CONTENTS

Dedication

Legal

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

YTT Store

Author Notes - Martha Carr

Author Notes - Michael Anderle

Social Links

Series List

DEDICATION

From Martha

To everyone who still believes in magic and all the possibilities that holds.

To all the readers who make this entire ride so much fun.

And to my son, Louie and the wonderful Katie who remind me all the time of what

really matters and how wonderful life can be in any given moment.

And finally, a special thank you to John Nelson of the Austin, Texas

Police Department who patiently answers all of my questions.

I hope I made you proud. Thank you for your service.

From Michael

To Family, Friends and

Those Who Love

To Read.

May We All Enjoy Grace

To Live The Life We Are

Called.

WAKING MAGIC Team

JIT Beta Readers

Joshua Ahles

Paul Westman

Kimberly Boyer

Peter Manis

Keith Verret

Erika Daly

James Caplan

Micky Cocker

John Raisor

If I missed anyone, please let me know!

Editors

Ellen Campbell

WAKING Magic (this book) is a work of fiction.

All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.

This book Copyright © 2017  Martha Carr and Michael T. Anderle

Cover Design by John-Paul Balmet

Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing

LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact info@kurtherianbooks.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

LMBPN Publishing

PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy

Las Vegas, NV 89109

First US edition, August 2017

The Oriceran (and what happens within / characters / situations / worlds) are Copyright (c) 2017 by Martha Carr and LMPBN Publishing.

Prologue

If you missed Quest for Magic – Book Zero, let us catch you up…

There are some on our planet who believe you can't handle the truth, so the truth has been hidden for millennia.

Another world, hell another world in another dimension is separated from Earth by only a thin veil that opens fully every 25,800 years (called a ‘great year’). It takes thousands of years to open fully, and thousands to close.

Meanwhile, the magic from this planet starts to seep over to Earth and changes everything.

For one woman, her unique blood type includes a one-in-a-million chromosome that is about to be turned back on, and she has no idea what’s coming.

Twenty-five-year old Austin Police Homicide Detective, Leira Berens lives in a small house behind a bar. The regulars at the bar are the only family she has left. Her mother’s been in a psych ward for years, her grandmother disappeared four years ago.

Without a trace.

Leira has issues with bonding. It’s never worked out very well. The regulars at the bar and her older partner, Detective Felix Hagan, are about all she can take.

Leave the touchie-feelie stuff to someone else.

That all changes the day a portal opens up and Leira is escorted over to the other side. To the world of Oriceran where magic permeates everything.

The Light Elf Prince Rolim was murdered by a human archaeologist and Leira is asked to capture the killer and reclaim the powerful magical artifact he stole before everything goes boom.

There isn’t much time and she needs to focus on the task at hand. Find the killer Bill Somers, somewhere on Earth, and bring him back to Oriceran to face justice, along with that necklace.

Returned to her living room from where she left, only a short while after they took her to Oriceran, Leira experiences the slight glitch in time between the two worlds as they come together and move apart.

Using the portals before the gates are fully open is dangerous, even against the treaties.

Somewhere in this mess, she acquired a five-inch troll who sneaks back through the portal with her.

One last thing… She now knows her mother’s not crazy.

But that's just the beginning of the story. Well, the unveiling of an entire Universe.

Welcome to Waking Magic and the first book in The Revelations of Oriceran.

Because there are those who believe you can't handle the truth.

Are you ready?

CHAPTER ONE

Going to Lavender Rock turned up nothing except a lot of suspicious stares and gave her a mild headache and a humming in her ears that lasted the rest of the weekend.

Leira grumbled. She sat up on her old couch and stretched her back thinking to what she saw around the rock. “Something wasn’t…right. Too many people just hanging out.” She twisted herself left, then right to loosen up her muscles. “Save that for a return trip.” She heard her back pop. “Oww! Fuck Monday mornings,” she ground out in pain.

Suddenly, a small green streak of hair zipped past her and her eyes popped wide, head trying to follow the little green miscreant. “No, no, no! I’ve got to get to work!” she called out.

She lunged for the small troll, chasing it around the room. Small, like five-inches small and almost nothing to grab onto, especially when it was moving in a hurry.

The tiny creature was always in a hurry. One long weekend of trying to keep that fidgety pain in the ass in a cardboard shoe box. It had taken the troll less than a day until his box was in shreds—along with the washcloth blanket she had used for bedding.

Leira lunged again for the troll but came up empty, her fingertips just brushing the wild tuft of green hair.

The troll did a neat bounce, and a tuck and roll off her old couch, landing on its feet. Zipping into the kitchen, leaving her impressed for a split second.

“Well, damn,” she mused, her eyes narrowing. “Fuck!” she yelled, as the frustration returned.

“Fuck!” chirped the five-inch creature, followed by a trail of laughter as Leira scrambled to move her ass into the kitchen.

“Great, your first Earth word,” she mumbled, as drawers and doors slammed shut. She got to the kitchen just in time to see a green streak slide neatly into her silverware drawer and slam it shut.

She headed towards the drawer. “I have to get to work, you little green P.I.T.A.!” she said in her best detective voice, heart pounding from chasing the troll.

It had been a long weekend, and not in a good way. Longer than anyone would believe, if Leira tried to tell them, but she had no plans to do that.

“Double fuck Monday mornings.” She jerked the silverware drawer open. The troll stopped biting one of her spoons, looked up at her, jumped to the counter and banged headfirst into her honey pot shaped cookie jar. It shook its head, dazed, teetering on one foot, it’s eyes not focusing very well at all.

Leira glanced at the time flashing on the microwave. “This is why I don’t have a pet.” She mumbled as she ran to her bedroom for a suitable shoe box.

Maybe she could contain the troll long enough to get to work?

“Hagan’s coming back,” she pleaded with the troll. “We need to be on time. Wasn’t your behavior last night bad enough?”

She had spent the day checking on Hagan, back home after only one night in the hospital. Leira told him to take a few days off until she realized she was only raising his blood pressure.

“It’s just a goddamn flesh wound,” he yelled.

“Passed right through some auxiliary flesh,” said his wife, patting his arm.

He grumbled but smiled. “She means fat,” he said. “I’ll be at my desk tomorrow, ready to go. Cleared by a doctor, no less. A pile of paperwork awaits.”

Leira was worn out by the time she got home. Her mind was buzzing with everything that had happened in the past few days. She only made it as far as the couch, drifting off to sleep with the troll snoring happily from inside of her pocket, dreaming about magical castles that floated in mid-air or plants that moved to the sound of your voice.

But Leira was a light sleeper and the sound of loud rustling in her closet, or her trash can tipping over ripped her out of a dream and she leaped up from the couch to go find the troll.

Once again.

It wasn’t until about five a.m. when he finally fell asleep.

She found him in the recesses of her underwear drawer, turning in circles before settling down in a pile of cotton underwear.

She was tempted to reach out and pet the little guy as it shut its eyes and smacked its lips, satisfied to have finally found a nest.

Almost tempted.

She remembered the sharp, pointed teeth and how fast the troll grew into an oversized version of a dog when someone had casually knocked on her door.

Nope, please keep all fingers and other soft and crunchy bits out from near the mouth of sir lots-of-teeth she thought, and went back to the couch, her gun nearby.

