Elven Doom (Death Before Dragons Book 4)

by Lindsay Buroker

  “Is this not one of those times? Is he actually supposed to be an informant?”

  “He doesn’t know that he is. I noticed, when I talked to the new group from Idaho, that Gondo knew all the gossip for every goblin there as well as others in pockets in the wilderness I didn’t know existed. I’ve already put together an extensive network of their outposts.”

  “Is it important to know where goblins live?”

  “It’s important to know where everybody lives. And people know their neighbors. If something goes on in those forests and the goblins can tell us about it, all the better.”

  A twang-thump came from the other room.

  Willard groaned. “He can’t have built it already, can he?”

  “Goblins are hard workers. Did you get the pictures I sent from the Pride’s headquarters last night?”

  “Yeah.” Willard went to a large tome open on her desk, the handwriting nothing I recognized. Sheets of translations were stuck between the pages. “This is a book on the various races’ religious rituals, as recorded by the largely atheist gnomes, apparently out of scientific curiosity. We’ve referenced it before. There’s a lot of good stuff in here.”

  “Stuff about slitted tongues and missing hearts?”

  “The tongues and the eyes specifically. The hearts may have been removed to ensure the dead couldn’t be raised.”

  “That’s what Sindari said.” I didn’t know why hearts would matter. You would think removing the heads or even the tongues would be what would keep the dead from speaking, not that I’d ever been present for such a ceremony. “What species can raise the dead?”

  “Dark elves. Occasionally vampires and those with enough power and a desire to learn from the dead will also master the ritual.” Willard touched the page her book was open to. “This describes a dark-elf ritual of sacrificing those who have betrayed them to their bone goddess to receive favor and more power.”

  “Those who have betrayed them? Why would that include an entire warehouse of shifters?”

  “They have rituals for all occasions.” Willard selected a large clump of pages around the open one. “This entire chapter is on dark-elf rituals that involve enemies, betrayers, traitors, and lovers who weren’t satisfying enough in bed.”

  “There’s an actual ritual for them?”

  “Apparently so. But gnomes have a sense of humor, so it’s possible there’s hyperbole in this resource.”

  I thought of the bodies hanging from the beam. “And it’s possible there’s not?”

  “Yes.”

  “Could the dark elves be angry with the shifters because I destroyed their orb?” If they would sacrifice lovers to their goddess, shifters started to sound reasonable.

  “That’s what I’m thinking. There aren’t too many species in the area that would take on that many shifters, especially on their own turf. They’re dangerous.”

  “Tell me about it.” I touched my sore shoulder and glanced toward the door. A magical being, someone with an aura much stronger than Gondo’s, had joined him in the outer office. Some new informant?

  “The shifters may have also known some of their plans or where they’re staying now,” Willard added.

  “That’s why I wanted to talk to them.”

  “I may have made a mistake in sending you to Idaho instead of putting you on this sooner.”

  Another thump-twang reverberated from the outer office.

  “If you hadn’t sent me, you wouldn’t have a new assistant.”

  “Darn.”

  A light blinked on the phone on Willard’s desk. “Work Leader? Your potential intern has returned.” Gondo’s voice took on an excited tone. “She’s interested in my trebuchet project!”

  “That’s surprising,” Willard murmured. “I want your opinion on this person, Thorvald.”

  “Opinions are free. I only charge for assassinations.”

  “You’re a reasonable businesswoman.” Willard opened the door.

  A young blonde woman in an oversized blue button-down shirt, grease-stained overalls, and a gray beanie cap leaned over the desk Gondo was still sitting on. He was pointing and commenting on what was turning into a siege engine made from a tape dispenser and other office supplies, the compass now in place as the throwing arm.

  The woman waved a pair of pliers at it and said something in goblin—I assumed that was the language, as I couldn’t understand it, but Gondo reacted. He shook his head vehemently and waved away her pliers.

