“Salvation! How are you, darling?” Sif extended her hand. “May I?”
A gleeful, affirmative response blasted off Sal, and I handed her over.
Sif held my axe as if determining the weight of the spellwork that allowed me to carry her. “Nice,” she said. “Benta’s webbing doesn’t interfere with your balance, my love?”
A negative response followed.
“Excellent,” Sif said, and expertly swung Sal in a tight circle, narrowly missing the display shelves. “You need to come by my place, Frank,” she said. “I’ll teach you some axe-specific techniques.” Sif taught self-defense—and belly dancing—at the Community Center, and knew her way around the battle end of any axe. She tossed Sal upward. My axe rotated blade-over-handle once, then dropped perfectly into Sif’s grip.
“Sounds good,” I said. “After Samhain?”
Sif nodded. “I’m running with the wolves this month.” The small grin that touched her lips said she felt honored to be considered.
“You are one of Alfheim’s best trail guides.”
The grin turned to a smile. “Thank you. So you will come by with Sal? I will always make time for you, my friend.”
Like Benta, Sif oozed a distracting sexual intensity. But unlike Benta, Sif didn’t wield it as a weapon. If anything, Sif’s sexiness was comforting.
“Of course.”
She shouldered Sal. Guess I wouldn’t be carrying my axe again until I left.
Like almost every female elf in Alfheim, she was stunningly lovely, and moved like a cat. Sif, though, carried an “everyone’s free-love mother” vibe that set up an uncomfortable—and obvious—dissonance for a lot of mundanes. She didn’t seem to notice, or if she did, she rightfully didn’t care, and went about her business being the town’s go-to trail guide, purveyor of outdoor entertainment goods, and teacher of elven mindfulness.
“I need a bicycle,” I said, “and was wondering if you had any leftover stock.”
She wiped her hands on a kerchief stuck in the back pocket of her jeans. “Let’s see.” She tapped her chin. “I sold most of my overstock last weekend. Big close out sale!” She waved her hand through the air to indicate a marquee sign, then motioned for me to follow her deeper into the store. “But I do have three or four units left. What do you need?”
“Something sturdy with good tires.” I had no idea what size I needed to buy. “With a frame you’d find comfortable.”
Sif stopped right in the middle of the narrow aisle between two racks of cross-country skis. “For a lady, Frank?”
“Umm….” I swear my cheeks heated. Me, the walking pile of stitched-together corpse parts, blushed.
“Yes!” Sif twirled Sal again. “It’s about time. And you came to me for a gift? I am humbled. Your lady must be special to get a mode of transportation. A bike is the modern equivalent to a horse.” She winked. “Anyone I know?”
“Umm…” I said again, because again, I couldn’t get out the words I wished to share.
Sif stepped closer. She peered up at my face. Then she blinked, stepped back, and without another word, returned to leading me deeper into the shop.
Ellie’s concealments had struck again, so I changed the subject.
“You haven’t had any issues with our person of interest, have you?” I asked.
She waved her hand over her shoulder. “Thankfully, no.”
“He seemed afraid of Bjorn, to be honest,” I said, “and more interested in harassing mundanes.”
Sif stopped again and her lower lip trembled just a bit. “How are Bjorn and Lennart?”
She was responding to my mention of Bjorn in almost exactly the same way Lennart had to my mention of Maura. Same set to her shoulders. Same looking away. Same touching of her ear.
I was beginning to wonder if I’d missed a memo about how this particular Samhain also landed on some otherwise-unknown elven season of love.
Sif laughed. “You know how it is, Frank,” she said. “There are rules to the magic.”
Yeah, she was an elf.
“Benta took up with me.” It just slipped out. Elven pairings were none of my business, and honestly, I never really paid attention. I’d long been more concerned about my own broken heart.
Which was selfish. It was. But sometimes one has only so much space in one’s world for other people’s hugs and kisses.
Sif sighed. “And Maura took up with a fire spirit.” She shook her head. “We are who we are, we elves.” Now she shrugged. “We cannot argue with the magic.”
And there it was, the elven equivalent of “It’s in God’s hands.” But that didn’t mean we couldn’t fight the power. Fight the magic. Make inroads. Make life better for the one we loved.
Sal axe-snorted.
Sif glanced at my axe as if annoyed that she would interject, then pointed a finger at me. “You look confused, Frank.”
You have no idea, I thought.
Sif chuckled. “Come.”
I followed Sif and wiggled through a doorway proportioned only for the smaller among the elves into an also-too-small space full of overstock. Boxes filled every corner. Art sat stacked against the walls. Sif the Golden hoarded only the useful and the beautiful.
“Let’s see.” She handed Sal to me before moving aside a stack of containers full of winter hats and scarves. “Need new mittens?” she asked.
“Umm…” I said yet again.
Sif touched the side of her nose. “You aren’t leaving until we have your unknown lady outfitted.”
Sal agreed that the polite thing to do would be to make sure the unknown fae magic that kept coming around the house at least had warm toes.
Sif’s mouth dropped open. “Fae magic, Frank? And do not answer me with an umm…”
Sal responded that it was nothing to worry about.
“Really, Sal?” Sif asked. She opened her mouth to ask another question, but just like before, stopped.
As did I, as if I’d run into a wall. Or the wall had run into me. Would I ever be able to talk to an elf about…
I pinched the bridge of my nose. Why was I here? “A bike,” I said. “I have an old bike in my garage and I need a replacement.”
We all stood there for an uncomfortable moment, me the crammed-in, forgetful giant, Sif
