The damage to the hardware is nothing compared to the mess that is the network setup. Crispy Crackers - who told that Elf he knew anything about computer systems? I lose myself in the intricate beauty that is network programming and forget about everything else.
“You’re still here.”
Damn it! Could he stop sneaking up on me like that? Of course I’m still here, where else would I be?
“I thought you’d gone home.” Rorik slaps on the light. The yellow glare blinds me for a second and it’s only then that I realize how dark the room has become.
“What time is it?”
“Nearly seven. I’ve been stuck down in Warehousing. There’s no car out in the front lot, so I assumed you’d gone home.”
I shake my head. “I don’t drive. Sorry, I lost track of time. I think I’ve nearly -”
“Wait,” he interrupts. “If you don’t drive, how did you get here this morning?”
“I walked. How else? Anyway, I –”
“You walked here, then home, then here again in the snow?”
I sigh. What is his problem? It’s a twenty-minute walk each way, hardly anything to get upset about. As for snow, it’s Edelweiss Grove; even in summer there’s snow. “As I was trying to say, I think I’m nearly done. A few hours tomorrow, and it should be good to go.”
Rorik folds his arms and frowns at me.
“That’s fantastic. How were you planning on getting home?’
“What?”
“You heard me, Small One. How are you getting home? It’s cold enough to freeze the balls off a Gremlin and more snow is predicted.”
Unsure what he wants me to say, I start shutting the system down. I don’t drive, and I have to go home, so the answer seems obvious to me. Rorik approaches the table, leans on it and speaks in a tone that I suspect he uses for Human children. Very young Human children.
“Small One, listen to me. You are not walking home in this weather. No! Don’t argue with me. You are going to finish whatever it is you’re doing with that cursed contraption, then you’re going to come with me to the kitchen to see what Astrid has made for dinner, and then I will take you home.”
Maybe because he’s standing so close and smells so good and looks the way he does my brain short circuits. I don’t know. The words just pop out - and I immediately wish I was anywhere but here.
“You can’t take me home in The Sleigh! What will my neighbors say?”
The words hang in the air for a moment, then Rorik tips back on his heels and lets out a roar of laughter. Now I know where the Humans got Ho! Ho! Ho! from - that’s pretty much the sound he makes.
“I have a car. I’ll drive you home.” Another guffaw escapes him. “Though, if you’re curious about The Sleigh, I’d be happy to take you out in it one night.”
“I am not curious about The Sleigh,” I lie. I might not want it pulled up outside my house but that doesn’t mean I’m not curious about the thing. The Sleigh, like Pascal’s Basket and Leif’s Bow, is one of the most magical objects in creation, and not even Grove residents are able to look at or touch them without the current Holder’s express permission. Being invited to do so is an honor - even Pascal is picky about who touches his basket which is saying something - and everyone is curious about them. Still, Rorik doesn’t need to know that I am. “And I don’t need you to take me home.”
His laughter comes to an abrupt halt. “It’s not up for discussion, Small One. Finish what you’re doing and let’s go see Astrid.” My stomach chooses that exact moment to let out a loud grumble. Rorik grins. “See, even your belly agrees. Now come on, Tuesday night usually involves pastry and you will not regret it.”
For a second, I consider just marching past him and out the front door but my stomach rumbles again, reminding me how hungry I am. At home there’s microwaved leftovers and here there’s something involving pastry. And maybe another hour with Rorik.
“Fine. But I can’t be late, I have to get home to Button.” Even I can hear how ungracious that sounds. Ashamed, I offer him a smile. “Thank you.”
“You are welcome, Small One. Now let’s go see what Astrid’s cooked up.”
“Don’t call me that!”
***
Astrid is, to put not too fine a point on it, a culinary genius. Slumping back in my chair, I press the back of my hand to my mouth to cover a belch of contentment. I can’t remember the last time I was this full. The Beef Wellington was encased in a buttery, flaky pastry that melted in my mouth and was served with green beans tossed in garlic oil and crisp, roasted potatoes. Following it, had been a steaming plum pie with vanilla custard topped with swirls of whipped cream and slivered almonds.
