My Familiar Stranger

by Victoria Danann

  She splashed a little water and fiddled with the linen cloth covering her abdomen. “I’ve decided you’re officially an enigma; an elf who shreds metal, worships Metallica, and chooses to retreat to a society that bans electricity.”

  “An enigma, hmmm? Well, I'm hopin' that will keep you interested for a long, long time.”

  He felt Elora tense at that. “What do you mean? I thought mates are forever.”

  “Aye, in elfdom that is true. But I have observed that humans are no’ always so…committed. Seems that, for humans, ever after is hard to come by.”

  “My people don’t divorce. We choose. Then marry and stay together. I’ll never leave you, Ram. No matter what.”

  “My darlin’ girl, you ease the fear in my heart.”

  “Please don’t let there be uncertainty between us. You’re my charming prince.”

  He smiled at that. “Agreed. Please do no’ let there be shame between us either.”

  “Shame?”

  He paused for a minute.

  “Elora, first, I love that my woman is the first female knight in the history of Black Swan. It honors me more than I can say. I hate that you went into that tunnel without your team, but I love and admire you for it, too. Please do no’ hide from me. The sight of your body, as it is this very hour, could no’ excite me more. If you bear these marks forever, you will still be the most beautiful female in the world to me. What can I do to convince you this is so?”

  They lay relaxing in the pleasure of each other’s company for some time, mulling over every word, reliving every caress, stowing them away in their hearts to keep as a foundation for forever, through good times and bad.

  At length Elora took the cloth away, wrung it out and set it aside. Ram pulled her head back onto his shoulder and kissed her temple in approval, loving that she trusted him.

  “What will we do about Black Swan?”

  Not really wanting to think about the world outside the copper tub, he sighed. “How did you leave things with Storm?”

  “He said he wasn’t surprised, that anyone could see we were in love, and that he doesn’t have regrets about anything.”

  “When we get back we’ll go to Sol and explain that we’ll marry.” He paused. “You do plan to marry me?”

  She hesitated. Just when he was beginning to wonder if he should be worried, she said, “As proposals go, that may not be the worst ever, but I think you could do better.”

  He smiled. “How’s this then? Tell me your dreams so I can make them come true.”

  “Much better. And, yes, I plan to marry you.”

  After they were dressed, Ram asked Elora if she would like to try riding. He kept a nice stable a few yards from the cottage, tight against the wind, stocked with Fall’s harvest of green hay and oats. Planning a little mischief at the expense of his assumption that she didn’t ride, she asked for the gray mare. Ram tried to dissuade her explaining that the mare was temperamental and accustomed to experienced riders. Elora insisted and ultimately prevailed using the selling point that she wouldn’t be hurt even if she was thrown.

  Ram wasn’t happy about it, but he switched saddles muttering something about stubborn women.

  He helped her up, gave her a few verbal pointers, and then mounted the pretty, bay gelding. Elora couldn’t remember having so much fun as pretending not to know how to ride and then giving Ram a merry chase through the woods. On his own horse no less! She laughed until her eyes watered.

  Later they made a stew of chicken and vegetables and cooked it in a pot hanging over the open flame fire in the kitchen.

  Ram gave her his highest compliment saying she could ride as well as an elf. She told him some of her own stories of training and competing in equestrian events before she was even in her teens.

  The next few days were lived like a honeymoon, rich in the earthy, elemental pleasures of fire, snow, and mulled wine. Indulging in languorous conversation and vigorous copulation, they thrived, each basking in the glow of the other’s adoration and celebrating the pleasures of learning each other’s secrets in the most intimate ways.

  On the day they were to leave, Elora stood in the middle of the cottage, packed, wearing her coat, hat and scarf, replaying in her mind every precious moment, wishing she could simply restart the week and live it again without changing a thing.

  As if he could read her mind, Ram came up behind her, put his arms around her waist and said next to her ear, “We’ll be back.”

  “Promise?”

  “Oh, aye. ‘Tis part of happily ever after.”

  The fact that she shared his love for the little cottage in the New Forest was just one more thing on a long list that confirmed his certainty that he’d been paired with the perfect mate.

  ***

  CHAPTER 22

  Ram and Elora deliberately returned to Jefferson Unit a day ahead of Storm and Kay so that they would have a chance to talk to Sol. They stood together in front of his desk holding hands as they explained their situation. They requested transfer to some duty suitable for a married couple. Sol said that he had already agreed to loan B Team to Edinburgh for a temporary assignment and asked that they stay on for one more mission before a major change was made.

  Ram was aghast that he had been assigned to a tour in “Fairyland” which is what he called Scotia.

  Sol turned his attention to Elora. “You seem reserved. Where’s the enthusiasm?”

  “It’s not about the assignment. I don’t really care where I go as long as he’s there.” She glanced at Ram and he beamed. “It’s Blackie. I understand that, technically, he belongs to Jefferson Unit, but I think he’d be happier with me.”

  Sol briefly steepled his fingers and then smiled. “Consider him a wedding present from Jefferson Unit. We’ll make sure the usual quarantines are lifted. Be ready to leave in four days.”

