Chapter Text
Erik throws a case file onto the bed and sits heavily on the end, dropping his head into his hands. His thumbs dig into the corner of his eye sockets as he lets out a long sigh. The migraine splitting his skull slowly fades. He looks up to the picture of his wife on the dresser. She’s wearing a floral summer dress, laughing, holding a two-year-old Wanda on her hip. The image of her crushed body floats across his eyes, replacing the picture.
Around his neck, the chain holding their wedding rings vibrates with tension, before he drops his shoulders and lets out a choked-up sob. Wanda turned six yesterday. Her second birthday without her mom.
It seems life is destined to tear away his happiness. His parents, his lovers… But not his daughter. Erik would do anything to protect her, anything to give her the happiness he no longer has.
“Daddy,” her young voice cuts across his dazed thoughts. “Are you sad?” He looks back up to see her staring at him with wide, uncertain eyes flicking towards Magda’s photograph.
“C’mere, baby,” Erik says. She takes two steps forward and he reaches out to pull her onto his lap, holding her close. Despite the fact that she’s getting too large for him to pick up, calmness settles over him. “I’m a little sad,” he finally admits. He read recently in one of those parenting books that admitting he has emotions will help her emotional growth. Although that had been a section about four-year-olds. “But as long as I have you, I’ll be ok.” Erik presses a reassuring kiss to her brow and smiles.
His eyes pause briefly on the window, on the sight of Oxford University in the distance, before he tears his gaze away, stands, still holding Wanda, and spins in circles until she shrieks with laughter.
Wanda ducks her head against her dad’s chest to hide her frown. But… what if she goes away like her Mommy? Would Daddy be sad all the time then? Her stomach hurts. She doesn’t want to go. She doesn’t want her Daddy to be sad.
She wiggles out of her dad’s hold and runs off into her room, grabbing a worn book of fairytales that her Daddy reads to her every night before bed. Even though she is practically all grown up now and too old for fairytales. Wanda quickly counts her age on her fingers. Yes, six is all grown up. Maybe not too old for Daddy’s stories though.
All of the stories, the Prince and Princess find true love in each other and live happily ever after. Maybe her Daddy just needs true love. Mommy would want Daddy to find love again, Wanda is sure of that. It’d be nice to have another Mommy. Someone who could braid her hair better. Someone who could read the fairytales to her with Daddy.
Wanda runs her fingers across the book cover and frowns. They have to be nice. And smart. And take care of Daddy. They should be able to support him if—
“Wanda, bedtime!” her Daddy calls from the hallway.
“Ok, Daddy!” she calls back and sets the book on her bed. She’ll find someone for her Daddy tomorrow. For now, she scampers into the bathroom to brush her teeth.
Erik gets ready for the work in the morning, like every other day. He showers, dresses, knocks on Wanda’s door to wake her up, and then prepares breakfast, like every other day. When he turns around to stack some pancakes on her plate, she isn’t in her stool. His stomach rolls with fear before he takes a deep breath. There could be any number of reasons Wanda isn’t at the table yet. Even though every other day, she’s sitting on her stool, ready to go for the day by the time he finishes making breakfast.
Maybe she’s just sick, he rationalizes. Erik sets down the frying pan and heads to her room.
“Wanda?” he calls out, knocking. “Baby?” There’s no answer. Erik twists the doorknob and enters her room. She isn’t in her bed. “Wanda!” he cries out, terror clutching his heart. He bursts into her bathroom. She isn’t there. Erik tears through the entire house, calling her name until his throat is raw.
Maybe she… ran away? He returns to her room on unsteady legs and notices something odd on her bed. A folded white letter with a stylized scarlet M on the cover laying atop a glittery, pure white feather. His hands shake as he picks up the note and the feather and then as he opens the card, reading the calligraphic writing inscribed on it.
Seven shall rise, seven shall fall, prove your worthiness thrice,
reach the Spring masquerade, or your daughter will pay the price
What the… what the fuck ? Someone kidnapped his daughter? Erik nearly crumples the letter and feather in his hands before he forces himself to relax. He can’t destroy his only lead. A lead which is striking an odd chord of familiarity in him. He doesn’t think he’s seen anything like this before.
His eyes flicker to the side and land on the book lying on Wanda’s nightstand. Out of all his possessions from his past, this is the one he couldn’t bear to part with. A book of fairytales, a gift from— Fairytales . Of course. It sounds exactly like some shit you’d find in a fairytale! He reads through the couplet again, but the meaning of the words is nonsense to him. It’s been fifteen years since college since he’d last analyzed a fairytale with Char— Charles !
Charles wrote his thesis on fairytales, he’s a Professor of Fairytale Literature at Oxford. If anyone knows how to solve this and quickly, it’d be Charles. Unless… could it be that Charles is the one responsible for Wanda’s disappearance? He dismisses that theory as soon as it forms; Charles is many things: intelligent, naïve, proud… a liar, coward… but kidnapper? This kind of felony is far beyond Charles’ capability. And now, it looks like he’ll have to go crawling to the Professor for help, despite their horrible parting in college.
Erik has to stop himself from clenching his fists again, remembering the betrayal he’d felt at his friend’s—his lover’s —actions that night. Remembering the three nights in jail, the trial, the utter lack of support or presence from Charles and any of their supposed friends.
This is no time to hold grudges. Wanda is infinitely more important than anything else in his life. Erik haphazardly shoves his feet into shoes and rushes out the door to drive to Oxford University.
Charles forgets to breathe at the sight of his old friend pacing at the entrance to his office after his morning lecture. His old lover. His first serious love until a prank gone wrong led to Erik’s arrest and near imprisonment and his paralyzation. He waits to feel the stirring of anger beneath his breastbone, but all he feels is weariness.
