The handle on the basement door rattled. “Aye, me loves, a lock’s nae enough t’ keep me from ye,” a melodic male voice said.
The kelpie sounded like one of those guys who did podcasts on the Internet—the ones with the hypnotic voices who sound authoritative, but if you actually thought about the things they said, you knew they were just fast-talking liars using sonic camouflage.
“Momma?”
She inhaled as if an honest-to-goodness movie star had just asked her to marry him.
Sophia held Ella back. “Get between Momma and the door. Now, Gabe!”
The kelpie knocked nicely. “I smell th’ lot of ye down there,” he said. “The lads, hmm…” He paused. “Too bad ye dinnae have a like mind.” He paused again. “But ye lassies…” Another pause.
Gabe grabbed the railings and did his best to block his mother from going back up the steps. “Go to the room, Momma,” he pleaded.
“I smell a Cassandra down there.”
“I am not an oracle!” Sophia screamed. Her face was totally red now, like she was trying to fight whatever the kelpie was doing to them.
“No’ my problem, luv.”
A sword blade pierced the door. A big, sharp, scary sword.
Momma screamed. Sophia screamed some more. Ella whimpered and Mateo wailed.
“Ye’ve nae idea what I had t’ do t’ get here before th’ other elder elves showed up.” The sword sliced toward the doorknob. “How fast I had t’ gallop t’ get away from my love who wants t’ feed me t’ her cats.”
“Momma!” Gabe yelled. “Go!”
She shook like she’d just woken up from a bad dream. “Sophia! Ella! Go!” She swooped down to pick up Mateo but the kelpie…
Gabe had seen magicals do stuff like what the kelpie had just done. Bjorn and Sif had shown him such slight-of-hand tricks as a vampire might use. Or a dark fae.
So he understood about freezing perception in one moment to make a mundane think the magical had moved at lightning speed.
The kelpie was on the other side of him, fully in the basement and standing between his momma and his sisters and brother. He was the same height as Momma, square too, like a tiny linebacker. Black hair, black polo shirt with a hole in it, black kilt, black boots. He looked more like a hooligan than any fae creature.
He held the sword up and away from the kids like he wanted to make sure they didn’t get too close. His other arm he used to swoop in and grab Momma around the waist. He moved like he knew how to hold a very pregnant woman, twisting and stepping so as to keep the sword away.
He dipped Gabe’s mother in an embrace like some romance novel cover model. “Aye,” he said. “My friend th’ sheriff understands quality.”
He kissed Momma on the lips.
“You are not worthy of finding what you seek,” said Sophia. She wasn’t screaming anymore. No. She was stone-cold serious.
The kelpie let go of Momma. She gagged and stumbled, but Gabe caught her before she fell.
It had been a reflex move. His focus flitted from his little sister to his falling mother and he responded. He caught his momma before she got hurt.
When he looked up, the kelpie held Sophia at the top of the stairs.
He saluted with the sword.
“Gabe!” His mother pushed at him and the wall. “Go! Go with your sister. Please!”
She grimaced and cupped her belly.
He knew what the pain meant. “Momma!”
“The elves are coming. I’ll be…” She grimaced again. “We’ll be fine. Go!”
So Gabriel Martinez, the soon-to-be thirteen-year-old son of the local sheriff, chased after the kelpie who’d kidnapped his sister.
Chapter 18
The kelpie turned off their phones and tossed them into the back of Momma’s minivan. Then he tossed Sophia into the backseat. “Sit down, darlin’.” He used the sword to point at the driver’s door as he pulled the key fob from one of the many tactical pockets on his kilt. “Ye’re drivin’, boy.”
Gabe Martinez stood on the step into the house directly between the kelpie and the door handle—and his Momma. “I don’t have a learner’s permit,” he said. He couldn’t get his permit for another two years, but his dad had taken him out to the empty parking lot in front of the City Management Complex and taught him the basics.
They all had to be ready for emergencies, his father had told him. Know your magicals, kiddo. Understand the basic rules for interactions: No exchanges of any kind. No food. No promises. No secrets.
And always squeeze the trigger. Never jerk your hand.
The kelpie sniffed the air like a dog. “Aye, ‘tis true.” The kelpie touched the side of his nose, then pointed at Gabe. “But ye’re th’ son of a lawman who lives under a cloud of threatenin’ darkness.” He tapped his own forehead. “An’ ye live in th’ middle of frickin’ nowhere in th’ middle of a middle state in a middlin’ country.” He sniffed at the air again. “So a guess about you gettin’ early drivin’ lessons ain’t so farfetched, lad.”
He shook his momma’s key fob again and tapped the driver’s door with the tip of the sword.
Gabe snatched the fob from the kelpie’s hand.
“Wait until I’m in, kiddo,” the kelpie said.
Gabe didn’t answer. Getting in and locking the door wouldn’t help. The kelpie would just cut the minivan into metal ribbons.
But he could open the garage door.
There had to be an elf or two out there by now. Maybe even the Pack. If he opened the garage door—
“Ye let in th’ puppies, I’ll slice yer wee sister,” the kelpie growled.
So the Pack was outside.
Gabe slid into the driver’s seat of their minivan. Slowly and as calmly as he could manage,
