Gabe had turned eleven during the trip. At the time, he’d been half annoyed that he was the oldest kid there and didn’t have friends along. But he did have Bjorn Thorsson at his side most of the time as consolation, and that alone had meant an elven level of wholesome partying.
As far as Gabe knew, Bjorn hadn’t zapped any bad guys while they played at Disneyland. But then again, the elves—and his parents—weren’t likely to tell him if there’d been problems.
That had changed last month.
There’d been an issue with the two vampires who’d lived at the now-closed Ramsey Mansion library. Turned out they weren’t the Russian Cold War spies they’d pretended to be.
Everyone knew they weren’t Russian Cold War spies. The werewolves, the elves, and the mundanes in town who, like Gabe, knew about magic. Mr. Victorsson, too.
Gabe had Mr. Victorsson’s number on his cell phone, because Mr. Victorsson wasn’t really a mundane, and Mr. Victorsson could knock the head clear off a vampire if he needed to.
Bjorn had called immediately after Dad hung up and given Gabe instructions. Elves were on the way, as were Alfheim’s two male alpha werewolves. No one knew where Mr. Victorsson was, but they’d left messages. Gabe was to keep his mother and sisters away from the kelpie until help arrived.
It might be a kelpie, but Gabe was pretty sure there were vampires involved. Otherwise his papa wouldn’t have told him to take everyone into the basement.
Vampires were why he’d only been out of Minnesota once. Vampires were why Bjorn and another elf, Sif the Golden, had started training him in ways to protect himself and his siblings. They were going to start training Sophia too, now that she was almost ten, but there’d been new issues there.
Sophia was an oracle.
“No, I am not an oracle, dumbass,” his little sister said as she helped their little brother, Mateo, with his toys so he wouldn’t cry while they were in the basement room.
Gabe shook his head. Only oracles knew when someone else was thinking that they were an oracle.
She narrowed her eyes and shook her head as if to say Not now. Time’s a-wastin’, brother.
They practiced this with Ella and Mateo all the time, just like the tornado drills at school. They practiced with Mom and Dad, and without. With Bjorn or Sif faking that they were something super scary, and without. Ella mostly thought it was boring in her five-year-old way, but Mateo was three. He mostly found it fun because he had unlimited screen time with the good wifi in the room.
Dad had set up the room at the back of the basement, dug out beyond the house’s foundation and hidden behind a row of shelves holding their cross-country ski gear. The room wasn’t anything nefarious, or weird, or creepy. The previous owner had grown mushrooms, was all. But now the room was charmed and warded, and full of monster slayer stuff.
Momma closed and locked the door to the basement and waddled down the stairs behind the little kids.
“Your sister isn’t an oracle, young man,” Momma said. She wore a huge sweater and the black stretchy pants she’d had to buy because she’d gotten rid of her maternity clothes after Mateo. She’d been giving away all the baby stuff, too.
Gabe was pretty sure little soon-to-be Grace was not a planned part of their family.
“She’s something,” he said, meaning Sophia, not the new baby.
She was, too. She remembered things about the Alfheim Pack’s run under the Samhain moon which, from what he’d been able to pick up, no one else remembered. And they all knew she remembered things they didn’t, which meant that she really was remembering things that happened.
Sophia shrugged. “I know what’s true,” she said.
Which could mean anything, magically. And right now, understanding what they were dealing with magically was probably the most important thing to do.
Sophia threw him more side-eye. She looked like a miniature version of their momma, right down to the same pinched-lip frown when she was annoyed. Same dark hair with slight red highlights. Same dark brown eyes they all had. Same keen sense of the situation.
Which was probably why she’d been chosen to be the oracle and he hadn’t.
Sophia leaned close to him. “You were chosen, but not for this.” She nodded to their younger siblings. “We were all chosen. That’s why there’s five of us now.”
Momma stopped three steps from the basement floor. “What does that mean, honey?” she asked gently.
Sophia hugged Mateo when he grabbed her waist. “There’s been a lot of choosings since you and Papa came here,” she said. “I don’t know what it means.” Then she hit Gabe’s arm. “Because I’m not the oracle, dumbass.”
