As Mitchell crawled out of the tent, the first thing he noticed was that there was light. But not the harsh wintry light from outside. This light was warm and inviting. It reminded him of staring in through a large bay window into a living room decked out for Christmas with a fire roaring in a hearth strung with stockings and garland. The glow was coming from the oval window set into a stout wooden door that was nestled into the stone as if the mountain had been formed around it. The door stood in the same position as the narrow entrance had been when they first arrived but he could see no trace of it now, only the rough granite walls and this new feature.

As Mitchell straightened, Lethelin emerged behind him and was equally awestruck by the appearance of the door and the soothing light emanating from the stained-glass of the window.

“Stollar’s nipples,” she said, almost in a whisper. “When did that get here?”

Before Mitchell could answer, the little creature that had drawn them out of the tent chirped at them once again, very pleased with itself, turned in a circle and then scampered through a cat flap that had been cut into the door near the bottom. Its body flowed smoothly through the small opening and the flap slapped close with a little click.

“I think we’ve found the one who locked us in here,” Mitchell said.

He turned to look at Lethelin who hadn’t answered him.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, it’s just that…” her voice trailed off, then she shook her head. “It’s so nice. We’ve been in the dark for so long. Can we go in?”

Lethelin pulled her eyes away from the multi-hued glow and looked at him with an eager expression.

He felt it too. He wanted to go in so bad he thought he could taste the Christmas cookies that were surely just on the other side, but a more cautious part of his brain was sounding the alarm klaxons.

“Is this safe?”

“I don’t see another way out,” she said.

Mitchell couldn’t argue with that. He wasn’t sure how long they’d been in here. Without the sun to keep the time, there was no way to tell day from night. Two days, maybe. Not more than three. But he knew that Lethelin was holding it together by the skin of her teeth, and then there was Allora, who hadn’t moved at all and now wasn’t even breathing. In any event, their food would run out eventually if they stayed here. The door seemed their best bet. If whoever or whatever had put it here wanted them dead, , all they had to do was nothing.

“Okay, then,” Mitchell said with a sigh.

He crossed the uneven ground over to the door and reached up to the knocker which was bolted in just below the window. It was a simple design, just a copper ring with a fat end meant to strike the matching copper plate. Mitchell gave it the standard shave-and-a-haircut knock and waited. It didn’t take long.

Of its own accord, the door swung inward and a rush of warm cinnamon-and-cedar-scented air washed over them.

“Come in,” said a distinctly feminine voice from somewhere inside.

Mitchell felt Lethelin’s hand as she found his and gripped it, and they stepped inside.

As they crossed through the threshold, Mitchell felt a strange tingling all over his body. Almost like he had walked through some sort of static electrical field. It tickled ever so slightly and Mitchell couldn’t suppress the shudder. He felt Lethelin do the same. But it didn’t hurt, and it stopped once they were clear of the entrance.

Mitchell turned to look behind him and could see the cave and the tent through the glow from inside but of the pass that they had trudged through to get to the cave there was no sign.

The room was just as warm and inviting as the light had suggested. A fire was blazing in a river stone hearth built into the left side, though there were no stockings or Christmas tree. The thick logs were blazing enthusiastically, filling the room with the crackle and pop as they burned. The furnishings were simple but comfortable-looking chairs made of a dark wood and over-stuffed cranberry-red cushions. Opposite the door was a pre-industrial cooking area with what almost looked like a pizza oven, a pump for bringing up water, and a counter top stacked high with vegetables and herbs that Mitchell couldn’t identify. It had been built into an alcove off of the main room and there was a small leaded glass window that showed a hint of green and sunlight outside.

A small table was set in front of the fireplace with covered dishes set up, along with looked to Mitchell like a glass of beer. He did a double take. He could make out the logo for the Pedal Haus Brewery on the glass. That was impossible! It was a local craft brewery back in Phoenix that made his favorite beer, their Kush IPA. And it certainly appeared the right shade.

Next to that was a bottle of something else that Mitchell didn’t recognize. It was a small, squat bit of green glass with a fat cork in the top. He could see it was filled with a dark liquid, and he assumed it was a variety of wine going by the color.

As he scanned across to the right side of the room, he saw against the opposite wall a small writing desk with several leather-bound books arranged on a shelf above with two open next to some loose paper and a quill. Next to the desk was a doorway strung with beads of various different colors and a cot against the same wall the entrance to the cottage was in. It was covered in quilts that had a handmade quality to them and a large pillow at one end.

The little dragon thing had taken up residence on a small rug in front of the fireplace and was already snoozing comfortably, as if rousing them out of the tent and getting them to come in the door had exhausted it.

“Um…” Mitchell began into the silence. “Hello?”

The voice spoke up almost immediately from the room beyond the beads.

“Just a moment,” it said in thickly accented English. “I’m almost finished.”

It had an almost Mediterranean sound. Italian or Spanish, maybe.