She grabbed a couple of hours of sleep before her alarm went off, startling both herself and the troll who angrily banged against the walls of her dresser before taking off to explore the kitchen.

Apparently, this magical creature didn’t like to get up early.

Her heart was still racing as the troll leaped behind her coffee maker, pushing it toward the edge of the counter.

“Not the coffee!” she yelled. She lunged for the glass carafe, catching it just in time and flashing the troll an ugly look. “That’s messing with my lifeblood.” She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She ran a hand through her short, dark hair and wished she had time to throw some water on her face.

Trying to catch a five-inch troll was a sonofabitch. She put her hand on her gun.

The troll crawled into a bag of stale popcorn, happily munching its way to the bottom, scattering kernels everywhere.

“Okay, that’s a little too dramatic,” Leira said, taking her hand back off her gun and putting the carafe back on the counter. “But not by much. It’s coffee, but probably not worth shooting you over.” She took a deep breath, rethinking her strategy. “Maybe.”

As she let out the breath, she saw the troll suddenly appear at the top of the popcorn bag. He let himself relax, dropping his shoulders, sighing contentedly. He smacked his lips and rubbed his belly, lazily looking up at her.

“Oh no,” she said, as a thought came over her. “You’re connected to me?” She bit her bottom lip trying to come up with a way to prove her theory.

“Now!” she roared, stomping her foot on the linoleum floor, glaring at the troll. She let herself think of Prince Rolim, the Light Elf, as the knife went deeper into his body and his eyes widened in shock and pain.

The anguish on Queen Saria’s face flashed in Leira’s mind as she balled her hands into fists at her side and her anger grew at the thought of such a senseless death. Worse, the killer had gotten away and was somewhere here on Earth.

“Dammit,” she hissed.

A surge of anger flowed through the troll and he stood up straighter and leaped nimbly from the drawer to the floor, getting larger at an alarming rate, Leira watching in wonder until his tuft on his head was brushing the ceiling.

He let out a growl, baring his teeth, and stomped the floor in a pretty good imitation of Leira.

“Then, it’s true!” She looked up at him. “You feel what I feel.“ The troll’s head brushed against the oversized brass lamp that hung in the center of the room, sending it swinging and raining dust down on the floor. “Shit, this is not good,” Leira said slowly.

“Gross,” she exclaimed as the dust hit her, covering her face with her hands. She shook her short dark hair, trying to keep the dust from landing on her.

“Who knew there was so much crap up there?” She reached for a dish towel to wipe her mouth, trying to ignore the gritty taste.

The troll growled again, a low rumble that rattled the dishes in the sink.

“That was intense.” Leira paused, keeping eye contact with the troll. She was never one to back away from danger and frankly, though he looked terrifying, he didn’t seem upset with her because he was looking around for something else to be angry at.

What had that Light Elf told her? Trolls bond with beings that help them. Bonding had to be a good thing, she thought, and she had saved his life.

It was a good thing, right? Great, now she was busy questioning her motives for instinctive reactions.

She sighed and tried to think of a happy place.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” she muttered to herself. “What’s happy?” She glanced at the huge troll. “Hanging out at the bar? No, not really. Going for a run. Maybe. Damn, why has this never come up before?” She wondered aloud.

The troll seemed to feel her growing anxiety and screwed up its face to roar again. He turned in a circle, stomping his feet, and bumped into Leira. “Son of a bitch!” She called out as she stumbled into the lavender quartz countertop.

“Dammit! Okay, okay, I admit it.” She moved her hair out of her eyes. “My happy place is running someone down. A nice tackle and the sound the handcuffs make. There, you happy?” she asked the Troll, trying to calm down again.

The troll stopped stomping and trilled at her, cocking its head to the side and looking down as it towered over her.

Leira looked up into those eyes staring down at her. “Looking over a murder scene with Hagan.” She flung a hand up, pointing to the ceiling and now singing a bit. “Knowing someone is lying in an interrogation. These are a few of my favorite things.”

The troll started to shrink, shaking all over like a dog. Leira reached down to the floor and put out her hand. The troll leaped on, fitting neatly in the palm of her hand and promptly curled up into a ball.

“That wore you out,” she murmured as she watched him get comfortable. “Interesting. Thank goodness you can’t say much besides fuck yet.” She pursed her lips and shrugged. “And can’t tell the world I’m happiest in the middle of mayhem,” she concluded.

She sighed and the troll opened one eye and looked up at her. He trilled again, softly and closed his eye.

She looked around the mostly clean kitchen. “This is going to be a sucky week at work. And, it’s only Monday.” She walked to the couch and slid the sleeping troll into the roomy pocket of her favorite black jacket. The troll’s head popped out of the pocket and he looked around at the room, stretching his arms.

“Stay put!” she told it and she went to grab a pair of her underwear. She stuffed them carefully into the pocket, tucking the edges around the troll. “Those can be yours now,” she told it, adding under her breath. “Absolutely no need to give them back.”

The troll closed his eyes and settled back down.

She shook her head. “Well, at least we know your happy place now. Curled up in my underwear in a small, dark place. Turns out, the first word you learned was appropriate after all,” she told it quietly.

She walked to the closet. “Because I am truly fucked. If you run on good feelings to be nice and docile…well feelings are not my strong point.” She searched through the clean stuff. “Unless anger counts.” She stood up a second and paused her looking, “I wonder what I could pull off with that one.” she wondered.

She changed into another pair of black pants and a shirt suitable enough for work and slipped on her favorite blue and orange running shoes.

She brushed her teeth twice trying to get rid of the gritty taste from the dust shower in the kitchen, and gargled for good measure. The entire time she was making herself take slow, deep breaths, occasionally checking on the troll.

She slid carefully into her jacket, and felt the troll squirm around for a moment, adjusting in his sleep. Nah, that won’t attract attention, she thought as she watched her pocket move.

She scooped up her keys out of the pinch bowl she made in the second grade, headed out the door of the guesthouse, and across the quiet patio of the bar. Estelle’s wouldn’t be hopping again until happy hour.

Leira went through the gate marked private. All the regulars knew that gate was reserved for her.

They were the closest thing to family that Leira had left. The mornings were the hardest time of day. Wide awake with a full day ahead and nothing to distract her. It was too easy to think about everyone missing from her life.

“Crazy mother, safely locked away, check. Missing grandmother, doublecheck.” The troll grew restless in her pocket.

She looked down at her jacket. “It’s my routine, okay? Some people drink coffee to get their blood going. I do this,” she mumbled to the little round green and brown ball of fur.

The gate let out a loud creak and Leira made a mental note for the hundredth time to get something to fix that.

“Only problem is, mother may not be so crazy.” She shut the wooden gate behind her, till the latch caught.

She walked to the street and opened her car door. She slid into the driver’s seat of the Mustang and started it up, grateful for her leather jacket in the chilly morning air of what passed for winter in Austin, Texas.

She adjusted the seat belt carefully around the small bulge in her pocket and pulled out onto the street. “Mom, you’ll have to wait just a little longer. First, we look for Bill Somers and that necklace. Clock is ticking.”

The street was already teeming with people heading for a breakfast taco at the other end of the block. She never noticed the ball of light hovering just under her back fender, easily keeping up with her car as she headed to the precinct, keeping track of all her movements.

