The two fae abruptly pulled in their hands. Power shifted, or more precisely, sifted.
“They’re looking for something,” I said. Or someone.
Ellie curled her arm around my waist.
I instinctively pulled her close even though I hadn’t gotten a sense that the two armored-up dryads were looking for her.
But that undercurrent had returned. The fae river of below-language knowledge. And deep inside, I knew all non-fae information they gathered was just that—information.
Except… There should not be fae magic here. Not where it could be subsumed by elves, or wolves, or the thin vampire residue remaining around Alfheim.
This knowledge caused surprise and wrath combined.
Ellie inhaled as if she swallowed a gasp. “They shouldn’t sense the concealments.”
We had fae bloodhounds sniffing around—bloodhounds who came here specifically because the land rang out with fae magic. Bloodhounds who could very well be from Oberon’s Court.
“It might not be you.” How could it not be Ellie?
It could be me.
I broke through the concealments. I caused Ellie’s cottage to reconfigure—profoundly, too, and in a way it never had before. I was at the center of last night’s magical St. Martin-generated whirlwinds and I interacted with that strange, black-eyed elf who I barely remembered, as if my brain couldn’t be bothered to see him as worth recognizing.
“I’m going to step away from you,” I said.
“Oh no you are not, Frank Victorsson.” Ellie pointed at the two dryads as if she’d read my mind as easily as she understood the intent of the dryads. “I’m not losing you to two Cernunnos wannabes.”
I’d spent one night in her cottage. One. And here we were with karmic fae coming to make me pay for the bliss of the morning.
“Frank.”
I looked down at Ellie. She hitched up the strap of her backpack. Her lips wiggled and bunched and I swear she sniffed because she had tears for the same reason I had cosmic-level doubts: No matter how we fight, or live, or work at building something worthwhile, we were two people who the war dogs always find.
Trials and tests. Clashes and concealments. She and I would always have a fight on our hands.
I twisted my head, listening to the background hum of the two dryads. “I’m going to ask questions.” I needed to know why they were surprised and wrathful.
She frowned. “Are you sure about this?”
“I’m not losing you to two Cernunnos wannabees.” Not after what we went through to find each other. Not after her touching my cold body and asking me if I hurt. Not after a full morning of the most intimate and perfect lovemaking of my two hundred years. I’d throw punches at the King of the Fae himself if I needed to.
Her lips rounded and she blinked. “Okay.” She inhaled. “Okay.” She shook her arms like she was warming up for a fight. “Be careful.”
I squeezed her hand, then took two big steps away toward the dryads.
The closer I got, the taller they grew—and the more androgynous. They cocked their heads in mirror image to one another and a memory-thought of me manifesting filled the small clearing—and the knowledge that I was not a creature that should be able to manifest.
“My name is Frank Victorsson,” I said. Maybe if I ignored me appearing out of thin air, Ellie’s concealments would force the strangeness of it to pass. “This is my lake.” I pointed toward my cabin.
Yes. They read me from the land. I was not a creature who manifested.
So much for using Ellie’s concealments to my advantage.
Behind me, Ellie removed her pack and unzipped the main pocket.
The air around the fae swirled with ice and took on the clarity of Arctic cold. Neither moved but the balance of friend and foe shifted into threatening.
They sensed seer magic.
Ellie lifted her hand off the pack.
I raised my hands. “Sorry!” I said. “I see magic and sometimes magicals sense it as seer magic!” I lied. Anything to keep them off Ellie’s scent. Maybe the misdirection would stop the questions about manifesting.
“Do they believe you?” Ellie asked.
“I don’t know,” I paused, then continued for the two fae, “who you are.” Other than the sense of threat receding, I picked up no other information.
Ellie zipped the bag and shouldered it again.
I slowly pointed to the elven tattoos around my ear. “This is elf territory. The elves here would not allow calamity to befall the land.” Annoyance, yes. But harm? No. “Do you wish to speak to our King and Queen?”
A new wave of knowledge rolled from the dryads: Salt was poured and the truth dusted. There was fae magic here. I was to tell them all I knew.
I rubbed at the top of my head. “We had a wolf problem, but the elves dealt with it last night,” I said.
A wave of seeking rolled from them. The elves have offended.
This wasn’t about my interactions with Ellie’s concealments. “How?” I asked. “Why are you here?” I asked.
Reality flickered around the two fae. They were there, then not, then back again but different. They’d flipped how they were presented—not just exchanging positions, but flipping what had been on their left to their right as if we were no longer looking at the two fae, but a mirror image.
I’d never seen a magical do anything even remotely similar to the illusions cast by the two fae. Magic was of the world, of the ground under our feet and of the bodies of the creatures working the spells. It was, in essence, more real than the mundane reality around it, and always felt as such. But this, with the mirroring, and the in-the-head echoing, was otherworldly in ways that made every hair on the back of my neck stand on end.
“The elves never do anything that weird,” I said.
Ellie’s nervous chuckle came out as a high-pitched sneeze. “The fae are nothing if not theatrical.”
Theatrics had a purpose: Slight-of-hand saved magical energy. It acted as another layer of camouflage against the
