Ed stepped away from his cruiser. “I’m still waiting to see that permit,” he boomed. He was in full authoritative police mode, complete with the frightening vocal inflection and the tense posture.
He must have had the same Saturday-morning thought.
The sound guy slapped at his pockets as if Ed’s question had triggered some deep-seated, hypnosis-implanted need to give himself a pat-down.
“No permit. No filming,” Ed said. “You need to shut down and leave. Now.”
“It’s public property!” the reporter-looking guy with the mic shouted.
They really were not acting like professionals.
Ed did not approach. He stood next to his cruiser, his hands poised at his hips, staring at the small knot of crew and equipment. “You still haven’t told me who you work for,” he called.
“We’re…” The reporter sniffed and suddenly composed himself. “We can shoot cutaways and establishing shots.”
The camera operator didn’t pause. Her camera whirred to life and she swung it toward Ed.
He didn’t respond, or act as if he’d noticed.
I opened my door. All three members of the crew frowned, but turned in unison to look at me.
“Why are you filming me?” I hollered.
The reporter looked as if he was about to stomp his foot. “Public property!” he yelled. “We’re here for the announcement.” He looked at his watch. “The cop doesn’t believe us.”
Ed looped his thumbs into his belt.
“Announcement?” I said. “What announcement?”
“I asked them the same thing,” Ed said.
The sound guy fiddled with his equipment. The camera operator swung between Ed and me. The reporter looked confused. “The Revitalization Plan,” he said. “The new community center. The clinic.”
“Someone’s been lying to you,” Ed called.
I walked toward the crew. “No one in Alfheim knows what you’re talking about, son,” I said.
His cheek twitched. “Not our problem.”
Headlights swept through the lot. Axlam pulled her sedan around and parked not far from Ed’s cruiser.
Ed motioned for me to get between her and the crew. If this was a fake-photographer situation, she might be vulnerable to the shadowy magic we’d picked up around anything the interloper touched.
Axlam Geroux stepped out of her vehicle. She straightened her neon blue jacket and conspicuously arranged her City Manager lanyard and identification. “Hello!” she called, then to me, “Frank, come,” and motioned for me to walk next to her.
“Did you get that?” the reporter said to the camera operator.
Axlam’s wolf magic streamed off her toward the crew, then back to her body, as if her wolf was assessing the three people in front of us.
She smiled one of her huge, disarming smiles, and offered her hand to the reporter. “Axlam Geroux, City Manager here in Alfheim.” She motioned to Ed. “Alfheim County Sheriff Eduardo Martinez.” Then she motioned to me. “Frank Victorsson.”
Her tone shifted when she said my name. Seemed I was to play the muscle. I clasped my arms behind my back and smiled at the crew.
The reporter looked shocked, but shook her hand. “We’re here to introduce to the world Mednidyne Pharmaceuticals’ new Rural Revitalization Initiative.”
The only surprise Axlam registered was in her wolf magic’s snarl. I saw it. Ed, of course, did not. I peered at the crew to see if any of them were picking up the new tension in Axlam’s magic.
They were all as clueless as Ed, who immediately pulled out his notebook.
“I’m sure it’s wonderful work,” Axlam said without missing a beat. “Truly exemplary.”
She had no idea what they were talking about. Neither did I. Neither did Ed, who continued to stare at the crew.
“Now,” Axlam stepped toward the reporter. “I am sure you realize that these things happen slowly. There are codes. State regulations. You understand.” She smiled yet again. “So there’s nothing to film here today.” She shrugged as if to say Sorry.
The reporter nodded knowingly. The camera operator continued to film. The sound guy now looked more confused than anything else.
“Please, before you leave,” Axlam continued as if their leaving had already been agreed upon, “make sure you come in. It’s early, and only a few staff members are here, but we’d love to sit down with you and your crew,” she motioned to the camera operator and the sound guy, “and set you up with a tour of the town. Maybe stop at Lara’s. What do you think, Ed? Lara’s a good place to start for local color?”