As he rolls up to Erik, he catches the anguish layering Erik’s mind. Something bad has happened.
“Erik,” Charles calls out, catching the other man’s attention.
Erik spins around and faces him, face contorting through a myriad of emotions. Anger, pity, fear, shame, determination.
“Charles. I know the last thing either of us wanted was to see each other again, but I had to come. My daughter. She disappeared. I think she’s been kidnapped,” Erik blurts out in a breathless rush.
At the mention of daughter, his eyes flick to Erik’s left hand ring finger. No band. Does that mean…? The rest of Erik’s words process through his brain. Disappeared. Kidnapped. Whatever lingering resentment he has for the man, now is not the time for grudges.
“Come into my office,” Charles says and wheels in and around his desk. Erik trails after him, shutting the door behind them, and throws something onto the desk.
“This morning, when I woke up, Wanda was gone. This note and feather were on her bed. Charles, I didn’t hear anything last night. I checked my home security tapes while I was waiting for you. Nothing. Please, just tell me you know what this means and can lead me to my daughter.” Erik finally runs out of steam and collapses onto the chair.
“Erik, breathe,” Charles says, instead of the million other things running through his mind. He watches Erik breathe, feels the outer layer of his mind settle. But it’s a testament to Erik’s distress that he doesn’t even remark on Charles using his Gift, while Charles feels the metal of his wheelchair vibrate in reaction to Erik’s anxiety. When the metal settles, Charles looks over the note. He reads the couplet on the inside, notes the black ink with a scarlet shimmer. It’s definitely reminiscent of fairytale style, although on the simpler side.
Charles flips the note, not noticing Erik jolt in his chair, and reads the writing on the back side, written in the same handwriting and ink.
journey to the eye of the Northwest, there you shall receive your first test
The eye of the Northwest… Charles spins and moves to the bookshelf to the left of his desk. He runs his fingers along the spines of several tomes until he thinks he finds the one he’s searching for. It was a gift from a former student, but not entirely within his realm of knowledge; he’s only read it one time.
“Here,” he says, returning to the desk and dropping the book onto it. Charles flips through the pages until he finds the correct passage.
In 1683, the Japanese Empress Fusako sent a gift for the wedding of Lady Anne and Prince George of Denmark. The gift was a large bust of Lady Anne’s likeness. It’s defining trait is one large imperial jade eye [roughly 23.89 kg]. It was located in the Buckingham Palace in the Northwest wing until 1992 upon the development of the Kyoto Garden in Holland Park, where it now rests on a pillar in the Northwest corner of the Garden. It’s similar placement in both the Palace and the Garden has led to the bust acquiring a moniker: the eye of the Northwest.
Erik moves around the desk and reads over Charles’ shoulder. “So… I have to go to the bust at this Garden?”
“It would appear so,” Charles agrees.
“Thank you, Charles,” Erik says, placing a hand on his shoulder, looking him in the eyes for the first time. His hand radiates warmth through Charles’ t-shirt.
“Of course, I…” Charles trails off, but Erik doesn’t wait for him to respond. He watches the other man run out of his office. No time for pleasantries in the face of this situation, Charles understands, but for some reason, his chest aches with disappointment.
Charles shakes his head and closes the book, ready to read it to the shelf where it will resume collecting dust. Underneath it, on his desk, is the note and the feather. Oh, bollocks. He stares at the items for a moment, before he glances at the clock. His gaze flicks between his desk and the clock until he lets out an annoyed huff, gathers the items, makes sure his travel bag is attached properly to his wheelchair, sends a short text to Raven, and directs himself out of his office, out of the building, and after Erik. Wanda is more important than one day of lectures.
Erik politely harasses a garden employee until they shakily point him in the direction of the bust. He runs until he finds it, immediately spotting the large, single jade eye and comes to a halt in front of him, panting, sweating dripping down his forehead and cheeks. A drop falls into his eyes; he quickly rubs the stinging sensation away, looking wildly around for any sort of indication that he’s in the right spot.
There’s nothing. He growls in frustration, shoving his hand into his pants pocket to re-read the note from Wanda’s bed, but his fingers find only lint.
“Verdammt! ” Erik snarls under his breath. He left it back in Charles’ office. That’s more time wasted for the trip back. Erik kicks at the ground and starts sprinting back to the garden entrance.
He nearly trips over his feet at the sight of Charles in his wheelchair entering the garden.
“Erik!” the Professor calls out, relief coloring his voice. “You left the note and feather on my desk!” Charles is relieved? Erik nearly collapses to the ground, he’s so overcome with it. His legs are made of gelatin as he takes the items from Charles with shaking hands.
“Why don’t I accompany you back to the bust?” Charles says lightly, not a hint of pity. Erik nods, grateful for the company. Even for all the bad blood between them. He walks alongside the wheelchair, focusing on its soothing electric hum instead of his terror-filled thoughts. What if he’s too late? If he loses Wanda…
“I think I’ve figured out the first line,” Charles announces with a furrowed brow. “The number seven is common in fairytales. So is three, actually. In this case, the rising and falling of seven seems to indicate that you have seven days, while ‘prove your worthiness thrice’ probably means you have to complete three tasks, especially when you consider the line from the back of the note ‘first test’.” Erik still feels stupid for not noticing the message on the back of the note earlier, but Charles’ explanation makes sense.
“This Spring masquerade must be where they’re keeping her,” Erik adds. “What do you think this feather means? Does it do something?” They arrive in front of the bust, and Erik holds up the feather speculatively.
“Normally in fairytales, a person undertaking quests is given helpful items,” Charles begins. When he doesn’t continue, Erik glances down at him and sees what’s captured Charles’ attention. A ring of crackling red energy spins on the ground around them.