Wood Sprites

by Wen Spencer

  “Where’s our grandmother?” Louise hated that she couldn’t keep fear out of her voice. Jillian could have done it.

  “Why did you lock the door?” Celine attempted to brush past her.

  Louise held her ground the best she could since the female was nearly two feet taller than her. She wanted to keep the door between the secret elves and everything dear to her. “Where’s Anna?”

  Celine put a hand on Louise’s shoulder and shoved her back. “She’s in the hospital.”

  “What?” the twins and the babies all cried.

  “She was fine yesterday!” Louise shouted to cover the babies’ slip. “What did you do to her?”

  “Humans get old and die,” Celine snapped and then alarm flashed across her face as she realized that she had all but admitted she wasn’t human. “She collapsed yesterday afternoon while she was at a business meeting. Someone there called an ambulance instead of her drivers.”

  And what did Celine think the drivers would have done? Brought Anna back to the house to die instead of to the hospital?

  Louise clung to her anger despite the fact she knew that Ming needed Anna. If she let her rage slip away, all Louise would be left with was the knowledge that they were alone in the house, surrounded by powerful enemies.

  “Come with me.” Celine reached for Louise seconds after the girl slid backwards, leaving the female snatching at air.

  “Where to?” Louise asked in as steady a voice as she could muster.

  “We don’t have to listen to you.” Jillian thumped her baseball into her ball glove.

  “No!” Louise cried out as everything unraveled. She jumped forward and took the slap that Celine aimed at Jillian, turning with the force so it looked more real, just like Mr. Howe taught them in the stage-fighting classes. Even then, the hit was hard enough to make everything go black for a moment.

  When Louise could see again, Jillian was pulling her backwards, shouting, “Don’t hurt her! Don’t hurt her, you witch!”

  Tesla was standing a foot closer than before, whimpering softly.

  “Shhh.” Louise tried to calm all her siblings, making a “sit” motion with one hand at the babies while holding the other up to keep Celine’s attention. She could feel blood trickling warmly down from her nose and taste it her mouth. “I’m okay. Don’t cry.”

  Celine watched them closely with a slight pleased smile. “Hurt one, hurt them both. Good to know.”

  “We’ll go with you,” Louise stated as calmly as she could. She pressed the back of her left hand to her nose to hide the blood from her siblings. Her hand was shaking and she couldn’t stop it. When she sniffed, the hot metal taste of blood filled her mouth. Every word, every motion, seemed tied to infinite possible outcomes. To cry. To fight. They all tumbled into dark destruction. She had to stay calm. She had to do what Celine wanted. It was the only path that led toward escape for all of them. “Please. We’ll do what you want us to do. Just don’t hurt us.”

  Celine nodded smugly. “Good. Come with me.” She headed toward the open door. She pointed at two of the bodyguards and indicated that they were to follow. The others she directed toward the walk-in closet. “Start in there.”

  Jillian whimpered and clutched Louise in a death grip.

  “It’s okay,” Louise said, even though she wasn’t sure. She had to keep the babies from doing anything to draw attention to themselves. “Don’t be scared. We’ll be fine. Just wait and see.”

  Tesla sat down, trusting that they’d return. Louise could only hope that she could keep her promise that she and Jillian would figure a way out to save them all before the secret elves realized what the robot held inside it.

  * * *

  Yves and a dozen of the male bodyguard drivers were in the foyer. Two of the guards stood on ladders, carefully lowering a large painting they had just taken down off the wall. The males worked in near-reverent silence. Yves’ rich voice filled the echoing foyer like an actor on a stage.

  “Make sure they understand I want a cashier’s check, not money wired to an account. If you need to, tell them the truth: I don’t trust electronic transactions. I never understood how the Knights Templar sold the idea of banking.”

  He glanced up the sweeping staircase as Celine herded the twins down them. “Have you checked their pockets? Wood sprites are like pack rats; they always have some nasty surprise hidden away.”

