Wolf Hunted

by Kris Austen Radcliffe

  Which only served to increase my background level of frustration and to stir up more ineloquent, coarse mutterings.

  But there was something else in Chihiro’s story that caught my attention: She always felt as if a mirage trailed her after she left Ellie’s domain. She’d gotten inside the enchantments. They hadn’t rejected her. And from that moment on, a ghost of the magic walked at her side.

  Mirages, ghosts, shadows… just like our interloper.

  And Sal had sensed something similar out at the abandoned farm where I’d stopped with Ed—and from that Tesla outside of Sif’s shop.

  I could leave it until the morning, but sometimes magic stood out more in the moonlight. Plus we were within Samhain’s aura, which might just make any mirages stand out.

  Ed had gone home after dealing with the accident. No fatalities, thank goodness, but I still wasn’t going to bother him tonight, though I did text him my suspicions about the Tesla.

  Dagrun was the first elf to answer her phone. “I’ll meet you at the farm,” she said, and hung up.

  I drove out and parked Bloodyhood in front of the farm’s abandoned house. Dagrun would arrive shortly, but I had Sal and a good flashlight. I turned off the headlights and waited the moment it took for my eyes to adjust to the moonlight. Silver danced over the pasture and the fences like water fairies as the evening’s frost reflected the moon. An animal—a fox or maybe a coyote—watched me from the grass between the house and an outbuilding. An owl hooted, and bats flapped and dove around the barn.

  Winter breathed onto the land her first real exhale of the year. If there was a sort of nefarious magic here, I needed to find it tonight, before that exhale became the shrieks and screams of the blizzard that was on its way toward Minnesota.

  I held up Sal. “You were annoyed the last time we were here, and not just by the ravens.”

  She responded affirmatively.

  “Where?” I asked.

  I listened to Sal’s hum hoping to pick out some sort of directionality to her annoyance.

  She pointed toward the big elm in the house’s side yard. The tree shaded the little building, or did in the summer. This elm, unlike the ones in elf territory, had already dropped all of its bright gold leaves.

  Nothing about the tree stood out. No obvious shadows crawled on its bark. No birds sat in its bare branches, either. It was just a simple tree growing where humans once roamed.

  It had lost a limb to rot not long ago, and a large hole had opened about ten feet from the ground on the side of the trunk facing away from my truck. Precise animal magic drifted out of the little cave.

  “I think owls nest there,” I said to Sal. Owls wouldn’t come near an inhabited home, and their presence added to the haunted local ambiance.

  I leaned Sal against my leg and held up my phone to get a good photo into the hole.

  There was an old nest in there for sure. A nest, and a shadow.

  I swung Sal up toward the hole, and she quickly confirmed why she felt annoyed—the tree had a localized concealment, and one strong enough to affect the images on my phone.

  I looked around. There might be a ladder in the barn—or I could back my truck against the tree. The bed would give me the lift I needed to see inside.

  Low-slung headlights swung off the road and onto the drive to the farm just as I began backing my truck toward the tree.

  Dagrun parked her roadster and gracefully unfolded from its interior. She didn’t bother to glamour, and her icy, clockwork magic flowed outward from her like a cloak worthy of her title of Queen. Its edges crackled and jostled, as if the natural, frost-touched magic of this place wanted to add crystal ice to the boundaries between elf and land.

  “Your magic is energetic this evening,” I called.

  Dagrun stretched her neck and rolled her shoulders the way a boxer readying for a fight warmed up. “Let’s get this done. I wish to return to my husband,” she said.

  I chuckled and wondered if it really was some sort of elven season of love. Perhaps I should feel blessed for being allowed too much elven information.

  Dag’s multitude of silver scalp tattoos shimmered under her thick black hair. She still wore the intricate braids looped in and around each other across her head, and an extra smattering of silver beads dotted the ponytail she’d had at The Great Hall.

  My elf mother exuded all of her grace, power, and beauty tonight.

  “Thank you for coming out,” I said. Dag sniffed at the air as if the birds had left behind an icy scent trail. “The ravens have been here,” she said. “They were bearing witness.”