Ed grinned more like a wolf than any of the pack ever had. “Best coffee in Northern Minnesota,” he intoned. “Their food truck won at the Duluth Festival this year.”
“We’re a growing tourist destination,” Axlam said.
The smile she tossed the reporter was as lovely as the other smiles she’d tossed out so far. But I saw her magic, and her wolf reared up in a clear dominance stance.
The reporter looked genuinely confused. He might not see her magic, but mundanes often sensed something when standing so close to an alpha. “About the Mednidyne Initiative—”
Axlam put up her hands. “State and county regulations,” she said. “You know how it is.”
“What was that you said? Ned-nigh-dyne?” Ed asked. “Spell it.”
The camera operator gestured as if to say cut! The reporter frowned.
The sound guy’s confusion erupted as a nervous tapping along the edge of his recorder. “I don’t think he got a permit, Scotty,” he said.
Axlam leaned forward. “He did not. But that’s not your fault! Come inside. It’s chilly. We’ll get you all some coffee. You can tell us what your boss told you, and we’ll get this all straightened out.”
A barely distinguishable grin appeared on Ed’s face. He put away his notebook.
Axlam shepherded the reporter toward the buildings. “Do you know about the resorts north of town?”
The reporter and the sound guy visibly calmed. The camera operator didn’t seem to care.
Ed nodded to me. “I’m going to run this, what did he say? Med-nigh-dyne?”
I shrugged. I didn’t pay attention to the world’s mega-corporations.
Ed pulled out his notebook again. “It sounded nefarious.”
I was about to agree when headlights swept through the remaining morning shadows. Everyone looked at the driveway—Ed, me, Axlam, and the crew—as a black Tesla whine-hummed its way toward the Admin Complex buildings.
Sal called out from my truck as if all the annoyance she felt about the hidden magic she’d been sensing since her awakening made her extra excited in a sort of itching-to-fight kind of way.
“That’s the Tesla I saw last night,” I said to Ed.
Axlam glanced at me as if she, too, felt Sal’s call. “Stay here,” she said to the crew, who were now halfway to the Admin Building entrance, and walked back toward me. “That’s new,” she said.
I moved closer so the crew wouldn’t hear me. “No protection spells or extra magic.” I peered at the Tesla as it slowly crept forward, moving in small, semi-halting rolls. Its nose turned toward the main Admin building, then the vehicle backed up slightly as if the driver was putting considerable thought into how best to park in the middle of a row of spaces so as to cover not two, but a full four.
Ed’s lip twitched. He pointed at the camera crew. “You three. Go inside.”
The sound guy immediately started for the door. “We only dealt with him via email,” he called.
The reporter, Scotty, did not look happy about his sound guy talking to Ed.
“Go on,” Ed said.
The crew quickly made their way inside.
Ed snapped a photo of the Tesla’s plate, waited a second for the little beep indicating that the photos had been texted to someone, then tucked away his phone. “The desk will run the plate,” he said.
Sunlight danced over the car’s exterior, and eve
n though it made me squint, it also pushed enough light through the blackout windows for me to see movement inside the vehicle. “He just dialed his phone,” I said.
Axlam stared at the car. “What do you see, Frank?” she asked.
“With the sun, only an expensive paint job.” No shadows, though apparently her magic sensed something. Her wolf had almost solidified around her body.
“I’m surprised he’s not asking us to pose for selfies.” Ed placed his hand on his unsnapped service weapon and walked toward the Tesla. “You know, for local color.”
Inside the Tesla, the driver held his phone to his ear. He gestured with his free hand, then laughed.
He could just be a rich kid who was clueless about how the non-Tesla-and-yacht contingent of the world lived. Or he could be playing power games.
The driver continued to speak into his phone and, so far at least, wasn’t moving around in a way that indicated he had a weapon.
“Ed,” I said, just in case. I’d survive getting shot. Ed, probably not.
He stopped at the rear of the vehicle, but didn’t look at me. He continued to watch the car.
