CHAPTER FIVE
Amazingly, even the food at the diner had improved in the last few weeks. There was a new cook who’d introduced “’50s comfort food,” but like Grandma made it, not like you’d get from the fast-food version. The fried chicken dinners were amazing, and that was what they had all opted for.
“You coming to the bookstore, Beth?” Seth asked, as the waitress flew by with refills for their tea and water.
“Not tonight, I’m on late shift,” she said. “We’re twenty-four hours now—”
“Beth!” her boss yelled from behind the counter, where he was working like he had six hands.
“Right, coming!” she called back, and ran to get a tray full of the “new” milkshakes, made with real ice cream and real milk.
“Phooey.” Staci sighed. “That means David is probably on late shift too. I mean it’s great they’re making more money now but . . . ”
“I’d say we should pick up late-shift jobs for ourselves for the extra cash, but school starts in a few weeks and that’s a no-can-do,” Wanda pointed out. “Plus our . . . extracurricular activities. I’m pretty sure that employers aren’t ready to give sick days for magic-related injuries. Let’s get our faces stuffed and get down to the bookstore and get our prizes.”
When they got there, it turned out that the prizes were better than they’d thought. The hardback of the first book had come with a free CD with a bunch of the publisher’s other books on it. Wanda gleefully claimed that, after Staci remembered she had just gotten a package that day that probably had a bunch of books she’d put on her “wish list” in it. She could survive until Wanda was finished. Dad was pretty reliable about sending her books whenever he felt guilty about dumping her here. I guess books makes him think he’s “participating in my education.” Whatever. The longer she was away from Dad . . . the less being dumped in favor of “new wife, new life” hurt. Besides, what could New York offer her now? Nothing but a bunch of phony friends who got in touch with her less and less and some shopping opportunities. Almost dying a bunch of times, discovering elves, magic, and worse were real, and getting her heart broken had radically shifted her priorities since she had moved to Silence.
None of them really wanted to game without Beth. For one, it didn’t seem fair, and for another, the facts that she had a great imagination and really no concept of how RPGing was “supposed” to work meant she sprang stuff on the group that had livened up the games no end. Seth was always the Game Master, so he rarely got to play his own characters; Wanda would min-max hers, much to the chagrin of Seth. Beth’s playstyle was more innocent and whimsical; she was a lot of fun to game with as a result. And things involving her characters tended to get really hilarious. Like the time that she’d parked her character in the inn, and said, when Seth told them all, “You are meeting for the first time,” replied “And I’m talking to a bunch of dangerous looking strangers why, now?” forcing Seth to kick off a totally unplanned bar fight that had turned into a food fight and gotten the three of them united against the rest of the bar. . . . Or the time when she’d decided that sheep at a copper apiece were really good trap-detectors, had bought a herd of them and drove them into the dungeon in front of the party.
So instead, Staci was surprised by a huge stack of magazines that Tim had ordered for her, including some on Goth fashion that she and Wanda oo’d and ah’d over, while Seth dove straight into the first book so that Staci would get it faster—or so he said—and the coffee-fueled hours flew by. A lot of people had come into the store, probably because now that things were better, people actually had money to spend on stuff like books and magazines and stuff that Tim would special-order for them. Internet shopping was new and somewhat suspicious to a lot of the residents of Silence, given that for most of them, the new high-speed had exposed them to so many warnings about credit card fraud that Staci suspected some of them thought that if they even brought their card into proximity of the computer, a hacker would steal it. So they’d look up what they wanted when it came to books, magazines, or even DVDs, and come to Tim to have him order it for them.
That meant the store was busier than it ever had been, and didn’t give them a chance to talk about their training tonight. Which was fine by Staci; they had all been going at it pretty hard lately, today especially, and a chance to relax a little was more than welcome. The hours passed, the three of them talking, reading, and drinking a likely unhealthy amount of coffee. Staci lost track of the time; all of them had, save for Tim. One moment she was absorbed in conversation over a new videogame that was coming out soon when Tim walked up to the seated trio.
“All right, night owls. Time to call it; you scared all of the respectable types out.” Indeed, the bookstore was now empty, save for the four of them. Staci checked her phone for the time; ten minutes past when Tim normally closed. “We’ll discuss our training schedule for next week tomorrow, whenever you all stop in. You did well today; enjoy the weekend. Get some rest tonight.”
Staci was just about to tell Tim about the path of strange destruction they had found in the woods, when the bell over the door jingled again, and three strangers walked in.
