Boreal and John Grey Season 1

by Chrystalla Thoma

  “No, thanks. I’ll just be on my way.”

  She went after him. “Mike, wait. Have you heard anything else that could help us?”

  “Not really, sorry. Although...” He paused by the door. “They did mention that word I told you again.”

  “Boreal?”

  “Yeah.”

  Finn grunted and leaned forward, eyes gleaming with interest.

  “That’s Finn’s way of asking what they said,” Ella said. She shrugged at Mike. “He does that a lot.”

  “I see. The strong, silent type.”

  Finn did a fine impression of a deer caught in headlights. Ella’s lips twitched despite herself.

  “Well, it sounded like the Shades hate the Boreal, whatever it is.” Mike rubbed the back of his neck. “Don’t ask me why. Something about a Gate.”

  Finn harrumphed and finally clicked his gun’s damn safety on. “The Boreals are People.”

  Mike frowned. “People?”

  “I think he means elves,” Ella muttered.

  “Really.” Mike squinted at Finn.

  “They’re the high lords of the Home,” Finn said. “Dragonlords.”

  “And the Home is...?” Mike asked.

  “I think he means Aelfheim, the world of the elves.” She stared at Finn. “So you’re saying the Boreals are some sort of high elves.”

  Finn nodded.

  “All right,” Mike said. “Elves. Of course. And how do you know all this?”

  Finn scowled. “History lessons.”

  Oh, right, of course. Ella rolled her eyes as discreetly as possible. “What else can you tell us about the Boreals?”

  Finn leaned his head back, closing his eyes. “Boreals are born to the royal houses of the Silver Mountains. Trained to do battle in ice, to use energy-harvesting machines, and ride the drekar, the snow dragons. Centuries ago, they were driven out of Aelfheim by advancing glaciers and endless storms. They tried to invade Midgard. This world. As you know, they failed.”

  “And now they’re coming back,” Ella breathed.

  Shit.

  Chapter Four

  Frekar

  Fast food would save the world if the elves didn’t take it first, Ella thought as she paid the delivery boy and carried the boxes of chop suey inside. She closed the door on the chilly breeze and shivered while crossing over to the living room table. Mike had promised to find Finn something warmer to wear from Scott’s closet, but they’d have to go shopping for clothes sooner or later.

  She set the food down and went in search of Finn. The sound of blades being honed drew her to the bathroom. Oh yeah. Finn priorities. About to fall over from exhaustion, but who cared when there were knives to be cleaned and sharpened?

  “The food’s here,” she called.

  He didn’t even look up, focused on his task, the whetstone screeching against the metal of the blade. Had he heard her?

  Shrugging, she returned to the living room. She wasn’t all that hungry herself, not since she’d been told of Simon’s death, and even less since seeing his body at the morgue.

  It was barely midday and she was bone-tired. With a sigh, she curled on the sofa and pulled the book from her purse.

  Grarssaga. Simon had been dating an oracle. No wonder he’d realized before all of them what was going on. Sarah, his girlfriend, was at the hospital. Ella wondered if someone had informed her that her boyfriend was dead, torn open by a...

  She swallowed hard, chased the images from her mind. She opened the book, but the letters swam before her eyes. Torn open by a wolf, according to Finn. A white, scaly wolf. The picture just wouldn’t form. Scaly? What the hell? She couldn’t recall ever reading any description of the animals of the aelfar.

  Or it was all in Finn’s mind. Maybe something perfectly mundane had killed Simon; maybe the lab had been wrong about the DNA.

  Yeah, and pigs could fly.

  The saga opened with the usual genealogy of an obscure king called Sirurd, a description of his Hall and lands, his exploits against his neighboring kingdoms and the wife he stole from his best friend in a bloody fight. So typical. Then came his complaints about his thieving subjects and descriptions of the feasts he provided his buddies after hunting.

  Bother. She rubbed the aching spot between her eyes. Who knew weeping brought on such a headache? Add to that a sleepless night and worrying about Finn, the Shades and the fate of the world, and it was no wonder she felt like a spike was driving into her skull.

