Elf Raised (Northern Creatures Book 3)

by Kris Austen Radcliffe

  I’d often wondered how they managed crossing on sailing ships.

  “One of the reasons we left was because Tov Lokisson had gotten control of two of the Scandinavian enclaves and was waging all-out war on the other European groups. We didn’t want to get caught in the crossfire.”

  “How many non-elves did Lokisson take down?” I asked. A trickster elf might explain the long-held issues between the European werewolves and the elves.

  Remy looked out at the casino. “Enough,” he said.

  Enough to drive out the brothers.

  “The Siberian enclave was established in much the same way as Alfheim—a bunch of Rus decided to see how far inland they could get. In the sixteen hundreds, they were isolated from the other elves by the Romanov Dynasty. The Icelanders were also outside the war, and Alfheim was the most isolated of all. The European elves knew it existed, but no one put in the considerable effort needed to visit.”

  Some things never changed. They still didn’t visit.

  Remy reached for a toothpick. “Tyr Bragisson recognized the threat Tov Lokisson posed not only to the elves, but to the mundanes. He coordinated with the Siberians and together, they took care of the problem.”

  He tapped the toothpick against the table too fast, as if nervous. “Now all of the Scandinavian enclaves are ruled by one central King. Siberia and Iceland gained significant political power, and Alfheim was brought back into the fold, a deal solidified when Tyr sent Dag to marry Arne.”

  Yes, the elves were political. Yes, control shifted. “I don’t understand how Tyr Bragisson becoming the Elf Emperor applies to you scaling the walls of an enchantment-protected apartment complex.”

  Remy dropped the toothpick and picked up a fork. He twirled it between his fingers. “That video? The one your brother made of Akeyla breaking glamour? Imagine what would happen if that particular bit of modern mundane technology caught the eye of a new Lokisson.”

  No one needed a Loki-level trickster playing with a shiny bobble at the end of an Internet string.

  “The elves no longer tolerate tricksters. Not their own and not anyone else’s.” Remy poked the fork into the table. “Which, I believe, is the true root of their problem with witches, vampires, and iffy spirits. The elves don’t want another Lokisson issue.”

  “And Arne is taking in the enemy.” None of this was a surprise. The other enclaves wanted to extend their no-trickster rule.

  It made sense on the surface. Actually, it made a lot of sense, but it was a simplistic way of dealing with a complex matter, and simplistic diplomacy did not get you a new enclave in New Zealand.

  Remy tapped the table. “Now think about what’s going to happen when Niklas der Nord gets wind of Raven’s involvement in our investigations.” He waved the fork between us. “And how we bowed to her wishes.”

  This was why he didn’t want me to mention the kitsune.

  We’d be viewed as trickster enablers. I sat back. “He’d do that?” But of course he’d do that. He’d already vocalized his bigotry.

  Remy exhaled. “That’s just the beginning. He’s going to use the fact that we are here at all against Arne. Then top that with a failed search for a dark magical.”

  Remy was right to be fixated.

  “Raven was correct,” he said. “I have been looking for Portia Elizabeth since she left Alfheim. I comb every location we visit. I gather information every time we get a call to pick up someone who’s been turned. Gerard knows.” He glanced at me. “Arne, too.”

  “But you didn’t know to look here, did you?” He would have been on a plane the moment he had a solid lead.

  Remy shook his head. “Yet somehow, Arne knew.” He looked out at the casino floor again. “I asked point blank how he knew, the moment he told me he wanted us to fly in first.” His brow tightened. “He was cagey. Said only that he ‘called in a few favors.’ He and I are going to have a talk when this is through. I want to know who, exactly, owes Arne Odinsson favors. I want to know what he’s gotten Alfheim into.”

  “We can’t worry about that now,” I said. “We had a more immediate problem on our hands.”

  “We have two choices: Canvas here and see if we get lucky, or go back to the apartments and state our case again.”

  Neither option was good. “We ask, Remy. No breaking and entering.”

  He laughed and tossed a tip onto the table. “Won’t need to, since you offered up yourself as a sacrifice.”

