Transformation!

by Martin, Deborah

  I looked up the area I thought Ev was in on the internet. It looked like an easy drive from New Orleans. I could fly down, rent a car, and go get him myself. Then I’d have to figure out how to turn him back into his ogre self and probably deal with the accompanying anger. It wouldn’t be the first time. But how does one catch a bat? I started researching that, too.

  “I know what you are thinking. It is not a good plan.”

  “Why not? No one else is doing anything.”

  Fudge cocked his head. “What makes you think you, a barely-trained witch, can do something a wizard with much more experience cannot? You are being foolish. I believe the current phrase for such a venture would be hare-brained.”

  “But I have to do something. We can’t just leave Ev down there, flying around forever! Why is Gregory not doing something himself?”

  Like an internet meme, Fudge lay down and put his paws over his face. “You know nothing of elves, do you?”

  I shook my head. “Only what I have experienced so far.”

  He removed his paws from his face and glared at me. “Then allow me to give you a lesson.

  “You know the magical energy you can see around you, correct? I believe you call it ‘sparkles.’”

  I nodded.

  “Elves are that magic. It infuses their entire being. There is nothing you, or any other witch or wizard, for that matter, can do to them. If you cast a spell in their direction, they simply absorb it.

  “I will allow you this, however. You know that you use plants, stones and other things as helpers in your spells, to allow them to continue without refreshment.”

  I nodded again.

  “Elves do not do such. They use their inherent magic when casting spells. As such, the spells either need to be refreshed, or they will degrade with each sunrise. What does that tell you?”

  I had to calm myself down to think rationally. Fudge followed me with his eyes as I paced around the living room, into the kitchen, and back again.

  “That either someone needs to go back to refresh the spell on occasion, or at some point, Ev will turn back into himself?”

  “Very good. Think some more. The wiz…Gregory’s spells are generally stronger than yours at this point, correct?”

  I paced some more. “So what you’re saying is just like with us, the stronger the elf, the stronger his magic. I presume with some, age indicates strength? As in, Alberon’s magic would be stronger than, say, Perchaladon’s?”

  “Correct. There is a reason Alberon is senior mage to someone who not only heads his enclave but the entire United States.

  “Your friend, Perchaladon…”

  I glared. “He’s not my friend.”

  “Indeed. Your acquaintance, then, and his friend, are young and presumably, have not immersed themselves in study, as evidenced by their entry into the human world. Therefore, their magic would not be as strong.

  “Although it is wrong to assume anything, it is quite possible both the wiz…Gregory and the elder elves are waiting either for the spell to degrade and produce a very angry ogre, or that one of the others will arrive at this area to refresh the spell. Either way, they will have a way to retrieve your employer.”

  “Why do you have such difficulty with names? Twice now, you have had to refrain from calling Gregory ‘the wizard.’”

  “Are you trying to change the subject?”

  “No. It’s just something that struck me.”

  Fudge sighed. “As I have told you before, names are not something I am accustomed to using. In the past, people were referred to by their relationship to our witch or wizard. It has only been a few months since I started calling you by your name, has it not? May we return to the subject of your employer?”

  I resumed my pacing. “If Alberon is as strong as you suggest, why have they not traveled to the area, found the bat with the magic stuck to him, and reversed the spell? They know approximately where Ev is.”

  “That I cannot tell you. It may have something to do with internal politics.”

  Fudge turned his head toward the door just as a knock sounded. I looked through the peephole to see Cassandra standing there, a quizzical yet angry look on her face.

  “What’s up?” I asked as I opened the door.

  She stalked in. “I don’t know. You tell me. Merlin wouldn’t leave me alone, projecting feelings of anxiety, finally knocking the picture of the two of us at the handfasting onto the floor to get my attention.”

  She looked down at Fudge. “You sent a message, didn’t you?”

  I looked down with her. “Well?”