  While chanting thank you’s, Elora ran around the desk and gave Sol a big kiss on the cheek which made him blush and left him off balance. People don’t rush up to Sol with kisses. Ever.

  The following morning Ram took Blackie out for a walk and stopped on the way back up for a to-go coffee and a hot chocolate. When he returned to the apartment he found Elora kneeling on the bathroom floor, vomiting into the toilet, the color of her complexion somewhere between pale and green.

  He knelt beside her and pulled her hair back from her face. “What in Paddy’s name, Elora?”

  Frustrated by the question and the first illness of her life, Elora was feeling pitiful and snarky, never a good combination.

  “I’m sick! Duh!”

  “You said you ne’er get sick.”

  “I don’t!” She shouted. Then threw up again.

  As soon as her stomach seemed emptied, Ram insisted they go to the infirmary. He walked around the waiting room cracking his knuckles while she was examined. After half an hour he was told he could go in. She was sitting on the side of the hospital bed glaring at him.

  “You said humans and elves don’t procreate.”

  Of all the things he was prepared to hear, that was not among them.

  “They do no’.”

  “Yes. They. Do. I’m pregnant!”

  She watched the parade of emotions cross his face, knowing him well enough to read every nuance. Confusion was replaced by anger which was overcome by love and finally resolved in resignation as he determined that he was keeping this woman and this baby no matter who the father was. He may as well have said it all out loud.

  “Ram! Of course you are the father. This is bad enough without you thinking I would lie to you.”

  “I… Well, makes no difference. You’re mine. You always will be. No matter what.”

  Elora was infuriated. “Get. Me. Monq.”

  “Why?”

  She struggled to get her emotions under control. In an effort to overcome the impulse to scream at him, she spoke distinctly and deliberately.

  “Because. Rammel. There is a perfectly logical explanation for this and, w
hen it comes to solving mysteries, Monq is our go-to guy. Right?”

  Concluding that humoring her was the best course of action, Ram called Monq and asked if he could please come up to the infirmary right away. Again.

  Monq arrived ten minutes later. “Ms. Laiken.”

  “Shut the door,” Elora ordered Monq without greeting or further pleasantries.

  He did.

  “I’m pregnant. Ram’s the father. He doesn’t believe it.”

  Monq looked between them, then said, “Well, first, congratulations. And, second,” turning to Ram, “you don’t believe she’s pregnant or you don’t believe you’re the father?”

  “I did no’ say that.”

  Elora huffed. “He doesn’t believe he’s the father.”

  To Ram, Monq asked, “Why not?”

  “Why no’ what?”

  “Why do you not believe you’re the father?”

  “Because elves and humans can no’ procreate.” As an afterthought, in the interest of clarity, he added, “With each other. It’s a biological fact not up to interpretation. The chromosomes do no’ line up.”

  Monq barked out a laugh that clearly offended Ram.

  “And what could you be findin’ amusin’ about this… situation?”

  “She’s an elf, you idiot! Her DNA is 99.9% the same as yours. The .01% difference is that her ears are not pointed.”

  While Ram stood there with his mouth open, trying to absorb that astonishing news, Elora turned to Monq with a hint of menace.

  “And you didn’t think this was information you should pass along?”

  “First, is it my job to keep up on gossip and know that the two of you are an item? No. Second, aren’t elves supposed to recognize each other as mates? That didn’t happen in your case?”

  Slowly a grin spread over his face. “Aye. ‘Tis exactly what did happen. Great Paddy! We’re havin’ a baby. I need to call my mother. ”

  He looked at Elora’s face expecting to see a mirror of the elation bubbling up in him. What he saw instead was hurt and betrayal battling with anger for emotional supremacy. That’s when he realized he had dug himself into a bottomless pit of excrement with his own stupidity and lack of faith. Great Paddy if Storm wasn't right. He was an imbecile.

  “Elora,” he started, “I’m sorry I reacted badly. I…”

  She stopped him cold with a look, slid off the bed, and walked out without turning back. When he let himself into her apartment a little later, she simply said, “Get out.” And slammed the bedroom door closed.

  After twenty four hours of refusing to talk to him, Ram went to Kay and pleaded with him to intercede.

  “She’ll listen to you. She always has.”

  With time and finesse Kay did successfully mediate a treaty between the two stipulating that Elora would forgive Ram conditionally on the promise that he would never doubt anything she said again, no matter how unlikely or improbable it might seem on the surface. He gladly made that vow and she knew he would keep it because, with all his faults, he was an elf of honor.

  That settled, Elora allowed herself to relax between bouts of morning sickness. Steeping in the glow of Ram’s delight she began to find it contagious.

  He could not have been happier. There was to be a little one on the way, a miracle whose mother was strong, brave, smart, beautiful... and his.

  As an added benefit, there was to be no more worry about the fickle nature of humans. In hindsight he wondered how he had missed the signs that were there all along. She was elf. His other half. They were rightly and truly mated and no obstacle could ever be formidable enough to threaten the happily ever after that was his now his life’s mission.

  ***

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  EXCERPT from The Witch's Dream, the second book in the Black Swan Series

  He seemed to have been born knowing things, like math for instance. His mind would grab on to a concept on first presentation and then, while his classmates struggled, he would be looking around for something to do. That something usually ended up being disruption.