She would have known they weren’t natives to Silence just by their clothing alone; a sort of compromise between modern business attire and something out of Game of Thrones. The men both wore collarless wrapped jackets over collarless shirts and trousers tucked into leather boots that appeared handmade; the woman wore a tunic-top that looked as if it had been made by cutting a medieval gown short, over the same sort of boots and trousers. Staci couldn’t identify the fabrics, but they looked rich and sleek, in blue and gray for the older of the two men, and green and brown for the younger man and the woman. There was a presence to all of them; powerful but relaxed. The three of them clearly were used to being looked at, and not caring who did so, in the way that beautiful people normally did. They weren’t butterflies; they were living statues, perfectly carved. There was a hardness there.
Tim was the first to speak. “Sorry, folks. We’re closed up. You’ll have to come back—” and then he stopped dead, mid-sentence. A slight smile played on the lips of the oldest man, and Staci was probably the only one that noticed Tim tense up.
But of course, their clothing wasn’t all that was different about them. All three of them had intense magical auras. And when Staci looked at them with mage-sight, she saw they all had . . . pointed ears and strange, green eyes.
She nearly gasped; she wasn’t as controlled as Tim, so Seth and Wanda noticed that something was off almost immediately.
“Staci, what’s wrong?” Wanda put a hand on Staci’s wrist, shocking her back to reality a little bit.
“Elves,” she whispered, keeping her eyes on the three newcomers. Elves had just walked into Tim’s bookstore. Extremely powerful elves. The last time an elf had visited Tim’s store . . . everything had changed for Staci. Her world had been shattered and only now was starting to make sense again. Both Seth and Wanda straightened in their seats, the gravity of the situation dawning on them.
Tim straightened, and then . . . took on an aura of authority and power, himself. Normally, he didn’t display his own magical energy; he ran in a sort of “stealth mode” unless he was actually doing magic. He didn’t like having a high profile, after all. He had been teaching Staci, and she was getting fairly good at it. Still, when he “showed” himself, it was like someone had turned on the lights in a dark room. “And what brings you here?” he asked, in a cold, yet neutral tone. Staci understood exactly why he phrased it that way. When you dealt with elves, you had to be very careful about what you said and how you said it. If he had asked “What can I do for you?” that would have been an opening for them to compel him to do what they asked, without repercussions. She still didn’t know all of the rules concerning elven etiquette and their culture; even Tim didn’t, but he still taught her as much as he could.
The older elf was the first to speak. His tone was dead-neutral; not cold, not warm, but there was a certain air of . . . haughtiness about it. “Before we get to that, I think introductions are in order. I am Ian Ironoak of Elfhame Silversun, allied with Elfhame Fairgrove. These are my companions, Caradoc ap Daffyd ap Gwalchmai, and his sister Branwen. You of course, need no introduction, Timothy Carter, warrior-mage, onetime ally of Elfhame Myrddhin, conqueror of the Unseleighe Melisande and her progeny, decimator of—”
“That’s enough.” There was steel in Tim’s voice, now. She had seen him angry, rarely, before. When he had last spoken with Dylan, or of elves in general. It startled her for a moment. “I’ll ask again; what brings you here, into my store, and my town?”
“Your town, is it? I seem to recall that it belonged to the Blackthornes, not too long ago.” That was the elf called Caradoc; he was clearly amused, but not too patronizing in his tone. He had a carefree air about himself, as if this exchange was a neat game. “And who are your friends?” His eyes played over the teens, tarrying for a moment longer than was polite when he came to Staci.
“That would be none of your business. For the third time I ask, what brings you here into my store, and my town, and my territory. Answer, or leave.” Tim crossed his arms over his chest. Staci wondered just how he thought he was going to make three powerful, adult elves leave. . . .
Ian held up a hand lightly in front of Caradoc; the younger elf smiled at this, and nodded. Ian’s demeanor softened a trifle. “We’re not here to fight or be rude, Master Timothy. We’re here to pay a species of . . . courtesy call, I suppose you could call it. To announce our plans for Silence and discuss them with you before we bring them before the town. Morrigan of Elfhame Blackthorne, the last of their kind on this side of Underhill, and as such the heir to the Blackthorne properties Overhill, has given over administration of those properties to Elfhame Fairgrove. I am here as Keighvin Silverhair’s appointed representative. So . . . you will see, Master Timothy, that this is shared territory, outside these walls.”