  “I did. I thought perhaps she would be able to talk sense to you if I could not.”

  I sighed. “I’m sorry, Cassandra. It appears my cat thinks I am incapable of logical thinking or something.”

  She walked into the kitchen and helped herself to a cup of coffee. “So, what are you thinking about that is illogical?”

  “I was thinking about going down to Louisiana and getting my boss back, since neither the elves nor Gregory appear to want to do that.”

  To my surprise, she let out a loud guffaw. “And once you got your bat, how were you going to change him back into an ogre?”

  “I hadn’t gotten to that part.”

  “You do know you have no power to reverse an elf’s spell, right?”

  “Well, yes, but Fudge was just telling me that if the spells aren’t renewed, they degrade over time. So, if I had the bat and no one renewed it, he’d eventually turn back into himself, yes?”

  That earned me a glare. “Probably. But then you’d have a pissed-off elf coming after you. And how were you planning on protecting yourself?”

  “I hadn’t thought that far.”

  “Of course not. You’re thinking with your heart, not your head.” She looked from Fudge to me and back again. “How much do you know about elves? I admit our knowledge is scanty due to lack of interaction.”

  “Please relay what I have told you.”

  I filled Cassandra in on what we’d already discussed and added, “I will admit that the few times Perchaladon has done magic around me that I’ve felt nothing. I usually get a tingly feeling when there’s magic being done but his didn’t register at all.”

  “I’ll repeat myself. How were you planning on protecting yourself against a pissed-off elf, especially now that I know their magic isn’t tangible to us?”

  “Okay.” I looked at both of them. “It was a bad idea. But it’s been a week, I don’t have my boss back, no one’s given me a timetable, and you know how I hate to feel helpless!”

  Cassandra put her arm around me, and Fudge wove his way between our legs.

  “Something will happen sooner or later. Those high-falutin’ elves you’ve been talking to won’t let it go on forever. They like to keep their problems to themselves and if it continues, word will get out that they can’t handle their own people. That would be an embarrassment, I would think, wouldn’t you?”

  I heaved a sigh and nodded. “Yeah. I guess. I just don’t like sitting on my hands.”

  “Good. Then I’m going back to my Sunday and my husband. As they say, keep calm. Things will work out.”

  She gave me a squeeze, put her coffee cup in the kitchen sink and let herself out the door. I was left alone with my thoughts – and my familiar.

  “You are no longer thinking of getting your employer yourself, correct?”

  I nodded my acquiescence.

  “Good. Because it is time for a nap.”

  Fudge curled up in a corner of the sofa, apparently purposely turning his back to me, and within minutes, was asleep. I wished I could sleep as easily.

  Knowing I wasn’t in a frame of mind to study but also knowing I had to keep myself occupied with something related to my anxiety, I searched the Witches’ Web (a handy online resource only recently started by Delilah Emerson, the secretary of the Midwest Witches’ Council but available to anyone who had a password) for what information was available on elves. />
  It wasn’t much.

  “Elves are a humanoid race but they are in no fashion human. They look very much like the Star Trek characters known as Vulcans. They have sharp features, highly arched eyebrows and the top cartilage of their ears forms a point. The few elves encountered by our kind have always been described as ‘perfect’ with no discernible physical flaws.

  “They consider themselves to be superior to every other life form. Their reasoning may be that although they look somewhat like us, they are completely magical creatures. It is believed they have the capability to transform their appearance to any sort of animal they choose with a simple thought. Spells, as well, are performed only by thought.

  “It is for this reason their magic is fleeting. Without anchors such as herbs, stones, and the like, their spells degrade a little with every sunrise and as such, must be renewed on a regular basis to maintain them.

  “Elves live in settlements akin to our cities called ‘enclaves.’ These are always located in rural areas, preferably forested. (We know of no enclave outside an area heavily populated by trees.) No witch or wizard has ever been allowed into an enclave, so we have no further description.

