I handed the manager my credit card. He nodded, and walked toward the register.
“I see you lack the courtesy to accept a simple gesture of good will,” the interloper said into his beer. “Mmmm… this is excellent.”
No more veiled threats from the little mobster sitting next to me. I pulled out my phone. I need you at the bar, I texted Bjorn. He’s here.
“Now, now.” He sipped his beer again, then set it on the bar. “I do not take kindly to threats.”
He knew about the magicals in town, yet showed no obvious magic himself. He dressed like a rich man who hadn’t been rich long enough to grow any sense, much less taste. And he talked as if he was Loki himself. “What do you want?” I asked again, because this man was trouble. I just couldn’t tell for sure if he was the dark trouble the wolves sensed this morning.
Yet there was no doubt I was sitting next to the source of shadow. Maybe not of the spell itself, but at least its machinations.
“Solace, Mr. Victorsson.” He sipped again. “A righting of wrongs. An end to my vexations.”
Bjorn’s magic burst through the door before he did, and rolled out like a green- and violet-infused storm.
The interloper slapped the bar. He downed his remaining beer, and turned toward the big elf striding toward us. “Stay back!” He held up his hands.
Bjorn didn’t break stride. “Who the hell are you?” he semi-shouted. He held up his phone. “The photographer you claimed to be is six-foot-three and sixty-two years old.”
The interloper held up his hands. “I will know if you lay one ounce of your elven glory upon my person,” he said.
“Get out of my pub,” Bjorn growled.
“I paid Mr. Wilson a lot of money to rent his equipment,” the little man said. “And you damaged his camera. I wouldn’t be surprised if he sues.”
As Bjorn raised his hands to hit the man with some type of magic, the interloper raised his arms as if cowering from a punch.
“You hit me in any way and I will consider it assault!” he yelled. “I will sue you! This restaurant, the brewery, the property next door will be mine before any of you can lay down a curse!”
Bjorn stopped. He was obviously as confused as I was. “If you have brought an unwelcome… energy… to our town, I will deal with you personally,” he growled.
The manager and the other patrons were watching us, and Bjorn had dialed back any talk of magic.
The interloper grinned. He smoothed his jacket and resettled his gold chain. And he sniffed loudly once again. “It wounds me to see how uncivilized and insular this little community is.” He rolled his shoulders. “The shame it must bring.”
Bjorn threw me a what is he talking about? look. I shrugged.
The interloper made a show of flashing his gold pinky ring as he adjusted his cufflinks. “Move to the side. I wish to pass.”
Bjorn growled loudly enough to startle the manager even though he was at the other end of the bar.
The entire restaurant was quiet. Only the beat of the blues music and the slight rattle from the kitchen filled the air.
No magic danced. Bjorn kept his thunder and lightning back.
The interloper walked right up to him. Bjorn stared down at the little man and refused to move.
They stood like that—too close and exuding dominance—until the interloper laughed. He touched the tip of his nose and threw out his arms as if to hug Bjorn.
The big elf very quickly moved out of reach.
The interloper sneered. He winked at the manager and bowed to the other patrons, then blew Bjorn a kiss.
Bjorn grabbed for him, but I caught his arm. “Careful,” I said.
The interloper strutted toward the exit, but stopped and placed his back against the glass. “Good meeting!” he shouted, then backed out of the restaurant.
The backlighting from the afternoon sun should have shadowed his face. His expression should have been difficult to read. It was not. He smirked like a child who had just stolen candy and knew he was going to get away with it.
But mostly, what should have been shadowed was not, and what should have been bright was shadowed. He might not have obvious magic, but something around him caused a distortion. He saluted, then sauntered outside.
Bjorn took a step toward the door.
“Stay here,” I said. The last thing we needed was a full-on magic fight in the parking lot within the view of mundanes. I grabbed my phone and pushed through the exit into the bright afternoon sun—and onto an empty patio. No patrons. No interloper.