Staci remained silent, taking in the information and trying to process it. Morrigan was the only surviving Blackthorne in Silence, that was true enough. During the battle at the Manor, she had begged for sanctuary from Dylan, invoking the name of Keighvin Silverhair. He had been honor-bound to grant it and spare her her life, though clearly he wasn’t happy about it. After learning about what the Blackthornes really were, Morrigan had seemed the most . . . human? She had befriended Wanda prior to that horrible night, and didn’t seem to gel with the rest of her dark family. Since she was the last one left, she had inherited everything: the money, the lands, the businesses. Had she turned that over as a condition of her “sanctuary”?
Tim was quiet for a moment, digesting the information. “Lock the door and flip the sign over to ‘closed,’” he said, thrusting his chin out at Caradoc. “We’ll talk.” Caradoc complied with the request, while Tim gestured for the three elves to come further into the store. “Have a seat. Would you like to have something to drink? We have an excellent selection of coffee and some espresso.”
“No, thank you for the kind offer,” Ian said, his eyes crinkling as he smiled. Staci remembered that elves were allergic to caffeine; it was a potent drug for them, acting like a heavy duty opiate that also made them hallucinate. The gang had used water guns filled with a mixture of energy drinks and caffeine powder to help give them an edge when they were fighting the Blackthornes; one good blast of the stuff in their faces pretty much turned them catatonic. Tim surely knew this of course . . . with one hand he “extended hospitality” as she supposed he had to do, but it was a poison pill.
“So, you said that you—and by extension, Keighvin—have plans for Silence,” Tim said, as he sat down in a high backed leather chair. He didn’t relax or lean back, however; he was still coiled and ready, though he kept his face much more neutral now. Whatever anger had flared up inside of him, he seemed to have under control. If you want to find something out from someone, just let them talk . . . and talk, and talk. People will tell you whatever you want to know if you give them enough time to get it all out. I guess that applies to elves, too.
“Keighvin’s plans,” Ian corrected. “We are merely here to implement them. Morrigan is no businesswoman; she knows that, and this is why she put the properties in Keighvin’s hands rather than allow the town to die. The Blackthornes, as you are well aware, propped up the local economy just enough to permit Silence to exist to sate their need for misery-fueled power. Without that aid, in five years, if that, this town would be nothing but a shell, home to the few people in it who have incomes from outside. There would be no one here but the old, the dying, and those few who could continue to eke their living out of the old and the dying. As you yourself must know; you are no fool, Master Timothy. This is not a pretty tourist destination. There is little of historical interest here. There is no one with any reason to prevent Silence from turning into a town of ghosts and those who are soon to become ghosts. Except Fairgrove.”
“True enough.” Tim seemed as if he was choosing his words with particular care. “How do you intend to do carry that out?”
“Why, we have already started,” Ian said smoothly. “Keighvin’s clever mortal allies researched how the local fishermen and the cannery could best be supported, and found markets for the new way of fishing. We have already supplied the fishermen what they need, in the form of loaned equipment, which they may opt to pay for with a percentage of their catch. The mill was simpler; we already knew there was much wasted old-growth wood in the waters, and the mill was already equipped for minimal waste. We merely redirected the attention from cutting to reclaiming. The market was there, an avid market, may I add. And the new motorcycle works are merely an extension of the Fairgrove Industry automotive works. Racing motorcycles, like our racing cars; built a few at a time, carefully, for clients with far too much money and far too much free time.” The motorcycle works were where David wanted to get a job. And it’s elf-run. God, I hope I can convince him to stick with the diner. The last thing I want to do is see him mixed up with magic and all of the crap that comes with it.
“But fostering economic recovery for small fishing towns hasn’t been a priority for Fairgrove before. Doesn’t seem like there would be much money in it, never mind the fact that Fairgrove isn’t exactly hurting for that. Ever.”
Ian spread his hands wide. “Master Timothy, you know better than that. You know what Fairgrove’s priorities have ever been. You also know that we dare not challenge the Unseleighe directly and on our own, or outright war would break out between the Seleighe and Unseleighe. You know that the last time there was such a war, the very rocks of the Land Overhill ran like water. Humankind would fare ill, caught between such a hammer and such an anvil. But when there is an opportunity to negate wrong without an outright challenge, Fairgrove will seize it. It is just as simple as that.” On the rare occasions when Tim and Staci talked about elves, it always seemed to be a sticking point for Tim how they didn’t take a more active role in fighting against the Unseleighe. What Ian was saying made a kind of sense, though; she had seen what the fighting could be like on a small scale. To imagine a full-blown war . . . it would be apocalyptic.