She told her new tiny partner. “Need to make one stop.” She turned onto 6th street, and got lucky. There was a parking spot right in front of Voodoo Doughnuts. It was nothing new for Leira. Lucky moments like that were always happening to her.

Kind of made up for all the really bad things that seemed to fall her way, too.

She checked the glove compartment, rummaging around till she found the twenty-dollar bill she kept tucked in there for just this donut place. “Got to replace that.”

Voodoo Doughnuts might be open every day, all day long, but they only took cash, no exceptions.

“Don’t suppose you could stay in the car?” she whispered, looking in her pocket. She slid the troll out carefully, still curled in her underwear, and rested him on the driver’s seat. “I’ll only be a minute, and there’s a doughnut in it for you.”

Leira glanced up at the oversized plastic American flag that stretched from floor to ceiling across one wall as she passed the doughnut-tree sculpture and the colorfully painted columns and stood behind a guy whose spiky hair looked like it had lived through a rough night.

“S’up sweetie?” he said in a deep voice, his eyes only half open. He smiled, revealing tobacco-stained teeth.

Leira gave him her best dead fish look and he turned back around, muttering something under his breath. She wasn’t much of a talker even under the best of circumstances and morning was never in that category.

“Two Old Dirty Bastards, a No Name, a Grape Ape, three Maple Bars, three Raspberry Romeos, and two Mexican Hot Chocolate doughnuts.” It was her usual order. “Two large coffees,” she added, holding up her fingers. She fished in her pocket for the twenty.

“It’ll be a minute on the coffee. Just started another batch,” the short, stocky man behind the long counter replied. Leira liked him. He was always polite but never smiled at her in the morning and never asked how she was doing.

For her, it was the perfect morning exchange of pleasantries.

She sat down at one of the tables and started to read the newspaper clippings that were decoupaged on the tops. All of them were obituaries. Leira liked the ones that gave away something about the personality. He took off to study birds in the Amazon at eighteen. Another one said, had her own radio show that was heard across five states all through the forties and fifties.

That’s a good obituary, thought Leira. It’s about their life, not their death.

She glanced up at her car and was relieved. Nothing was moving.

“Leira Berens? Your order is ready.”

She went to the counter, lost in thought, carefully balancing the box and the coffee. It took a moment to register that people were gasping behind her.

“What the hell is that?” she heard.

It was the dude who had been standing in front of her in line. He was eating a plain cake doughnut in front of the plate glass window, looking at Leira’s car. “What the…?” he asked, his mouth full of doughnut.

“No, no, no, no,” whispered Leira. She hurried toward the door, zigzagging around the tables and the other customers who were turning to look.

She rushed toward her car watching the troll get larger, his face pressed against the window. He was baring his teeth and looking straight at the man in the window.

“Deep breath, deep breath,” she chanted, resting the doughnuts and coffee on the roof and fumbling with the keys. “Happy places. How about think about arresting that guy.” She looked up to see a panicked expression on his face. His mouth hung open and half chewed bits of doughnut were dropping out.

Leira smiled at that and got her door open, just as the troll shrunk down enough to disappear from view. She wrapped him back in the underwear and tucked him back into her pocket before resting the box on the passenger seat.

“Plain cake doughnut. Says a lot about you.” She smiled as she pulled away, daydreaming about arresting sweetie-man.

The troll trilled softly.

She pulled into the back lot behind the low-slung Region Two substation, a newly built, two-story building of red brick atop white Texas stone.

She briefly considered and rejected the idea of leaving the troll in the car. Not gonna try it. My luck, you’ll bust out of the car and have a SWAT team on your tail with reports of a yeti. This town and that green hair though, someone might mistake you for a musician. Maybe. Hey, what the hell?

Leira caught a glimpse of the violet ball of light as it bounced against the ground for a moment and zipped under her car.

She got down on her hands and knees and scanned under the car, seeing the light recede into her engine.

“I know it’s you Bert!” she yelled, wondering if the Light Elf who had been her guide in Oriceran could somehow see her. Her pocket started to wiggle. “Dammit! Deep breath! Deep breath!” She shook her head. “You put a damn tracker on my car. Way to trust, dude. Pull back or I’m off the case.” She looked under the car again and the light bobbed down where she could see it, then disappeared in a small cloud of sparks.

“Thank you!” She got up and leaned into her car to grab the box of doughnuts and coffee, still talking to elves that were nowhere to be seen her voice pissed.

“Pull me all the way over to another world, another world!” She made sure she had her keys. “Ask me, no tell me, to work a damn case with a timer of less than a week on it, then don’t trust me enough to just let me do my damned job!”

“You okay?” A man’s voice called out.

Leira startled and bounced her head against the roof of her car. “Ow!” She squeezed her eyes shut. Her pocket began to jiggle furiously and was stretching to its limits. The voice was coming from directly behind her.

“Detective Berens, right? Something I can help you with?” He asked.

Leira picked up the doughnuts and coffee and pulled her head out of the car, turning her right side away from whoever it was, holding the box there, hoping it would hide the jerking, pulling and wiggling that was going on inside of her jacket. At the last second, she noticed her underwear was hanging halfway out of her pocket, but it was too late to do anything about it.

“Officer Carlton, right?” She did her best to sound nonchalant. He had been a year behind her in the academy where he earned the nickname Booger. Hard to get rid of him once he was on something. Served him well on cases, but he couldn’t take a hint. “How’s things?” she asked, hooking her heel around the car door behind her, pushing it shut.

“Things are good,” said the officer, smiling at the pink Voodoo doughnut box. “Trouble in your world? Hauled into doughnut court? What are you making amends for, Berens? You forget to search somebody? Voodoo Doughnuts, no less.”

“Just a goodwill gesture.” She slid along the car till she could turn toward the building.

“Yeah, sure, that’s why anyone gets up early to slog their way through the traffic on 6th Street and find a place to park. What’d you do, run the siren to get a good spot?”

“Didn’t need to, Carlton, spot opened up right in front.”

“Like magic, huh? You have the best luck of anyone I know, Berens.” She turned away from him and picked up the pace, walking toward the building.

Happy places, geez, I’m running dry. How about if I hum something she thought, looking down at her pocket. She started humming something she remembered from Kev Bev and the Woodland Creatures, a local band that had played at Estelle’s more than once. Their music drifted back to the guesthouse and she’d dance in the kitchen, sometimes even getting drawn back out to the patio to sit with the regulars.

“That is what my spirit needs,” she sang softly, “I got something to celebrate, cuz God knows all my bills are paid…mmmmm,” she hummed, hearing the music in her head as a trill came out of her pocket. “Workin’ real hard just to get by. Where is my social life,” she sang, doing a little two-step. “That could be my theme song,” she said looking down at her pocket, the start of a smile on her face.

“Little bit of joy in the middle of trying to save the world, right?” Just as she got to the door, someone coming out held it open for her.

“Hey Berens, what’d you do? Doughnut court? Paying penance with Voodoo! You must have cocked it up good.”

Leira ignored the ribbing and kept going, plowing down the hall with her eyes forward, to the detectives’ room and her desk.

Detectives were grouped by division and housed in different parts of the city. A few were at the Main, like Robbery and some of Homicide, along with all the top brass on what was referred to as the Fifth Floor.

