Her gaze returned to the photo. This kid is bright, with a future, and great rapport with his parents.
He didn't run away.
She considered turning on the ThinkPad, but closed her eyes against the thought, realizing how tired she really was. It might have been different had she been in her native realm of Underhill, where the energies were a tad more tamed than those here, particularly during this thunderstorm. Lightning wreaked havoc with the magical workings of even the most experienced elven Mage, and keeping a glamorie in place during the bumpy plane ride had sapped her strength.
"To hell with it," she said to the suite. Feeling slightly naughty, she let the glamorie fall aside and stood, regarding her purely elven form in the mirror.
My ears have lengthened with acquired wisdom, she thought with a chuckle as she playfully admired the image she went to so much trouble to conceal. Her slitted cat's eyes, green and large and inhuman, were a frightening sight to all but the elvenfolk. Seeing her own image, unfettered by the earthly trappings of the human race, reminded her how long it had been since she had enjoyed the company of her brethren.
She lay back on the bed, frowned at its hardness, and fought the inevitable ache of loneliness that intruded at times like these. She missed home, even though she worked and lived among the humans as a matter of choice. Rare invasions from hostile elven clans notwithstanding, life Underhill had taken on a predictable quality, a monotony that some of the elves found unbearably dull. The solution, heretical in some elven courts but welcomed in hers and others, was to cross the barrier separating them from the human race. They would assume human forms, learn human trades, play their games, and live their lives in disguise, always ready to Gate back to Underhill if their true identities were discovered by humans too difficult or violent to control. Some elves lived as humans for a brief time, some longer. Some, like herself, for a good span of a human's adulthood. Sammi had spent her time in law enforcement, and her elven abilities had enabled her to spot dark magic from her homeland, and deal with it; something a human cop simply could not do. While investigating Alan's disappearance at the Baltimore arena, she'd discovered the traces of a Gate, along with the more insidious remnants of Unseleighe magic. All the more reason to get involved: if the Unseleighe were abducting children, it was her duty to her clan and to the human race to deal with it.
Sammi stood and prepared for a long, hot shower. Her experience with travel told her she would never sleep until she had bathed, no matter how fatigued she was. But outside lightning continued the rake the sky, and she had second thoughts about getting into the water. Tempted to disregard common sense, she started unpacking her bathroom items, longing for the Shower Massage that beckoned in the stall.
Then it hit.
The dark scream was a wound, the ripping of barriers between realms. She closed her eyes and looked for its source, finding a hot, bright mass in her mind's eye, in a place not too far away.
Great Danaa, she muttered as she turned off the shower. What she felt was no lightning hit, but something far more telling, and sinister. Only the gods could pull together such strength, she thought as she fumbled through her bags for jeans, sandals and a T-shirt. Half numb, she put these things on, and picked up the keys to the Caprice.
She saw clearly where the power source was, but had no idea who would have a need for such a construction. What she sensed was a Gate, but one of such magnitude one could move an army through it. It was coming from inside the city limits of Tulsa, and was close enough she could drive there in a few minutes, she guessed. The Caprice was parked just outside her room; a wave of stale cigarette smoke greeted her as she slid behind the wheel. The ashtray was open and overflowing with butts. No wonder Owen had had a heart attack.
The rain had ceased, though the storm was still raging in the distance, spiking the horizon with lightning. She pulled out of the parking lot and entered the expressway for downtown Tulsa. The source was getting closer, somewhere on her right. Here, let's take this exit, she thought, getting off on 41st Street.
Her reaction to investigate the matter had been spontaneous, and she took a moment to reassess her move. If this is Unseleighe magic, shouldn't I have backup? she thought, and considered aborting her recon. But if she didn't locate it now she might never; Gate energy, particularly the temporary kind that emerged in the human's world, didn't always stick around long. She would locate it, and deal with it later, if indeed there was something to deal with. If something had come through that she could not handle alone, well . . . she had better not encounter it, that was all.