She said the oracle.
“Who’s the—”
Upstairs, something slammed into the side of the house.
Sophia slapped her hand over his mouth. “The truth is not for kelpie ears.”
That murderous death horse would rip apart his mother and sisters if he got near them.
A mournful wail echoed through the halls upstairs and what first sounded like stallion clomps turned to the steps of a man in boots.
Mom’s eyes widened. Her lips rounded, and she looked back at the door.
Ella and Sophia, too, but Sophia stiffened and the tops of her ears turned red.
She grabbed Momma’s hand. “He’s a murderer, Momma.”
Momma looked down at her daughter, then at her oldest son. “He’s a murderer,” she repeated.
“Yes, Momma,” Gabe said slowly. “There’s a kelpie upstairs. Papa and Bjorn want me to get you, Sophia, and Ella into the room, and for me to hold the key.”
Momma looked up the stairs again.
“He’s a Scottish fae, Momma,” Sophia said. “He lives in a big, deep lake there.”
“A loch,” Momma said. She didn’t move from her spot three steps up the stairs.
“Sophia,” Gabe said. “Take Ella and Mateo into the room.”
Sophia looked back at him. “The kelpie wants to be our pony,” she said.
What was it with little girls and horses? “He’s not one of Mr. Freyrsson’s horses,” Gabe said.
Sophie blinked. Her brow furrowed. “The horses,” she mumbled.
“Sophia!” Gabe snapped. “Take Ella and Mateo and go into the room.”
She looked from him to Momma, and back at him. “We must all go together.”
She wasn’t an oracle. She didn’t know. But he knew deep in his bones that she knew.
He nodded. “Momma.” He extended his hand. “Your son demands you heed his words.”
Bjorn had told him to say that. He’d said, “Channel Old World patriarchy, my smart young friend.” Not that Gabe understood what that meant until Bjorn told him to act like every dickhead in every old movie he’d ever seen about long-dead Europeans in puffy clothes.
So he’d act the lordly dickhead if it saved his Momma and sisters.
His mother took two more steps down the stairs. “What did you say to me, young man?”
It was working. “You’re going to listen to the man in front of you, understand, woman?”
Sophie chuckled, which caused Ella to chuckle. Mateo just sucked his thumb and looked confused.
Momma looked up the stairs again.
He didn’t dare yank on her hand, or try to force her to move. Not so close to her due date. He might accidently knock her off balance or something worse.
He tugged on her hand anyway. “Please, Momma.”
She blinked again and looked down at him with her big eyes.
His momma was a beautiful woman. He got to think that because she was his mother, but it was true. She had the round face and strong nose of their Yoreme ancestry, and the height and angles of the Anglo mixed in over the generations. Plus his papa pretty much melted when she walked into the room, and had for as long as Gabe remembered.
The handle on the basement door rattled. “Aye, me loves, a lock’s nae enough t’ keep me from ye,” a melodic male voice said.
The kelpie sounded like one of those guys who did podcasts on the Internet—the ones with the hypnotic voices who sound authoritative, but if you actually thought about the things they said, you knew they were just fast-talking liars using sonic camouflage.
“Momma?”
She inhaled as if an honest-to-goodness movie star had just asked her to marry him.
Sophia held Ella back. “Get between Momma and the door. Now, Gabe!”
The kelpie knocked nicely. “I smell th’ lot of ye down there,” he said. “The lads, hmm…” He paused. “Too bad ye dinnae have a like mind.” He paused again. “But ye lassies…” Another pause.
Gabe grabbed the railings and did his best to block his mother from going back up the steps. “Go to the room, Momma,” he pleaded.
“I smell a Cassandra down there.”
“I am not an oracle!” Sophia screamed. Her face was totally red now, like she was trying to fight whatever the kelpie was doing to them.
“No’ my problem, luv.”
A sword blade pierced the door. A big, sharp, scary sword.
Momma screamed. Sophia screamed some more. Ella whimpered and Mateo wailed.
“Ye’ve nae idea what I had t’ do t’ get here before th’ other elder elves showed up.” The sword sliced toward the doorknob. “How fast I had t’ gallop t’ get away from my love who wants t’ feed me t’ her cats.”
