“How long has that been brewing?” Ellie asked. “And now he has a touched daughter.”
“I don’t know.” Though he’d been frustrated with the elves for quite a while. Frustrated with the magic and the threats that came with it.
I should have been paying better attention. Ed was a friend.
I pulled Bloodyhood onto the wide plowed-and-salted drive to Magnus’s village—because if I was honest, that’s what it was.
Freyrsson Stables was its own localized economic engine, complete with multiple housing options—ranging from a set of understated townhomes for the stable staff and their families, to Magnus’s old 1886 mansion which he’d turned into a bed and breakfast, to his massive new mansion hidden away in the trees from the farm’s major dealings.
There were also meeting spaces hidden in the barns and buildings, because he liked to do a lot of his other business dealings here among his grand Percherons and Fjord horses. Nothing said “prosperous” to an investor like Magnus’s gorgeous stallion, Bloodyhoof himself.
“Wow,” Ellie said.
“This is why enclaves hoard their Freyr elves.”
She pointed at the little café next to the tourist entrance to the horse barns. “There have to be rules about showing off like this.”
“There are rules about personal enrichment. No greed. All wealth-building must be done in the service of the local economy.” At least that’s what Arne said. All the elves lived comfortably, but none of them skated through life on trust funds. Benta worked to benefit her sanctuary. Arne and Dag worked to build a prosperous Alfheim for the local mundanes. Even though we weren’t one of the rich Metro suburbs, our schools were some of the best in the state.
And Magnus… well, Magnus Freyrsson worked all the time. Between the Stables, Gullinbursti Reclamations, the cargo plane business, the auto dealerships, and all his resorts and tourist businesses, Magnus was responsible for a significant portion of Alfheim’s economic stability. So he wasn’t showing off. He was signaling that this place was as much his Hall as it was our Odin elves’.
Arne’s brand-new, blood-red, standard-issue electric Honda sat in front of one of the barns. Getting here before we did must have involved plenty of magic, especially with the roads, but there he was, leaning against the also-deep-red wall next to the door as if we were two hours late.
Right next to his Honda sat Magnus’s also-brand-new, also-electric, midnight-blue Porsche Taycan.
Ellie pointed again. “Now, see, Oberon would string up his Second before he allowed him to drive a nicer car.”
“I doubt Oberon’s Second is a Freyr aspect,” I said. Freyr aspects had exceptional taste in all things prosperous. “Having a Magnus as their Second is our King and Queen’s way of showing off.” Magnus Freyrsson could walk into any enclave on Earth and be its King within hours, yet he preferred to live here in small-town Minnesota with his buddies.
I parked off to the side out of habit. I handed Ellie my keys. “Just in case,” I said.
She tucked them into her pocket.
Ellie laid her hand on her camera. “Should I take photos?”
She was worried about offending the elves. “The magic around this place is quite beautiful,” I said. “The sheets of energy here are more like true aurora than most other magicks.”
She grinned as if a warm memory had surfaced. “There’s a place, in England somewhere, I don’t remember where…” She did a small frustrated shake as if, like so many other memories manipulated by her enchantments, she couldn’t quite recall what she wanted. “Anyway, it’s a gateway into my mother’s realm.” She looked back at me. “The fae tend to make the ways into their realms enticing. Small, too, so only one person can pass through at a time, and to make them hard to find. But they’re always eerie. And lovely.” She waved her fingers. “Tingly and rush-inducing, like a rollercoaster.”
I squeezed her fingers. “Sounds like the gate into The Great Hall.”
Magnus Freyrsson stepped through the barn’s door and out into the snow. If he had jetlag, he wasn’t showing it in his glamour. He appeared impeccable, as one would expect of Magnus Freyrsson, except for the tastefully styled, zippered wool sweater jacket. It fit him perfectly and set off the silver rings and the chain around his neck, yet screamed in a bold black, white, and red stylized wave-turbulence pattern shot through with tiny lines of blue, green, and yellow.
He rolled his shoulders and frowned as if he noticed Bloodyhood, but didn’t notice because Ellie watched him from the cab, and the whole confusion made him sad.
Ellie sucked in her breath. “I forgot how handsome he is,” she muttered. “Even in his glamour.”
Every one of my facial muscles tightened. I squinted and the part of my upper lip directly below my nose tried to yank my mouth into an angry sneer all because Ellie commented on a phenomenon as natural and true as the sunset.
Magnus Freyrsson was exceptionally beautiful, even for an elf. He’d been a silent movie star. Mundanes loved him. He brought joy and success to Alfheim. And he’d given me my wonderful new truck.
But still.
Ellie’s eyes widened. “You’re jealous! Oh, Frank.” She leaned across the gearshift and kissed my cheek. “He’s terrifying. They both are.”
I blinked. “What?” Magnus wasn’t scary, and Arne was less terrifying than Dag.
She kissed me again, then pointed. “They’re staring at the truck wondering where you are.”
Arne and Magnus couldn’t see me in the cab because of Ellie’s enchantments. She stroked my arm. “Don’t take too long.”
“I won’t.” I didn’t want to get out of the truck no matter how much I needed to talk to the elves. Honestly, I just wanted to go back to the cottage and stow my toiletries in my brand-new bathroom drawer.
Perhaps fatigue was finally hitting, except I didn’t fatigue. Not physically. My semi-dead body liked its baseline homeostasis and it took a lot of effort to move my needle. Hence all the whiskey when I was with Benta. And my viability as a battery to power Dracula’s vampire swarm spells.
Mentally, though,