They heard the sound of some clinking bottles and then a satisfied grunt before the beads parted and a woman emerged. She was about Lethelin’s height, with straight silver-white tresses that went down to the middle of her back and silvery eyes with irises that were gray instead of black. Her skin was as pale as her hair, but somehow still managed to glow with health. Deep burgundy lips were the only bit of color animating her otherwise albino features and .he saw long ears pointing up between the locks of her hair, much higher than Allora’s.

Her body was lithe and she moved with an almost unnatural grace as she stepped into the room in a simple red farm dress cinched tight at the waist with a red leather bodice that pushed her ample cleavage up to prominence. Mitchell had the feeling that if she stopped too fast the sudden change in speed would be enough to rip the brave and struggling leather cord that zigzagged up the front of the bodice and held it together. Sewn into the shoulders of the leather were thin ruffled shirt sleeves that went down to about mid-bicep on the smaller woman and left her arms exposed.

She was beautiful in an eerily unnatural way and had an alien quality about her. Mitchell was reminded of attempts by CGI artists and AI software to recreate animated faces that could pass for human. Most of the attempts failed as there was always something off about the reaction times or the eyes. This woman was like that. She was human shaped, barring the ears, but you would never mistake her for a human.

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Her hands were clasped demurely in front of her and Mitchell could make out the top of a small vial held between her fingers.

Behind him Lethelin groaned in absolute dismay.

“What?” Mitchell asked her, trying to pull his gaze away from the woman’s captivating beauty.

“Waivia,” Lethelin said as if she had lost the will to live. “We should have stayed in the cave.”

“Waivia?” Mitchell asked, looking from the woman who had now quirked the left side of her seductive mouth into a slight grin to Lethelin who had drained what little color was in her cheeks and had a look of defeat and resignation on her face. “What does that mean?”

“In your language it means fey,” the woman supplied, her strange accent sending shivers down Mitchell’s spine. It was like the tones in her voice, each syllable and bit of inflection, was moving over his skin, exploring and seeking. “I am a lady of Fairy.”

***

“Is that bad?” Mitchell finally asked into the silence.

Lethelin looked at him aghast.

“Oh, I don’t know. Is being burned alive in a fire bad? Is having your flesh ripped off your body by ravenous ziavas bad? Stollar’s balls!”

Lethelin looked like she wanted to run, but also like she knew it was futile at the same time.

“Such dramatics from the moon child,” the woman said with a giggle.

“They’re evil!” Lethelin said, her voice hard. Then she sucked in a breath, and a look of fear and regret passed over her features as she glanced at the fey woman.

“Please remember your manners, moon child,” the woman said, and the playful note in her voice had vanished, replaced by something with an edge. “You are a guest in my home and are under the protection of the laws of hospitality. I vow to bring no harm to you, but I will not tolerate insults within my own walls.”

The thief was immediately penitent. She dipped into a bow and spoke with her eyes locked on the floor.

“I apologize, my lady. I… I meant no disrespect. I will abide by the laws of hospitality and give no further offense.”

Mitchell wasn’t yet familiar enough with the language, but her manner of speaking had shifted. It reminded him of the way Allora always spoke. There was a certain sort of formality that Lethelin didn’t usually use. And the mocking tone that she often had when she called Allora ‘my lady’ was gone, replaced by one of deference. He had gotten the impression that Lethelin spoke a rougher dialect of Common than the knight did but couldn’t quite place how it was different. Language was a complicated thing, after all. It was much easier to hear the difference now that Lethelin was using a more polite form as well.

Mitchell felt widely out of depth here and was struggling to figure out what to do. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Lethelin so distressed, which suggested this woman was someone to fear. The wolves hadn’t fazed her, and she didn’t show any hesitation when she killed Ivaran. Nor had she shied away from their attackers back in the town. She was afraid now, however.

“You may rise,” the woman said with a tone that was almost as warm as before. “I accept your apology.”

Lethelin did as instructed but looked like she expected death at any moment.

“Let us start again,” the woman said. “I am Lady Luvari of the Winter Court of the Fey Lands. I welcome you to my home. You are my guests, and you are safe within my walls. Be welcome. Sit and eat,” Luvari gestured to the chairs arranged around the small table where the drinks and covered dishes were arranged.

“We have a friend back in the cave,” Mitchell gestured to the still open door into the cave behind them. “She’s not well.”

“The knight is in stasis,” Luvari said, her voice kind. “She will be fine while you eat. Please, be at ease.”

Mitchell looked to Lethelin who seemed to have all the fight taken out of her. She walked on silent feet over to the table and sat down folding her hands in her lap. In all the weeks he’d known her, he’d never seen her behave in such a manner. Mitchell followed suit and sat himself in front of the seat with the Pedal Haus glass.