  She flipped past pages of useless information about another king’s visit and the fun the both of them had — she hadn’t known you could do that to a roasted pig and now she wish she hadn’t — and stopped at the first mention of the aelfar.

  They had been visiting Sirurd, apparently on a regular basis. They were treated as guests of honor and then came long pages of the magic the aelfar displayed for the enjoyment of Sirurd’s guests. They juggled crystal spheres that hung in the air like stars, and created arches of pure light that changed colors. Music played without instruments, and withered flowers bloomed afresh in the vases. They also brought fantastic gifts — jewels unlike any Sirurd had ever seen, pearls which glowed with an inner light, and animal pelts like white velvet. In return, they asked him to host in secret one of their party, one called John Grey.

  Ella paused with her finger marking the name in the text. Why would the elves want Sirurd to hide John Grey? As Dave had said, the only other mention they had of John Grey was a warning. Beware. Dangerous. Powerful, for sure. How would hiding this person in a small lord’s hall serve them?

  Lots of blather followed, transcriptions of songs sung around the long tables, and a brief mention of this John Grey, sitting apart, silent. No description, no comment whether he was a Shade, what his power was.

  Damn.

  Mike came bearing gifts — a sweater, a scarf, thick pants and socks, even gloves. Ella thanked him, distracted.

  What was the role of John Grey? The text didn’t offer much in way of information about him. For several pages he was forgotten in favor of more fireworks by the elves, and descriptions of a few of their female company. Apparently elven ladies were beautiful like fresh snow and yet warm like mead. Ella had a good idea of how Sirurd knew that, and wondered if these alien ladies had gone with him willingly or were forced in order to show good will.

  Because, apparently, they really, really wanted Sirurd to hide John Grey. Why Sirurd? Why John Grey? Why this whole game?

  Damn, the headache was like rusty nails being drilled into her forehead. She flipped another page and stopped. Apparently Sirurd was no idiot: he had the exact same questions.

  The elves didn’t give an outright reply. That would’ve been too easy. They hedged and extolled the beauty of human women, their virtue and honor. Ella snorted. Hypocrites. She spread her fingers on the page and frowned.

  The elves apparently wanted to ask for the hand of Sirurd’s daughter for John Grey.

  Ella shook her head, nonplussed. Again, why? If they wanted an alliance, why not seek out one of the great Kings of the time? Could it be that Sirurd’s lands had special properties?

  Sirurd gave a long speech about his daughter’s virtue, the strength of the elves, the honor they bestowed upon him and the cartloads of gifts he expected. And of course no mention of the girl’s opinion anywhere. It didn’t matter if she was willing or not, and that was one of the things Ella hated most about the epics. She was glad to be born in the twenty-first century, thank you very much.

  The elves gave their own long-winded speech after Sirurd was finally done, assuring him he’d get the trinkets he wanted, the stupid git, and that they were most overjoyed he agreed to their terms.

  Terms?

  Ella bent over the text, flipped a couple pages back. What had the elves demanded? Tracing the words with her finger, she found it: they wanted Sirurd to let them examine his court and every guest crossing his doorstep before they ever approached John Grey and his daughter. In fact, the couple would li
ve in a special building the elves would construct, a sort of tower.

  Heh. Interesting. John Grey was powerful. But maybe he wasn’t invulnerable. Maybe he could be harmed, even killed.

  It gave Ella hope.

  The elves briefly explained that there were people out to harm the couple’s happiness. Not humans, in fact, but what they called Duergar of Dokkalfar.

  Apparently, Dokkalfar also came from Aelfheim, but they easily passed off as humans. Few things could pick them apart in the crowd, but the elves advised how to do it. It wasn’t easy. Apparently, for one, there was an angle from which they showed their true nature.

  Sirurd asked what nature was that. Dark, the elves answered. Dokkalfar. Dark elves.

  Yeah, as if that meant much. Dark of skin? Or what?

  Sirurd clarified he wasn’t talking about the Dark elves but the Duergar that had been mentioned. Good man.

  Okay, so apparently Duergar and Dark elves weren’t the same. Duergar didn’t sleep. At all. They didn’t eat.