The rooms were classic government fare with green cubicles, ugly metal desks, ugly grey carpet with small maroon diamonds, tech sprinkled here and there.

Most of the detectives worked elsewhere. Internal affairs, special investigations unit, organized crime and narcotics were in over on the northeast side, off Rutherford. The Motorola building over by interstate 183 housed more of the detectives and support teams.

Initially, Leira had been offered a sector detective spot to work minor cases that didn’t end up with other teams, like assaults that weren’t family violence or robberies. A way to get to know the job before picking a specialty. She’d only seen a sector detective once in the five years she had been there. Most of them worked on call during the overnight hours.

It didn’t matter, anyway. She was already set on homicide from the day she showed up at the academy.

She kept moving down the hall, ignoring the gauntlet of hoots and inquiries, and carefully slid the box onto her partner, Detective Hagan’s desk. He was swearing under his breath and typing on a keyboard with two fingers, filling out an incident report.

He turned to look at the box, then at her. “What are those for?” he asked, as she slid into her seat. “I know you never pull a boner so this has to be about a favor.” She shook her head. “No? Hmmm, then it’s to say something I won’t like. My least favorite kind of doughnut-offering.” He took out one of the Maple Bars. Leira knew he would reach for that one first.

The Grape Ape would be saved for last.

“They’re for the patient.” Leira tried a smile.

“No patient here,” he retorted. “But I’ll take them off your hands, anyway.”

“You do the weirdest thank yous, Hagan.” Leira steeled herself and blurted it out. “I’m gonna ask for a few weeks off. Take all of my PTO at once.”

Another detective lifted the lid on the Voodoo box. “Yum, Maple Bars,” he said, before Hagan slapped his hand and slid the box out of reach. “Never touch another man’s Maple Bars without permission,” he told him. There was already a little icing in his graying moustache.

A ripple of laughter went around the squad room. Leira tried to rub the outside of her jacket in an effort to keep the troll happy without looking like she was a little too into leather.

“You mean the vacation time you’ve never touched?” asked Hagan. “You’re going to take it all at once?” He gave her a sidelong glance and he bit hard into the middle of the Maple Bar.

“You’re not the tropical kind of vacationer. Too pale. Hell, your ability to spend time not working a case is limited to sleeping, eating, a little bowling and the occasional beer.” He stopped chewing and tapped the side of his head, rocking back in the metal desk chair.

“That’s what it is, isn’t it? What are you up to Berens? Working a cold case without me? Seems kind of rude.” He fished for another doughnut and pulled out the No Name, pausing long enough to swill down some of his coffee.

“Have to admit, your tactics are solid,” he admitted to her. “I appluad that. So, fill me in. What are you up to, Berens? Come on, we’re a team.”

“Mmmmmmm.” The sound came from her pocket.

His eyes narrowed. “What the hell was that?” He looked to his side and at her feet. “Was that you?” he asked, eyeing her.

Leira hesitated, wondering if she could share this with her forty-eight-year-old partner. Another realm, portals between worlds, magical creatures. This might be over the line.

Hagan narrowed his eyes and stared at her. Leira stood stock still.

“This is serious, isn’t it? Let’s head out and you can tell me in the car. Come on, grab the doughnuts,” he said, licking his fingers.

Detective Hagan stood up, brushing off the crumbs, leaving a maple smudge on his tie. “Awww,” He looked down. “Come on dammit. This is how the wife finds out these things. Not good, Felix, not good at all.” He licked a napkin and rubbed the spot as he headed for the door.

Leira took a quick look around to make sure no one was watching and lifted the lid of the doughnut box just high enough to tear off a piece and slip it into her pocket. Two small, hairy hands grabbed her fingers and held on tight, devouring the morsel. She could feel the edges of his claws but he was being careful enough not to press too hard.

“Yum,” said the troll.

Leira scooped up the box and her coffee. “So, you can learn English, but one-syllable words at a time. Good to know. You should have all of my favorite swear words down by end of shift,” she said, and realized the Captain was approaching her desk.

He was the one responsible for talking Leira into becoming a detective at what was her first opportunity, after just four years as a patrolman.

She proved to be good at standardized tests and knocked the civil service exam out of the park. It moved her up the line for a promotion.

The Captain knew her grandmother’s cold case was what drove her and had cautioned her more than once to not let it consume her.

With no leads to follow that suggestion had been easy to abide by.

Maybe all of that was changing. First, though, she had to find this archaeologist and turn him over to the Light Elves.

Damn. Her simple, orderly life was getting more complicated.

“Sir,” she said. “Headed out with Hagan.” She turned, her hand gently pressing against her pocket, making herself act normally.

“Urp!” A loud belch erupted from the troll. Fortunately, Leira had her back to Captain Napora. She turned, red-faced, determined to look him in the eye. “Ate too fast, you know how it is.”

He seemed more amused than anything as Leira gave him one last nod, ready walk as fast as she could to the car.

“Uh, Captain,” she said, looking back. “Do you have some time open later this afternoon? There’s something I need to discuss with you.”

“Yeah, sure, check with me after three. I’m sure I can find some. Slow down on the doughnuts, Berens. Voodoo can always make more,” he said, arching an eyebrow.

CHAPTER TWO

Leira headed for the car, saying a quick hello to a detective coming in the door but she didn’t give him more than a nod and a grunt. Let them think it was about a hot lead.

Hagan was waiting by the Mustang, still fiddling with his tie.

“I’ve been cheating on the Paleo diet for months now without getting caught,” he said with frustration.

Leira handed him the box of doughnuts and unlocked the car, walking around to the other side. “I don’t think that’s how a diet works. Besides, hasn’t Rose noticed you haven’t lost any weight?”

“She’s lost a few pounds and is too happy to have noticed my utter failure yet. You know what? I’ll drive today. I’m pulling rank, or age or whatever,” he said. “Throw me the keys. How did you get this sweet ride, again?” He slid the box across the roof toward Leira as she tossed him the keys.

“Just got lucky.”

“That should be your nickname, Berens,” he said, pulling the seatbelt across his belly. “What are you doing?”

Leira was on the ground, taking a quick look under the car to make sure there were no flaming balls of light attached to the bumper. It wasn’t until she stood back up again that it seeped out of the engine, a violet ball of pulsing light, bobbing just under the car.

“Thought I heard a noise earlier. Just making sure there was nothing dragging.”

“Make sure you get the doughnuts,” said Hagan, pointing toward the roof.

“Bringing you doughnuts kind of makes me your food pusher.” Leira got into her seat and put her hand in the box, pulled off another piece, sliding it into her squirming pocket.

Hagan started up the car, glancing over at her. “Can’t help but notice that you’re squirreling away doughnut for later. I do know how to share, somewhat. You can have a whole one, out in the open, wrapped in a napkin if you need to.”

She ignored him. “Where are we headed?”

“Remember that witness for the Leahy case who up and disappeared on us? The one who saw the robbery homicide in the Wag a Bag from behind the rack of Doritos?”

“Yeah, it was a good thing we weren’t in court yet. The prosecutor would have been all over our ass.” Leira settled back into her seat, trying to stay calm and looking around at the scenery. Damn, why didn’t I listen to Bert and leave the troll alone? This being calm shit is going to kill me.

