The kelpie dropped into the front passenger seat and placed his big sword between his hairy legs. He looked around the inside, opening and closing the van’s many cubbies, until he opened the center console and found Momma’s stash of little kid snacks.
“Ah!” He slapped his thigh. “Apple! My favorite.” He snapped a straw into a juice box and took a long, slurping draw.
“I’m cold,” Sophia said from the backseat.
The kelpie didn’t seem cold in his holey black polo shirt and kilt. The douchebag scruff on his chin was probably keeping him toasty warm. “Ah, darlin’, I do apologize. We’ll be on our way shortly an’ yer dear brother here will start up this beastie’s heatin’ system, aye?”
Gabe gripped the steering wheel. “Why don’t you just gallop away?”
He shouldn’t have asked the question. Don’t interact with dark fae. Don’t give them any room to stick in a knife and force you to make a deal.
But maybe he could logic his way out of this situation. His teachers did like to tell him he was good at figuring out how to fix a moment. Ms. Sagasdottir wanted him to “cultivate his leadership ability.” That’s why he’d joined 4-H even though at first he hadn’t wanted to.
“I didnae gallop away,” the kelpie said, “because this toothpick here,” he tapped the pommel on the sword, “ain’t trade-worthy, wi’ th’ teeths.”
He bared his teeth and made a little fangy-face as he sipped at his apple juice.
“We are,” Sophia said. “Us, and Papa.”
The kelpie nodded. “Cassandra has spoken.”
No asking questions. Don’t give the kelpie an opening.
So Gabe asked his sister, instead. “Do you know why, Sophia?”
The kelpie slurped and looked around the headrest. “Do tell, luv.”
“You are not worthy.” She said no more.
The kelpie shrugged. “Clearly.” He crumpled the empty box and tossed it into the back of the van. “There are two alpha werewolves outside.” He sniffed the air. “An’ three elves out there.” He sniffed again. “Two Thor an’ a Frigg,” he frowned. “Where’s that utterly perfect female who wants this?” He patted the pommel again. “Ah, my soul’s hers.”
Utterly perfect applied equally to all the elves, so Gabe didn’t know if he meant Queen Dagrun, or Akeyla’s mom, or Benta the Nameless, or one of his teachers.
“Ms. Benta won’t let Jax visit the cats,” Sophia said.
The kelpie laughed. “Lovely an’ mean. My kind o’ lass.” He inhaled. “Th’ big Thor elf is… angry.”
Bjorn was out there. He was the biggest elf in Alfheim. Not magic-wise—that was the King and the Queen, and probably Mr. Magnus, too—but size-wise. He wasn’t obviously taller than any of the other elves—they were all tall like Vikings were supposed to be—but he was significantly wider, with wide elf sideburns and an extra-thick elf ponytail, even if he still somehow managed to hold most of his glamour and keep his pointy ears disguised as round and normal.
Bjorn Thorsson was equal parts the bear of his first name and the Thor of his last.
“Mr. Bjorn is older than the United States,” Sophia said from the back seat.
The kelpie shrugged. “As am I, m’ wee lass.”
“Mr. Bjorn is older than Scotland,” Sophia said.
The kelpie shrugged again.
She leaned forward, between the seats. “Mr. Bjorn hasn’t killed you yet because he wants to make sure Mr. Lennart and Ms. Sif get Momma and the little kids out safely.”
“They need nae worry.” The kelpie pulled out another apple juice box. “Ye two know it’s ye I want.”
“Mr. Bjorn knows, too. So does Mr. Magnus. He’s had his fill of fae for the day. And Ms. Benta is mean.”
“I want ye ‘cause ye’re an oracle, darlin’.”
“And you are a moron,” Sophia responded.
“Sophia…” Gabe whispered.
She continued to stare at the kelpie. “It’s okay,” she said. “He knows I’m not lying.”
The kelpie frowned as he slurped at his new juice box until it also collapsed into a shriveled ball of carton. He looked at it as if it had forsaken not only him, but all his ancestors as well. Then he tossed it into the back of the van, too.
“Yer definition o’ moron differs from mine, sweetling,” the kelpie said. “I blame linguistic drift.” He wagged a finger at her. “Kids these days.”
“We understand what you are,” Gabe said.
The kelpie nodded. “Ah, ye do, don’t ye? So I guess we cannae be friends, then, aye?”
“Gabe wishes to use several swear words to describe you right now,” Sophia said.
He did.
“Oh, my lad. See, ye an’ I, we could be great friends. I could teach ye all th’ Scottish swears yer little-man heart desires an’ I guarantee ye th’ parental types will find it so charmin’ no one grounds ye.” He winked.
“No exchanges with a dark fae,” Gabe said.
The kelpie sniffed. His eyes narrowed. “Th’ sad truth here is tha’ I’m nae match for th’ elves out there.”
“They know that,” Sophia said.
“That Benta one could literally pop my head like I’m some kind o’ fae zit but she’s concerned about what seein’ that will do to their monster slayer’s offspring.”
“Yes,” Sophia said.
“But mostly she’s worried about how th’ sword will react,” the kelpie whispered.
The sword was covered with runes that didn’t look right, and was too gray and dull to be truly one of the elves’ weapons, but the kelpie sure thought it was.
“Which is why it’s here wi’ us,” the kelpie finished.
Sophia dropped her gaze to the sword. She stared silently at it for a long moment, then she sat back without saying a word.
“Yer silence says more than anythin’ else, oracle,” the kelpie said.
“Not an oracle,” Sophia responded.
The kelpie sniffed again. “Th’