“In my experience, nothing involving the Elfhames is simple. This is a large and public move for Fairgrove. There will be ripples, ones that will reach very far,” Tim said, leaning forward. He steepled his fingers together in front of him, waiting for a response.
“Really, Master Timothy?” Ian raised one long and elegant eyebrow. “Large and public? Your outlook has become . . . confined, and limited, with your willing retreat to this tiny, backwards, isolated spot. This is a village, my dear sir. Not even a town. It says as much on its very signage. The only ones who will notice are the now-decimated and ineffectual Blackthornes, whose allies have withdrawn the hems of their robes from the mere vicinity of those who lost in such spectacular fashion against a mostly-untrained halfblood and her mortal mentor.”
Staci felt her heart skip a beat. They knew about her. It made sense; after what had happened, Tim had told her that they would be on the radar for the rest of the magical world. It was one thing to know that, and another thing for it get thrown in your face.
“I have my reasons for being in Silence. I’m still trying to get at the heart of yours, however. A nearly free chance to thumb your noses at the Blackthornes, while probably something that tickled Keighvin, still seems like it wouldn’t be enough to go to all of this effort. For, as you said, a tiny, backwards, isolated village.” He stuck a finger out at Ian, not quite accusingly. “There’s some other play, Ian. It’s not financial, and it’s not politics. Sending three of the High Court here is indicative. Not to mention, you wanted to discuss it with me; I can’t imagine my little bookstore, or my students, factoring into your plans to revitalize Silence all that much.”
Ian sighed theatrically. “Master Timothy, it pains me to discover such cynicism in you. We do have an obligation to Morrigan Blackthorne, the obligation of those who provide sanctuary, to ensure that her property prospers. It is a sad thing to find that you are determined to see ulterior motives in the simple and mutual bonds of liege and lord.” His eyes glittered. “Now, as host, are you not obligated to introduce your young allies?”
Tim’s jaw tightened for a moment, but then he nodded his assent. “My students.” He turned in his seat to face the three teens. “Wanda, our resident archer and throwing knife aficionado; she’s better than I ever was, and has only been training for the last few months. Next is Seth; an excellent researcher and very handy with traps and snares. And, finally, Staci.”
“Your apprentice,” Ian stated. Staci started, and Ian smiled, ever so slightly. “Do not be surprised that I recognized you for what you are, my dear. It is easy enough to see your magical potential, as well as your elven antecedents.” He let his eyes drift over to the other two. “You were all present at the fall of the Blackthornes, I presume?”
Tim nodded reluctantly. “They were. Staci was the one who actually destroyed the Gate. With no help and no thanks to Dylan.”
Ian’s eyes grew wider almost imperceptibly, and he arched one of his eyebrows again, this time in surprise. “Destroyed a Gate all on her own? That is interesting. Very interesting indeed.”
I spiked it with Cold Iron, which is kind of cheating. But I’m not going to tell him that.
There was something going on behind Ian’s eyes. Calculations, appraisal, and . . . not fear. But something not far from it. Elves were so damned hard to read, unless they were really upset. And Ian seemed to always be wearing a sort of mask; he would have made a killer politician or lawyer.
“If it would please you,” Ian said, looking from Tim to Seth and Wanda, “we have some excellent facilities that might be able to assist in your training. Never mind instructors; some of our archers have been practicing since the Bronze Age . . . before it was formally called that, of course. And our libraries have some tomes that stretch back as far as the written word; I believe a few rare volumes deal with traps, mancatchers, and weapons of that nature. You would be more than welcome to make use of them, if you like.” Both Wanda and Seth seemed to perk up at that; they really were getting good at what they did, but Tim was right. He was primarily a mage and a jack-of-all-trades. Decent at almost everything, a master only in magic. If they wanted to continue to grow their skills, they needed something more.
Wanda’s brow furrowed for a moment. “What about Staci? Couldn’t she come with us?”
Tim’s composure slipped for a second, and his magical aura rippled. Was Tim trying to avoid that question? First with holding off on introducing us . . . is he scared I would leave? “Oh, of course. You are all welcome as guests. Aside from some distractions, however, I don’t think we would have much to offer her in the way of training. After all, she already has a mentor. Very few mages can say they’ve had the . . . honor of learning under such a Master as Timothy.” Ian turned his head to look at Tim. “Is this acceptable to you?”