Hagan turned the corner and glanced at Leira. “What’s up over there? You take up yoga, or some other kind of shit? No offense, but all of that seems outside of a comfort zone you don’t really have. This have something to do with why you brought me doughnuts? You aren’t sick or anything, are you?”

Hagan started to look genuinely concerned.

Leira blurted out, not sure where to start. “My mother’s not crazy!” Damn, that probably wasn’t it.

“Okay,” said Hagan, slowly, pulling up to a red light. “Not crazy at all or not crazy anymore? Spill it. You’re a good detective. Cool under fire and you stick to the facts, so what happened? It’s been, what, over fifteen years since they carted her off. Sorry, locked her up for her own protection.” He was getting himself worked up.

“Not crazy at all.” The full weight of what he said—fifteen years—washed over her. All those missed years. A lot has gone wrong here.

The light turned green but Hagan didn’t move and it wasn’t long before someone started honking.

“Damn tourists,” he said.

In Austin, locals still waved at strangers, even if it was just a couple of fingers peeled off a steering wheel, and no one jumped on the horn right away.

Hagan wasn’t budging.

He leaned over and ran the siren for a moment, sticking his arm out the window and waving everyone around him.

“We have a lead to follow, Hagan. It’s okay, and by that I mean I’m okay. If you’re thinking I’m finally following my mother’s path, that’s not it…exactly.”

“Very comforting, Berens.” He was still waving people around, giving the siren one more short blip and glaring at a driver who was yelling something from the safety of her car. “Look, I can handle the truth. I’ve seen a lot in my years on the force. You can’t shock me, trust me.”

“I’ll lay it all out for you if you start driving. It’s kind of a complicated situation and an intersection isn’t the most conducive place to tell you. Go, I promise.” She tried to reassure him with her usual cold stare.

“Only person I know that can make me feel better with a dead fish look.” He finally moved through the intersection.

“You’re the only one who can say that to me.”

“Well aware, and if you don’t start talking I’m going to stop in traffic again.”

“Not sure where to start…”

“Jump in the middle if you need to. The details will sort themselves out. What makes you think your mother is a normal kind of crazy?”

“I was asked to be a kind of consultant for a murder case. A prince was killed and…”

“A singer?”

“Not that Prince. A prince in a kind of… foreign land,” Leira said haltingly. “He was knifed in a robbery. The suspect’s name is Bill Somers, some kind of archaeologist who made off with a rare necklace. Actually, I think the stone in the necklace is the rare part.”

“I take it this has something to do with your PTO. So, you’re answering one of my questions. How does this come around to your mother?”

Leira hesitated, just as the small troll turned over in her pocket. I have to trust someone.

“I know you read the reports about my mother. It’s okay, I would have done the same thing. Get to know your partner, and all.”

“You were a big unknown. Only been on the force the four years and you weren’t good at sharing facts about yourself.”

“Would you be?”

“No, maybe not.”

“My mother was always a little out there. She talked about faeries in the garden and two worlds that came together but only once in thousands of years. She told those same stories for as long as I can remember. She seemed like your average flaky mom who liked to wear flowy skirts and maybe was smoking a little weed when no one was looking. Don’t give me the worried look, Hagan. It’s okay, I’m grown now.”

“That’s the Leira I’m used to.” He shifted in his seat as they turned onto Lakeline Boulevard near the Alamo Drafthouse. The latest Alien movie was the headliner on the marquee. Hagan drove past the movie theater and at the end of the block, he pulled into the parking lot of an old brick apartment complex and parked the car near the back. The Mustang tended to attract attention. Not always the best on stakeouts.

“Informant won’t be showing up for a little while. Still at his job asking if people want fries or not. Best to be in position,” he said. It was something Leira had heard him say a thousand times. Get there first, whenever you can. “We have a few minutes.”

Leira thought about the situation. Her partner was asking for the facts and if she could take the crazy feeling out of it, that was more than doable.

“My mother started talking more and more about elves, dwarves and magic bugs.”

“I remember reading about that.”

“She was even starting to give them all names. There were details that made no sense. Insects that could be controlled by magic or plants that moved when somebody sang to them. The worst was when she told the neighbors that she was visiting this world. This place that, according to her wasn’t exactly Earth.”

“Still not seeing the connection between you freelancing a murder case, which I have all kinds of questions about why you need the side work, and your mother’s stories about flying things.”

“That’s right, she did talk about some kind of flying creatures, didn’t she? Can’t remember what she called those.”

“Did your mom know this archaeologist?”

“No,” said Leira, shaking her head. Best to get this part over with. “I’ve been there. It’s called Oriceran. I’ve actually only seen a small part of the planet. The Light Elves, they’re the ones who asked me to help with the investigation. Queen Saria’s son was murdered because someone helped Bill Somers into what’s usually an invisible castle and even worse, into a room that held some kind of relic. A very powerful relic.”

Hagan’s mouth was open slightly, as if he wanted to say something but no sound was coming out. “This isn’t funny, Berens,” he said finally. “You’re killing my sugar buzz, you know.”

“Let me tell you the rest of it, first,” she replied. “Then you get to call me crazy.”

“I don’t need to hear the rest of it and in fact, it’s better if I don’t. I can’t testify at your hearing that way. Uh, look at what you’ve gone and done,” he said, rubbing his stomach. “Damn that acid reflux.”

“The Light Elves needed me to find Somers because magic won’t work on this side. At least, not well enough. It gets worse.”

“Of course it does.”

“The clock is ticking. There are only a few more days before this thing will release its energy to whoever has it. Somers could get even more powerful than he already is just by having the thing.”

“Great! Help, I’m trapped in a Marvel comic and can’t get out,” said Hagan, holding up his hands. He caught something out of the corner of his eye and started scrambling to get out of the car. “Perfect timing, as usual. There’s our guy. Can you hold off on any more magic stories for the few minutes it’ll take to grab this guy?”

Leira ignored the jab and opened her door, forgetting for the moment about the troll curled up in her pocket.

“Sam Thomas?” Hagan smiled, calling out in a friendly voice to the tall, lanky young man with long dark hair, as he walked quickly toward him. “Just wanted a word… damn!” Thomas took one long look, first at Hagan and then Leira and bolted, doing a nice one-handed vault over the railing between the apartment buildings to the parking lot on the far side.  “Hate the rabbits!”

“Go around,” Leira shouted to Hagan.

“Was there any doubt?” he said, heading around the tall, neatly-trimmed shrubs.

Leira made the same easy vault, pushing off the flimsy, painted metal railing and hitting the ground running, easily closing the gap. Thomas took a couple of glances backward, his eyes growing wider with panic as Leira pulled up behind him.

“Stop or I tackle you!” she shouted.  “You know it’s coming,”

Thomas seemed to be weighing his choices, slowing his pace. Leira matched it, keeping a short distance between them, waiting to see what he would do next.

She didn’t feel the small troll drop out of her pocket, landing on one knee on the ground. He scampered for a nearby oak tree, scurrying up and into the branches where he could watch what was happening.

Thomas pulled up, breathing hard. “You’re making the right decision, Thomas. You’re not in any trouble. We just want to talk to you about the Leahy murder.” Leira kept her hand near her gun, ready in case things went south.

Things went south way too often.