  “No, husepavua. Forgiveness.” Celine stopped them at the foot of the stairs and turned out their pockets. Louise’s heart hammered in her chest, trying to pretend that she was only confused by what was happening as the female tugged and pulled at Louise’s jeans. The taste of blood still filled her mouth as it dripped from her bloody nose.

  Celine frowned at the scraps of white rabbit fur, thimble, and spool of thread left over from making the mouse skins. “They’re making something.”

  “Of course they are,” Yves said. “It’s in their blood.”

  “We’re making designer clothes for our dolls,” Jillian snapped, anger in her voice. Her eyes, though, were on the blood leaking through Louise’s fingers as Louise kept her hand pressed against her nose. Tears started to shimmer in Jillian’s eyes.

  If Jillian started to cry, Louise was sure she would break too. She took her hand from her nose and smeared the blood like war paint on her cheeks.

  Yves shook his head. “Wood sprites. Always so ridiculously brave for how stupidly small they are. I could never decide if they were our greatest success or our worse failure. Certainly, they are the most dangerous of our rebellious creations.”

  Louise stared at him, trying for brave but achieving only fearful confusion. What did he mean by rebellious creation? Did this mean that Leonardo Dufae wasn’t their male genetic donor?

  Yves laughed dryly. “You don’t even know what you are, do you?”

  “We’re nine years old?” Louise said it before she remembered that Esme had warned her not to be snarky. She was sure that Yves was going to tell her; he thought their helplessness and ignorance was funny.

  “All you see. The electricity. The light bulbs. The horseless carriages that drive themselves. All the trinkets of human civilization are the results of a handful of genetic mutants that humans call geniuses. It’s so purely random that anyone who attempts to influence it via breeding is called immoral. God’s touch alone elevates the great thinker from the common human.

  “But we are the gods of elves, and we made you.”

  “I’m fairly sure Esme had us made from her genetic material,” Jillian muttered.

  Yves laughed. “Oh, she only combined together what we wrought several thousand years ago. Two of our greatest achievements in three little females.” He was counting Alexander in with the twins. “And surely there are more than just three . . .”

  The bodyguard nearest the door lifted his hand to his ear, and cocked his head to listen to some report over an earbud. “Husepavua, Feng’s car just pulled into the driveway.”

  Yves growled. “That idiot. I didn’t send for him.”

  “Should we turn him away?” Several of the bodyguards moved toward the door, placing themselves between the entryway and Yves.

  Yves glanced toward the twins, apparently hoping that they could give him a clue. Louise could only sense onrushing disaster in every direction. “No,” Yves said finally. “Let him come. Perhaps he has some useful news.” He turned from the door to point at a set of Elvish wyvern armor standing in an alcove. “Pack that.” He pointed at a Van Gogh oil painting beside the armor. “Sell that.”

  The front door swung open and Ambassador Feng walked through. He checked at the sight of Yves and all the bodyguards in the foyer.

  “Yves?” Feng said in confusion.

  “What are you doing here?” Yves snapped in English, putting lie to his claim at the museum that Feng couldn’t speak English.

  “Where is Aumvoutui? A force from the MSS just landed at Newark . . .”

  “Have you gone native?” Yves inter
rupted him. “Use words, not letters.”

  “The Ministry of State Security for the People’s Republic of China,” Feng growled out. “They have the authority to arrest me and my entire staff and most likely that’s why they’re in New York. The people of the Republic have realized that they’ve shouldered the funding for the hyperphase gate, five spaceships to a mythical colony that doesn’t exist, and the settlement to the United States for the loss of Pittsburgh. Trillions of yuan. All so our people can return to Elfhome. They are not happy. Riots have broken out in Beijing. They make your Americans look like misbehaving children. They’re calling for blood.”

  “Another century, another witch hunt,” Yves stated coolly. “We have taught you the song. Now dance to it.”

  “It’s not as simple as Aumvoutui said. They now have cameras everywhere. There is no more anonymity. I can’t just disappear and resurface someplace else.”

  “We warned you of that danger when you came to this world.”

