“Oh,” Lennart said. “I thought kelpies were all male.”
So the woman might also be a kelpie? “They carry swords?”
“Not that I know of,” Lennart said.
“One of you going to come out here and zap the kelpies for me?” He turned into the main parking area and pulled up next to Brad Anderson’s truck and trailer. “Axlam brought the wife and kids dinner and I’d like to partake.”
Lennart smacked his lips. “A better choice for the evening, Sheriff Martinez. You have been awake too long. You need food and sleep. Go home. Let one of us deal with the interlopers.”
“That’d be nice,” Ed said. He shouldn’t be short with an elf, especially an elf who had disobeyed an order so as to help Ed’s daughter, but he really would like to go home. “I can’t. State Patrol and Hubbard County got calls. State Patrol’s tied up with the last accident out on 34 but they have someone on the way. This is officially a law enforcement issue.”
“Not if they are kelpies,” Lennart said.
“I’m already here.”
“Okay, okay,” said Lennart. “You should be safe. Kelpies affect women. They like to argue, though, so do your best to ignore them.”
“Will do,” Ed answered.
“And stay back,”
“I plan to,” Ed said.
“I will check who is available and call you back.”
Lennart hung up.
Ed looked at his phone. Damned elves and their dislike of technology.
He looked around the parking area and clicked his radio. “Nothing out of the ordinary yet at the south entrance, Tracy,” he said.
A tiny voice in the back of Ed’s mind told him to suit up. A ballistic vest would only be valuable if the Andersons were carrying. Which they might be. They had a history of ignoring laws they didn’t like.
The Alfheim County Sheriff’s Department operated with more resources than the surrounding counties simply because the elves optimized within a standard county budget. Plus his resources, in particular, carried enchantments.
He was driving the cruiser this weekend because his normal department SUV was “in the shop,” in the process of getting yet another layer of magical extras. The elves were “adding protections.” What, he didn’t know. But part of the aftermath of the incident had been stronger anti-vampire magicks. Ten years in Alfheim and the elves were still sticklers about making sure he and his family were safe.
Safety his family would no longer have access to if he took the family back to Texas.
He rubbed his face. He really did need sleep.
Flashlight in hand, he stepped out of his cruiser and opened the trunk. These were kelpies, not vampires, but they were still dark magicals.
He unlocked his shotgun before popping open his specialty safe.
From the outside, it looked like any standard-issue trunk-mounted gun safe, except when the sun hit it just right and the runes became visible—the runes that, like so many of his upgraded enchantments, were added after the incident.
The elves didn’t know about his stash of specialty shells, though.
He loaded in his cold iron- and silver-containing fae shells and quickly read through the checklist he’d taped to the inside of the safe: Don’t take or offer food. Don’t take or offer favors, boons, or advice. Don’t get close enough to allow the fae to touch you. And most important: Do not, for any reason, make a deal.
Specific fae had specific issues, but his list should keep him safe until elven backup arrived.
Rumbling echoed through the trees. Headlight beams appeared.
Snowmobiles approached.
Ed slammed the cruiser’s trunk and shouldered the shotgun as he walked toward the head of the trail to await their fae visitors.
Chapter 13
Wrenn Goodfellow tossed up a simple shield spell to minimize the cold wind hitting her face. She didn’t have anything anywhere near as powerful as the wedge spell Robin had used to keep them safe from the kelpie stampede, but she could at least keep the snow out of her eyes.
The three mundanes rode their one remaining snowmobile, and even though they fell behind, they hadn’t veered off or stopped. They’d catch up sooner or later and cause more problems.
Up ahead a trail sign came into view, pointing southwest toward a parking area. A plume of magic rose off Ranger as he stood on the snowmobile’s sideboards and sniffed the air slamming into his face. Then he spun the vehicle around a tree and took off down the signed trail.
Ranger looked over his shoulder, saluted, and sped toward the waiting cars.
He was going to steal a new vehicle. But why? She was pretty sure elves were going to show up any minute now.
Over her two centuries, she’d had only one decidedly unpleasant interaction with an elf, a French male descended from the enclave established alongside the Norse colony that became Normandy.
They’d crossed paths in Paris. He’d been nonchalant about pretty much everything, not caring about fae, or vampires, or other elves. Mostly he’d been just another pretty male doing boring, subversively violent, pretty male things.
Her hopes really weren’t much higher for American elves. Especially American elves who harbored not only vampires, but also Victor’s first monster.
The American over-inflated sense of entitlement meant they thought they could make anyone and everyone do what they wanted. Such grandiose foolishness was annoying when mundanes did it and outright dangerous when magicals were involved.
Still, she didn’t have the magic to return a kelpie to Oberon’s Castle. She’d need to get Ranger to the gate at the tavern. Or worse—she’d need elven help.
But what would help from these particular elves mean? The fact that she was carrying one of their swords was probably going to set off a major political tiff between the enclaves and King Oberon no matter how Wrenn handled the situation. And then there was the question of Victor’s creation.
Would they allow her near the monster? They’d protected vampires. Were they protecting a creature just as evil? Why?
This might be her only chance to find answers.
Yet she couldn’t