“I have taken the liberty of preparing foods I thought you would enjoy,” Luvari said as she walked up to the table and removed the domes covering the food. “The moon child’s preference was not hard to acquire, but you,” the fey woman gave Mitchell a knowing look, “took some effort. Traveling to such a low-magic realm required preparation.”

Mitchell stared at his plate in wonder. It was a burger. But not just any burger. Mitchell would bet his life that it was the Hush Burger, from Fire At Will, a restaurant in Scottsdale. It was a bit of a hike from his place in Tempe right near the Ahwatukee foothills, but it was worth the drive. Steam was still coming off the brioche bun and cheese oozed down the sides like it had just come out of the kitchen instead of having traveled from another universe.

Lethelin looked equally shocked. On her plate was a fish of some kind. The meat was white and glistening and covered in a yellow sauce that gave off a distinct citrusy smell and had small berries suspended in it. Whatever it was, she was impressed. Her eyes were wide, and he could actually see her nostrils dilate as she inhaled the aroma.

“Gura!” she exclaimed “In naushin sauce!”

“Don’t forget the taris,” Luvari said with a smile. Then she leaned closer to Mitchell and spoke again in English. “Naushin is a like a lemon and taris are raisins. The sauce is quite delicious.”

“How did you do this?” Mitchell asked the strange woman.

“I used a credit card,” she told him with a wink of one silver eye. Her words were like warm honey over his skin. The hair on the back of Mitchell’s neck was actually starting to rise.

“Not mine, of course. But the young man who purchased it for me was very happy to help. Getting there and back was the difficult part. There are not many fey portals to your world. We don’t like to travel there.”

Mitchell could delay no longer. Lethelin had already begun to dig into her fish, a gura she had called it, and the smells coming from the Hush burger were slowly driving him insane. He picked it up almost reverently, like it was his only child, and didn’t even mind the cheese running over his fingers. As if it was his last meal, he took a bite.

“Ohmffgawd!” he groaned around the mouthful as the flavors overwhelmed him. He’d almost forgotten how good a burger tasted.

Mitchell was a simple guy, really. He didn’t need much. A cold beer, a good burger, and hopefully a beautiful girl next to his side and he was happy. He’d had the beautiful women for weeks now, but the burger and the beer had been missing. Not anymore. He was too overcome with hunger to talk and only consumed. He pulled a long drink from the beer glass and knew true happiness for the first time in a very long time.

While her guests gorged themselves, Lady Luvari circled the table and sat down on the hearth and began to idly stroke the scales and spines along the strange little creature’s back. It arched itself very much like a cat would and its wings suddenly shot outward and began to vibrate.

She looked at them both carefully, but Mitchell thought she was watching him a little more closely. Her gaze almost seemed like it was trying to capture him. Even just glancing eye contact made him want to linger on her face, to lose himself in the pale curve of her cheek or the soft outline of her lips. But before it got too far, he felt something like a push that took his eyes away, and he was able to focus back on his food.

Across from him, Lethelin popped the cork on the small wine bottle and sniffed. Eyes going wide, she placed it to her lips and drank almost the entire contents of the bottle in one long drink. He tried to imagine Allora drinking anything like that, but it seemed absurd.

Lethelin slumped back in her chair and looked about to succumb to a food coma and Mitchell imagined he probably looked the same. His stomach, after weeks of trail rations and few real meals, felt almost uncomfortably full, and then there was the beer. The feeling of satiation made him tired and giddy at the same time.

“I’m glad to see you enjoyed my gifts,” Luvari said while she stroked the dragon creature’s back. It had hopped up at some point and was curled in her lap, resting comfortably in the folds of her dress. “I do hope that we can be friends.”

Now that Mitchell was feeling a little more like himself, he tried to recall what legends there were about fey creatures from back home, but, unfortunately, he didn’t know much. He’d never gotten around to reading A Midsummer Night’s Dream, though his English teacher in high school had let them watch a movie adaptation that had starred Michelle Pfeiffer, but he could barely remember it. He knew the fey were supposed to be immortal beings, and he thought he remembered something about them hating iron, although she hadn’t objected to them having their weapons. But perhaps most importantly, Mitchell remembered that they couldn’t lie. Not functionally, anyway. They could use truth in such a way that it didn’t matter because you never got what you thought you were getting. But how much of that was true? He had no idea.

“I don’t mean to be rude, Lady Luvari,” Mitchell began, “but why are you helping us? What is it that you want?”

The fey woman looked up from where she’d been stroking her pet’s back and gave him a knowing look. Then, without answering, she retrieved the small vial Mitchell had seen her carrying from a pocket in the front of her dress and leaned forward and placed it on the table between the two of them. It was made of clear glass and inside a dark liquid churned and roiled and small explosions of silver erupted from within like bubbles of mercury from a black pool.

“It is not what I want, traveler,” she said as both his and Lethelin’s eyes locked onto the mysterious vial. “It is what I offer.”

“And what’s that?”

“The life of your companion and perhaps the success of your quest. For in that vial, lies both.”