Rorik finishes his wine and sets the empty glass down on the table next to mine with a smirk. I’ve barely made it through half of my wine and already feel heady.
“I would normally have a second one to keep you company,” he says, “but since I’m driving, I’ll wait until later.”
“I don’t really drink.”
“So I gathered. Next time, I’ll make sure to have iced tea or soda for you.”
Next time? There’s going to be a next time? Why? Not that I’m complaining, I just want to make sure I’m clear about what is happening here. Not that I think anything is happening. But in case there is, I want to be clear. A chuckle interrupts my thoughts and I look up from the table to see Rorik leaning on his elbow, chin in his palm, watching me.
“You do that a lot.” His eyes are sparkling; it’s distracting. Everything about him is fudging distracting.
“Do what?”
“Get lost in your head.”
“Oh. Sorry.” I pick at the tablecloth, feeling so far out of my depth I might just drown in embarrassment.
“Don’t be. It’s cute.”
Cute is better than small, I suppose, but only just. I think I’ve had about all I can cope with for one day.
“I really should get home to Button.”
“Of course, I’ll get my keys.”
I begin gathering the dishes up and stacking them on the counter. Astrid appears from the back of the pantry and shoos me off.
“You leave those be.” She holds out a paper bag. “Slice of plum pie in case you get the midnight munchies and a little something for your pup.”
Midnight munchies? I don’t think I’ll be able to eat again for the remainder of the week.
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll find room, you young things always do.” She pats my cheek. “Now, I believe you’ll be back here tomorrow, so what would you like for lunch?”
“Oh no, please don’t go to any bother.” I sneak a peek in the bag. The treat for Button looks suspiciously like a piece of steak.
“It’s no bother at all.” Astrid rinses the dishes with quick, efficient movements. “It’s nice seeing somebody at the table with him.”
What? Does he not normally bring people home for dinner? If I had someone like Astrid cooking for me, I’d never eat out. Before I can ask her, Rorik returns with my coat in one hand and swinging his keys in the other. I snigger when I see the keychain. It’s a plastic Santa from one of the Human novelty stores. He waggles his eyebrows and grins.
“If only they knew, huh?” He tosses me my coat. He’s already wearing a long black woolen one that makes him look ten feet tall. Juggling the paper bag of food and my satchel, I thank Astrid again and follow him out the back way to a garage. Obviously The Sleigh isn’t here, but I’m sort of disappointed anyway. As if reading my mind, he leans down and whispers in my ear.
“You only have to ask, Small One.” He presses his hand against the small of my back, directing me toward the far bay where a bright red Corvette is parked.
It is gorgeous. The exterior is so glossy it looks like water and when I slide in, the butter-soft cream leather interior seems to mold to me. Watching him walk around to the driver’s door I can’t help wondering how in the hell he fits in it though. As he guns the engine, I give myself a mental head slap - he goes d
own chimneys and through keyholes and whatever else he has to - he can fit in a Corvette.
In front of us a door raises, and we seem to glide out into the night. A gate opens as if by magic. I give myself another mental slap. It is magic. I seem incapable of coherent thought when he’s this close to me.
The snow has eased off for the moment and the stars are out, turning Edelweiss Grove into something from a storybook; the Humans got that right at least. Though why they think it’s at the North Pole is beyond me. Seriously, who would live there? There are polar bears at the North Pole. Starving polar bears that would likely enjoy an Elf or two for Sunday brunch. No thank you. Switzerland is far safer.
Besides, we blend in just fine with our Human counterparts. The North Pole isn’t the only thing Humans got wrong. No pointy ears. No toadstool homes. We do have the weird little shoes with the bells on but they’re really just for special occasions. We’re just another quaint little community in the mountains as far as the world is concerned. From time to time we get Human tourists and if things are sometimes a little… unique… they put it down to the altitude or the scenery. It’s not that hard to fool Humans.
