Being calm in this situation is the only way to go about this.
A deep breath.
A little counting.
But as I watch the door, having the cold spell over me like some heavy cloak, I search for the calm and can't find it.
The "trick" as Deiya called it that had given me some type of calm has promptly fled.
I can't even keep my breathing in check as my heart starts racing.
For some reason whomever Deiya's master is, feels like someone I don't want to meet.
Hugo was working for him but he's not a werewolf?
Not a nymph either.
I shiver, wrapping my arms around myself as the first thump echoes through the door.
Is he some type of wild beast?
I try to remember any other fantasy creature I've come across. Any other that must belong to this world I've somehow stumbled into.
But nothing.
"It's okay," I hear Deiya through my panic. Her voice is soft and comforting but even that barely helps.
She steps over to me and wraps a hand around my elbow.
The warmth hits me like rays of sunshine, starting in my chest and spreading outward.
My shoulders relax a fraction as I turn to her, and her complicated blend of male and feminine features that look so ethereal upclose.
"Please, tell me who your master is," I plead.
The icy blue flecks in her silver eyes glow strangely and a tight smile pulls the corner of her mouth. She shakes her head.
"Go on."
Another loud thump echoes through the door like a large bolt sliding off and the door pushes off the wall and slides away.
Beyond the threshold lay absolute darkness.
Great.
I'm going to die.
"Don't keep him waiting."
The hand on my elbow shoves me forward and drops away, taking the warmth with it.
I swallow dryly and pull any scrap of bravery I can find.
It isn't much.
The darkness beyond the door seems to stir as I peer through it, squinting and trying to make out anything.
Then, slowly, the hallway lights come on—actual flame torches mounted on the walls, flickering to life one by one down a long, narrow corridor.
The orange glow stretches ahead, dim and wavering, painting the stone walls in shifting shadows that look alive.
I step out of the room, with my heart in my throat.
One step into the half-light.
Then two.
By the third, I glance back, but the door has already sealed itself, blending seamlessly into the wall like it was never there.
"Hey!" My voice barely rises above a whisper, swallowed by the vastness.
No answer.
Of course.
My legs feel like lead, but I force them forward, one hesitant step at a time.
The torches crackle softly, the only sound besides my ragged breathing and the faint scuff of my shoes on the cold stone floor.
The hallway seems endless, the flames casting long, dancing shadows that twist and reach like fingers trying to grab me.
Every flicker makes me flinch, every gust of chilly air brushing my skin feels like a warning to run.
But where?
I hug my arms tighter around myself, trying to hold in what little warmth I have left.
But the cold here seeps into my bones, making my chattering teeth clack together loudly.
My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my ears, a frantic drumbeat urging me to turn back, to bang on the door, to scream for Deiya.
But I don't. I keep walking.
Something tells me she won't open the door.
The hallway stretches on, the walls bare except for the occasional iron bracket holding a torch.
No doors. No windows.
Just black stone, flames and the jittery shadow that reminds me of being locked in the closet once more but this time I can't find my way out.
My mind races, conjuring horrors behind every corner that isn't there when I blink.
What kind of master lives at the end of something like this?
What kind of creepy creature keeps a girl like Deiya?
I think of Hugo's shaky voice right before he knocked me out. He sounded scared.
Like he'd been afraid of this master too.
And now I'm walking straight to him.
The thought makes my stomach twist and I feel nauseous but there's nothing to throw up so I swallow the urge and keep walking.
After what feels like hours, though it can't be more than a few minutes—the hallway ends.
A heavy wooden door looms ahead, carved with swirling patterns that seem to slither in the torchlight. It's taller than any door should be, banded with dark iron.
I stop in front of it, staring. My hand trembling at my sides not willing to touch it.
But it opens on its own.
Slowly, silently swinging inward to reveal a room.
A study by the look of it.
Dim and lavish, bathed in the same flickering orange glow from a massive fireplace across the way.
The furniture is deep crimson like pooled blood on overstuffed chairs and a wide chaise.
A rug so dark covers every inch of the floor.
I step inside hesitantly, my feet sinking into the plush rug as the door swings shut behind me with a soft thud that echoes in my chest.
