Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

" Y lva." One of the three voices I've longed to hear echoes around me.

I turn and find myself in the hallway of our home. I'm dreaming, this dwelling burned

down years ago.

"Ylva." The warm alto comes from somewhere nearby.

"Papa?" I whirl and walk toward the top of the landing.

A black and white plaid nightgown with gold thread bells out around me. It's the last family pajama I'd ever worn.

I didn't know how much I needed this until right now. It's been so long since I remembered them so clearly. Eager, I increase my speed, ready to see the faces memory has blurred.

"This way." I pound down the wooden stairs in my red satin ballerina slippers.

My hand brushes the garland wound around the banister with white twinkling lights. Mom always went all out for the holidays.

The moment November first rolled around; we transformed our home into a winter wonderland. I stop at the bottom.

An ornate crystal chandelier sways above my head, throwing strange patterns across the high vaulted white ceilings. Family paintings of our ancestors hang on the wall, looking out over us.

"Papa?" I call for him.

"This way." The voice comes from the kitchen.

I pass through the open pocket doors into the dining room. The long table is set for dinner.

Thick wooden chairs with cushions in a sage green contrast with the dark wall paper covered with birds. I enter the kitchen. It's empty . No one's here.

Spirits plummeting, I fight back the tears burning my eyes. It's going to be one of those dreams.

"I don't understand."

"Here." His voice comes from somewhere beneath me.

A knock comes from the wooden floor under my feet, startling me

"Are you in the basement?" I ask.

"Yes. Come down."

The metal knob rattles and twists toward the back of the room that leads outside. It unlocks with a click and swings open slowly.

I eye it cautiously. The dark stairwell looms ahead like an abyss you can't see the end of.

Swallowing, I move to the top of the stairs and reach for the light switch. The light reveals neatly stacked plastic bins, exercise equipment, a worn couch, and an old TV.

I proceed slowly. Straining my ears to hear anything other than the creak of the wood, I examine the area for signs of anything amiss.

"Papa?" I whisper hesitantly.

This is the beginning of the action sequence in far too many horror movies. If I was smarter, I'd

head back the way I came. There's something strange about this dream.

"I'm here," I can't resist my father's voice. Not when he's so close after so long. I travel to the bottom of the stairs, and he's standing across the room.

"Papa." I race to him.

Falling into his open arms, I rub my face over his soft top. He smells just like I remember, Earl gray vanilla tea and wood.

"My girl. You've grown so beautiful."

I jerk back. They never recognize me as I am now. I've always been forever trapped at twelve.

I look up and see the same round face with dark brown eyes, a broad forehead strong jaw, and an upturned nose identical to my own.

"Papa?" Is this his spirit? "This isn't a memory, is it? I am here now," I whisper.

"Yes." He kisses my forehead.

"Why did you wait so long to come?" My voice cracks

"Your mother and I wanted to protect you, and in doing so we did you a grave disservice."

"H-how." I stiffen. Had he possessed this ability to visit all this time?

He glances around unable to remain still. "I can't tell you. But I can show you."

Releasing me, he walks over to a tall armoire. Opening the doors, he moves the winter coats to the side and knocks on the wood.

He pushes in and steps back. A small door swings open into a corridor.

"I can't go any further than this." His voice is thick with regret.

"What's back there?" My hands tremble.

"Our family's legacy."

"I don't understand." I look at the dark pathway. Is this real?

"I'm sorry. There are rules between the living and the dead." Sorrow fills his eyes. "I can't move freely on this plane.a" Our time together reaching an end.

I rush forward, wrapping my arms around his waist, I hold on tight. Anger isn't worth missing this chance to hug my father again.

He returns the fierce embrace for a long moment. "It's time for me to go." I release him. "Please forgive us, Ylva. We only ever wanted the best."

Swallowing hard, I nod and turn to face the corridor. Stepping down, I enter the cold, damp space.

Gathering my nightgown, I move forward slowly. A sconce flickers to life. The passageway appears to be original to the home.

Gray bricks are set with mortar and cut in irregular sizes. I see a rectangular opening ahead. Holding my breath, I step inside. Bookshelves line the wall opposite me.

A large wooden table sits in the middle of the room. Antique glass cases rest against the wall on the right, full of trinkets.

There's immense power in this space. I walk toward the bookshelf.

The leather spines are broken in, but well, taken care of. I trail my fingers down the backs.

Pack 1700s , Pack 1800s . Why hide history books?

The legend of Fenrir. I think back to the large wolf's words. I pull the black book with golden letters off the shelf and open it. Those of his line will be tasked with the job of protecting–.

"Ylva." I'm pulled from sleep.

Vision bleary; I turn to glare at my aunt. That book and its contents felt important.

"It's time to get up. Your presence is required at the meeting tonight."

"What?"

"The Alpha has called us all together."

"All of us?" I smack my lips together and stare at my high school art collage adorning on the

wall. The stained-glass piece depicts a wolf howling at the moon.

"It's a pack-wide summons. He asked that we take special care with your appearance as you

are to represent your father's line."

Had Papa sensed this was coming? Is that why he'd reached out to me from beyond the veil for the first time since directly after their passing? "I'm awake."

"A bath is waiting. I procured a dress that should be adequate. We will do your hair in a traditional style and adorn your face with the markings of our people." Her formal attitude and lack of antagonistic behavior put me on edge. There's no kindness—but a grudging respect.

This is downright sucking up for her. What did I miss? Sit up, crossing my arms.

"The Volva told me to rest. Why should I disobey her orders?"

