Ed grabbed the chair.
“Let’s talk.”
Chapter 31
He went by the name Frank Victorsson. Two hundred years ago, he’d walked out of the Arctic, through Manitoba, and into the part of the world now called Alfheim, Minnesota.
The elves took him in. They gave him a home. Taught him how to channel his Victor-caused anger into becoming a good citizen. He now lived on a beautiful lake outside of town in an equally beautiful cabin-turned-house with none other than the local King and Queen’s daughter.
He and Benta used to date.
Not just for a couple of weeks, either. They were on and off for decades. Benta clearly had a lot of ambivalence about the whole thing.
Not that it was any of Wrenn’s business.
She sat in the passenger seat of Benta’s truck, her satchel on the floor between her feet, leafing through the monthly cat magazine produced by the Alfheim Wildcat Sanctuary. Seemed Minnesota had a couple of sanctuaries specializing in the care of large and small felines of all species. Benta’s focus was on rehabbing smaller wildcats like lynxes, bobcats, and a few cougars.
The cats were just as beautiful as the elf.
Wrenn dropped the magazine into the back of the truck. Benta had gone into the house a good twenty minutes ago. Wrenn waited outside while Benta and the other elves in the house argued.
They were just inside the door and probably watching her through the frosted glass. There was movement back there, and a lot of flaring magic.
She was beginning to wonder if Frank Victorsson was even home.
Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe she should just walk back to Raven’s Gaze and ask that aspect of Raven to send her to Applebottom. She’d come back when she felt ready to process all this.
Benta and another elf came out. She was tall like Benta, beautiful too, and in what Wrenn would call a “Mom” glamour.
Benta tapped the window. “Frank’s back.”
The other elf woman stayed away from the truck. “So you’re Frank’s sister,” she said.
Sister. Did all the elves believe that? Victor was sure she and this Frank person would birth a master race.
Or maybe a new kind of mecha-magical.
Wrenn nodded yes.
“Sophia and Gabe vouched for you,” the other elf said. “We’ll be watching anyway.”
She wasn’t happy, this other elf who was likely Maura, the daughter of the King and Queen. So unhappy about the situation that she refused to introduce herself.
“Okay,” Wrenn said.
The one who was probably Maura crossed her arms. “If I catch even a whiff of fae magic I don’t like, I’ll take off your head. Understand? No warning. No questions. Lennart says you can be trusted but my gut says anyone who calls themselves Goodfellow should have their asses kicked all the way back to the fae realms.”
“It’s your right to think that,” Wrenn said. “I don’t blame you.” She lifted her satchel off the floor of the truck. She looked between the two elves as she held up the bag. “I have no secret agenda.” She didn’t. “Ed’s shotgun is in here.”
Benta took the bag. “And you’re telling me this now?”
“Please check it thoroughly before giving it back to him,” Wrenn said. “Robin gave it to me.”
“What’s this?” Benta pulled out the sheath holding the pixie vellum.
How to explain? “I was on my way to talk to the troupe of one of the sprites killed by the kelpies’ blood syndicate.” She inhaled. “That’s the report with the sprite’s contact information.”
Benta looked at the other elf, then back at the sheath. She tucked it back into the satchel. “Leave the bag.”
“That’s private information,” Wrenn said. “It’s a police report.”
Benta nodded. “We’ll give it back when you leave.” She handed the bag to the other woman.
The other elf, the one who was probably Maura, pointed at the gate made from colorful bottles. “Frank’s out back.”
Wrenn nodded again. Slowly, she opened the door and stepped out of the truck.
“He knows you’re here,” Benta said.
Wrenn stared at the twinkling rainbow of light refracted through the glass between her and her “sibling.” She pointed. “The gate’s pretty,” she said. Not in the ethereal sprinkling way of the fae, but in a stronger, clearer, more headstrong way.
Like the elves.
Maura snorted.
Benta peered at Wrenn’s face. “Hmmm…” she said. “You don’t need to worry.”
Worried? No. Apprehensive, yes.
“Thank you,” Wrenn said. Maybe a little worried.
Benta squeezed her hand.
Wrenn nodded again. She squeezed back.
“Good luck,” Benta said.
Wrenn walked by Maura and toward the gate. A rainbow of color danced on her skin as she pushed it open, and for a moment, splashed reds and blues across her vision.
Someone had punched the side of the house and cracked the siding. She picked out small residual magicks in the dent, and along the railing leading up to the deck.
The house wasn’t warded, at least not on a level she would have expected.
She stepped up onto the deck.
The entire area between the house and the lake had been set up in three sections stepping down to the water. Each section was its own little living space, the middle one with a covered two-person swing, and one closest to the house had its own large outdoor dining table.
A break in the rail led to a small trail into the trees. Child-created chalk drawings of winged horses covered the planking of the middle section, and several garishly-colored plastic toys were scattered around.
The curtain over the lovely French doors from the house to the deck wavered.
Sophia appeared, along with an elf girl the same age. They pressed their little faces against the window and waved.
Wrenn waved back.
A male elf she sort-of recognized—she was pretty sure he was the other Thor elf—glanced around the curtain. He said something to the girls. The elf girl nodded and waved again, then disappeared. Sophia said something to the elf, then she, too, waved.
Then they disappeared, too.
Wrenn looked around, figuring she would have noticed a man who according to Victor was eight feet tall and terrifying to behold.
The lake lapped at the pebbled shore. Late afternoon sun reflected