  This was the person with the powerful aura. She reminded me of—

  “Thorvald.” Willard extended a hand toward the visitor. “This is our potential intern, Freysha. We don’t usually hire outside of the service, but she speaks a number of non-Earth languages and is familiar with the politics of the Cosmic Realms. When I mentioned we had a book on the Dragon Justice Court’s laws, she offered to go over it and see if our translations are correct.”

  Willard’s tone was guarded. I doubted she trusted this potential intern.

  Freysha turned to face us, smiling cheerfully. She had a beautiful face with impish green eyes that seemed as full of mischief as the goblin’s, and she was even younger than I’d guessed. Maybe seventeen or eighteen?

  No, I realized as Willard looked expectantly at me. She was older than I’d guessed. Her aura clicked into place as similar to that of the traveler in Greemaw’s valley. An elf.

  “Hello, Freysha. I’m Val.”

  “Val, the moon and stars shine upon you. I’ve heard of you.” Freysha’s English was almost as perfect and precise as Nin’s but with a lyrical overtone that made the words sound more exotic than they were. She removed the cap, revealing ears as pointed as Gondo’s, if less green, and flourished it with a gesture between a bow and a curtsy.

  “That can’t be good.”

  “It can’t?” She cocked her head.

  “Well, it usually isn’t.” I assumed she’d heard of me because of my reputation in the magical community, though I supposed she could be here because of me. Had the traveler—Syran Moonleaf had been his name—made it back to his world and reported my existence to my father? When last I’d seen him, he’d been lamenting the lack of portals on Earth, so I wasn’t sure how he would have gotten home.

  “No?” Freysha scratched the side of her head with the pliers. “Aren’t you a hero here on Earth?”

  “Uh, maybe to my people.”

  “You think we think you’re a hero?” Willard murmured. “Really, Thorvald.”

  “Shush.”

  Gondo, only halfway paying attention to the conversation, fired his trebuchet. An eraser only made it halfway to the wall before plummeting to the floor.

  “I told you.” Freysha pointed the pliers at him. “You need a heavier counterweight.”

  “My creativity is stifled by the lack of suitable building materials in this room.” Gondo hopped off the desk. “I must forage.”

  Willard caught him by the back of his shirt before he’d taken two steps. “You’re not foraging in my building.”

  “What about outside of your building?”

  “No. Sit down at the desk—in the chair—and finish your shift.”

  Gondo had a shift? Willard’s office was getting stranger by the day.

  Willard caught my gaze and jerked her chin at Freysha. Was I supposed to question her? Willard had said she wanted my opinion, but I had no idea what to make of the young elf.

  “Have you been on Earth long?” I assumed she hadn’t been born here—and also that Willard had asked this question.

  “No. I came recently to explore.”

  “To explore? I didn’t think elves or dwarves came here anymore for that.”

  “Oh, they don’t. The air is terrible here. I’m thinking of making a syshoral leniir once I find a more permanent temporary home.”

  “Every home needs one.” Whatever it was. I activated my translation charm so I wouldn’t miss any more elven terms sprinkled in.

  “On this world, th
ey do.” Freysha grinned. “I came because I’m a bit of a misfit at home.” She set the pliers on the desk. “Elves are supposed to use magic to craft things, not tools. My aunt thinks a dwarf may have sneaked into my bloodline.”

  “Or a goblin,” Gondo suggested.

  “Yes, elf-goblin matings are very common.” Freysha’s eyes crinkled, which I took to mean they were as common as orcs with good attitudes. “Perhaps we look similar?” She pushed up a sleeve to reveal a pale arm and held it up to Gondo’s arm.

  “You have the same ears,” I said. “Skin coloring aside.”

  “This is true. Then, yes, I could have a goblin ancestor. Whatever the reason, I’ve always found stories of this world and the technologies the humans create fascinating.”

  “She’s the first visitor not to call our kind vermin,” I pointed out to Willard.