Right away she noticed the electricity in the area was out. Streets and neighborhoods slept in darkness. Ahead near an intersection was a cluster of black and white cars with blue and red flashing light bars. An accident? No, they were not on the street, they were in a parking lot, shining their spots on something tall and dark. She pulled up and stopped. If the other cops noticed her they didn't seem to care; they appeared to be too stunned by what they were observing.
Sammi got out, and stood a few feet from the idling Caprice. Thin fog boiled from the pavement, and the asphalt's black warmth seeped up through her sneakers. In her room she had heard the wound tear, and here it was, festering before her.
"This isn't from Underhill," she said to the warm, wet night. Whatever magics were responsible for bringing this massive stone circle to this land were likely well beyond any the Unseleighe might summon.
This is Stonehenge, she thought, recognizing the monoliths. Brought from England, via Gate or some other construction.
None too eager to introduce herself to the officers on the scene, she got back into the Caprice and drove slowly away from the situation. After all, she didn't have any ID with her; she had left it at the room. Just as well, it now looked like she had a cover to protect.
Time to speak with the King. I'll likely need Avalon's help after all.
Chapter Two
And there it was, again; a Gate signature flickered dimly at the periphery of his magical sight, taxing his already strained attention. Llanmorgan of Avalon tried to ignore the sign and focus on the King's magecraft lesson, the halving of a Mage light with a bronze sword. The tedious task was now complicated by the Gate sign and King Aedham's scrutinizing his every move from a few paces away. A chilling wind had descended on the practice arena occupying the palace's flat cobblestone roof, worsening matters.
A Gate, a teacher hovering over me like a vulture, and a cold north wind. What ideal conditions for working magic!
The bright, apple-sized sphere hovered a few paces before him, fueled by a whisper of node power. His task was to maintain the light while contemplating its neat bisection; contradictory desires which both demanded his full consideration. He had heard this was typical of what the King asked of his students, as they would protect the elfhame one day with their skills. Despite an earlier enthusiasm for the apprenticeship he wondered if he was up to the task.
And again, there's that distracting Gate sign! Does the King sense it too?
"Your focus is wavering," the King observed dryly. "What have you on your mind besides your assignment? Nubile maidens at a bale fire?"
Biting back a sharp reply, he turned to face the King, but found he could not. Instead his eyes fell on the King's odd footwear, an indulgence His Majesty had brought with him from the world of the humans. Whatever beast had been slain for the brightly colored pelts certainly didn't live in Underhill. Magic held the boot's seams together, and the soles made a mousy squeak. Aedham referred to them as either "ny kees" or "sneekers," and insisted they never be polished. The King fancied strange human creations, and of these the shoes were the least peculiar. At least there was a discernible use attached to them.
"No, sire," Llan replied humbly, and returned to his task. The light flickered, threatened to go out; he paused to let it reach a certain brightness, and struck. The blade missed, nudging it a hand's breadth to the right.
The King sighed in exasperation, an
d Llan's ears burned with embarrassment. This is not that difficult! the youth berated himself. And here I fail, before the King, of all elves . . .
Llan considered mentioning the Gate sign but thought this might be construed as an excuse. Instead, he remained silent, and raised his sword once again.
His strike, sharpened with some of his own anger, fell true and neatly bisected the sphere. The light halves sparked, then formed two smaller spheres half the size of the original.
"Splendid!" the King complimented, slapping Llan on the back. But his tone darkened somewhat as he said, "Now, line them up, one above the other. And slice them into four."
To Llan's incredulous look he said, "It can be done. Accomplish this feat, and we will be done for the day."
"Aie," Llan said, not feeling altogether confident. Using the sword as a wand, Llan moved one sphere over the other and, shrugging, focused on the two, raised the blade, and took aim.
A few paces away, the door to the palace roof creaked open, stealing Llan's concentration from him anew. The spheres began to drift apart.