  I stood and stretched my back. “I did no such thing.”

  Remy laughed again. “You take the paladin service thing way too seriously, Frank.”

  It worked for me. I preferred to be the helpful giant instead of the raging, terrifying monster. “I’ve learned my lessons over my two centuries.”

  We walked toward the little food area’s exit. Remy pulled our rental’s keys out of his pocket. “I suppose someone needs to learn something from immortality, huh?”

  He was probably correct. I just hoped we were wise enough to handle another round at the apartments with diplomacy and intelligence.

  Chapter 14

  Ready?” Remy pulled the keys from the rental’s ignition.

  The sun had set about half an hour ago, and a faint red glow pulsed along the horizon. The apartment complex’s fifteen-foot-high concrete fence continued to appear formidable—and continued to not have any visible entrances.

  We knew where the driveway was, even if we couldn’t see it. We knew it had an electronic gate card system. Such systems were always hooked up to an intercom of some sort.

  “I hope you’re right about there being someone on the other end of the intercom,” Remy said.

  “We need to find it first,” I said.

  Remy reached into the back seat and pulled two bundles into the front—my scat-covered clothes, and his.

  “You, my friend, are a stronger man than I,” Remy said.

  This had nothing to do with strength and everything to do with my ability to see magic. We both figured a little extra push from the troll droppings might just be enough to allow me to see the driveway and the intercom.

  I took the bundles, and the three extra plastic bags I was to use to re-seal the clothes, once I’d inhaled enough troll leavings to boost my abilities.

  “Do you know how I know trolls aren’t too bright?” Remy pointed at the bundles. “They could have all the gold in the world if they figured out how to refine and sell that.”

  I suspected somewhere on Earth, some troll had. “We should all be happy they haven’t.”

  Remy sat back in his seat. “Tap the window when you’re ready.”

  I opened my door and walked around the SUV to stand on the street side next to Remy’s closed window, to protect him from the scat. Quickly, I ripped a hole though the plastic around my clothes, and inhaled.

  The concrete wall sparkled. The streetlights burned. But no driveway.

  I ripped a hole in the bags holding Remy’s clothes and inhaled again.

  Waves of reds, blues, and purples moved through sheets of energy in the sky above the city. The concrete wall’s sparkles turned into a buzzing, spinning web of fairy lights.

  It wasn’t fifteen feet tall. More like five. The height was a magical illusion, as was the “wall” crossing the driveway.

  I quickly re-bundled the clothes inside the new layers of plastic and tapped the glass. Remy powered down the driver’s side window.

  “It’s right there.” I pointed across the street.

  The entire steel gate structure shimmered with greens, blues, and purples as if anodized by a mermaid. Behind it, the drive twisted between two huge palms and into a parking lot that bordered the wall next to the entrance. Two smallish two-story buildings, each with six apartments, sat at a right angle against the eastern and northern sides of the wall. The pool and a pool house butted up against the wall to the west.

  Remy hopped out and hit the lock on the SUV. “Let’s do this.”

  We walked across the road and
up to the driveway, Remy in front and me carrying the troll scat bundle in case I needed more.

  The reader clung to another anodized pole and presented a black face to anyone holding out a correctly magnetized card. Our target button waited in the top corner, as a small, yellow depression labeled “Help.”

  Carefully, I touched the reader’s metal case—and yanked back my hand. “It’s ice cold,” I said. “Full depth-of-winter frozen dead cold.”

  Remy sniffed even though he could neither see nor smell the reader. “Where’s the button?”

  I pointed.

  He tried to push it, but each jab missed the mark by a good foot.

  The spell was distorting space. His hand moved correctly, except he was punching his finger at an optical illusion and his entire hand flew by the reader.

  I handed him the scat bundle, pulled my t-shirt out of my jeans, wrapped the fabric around my hand, and poked at the yellow intercom button.

  A loud, discordant bell rang. Remy cringed. I closed my eyes as if not looking at the gate’s magic would help keep the jarring noise at an acceptable level.