  “To what? Ed and I had been out looking at a lot of farms all day.” Two magical ravens bearing witness did not bode well for the witnessed. “I was the only one here. Do you think the World Raven is up to something?”

  Dag walked toward the barn. She stopped about ten feet from the building’s moon-thrown shadow, and tossed an intricate, clockwork magic over the entire open area on that side of the building.

  A fox-shaped sparkle appeared on the side of the barn, low down, next to the ground. It flicked its tail and walked on through. Several bird-sparkles appeared along the top of the door, and up along the roof line, each preening and calling. Mice and voles appeared next, along with a considerable number of deer, all moving through the open space. Crows mobbed the ground, and not one, but three coyotes walked through. Multiple owls swooped in. A moose family followed, and a small surprise pack of timberwolves.

  No humans meant the animals had returned.

  Then Betsy and Ross manifested directly over a spot about ten feet in front of Dag. Betsy landed first, then Ross. They each added something to the cache, then flew off again.

  Dag pulled out her phone as she walked to the little hoard in the grass. She activated the flashlight, then poked around in the grass. “It would be unwise to steal from their cache,” she poked a bit more. “They have a nice eye for lovely lake glass.” She held up a rounded bit of pale green glass.

  I walked over. Several bits of odd-colored glass—milky white, black, red, and some a soft, pale green—which all looked so smooth that it must have come from Lake Superior, a bottle cap from Raven’s Gaze, what looked to be the remains of someone’s earring, a chain of five paperclips, and what appeared to be an unpolished nugget of silver. The nugget wasn’t any bigger than the nail on my pinky finger, and was more gray from tarnish than silver in color. It also held a slight hint of magic, which wasn’t all that surprising. Silver had an intrinsic magic to it, which was why it was the preferred metal of the elves, and why it caused the wolves so much trouble.

  Dag placed the glass back into the cache.

  “Do you think the ravens have something to do with the interloper?” I asked.

  Dag shook her head. “I’ve spent some time with them. Like I said, they’re here to bear witness, not to cause harm.”

  Her response didn’t answer my question, but then again, I shouldn’t expect a straight answer about magical ravens.

  Yet they were helping, and help from ravens could mean only one thing—someone was looking to back the magicals of Alfheim into a deal-making corner.

  I’d already been down this path once, in Las Vegas.

  Dag stood and patted my arm. “You’re worried about the World Raven, aren’t you?”

  I nodded.

  “Wise,” she said. “They’re not familiars, if that’s what you’re wondering. They’re true ravens.” She patted my arm again. “Thank you for not going off half-cocked about all this.” She waved her hand at the cache. “There may very well be more going on here than the unquiet brought by the interloper.”

  Tricksters did like to complicate situations.

  I bowed. “I have learned my lesson, my Queen.” I was still worried, though, even if the elves weren’t.

  Dagrun’s grin turned into a true smile. She pointed at the tree. “I take it you were attempting to reach something when I arrived?”

  I walked her around to the ba
ck of the tree and pointed. “Owl nest. Sal sensed a shadow.” I held out my phone. “Look at this.”

  She stared at the photo I’d taken earlier. “I see nothing unusual, Frank.”

  So the elves couldn’t see the shadows or the mirages, much like with Ellie. “I see the same shadow I saw around the interloper at Raven’s Gaze.”

  “Ah.” She handed back my phone.

  I held out my keys. “If you back her against the tree, I’ll be able to see inside.”

  “You trust me with your baby?”

  Of course I trusted her with my truck. “You and Ed,” I said.

  Dag took my keys. After a minute or so repositioning the seat and the mirrors, she expertly backed Bloodyhood toward the elm.

  “Hold up,” I called, and hopped into the bed. Dag smoothly finished her maneuvering, and stopped my truck under the tree with about four inches to spare between the sidewall and the trunk.

  I leaned toward the hole and blasted the interior with the beam from my flashlight.

  The owls had left behind a couple pellets, straw, and a lot of feathers. I picked out a big flight feather, and tucked it into my back pocket for Akeyla. But other than the remnants of an owl’s daily family life, I saw nothing suspicious, or shadowy.

