The seelie are the only thing keeping the unseelie from devastating the human population.
Humans don’t know about the unseelie. While pixies, satyrs, and leprechauns evolved to live with and among humans, the unseelie evolved to have a taste for human flesh. Unseelie don’t blend in. They’re monsters, ancient and dark. The unseelie are to us what sharks and alligators are to humans, if the sharks and alligators had human minds and could tell you they planned to suck out your eyeballs before they chomped on your head like it was a cheese ball. They are a leftover race from a barbaric time now relegated to the annals of our history.
Tens of thousands of years ago, a war broke out between the seelie and unseelie fae in the Americas. The seelie fae had evolved to look, sound, and act like the early indigenous humans who lived on these lands. The unseelie had evolved to think of humans as either food or slaves. Evolution turned them into monsters with sharp teeth and claws and a taste for blood. When the seelie conquered the unseelie, the ancient rulers of our kind erected a wall to contain the unseelie in Shadowvale, a massive fairy realm where they live freely in the wilds, safely separate from the rest of us.
The seelie though were not solely responsible for winning the war against the unseelie. The god Odin sent hislight ones, elves with an ancient magic foreign to us, to help our people. To this day, a religious order of elves called Guardians maintains the wall. They fortify the magic that keeps the unseelie where they belong and keep watch over the border. In over ten thousand years, there has never been a breach, or at least that’s what we’re taught in school. As far as I know, Yissevel is the first.
Seven and I arrive at the wall just after sunrise, and an elf dressed in a dark blue hood greets us at the door.
“Godmother told us you were coming,” he says in a deep melodious voice that sets me on edge. Like Godmother’s, his voice seems to be too big for his body. I’ve never met an elf before—they never leave their priory, and I’ve never had a reason to come here. I try to glimpse under the hood. All I can catch is jet-black hair and light blue eyes that seem too big for his head. I’ve read that elves have pointed ears, but his are covered. He’s a bit shorter than Seven and is built slight, more like a pixie, but I know better than to think his narrower stature means he’s powerless. Just like Godmother, elves have old magic, true magic not limited to luck. It’s the same magic that fuels the wards surrounding Devashire.
“I’m Sophia, and this is Seven,” I say, because it seems like the polite thing to do and I’m too nervous to remain silent.
The elf bows at the waist. “I am Elred.”
While I’m wondering if I should bow back or maybe curtsy, Seven draws a box from his pack about as long as his hand and half as deep. It looks like it’s made of solid gold. “A gift in appreciation for your help today.” He bows and holds it out to the elf who accepts it with his own obeisance. He opens the lid. I can’t see what’s inside, but golden light reflects onto the elf’s face.
He closes the top. “By Odin, your offering is found worthy. Welcome to Heimdall’s Priory. Come with me.”
The elf leads us through a door and down a long, narrow corridor. The structure might be better described as a dam. Now that I’m inside it, I realize our entire house could fit within its width and height. In school they’d made us memorize that the wall was around 600 feet tall, but it’s different seeing it up close. From the outside, it’s massive and awe-inspiring, carved with symbols that reveal it for the ancient relic it is. Being inside it is something else altogether. The inner world of the wall is bustling with modern activity. Elred explains that Heimdall’s Priory is a subsection of the wall, where the guardians live and work. Their living quarters are on the second floor. The first floor is where they monitor the barrier between us and Shadowvale. We pass a glass room, and I notice elves with security equipment similar to what Seven showed me in Dragonfly.
“You have electronic surveillance?” I sputter, flabbergasted.
The elf flashes me an amused grin. “You didn’t think it was all prayers and rituals, did you? Even Odin needs a little help these days.”
My jaw drops, and I exchange looks with Seven.
The elf keys us into a secured room, and my sense of amazement ratchets up a few more notches. We are standing in front of a mirror—a massive, gilt-framed mirror—that ripples occasionally as if it’s formed of liquid silver. My eyes snap to the corner when I think I see the shadow of a fishlike creature swim beneath the surface. The silver swells after the thing and then settles smooth again.
“What is this?” I say under my breath because the sound in here reminds me of a library or a funeral home. Every instinct I have tells me to whisper.
“This is how we go through,” Seven whispers against my ear. He’s behind me, watching me. I’d been so distracted with the mirror, I hadn’t noticed him move in close.
The elf approaches a rack on the wall and selects a gold staff with a bulbous hook on the end. “There’s a reason that Seven can’t fly you in his helicopter to take you to Shadowvale.”
I clear my throat. “I assumed the magic prevented that.”
The elf chuckles. “Oh, you can fly over this wall, but you will never reach Shadowvale. You’ll pass right into US airspace. The only way to the unseelie kingdom is through this mirror.”
“It’s a portal?” I narrow my eyes. How in the hell did Yissevel get through this without anyone noticing?
“Yes.” Elred approaches the mirror.
“Is this the only one of its kind?” I ask quickly.
“No,” Elred says, “but they are rare, and each is heavily guarded.”
I open my mouth to ask how many elves work here, but Seven’s hand clamps over it. Elred raises his staff, uttering some words in ancient elvish. “Once I stir the silver, you must go through before it settles. Do not stop until you reach the meadow on the other side. I cannot help you if you become trapped.”
That sounds ominous.
Seven slides his hand into mine and a fine shiver travels through me. I’m really doing this. I’m going to see a world no one I know has ever seen. Anticipation drives my pulse. Adrenaline floods my system. I should be scared, but I’m not. I’m… excited.
The elf plunges the staff into the silver and grunts as he stirs in giant strokes. His muscles bulge beneath his robes from the effort. A swirl, like a whirlpool, starts at the center of the mirror and then opens into a tunnel.
He draws out the staff. “Now!”
ChapterTwenty-Three
