Wolf Hunted, стр. 32

Bjorn nodded, more for himself than for me. “I will call Ed. Let him know where the magic stands.” He sighed again. “And as an elder elf, I will take your words of advisement to Arne.” He rubbed his ear. “But do not hold your breath, Frank. You know our King and Queen.”

Yes I do, I thought, but I didn’t say it. Nor did I make the obvious point that Arne and Jaxson had a lot in common.

As Remy said, it was an alpha thing.

“Call me, too,” I said, and pulled out my own keys.

“I will,” Bjorn said. Then he nodded one final time, and walked away, toward the enchantments in need of breaking.

Maura was still up when I got home. She sat at the kitchen table with a warm cup of tea between her hands as she watched the lake through the doors. The warm, soothing scent of chamomile filled the room, and I wondered if she was on her second or third mug.

“Can’t sleep?” I asked as I set Sal on her bed.

My sister glanced at me, then back at the lake. “Any new information?” she responded.

I pulled out a chair and sat down. “Your mom and I found a magically concealed camera trap. Bjorn and Lennart are picking it apart right now.”

She set down her mug. “And you think the fake photographer has something to do with it?”

I shrugged. “No strong proof. But it was on property owned by a shell company that’s associated with the company from which he supposedly hired the equipment.”

Her body was calm, but her magic was not. “I would have gone out to the farm with you.”

“What about Akeyla?” I asked.

Maura inhaled sharply. “She’s going to be nine in two-and-a-half weeks. She can handle a few hours here by herself, especially after she’s gone to bed. When I was her age, I was running wild amongst the oaks and the river rocks, remember?”

I remembered. She’d been born while I was away at college, and my return to Alfheim had been full of Maura, the wild child princess. “I do. But still.”

Maura looked out over the lake again. “The worst thing we can do is stifle her. She needs to find her magic herself. We cannot find it for her. Not that Akeyla will be running the woods. Not until she can hold her glamour when startled.” She tapped her own unglamoured ear. “It only takes me a moment to set up an alarm spell in case she needs someone. Plus I got her a phone. I was going to hold it until her birthday but Sophia has one and Akeyla’s been begging.”

Honestly, I hadn’t even thought to ask. “Akeyla takes priority so I assumed you were pretty much always busy.”

She exhaled. “The mommy job.” She took another sip of her tea. “I don’t know what Mom’s thinking.”

Why hadn’t I made the connection earlier? Probably because I hadn’t been around for the last making of a royal elf.

Elven babies were special, and from what little I’d learned in my two hundred years in Alfheim, making one took physical and magical effort.

Which was why, I suspected, the elves varied so much in their power and longevity. It wasn’t just the mingling of DNA that made the elf, it was also how well the parental magic melded.

“Can I ask you a question?” One I’d thought too impolite to ask since her return.

She nodded knowingly. “Akeyla’s father didn’t turn abusive until it became clear his daughter was more elf than spirit.”

This was the first time I’d heard her refer to Akeyla’s father as abusive. “I’m sorry.”

Maura sighed. “You know, some among us can feel the future. Not so much see what is happening, but feel the flow of the river, so to speak. In dreams and in meditative states, mostly.” She set down her mug. “Not me.”

I knew that some elves showed precognitive gifts.

Maura pushed back her chair. “So, my dear brother, will you help this mommy return to adult land?”

I smiled. “Of course.”

She patted my hand. “Thank you.” She took one final sip of her tea. “We’ll get this interloper business sorted.”

I stood and stretched. “You seem less concerned than I would expect.”

She also stood, and made her way to the sink to rinse out her mug. “Samhain night makes the wolves vulnerable.” She set the mug in the dish drainer. “Even our pack.” She said it as if she didn’t believe the wolves really did need the elves when they ran.

“True,” I said.

She leaned against the sink. “Samhain thins veils and grays out lines that would otherwise be black and white.” She stood up and walked toward the bedrooms. “That’s why Dad offered Gerard and Remy help when they first arrived. Our job, on the run, is to refocus the blur, so to speak.” She stopped on the threshold to the hallway. “We’re good at it, Frank. We know how to read the wolves, and we also know when there are problems.” She turned away again. “The run isn’t what we should be worried about.” She waved. “Sleep well, brother.”

Was she correct? Were Alfheim’s elves and pack bulletproof on run nights?

It wasn’t that simple. It couldn’t be that simple.

Life in Alfheim never was.