The Cursed Blood, стр. 83
I sighed.
There really was nothing left for me to do but keep moving forward. A part of me hoped beyond hope that if I moved forward fast enough, I might even find a way to outrun all the mess that was tugging me in every direction at once. And maybe, just maybe one day I could find a bit of peace.
May as well get on with it then, I thought to myself as I turned on the shower to let the water get nice and piping hot. When it was good and steamy, I stepped in and let the hot water bake away the aching kinks in my muscles and help wash away a bit of the worries. I always had found the shower a good place to think, and as the water dribbled in rivets down my face, I felt some of the headache booming at the inside of my skull start to slip away.
The smell of sandalwood and lavender soap, another of Aunt Millie’s artisanal lodge improvements left me feeling as human as I could be and a bit more relaxed. I donned my jeans, a nice black collared button down (one of the many non-flannel bits of apparel that Fazool had added to my wardrobe) and pulled on a pair of boots with big silver buckles.
I walked out in time to catch the Halfling Witch patting Aunt Millie’s back as she sobbed into a wine glass where they sat on the sofa. Fazool mumbled comforting things to her until the both at once noticed me and tried and failed to appear happy.
I had a feeling today was the day I’d hear from the Wizard, and they had an idea what the Elf King had in mind for me. But I couldn’t bring myself to ask as they nodded at me with wistful smiles of approval at my upgrade from flannels, work boots, and jeans.
Aunt Milly nodded to an expensive ‘department store from New York City’ looking cream colored gold edged box on Gramps’ chair. “Go on. It’s cold out, you know. You’ll need it, and better yet I just know you’ll like it.” Fazool hurried me over with a spiny wave of his hand and smile.
I hobbled over, joints still stiff and back still feeling like a large housecat with unusually long sharp nails was using my back for a scratching post. I undid the curly ribbon, unfolded about a ton of red tissue paper and found a wonderful fleece lined black leather jacket that came down to just above my knees. It fit perfect like a glove. Conveniently, the box also contained a matching pair of those that I pulled on and held my arms wide for them to admire.
Fazool clapped in almost giddy approval, a broad smile on his face, and Aunt Milly downed her wine and sighed, struggled to her feet, and scooped me into a hug before walking me to the door. “They are waiting for you outside,” she advised in a strangely hollow voice as she opened the door and scooped me into another even more crushing hug.
“Mildred, you’ll strangle him,” Fazool chided earning himself a smothering glare that he only giggled more at, albeit with a bit of trepidation. Nervously, he tapped his little gentlemanly ivory grasshopper topped walking stick on the floor as I was ushered out the door.
The Elves stood in two rows with bows and quivers over armored shoulders. Their crystal tipped spears were in one hand, resting butt end on the porch floorboards, and their jaggedly bronze oval leaf shaped shields that went from shoulder to toes in the other, each grimly faced Elf staring ahead beneath white plumed helmets.
I sighed and peered over at Aunt Milly, who was dabbing at her eye with a hanky and then at Fazool, who was forcing himself to smile as he nodded in what he tried to make look like reassuringly confidence but failed at completely.
My belly doing flip flops, I walked forward, each row of Elvish warriors falling silently into step behind me in pairs as I passed like mechanically precise toy soldiers forest green cloaks fastened with silver oakleaf broaches swooshing out behind them as they marched in lockstep.
There was no going back.
Gramps, White Owl, and King Efferieal Rain seemed to have been having an intense conversation by the ruins of the barn workshop that the Clampetts had burned down, standing beside Gramps’ beat up old truck. Gramps looked bitter as he leaned on his truck’s fender, fists absently balled as he glared at the grass. Nodding as the King spoke and the Master meditatively listened, a resigned expression on his lined inscrutable face.
Gramps was the first to notice my approach. He eyed me, a distant, defeated gleam in his shiny black eyes as he offered up a poor excuse for a smile. He bemusedly eyed my attire with raised eyebrows as he tugged at his flannel and shook his head.
White Owl nodded in acknowledgement but said nothing, leaning on his staff and studying me from beneath the brim of his favorite cowboy hat as the Elf High King smiled a beaming smile at my approach, offering a slight courtly bow.
“You are looking better,” King Rain appraised me, unsettlingly pupiless silver eyes narrowed to gleaming slits. “Yes, much better. It suits you.”
I’m still not sure if he was talking about my now very elf-like pointy ears, silver hair, sinisterly black eyes, or my new clothes. It definitely wasn’t my confidence he was complimenting as the anticipation of this whole thing had me all but shaking.
“I’m better than I was,” I managed with a shrug that nearly sent me to my knees as the cat again clawed at my back’s wounds that brought tears to my eyes and left my vision