She saw where Thomas was looking, at a nearby metal pipe lying on the ground.

“Don’t do it, Thomas. I’m faster than you, and I have a gun. Besides, right now, you’re not in any trouble. My partner is coming around that corner and we’re going to have a friendly chat. That’s all. You didn’t have anything to do with that murder, right? Oh shit!”

Thomas lunged for the pipe and Leira drew her gun.

A roar erupted out of the nearby tree just as Hagan rounded the corner, catching everyone off guard and for Leira, time seemed to slow down. The troll leaped from a high branch and as he fell toward the ground he was growing, stretching, reaching eight feet tall.

Thomas grabbed the pipe, raising it over his head, shaking it first at Leira and then at the giant troll.

Leira quickly patted down her pocket, wondering if it was possible that a second troll had made its way to Earth, but no, her pocket was empty.

This was her troll. Pissed off and hopping mad.

The troll stomped first one foot and then the other, breaking off a large branch of the tree and beating the ground.

“Fuck! Yum! Fuck! Yum!” The words came out in a low, threatening rumble.

Leira shot a glance at the large troll. “We really need to work on your vocabulary,” she told it.

“Fuck! Yum! Fuck! Yum!” said the troll, as it covered the ground between them faster than Leira would have thought possible, grabbing the metal pipe with Thomas still hanging onto the other end. The ground shook as he stomped his feet.

The troll swung the pipe around, pulling Thomas like he was on a carnival ride, his legs flying out behind him, shrieking like a toddler.

“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” Leira yelled, getting between her partner and the troll. Detective Hagan had his gun raised, looking for a chance to shoot at the troll without hitting Thomas.

Leira turned and looked at the troll and resisted the urge to yell at him. He can grow Mothra big, thought Leira. Need to relax. Now.

She stood still, watching Thomas swing around again and willed herself to be calm. The troll slowed down and looked at her, shrinking, finally dropping Thomas. The pipe clattered to the ground and rolled away. Thomas passed out cold with a wet stain spreading on his pant leg.

Hagan was still pointing his gun at the troll, his arm dropping as the troll shrunk back to its normal size. Leira kept her eyes on the troll, trying to stay calm. The troll finished shrinking, then ran to her and neatly climbed up her pant leg, crawling up the outside of her jacket and ending up in her jacket pocket.

“You can put your gun down now, Felix,” Leira said, soothingly. She rarely used his first name, but he was pointing his Glock right at her, his mouth agape and his face flushed with sweat.

“What the fuck was that thing?” he said hoarsely, finally put away his gun. “Is Thomas okay?” He went to Thomas, still keeping his eye on Leira’s pocket as he knelt down and felt for a pulse. Thomas groaned and jerked as he slowly came to.

“I wouldn’t mention what just happened to him,” said Leira. “Let him think it was a hallucination. Give me a chance to tell you the whole story. Remember, you said you could handle the truth.”

“Regular truth, Leira. Ordinary kinds of truth.”

“So what? You’ll have to change your definition of ordinary. Come on, let’s get him up.” She told him and walked over to Thomas.

“How were you able to get that thing to shrink back down? And why does it think you’re home base?” Hagan asked.

“All good questions that I will answer.”

He made a face. “Answer the first one, at least.”

“Okay, okay,” she said. She tapped Thomas’ face, hard, trying to get him to fully conscious. “As far as I can tell, it’s tied to my emotions.”

“You mean it responds to what we feel?” asked Hagan, his eyes getting wider.

“Well, what I feel. It’s tied to me. I can’t say why until we get back to the car and I can tell you the whole story.”

“Your… feelings?” said Hagan, drawing out each word. “Then,” he snorted, “we’re all fucked!” He looked at her, a glint in his eye. “Unless anger comes in handy!”

“Very funny.” She gave him the dead fish stare, ignoring that she’d had the same thought earlier that morning. “I can do feelings.”

“Like I said, fucked. This story I cannot wait to hear. What the hell is happening?”

“My mother isn’t crazy. That’s what’s happening. That and an entire Wikipedia of magical shit.”

“That’s deep,” said Hagan, straining to pull Thomas up into a seated position. “We need to figure out a way to get her out.”

“First things first. And first, I need to find Bill Somers and I only have a few days left to do it before something bad might happen.”

“Bad like what, like large roaring monsters?” he asked, wrinkling his nose.

“I don’t exactly know,” she admitted.

“What the hell?” said Thomas, his eyes opening. There was a trail of spittle on the side of his face, running back into his thick hair. His voice was whiny and sounded hoarse from screaming. “Did you see that?” he asked, looking from Hagan to Leira.

“This is not going to help his credibility as a witness,” Leira observed.

“See what?” Hagan asked, moving to block Thomas’ view of the tree.

“You must have hit your head when I tackled you,” said Leira. “Shouldn’t have gone for the pipe. I told you so.” She helped him to his feet and put the zip ties on him. “Love me some zip ties in the morning!”

They loaded Thomas into the back of the Mustang, still babbling about the monster with the bright green hair, and drove him to the hospital to get checked out, just in case. When the attendants in the ER asked about the hallucinations they both shrugged and repeated their theory that he must have hit his head.

“Buy you more coffee?” asked Leira, as they passed the cafeteria. “Still have a few doughnuts left in the car.”

“It’s hospital coffee, but I’ll take it. Have to do in a pinch. You good with Mickey there, in your pocket?” he asked, flapping a hand in the general direction of her jacket.

“Yeah, we’re good, at least for now. I’m not really sure what the rules are for it. It’s called a troll. Why Mickey?”

“That life-size mouse always scared the beejebus out of me. Frozen face, dancing around. Still, it’s trying to be friendly. Seemed to fit.”

They turned into the large open cafeteria with long tables and low, round seats that were permanently connected.

Her lip made a curve. “Reminds me of visits to my mom.” Leira shook her head to clear the thought and made a beeline for the self-serve coffee.

“Reminds me of being in seventh grade,” Hagan countered, making an attempt to lighten the mood. “Don’t say it. Yes, I can remember back that far.”

“I was going to say, yours is probably closer to PTSD.”

“Definitely. Believe it or not, I was a small, nerdish version of myself. It did not go over big.”

“Two large coffees,” said Leira, handing over her debit card. “Come on, we should get going. I’ll tell you what I can in the car on the way to the station. You still want to drive?”

“Nah, let’s get the coffee and you drive. I’ve had enough excitement for the next hour or two. Whew, should sip this slowly.” He tried for another sip. “Ooh, hot stuff, hot stuff!”

She eyed him. “There’s no rush, you know.”

“Oh, but it’s coffee,” he said, “and time’s flying by.” They stepped out into the warm winter air that was typical for Austin. The temperature had dipped to just below seventy degrees.

Once they were settled in the front seat, Hagan took a large gulp of his coffee, complaining, “Hot, hot, hot… But good.” Another thing he liked to say all the time.

Leira started up the car. The violet ball stirred in its hiding place, pulsing with yellow light in the very center.

“Tell me everything,” said Hagan.

“You sure? Last chance,” she asked as they pulled out into the street.

“If I can handle a giant Mickey jumping out of a tree and using a big-ass tree branch like a toothpick, I can handle whatever truth you got.” He took another sip and smiled. “Bring it on.”