He’d vanished. I jogged out to the scattered vehicles in the lot, none of which were making a getaway. Had he returned to the church? I peered at the trees and the building. Nothing moved, but I made my way over anyway.
I swiped open my phone as I jogged. He’s gone, I texted Bjorn. Call Ed and pull the security footage. He’d call Arne on his own, and the wolves. I’m checking the church. He didn’t have many other options other than around back, but Lennart was still at the back of the pub and brewery, and I doubt he would have gone toward an elf.
I rounded the corner onto the path leading to the church and… stopped. Betsy, the smaller of the two ravens, perched on a small, leather rectangle in the middle of the walk. The church loomed directly behind her and in perfect alignment. She held her neck and back at a forty-five-degree angle to the church’s corner column. The saint I’d almost punched sat up and over her tail, while the carved Yggdrasil-like tree of the church’s door framed her head.
I knew what I was looking at. I understood. Geometry was one of the ways the mundane world accessed otherwise inaccessible magic.
Except these two birds were not mundane. Not at all.
“Did you see where he went?” I asked.
Betsy preened her chest. With each feather cleaned, magic puffed off her as little crackling clouds of blue-silver energy. I squatted down.
She squawked instead, and flew off when I extended my arm hoping she’d hop up for a talk.
“You two aren’t exactly clear with your thoughts and memories!” I shouted. Off in the trees, the two ravens laughed.
I picked up the leather rectangle. The package was about the size of a postcard, more of a sleeve than an envelope or pouch, and contained a plate of some sort.
I carefully held it up and scanned it for any unwanted spells, then gently tugged the plate from the sleeve—and uncovered a daguerreotype photograph. A richly colored one, with hues beyond the sepia tones the copper and silver of the process allowed. Hues that lifted off the plate as if I was looking more at a hologram than a photo.
My lake shimmered gently in the photo’s background, along with the Carlsons’ in-process house. Soft, natural magic lifted from the water, and the remnants of my brother’s ash magic from the Carlson place.
The photo picked up subtle magicks that I often did not notice.
In the photo, I sat on the mat on my deck in my shorts, shirtless to maximize my skin’s exposure to the sun, looking up at the morning sky. Faint magic twisted around me in balanced, concentric circles as if I’d drawn the natural magic of my world into the residual elven magic I always seemed to carry.
Nothing looked out of place. Nothing about my world was out-of-whack.
Ellie, I thought. How I knew she’d taken the photo and not our interloper, I couldn’t say consciously, but my gut knew. So did my heart, and my soul. She’d caught me at a moment of peace.
She wanted me to see myself balanced.
And she was telling me I would be fine without her.
My breath hitched. “No, I will not,” I said. The photo didn’t show the concealment enchantments infecting her life and the lives of everyone in Alfheim. The same enchantments that kept that faint magic from becoming fully realized.
“I’m not giving up,” I said. I looked at the parking lot in case she was still nearby. “I’m not, Ellie!” I yelled. Then out into the trees. “I won’t!”
From the Raven’s Gaze side of the
trees, I got my answer. Wonk wonk! one of the ravens yelled. Caw! the other answered.
The desire to punch the church returned. To do so would not help. I’d end up with a sore wrist along with my ripped-up heart.
And this time, I did curse the magic. I cursed and I stomped, and gripped the photo.
“Frank!” Bjorn yelled from the Raven’s Gaze side of the trees.
Another elf come to interrupt an Ellie moment. This time, though, I was thankful. “I’m not,” I muttered again.
Perhaps a distraction would allow me to parse what all this meant. Or perhaps not. I tucked the photo back into its sleeve, righted myself. What else was I to do? We had an interloper to hunt.
Chapter 8
By the time I got home the sun had dropped to just above the trees and cast a warm glow over my driveway. The road side of my house had sunk fully into shadow when I parked, but the motion sensors on the string lights between the house and Maura’s wine-bottle gate flickered on as I turned off my truck.
Fall crispness chilled the air. My breath formed an icy cloud as I walked around to the passenger side to retrieve the evening’s gatherings.