I walked toward the passenger window and tapped the glass. The window rolled down.
“Frank Victorsson.” I recognized the voice. Our interloper had returned.
Chapter 17
I stepped back and twisted my torso so the Tesla’s door frame offered me some protection, and also so I could lean over and look inside.
The man in the driver’s seat wore a rich person’s casual clothes—a tailored t-shirt, leather jacket, and jeans that were much too clean and new-looking to have earned their distressed holes. A pair of black-lensed sunglasses sat on top of his purposefully messy hair.
“Power down all the windows and step out of the vehicle,” I responded.
“When were you deputized, Mr. Victorsson?” he asked. He did not comply. He set his phone in a cupholder instead.
In my truck and too far away to help, Sal growled. Ed slowly made his way toward the driver’s door. And I did my best to keep our visitor’s attention on me. “Who are you?”
The man sniffed and rubbed at the tip of his nose as if he’d been snorting something unsavory. “I own the land you uncivilized barbarians have been smashing through these last few days,” he said. “Did none of you see the No Trespassing signs?” He rubbed the tip of his nose again. “Tell your sheriff I wish to lodge a complaint.”
Axlam took a step as if to come closer to his car. Inside, our interloper responded as if he’d seen her move in his rearview mirror. “I did this all for her,” he snapped.
I held up my hand and shook my head. He clearly had an issue with Axlam. She frowned, but stopped walking.
“Why?” I asked.
He leaned over to look out at me. “Were you harassing my camera crew? Do you have any idea how much they cost per hour? This town needs a better attitude about outsiders.”
Like at Raven’s Gaze, I couldn’t see any obvious magic on him, but also like Raven’s Gaze, he wasn’t well-lit. Good lighting would help me see any magical refractions around his body that might otherwise go unnoticed.
Ed tapped the driver’s side window. “Roll down the window.” He flicked the driver’s side door handle but nothing happened. “License and registration. Now.”
The man inside clicked his tongue. “It’s locked.” He looked back at me. “One cannot be too careful among those who lack discipline, correct?” he said.
Again with “discipline.” I was beginning to wonder if he had a safe word.
“Ed,” I said. “The driver is your person of interest.”
The man sighed. “Please inform your mundane sheriff that there are only six fully-bulletproofed Tesla Model S automobiles in the United States. I own four.” He smoothed his hand over the steering wheel. “I had this one shipped in from San Francisco.” He leaned toward the passenger window. “For my time in this dangerous, dangerous place. One must feel safe while touring one’s properties.”
“You are in no danger here,” I said reflexively without thinking about what I was saying, and the danger this man obviously posed to Alfheim’s magicals. Subtle threats like the ones dripping like oil from his lips were a guaranteed path to elven retaliation.
The man chuckled. “Says the man with the magical axe in his truck.” He grinned again. “So many things here might just jump out and howl at the moon. I prefer not to lose a limb to barbaric jaws.”
“He just called the wolves barbarians, Ed,” I said.
He pointed a finger at me. “Now, now. I most certainly did not.” He sniffed. “I’m here precisely because of the wolves. I’m here to finish my father’s work.”
I slid my hand over the Tesla’s iridescent paint as if the act would pick up some sort of magical residue. I saw nothing, nor did I feel any energy. “What are you talking about?” I snarled.
The memory card he’d carried at the park had a shadow. Sal was adamant about there being concealments here. And I was sure I’d seen the shadow at Raven’s Gaze.
“When the time is right.” He leaned forward and looked out the windshield. “Where is my crew? They have a job to do. It’s time.”
This man carried some sort of shadowy magical armament. It didn’t emanate from him, nor was he carrying it on his person as protection spells. He looked like any other self-absorbed rich mundane.
Yet he knew all about Alfheim and her magicals, and he’d been mundanely buying up land around town for what Ed said had been years.
Years, I thought. This ugly little man who lacked his own magical abilities obviously had the resources to bulletproof himself—figuratively, literally, and magically. And he had an agenda.