She made it through a yellow light. “I was minding my own business when a hole opened up in the universe and these two Light Elves stepped through and asked me for help.”

He turned to look at her, his coffee forgotten for a moment. “No shit!?”

“That’s only the beginning of this story,” Leira told him.

CHAPTER THREE

Bill Somers was pleading again. It was one of his worst traits, even he knew it. But he couldn’t help himself. Everything he had been researching for years was real and soon he would have the proof.

“You don’t understand.” He was pacing back and forth, waving his hands around, wearing his usual uniform of a t-shirt and jeans and high-top sneakers. Today’s t-shirt had the words ‘Don’t be a’ with different elements of the periodic table below that were used to spell out ‘HAtEr.’

“This isn’t a simple necklace.” He ran his hand nervously through his hair.

Dean Muston, the chair of the History Department at the University of Chicago, Illinois who had been at the university for as long as anyone could remember, was bored and annoyed. He dangled the heavy gold necklace over two fingers as the lavender stone, carved into a diamond-shape with an ‘O’ inscribed in the center swung back and forth.

A younger professor, Richard Randolph, sat nearby at a long table cluttered with unfurled maps and research books. Only the wooden legs were visible underneath all of Somers’ research.

Randolph was trying to give Somers encouraging looks but he knew it wasn’t going well and only managed to wince, alternating occasionally with a pained smile.

“Clearly,” said Dean Muston. “The gold alone has to be worth something. I’m not so sure about this stone. It’s far too gaudy for my taste but live and let live.”

“No, no!” Somers said, a little too loudly, especially since he was talking to his boss and hoping for a favor. His usual bad start. “I’m sorry,” he stuttered, “I get a little excited.”

The dean glared at him, still dangling the necklace. “If I insulted a family heirloom,” he said, sarcastically, “I apologize.”

“I think what Professor Somers meant to say was there’s more to this story. That’s actually an ancient relic.”

“Yes, exactly,” said Somers, pacing again.

“You are quite good at burying the headline, Somers.” Muston let the necklace fold gently into his palm. He pulled out a jeweler’s loupe and looked at the thick, braided chain more closely. “Doesn’t really look like gold, but doesn’t look man made either. Interesting. What’s the backstory? Not you, Randolph. I want to hear it from Somers.”

Randolph grimaced, trying to get Somers’ attention.

Somers walked to the table and shuffled papers around, moving maps out of the way, looking for his notes.

“Don’t do it. Don’t say anything about magic,” Randolph whispered, but Somers had waited for this moment for too long. It had been ten years since he was a graduate student and first discovered the evidence that told him there was more than one dimension. Earth was just one of them. Even better, the rules of science could be bent in a thousand different ways that no one on Earth could imagine.

Some might call it magic, but Somers refused to.

“There’s no such thing as magic,” he hissed. “Fools say that about things they can’t explain.”

“What’s that about magic?”

“Nothing at all about magic.” Somers found his notes. There was a coffee stain on the corner of the page. The stain had bled through, sticking several of the pages together.

“Magic is a distraction for children or ancient civilizations that needed a quick explanation for everything. We are scientists,” he said, spitting a little as he shouted the last words. “We know better than that, and look for how everything fits together organically. In ways that can be reproduced, proven, tested.” He carefully peeled the pages apart, and jabbed a finger at a map,

“Here, see, the green shows places where people live longer with far fewer health issues. Santa Barbara is one of them. So is Austin, Texas, or here in the Mediterranean and in Sweden. This is where it all started. Where I first saw the connections.” He was talking faster and faster.

He was cruelly aware how short Dean Muston’s attention span was from past encounters. He was known to walk out mid-presentation without saying a word. His way of saying no to a project.

“You found the necklace in one of these places?” asked Muston.

“No, not exactly. That’s where I started hearing stories about Earth’s history, ancient stories. They talked about giants, and humans with wings and beings that used light to conjure up objects. String theory taken to a natural conclusion but used thousands of years ago.”

“All of this from Santa Barbara?” Dean Muston stood up from where he had been leaning on the edge of a desk, straightening out his tie.

“Not giants, like different creatures, of course. There’s a scientific explanation or an early confusion but that’s not the important part anyway. It’s the portals,” Somers blurted out, desperate to keep Muston’s attention.

There were too many years of being treated like a middling archaeologist who was too unimaginative to come up with original ideas. Or worse, someone lost in their own fantasy who couldn’t even make it in the middle of the pack. This was going to be his moment.

Randolph fidgeted with the maps on the table, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. He had known Somers since graduate school and wanted to be there for his friend without tanking his own career. Somers wasn’t making it easy, or even doable.

“I really need to get back to work,” said Randolph, standing up so abruptly he bumped the table, sending several of the maps to the floor. He knelt down trying to gather them but Somers stopped him.

“You’re tearing one of the maps. Stop!” He pushed Randolph’s arm away. “I will get them. You don’t understand, this is years of research,” he said, carefully rebuilding the pile on the table.

“Portals?” Muston walked over to stand behind Somers, looking over his shoulder at one of the maps. “What is an Oriceran?”

“It’s like it sounds, like a door but it’s really more of a tear or an opening in the universe. Like a black hole but without the gravity. We believe in black holes, right? Not magic.” He scooped up the rest of the papers, placing them gently on the table.

“But these doors, these portals work according to certain rules. They’re not at all random and instead of being out there,” he pointed toward the ceiling, “somewhere in space, they’re here. Here on Earth.”

“You’re saying there’s a door in Santa Barbara,” said the dean, “that has managed to go unnoticed by all of California, and this phenomena gave you this necklace.”

“Forget the necklace!” he shouted, grabbing it away from the dean. “The portals are what matter. The necklace is just a means to an end. The portals are these openings that are connections to a different dimension. Much like a black hole, right? That’s the theory but this is real!” He jabbed a finger at the dean. “Right?” He looked back at Randolph for support, but he was carefully looking elsewhere.

“I’ve heard these stories in Wales, Egypt and even England. The same stories, the same details,” he said, clapping his hands sharply. “There was a time, thirteen thousand, eight hundred years ago, give or take a decade, when these portals were open all the time and the laws of physics on Earth were entirely different.”

“You mean magic,” said Muston.

“Yes, okay, some would call it magic but it’s really just physics redefined, don’t you see? And all of it operated on a set of very defined rules, still does.”

“But the portals closed at some point,” said Muston. “The only reason I’m still here and listening is because this is the most creative thing you’ve ever come up with, Somers, and I’m wondering what kind of favor you’re going to ask to go along with it. Best excuse I’ve ever had to skip a board meeting.”

“All the portals closed but before they did, great things were accomplished on Earth. Like building the pyramids of Egypt, or Stonehenge! We all know there’s a commonly held theory that the pyramids were the work of the Old Kingdom society that rose to prominence in the Nile Valley between four and five thousand years ago. The same with the pyramids of Giza. But, you know, there’s a lot of research that shows that can’t be true. That they’re a lot older, they have to be. Like nine or ten thousand years older than that. Same with Easter Island. When I was studying in Egypt we did radiocarbon testing that called the earlier tests into question. I repeatedly tried to get the same conventional results but the tests showed that the structures had to be older.”

“I remember your testing, but no one else was able to reproduce your findings,” said the dean.