  I swung Sal in front of the hole and got a jolt for my efforts. Something was in there. Sal felt it, even if I couldn’t see it.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I won’t do that again.”

  She huffed.

  “I promise.”

  She huffed again.

  Dagrun hopped into the truck bed. “Salvation is annoyed.”

  I stepped back. “Do you sense anything?”

  Dag rolled her shoulders again, but this time, instead of cracking her neck, her fingers danced.

  Multiple interlocking, spinning sigils appeared between her and the tree. They reached out—not toward the hole, or the truck, but to the frost coating the branches and the few remaining leaves.

  Each small bit of ice floated into the air. The free-floating frost twinkled like a million tiny bells as it lengthened and brightened into sheets of moonlight.

  Dagrun had created a miniature aurora of ice and night. “Extend your arm,” she said.

  I did as she asked. The aurora condensed onto my hand first, then up my forearm to just above my elbow. Chill shot up into my shoulder, and a real, honest shiver set my entire body shaking.

  “Whoa,” I said. “That’s cold.”

  “You can tolerate it,” she said matter-of-factly. “It’ll be gone in a moment, so use it now, son. It should freeze anything trying to wiggle out of your way.”

  Two hundred years in Alfheim and I would never cease to be amazed by the wonders of the elves.

  I stuck my hand into the hole.

  Feathers crystalized against my touch. Bone-and-fur remains of mice and voles froze to the hole’s floor. Straw became icicles. The damp splinters of the tree’s interior hardened. And…

  My hand hit a box attached to the edge of the hole at about ten-o’clock. It hung down into the opening and physically blocked a lot of the space. I pulled away my hand and looked again. Nothing. I felt along the same edge while looking. Again, my brain saw and felt only the tree. I closed my eyes again.

  The hole definitely held a metal and plastic box.

  “I think we have a camera trap,” I said. “It’s concealed.”

  I gave it a good tug, but it didn’t move.

  “A magically hidden camera?” Dag stepped closer.

  “Sal,” I said, “Do you think you can cut it off its bolts for me?”

  She didn’t like the idea of coming in contact with something she couldn’t sense, but agreed to try anyway. Dag handed her over and I carefully placed her blade against the housing along the rim of the hole. I gave her a good whack.

  The box dropped.

  “Thank you, my friend.” I tapped around in the twigs and owl leftovers until I found the box, and closed my hand around it just as Dagrun’s spell melted.

  I saw only the palm of my hand. I felt only air. But I knew I held the box even though it had completely vanished from my perception. “I hate concealment enchantments,” I grumbled.

  Sal blasted out an enthusiastic agreement.

  Dag stared at my hand. “You’re not seeing residual magic? An outline, or a shadow?”

  “I don’t think I dare move my hand,” I said. Anything could happen. The spellwork could force me to drop the box. We might forget I’d even removed it from the tree, and then I’d have a concealed camera trap rolling around in the bed of my truck.

  “Open the toolbox,” I said.

  Dag popped the lid on the box mounted behind the cab and pulled out the purple cloth Magnus had meant for Sal so she’d be comfortable when riding in the back.

  “Are you okay with us getting your blanket dirty?” Dag asked my axe.

  Sal did one of her mental shrugs. She understood that we all had to make sacrifices if we were to get rid of the much more annoying concealment enchantments.

  Dag wrapped the cloth around my hand—and the box. I was definitely holding something shaped like a common camera trap housing. Rounded corners manifested under the fabric, as did the window through which the camera took its pictures.

  “My gut tells me our interloper is responsible.” Dag looked out at the boarded-up house.

  “I suspect so.” I slowly moved toward the toolbox doing my best to hold my hand as level and steady as possible.

  “No one sets up one camera trap,” she said.

  No, they did not. “I don’t think either of us is going to have a calm Sunday evening.” I carefully placed the camera into Sal’s toolbox slot.

  “Looks that way.” Dag hopped out of my truck. “If we have hidden camera traps out here, I want them found. I won’t have the pack running in compromised territory.”