Tim waited half a beat before responding. “Of course. They’re their own persons; they can decide who and what to associate with.” He looked for a moment as if he was about to say more, then thought better of it.
“But I see that we are past your closing hours,” Ian continued smoothly. “I am sure you wish to lock up and return home after a long day. I will see that your names are left at the Fairgrove Cycle Works guard post so that you shall not only gain entry speedily, but be supplied with a guide for your visit, should you care to make one. I look forward to seeing you there.” He smiled again. Staci could not make up her mind whether or not it reached his eyes. The three elves rose from their chairs in unison, first unlocking and then closing the door behind themselves as they made their exit. Tim quickly stood up from his chair and walked to the door, locking it behind them. He thought for a moment, then unlocked it, turning back to the others.
“Tim . . . what is going on? That was intense. Elves in Silence, again?” Staci felt like she was ready to burst at the seams with questions. The biggest among them was, What are we going to do? Is there anything we can do?
He sighed, wearily, opening the door. “Go home. Get some rest. We’ll talk about this tomorrow. I have some things that I need to attend to. I think we’ve all had enough excitement for one night.”
It was pretty obvious that Tim wanted them out of there, and all three of them had learned by now that if Tim didn’t want to talk about something, there was no way they could coax him into it. Staci took the lead, saying “Night, Tim. See you tomorrow,” and slipping out the door. Wanda and Seth followed right on her heels. They had barely made it out the door before Tim locked it, walked quickly to the back, and vanished into the storeroom. A moment later all the lights went out. Whatever happy mood they had all been in before had been dashed. Elves . . . why do I have to deal with this again?
“Oh man, he didn’t even bother to clean the coffee pots!” Seth exclaimed. “He’s severely not happy.”
“What was your first clue? Was it when the three people with pointy ears and funny clothes walked in through the front door?” Wanda shook her head, then looked at Staci. “They did have pointy ears, right?”
“Yeah.” Staci rubbed her arms; suddenly she felt a lot colder than she should have. “They have magic that keeps them looking mostly normal. Tim and I can see past it if we try.”
“So weird. I mean, the Blackthornes were one thing; we didn’t know about them from the start. And these are supposed to be the good elves, right? The . . . what’s the word?”
“Seleighe,” Seth supplied. “Those three are big-wigs, too. What they call High Court elves, like Dylan was.” Wanda visibly elbowed him in the ribs, maybe a little harder than she had meant, because he winced. “Sorry, Staci. I forgot.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m okay.” She really wasn’t, but she couldn’t let the others know that. Her head was swimming with memories and emotions, and she wanted nothing more than to go completely blank, to let it all fall away from her. She didn’t want to think about Dylan, or elves. And now she couldn’t help but do just that. Why did they have to come back here?
“Tim looked like he could have shot daggers at them with his eyes when they first walked in,” remarked Wanda. “He was pissed. What do you think he’s going to do? Will he go back to like he was before, when the Blackthornes were here?”
“What, go back into hiding? No way. But what about all of those things that the older one, Ian, said about him? ‘Conqueror’ and ‘decimator’ and all of that stuff? What was that about?”
“Sounds like our Tim has a badass rep, is what it sounds like.” Wanda seemed more than a little proud of their mentor. “Did you catch when he offered them coffee? Now that would be a fun show. Elves tripping balls on some java.”
The trio kept walking for a bit, passing under the streetlights. Staci just wanted to be home already, where she could throw herself into bed and sleep, and forget about tonight.
“Do you think we should go up there? To the motorcycle place? That Ian guy did offer to let us go up there and check it out.” Seth sighed heavily. “I wonder what kind of books they have in their library . . . ”
“What do you think, Staci?”
She shook her head, blowing out a breath to steady herself. “I think we all should go home and get some rest like Tim said. Whatever this . . . stuff is with the elves, it’ll hold until tomorrow. I just want to put my head on a pillow and go into a coma. I’m tired of elf crap.”
Wanda and Seth both nodded, Seth looking sheepish and Wanda a little concerned. “We’ll see you tomorrow. Hey, call me if you need anything, okay? I’m going to be up for a little while longer; and I know Seth is going to be awake, plowing through those superhero books we won. We can hit the diner for some coffee and pie if you need it.”
Staci smiled weakly, then nodded once. “It’s a deal. Thanks, guys. I’ll see you later.”