  “The bank account you gave me for such emergencies is empty. Aumvoutui must—”

  Yves pressed his hand against the ambassador’s chest and spoke a word that sounded Elvish. The ambassador went to his knees with a cry of pain. A spell glyph appeared on his forehead, gleaming brilliantly. “You must remember your place. You were my little pet project. I alone made you. I am your god.” Yves cupped the male’s chin in his hand and whispered menacingly as tears ran down the ambassador’s cheeks. “The pure black of your hair. The raven wings of your eyebrows. The strength of your chin. Every line on your face, I picked for you. I planted you into a female’s womb and gave you life. I made you, and I can unmake you with a word.”

  “Forgiveness,” Feng cried, his voice breaking from pain. “I was afraid—”

  “Humans are lowly beasts, products of random chance, barely above monkeys. You are a masterpiece of spell-working.”

  “Even lions fear large packs of monkeys,” Feng whispered.

  Yves growled another word, and Feng screamed as his veins suddenly blazed under his skin as if his blood had turned to liquid fire. The ambassador convulsed into a tight knot, shrieking.

  Louise bit hard on her lower lip, trying to keep in an answering scream of pure fear. She had never heard an adult male cry out in pain before; she had never heard a sound so raw and terrifying. Jillian clung tight to Louise, burying her face in Louise’s shoulder, sobbing with terror.

  Yves spoke a word and Feng slumped to the floor, panting hoarsely as his skin faded back to normal.

  Yves stepped back from the male. “You will bring the dogs sniffing at my heels if you try to hide at my feet. You will go and be the warrior I made you and draw them off my scent.”

  “Yes, husepavua,” Feng whispered.

  “Follow the plan as you were told to do in emergencies like this. Use one of your alternate identities to go to the island and cross to Onihida. Someone has to keep rein on the oni until the Dufae heir can be caught and harnessed—or we find someone else to open a gate for us.”

  “Yes, husepavua.”

  Yves turned away, not bothering to watch the male stagger to his feet and stumble out of the mansion. He walked down the hall to stop at the next painting and pointed to it. “Sell that.” He pointed to a small statue. “Pack that.” He turned and gazed at the twins. “It’s a shame they’re not true identical twins. I’ll have to be more careful with them. Take them down to the casting chamber and put them into a spell cage. I’m sure they would figure out how to escape anything mechanical.”

  * * *

  Louise tried to tell herself that the spell cage was a fascinating awesome thing. In almost any other instance, it would be. Being carried down into a maze of dimly lit caves, shackled to the floor, and locked inside one, however, was really, really scary.

  “Right,” Jillian muttered after the elves had trooped back upstairs. “This is a sticky wicket.”

  “Could be worse.” Louise knew it could be much worse. She had at least kept the elves from discovering what she had shoved into her socks as they snapped the manacle about her right ankle. By luck or that weird sense of knowing what was coming, she had pushed the Swiss army knife painfully deep into her shoe.

  The electric lights went out, leaving only the gleam of the active spell encaging them. They sat at the center of the spell inscribed into the stone floor.

  “I say.” Jillian used a thick British accent. Louise wasn’t sure who Jillian was channeling but she was glad that her twin wasn’t freaking because at the moment Louise was slipping toward totally losing it. “Let’s not give fate any more ideas.”

  “Uh-huh,” Louise forced out as she fumbled in the deep shadows.

  Light suddenly flared out from Jillian.

  “What’s that?”

  “Spell light. I made it.” Jillian held up a brightly gleaming orb.

  “Awesome!” More heartfelt words were never uttered. Louise unfolded the various blades of the Swiss army knife, trying to figure out which she could use on the shackle. Luckily the thick iron cuffs were probably over a hundred years old and fashioned when tolerances were in the fractions of an inch, not microns. “We need to get out of here. Get the babies. And—”

  “Burn the house down.”

  “Yes. Somehow. I doubt they have a closet full of high explosives that we can use.”

  “We can improvise. We’re good at that.”