  I set Sal next to the tailgate and hopped out the bed.

  Dagrun frowned like a monarch who knew that the strong emotions of upset werewolves would bleed over into the elves—and the local mundanes.

  Which they would. Ed was right to be worried.

  She looked away and closed her eyes. “I must return to my husband.”

  She may have overshared earlier, but no more. I could sense, though, that the Elf Queen and King were not simply honeymooning.

  “I’ll take it to Bjorn.” I set Sal on my shoulder.

  Dag squeezed my elbow, then walked away. I placed Sal in the pocket on the back of the passenger seat. And the three of us drove back to Alfheim—our Queen to her re-honeymoon, and my axe and I on our way to see the two thunder elves about a box.

  Chapter 13

  I had two elves and a werewolf in the bed of my truck. Bjorn leaned over the toolbox, one hand on the lid and the other hovering over the purple cloth, unleashing a torrent of his lightning-intense, richly-colored magic. Lennart squatted next to Bjorn’s side as if reading the currents of Bjorn’s spellwork as he added to his own stormy bolts and shudders. Remy Geroux squatted on the other side of Bjorn, sniffing at the air as if attempting to pick up anything the elves missed. And I stood next to the truck to keep watch so that we could work in peace, even though I’d parked the truck in the rear of the still-busy Raven’s Gaze parking lot.

  Remy, like his brother, had a density to him even though he was small compared to a lot of the local mundanes. I’d long suspected the solidity of the Geroux brothers came as much from their French trader heritage as it did from their wolf-ness, but in Remy and Gerard, their two modes of strength accentuated each other.

  He didn’t seem all that happy about returning to Alfheim. “Portia Elizabeth says hi, by the way.” He rubbed at his recently-cut dark hair before tugging on his well-tailored shirt.

  Remy Geroux had returned from Las Vegas well-groomed and better dressed than he had been going down.

  Portia Elizabeth, his mate and the wearer of an inexplicable red magic, had turned out to be a good influence on one of Alfheim’s alph
as. She was another woman who deserved more respect than the magic world gave her. Anyone who could overcome their dark nature, manage an unknown magic, and survive Las Vegas was a goddess in my book.

  Even if we hadn’t gotten along at first. But she had been instrumental in Arne and Dag’s ascendance among the Elven Courts.

  “She doing well?” I asked

  He smirked.

  I chuckled and shook my head. “You two are going to have to figure out the long distance issue,” I said. “You can’t move there.” He couldn’t. Her innate sexual magic would turn him into a mindless mate-slave.

  He sighed. “We all do what we have to for love,” he said.

  Yes, we did.

  “Got it,” Bjorn called out.

  Lennart and Remy stood. Bjorn scooped his hands into the box and lifted out the purple cloth.

  The glowing ball of magic encompassing the cloth and the camera trap was so bright I squinted. Remy twisted his head and grimaced as if the entire parking lot screamed with a shrill, high-pitched squeal. Lennart stared at the ball with wide eyes.

  Bjorn jumped out of the back of my truck in one fluid, professional-athlete-worthy leap, and landed so gracefully the ball of magic floated jostle-free and steady. Lennart followed with his own spectacular leap.

  Not to be outdone by the elves, Remy vaulted over the side of the bed and walked out of his landing as if he’d just finished up a quality massage.

  Moments like this served to remind me who were the magicals among Alfheim’s population and who was just a giant-sized, reconstituted mundane who happened to see magic.

  “Bjorn,” I called. “We need to check for other cameras.”

  He handed the ball of magic to Lennart. “Take it in,” he said.

  Lennart pulled his Bulldogs hat down over his ears, then wrapped his hands around the ball. He nodded to me, and walked toward their loft behind the restaurant.

  Bjorn waved Remy over while he watched Lennart disappear into the kitchen gardens between the restaurant and the brewery.

  Remy inhaled as if to clear his mind. “We’re not going to be any help locating cameras,” he said. “The concealments must be calibrated for wolves. I felt and saw nothing beyond Bjorn catching the enchantment.”