  Crackling popped from the card reader. “Who rang that bell?” a deep, slow, male voice asked.

  Remy leaned closer even though he had no idea what he leaned into. “We did. We’re looking for—”

  “Can’t you read the sign?” the bored voice said.

  “What sign?” I asked. The entire gate and driveway area lacked signage of any type—no sign in big, script font declaring the complex “Vegas Springs” or “Desert Meadows” or whatever else a builder might name an apartment complex. No “keep out” or “keep off” sign on the gate, either. No marks on the driveway. Just the yellow “Help” button on the card reader.

  The voice sighed. “The notice. It’s as plain as the noses on your faces.”

  No, it wasn’t. Were we dealing with another trickster?

  “Do you see a sign?” Remy asked.

  “We’re looking for Portia Elizabeth,” I said to the card reader. “Is there someone on the premises who could get a message to her for us?”

  “Portia Elizabeth?” The voice continued his slow and bored drawl. “Stop wasting my time.”

  “Please,” Remy said. “I’m one of the Alfheim Pack Alphas. We need to speak to her. It’s important.”

  The crackling turned into a hiss. “Prove it,” the voice said.

  Remy pulled out his wallet. “We have Minnesota driver’s licenses and Alfheim addresses.” He waved his license as if it would trigger the card reader.

  “Well, bust my buttons,” the voice drawled. “How special for you.”

  “Look,” I said. “All we want is to leave a message and our contact information. That’s all.” I walked toward the gates and looked inside. No signs beyond the gate, either. A small building between the driveway and the pool had to be the office, though.

  “Your contact information, huh?” the voice said. “Nothing else?”

  “Yes,” Remy answered.

  “Because we don’t need Big Elf coming around here.”

  I looked over my shoulder. Big Elf, I mouthed?

  Remy scoffed. “Big Elf?”

  “Yeah,” the voice said. “Big Elf. Big Kami. Big Fae. We don’t need your rules, man.”

  Remy pinched his mouth shut as he tried to hold in a laugh. “No one wants Big Fae around, my friend. No one.”

  “Yeah,” said the voice.

  We were making progress. I waved the troll scat bundle at Remy.

  He nodded. “Hey,” he said. “How about a trade? We have troll scat. You’d see Big Fae coming a mile away with this stuff.”

  The hissing continued. Sounds of rustling followed. “How much?”

  “Two sets of contaminated clothes.”

  Another moment passed. “Is it the good stuff?”

  “We found the gate, didn’t we?” I said.

  “Why didn’t you say you had scat in the first place?” the voice said. “That’s a whole different breed of mare, my friends.”

  The gate groaned. Wheels turned, and it creaked open. “Come on in!”

  Remy squinted. “I don’t see it.”

  He had no idea where to walk. “Close your eyes.” I gripped his arm and led him toward the wild swirls of yellows, oranges, and pinks that filled the air where the concealment enchantment crossed the driveway.

  “Whoa.” Remy jerked and danced as if poked by cattle prods. “It’s like touching a livewire.”

  Energy crackled over us. Remy’s short hair stood on end, and the small hairs on my arms stood straight. The static wormed its way into my scars, into my muscles, and all the way to my bones. Each step bit at the soles of my feet. Each push forward felt as if it was about to fry off my skin.

  Three strides. That was all. Three steps and Remy and I stood on the other side of the gate, in the middle of the paved entrance, with normal cars on one side and two normal, if somewhat rundown, apartment buildings in front of us. The buildings sat perpendicular to each other, with the cinderblock side of the east-facing unit closest. All six apartments of both buildings opened onto walkways, very much like a hotel. Balconies dotted the backs.

  Kids played in the pool. Adults chatted. The complex was a normal, everyday place, except for the magic drifting out of most, but not all, of the apartment doors.

  Remy pointed at the office. “We start there?”

  Waves of reds, yellows, and magentas drifted out around the small building’s big windows, and under its door. Its tile roof shimmered in the afternoon sun. Chlorine and humidity wafted off the pool behind the office in equally great smelled and unseen waves. On the other side of the gate, cars passed by.