  “Is that because she’s being diplomatic or buttering us up?” Willard asked.

  “Well, if she wants a job here, she might be doing both.”

  Willard, squinting at Freysha, did not appear buttered.

  “I am a stranger and must prove myself,” Freysha informed me. “I first tried to get a job at the metal recycling plant near your railroads, but they said I need a green card.” She spread her arms and shrugged. “I heard people here understand the magical community. And this building is close to a scrapyard and steel distributor.” Her eyes lit.

  So did Gondo’s. “Precisely where I wanted to go to forage.”

  Willard raised her eyebrows toward me. Wanting that opinion?

  “If you hire her, it will be easier to keep an eye on her,” I pointed out.

  And maybe I would have an opportunity to ask her about learning magic. Was she old enough to teach? Would she consider it or did I have to find a relative for that? Learning magic sounded like something that would take a lot of time. Maybe I could bring her a toolbox and she would value it so greatly that she would be eager to spend hours in tutelage with me.

  “I’m already keeping an eye on Gondo,” Willard said, “and it’s giving me a headache.”

  “Maybe you can give her a desk less office-adjacent to yours. Don’t you have a basement?”

  “Yeah. That’s the other reason I called you in.” Willard left Freysha discussing the merits of scrapyards with Gondo and led me into the corridor. As we headed for the stairs to the basement, Willard spoke in a low voice. “Freysha specifically came here asking for employment. She would be a valuable asset, but I’m skeptical about trusting her. None of these magical beings ask me for a job. Every informant I’ve got today I’ve had to threaten, bribe, or blackmail into reluctantly agreeing to work with me.”

  “How much do you have to trust her to let her work for you?”

  “She’d have access to everything in this office if she was here.”

  “Don’t give her a key. Then she can only come when someone’s on duty.”

  Willard’s lips twisted into a sour expression. “If she has half the magic elves are reputed to have, it wouldn’t matter if she had a key. She could get in any time she wanted.” She flipped on the lights and trotted down the stairs. “I had a half-ogre wizard from Olympia put in a bunch of wards that are supposed to keep magical beings from forcing entry, but as you’re about to see, it doesn’t work on everybody.”

  She led me past more offices and storerooms, toward the vault door that secured the evidence room. There weren’t any windows down here. It should have been difficult for someone to get in.

  “I don’t know if she’s genuinely perky and innocent,” Willard said, “or if that’s an act.”

  “I don’t know, either, from our brief chat, but if she were putting on an act, wouldn’t she have chosen a persona that’s more in line with our expectations? A bow? A quiver? Green and brown clothing with leaves sticking to it?”

  “Maybe. But she doesn’t add up for me. I think she’s someone’s spy.”

  “Whose? There aren’t many elves—light elves—left on Earth. Unless that’s changed recently.”

  “Who said she’s working for elves?” Willard asked. “Light elves?”

  A chill went through me as we stopped in front of the vault door. “The light elves and the dark elves are supposed to have been enemies throughout time. One shouldn’t be working for the other.”

  “Times change. Maybe they need someone who can wander around in daylight.” Willard reached for the fingerprint scanner lock. “And maybe she’s not under her own control. That’s what I was wondering if you could tell. You’ve been magically compelled to do things by dragons. Do dark elves have that power? And could some priestess or wizard among them be controlling her?”

  “After all your research, you’d be more likely to know if they have that power than I. But…” I thought of the first compulsion I’d experienced, Zav commanding me to get that artifact for him. It had been subtle enough that I’d been able to go about my normal life and probably hadn’t seemed any different to others. Only when I’d gotten close to that artifact had the urge to do something incredibly stupid come down on me like a freight elevator. I’d almost flung myself into the middle of hundreds of dark elves engaged in a ceremony to get the artifact. “It would be possible for her to be compelled about something and for it not to be apparent to outsiders. Dragons seem to be able to do this to people easily. I don’t know if dark elves have that kind of power.”

