Somewhere out in Alfheim was a concealed woman who I was sure deserved the same concentration and reverence. Deep down inside my enchantment-cocooned heart, I knew she was worthy of all the reverence my adopted father now gave my adopted mother.
I knew.
I had to find her. I had to, even if it was the last thing I did.
Chapter 2
Akeyla ran out of the women’s restroom in the band shelter in full playwear—bright blue leggings, sneakers, and her prize “Alfheim Gossiping Squirrels” Sprout League t-shirt that Jax had given her after his team won regionals. She still had her hair and ears wrapped up in the scarf, but had removed most, though not all, of her decorative flowers.
“Uncle Frank! Mr. Bjorn!” She stopped a few feet from where we sat at one of the shelter’s tables, and pointed at the massive, noisy bouncy castle not too far from the chairs. “Are you going to bounce?”
Seemed Arne had gone in with a few of the kids. Arne Odinsson, the King of the Alfheim Elves, had gone full town-father and was now bouncing around in the castle in his dress shirt and suit pants with half the town’s school children.
Today was a day of wonders. “I think Bjorn and I are a bit big for bouncing,” I said.
She shrugged. “Grandma said she’ll bounce with me.”
Bjorn looked as surprised by the play of his monarchs as I was. “I’m beginning to wonder if they came back from Las Vegas enchanted.”
Akeyla looked over at the castle. “Where’s Jax?”
I was surprised he hadn’t been waiting while she changed. “I don’t know,” I said. “He’s probably changing, too.”
“Oh,” she said. “I’m supposed to wait for Mommy.” She sat on the bench next to Bjorn. “Can we get a kitten, Uncle Frank?”
Bjorn chuckled.
“Not until Marcus Aurelius comes home. We’ll need his approval,” I said.
She frowned, but didn’t say anything else. Bjorn, either. They clammed up, which was very un-elf-like. But I had yet another gut feeling that the elves frowned and stopped asking questions when the topic got even peripherally close to my mystery woman. It made sense, with the concealment enchantments. I just wish I remembered well enough to fully recognize any day-to-day patterns.
Akeyla pointed off to the side of the bouncy castle. “Who’s that?” she asked.
I turned around. Some smooth-looking guy I didn’t recognize stood on the edge of the park, openly taking photos of the crowd with a big, obvious camera. “Did Arne and Dag hire a photographer?” I asked Bjorn.
He shook his head. “No. Only the video feed for the ceremony.”
“That’s an expensive camera he’s wielding.” I pointed. “That lens alone runs a good five grand.” I’d priced photography equipment lately. Why, I couldn’t remember, but I had a vague notion I’d been looking at buying a gift.
“Some of the most powerful witches use cameras as their seer stones. Some of them can read regular photos.” Bjorn stood up. “We’re not the only enclave with a ‘no photography’ policy unless the photographer is cleared by the elder elves.”
I stood up, too.
We weren’t the only ones to notice him. Ed, Gerard, and two other pack members had surrounded the guy before he could retreat to his car.
He raised his arms as if surrendering. Ed extended his hand. The guy handed over his camera.
“We’re in a public space,” I said. “I’m not sure anyone can stop him from taking photos.” At least not without a little magical intervention. After what happened with my vampire brother and Akeyla at Lara’s Café, I fully understood why none of the magicals in Alfheim wanted random mundanes photographing their lives.
“I don’t like him,” Akeyla said.
I looked down at my little niece. She stared at the guy with the camera, her face stern, and her hands balled into fists. Fire magic swirled around her in sheets of red and blue flames. Magic that was building into something strong enough it might manifest in a way noticeable by the mundanes.
“Can you tell us why, honey?” I asked.
Bjorn suddenly looked down at Akeyla. “It’s okay,” he said. “Sherriff Ed has it under control.”
“No,” she said.
I looked at Bjorn, who looked at me with just as much shock as I was sure I was showing. “Maura!” I called toward the shelter. Then to Bjorn, “Go. They need elf magic.”
He jogged toward Ed and the wolves.
Ed opened the camera and took out the memory card. One of the other wolves ran toward Bjorn, nodded, and ran toward the bouncy castle, presumably to get Arne.
“He’s a bad man, Uncle Frank,” Akeyla said.
Axlam, Maura, and Dag exited the woman’s restroom of the shelter. Dag immediately followed Bjorn toward the unknown man. Maura moved toward Akeyla and me. But Axlam stopped three feet from the door and stood unmoving as if she’d been frozen in ice.
Maura squatted and touched Akeyla’s face. “Honey, what’s wrong?” she said. She, too, had changed into something more bouncy-castle-worthy, as had Dag and Axlam.
Akeyla continued to stare at the bad man.
“Her magic’s flaring,” I said. “What’s wrong with Axlam?”
Maura stood up. Gerard pushed the man, who threw up his hands again, and stepped back. Maura looked back at Axlam.
“Frank,” she said, “what are you seeing?”
I see magic. The elves can’t, nor can the wolves, and they long ago learned to trust my senses. “Akeyla’s upset.” I peered at the group of arguing men. “Bjorn and your mother are both in full protective mode.” Sigils and spellwork geared and shifted around both of them. “Bjorn’s put up a wall between the man and Ed, and Dag’s clockwork magic looks like it’s about to slam down on his head.”
Maura pulled Akeyla close. “The wolves,” she said.
Gerard’s wolf magic flared as much as the elves’. It flowed off him, to his pack members, and back as if synchronizing the three men. “Nothing unusual,” I said.
I looked at Axlam. She still stood three feet from the woman’s restroom door. Her soft silk