Her cheeks redden. "Because it's been demanded by your Alpha. You'll represent us too when you arrive

tonight. I want to make a good impression."

"Ahhh." I relax. I understand her selfishness well. "Gerda must reassure everyone that she's

taking good care of the pitiful orphan you took in out of the kindness of your heart."

My aunt clenches her jaws, lips tightening as she tried to hide her true feelings behind a serene expression. "It would only be the truth. They could've placed you into a pup orphanage."

"I would've been better off."

She presses her lips together and growls in the back of her throat. Unrepentant, I shrug.

"I'll leave you to your bath."

Exiting the room, she closes the door, hard, and clomps away. Why had she suppressed her agitation?

I don't like sudden changes. Maybe she's afraid I'll act out? Tossing the sheets aside, I move from the bed and pad across the wooden floor.

With the Volva's words and my father's revelation filling my head, I go through the motions without thought, a zombie with muscle memory.

What had Papa been trying to tell me? Was that his way of acknowledging my visit with Fenrir?

If I go to the ruins of our home, would that secret space still exist underground? Can I find it?

I sink into the fragrant warm water, allowing the heat to ease my stiff joints, and rinse away the lingering touch of sickness.

With my heightened senses I can identify the nine sacred herbs: mugwort, plantain, watercress, betony, chamomile, nettle, crab-apple, chervil, and fennel floating in the water.

The potent brew wakes me up, rebooting my brain and bringing clarity. I sink under the water to soak my hair and add a deep conditioner.

I pile the heavy locks on the top of my hair in a knot and exfoliate my skin. All eyes would be on me tonight. I won't let them find anything amiss.

The Ekildson clan was a proud people, revered and respected by many. My failings aside, the name deserved far more accolades than it's received in recent years.

Taming my curls with my fingers, I slip form the bath and dry off. I enter my room and find a Celtic-style scoop-necked linen dress.

The long sleeves end in half bells allowing for a range of motion in the old world. Symbols of my family are woven into the material in white thread. I remember my mother wearing something similar.

I trace the bind runes line work along the seams of the dress with reverence. Slipping it over my head, I smooth the material down and twist. The full skirt bells out.

A dark brown leather belt is adorned with a silver disk etched with symbols. My finger trails over the three conjoined triangles that make up the Helm of Awe for protection.

It's the most thoughtful article of clothing I've received since my parent's death. I run my fingers over the hand-spun material and move to the vanity against the wall.

Picking up the black detangling brush, I work through my hair from the ends up to the roots.

Detangling my hair with a brush, I study myself in the mirror. I realize my lips resemble my mothers, thin on the top with a plumper bottom. I feel her with me.

Knock. Knock.

"Are you dressed?" my aunt asks.

"Yes," I call.

Opening the door, my aunt walks in with face paint and hair adornments she sets on the vanity. I sit up straight and she takes a small comb, parting my hair in sections and clipping it. This should be my mother.

She braids my hair weaving in small silver beads. The action is repeated until four braids on each side of my head remain.

The large chunk of my loose hair is smoothed back from my face, and fluffed. A knot is tied, leaving the rest flowing down.

I'm morphing into some unknown wild maiden, right before my eyes. I've never worn the traditional style as an adult.

It feels like the pack is reclaiming me after my life among the humans. Chilled, I spin to the side as she picks up a paintbrush, dips it into the white paint, and draws a line across my face, the bridge of my nose, and over the other side.

Small offset tick lines are added through the main line on either side of my face. Moving back, she tilts her head, studying me.

Dipping a second brush into another glass jar she paints my lips a deep purple and draws a line down the center of my bottom lip.

"Now you are ready."

Something is going on. "I still don't understand."

A strange look flashes over her face. "You will." Her words loom over me like a rain cloud ready

to burst and unleash hell on those caught beneath.

"How can I be prepared for what's coming if I'm kept in the dark?"

"You've always been a resourceful girl. I'm sure this will be no different." Ignoring me, she puts

the lids on the face paint.

"There's one last thing. Alpha's people brought by ancestral jewelry from your clan. It's waiting for you on the table downstairs."

Gathering her things, she stalks out before I can ask anything else. We don't dress like this without good reason.

It's not a sacred day or a celebration. Tonight, Alpha must be dropping heavy bombshells.

He likes to remind us of the old ways and the hierarchy right before he pulls the strings, he holds tight. I grip the edge of the vanity and lean forward.

"There's no laying down and folding tonight, Ylva. You're fighting for more than yourself. This time around you have power, and you will bargain within an inch of your life."

Standing, I make my way out of the room, leaving the last vestiges of childhood fear behind.

Downstairs, I approach the table where silver items glint beneath the overhead lights. I approach

the rings, bracelets, and armbands.

Hands shaking, I touch the braided metal with the tip of my finger, feeling the weight and power of the ancestors who came before me.

I'm honored to wear them as my mother once did. Warmth spreads through my body and I sense my ancestors rallying around me. Lifting it, I slip it on my middle finger.

A silver armband has a double triangle pattern stamped into it. I slip it around my left arm. The weight settles my nerves.

The last piece is an oval brooch with strings of dangling glass beads in blue, green, and white. A Norse three-row broach with alternating silver, blue, green, and white glass beads.

A charm hangs from the silver half-moon center. It shares the symbol I saw on Fenrir's Island.

For a moment, I can feel his power pulsing through it. I clip it onto my dress.

A warm breeze blows across my face, and I feel his blessing. I ball my hand into a fist and press it against my heart in reverence.

Fenrir walks with me as I enter the den full of enemies and those who seek their gain over that of the pack. I've been chosen for this task and accepted .

Don't let me fail.