Raven’s Gaze had been a flurry of magical activity by the time I walked back over after finding Ellie’s photo. Bjorn had already called Arne and Dag, and was on the phone with Gerard when I entered. Security footage was pulled shortly thereafter, then Ed called.
I dropped Ellie’s photo into the satchel, settled the strap onto my shoulder, picked up the takeout and the new phone, and came home. Anyone who wanted my story could call tomorrow.
How was I supposed to respond to Ellie not wanting me to find a way inside her enchantments when she clearly wanted—needed—me to? I hadn’t yet lost today’s encounter to the memory pit of the concealments.
She said I miss you so much.
She missed me. She kissed me. But I’m not supposed to make sure she’s okay?
Sal humphed.
“What?” I asked. A steady stream of mild irritation had been washing off her since we left Raven’s Gaze.
I pulled her out of her pocket and set her on the seat next to the food and the phone while I placed the satchel’s strap over my shoulder.
The bag swung over her blade.
Sal shot me a stern please keep that away from me.
“Why?” I asked. They were both elf magic, and therefore compatible.
Compatible, yes, but the stasis enchantments interfered with her ability to watch the world.
“Noted.” I tucked my jacket over the satchel, swung Sal onto my opposite shoulder, and picked up the packages. “We’ll need to figure out where to store Rose’s notebook so the spells don’t give you a headache.” I walked toward the house.
She thanked me.
“You’re welcome, my friend—”
An angry Akeyla-made screech rose from the other side of the house, and a bright flare of fire magic shot into the air from my deck and crested the roof.
Something—or someone—had pissed off my niece.
I rounded the side of the house at the same time Maura slammed the screen door leading from the house to the deck.
“What’s wrong?” She moved to the kids before I set the packages on the table near the door.
Maura usually didn’t glamour at home, so her calm, ice-like magic flowed gently around her body. It reached down the deck, toward the kids.
Akeyla and Jax stood at the end of the deck by the lake, both more comfortably dressed than they had been for the wedding, scowling at each other. Jax crossed his arms and looked up at the moon. Akeyla pressed her fists into her hips.
“I’ll do my schoolwork the way I want!” she yelled.
Maura squatted so she’d be on the same level with the kids. “What are you two fighting about?”
Akeyla leaned toward Jax, but didn’t take her fists off her hips. “He says I need to stop doing my homework because Ms. Saunders said I can skip a grade and we need to finish high school at the same time or he won’t get a schol… scholar…”
“Scholarship,” Jax said. He still wouldn’t look at Akeyla.
“A scholarship to the University to play baseball and I’m his mate so it’s my job to make sure he can play and I have to run with him when he’s at away games no matter what so I can’t go to college first.”
Maura looked up at me as if to ask Did you get any of that?
I set Sal against the deck railing. “Neither of you will be applying for scholarships until you’re seniors,” I said. Not that either of them would need scholarships to pay for school. Having an immortal family helps a lot with wealth accumulation.
Jax rolled his eyes. “We know.”
“Then what’s the problem?” I asked.
“He wants me to act dumb so Ms. Saunders will tell the fourth-grade teachers to keep me in the same class with him.” Akeyla’s magic flared again.
“That’s not a nice thing to ask someone to do, Jax,” Maura said.
Jax’s scowl deepened. “But I’m alpha and she’s my mate.”
Akeyla shoved Jax. “They’re your games! Not mine!”
“Hey, hey, honey.” Maura pulled Akeyla away from Jax. “Let’s all go in and eat dinner.” She pointed at the takeout on the table. “We’ll talk about this calmly.”
If anything, Maura’s suggestion made Jax dig in his heels even more. And being the young alpha that he was, nothing about his body relaxed. He continued to square his shoulders to the women and stand with his feet apart and his arms crossed over his chest.
Dominance posture on a nine-year-old werewolf isn’t cute. If anything, it’s frightening, because a nine-year-old doesn’t understand what he’s doing. An angry nine-year-old, even a born wolf—even Jax—was only marginally better at controlling his wolf than the newly turned.