  Storm was loved by his parents, but school faculty was another story. He had a reputation with the teachers for instigating pandemonium in the classroom. He was the triple threat: smart, bored, and a natural leader. It wasn’t that he was a class clown, nothing so obvious or exaggerated. He just quietly went about doing whatever the hell he pleased and ignoring objections. In short, no one in his life to that point had given him adequate reason to believe that anarchy was not the best policy.

  Peers wanted to be like him. If that wasn’t possible, they would settle for doing whatever he was doing. So Storm’s experience of the public school system was time spent in the hallway, the principal’s office, or in trouble at home with his parents agonizing over what to do.

  At one point they thought sports might be the answer. He had an extra helping of athletic talent and one of those bodies that would have said yes to any physical demand. Unfortunately he never saw the point. To him sports represented an endless, mindless, repetition with some arbitrarily established goal that made no sense when he broke it down and it turned out to be… well, boring. Put it all together and he was a public school educator's nightmare. He was also a textbook ideal candidate for Black Swan.

  One day he was sent to the Vice Principal’s office under protest claiming that, for once, he wasn't doing anything wrong. He sat down in his usual chair to wait for the usual carpet ride, but, instead, the door opened to reveal too many people crowded into a smallish room. That included the V.P., Storm’s parents and a tall, serious-looking guy with a piercing gaze and an unmistakable air of authority. Storm sat up straight and had only one thought. Uh oh.

  The stranger wore slacks, highly polished loafers, and a sports coat. He guessed the man was old, thirty-five maybe, but he looked hard all over like one of those athletes who can't repeat enough Iron Man triathlons to please themselves.

  Engel Storm’s father worked for the Randolph Moldavni vineyards as head winemaker. The work was personally fulfilling and he wasn’t chained to a desk in a cubicle, but it didn’t cut a path to either greatness or riches. His mother worked part time as library receptionist at the local branch of the University of California. Between the two they made enough to take care of three kids in solid middle class fashion. They could eat steak, but not every day. They had good health insurance with the vineyard. They could take a summer vacation if they drove and stayed in motels. It was an upbringing no child should complain about, but most do anyhow.

  Storm’s background hadn’t afforded an education on the finer points of better men's’ clothing, but even to an untrained eye there was a vague sense that the stranger’s style was expensive.

  “Have a seat, son.” Vice Principal Rodgers motioned to an ugly metal chair with green leatherette seat and back. Storm noticed that there was a small tear in the seat that showed a little white stuffing. His mind was racing, partially occupied with the fact that Rodgers had called him "son". He decided that meant he was in even bigger trouble than he thought, but, on the other hand, his parents looked serious, but not mad. The tall guy leaned against an old book case and looked really, really out of place against the backdrop of venetian blinds that were partly bent and a room that needed repainting.

  Mr. Rodgers, better known to the student body as “Tums” as it was said his tummy entered a room five minutes before the rest of him, sat down with a plop that forced air out of the vinyl cushion seat. Another boy his age might have had to suppress a snicker, but Storm sometimes seemed more like an adult than a kid.

  When the wheezing subsided, Tums said, “Engel, this is Mr. Nemamiah.” Storm looked up into flinty
blue eyes that didn’t blink or apologize for staring. After a couple of seconds he wanted to look away, but pride wouldn’t let him. So he raised his chin just a hair and determined he wouldn’t give in first. Mr. Nemamiah’s expression didn’t change at all, but Storm thought he saw a little light flicker in those steely eyes. Nemamiah let him off the hook and looked away first.

  Tums continued. “It seems he’s taken an interest in you and your education.”

  Storm was starting to panic. Not military school. Please. Please. Please don’t let it be military school. It was then he started calculating how long it would take him to be up, out the door, and hitchhiking on I80.

  “It’s been noticed that your test scores are extraordinary. To say the least.”

  Wow. That wasn't what Storm had expected to hear next.

  “Mr. Nemamiah is in a position to arrange a scholarship to a private school that develops talent such as yours for possible future work with a quasigovernmental agency. He asked that I make this introduction so that you would know that he and his organization are legitimate.”

  “Develops talent? What does that mean?” Storm demanded. He directed the question to Tums, but Nememiah interjected answering in a gravelly voice.

  “It means specialized training. Highly specialized.”

  Storm stared at Nememiah for a couple of breaths and then barked out a laugh intended to imply rebellion, irreverence, and a healthy dose of cynicism. “Spy school? You want me for spy school?” He laughed with his whole body as only boys can - for a few seconds. Then, in the time it took to draw another breath, Storm raked a gaze up and down the older man sizing him up, reasoned through the bizarre nature of the offer and decided that first, it would not be boring and, second, it might be cool. “Okay. Sign me up.”

  Mr. Nemamiah almost gave in to the temptation to smile. While such behavior might be seen as rash, impulsive, or even schizophrenic in the mundane world, the ability to quickly sort through an equation and make hard decisions on the fly was one of the traits his organization prized. Neither parent was particularly surprised. With Storm they knew the one thing they could count on was unpredictability.