  “Yes, we are.” Louise breathed out relief as her manacle clicked open. She bent over the cuff on Jillian’s leg, glad that Jillian was embracing anger to keep out fear. Her twin was trembling from one or both of the emotions flooding her. When Jillian’s manacle unlocked, she threw the hunk of metal as far as the chain would allow. They hugged each other tight, just for a moment, trying to draw strength without weakening the other.

  Jillian pulled away first and stood, hands on her hips, looking very much like Peter Pan. “So, what do you think? How do we take down this spell?”

  The cage was a weird mix of things that they’d never seen and spells from the codex. It had the familiar design of concentric rings, the outer rings triggering first and cascading inward. The inner layer shimmered in the deep shadows of the cave, weaving like the mad vines around Sleeping Beauty’s castle. The scrollwork seemed no more substantial than a hologram. When Louise reached out to tap it quickly—triggering a gasp of alarm from Jillian—the bars proved to be solid and cold as steel. They arched overhead, creating a sphere. Since the inner shell was tightly woven, they wouldn’t be able to reach the more vulnerable parts of the spell.

  When Celine activated the cage, she hadn’t used a typical trigger word but a series of phonemes, much like those used in spell locks. Louise focused the light onto the spell engraved into the floor. The first ring contained elements from a lock. It was inscribed on an inlaid piece of marble that most likely hid the actual keywords that switched the cage on and off. If they had their tablets . . .

  If wishes were fishes.

  “Without magic, it will collapse,” Louise said. “Do you think we can burn all the magic in this area?”

  “No,” Jillian said after glancing around them. “There’s too much magic here. The sunroom is a mud puddle compared to this. This is a lake. Look over there.”

  Louise turned to see what Jillian was pointing at. The narrow beam of the spell light picked out details across the large room. The floor was several large slabs of marble fitted together to make one large block. A spell had been marked onto the floor with a combination of wax and metal filings. It was a massive spell with a Celtic-knot complexity of subroutines and processes. She could identify all the pieces, but how they worked together she couldn’t even guess.

  “I’m drawing a blank on how to get out of here,” Jillian whimpered.

  “It’s okay. I managed to keep these.” Louise pulled out the two metal-ink pens she’d tucked into her sock. They were designed to draw functional circuits for electronics but it worked just as well for magic. “We can do a force-strik
e spell.”

  “Will it be strong enough?”

  “We can ramp it up with a series of focusing rings.”

  Jillian considered it and nodded, but added a warning. “There might be a rebound effect. It could be bad.”

  “We could do a simple shield, like the ones that the sekasha use, to protect us.”

  “I’ll do the shield!” Jillian cried and snatched one of the pens out of Louise’s hand. She crouched on the floor and carefully marked a circle just big enough for both of them to stand in. “You do remember force strike well enough?” she whispered. “Because I don’t think I do—not all of it.”

  They both had drawn the sekasha protective spell countless times for their videos, both for the Wind Clan and the Fire Clan, and had discussed at length the differences in the tattoos and the information they’d found in the codex. Louise took a deep breath, looking down at the bare floor. If she screwed up, there wouldn’t be any way to fix the mistake.

  “I can do this,” she said more to herself than to Jillian. “It’s a fairly simple spell. I just have to take my time and do it right.”

  It was odd that she realized that the few times that they’d gone to church with their Grandma Mayer had sunk deep roots into her psychic. She wanted to believe in God because she wanted to believe he would hear her earnest prayer that she would actually draw the spell correctly. The consequences for failing were all too easy to imagine, and she was afraid that meant she would fail.

  She clicked out the pen and knelt on the floor. Dear God, please. Please.

  * * *

  She was just finishing when she realized someone was calling her name.

  “Lou! Lou!”

  She looked up to find one of the mice was standing beyond the edge of the cage, waving to get her attention. “What are you doing here? I told you to stay!”

  “They’re loading all our stuff onto a truck. They’ve taken Tesla to the garage and put him in a giant box. We don’t know what to do! We can’t get him out. The Jawbreakers are watching over Tesla, and Chuck Norris is looking for Joy.”