And one-on-one, not much was more dangerous than a raging werewolf.
“Perhaps you need to go home and think about what you said to Akeyla,” Maura said. “Whether or not she skips a grade is up to her, not you. Apologize.”
Jax snorted.
Tears burst from Akeyla. She wailed and hugged her mother. “I don’t like him anymore,” she said against her mother’s shoulder.
Jax’s magic growled. He didn’t, thank goodness, but his wolf looked at Maura, then me, and released an angry vibration.
“Jaxson!” Maura snapped.
“You are hurting Akeyla. Stop,” I said. Jaxson Geroux was firmly entrenched inside his little nine-year-old alpha ditch and utterly unable to see that his hole wasn’t a hill.
Jaxson looked away. Maura’s eyes widened for a split second, and Akeyla continued to bury her face in her mother’s shoulder.
Maura stood and pulled Akeyla to her hip. “You’re going home, young man. Your behavior is unacceptable.” She turned Akeyla toward the door.
My little fire elf niece ran up the deck to the door sniffling and trailing a bright tail of blue and red magic.
Maura stopped next to the table and glanced at me. I nodded, and she picked up dinner and the other items, then followed her daughter inside.
Jax continued to frown, but had turned away and stared up at the moon. His wolf magic shimmered in the moonglow as a silver-violet bubble with paws and a snout.
Hierarchy and dominance didn’t blend well with the whole fated-mate business. The hierarchy part of the package wasn’t canine. I’d lived too long with dogs and the Alfheim Pack to have any doubts about what was wolf and what was human.
I walked to the edge of the deck, stopped, and consciously mimicked Jax’s alpha stance.
He looked me up and down, and returned to staring at the moon.
“You may have already chosen her, but that doesn’t mean she will choose you when the time comes,” I said.
He frowned. “We’re fated.”
I rubbed my cheek. “No,” I said. “You’re compatible. You’re friends.” I waved at the house. “Or you used to be friends. You’ve got some hefty repair work ahead of you.”
He glanced at the house and somehow managed to deepen his already subterranean frown.
Jax was a good kid with a good head on his shoulders, and generally mature for his nine years. But it was clear that his cooperation was never because of social pressure. He cooperated because he believed it was the best way to secure the pack.
And in his head, “securing the pack” meant maintaining his alpha-ness at peak efficiency. Everyone in the pack must agree. If they didn’t, they weren’t pack. Nor was he alpha.
He was having trouble seeing around his circular young-man thinking.
“What did you think of the wedding today?” I asked. I wasn’t the most qualified to talk to anyone about mates and marriage. My past with women was complicated. But I was outside the pack and elf hierarchy, so perhaps I could offer guidance that Jax might otherwise ignore.
He rubbed his cheek as if mimicking me. “We’re both going to college,” he said, as if he’d rehearsed this moment many times and wanted to cut through the small talk. Or perhaps he’d already had a similar talk with his father and uncle. “If Akeyla skips a year we won’t graduate at the same time.”
“This worries you?”
He looked up at me the same way Akeyla looked up at her dumb Uncle Frank.
I held back a sigh. “Her schooling is hers. What she does is not your decision.” Not now. Not in the future, either. “She will ask for your opinion, Jax. If you are fated, she will treasure your advice and your help. That’s not the same thing as you telling her what to do.”
And what about me? Ellie had pretty much told me to stop my attempts to find my way inside her enchantments. I would fix her bike. I’d picked up her new phone. But I wasn’t to do anything more.
I frowned as much as Jax did.
He shrugged. Was I surprised by his bullheadedness? He was a Geroux, and a proto-alpha. But he was in for a rude awakening if he thought everyone needed to bow to his wishes.
“So you two have already planned your graduations?” Of course they had, but in a third grade, best friends way.
“If Akeyla comes with me, I can play out-of-state games.”
And if I find a way into Ellie’s enchantments, I could help her find a way out.
Wolf Hunted Page 6