Mr. Mole Rat padded out of the sunroom looking more pleased with himself than he probably had a right to be.
Sass hissed. Lennart set her down. “Sass here has no time for Cranky Rat, do you?”
She meowed, hissed at Mr. Mole Rat once again, and sashayed away toward her normal nap zone.
“She hates him,” Lennart said. “The only thing keeping him from dismemberment is magic.”
For elves who prided themselves on the quality of their kittens, having a disruptive tom around seemed counterproductive. “Why does Bjorn keep him?”
Lennart shrugged. “Benta.”
During an off period in my on-and-off-again relationship with Benta, she’d taken up briefly with Bjorn.
I shook my head and vowed not to allow our final break-up to turn petty. One would expect better from elves, but I’ve lived with them for two hundred years and knew better.
Mr. Mole Rat let out a “Why are you here?” yowl. Then he flopped down in the middle of the cat bed next to the desk.
“Benta and I are done,” I said. We’d talked and formally ended all romantic entanglements after I returned from Las Vegas.
Lennart sniffed as if he only partly believed me, but smiled. His magic settled. “Come! The satchel’s in here.” He walked toward the sun room.
Summer Sassafras napped as a ball of cat on top of one of the sunnier cat condos. Her sister, the almost-black tabby Winter Watermelon, raised her head from the top of her condo inside a gated-off section of the room. She let out a meow-yawn as Lennart walked by.
Five big, fluffy kittens bounced up to the gate. A chorus of meows and purrs followed.
Lennart scooped one up. “It’s time to find you a new home, huh?”
The kitten purred and rubbed against Lennart’s sideburn.
“Akeyla wants one,” I said.
Lennart blinked as if I’d just offered him the moon. “Bring her by! She’ll have the pick of the litter, huh, sweetie?” The kitten headbutted his hand and let out a solid purr.
He smiled again, set the kitten back behind the gate, and then rummaged around on the wide worktable taking up most of the sunroom’s space. “Ah!” He held up a lovely leather satchel that he’d hand-tooled with runic sigils.
A tight bubble of stasis magic very much like the one surrounding Remy’s pouches sheathed the satchel. “Is it the same suspension spell as Remy’s?” I asked.
He held out the bag. “Your ability to see magic is a precious gift, Frank Victorsson.” He grinned. “Took some research to find the spell, by the way.”
I took the bag. “Thank you for this,” I said.
He shrugged. “No matter how our King and Queen dislike the witch’s book, it has a purpose. And value. You are correct to protect it.”
Out in the main living area, the door roared open. “I’m home!” thundered Bjorn.
Lennart’s magic… re-adjusted. It didn’t calm, or change, but seemed to re-orient as if pushed by a new air current. He patted my arm. “Say hello to Maura and Akeyla for us.”
Bjorn strode into the sunroom, looked around, and placed his hands on his hips. “All set?” he asked.
I held up the satchel.
“Good. Good!” He tossed his suit jacket at one of the cat condos. “Remy Geroux is checking in Las Vegas to make sure the Wolf encountered there isn’t behind our new friend’s intrusion.”
“Good,” I said. Not adding a kitten to my bundle as I walked by turned out to be harder than I expected, especially with all the meowing and purring.
Bjorn winked at Lennart as if all of this had been a conspiracy to get me to take one home.
“I’m not sure how my hound would react to a kitten,” I said.
Bjorn frowned. “We will find your dog, Frank.” He slapped my shoulder. “I’m supposed to ask you to pick up dinner while you’re here. Maura said the kids would like burgers.”
Jax must be at my place. “Will do.” I threw the satchel’s strap over my shoulder. “Maybe we should check in at the restaurant to see if he came in there, too,” I said to Lennart.
“Why?” Bjorn asked. He touched the tip of his nose, then pointed at me. “Those two ravens weren’t giving you trouble, were they?”
“The ravens were friendly,” I said.
Lennart tossed a quick look of annoyance at Bjorn. Betsy and Ross were obviously playing favorites between the two Thor elves. “That photographer from the wedding showed up at the church. He was here just long enough to annoy Frank, then he disappeared again.”
Bjorn’s magic flared. “We do not need distractions this close to a wolf run on Samhain!” he bellowed.
Lennart’s magic responded with its own roiling flare. He closed his eyes and pinched his lips as if the moment caused him pain. “Bjorn,” he said, “do you have that memory card?”
Bjorn’s magic instantly settled. Lennart’s followed. Bjorn squeezed the other elf’s shoulder. “Yes, yes,” he said, then waved to me. “I’ll call when we find something,” he called.
I gave Bjorn a thumbs-up as I walked toward the door. I looked over my shoulder just as the elves dropped into a deep discussion about concealment enchantments and what spells they could try to unmask the magic underneath.
I left them to their magicks, somehow making it out of the loft without a kitten, and pulled out my phone to text Maura halfway to the eatery’s front door.
Chapter 7
The guitar riffs and steady cadence of blues rhythms boomed from Raven’s Gaze. Bjorn and Lennart might be metal, but blues sold more hamburgers, and the manager on duty had particularly good musical taste.
I walked back toward the restaurant after putting the satchel in my truck. No need to carry it and chance a tourist asking where I got it.
I realized I still needed to text Maura and find out what kind of burgers the kids wanted. My surprise when I opened my phone and looked down at the photo of my mystery woman—Ellie, goddamn it—got me every time I swiped my phone’s screen. Every. Single. Time.
An entire encyclopedia’s worth of