“Momma!” Gabe yelled. “Go!”
She shook like she’d just woken up from a bad dream. “Sophia! Ella! Go!” She swooped down to pick up Mateo but the kelpie…
Gabe had seen magicals do stuff like what the kelpie had just done. Bjorn and Sif had shown him such slight-of-hand tricks as a vampire might use. Or a dark fae.
So he understood about freezing perception in one moment to make a mundane think the magical had moved at lightning speed.
The kelpie was on the other side of him, fully in the basement and standing between his momma and his sisters and brother. He was the same height as Momma, square too, like a tiny linebacker. Black hair, black polo shirt with a hole in it, black kilt, black boots. He looked more like a hooligan than any fae creature.
He held the sword up and away from the kids like he wanted to make sure they didn’t get too close. His other arm he used to swoop in and grab Momma around the waist. He moved like he knew how to hold a very pregnant woman, twisting and stepping so as to keep the sword away.
He dipped Gabe’s mother in an embrace like some romance novel cover model. “Aye,” he said. “My friend th’ sheriff understands quality.”
He kissed Momma on the lips.
“You are not worthy of finding what you seek,” said Sophia. She wasn’t screaming anymore. No. She was stone-cold serious.
The kelpie let go of Momma. She gagged and stumbled, but Gabe caught her before she fell.
It had been a reflex move. His focus flitted from his little sister to his falling mother and he responded. He caught his momma before she got hurt.
When he looked up, the kelpie held Sophia at the top of the stairs.
He saluted with the sword.
“Gabe!” His mother pushed at him and the wall. “Go! Go with your sister. Please!”
She grimaced and cupped her belly.
He knew what the pain meant. “Momma!”
“The elves are coming. I’ll be…” She grimaced again. “We’ll be fine. Go!”
So Gabriel Martinez, the soon-to-be thirteen-year-old son of the local sheriff, chased after the kelpie who’d kidnapped his sister.
Chapter 18
The kelpie turned off their phones and tossed them into the back of Momma’s minivan. Then he tossed Sophia into the backseat. “Sit down, darlin’.” He used the sword to point at the driver’s door as he pulled the key fob from one of the many tactical pockets on his kilt. “Ye’re drivin’, boy.”
Gabe Martinez stood on the step into the house directly between the kelpie and the door handle—and his Momma. “I don’t have a learner’s permit,” he said. He couldn’t get his permit for another two years, but his dad had taken him out to the empty parking lot in front of the City Management Complex and taught him the basics.
They all had to be ready for emergencies, his father had told him. Know your magicals, kiddo. Understand the basic rules for interactions: No exchanges of any kind. No food. No promises. No secrets.
And always squeeze the trigger. Never jerk your hand.
The kelpie sniffed the air like a dog. “Aye, ‘tis true.” The kelpie touched the side of his nose, then pointed at Gabe. “But ye’re th’ son of a lawman who lives under a cloud of threatenin’ darkness.” He tapped his own forehead. “An’ ye live in th’ middle of frickin’ nowhere in th’ middle of a middle state in a middlin’ country.” He sniffed at the air again. “So a guess about you gettin’ early drivin’ lessons ain’t so farfetched, lad.”
He shook his momma’s key fob again and tapped the driver’s door with the tip of the sword.
Gabe snatched the fob from the kelpie’s hand.
“Wait until I’m in, kiddo,” the kelpie said.
Gabe didn’t answer. Getting in and locking the door wouldn’t help. The kelpie would just cut the minivan into metal ribbons.
But he could open the garage door.
There had to be an elf or two out there by now. Maybe even the Pack. If he opened the garage door—
“Ye let in th’ puppies, I’ll slice yer wee sister,” the kelpie growled.
So the Pack was outside.
Gabe slid into the driver’s seat of their minivan. Slowly and as calmly as he could manage, he reviewed what his dad had taught him: Accelerator on the right. Brake on the left. R means reverse and D means drive. Press the brake before starting the vehicle. Hands at two and ten on the steering wheel. And look. Always look, even with the cameras all over the van. At least his momma and papa always backed the vehicles into the garage, so he wouldn’t have to deal with turning the van around.