Bookshelves line the walls, towering up and up, disappearing into the shadowed ceiling. I crane my neck, but the tops are lost in darkness, like the room has no end.
Heavy curtains frame tall windows, but they're locked tight, the glass filmed with grime at the corners, as if no one's opened them in years. Dust motes drift lazily in the faint light, and the air smells of old paper, smoke, and a metallic tang I can't place.
I look around, every sense on edge as the shadows make me jumpy. Pooling like ink in the corners, shifting whenever I blink.
The fireplace crackles and burns brightly, but it does nothing to warm the room.
The cold is even worse, wrapping around me like wet blanket, making me shiver uncontrollably.
When I see it, a gasp leaves my mouth. A silhouette in the corner, half-hidden by one of the towering shelves, watching me.
My breath catches.
I swallow hard, waiting. Waiting for this terrible Master to move, to speak, to lunge and rip me to pieces.
But the silhouette doesn't stir.
"Hello?" My voice comes out small, cracking on the word.
No response.
I take a slow step forward, then another. The figure sharpens as I approach, the firelight catching on fabric, on skin.
A man.
Chubby frame, broad shoulders slumped slightly. Familiar broad face, the stubble on his jaw, the messy hair.
Hugo.
My heart lurches.
Without thinking, I run to him, closing the distance in a few frantic strides. "Hugo!"
He doesn't move.
That's when the wrongness hits me and stops me like a wall of ice water down my spine.
Slowly, I reach out tentatively. My fingers brushing his arm, calling his name softly. "Hugo? Hey… it's me."
He's cold to the touch. Unnaturally cold. And so stiff.
His eyes are open, staring blankly at nothing. Glassy and empty, like nobody's home. His face is slack, mouth parted, a thin trail of drool glistening on his chin.
Panic surges through me. I grab his shoulders, shaking him gently at first, then harder. "Hugo! Hugo! What's wrong with you?!"
Nothing. No flicker. No response.
My hands move to his chest, pressing flat over his heart. It's beating slow and steady.
But nothing else seem to point to him being alive.
It's like talking to a dead man.
Tears prick my eyes as I shake him again, whispering his name over and over, wondering what could've happened to him, terrified if the same fate awaited me.
"He's not dead."
A voice slithers into the room, wet and cold, crawling down my spine.
I whirl around in fear and rising anger, looking for where it came from.
"What did you do to him?"
"Nothing he's…sleeping," the voice says, coming from a shadowed doorway across the room—a second entrance I hadn't noticed, tucked inbetween more shelves.
My heart thumps wildly as I snap again, voice shaking. "Sleeping? He looks dead."
"Don't worry about him. That dog is unimportant to us."
"To us? You're the master then?" The word bursts out of me, hot and furious and I'm glad for it, I latch onto it because its better than fear. Anything is better than fear.
"What the fuck do you mean? Show your face!"
A pause. Then, a soft amused chuckle.
"As you wish."
The shadows in the doorway shift and a figure materializes, stepping into the firelight.
I take an unwilling step back, bumping into Hugo's stiff body as I stare at the unfolding scene.
The figure is of an unnaturally tall man with pale skin stretched tight over sharp cheekbones. Sunken eyes like bottomless holes blink at me half hidden by long dark hair that frames most of his face.
A long black cloak billows around him as he moves toward me, though there's no breeze. The fabric seems to absorb the light, and glisten, bringing that suffocating metallic tang to my nose.
My anger flickers at the nightmarish sight.
"What sort of monster are you?"
Another amused chuckle and a drawling accent I can't recognize.
"That's not a nice way to speak to your father."
I go rigid.
Every muscle in my body locks. The air freezes in my lungs.
"My—My what?"
Out of the cloak glide long, pale hands, fingers slender and clawlike. They spread wide, as if waiting for an embrace.
"Yes, Arielle." His voice is smoother now, but still cold, laced with something that might be affection if it weren't so hollow. "It's your father. I've been waiting for you for a long time now."
The room tilts.
My knees threaten to buckle.
My Father.
The word echoes in my skull, wrong and impossible.
Shaking my head, I stare at him—at this stranger, this creature—and feel the words I want to say hang in my throat unable to come out.
My father is dead.