Chapter 11
Crisp early morning air wove around me, nipping at my loose hair, biting into my bare hands.
I’d been in Iceland for less than two hours and it already felt like the island was trying to blow me away. My numb fingers tapped on my notes app, pulling up the directions to the hostel Shanley had given me—a recommendation from the Finland pack.
So, I was already on Rainbow Street, clearly: bright red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple stripes ran along the entire length of the road, gleaming against the dark of the asphalt.
Now I just needed to find the right alley…
Tucking my phone into my pocket, I breathed into the cups of my palms to heat my hands and scoured the cobblestone lanes tucked between the colorful buildings.
Nothing screamed hostel. My stomach, on the other hand, was fiercely grumbling at the earthy aroma of coffee and something oily—burnt cheese—wafting from the line of cafés.
Tourists clinked their mugs, picked over souvenirs, and stuffed their faces with pastries that had to be the culprits behind the smell in the cozy warmth of the buildings.
A prickle raised the hairs on my arms. It wasn’t a choice to freeze my ass off out here, but I had to find my hostel.
I turned away from the windows, hoisting my backpack up to give my shoulders some relief, walking until I reached the courtyard of a curved, white granite cathedral—the end of the block.
Still no hostel.
I was beginning to think I’d been punked or I was just really bad at directions.
A water droplet splashed my cheek. Rain, again.
Flipping the hood of my windbreaker over my hair, I hustled beneath an awning.
A flutter of movement across the colorful road caught my attention. Two people, the only other brave souls who seemed able to bear these frigid morning temperatures, disappeared into a narrow street—an alley I hadn’t noticed despite checking nearly every building—with a swish of their long, tweed jackets.
Backpack flopping against my tailbone, I scrambled after them, but between one blink and the next they just… vanished. I stopped mid-stride, the thin air stinging my lungs.
What the—? How did they just disappear?
The alley didn’t seem special; it was merely a path between two thick, stone walls. No doors, no gutters—no wonder my eyes had breezed over it. And it was long, far too long for them to have run down in one second. It stretched out in front of me, glaringly empty. There wasn’t even a dumpster to hide behind, or in.
An iron arch marked the entrance, which felt a bit gothic for such a modern and vibrant area. The curves and swirls came together in the center to make a design that put it somewhere between nautical and floral. My eyes went wide. It was a compass rose, a symbol I’d seen at the moonrocks and at that magical pub Ryder had taken me to so long ago.
My heart thumped loudly in my chest. This was supernatural-marked passage. Annað Ríki Hostel had to be down there.
The moment my foot stepped under the arch, another world unfurled around me, as if the bare cobblestone alley was nothing but a canvas that the magic painted over in one, shimmering sweep.
I spotted the figures I’d originally seen and trailed behind them, nearly jumping out of my skin when a pair of shutters opened and a buzzing creature I could only describe as a fairy started watering the flowers in their window boxes.
I was so caught up, I didn’t see or hear the scooter until it swerved around a pothole and almost flattened me. I had to practically fling myself into a wall as the driver whizzed past in a blur of green spikes.
Shanley had mentioned these kinds of beings lived more out in the open in the Nordic countries, but damn, there was hardly any effort put into concealing themselves. They lived so… authentically. Freely.
Meanwhile, the strangers I’d been following leapt up the steps of a busy parklet and tossed their jackets onto the last empty bench seats. I caught a glimpse of their faces as they turned their heads—one with horns, the other with silver pools for eyes—totally unbothered.
I was not the strangest thing here, not by a mile.
Keeping my steps light, I walked up the small set of stairs, gripping the banister tight.
Sunlight poked through the clouds, reflecting off a pair of brass-plated double doors. The name I’d been looking for, Annað Ríki Hostel, hung in mismatched letters over the frame.
I’d made it. With a sigh, I pushed open a door and entered a lively common space.
The air was thick with espresso and magic.
