The Hooded Girl

V

Night was when the Underworld awoke.

As Alastair passed the barrier, the street transformed, revealing the true nature of Toronto's supernatural enclave. The houses were rich and fantastical, each one a different shape and style than the last. Gothic houses, houses of wicker, transformed caves, dwarven hovels of stone – the whole Underworld was a mosaic within a mosaic. There were no streetlights, no electricity; just thin, dainty trees, leaved and flowered branches alike reaching up to encase bright gold orbs that lit up the night; they burned bright as the sun. The air was a summery warm, unlike the cool spring breeze he'd met on his way here. The plants thrived in the magical environment, as did the birds; they sang and warbled for all to hear.

It was early in the evening, but already, children were marching towards the centre of town – some to UCC, others to Woodlands Elementary. A sorceress was already out gardening, cutting grass and taming plants with swipes of her hands. An orc yawned as he held the hands of his two daughters, heading down the front steps of his hide and wicker home. The kids' backpacks swelled with their school books.

He followed the flow of children and parents to Craighowl Square, a massive block where all four main streets met around a sizeable forest. Fiohd na Laighe, as the elves dubbed it, was deceptively massive. Pixies, the local herbalist, a couple of dryads, most of the elves, and even a small congregation of naiads called the area home. Fire-fly sized specks floated between the trees, chiming ever so sweetly in a sweep of glowing pastels. The magic that radiated from this place was rich and pure; even Alastair could sense it; the warmest feeling always bloomed in his veins when he drew near it, like curling up before a cozy fire. Mages and elves alike had flocked to this place for centuries, and, with them, the community they knew today.

He turned down Reven Drive, finishing his journey at 92 Riethoorn Way. Their house was a bleak and creaky manor, snug between a gabled, picketed homestead and an elegant, posh mansion. Alastair's father never saw any point in maintaining it, aside from ensuring it stayed standing.

He pulled out a hefty, cast iron key. The lock on the door was stubborn, even for him; it took a good bit of strength until he heard that satisfying click of the shifting lock.

No shoe mat by the front door. No rack to hang up your coat. The house was silent, save for the soft crackling of fire in the back and the whistle of wind that came through it. It was distant, but even then, Alastair heard it whoopshing throughout the halls. The floors were broken tile, aged and filthy. Muck and dirt nestled between the cracks of the flooring, and the walls and corners had heaping piles of old, yellow wax from the candle sconces .

He headed into the very back of the darkened house, into the old parlour. The room was vast, and the fireplace was no exception. It was a hulking thing, long enough to take up nearly half the wall and tall enough to match Alastair's height. Its magical kindling would last forever, given the chance. He lay a hand upon the stone mantle. He felt a tingling jolt shoot up his arm, painless, yet enough that he couldn't help but shake his arm awake after.

The fire whooshed away as if by a great wind. The wood was pristine and smooth, as if flame had never touched it. The pit opened, stone grinding stone as it lifted away. A stone doorframe stood in a shallow room, and as he took another step, the portal rumble back to life.

An unnatural light began to fill the shape, a neon blue that rippled like water. It filled the doorway with a mounting thunder. Before it, was a simple, prickly mat, WELCOME written across it in bright yellow letters. Through it, as the portal settled, he saw a bright and clear window to a stone entryway, coats hanging and shoes lined up neatly next to the lengthy runner.

Without fear, he stepped through the waiting portal, and after a brief bout of vertigo, he stood in the warm, stone walls of Revengrad, the keep both he and his ancestors called home.