  And then there were the spirals. The word was underlined several times, and in the margin, in a familiar looping handwriting, stood her name.

  Ella let the book drop on the coffee table and sat back, her hands starting to shake. What the fuck? Why had Simon marked it? What did he know about her dreams?

  Finn wandered in, startling her. He spotted the food and grabbed a box of takeaway. He dug in with his fingers, eating so fast he might choke, and froze when he caught her eye.

  “There are chopsticks,” she said, “inside the plastic bag.”

  He gave her a blank look. With Finn, nothing was self-evident.

  Mouth settling in a hard line, she picked up the book once more, determined to find out what was said about the spirals. But of course the elves didn’t elaborate. Didn’t need to explain, because they themselves would guard Sirurd’s lands and John Grey; they would pick out the Duergar and stop them from approaching.

  Dammit. She pulled off her hair tie, pushed her fingers into her hair and massaged her scalp. Her head ached. For every answer, two new questions. Useless.

  Then her phone rang, and it was the emergency tone. She grabbed it, flipped it open. “Ella.”

  “Get your new partner and get over here,” Dave rumbled over the line. “We’ve got a situation downtown.”

  Finn looked up, took in her expression and dropped the takeaway box on the table. “Trouble?”

  “Yup.” Grabbing her gun, she checked it was loaded and sheathed her knives and shuriken. Put the book back in her purse. Glanced at Finn who was strapping on his weapons and sighed. “It just never ends.”

  ***

  Chaos was the only word that could describe the situation in the town center. Amidst the swirling snowflakes, people ran in panicked circles. The place wasn’t far from the library where they’d stopped with Finn earlier, but it was unrecognizable. The streets were jammed with cars, drivers honking and shouting, trying to leave. Useless, of course. Too many cars, too many people.

  Where was Dave?

  Someone tapped on her window and she rolled it down. A chubby woman dressed in police uniform. She looked familiar.

  “Martha?” Ella asked. “Martha Graham?”

  Martha pushed her glasses up her nose. “Ella Benson.” She didn’t look overly thrilled to see her again. Could be because yesterday — was it just yesterday? — Ella had taken Finn out of jail without an explanation.

  “Dave called me. David Holborn.”

  “He’s here.” Martha pointed in a direction from which more and more people came, running as if hellhounds bayed at their heels.

  “Stay here,” she told Finn. After seeing his leg, she wanted him to rest it if possible. “I’ll be back.”

  She hurried out and tried to take stock of things. No clicking in the air, which meant no Shades. Probably. One shouldn’t forget that the last time they’d appeared without warning. “What’s happening?”

  “Animal attack. Maybe more than one animal. Killed three people already.”

  “What kind of animal?”

  But Martha had already turned away, marching to a group of passersby and gesturing for them to leave.

  Someone screamed in the distance, where Martha had indicated, and Ella started running, hoping her hiking boots wouldn’t slip in the melting slush. As she raced toward the origin of the repeated screams, she drew her gun and cocked it.

  More people spilled from the narrow passage between two buildings, and she shoved them to get through, brushing along walls covered in graffiti and slogans, trying to see beyond. Her pulse beat in her forehead, hammering between her eyes. Damn cold.

  Then she was through. Wellington Square, she realized. Open space, a cluster of trees on one side, white residential buildings behind it. A deserted playground greeted her, an empty swing rocking eerily in the silence.

  And bodies, scattered on the frozen ground, dark stains around them. Blood.

  She turned in a circle, gun held up. What the...?

  A growl and a scream had her spinning and aiming. Something blindingly white streaked across her vision, a splash of crimson, and she was looking at a writhing body, its chest torn open.

  And a wolf. Well, a wolf-shaped animal, as tall as she was, covered in shiny white scales. It took a step toward her, leaving bloody prints in the dirty snow. Ella stared, frozen, her mind refusing to process what she was seeing. There was something bird-like about it; it had a beak. The scales on its neck and flanks shifted as it took another step, shimmering like shards of mother-of-pearl. Yellowed fangs glinted wet inside the toothed bill, dripping saliva and blood.

