Chapter 9

(Ryan)

Gwyllion "The gwyllion are female fairies of frightful aspect who haunt lonely roads in the Welsh mountains and lead travellers astray. They are gloomy spirits more akin to hags or witches, as distinct from the Welsh ellyllon (elves) that are more benevolent. Those who encountered them either by night or on a misty day would be sure to lose their way even if they were perfectly familiar with the road."

Discovering that Hope was stuck in wolf form had taken him by surprise. He had only known her for a short time, but she didn't seem to be the type who failed at anything.

Or at least, that's what she wanted people to think.

What was more surprising, however, was that he could still communicate with her. He had no idea how it had happened; all he knew was that he had desperately wanted to reach her when she ingested that poisoned blood. He needed to will her to live, to fight.

It was becoming an all too common thing, saving each other's lives. The profound distress he felt each time unnerved him. He wasn't used to looking out for anyone but himself.

But it was all part of the plan; he needed to deliver her to his father, alive.

It was a calculated risk, deceiving her like this. If, and that's a big if, she was powerful enough to destroy his father and his legion of monsters, she would undoubtedly become aware of his betrayal.

He glanced over to the wolf walking beside him, but she gave no indication that she was paying attention to him at all. She trekked skillfully over the rocky terrain, making nearly no noise as she went.

It was a great relief that she didn't seem able to read his thoughts in the same way he heard hers. Having her voice in his head was a strange enough, especially when snippets of her thoughts flickered through his head, intertwining with his own.

Despite it all, he was becoming somewhat attached to her presence. Which, he knew, was a profoundly moronic impulse. If working at Triad had taught him anything, it was that you can't trust anyone.

His allowed his thoughts to wander…

He had been walking down the corridor of a perfectly ordinary office building. He could hear the incessant ringing of phones, a copy machine worked tirelessly in a poorly lit corner, and the fluorescent lights buzzed irritatingly overhead.

He was there posing as an IRS agent, auditing the company's files.

A nervous businessman walked a few paces ahead, rambling anxiously.

"As I'm sure you'll find, our accounting department keeps meticulous records. I'm sure the inconsistency you found must be a mistake…" he trailed off, adjusting his tie.

"Yes, I'm sure," Ryan replied as congenially as he could manage. He was often selected for undercover work, something he didn't mind. He fancied himself a rather accomplished manipulator—he had his father to thank for that.

What he did mind was working with a partner. Fortunately, his companion for this case was an agent he had come to tolerate over the years.

Agent Phillips was a no-nonsense type of woman who put in late hours and excelled at her job. She also took an interest in cryptid research, and thus, was his frequent companion on missions.

She had no idea who he really was, of course—his stint in Malivore had made sure of that. However, she respected him and let him take the lead on the most interesting cases.

She had become a mother figure of sorts. Not the affectionate kind, but the kind who pushed you to do better, and made you believe that you could.

Most days, Agent Phillips was the only person he could stand at Triad.

Today, they were looking for documentation of an underground network, running supernatural creatures under the radar of Triad's tracking system.

It should have been simple enough; truthfully, he didn't expect to actually find anything. They had been chasing dead ends for months.

But that day was different; it turned out that the man who ran the accounting department was indeed involved with the underground network. And to top it off, he actually kept physical paperwork.

Idiot.

On their way back to Triad, Agent Phillips had been quiet. He didn't think much of it until she stopped abruptly.

"What's wrong?" he asked, "If we don't hurry, we'll miss our train."

Suddenly, she grabbed his arm and pulled him into the narrow alleyway adjacent to them.

"What are you doing?" he had asked, confused by her outburst. Agent Phillips was hardly an unpredictable woman.

"Tying up loose ends," she said, pulling a gun out of her shoulder bag.

"You've got to be joking," he said, searching for some trace of humor on her face. But Agent Phillips didn't joke—and she just took off the safety.

"Sorry Clarke, I liked you. But Triad's getting too dangerous. I can't let them get their hands on these documents."

He opened his mouth to speak, to reason, but it was too late, she had already pulled the trigger.

When he woke up hours later, he tracked her down himself. She pleaded with him when he held her at the edge of Malivore's pit. She implored him to remember all the time they had spent together, how she was only doing what she thought was right...

It didn't matter.

He still let go.

He was drawn out of his memories by Hope's low growl. She had frozen in the path next to him, ears flattened against her skull.

"Hope…?" he asked tentatively, following the path of her gaze.

At first, he didn't see anything—but then, he caught a glimpse of something moving behind a tree. Whatever it was, it was short in stature and cloaked in shadows.

"Don't move," Hope warned through their connection. "I can smell them; they're hiding behind the trees." She flared her nostrils just to prove her point.

A throaty cackle echoed through the woods—the hair on the back of his neck stood up in response.

"What now?" he hissed through his teeth.

He didn't have to wait long for his answer; the figure stepped out of its hiding spot onto the path. It appeared to be an old woman, hunched over and cloaked in dark, ragged clothing.

"It's Little Red and the Big Bad Wolf," she said in a gravelly voice. "But who is who? I wonder..."

He could just make out the shape of a wicked smile peeking out from beneath her dark hood.

Hope snarled at her, a warning that needed no translation.

"Clarke, what is she?" Hope asked him, he could feel her intentions, she was ready to fight.

"I don't know…" he replied quietly. "Whatever it is, I wasn't the one who sent it here."

"Oh please," the woman said, letting out another otherworldly laugh. "You can call me, Gwyllion."

Shit.

"Clarke?"

"Hope, do not lose sight of me; do not lose sight of the path."

"What is she?" Hope asked; he could feel the panic coursing through her thoughts.

"Welsh. Fae. She causes travelers to lose their way—"

He was cut off by another cackle, as rough as tumbling stones—although that may be an insult to stones.

"My reputation precedes me," the woman said. She was suddenly much, much closer than she had been just moments before.

"Don't worry, my lovelies, I just want to chat," she said, pulling her hood back to reveal her gnarled, weathered face.

She wasn't just old, she was ancient.

"Take a rest, take a stroll through the mist," she said with a smile full of yellowed teeth.

As she spoke, a thick white mist began to roll in around them. He backed up instinctively, but quickly realize they were surrounded; the fog was coming from all directions.

Hope snarled again, a sound he could feel reverberating in his chest. She wasted no time advancing towards the woman in one swift bound.

"Hope!" he called. "Stay close, we can't lose sight of each other!"

It didn't make a difference. Hope was on the hunt once more, snapping her mighty jaws, trying to catch hold of the hag's clothes.

Gwyllion paid no mind, she simply danced into the mist, tempting Hope further into the magical fog.

Dammit—why did she have to be so impulsive?!

In an instant, the pair vanished completely from view.

It was then that he began to feel the pull of the mist surrounding him. It was no ordinary fog bank, it compelled him to move, urged him to keep walking. He knew it would only lead him astray, but the faerie's magic was too strong to resist.

He was totally screwed.

He felt his mind clouding over as his feet took on a mind of their own. One step after another, he walked. And walked. And walked...

No! He had to stay focused. He had to find...

He was looking for someone—but who?

They were important. Yes, very important.

Had he been walking for hours? Days? Years? It felt like an eternity, each thought slipping away as he struggled to grasp it.

He only knew one thing, if he didn't keep moving, he would be left alone. Terror seized his heart in its icy grip.

All alone.

Alone without...hope.