"Forgive me, King," said the newcomer. "I did not know you were conducting lessons, I didn't."
Niamh, the King's Engineer, lurked uncomfortably by the door. Smaller than most elves, he looked like an intelligent beaver, with a nose the size of a potato, and large buck teeth.
"Continue," the King said to Llan before walking over to Niamh.
Llanmorgan realigned the two spheres and composed himself for another attempt, but his attention was drawn by the animated discussion the King was having with Niamh. The Engineer confirmed that yes, indeed, someone was about to Gate, and clearly the King had not noted this in his own mage sight. Feeling somewhat redeemed, the apprentice sliced the two spheres as if they were apples, and with satisfaction watched the halves turn into four small spheres.
When he glanced back at the King, he and his Engineer were gaping at his accomplishment.
"Did he just cut two mage lights into four?" the Engineer muttered, clearly amazed.
"Indeed he did," the King replied. "And they began as one."
"No!" Niamh said, walking over to examine his work.
"If someone is about to Gate here, then we should greet them," the King said, moving towards the door. Niamh turned to join him.
Llan followed, saying, "I don't understand, Sire. You said it could be done. What is so astounding about quartering the mage light?"
"I said it could be done," the King said, with a smirk. "I didn't say it could be done by me. Or, until now, anyone else in the Elfhame. At least," Aedham amended, "on the first try." He opened the door and began descending the stairwell into the palace.
Llanmorgan sheathed his sword and followed them into the palace, beaming over his accomplishment but trying hard not to show it. Smugness usually led to more assignments. Yet he couldn't resist a little showmanship. Llan sent the mage lights ahead of them, lighting their way down the dark stairwell.
"I didn't notice how dirty these stairs had become," Aedham commented. "Perhaps our young apprentice here would like to find a broom . . ."
As one, the spheres dimmed to a dull glow. Aedham visibly suppressed a laugh, while Niamh made no such attempt, chortling without reserve all the way down the stairs.
I didn't accept the apprenticeship to sweep floors! Llan seethed in mock resentment, though such a chore was not beneath him, even after rubbing shoulders with Aedham and his royal court for the past year. He was from a proud middle class family who had volunteered to help Avalon rebuild. His fortune had turned the day the King spied him making a mage light, a task the young elf had thought simple and intuitive. But the making of mage light was a skill normally mastered after years of training, though no one had bothered to tell Llan that while he was growing up. Llan's father, and of course Llan himself, eagerly agreed to an apprenticeship when offered, and within the passing of a day the young elf found himself elevated to a social status he had never thought possible.
But this court was a strange mixture of youthfulness, gaiety and irreverence, qualities that would have been out of place in Outremer. Most elvenfolk were fiercely traditional, and observed the old ways with a passion. Though elfhame Avalon was ancient, indeed had been named after the original elven land of a time so distant hardly anyone remembered it now, its new leadership was young and had lived for a considerable time as humans in the humans' world. Mingling with the lesser beings was not unheard of, though it was usually done on an individual basis, not by an entire elven court. Llan knew that a ruthless Unseleighe tribe had conquered Avalon, and Avalon had fled to the humans' world for temporary refuge. Yet who would have thought that so much human culture would rub off on them? At times Llan thought they were human after all, masquerading as elves. This would explain not just their fondness of human technology, but their mastering of it, using it in ways neither human nor elf had ever imagined.
"Any idea who it is?" the King asked.
"It must be Lady Samantha," Niamh replied as they reached the foot of the steps. "She has the only sigil combination. Unless she gave it to a human, which she would never do."
Llan had heard of the King's mysterious sister who lived among the humans by choice, but had never had the opportunity to meet her. She worked in secret as a constable of sorts. Llan found it amusing that an elf would make for herself a position of power there, even for the benefit of both races. And she did so completely undetected. Whatever life that would be, it would not be dull . . . which was precisely why some elves chose it.