Rorik taps my knee, making me jump. He doesn’t linger - because of course he doesn’t, why would he? - but glances in my direction.
“You were gone again but I need to know where you live.”
“Where I live? Oh. Right. Yes. Where I live. Twelve Snowdrop Lane. It’s over by -”
“I know where it is.”
See? Incapable of coherent thought. Naturally he knows where it is. He’s… him.
“Lars said you went to one of the Human schools.” Even though it’s not snowing, the roads are slippery and he’s driving with care. I feel sorry for the poor Corvette having to go so slow. “Which one?”
I bite my lip, not wanting to have this conversation. “M.I.T.”
Rorik gives a low whistle. “Impressive. What degree?”
I squirm a little more. “I have a Doctorate of Information Technology and a Masters of Philosophy.” I try not to talk about my Human degrees too much; most Elves don’t get it. Rorik, as if I need reminding, is not most Elves.
“Holy fuck, you’re shitting me?” He looks at me with wide eyes.
“Uh, could you maybe uh watch the road?” I really don’t want to end the day - or my life for that matter - wrapped around one of the pine trees bordering Banksia Boulevard.
“Oh, shit. Sorry.” Rorik turns his attention back to the street. “Those are fucking hefty pieces of paper, Small One. You must be pretty smart.”
I shrug. “I guess.”
“Now I know why I haven’t seen you around. How long have you been back?”
Large snowflakes are beginning to fall again. They stick to the windscreen before slowly melting and dripping away.
“Not long. I’ve been based in Berne and decided to move back about six months ago.”
“Hmmm. What about before you left? What part of The Grove are you from?”
I take a deep breath. May as well tell him the truth. “I grew up in South End.”
South End is the closest thing the Grove has to a poor area. Most of the Elves and Fae in South End don’t have magic abilities. Some, because they’ve been in an accident or caught one of the Human illnesses and their magic was destroyed. Some, like my father, get a taste for Human drugs. Those things will kill magic faster than you can say “once upon a time.”
Some of us were born this way. I’ve seen Lady Gaga a dozen times in concert just to hear that song.
“Accident or birth?”
“Birth,” I whisper.
His hand brushes my knee again and when he speaks, his voice is soft but there’s no trace of derision or pity. “Well, Small One, I think you must have some magic in there if you can go to a school like M.I.T. and walk away with degrees at that level. I take it you have Human clients?”
I nod, unable to speak for the moment. Elves can be as judgmental as Humans and many of them are less than kind about those us born without magic; we’re somewhere above Gremlins and below Trolls. That said, since most Elves also can’t tell their mouse from their keyboard when trying to watch Netflix or download porn, I’ve found if I say nothing, they just assume that the reason I do such a great job on their computers is because I have magic. It’s not like I’m lying or falsely advertising. At least I don’t think it is.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Rorik says, “but what made you come back to The Grove?”
“It’s home. I go up to Berne about once a month to see clients and I have a couple of Human employees. Everything else I can do from here and well, there’s not that many computer experts in The Grove.” My mind drifts to the server room and the mess left by Basil. Rorik’s must do the same because he snorts.
“You’re not wrong there.” He nods, seemingly talking to himself. “Really fucking smart.”
A warmth fills me. It’s nice to be sitting next to someone - okay next to an Elf - who not only doesn’t seem to care that I’m not magic but appreciates what I can do. Humans don’t count since they don’t know anyway, and family doesn’t either since they are just as likely to jump one way as they are another. My Great Uncle Hector spits at me if he sees me, which is a lot less these days thanks to my refusal to attend gatherings with him. My father’s parents always treat me like I’m contagious. Like they’ll lose their magic just being around me. Considering their son sniffed and snorted his away, I don’t really think they should be judging. But they’re family – what can you do?
My mother’s family is pretty good. For the main part, nobody pities me, and they try to help out where they can. Usually it’s with Dad when he’s on a bender, but sometimes it’s sending me out in the snow to fix Santa’s Frankenstein’s Monster of a computer system. Maybe I won’t kill Lars. Yet.
