I touched her face. Her name is Ellie, I thought. Ellie Jones.
Too many mysteries polluted my life. I tucked away my phone. I needed to find her, and I would. If I happened to be a few hours late to Raven’s Gaze, what would it hurt?
Chapter 4
Raven’s Gaze Brewery and Pub occupied two older buildings between Wolftown and the artsy neighborhood around the college. Like every place where elves live, the greenery here was lush, and the animals fat and happy. Massive trees shaded the tables and seating in front of the building’s old brick façade, and kitchen gardens filled most of the space between the eatery and the brewery proper.
Raven’s Gaze Brewery and Pub had been painted diagonally across the front of the eatery along with the unironic established 1062, Alfheim, Minnesota. The entire design was obvious from the road with its worn, rustic colors and conspiracy of navy blue raven silhouettes. Several of the tables were shaded by wide umbrellas printed with the same birds.
The pub and brewery would not have been out of place in Minneapolis’s trendier neighborhoods. But the buildings weren’t in The Cities; they were here with the elves. The pub still tended to be busy most evenings.
Neither Bjorn nor Lennart ran the restaurant. That fell to a rotating crew of mundane managers, all of whom seemed to do a decent job, but one of the cooks was an elf. The food was excellent, and they did deliver all the way out to my lake, beer included. Between Lara’s Café, Raven’s Gaze, and the handful of other restaurants in town, Alfheim kept the tourists happy.
I parked Bloodyhood in the back of the pub’s lot, away from the other cars and where my truck’s brand-new plow attachment wouldn’t scuff or be scuffed. Bloodyhood was one of the bigger models available anyway, which I needed because of my size, and with the plow, she pretty much took up two end-to-end spots.
Sal hummed to herself in her magazine pocket on the back of the passenger seat. She had her own special slot in my truck’s toolbox, but she preferred to ride in the cab, and since she asked nicely, I wasn’t going to say no. She glamoured her handle so she looked like an old, worn, wood-chopping axe, and put off waves of leave me alone that also served to keep people away from my truck.
My axe was a better deterrent than the truck’s anti-theft systems.
“I’m going to walk around the neighborhood,” I said.
My mighty elven battle axe tossed me a clear You’re searching for your mystery again, aren’t you?
Sal didn’t so much talk as toss me comprehension. I didn’t hear her per se, but I knew what she wanted me to know.
“Of course I am,” I said.
She humphed. She wanted a stroll.
“I can’t walk around with you on my shoulder. There are tourists.”
She humphed again.
“I’ll take you with me this evening. We’ll walk around the lake.”
Sal reluctantly agreed to my compromise, but didn’t fully believe I’d stick to my word.
“I promise,” I said.
She axe-sighed, which involved a subdued flash of purple-ish magic.
I shook my head. “You’re testy today.” She must have picked up on the activity at the park. “We have the situation under control. No need to worry.”
A renewed flash of desire to walk the neighborhood followed.
I looked out at the big oaks in front of Raven’s Gaze, and the remaining autumn blooms in the plantings in front of the restaurant. A few tourists sat at the tables drinking brews. Two more people, both with cameras, stood staring at a guidebook on the walk down the street. They pointed at the large historic former church on the other side of a stand of trees. The building was visible from the restaurant parking lot, but not so much from the restaurant itself. The couple nodded and chatted, and one took several photos.
Bjorn owned the old church. There were “plans.” What those plans were, I didn’t know. But the building had a soft magical shimmer that made it more interesting than it would be otherwise.
The elves never stopped the tourists from taking photos within Alfheim. But then again, they’d also built in enchantments that kept the tourist photos to certain areas, like the church.
I pulled open my door. “I’ll be back in a bit,” I said. I still wore my dress shirt, slacks, and shoes, so I wouldn’t be doing anything other than strolling, anyway.
My axe stayed silent this time.
I fiddled with my jacket, which I’d tossed onto the passenger seat, and pulled my wallet from the pocket.
I locked the truck and walked toward the church. How many times had I checked this part of town? Had I made a list? I opened my phone’s notetaking app and looked.
Chihiro Hatanaka’s list popped up.
Associate memories tangentially, item one said. The less a memory was connected directly to Ellie Jones, the more likely I was to remember it. The sub-notes said to try this with Ed, which I obviously had at one point or another.
The second item said to make notes about my activities, and to keep as many of those notes as possible on my person, and to back up to a cloud server before sundown. I checked; my phone did so automatically.
I was also to text Chihiro with regular updates, and to never give up.
Ellie Jones was here, somewhere. Even if she didn’t want to be found, or if she didn’t want to talk to me, I could at least give her Chihiro’s contact information.
Something told me that connecting them was as important as anything I had to say.
I tapped my screen and filled in a note with the date, time, and location of this search, then tucked the phone back into my pocket. Checking around the church wouldn’t take much time.
The two tourists were chatting excitedly as they walked toward Raven’s Gaze. They both shot me the usual shocked looks people give anyone taller than six-five. Both mouths