The kelpie dropped into the front passenger seat and placed his big sword between his hairy legs. He looked around the inside, opening and closing the van’s many cubbies, until he opened the center console and found Momma’s stash of little kid snacks.
“Ah!” He slapped his thigh. “Apple! My favorite.” He snapped a straw into a juice box and took a long, slurping draw.
“I’m cold,” Sophia said from the backseat.
The kelpie didn’t seem cold in his holey black polo shirt and kilt. The douchebag scruff on his chin was probably keeping him toasty warm. “Ah, darlin’, I do apologize. We’ll be on our way shortly an’ yer dear brother here will start up this beastie’s heatin’ system, aye?”
Gabe gripped the steering wheel. “Why don’t you just gallop away?”
He shouldn’t have asked the question. Don’t interact with dark fae. Don’t give them any room to stick in a knife and force you to make a deal.
But maybe he could logic his way out of this situation. His teachers did like to tell him he was good at figuring out how to fix a moment. Ms. Sagasdottir wanted him to “cultivate his leadership ability.” That’s why he’d joined 4-H even though at first he hadn’t wanted to.
“I didnae gallop away,” the kelpie said, “because this toothpick here,” he tapped the pommel on the sword, “ain’t trade-worthy, wi’ th’ teeths.”
He bared his teeth and made a little fangy-face as he sipped at his apple juice.
“We are,” Sophia said. “Us, and Papa.”
The kelpie nodded. “Cassandra has spoken.”
No asking questions. Don’t give the kelpie an opening.
So Gabe asked his sister, instead. “Do you know why, Sophia?”
The kelpie slurped and looked around the headrest. “Do tell, luv.”
“You are not worthy.” She said no more.
The kelpie shrugged. “Clearly.” He crumpled the empty box and tossed it into the back of the van. “There are two alpha werewolves outside.” He sniffed the
air. “An’ three elves out there.” He sniffed again. “Two Thor an’ a Frigg,” he frowned. “Where’s that utterly perfect female who wants this?” He patted the pommel again. “Ah, my soul’s hers.”
Utterly perfect applied equally to all the elves, so Gabe didn’t know if he meant Queen Dagrun, or Akeyla’s mom, or Benta the Nameless, or one of his teachers.
“Ms. Benta won’t let Jax visit the cats,” Sophia said.
The kelpie laughed. “Lovely an’ mean. My kind o’ lass.” He inhaled. “Th’ big Thor elf is… angry.”
Bjorn was out there. He was the biggest elf in Alfheim. Not magic-wise—that was the King and the Queen, and probably Mr. Magnus, too—but size-wise. He wasn’t obviously taller than any of the other elves—they were all tall like Vikings were supposed to be—but he was significantly wider, with wide elf sideburns and an extra-thick elf ponytail, even if he still somehow managed to hold most of his glamour and keep his pointy ears disguised as round and normal.
Bjorn Thorsson was equal parts the bear of his first name and the Thor of his last.
“Mr. Bjorn is older than the United States,” Sophia said from the back seat.
The kelpie shrugged. “As am I, m’ wee lass.”
“Mr. Bjorn is older than Scotland,” Sophia said.
The kelpie shrugged again.
She leaned forward, between the seats. “Mr. Bjorn hasn’t killed you yet because he wants to make sure Mr. Lennart and Ms. Sif get Momma and the little kids out safely.”
“They need nae worry.” The kelpie pulled out another apple juice box. “Ye two know it’s ye I want.”
“Mr. Bjorn knows, too. So does Mr. Magnus. He’s had his fill of fae for the day. And Ms. Benta is mean.”
“I want ye ‘cause ye’re an oracle, darlin’.”
“And you are a moron,” Sophia responded.
“Sophia…” Gabe whispered.
She continued to stare at the kelpie. “It’s okay,” she said. “He knows I’m not lying.”
The kelpie frowned as he slurped at his new juice box until it also collapsed into a shriveled ball of carton. He looked at it as if it had forsaken not only him, but all his ancestors as well. Then he tossed it into the back of the van, too.
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