Don’t get me wrong and don’t go thinking I grew up hounded and forced to live under the stairs like some kind of reverse Harry Potter. It’s not like that. I’ve had my share of trouble, but in all honesty, it’s more just awkward for everyone than anything else.
Rorik flicks the turn signal on even though there’s nobody else out in this weather and noses the Corvette into Snowdrop Lane.
“I’m the fourth on the right.” I point to my gate.
I had saved enough from my Human work that when I moved home, I was able to buy the small cottage. Two bedrooms, a small study, and a bathroom upstairs, everything else down, it’s neat and compact. Painted white with gingerbread colored trim and, currently, a string of bright lights strung along the eaves, it’s perfect for me and Button.
Rorik pulls up outside the gate and gets out. I do the same with a slight frown. What’s he doing? He’s not going to walk me to the door, is he?
“Thanks for the ride.”
“Nice try, Small One. I’m walking you all the way to the door.”
Apparently, he is. Why? I can make it to my front door by myself for heaven’s sake. Rorik holds the gate open, waiting. I walk past him, up to the front door and hunt for my key in my pocket. From inside comes a volley of deep barks.
“It’s okay Button, it’s just me. Let me just get the door open.”
“Exactly what kind of dog is Button?” Rorik asks in my ear. I really wish he’d stop sneaking up on me like that. At this rate, I’m going to have a heart attack.
The door swings open and Button tumbles out, tail wagging, tongue lolling, and large ropes of drool dripping from his mouth. I wish I’d had my phone ready because the look on Rorik’s face is amazing. Button is big, even for his breed. At the shoulder, he stands a little over waist high on me, his head is bigger than my own, and it is entirely possible he weighs more than I do.
“Bearnaise Mountain Dog. Why? What did you think he was?” Button snuffles around the paper bag from Astrid and only then seems to notice Rorik. His tail turns into some kind of furry propeller and he bounds over to him, ready, I know, to play with a new friend. Button looks impressive but he’s
about as dangerous as a chocolate chip cookie. Less so; you can choke on a chocolate chip cookie.
“Something small and yappy.” Rorik grabs Button’s huge paws as he tries to put them on his chest and for a moment, they look like they’re waltzing.
“Okay Button, down. Now! Go pee, go on.”
“What possessed you to call a dog that size, Button?”
I smile. It’s a ridiculous name for him, I agree. “My mom bought him thinking he was going to be about the size of a poodle. When I showed her a picture of what he was going to grow into, she gave him to me, but she’d already had him for over a month and the name stuck.” I point at the garden and tell Button to go pee again. “He’s not the smartest dog in The Grove.”
Button huffs in my direction as if telling me that it’s bad enough that I’m late and that instead of letting him smell the interesting bag of smells or play with the new friend, do I need to insult him as well? I nudge him toward the garden until he gives up and runs off in search of a spot to pee that meets his approval. Rorik chuckles.
“That’s some dog, Small One.”
“Will you please stop calling me that?”
Rorik smiles down at me. “No.”
“Why not?” The words come out breathy and cautious. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was going to kiss me.
He leans close enough that I can feel his breath on my cheek. Gods, I really want him to kiss me.
“Because, Small One, you like it.” Then he mutters something that sounds like “oh screw the promise”, and his mouth is on mine.
Rorik Eskildsen. Santa fudging Claus is kissing me.
I’m dead, right? The Corvette did go off the road and hit one of the trees. He flicks his tongue across my lower lip until I open to him with a small squeak that I will totally deny if anyone asks me later. Okay, maybe I’m not dead.
I lift up on my toes and slide my hand up the column of his neck. If in fact I am dead, dying, or worse, this is some sort of heat of the moment thing never to be repeated, I want as much sensory memory as I can get. The sweet and spicy taste of his tongue as he explores my mouth, the heady scent of him filling my nose, the warmth of his skin.
Naughty & Nice: A Holiday Storybook Novella Page 3