Now she was coming here. From the urgency in the king's voice Llan surmised this was unusual, and perhaps a sign of trouble.
"I would like you to meet her, Llan," Aedham said as they reached the base of the stairs, which stood at the head of the Great Hall. "She's been pestering me about taking on an apprentice, and now she can see that I have." Banners festooned the granite walls—portraits of Aedham's mother and father, Queen Faldi and King Traigthren, respectively. At the end of the Hall was an enormous black oak throne, though Llan had never seen the King sit in it. From the kitchen adjoining the Hall wafted the smells of delicious meal in the making, and from the doorway servants peered in to see what the King was up to, evidently aware that something of interest was about to take place.
"Ah. Here it is," Niamh commented as a ring of yellow light, dim and translucent at first, took shape in the center of the spacious Hall, hovering a hand's breadth above the flagstone floor. Llan found it a bit disturbing that it was manifesting with no obvious help from a mage, even though the magics responsible had been laid out in advance, and were now being activated by the appropriate sigils.
Suddenly a silhouette appeared in the ring, and out stepped a rather attractive elven Lady in strange human attire, with shortened hair that at first gave her the semblance of a male. Then the rest of her appeared; this was no male. Her dress was oddly tailored, of a fabric not unlike silk, and was far too short for an elven high court, but which suited Llan's tastes perfectly. The shoes were delicate, with little stilts on the heels that gave her a considerable advantage in height. She stepped from the Gate, graceful as a deer, and instantly looked as if she belonged here, despite the human trappings. The Gate vanished, and Lady Samantha reached to embrace her brother.
"You've arrived just in time for supper," Aedham said as he hugged his sister. "Have you brought me my CDs?"
Samantha looked only momentarily pained. "I'm afraid I forgot those, kiddo," she said, then noticing Llan, amended, "Sire." Even the apprentice noticed the smirk. "I've come with some interesting news from the Overworld."
"Whatever the news is," Aedham said expansively, "you can share it with us all. This is Llanmorgan of Outremer, and he is my new student."
Her eyebrows raised appreciatively at the mention of Outremer. Of course. She is from Outremer, as well. As instructed by the court, Llan bowed slightly at the waist and took her hand gently, not kissing it, as that would indicate he was somewhere on the same social order
as she . . . which he definitely was not. It would be all too easy to let this new familiarity get the best of him; being privy to this conversation was overwhelming enough.
"Let's adjourn to the drawing room," the King said. "The modern one," he added with a wink.
Llan felt the hairs on his neck stand at attention, and his ear tips felt slightly "dizzy." The King kept two drawing rooms, a traditional one and the modern one, full of human devices that defied all logic and explanation. Llan had seldom gone into that one, out of respect and perhaps a bit of fear that he might disturb something, or turn something on and not know how to deal with it or turn it off. It was said that no magic was used in the creation of these devices. Llan wasn't so certain.
"Turn on CNN," Samantha said as the King led them into the comfortable if slightly puzzling environment. As they situated themselves in two oversized couches which somewhat resembled traditional furniture, Niamh activated the "big scream" at a large cluster of crystals. Each faceted stone, every one as big around as his arm, were mounted on a stand beside the device; he knew this was connected to the crystal port in the King's study. From there, Niamh had once explained cryptically, they "pirated a variety of services from the human realm."
The scream came to life, and Llan winced. The "big scream" hadn't actually screamed yet, but he feared one of these times it would. Instead the colorful images appeared on an amazingly flat surface, unlike the faceted crystal surfaces of most elven communications devices. Llan sat opposite the two, with the "big scream" on the opposite wall, between them, giving him a good view of everything.
"So tell me, sister, what has brought you home for this visit?"
She seemed uncomfortable or uncertain of where to start. "I wish I could come for no other reason than to see you again," she said, at length, "instead of with what is likely bad news."
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