  Ella’s finger trembled on the trigger. “Motherfucker.” That thing had killed Simon, torn him open. Her heart boomed.

  The wolf hissed and advanced on her, snapping her out of her daze.

  She took the shot. The wolf jumped sideways, and then leaped on her, knocking her to the ground. The impact shook her body and a terrible weight crushed her chest. The world blacked out.

  Next thing she knew was loud growling, a deafening screech, and a familiar voice shouting, “Watch out!”

  Finn?

  Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes, stared up at the falling snowflakes. Pretty.

  Then memory returned like the crack of a whip. Shit. She sat up. Her knee throbbed. The headache had been upgraded to a head-crushing vice, and she had a moment to wonder if one could call it a migraine if it hurt on both sides of her brain — then she saw Finn.

  He was a silver hurricane, blades spinning and flashing, hair flying as he turned and slashed and fought — what? Two animal shapes moved on either side of him, half-vanishing in the white, outlined briefly against the dark facades of buildings, then melting again into nothingness.

  “What the hell are those things?” came Dave’s voice from behind her, and she twisted to make sure it was him.

  It was; the same grumpy, bleak-eyed, unshaven Dave.

  “Wolves from Aelfheim.” She scrambled to her feet and found her gun a few feet away. Stumbling toward Finn, wobbly on her feet, she took aim. But he was in the way, blades moving in graceful arcs, cutting swaths through the falling snow, and the creatures were near invisible. Damn.

  Two officers moved in the distance, holding heavy machine guns, covering the other side of the square. How many of the creatures were there?

  Dave followed her, gun raised. “They don’t look like wolves.”

  “They don’t look like anything,” Ella muttered, coming as close as she dared to the flurry of snow and blades that was Finn. “Dammit, Finn, move out of the way so I can get a shot in.”

  Finn threw a knife into the vague shape of a wolf. Before he could turn, the other wolf reared over him, toothed beak gaping.

  “Look out!” She shot in the air as she ran toward him, hoping to scare the creature off.

  Then another screech sounded — from behind. Holy shit. Ella spun and fired before she was even sure she’d seen the third wolf. The animal cras
hed to the ground, whining, blood dripping down its side, painting it crimson against the colorless background. She shot it again, in the head, making sure it stayed down.

  A shout rang and her heart stopped. “Finn?” She turned, seeking him in the snow drifts. Flakes weighed her lashes. She staggered in the direction she’d last seen him, her pulse drumming in her ears. “Finn!”

  “Ella, are you okay?” Dave tried to intercept her. “Slow down. Backup is almost here.”

  She twisted away and kept moving. “Where is he? Damn you, Dave, you left him alone with the wolves?”

  A tall form appeared through the swirling snow, and she raised her gun, unsure. Squinting along the barrel of her gun, she took aim.

  It was Finn. He was hunched over the bloodied body of a wolf, muttering something. Strands of pale hair had escaped his bandana, hiding his face.

  “Well, I can see now why you wanted him as a partner,” Dave wheezed, joining her. “I’ve never seen anyone fight like that. Not even Simon.”

  Ella took a step toward Finn, her pulse thudding in her ears. So much blood pooling around him, a lake of crimson. She had to make sure the wolf hadn’t gutted him, that the blood wasn’t his. Images of Simon’s torn body kept flashing before her eyes.

  He straightened, eyes unfocused, raising his knife. His lips peeled back in a snarl. “Back.”

  “Hey.” She eyed the knife warily. “It’s me, Ella. Snap out of it.”

  Finn shuddered, blinked. The knife lowered. Then he looked around and his gaze stopped on Dave. His shoulders tensed.

  “You were fighting two wolves,” Dave said. “I only see one dead body.”

  “It got away,” Finn rasped. When Dave took a step toward him, Finn flinched. He was acting all weird.

  Dave holstered his gun, his face hard. “Where did you learn to fight wolves, son?”

  “It’s Finn,” Finn snapped but his voice shook.

  “I’ve rarely seen people fight that way, and this sort of reaction afterward. Ex-military, though you look too young to be a veteran. Who the hell are you?”

  Ella inserted herself between Dave and Finn. “Hey, calm down.”