  What if Zav’s sister had been the one to find and send this elf? Was there a reason why she would? To gather information about me out of this office more easily than she could do it? All the records here were electronic. That could be an area she wasn’t familiar with, but one where a tech-loving elf could thrive.

  “According to the gnome book, they do,” Willard said grimly. “I’ll keep an eye on her and give her limited access to things. Like you said, I would rather keep possible enemies close than have them wandering the city where I can’t watch them.”

  “Good idea. Let me know if you catch her pulling up my records.”

  Willard looked sharply at me. “You think this is about you?”

  “Do you have anyone else working here who’s as fascinating as I am?”

  She snorted. “Corporal Clarke is pretty interesting.”

  “More in personality than his duties, I assume.”

  “True.” The vault door had unlocked, and Willard pushed it open.

  We walked into a metal-walled, windowless room filled with rows and rows of stark metal shelves, cabinets, and freezers. The shelves were packed with boxes, jars, and crates, everything labeled with a scannable code searchable by using software that only Willard and a couple of her trusted researchers had installed on their computers. She took me to a specific shelf and pointed at an empty spot.

  “What was there?”

  “The alchemy book you took from the dark elves.”

  “Oh. How long has it been missing?”

  “Someone broke in Friday night. It’s on the cameras, but we didn’t get a face or a fingerprint, not that the dark elves are in the government databases. The person wore gloves and kept a mask and hood up the entire time. It looked like a woman, but it was hard to tell under the cloak. She waved her fingers at the front door of the building and walked in without triggering the alarms. Or the magical wards I paid handsomely to have installed. She paused a few times, like a hound sniffing the air, but eventually came straight down here. Another finger wave, and she walked into the vault and took the book. Nothing else. She walked back out again and disappeared from the view of the external security cameras before she should have.” Willard snapped her fingers. “Gone like that before she was halfway back to the street.”

  “You have Zoltan’s translations, at least, right?”

  “Yes, though his original was found in ashes in the drawer where I’d put it. Fortunately, I’d scanned it and put it on the computer. The electronic file is still there.”

  “I don’t think dark elves know much about our technology, despite havi
ng lived under our city for however long.” I thought of how I’d found the vial that had held the substance that poisoned Willard in her garbage disposal. At the time, I’d thought the dark elf had intended to turn on the disposal to destroy it but been distracted. Now, I wondered if she’d even known it was there. She might have believed the vial would simply disappear down the drain.

  “I agree. My concern here is that the dark elves have gone to such lengths to get their book back. They broke into your apartment looking for it first, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I guess coming here wasn’t that dangerous for them, other than having to worry about lights being turned on, but why take the risk unless they’re still using the book and need the recipes?”

  “You think they’re making more pleasure orbs? At least two have been destroyed—I don’t know who took out the one in Rupert’s bar, but the shard I found suggests it’s broken now.”

  “They could be,” Willard said. “That was only one of many recipes in that book. There were also a bunch of numbers in the back that we never figured out the relevance for.”

  “It would be nice to capture and question one of these dark elves.”

  “No kidding.” Willard slapped me on the shoulder. “I need you to make that happen.”

  I sighed. “I’m working on it.”

  “Work harder. It’s just a hunch, but I have a feeling we may not have much time before they enact their plan.”

  “Wonderful.”

  9

  “Val!” My therapist, Mary Watanabe, met me in the waiting room as I walked in, coming forward to grip my arms, her face more animated than usual. “I’m glad you came. I worried you might be in trouble.”

  “I’m always in trouble.”

  “I also worried—” Mary lowered her voice and glanced at a couple of people waiting to see other therapists on the floor, “—that you wouldn’t forgive us for the inexcusable loss of your file.”

  “No. That was a dragon in human form that came to get it. You couldn’t have kept her from what she wanted. If you’d tried, she might have torched the place.”