  “They have a hierarchy, and it is believed the strongest and eldest hold the highest positions. Each geographic area has, for lack of a better term, a governor and a senior mage. The governor oversees both economic and political activities. The senior mage is someone who is versed in every aspect of their magic, is the strongest magic user in the area, and assists in the governing, as well as overseeing their healers.

  “That is the extent of our knowledge of elves. If anyone has further information to add, please contact the webmaster, delilah@witchesweb.org.”

  I opened my email and composed a note to Delilah, telling her that the elves’ magic wasn’t palpable. At least to me. I could at least do that much. I closed my laptop and curled up next to Fudge, hoping to sleep at least part of the day away.

  Fifteen minutes later, my phone rang.

  “Miss McCollum, this is Althea Fitzsimmons. We met a few months ago.”

  Oh, shit. The Head of the Midwest Witches’ Council was calling me. What the hell did I do? I took what I hoped was an inaudible deep breath.

  “Yes, ma’am. I remember. What can I do for you?”

  “Delilah just forwarded your email to me. May I ask how you know about elven magic?”

  I thought she and Gregory were friends, and that he would have informed her, or at least the Wizards’ Council guy, about what was happening, and that guy – I couldn’t remember his name – would have shared. Obviously not. So, I had to spill the beans about Ev, Perchaladon, and everything. Holding back information from the Witches’ Council would have just gotten me in deeper shit and since I was already on their radar due to my temper, I felt it wise to let her know what was going on.

  “This is an interesting development,” she said when I’d finished. “And once again, it involves your boss.”

  I sighed. “Yeah, I know. It seems that recently, he can’t keep himself out of trouble. Do you have any suggestions?”

  The line was silent for a moment. “Not right now. This really doesn’t involve witches, per se. It’s between your boss and whatever elf he got in the way of. However, this Perchaladon’s interest in you may be an opportunity to learn more about elves. Please do keep me informed if he persists in his attentions toward you.”

  I squirmed in my seat. “Ms. Fitzsimmons, he may be handsome as all get-out, but he gives me the creeps and I’m trying to discourage him. And what you just said makes me feel like a lab experiment or something. Exactly what are you asking?”

  “I’m not asking you to do anything which would make you feel uncomfortable. But we know so little about them that anything you can tell us, such as the fact their magic isn’t palpable, could go a long way toward helping us to understand them more. Any little tidbit you may think helpful, please pass on. It may help someone else, somewhere down the road, you know?”

  I did know. I just didn’t like playing spy or whatever it was she wanted me to do. It also made my blip on the Council’s radar even brighter, which I also didn’t like.

  “I assume your phone will save my number, yes?” She interrupted my thoughts. “Please do call if you have any more useful information. Goodbye.”

  And…I was listening to dead air. It was time to get out of the house and work off some of this frustration. I grabbed my ID and keys, hauled my bike up the stairs and hightailed it for the paths around the lakes.

  Sunny Sunday afternoons aren’t the best times for pushing yourself by working up a good pace. It seemed every bike rider and rollerblader had the same idea as me. The paths were crowded so I could only ride at a leisurely pace along with everyone else. The ambient heat meant the aroma of sunscreen and sweat permeated the air. I had made one circuit around Lake Bde Maka Ska and was contemplating chucking it all and riding home when I heard a familiar voice call my name.

  Swiveling my head this way and that, all while trying not to crash into the riders ahead and to either side of me, I finally spotted the culprit. It was that damned elf, riding what appeared to be a brand-new racing bike, hurrying through the crowd to catch up with me. Can you say stalker?

  I pulled over and stopped. Within a second or two, he was standing by my side. “What a pleasant surprise!” he exclaimed.

  I frowned at him. “An elf riding a bike? This is an unusual sight.”

  “I had heard it was a favored pastime of many people at this time of year. I thought I would give it a try. Not to mention the people-watching is fabulous. What brings you out on such a fine afternoon?”

