“Salvation,” I said, “time to talk to our King.”
My axe wanted to know if the helpful-yet-untrustworthy fae magic was going to stay in the truck.
“Yes, Sal.” How could an axe be so annoying?
Well then, they should go talk to the elves, and I was the annoying one, not her.
“Are you two arguing?” Ellie pulled out her camera and exposed a plate as I pulled Sal from her pocket. “I bet the magic flowing between you two has its own unique intricacy.”
Sal wanted to know if there was another artifact in the truck. Another artifact was proof I was enthralled.
I rolled my eyes. “Let’s go talk to the elves,” I said, and with my axe in hand, I stepped out of Bloodyhood to learn just how badly off post-Samhain Alfheim really was.
Chapter 10
Arne was pinching his brow as I walked up. Magnus, though, grinned like the party-loving Freyr elf that he was, and threw his arms wide. “Mr. Victorsson! Where were you hiding, young man?”
Up close, parts of the design on Magnus’s jacket looked suspiciously like pointy elf ears, and others looked as if someone had pulled in hints of Yggdrasil.
He smoothed his hands over his chest. “I got this beauty from an ocean spirit on the North Island.” Then he smoothed each arm. “It’s a new pattern, one the local magicals created to signify their dealings with us elves.” He nodded once. “Best New Zealand wool money can buy. I brought home several, Mr. Victorsson, if you’d like one.”
Arne groaned.
Magnus shot him a look. “You know damned well they come with a sizing spell.”
“I take it your trip was a success?” I switched Sal to my other shoulder.
Magnus laughed and slapped my upper arm. “Most definitely!” He leaned closer and winked. “Strengthened our ties to our Icelandic brothers and sisters, as well.”
He must have literally charmed the pants off of Þórdís Ullrsdottir, the Icelandic elf who accompanied him to New Zealand in order to keep his more adoration-cult-starting behaviors under control.
“We have other business, Magnus,” Arne said. He slapped the side of the barn as if to remind us that we were still standing out in the cold.
Magnus pouted like a little kid. “But I brought Bjorn goats.” He pointed at the livestock transports as they passed by the tourist barns on their way toward the actual pastures father down the service road.
I realized why the magic wafting off all those sheep transports had been so bright and bold, like Magnus’s sweater.
“You brought the sheep from New Zealand?” I couldn’t disguise the incredulousness in my voice any more than I could keep it from showing on my face. “How many?”
He shrugged. “A thousand? I lost count when they added the bees.”
“Bees?” He brought home bees?
Magnus sighed, very much the way Akeyla did when she thought I was being obtuse. “We’ll ship the insects in later. It’s winter here.”
“How the hell did you get a thousand sheep through customs?” I blurted out.
“Enough!” Arne slapped the wall again. “No more talk of your sheep, Magnus Freyrsson! I told you we have problems. Fae showed up.”
Magnus’s demeanor abruptly shifted. His innate sheets of magic brightened and thickened as if they’d solidify around his body like ice.
How long had Arne been here before we drove up? I’d obviously stepped into the middle of an ongoing argument.
Magnus went from joyously talking up his trade exploits to a laser-focused warrior. “Oh, we have all sorts of fae problems, don’t we, Arne Odinsson?”
Ellie was right. He was terrifying.
Arne’s magic also brightened, and for a split second, I was sure he was about to whip a bolt of lightning at Magnus’s head. “Are you going to clean up all the sheep dung?”
“I’m the one with the barns and stables, now aren’t I?”
“What are you two doing?” I was caught between the All-Father and Uncle Freyr while they argued about the elven equivalent of snowblower sparkplugs and the coming season more than any of the real horrors pressing against Alfheim.
And like a lot of such arguments, it wasn’t about any snowblower. Or sheep. Or stables and barns. It was about whose driveway needed clearing most, and first, and the family, and who was in charge.
Magnus called up a ball of magic. It floated just above his hand, so thick it probably threw a shadow strong enough for a mundane to notice. It looked like a milky glass orb to me, one full of something so powerful the ball needed to hide it, even from my ability to see magic.
Every single elder elf in Alfheim had the power and magic to run the enclave. Bjorn especially and Magnus particularly. Benta too, and the handful of other old elves; all had elevated magic and knowledge that could all bring the world to its knees.
I knew this intellectually. They were the elves who had built the realm around The Great Hall. They protected the town. But only three times had I seen them armored-up and in battle. Never had I seen them fight amongst themselves.
The throwdown in Las Vegas didn’t count. Even there, they restrained their power. But something let loose here.
“Like Alfheim needs protection, King?” Magnus drawled.
The loose something, the unlacing of the constraints the elves use in order to operate among mundanes, revealed a truth none of them had ever before allowed me to see.
I’d long wondered if, when an elf was out of glamour, they were actually making their full nature visible. If out-of-glamour meant elf-in-Midgard and not elf-as-true-elf, and if this was the real reason some of them had a difficult time with glamouring. If powering what was essentially two glamours took more fine-grained control than many of them could manage.
If they were all, on some level, walking around inside their own personal concealment enchantments.
Magnus’s words, his drawl, hit Arne like Thor’s hammer. Something cracked.
I suspected Arne hadn’t slept in the last thirty-six hours. He hadn’t rested after the run