And it looked more and more as if he was responsible for the poster vandalism.
“Your crew is smarter than you,” I said. “They’re cooperating.”
His nostrils flared and his lips pinched into a mask of hostility. “They’re fired!” He slapped the steering wheel. “Everything I do here is because of her.” He pointed toward Axlam.
“He’s a stalker, Ed,” I said. A stalker with some sort of magical help.
“I am not!” he yelled.
Of course he didn’t consider himself a stalker. He probably didn’t think slapping posters all over window fronts was property damage, either. “Said every stalker everywhere,” I responded.
He slapped the steering wheel again.
Ed tapped the window. “Roll it down!” he said.
The man slowly turned his head toward the shadow Ed threw onto his blacked-out window. “Does your mundane friend have a warrant?” he asked.
I moved slowly as I leaned down again, more to get a good look at the sun playing on the surface of the Tesla than to toss any dominant body language at our interloper.
And there, along the hood, the iridescence gave way to a shadow.
“He has cause.” I tapped the glass of the car’s rear window. “Downtown was vandalized last night. And you should really look into tint laws before you truck in an expensive car from California.”
Ed tapped the glass again. “Out of the vehicle!”
The man gripped the steering wheel tightly and frowned. He obviously hadn’t thought about the blacked-out windows.
“A fine is not sufficient cause to pull me from my vehicle,” he said.
“Are you sure?” I looked over the top of the car at Ed. “Blacked-out windows may mean, what?” I asked.
“In Texas, we saw a lot of cartel vehicles with windows like this,” he said loudly enough that the man in the car could hear. “Enough that searching their property fell within probable cause.”
I couldn’t tell if he was lying or not. But I wasn’t the target of his bluff, so my reaction didn’t matter.
The man’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “You need a warrant!” he yelled.
Something changed. The air, perhaps, or the angle at which the sunlight hit the top of the Tesla. Whatever it was, it pulle
d my attention completely away from the inside of the vehicle to its exterior.
And it… pushed me away from the vehicle.
Ed, too. His eye blanked—his whole body blanked out—and he backed away. We both sucked in our breath as if we’d been punched, and before I could blink, Axlam was between Ed and the car.
And the present Alpha of the Alfheim Pack broke the Tesla’s door. I wasn’t sure what she did, but it swung open and stayed open as if she’d damaged the hinge.
Ed staggered but quickly recovered. He drew his weapon. “Get out of the car!” he bellowed.
Axlam stepped aside as I rounded the vehicle. “Listen to Sheriff Martinez,” she snarled.
I saw the glint of the weapon just before Axlam snatched it from the interloper and tossed it away from the vehicle. Her eyes shimmered with their golden wolf color, and she held her hands as if they were claws.
Was she about to lose control? I didn’t know, so I grabbed the interloper by his collar and hauled him out of the car.
He balled his fists like a child. “How dare you touch me!” he whined.
I tossed him away from his car and toward a more open area of the lot.
All the hints of shadows, all the gleaming edges and the energy I needed to squint to see, erupted around him like a shimmering, bug-like carapace.
I wasn’t looking at present magic. I knew what I saw wasn’t here with us, yet I saw an echo.
Or perhaps it wasn’t an echo. Perhaps he’d opened a line and I was looking at the magical version of a smartphone video chat.
The magic of Axlam’s wolf leaped between Ed and the interloper just as Arne’s own electric vehicle pulled into the lot.
Dagrun was out of the passenger side before the car stopped. She twisted as if dancing with the vehicle’s door and walked directly toward the interloper. She said nothing, and her face communicated even less. She flicked her wrist.
A thick, semi-opaque wall of magic manifested between the interloper, Ed, Axlam, and me, but it did nothing to diminish his carapace of amber-tinted magic.
He jittered each time his shell pulsed, and his mouth opened slightly. His eyelids drooped too, as if whatever the magic was doing gave him great pleasure.
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