My axe was tattling on my annoyed girlfriend in order to protect me. I was in the middle of the most bizarre love triangle on Earth.
“Is the whole winter going to be like this?” Ellie asked.
What did Arne say about the fae? Sharks smelling blood in the water. The same thing happened in Alfheim when tourists asked the local mundanes about the weather. Eyes brightened. Lips curled ever so slightly. We got a live one! reverberated through the entire population and all that Minnesota Nice became the perverse thrill of egging on the cold-based terror of non-locals.
After two hundred years, that thrill affects me as well, but I held back the reflexive need to say the local favorite of “Just wait until January when it’s too cold to snow.” Or the other popular response of “Shoveling too fast will give you a heart attack, ya know.”
“You’ll get used to it,” I said.
She blinked three times. Her hand released from the door panel. Then she broke out into a hearty laugh. “One of the locals in Alice Springs said exactly the same thing about the heat.” She tapped the tip of her nose. “Same expression. Same tone of voice.” She shrugged. “Different accent.”
I laughed, too.
“They had firenadoes.”
I shrugged. “Snownadoes here.”
Her eyes widened. “Seriously?”
I shook my head. “They’re mostly snow dust devils. Except that one in spring of 1816. That wasn’t fun.”
She slumped back into her seat and adjusted the yellow hat and its big white pompom. “Can we move someplace with nice weather? California, maybe?”
I almost said “Earthquakes.” But then I realized she’d just said we.
Why was I stunned? Because I was stunned. After this morning, the last thing I should be was stunned.
Yet my screaming raccoon was back, and this time, he was laughing.
Red crept up Ellie’s jaw to her cheeks.
I reached across and took her gloved hand in mine. She looked down at our fingers, then up at my face with the same openness and vulnerability I’d seen in the kitchen this morning.
She squeezed my fingers. “Both hands on the wheel, handsome.”
I’d never get used to handsome. If I was honest, I actually found it kind of annoying, in the same way I’d find sweet widdle cuddle-bunny annoying.
She let go of my hand and pointed down the road. “That’s an animal transport.”
It didn’t take us long to catch up. We were behind at least five identical trucks. They were all inching along as if there was an accident up ahead. I peered around the trucks as best I could and sure enough, up ahead, cop lights reflected off the side of the lead eighteen-wheeler.
All the transports carried sheep. Big ones, too. Their baaing overpowered the roar of the truck’s heater, so they weren’t all that happy, even if they were fat, healthy, and giving off lots of indistinct flutters of magic that floated away through the slats.
“Who transports sheep in the winter?” Ellie asked. “And so many?”
The magic wafting from the transports wasn’t unusual. We had a lot of magic-protected animals in Alfheim. “Elves,” I said. Though moving sheep right after a blizzard seemed a bit reckless, even for elves.
The indistinct magic coming off the second truck flared just enough as we passed to make me squint.
Not everything the elves did was my business, but sometimes I wished the non-elder elves would tighten up their spellwork.
We inched forward to find Ed Martinez’s cruiser in the middle of the road, lights on, blocking access to Magnus Freyrsson’s grand stable and horse breeding operation. Red and blue flashed with a headache-inducing rhythmic cadence that bounced disjointedly off the snow.
All the trucks were turning onto Magnus’s property. I really didn’t think much of it, since Magnus did own the biggest and most prosperous farm in Alfheim County.
I stopped next to Ed’s car and rolled down the window. “Arne sent me out.” I pointed at the lovely hand-carved Freyrsson Stables sign and leaned a little out the window. “We might have a fae problem.”
Ed frowned for a split second before his face returned to cop flatness. He’d switched out his normal brimmed Sheriff’s hat for a beanie, and a large “Alfheim County Sheriff’s Department” logo sat right between his eyes as if his detective sense had turned into a literal third eye.
He looked exhausted, too, with dark circles under his brown eyes, as if he hadn’t slept. Which he probably hadn’t, since he’d been pulled into the run. But at least he and his daughter were safe.
He glanced around me at Ellie. “Ma’am,” he said.
“Ellie Jones,” she said. “We’ve met but you don’t remember me.”
“Sophia does.” The audible low noise that rolled from his body sounded as much like a growl as it did a groan. He looked up at the road as another transport rolled by from the other direction. “Stay away from my kids,” he said.
This was not good. Not while we were dealing with yet another magical crisis. “Ed,” I said.
He held up his hand. “My wife wants to move down to The Cities. Said at this point, I could come in as a Chief Deputy Sheriff in one of the suburban departments. I told her I’d talk to my contacts in Ramsey and Carver Counties.”
Ellie leaned toward the window. “Sheriff Martinez, I’m—”
He waved her off. “I won’t remember anything you say.” He slapped Bloodyhood’s door. “We have sixteen accidents this morning with the snow, and I’m here keeping tabs on freakin’ sheep because Magnus Freyrsson thinks he’s just as much in charge as Arne Odinsson. Go.”
He’d dealt with vampires for us. He’d handled the mundane issues caused by Dracula and St. Martin. But none of that had affected his children. Putting himself in danger was one thing. His family? Absolutely not.
I nodded. “Let’s talk later.” I was the closest thing to another understanding mundane Ed had here in Alfheim.
He grunted and waved us