  “What else?” I dully responded. “Riding my bike, getting some fresh air and exercise, just like everyone else. May I ask how this coincidental meeting happened?”

  While I was talking, I noticed several women turn their heads to look at the handsome elf. One didn’t pay enough attention to what she was doing and plowed into her friend, who was also rubber-necking. The ensuing crash had a domino effect and took out about a half-dozen other riders. The elf paid absolutely no attention to the accident.

  He shrugged. “It is known you ride on nice days, so I took a chance. I thought perhaps instead of that lunch you turned down a couple of days ago, that I could persuade you to partake of an afternoon tea with me on a blanket, like so many other couples do.”

  My legendary Irish temper flared. “Couples? We are not a couple. Are you familiar with the human term, ‘last straw’? If not, please do look it up. And leave me the fuck alone. I have no desire to see you again. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Calm yourself.”

  “Calm? With a stalker?” I shot back.

  “You must. If not, I will. You know what happens when you get very angry.”

  Shit. I did. I took a deep breath then glared at Perchaladon. “I am leaving now. Do not attempt to follow me or I will call the authorities.”

  He smirked. “You know the human authorities can do nothing to me.”

  “Oh, yes. I’m well aware. But they can certainly inconvenience you. And you would hate to be inconvenienced, I’m sure.”

  I turned my bike for home but thought to take a very circuitous route. I wasn’t sure if he knew where I lived and on the off-chance he didn’t, I didn’t want to lead him directly to my apartment.

  On second thought…I grabbed my cell phone out of my pocket and called Gregory.

  “Hey,” I said when he answered. “I need a favor.”

  “If I can, certainly.”

  “Can you pick me up in the Hummer? I went for a bike ride, that damned elf accosted me on the bike path, and I don’t want him following me home.”

  “Can you keep him busy for an hour? I have something simmering that can’t be left alone. Then I can come. I will track you by your phone so don’t turn it off.”

  My patience was nearly at an end, but I realized I had to wait for the favor. “Of course. I’ll continue riding, heading to
ward the southern shore of Lake Harriet. That will be closer for you and the opposite direction of home. And thank you.”

  I hung up, tucked my phone back in my pocket, and turned my bike around. I rode with the crowd, trying not to be in a hurry, and trying very hard not to look over my shoulder. It was difficult to maintain an air of nonchalance when all I wanted to do was find the asshole I was certain was behind me and fling an energy ball at his handsome-yet-unwelcome face.

  Two circuits of Lake Harriet later, I heard the familiar horn of the HumVee. Gregory had managed to snag a rare-as-hens-teeth parking spot right on the parkway. As I approached, the gate lifted open. I put my bike in the back (not without a few grunts – the floor came up to my waist) then clambered into the front.

  “I took a momentary detour I thought you might appreciate,” Gregory said as he handed me a cup of Starbucks. “Now, tell me what’s going on.”

  As he pulled into traffic and headed, not for my apartment but in the direction of his cottage behind Ev’s house, I filled him in on the last few days since our return from New Orleans.

  “I’m not certain of Althea’s motives,” he said. “Although yes, we’d certainly like as much information as possible on the elves, asking you to put up with his attention isn’t her normal style. Something else is going on.”

  “Why are we headed toward your place rather than mine?” I asked.

  “Because I can better protect you there and if he is indeed following you somehow, he’ll think you live with me. And Fudge showed up just as I was about ready to leave so I figured this was somehow his idea.”

  “How did you get to Gregory’s and why?” I asked in my head.

  “The witch above us came down with a treat for you, letting herself into the house when you did not answer the door. It did not have any tuna in it, by the way. I just nudged her enough so she would give me a boost. You know I can travel on my own through the ether.

  “The wizard has the right of it. You must not be at your own home at the moment to protect what little privacy you seem to have left. The elf is acting strangely and I would not want a repeat of the vampire incident.