it. He’s big and scary. Protector of the realm. No one in or out. Blah, blah, blah.”
The growling deepens, as if they just might rip Henri into three equal pieces.
Henri rolls his eyes, unbothered.
Cary edges forward. I’m forced to move with him. Being that he’s still holding my wrist as if I’m a toddler who can’t be trusted.
He drops to one knee. His other hand reaches out. “Cerby is not a beast. He is only doing what is asked of him.”
All at once, the snarling stops. With a quiet whimper, the Dane—Cerby—bows his heads. Each nudges into Cary’s touch. His tail wags vigorously until his body shrinks, then splits. He’s no longer one but three Danes again, tongues lolling.
The beginning of a smile inches Cary’s mouth up. Maybe. I doubt he’s capable of such a thing.
He whispers something to Cerby. Three pairs of hungry blue eyes jump to me. Cerby’s jaws crack, teeth visible. I don’t breathe. But Cary’s fingers snap and Cerby’s attention immediately returns to him, happy whines escaping his mouths.
“Are we finished here?” Henri asks, pouting.
Cary ignores him. With a final scratch behind each dog’s ears, he stands. Before slipping back into the mist, Cerby’s heads tilt as they examine me curiously.
“He does not know you,” Cary says, “but he will not harm you.”
I hate how my body relaxes, trusting his words.
“Does that mean”—my gaze falls between us—“I can have my hand back now?”
Flecks of gold flare in his eyes. He unceremoniously releases my wrist. Cool air brushes the strip of skin where his fingers just were and I chase off a shiver.
Turning away, Cary says, “This way.”
I drink in the building’s interior. The main room flows seamlessly like a hotel lobby. Warm amber light pours from a chandelier made up of glass bobble candles. It floats overhead without wires or chain.
The walls are a deep midnight blue. With every step, the designs seem to shift. Filigreed fish swimming in an ocean. Crows with shimmery beating wings. Roses blooming from thorned vines. Stout marble columns line the walkway. Gilded accents are carved into their tops and bases.
Floral notes drift in the air, the fragrance dizzying. Intricate geometric patterns spread across the marble floor. A thick red rug stretches from the entrance to a glass desk in the middle of the room.
Someone sits behind it, clacking at a computer.
As we approach, soft music plays. I can’t tell where it’s coming from. It almost sounds like “Für Elise,” one of the songs I could never get right on the piano, but slower, sadder. My fingers move to the melody as I try to find the notes in my head.
I’ve never seen or heard or experienced anything like this. It still feels like a dream. But it’s not.
When we reach the desk, Henri says, cheerfully, “Meli!”
The girl has large eyes. One black, the other pale blue. Her hair is the same way—half pitch black, half a startling white. She’s soft-faced, young. Her cheeks flush under Henri’s gaze.
“Greetings, Lord Henri.”
“Ha! See!” Henri gestures toward her. “Lord Henri.”
Cary lets out an exasperated breath. “You bribe her to call you that.”
She winks, an admission.
Henri’s jaw drops. “I don’t bribe. I bargain. Something you should consider doing.”
“Pointless,” Cary grumbles. “I am not my brother.”
“Oh, I know.”
Henri grins wickedly. Annoyance cuts darkly across Cary’s face. I consider asking who they’re talking about, but Henri doesn’t give me a chance to.
“Shall we go up?”
Just left of the desk is an elevator. Meli’s two-colored eyes find me. I feel like an alien on display before she says, “He is waiting on you.”
Cary strides in the direction of the elevator. I follow, not that I have a choice. The guards are close behind.
Inside, there are no buttons. No panels indicating whether we’re going up or down. Thankfully, the ride is short. I’m still unknotting my stomach as the doors glide open.
Unlike the lobby, this room is wide. Walls of floor-to-ceiling windows illuminate the space from opposite sides. Light reflects off polished ebony floors. Tall vases hold slender-stemmed flowers. Their white petals are the same as the ones from the gates and on the guards.
Near the room’s center is an ivory rug. It runs like spilled sugar toward a raised crimson dais. Sitting on top is a plush black throne embellished in gold.
A throat clears.
My gaze snaps to a boy. He looks a year or two younger than me. Smooth tawny skin, knife-sharp features. Thick eyebrows frame bright eyes. His black hair is cut low and even, but I can see the start of curls at the top.
He walks closer, hands folded behind his back. His tailored charcoal suit fits him well. A garland of bristly green leaves circles his head. Cypress, maybe?
When he stops just short of me, my heart crawls anxiously up my throat.
He’s beautiful.
The guards give him a small bow.
Henri does too. “Prince Milos,” he says, “this is—”
“The boy,” Milos interrupts, his voice rich, his smile deep, “who has defied death.”