Albigard merely continued to look at him, expressionless. A smile twitched on the old man’s face, and he excused himself to the stacks, returning a few moments later with a page that looked like real parchment. Albigard glanced at it, and turned away without another word to the Recorder.
“Come,” he said, tugging me after him.
I let myself be hurried along, back down the vine-choked stairwell, through the perfumed atrium dripping with blossoms, and outside.
“Did you get the address?” I asked.
“Quiet,” he said. Then, in a lower voice, “The residence is some distance from here, and the Recorder will almost certainly inform the city guard to meet us there.”
“Can’t you magic us to wherever this place is?” I muttered, ignoring his command for silence.
“I have never been there before, so—no.”
“You’d never been to the house where I was staying in Chicago, either!” I hissed.
“I used your presence there as my anchor,” he replied in a tone that made it clear I should shut up now. “Move your feet, demonkin, unless you want to find the guards waiting for us when we arrive.”
I gritted my teeth and half-jogged to keep up with his long strides. This place would have been fascinating under any other circumstances. The surroundings were just similar enough to my own world that most things were identifiable, yet everything was slightly off, like the blue-green moss carpet. Like the too-perfect glamoured appearance the Fae used on Earth.
There were people around, but it wasn’t crowded in the way downtown St. Louis or Chicago were crowded during the daylight hours. Statuesque men and lovely, elfin-featured women gave us looks that ranged from disdainful to worried as Albigard dragged me along at speed.
Gradually, the tenor of our surroundings changed from this-is-where-people-work to this-is-where-people-live. The roads grew narrower, or at least the usable portion that hadn’t been taken over by plant life grew narrower. The buildings grew smaller, the layout of streets less regular.
Albigard glanced up at each intersection, and I noticed signs, covered in symbols I couldn’t decipher. Which, now that I thought about it, raised a rather obvious question.
“We’re almost there,” Albigard said, turning right onto an even narrower street.
“How can I understand the language here?” I blurted. “I certainly can’t read the writing.”
He shot me a dark, sidelong glance. “How many times do I have to remind you that you drank my mead? I’m translating for you, obviously. You’re welcome, by the way.”
And, okay—I wasn’t going to examine that response too closely. If Albigard was creepy-crawling around inside my head somehow, I was happier not knowing the details. Even so, I shivered involuntarily.
“Er, yeah. Thanks,” I managed.
Our pace hadn’t slackened during the exchange, and now Albigard gestured to a cute little cottage that looked pretty much like all the other cute little cottages on this stretch of road.
“Here,” he said as we turned onto the stone-lined walkway leading to the front door. “It appears the guards haven’t arrived yet.”
He knocked briskly on the weathered wood. For a long moment, nothing happened, but then I heard the click of a lock disengaging and the door creaked inward. No one was standing inside to greet us, though I thought I caught sight of something small and dark darting out of the front room. An animal, maybe?
Albigard’s brow furrowed. He gave the interior a slow look, as though searching out possible traps.
“Is this it?” I asked nervously. “Is he here?”
“Allegedly,” he said, which wasn’t nearly as reassuring a response as it might have been.
He let go of my arm, and I shook it out as the blood flow returned. I pushed past him into the house, figuring that at this point, there wasn’t much worse that could happen to me than what was already going to happen. Time wasn’t exactly on my side, so caution could go take a flying leap.
“Hello?” I called.
Nobody answered.
The place was small, so I headed deeper into the cottage, aware of Albigard trailing after me. Again, I noted the sort of sideways familiarity of the structure. I was able to identify the kitchen, though I would have struggled to use it to prepare food. The table and chairs in the dining area were recognizable enough, as was the collection of comfortable seating arranged around a fireplace in what was clearly the living area.
Something seemed off, though, and it took me longer than it should have to realize that it was the relative lack of invading plant life inside the place. Aside from a few herbs trying to overflow their pots on various windowsills, there were no choking vines or heavy-scented flowers here. No moss growing on the floor—just neatly swept hardwood planks covered in places by homey woven rugs.
Movement caught my eye—a dark tail flicking as whatever it was attached to ducked through the doorway on the far side of the living area. I followed it, glancing back to find Albigard settling himself next to a front-facing window and twitching the curtain back.
Keeping watch, I realized.
I didn’t have long. The door through which the dark tail had disappeared was half open.
“Hello?” I asked, more tentatively this time.
Still no answer, but I thought I heard a faint rustling noise coming from within. The hinges creaked as I opened the door further. Inside was a bedroom, and I had a vague sense of light fabrics and airy, pleasant surroundings before my eyes lit on a figure seated on a rocking chair in one corner, facing half away from me.
My hand slipped from the knob, dropping limply to my side.
“Dad?” I asked in a small voice, my heart leaping into my throat and trying to choke me.
My father didn’t move or acknowledge my presence in any way, and a chill slid across my skin despite the pleasant warmth of the air.
On the bed, a huge black cat with slanted green eyes that seemed too large for its face regarded me. An odd rumble of sound emerged from its throat, and then it lifted