  Without the magic, this place would be any random apartment complex anywhere.

  I nodded and started toward the office door.

  Two teenagers in swimsuits rounded the corner of the building. The boy dried the top of his head with a towel as brightly swirling as the magic around him. The younger girl wrapped her own towel around her waist. Their dark hair and eyes, the oval shape to both their faces, and their almost identical, sinewy builds suggested that they were siblings.

  They looked like mundanes. No overt glamour hid any signs of elf, kami, or fae, but natural magic coiled off both of them in a flickering dance of sunlight and cold shadow.

  The boy put out his hand to stop his sister. “Werewolf,” he said.

  Remy extended his hand. “Remy Geroux, Alfheim Pack Alpha.” He nodded to me. “Frank Victorsson, Alfheim’s resident jotunn.”

  The girl frowned. “Jotunn?” she said. “You better be careful.”

  “I think you need to stop telling people that, Remy,” I said.

  The girl’s magic snapped outward. One tentacle quickly touched my forehead, and another, Remy’s.

  She grabbed her brother’s arm. “They know Mark!”

  The boy wrapped his towel around his neck. “Mark Ellis?” He stepped closer, even though he was obviously still wary. “He lived here for a few months a year back.”

  Remy stuck his hands into his back pockets and smiled one of his most charming smiles at the kids. “He’s joined our pack. He’s studying to become a police officer.”

  The boy scoffed. “Mark? A cop?”

  The girl crossed her arms. “Did you two have anything to do with that magical gate that opened up a few days ago? The one Anthea went through?”

  Did one of Dracula’s gates into Vampland open here? “Anthea?” I asked.

  “Thea’s a vampire,” the girl said. “But she’s nice.”

  I looked at Remy. He looked at me. “A good vampire?” he asked.

  The boy shrugged. “I don’t know about good, but she isn’t bad. You need to ask Ms. Elizabeth about that.”

  He pointed at the building behind us.

  Remy’s wolf magic whipped around faster than the man. A wide-eyed, happy head and snout moved first, followed by the ruff of his neck and his arching wolf back, bouncing legs, and wagging tai
l. Then Remy himself rotated at the waist, with his shoulders and one foot moving in synchronization.

  His wolf knew before the boy lifted his finger to point. And his wolf was happy.

  Remy was in a full run before I turned around.

  Green, living, organic magic flooded off the building behind us.

  A dark-haired woman in a high-necked red dress leaned over the rail of the upper level walkway. The dress completely covered her arms and most of her hands. Strips of the red fabric flowed up the sides of her head into the pile of hair on top of her head.

  More green magic flowed from her, and the red of her dress shifted from candy apple into a darker, deeper, wine tone.

  The magic streamed, as if purposefully moving toward Remy and me.

  “Portia Elizabeth!” Remy called.

  She stepped back from the railing and pointed at the gate. “Remy Geroux, you need to leave!” she yelled. “Now!”

  Chapter 15

  Remy took the steps to the second-floor walkway three at a time, with me close behind.

  “Slow down, Remy!” She’d told us to leave, and running into a situation with an upset magical—especially a dark magical—would likely get us hurt. Badly, too, if Remy continued to leap up like a frantic puppy.

  I rounded the landing to the last half-flight of steps up to the second-floor walkway. The woman in the shifting red dress had backed against the door of one of the middle apartments. Remy stood about five feet from the top step with his hands open and out.

  Green, leaves-in-water streams of magic coiled around the woman and her shifting red dress. Sweet, spring greens. Deep summer, living greens. Evergreens. Grass. Crops. Life.

  “I can’t help you,” she said. “You need to leave.”

  She wore red, but she wielded green.

  “Remy.” I gripped his shoulder. He couldn’t barrel into this situation.

  Portia Elizabeth moved into the middle of the walkway. Behind her, the moon poked through the palms and the setting desert sun. She might be all the greens and all the reds, but the night was oranges, yellows, and purples.