“Not true! Several others got the same results but no one would listen! Even though the Turin Royal Canon that lists all of the pharaohs suggests I’m right.”

“Most well-established archaeologists do not believe in the Turin King list. Besides, more than fifty percent of that list is lost and what we were able to reconstruct was from well over a hundred different pieces. Not entirely reliable.”

“That list was deciphered by Frances Champollion, the modern father of Egyptology. You know it talks about an Egypt that’s thousands of years older, ruled by half human, half god creatures who were called Shems Hor, companions of Horus. What if they weren’t gods,” he implored, “but different species who travelled through a portal? Then, there’s…”

“Please don’t bring up the Manetheo texts,” said the dean. “They’ve been debunked.”

“No, they’ve been ignored when they didn’t fit neatly into the established timeline. It doesn’t mean they’re wrong. The Manetheo texts were written in Greece. They called them demi-gods. The coincidence is amazing. The same details.”

“Then there’s the ostrich egg,” said Randolph timidly from the background. He was still trying to help his friend.

“Yes, yes!” said Somers, shaking Randolph by the arm. “The ostrich egg that everyone agrees predates the pyramids of Giza by over three thousand years, found in an ordinary tomb that has a depiction of the pyramids painted on one side. How is that possible if some of this, I tell you, all of this, isn’t true? Look, the human beings back then seem to have known about these rigid rules surrounding the portals. That as the portals closed they would have the ability to use physics to their advantage…”

“Magic.” The dean nodded his head, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

Somers plowed ahead, determined to lay out the rest of his story. “…but it would lessen with each passing year till it reached a valley when this energy was at its lowest before it started climbing again. Some referred to them as seasons, and the portals being wide open was called summer. Others named the time periods after precious metals, like a golden age. They knew the fall season of their age, or a silver age was coming and while they could still use magic, they built the pyramids. Not as burial grounds but as focal points to gather energy and hold it, like a giant battery, for as long as possible.”

“This is all very old, tired ground, Somers.” Muston rose wearily. “I’m afraid it’s even failed as a good distraction.” He turned to go.

“The pyramids have something in common with that necklace, that relic that you saw. The portals still exist but they’re smaller, weaker and occur only in a handful of places around the world. But they’re there.”

“You can show me one of these portals with this necklace. This is some kind of divining rod for the door.” Muston shook his head

“It’s more like a key to open the door. It stores this ancient energy like a battery that can be recharged. Didn’t everyone think that electricity was bunk when Franklin said it could be harnessed? Or how about planes? All crazy science. Magic, the devil, or something that just wasn’t discovered yet.”

“You seem very sure of yourself. Okay, I’ll play along.” The dean looked down at his phone, checking the time. “I have a few minutes left. What’s on the other side of a portal? You’re talking like there’s something specific.”

“Another world, similar to ours but where the levels of energy have remained high. They call it Oriceran,” whispered Somers, his face flushed.

“They, who is they? One bit of information from you only leads to ten more questions. Now, we’re talking about aliens all of a sudden. You should have been a writer, Somers. Maybe you too, Randolph.”

Randolph squeaked and sat down hard in his chair.

“I have proof.” Somers took a deep breath. “I can show you a portal.”

“Great,” said the dean, standing up straighter. “Okay, I’m ready, show me one, but be quick.”

“It doesn’t work like that.” Somers’ voice had taken on a slight whine.

“Of course it doesn’t.” The dean turned to go. Randolph fidgeted noisily in his chair, motioning to Somers to say something, twisting his mouth left and right, clearing his throat.

“But it will,” Somers said abruptly. “In just a few days the necklace, the relic, will release its energy and then another portal can be opened. Opened right here!” He was trying to regain confidence he felt just moments earlier.

The dean turned back for a moment.

“You’re talking about the department’s centennial celebration, aren’t you?” Dean Muston paused, eyeing the nervous Randolph who was pretending he was elsewhere, and Somers who was trying to look calm, his left eye twitching.

“No,” he said firmly. He turned and moved swiftly toward the door, and said over his shoulder, “Be glad you got invitations that I can’t take back.”

“Why didn’t you tell him about going over there?” asked Randolph. “Why didn’t you show him the pictures on your phone? That’s what sold me.”

Somers sat down behind his desk, his hands between his knees. “These days, anything could be explained away as a trick. He would think it was clever but he wouldn’t believe me,” he said, dejected. “Why would he believe that I was minding my own business, grading papers when a hole opened up and the bar scene from Star Wars was recreated in my office? Different creatures in hoods asking for my help. Even I thought I was crazy at first, having a stroke.”

“What changed your mind?” Randolph asked, running a finger over the map.

“On my first visit when they just wanted to talk I managed to take this.” He opened a cabinet to show a tall white flower growing out of reeds in a small clay pot. “It was just a seedling when I took it and it did this in just days.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s beautiful.” Randolph stood there in awe, staring at the flower.

“The petals follow the golden ratio, like a rose, but there’s more petals and the petals can close individually, and reopen in sections. Doesn’t need sunlight or water. I tried giving it a little water at first and the plant shook it off. Literally shook the water off! I half expected it to spit it back at me.”

Randolph leaned in to inspect the flower more closely and it bent away from him every time he drew too close.

“Not too fond of you,” said Somers. “It just wants music. Like it’s fed by sound. I discovered that by accident.”

“Like penicillin. A happy accident.” Randolph leaned toward the flower from a different angle, watching in amazement as it drew away. “I’m even getting rejected by flowers now.”

“Hates Beethoven, loves Mozart and the Beatles. Played a little Smashing Pumpkins and almost killed it. Since I got the playlist right, I’ve had to repot it several times. It keeps on growing. The dirt is more for show. I don’t think it needs it but I’m not sure. I’m not even sure if Earth dirt would be the same as Oriceran.”

“I get why you didn’t show the dean your pictures, but this would be hard for anyone to deny.”

Somers slapped Randolph’s hand hard before he could pluck one of the petals. “Owwwww, fuck you Somers!” Randolph rubbed his smarting hand. “What could it hurt? You can’t think it’s got some kind of intelligence!”

“Randolph, you cannot believe what I saw in Oriceran,” Somers said in a hushed voice. “There was a palace that seemed to hang in the sky and one moment it was there and the next, poof! There was nothing. I swear to you, I thought I saw a tree with eyes watching everything. But then, for a second…” he snapped his fingers, “the tree moved and I realized it was a kind of man with bark for skin standing at the edge of a dense forest.”

“What did the hooded guys want with you?” asked Randolph, finally letting go of his hand, shaking it a little, not quite willing to let his hurt feelings go.

“They wanted my help.” Somers stood up straight, thrusting his chin out. “My help,” he said, sounding proud and even a little surprised. “Saw my papers on ancient Egypt and the age of the pyramids and the testing I did and for once, someone knew I was right.”

“That’s creepy. They can watch us from over there. Like an alien NSA.” Randolph crossed his legs tightly, and shivered.

“I don’t think they’re bothering to watch us now,” said Somers, irritated. He was tired, so tired. Ever since he had to kill that prince he hadn’t slept well.

I just wanted the necklace. I needed proof. It was an accident, he thought for the thousandth time. I’m not a killer.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to forget the look in the prince’s eyes as he died. Somers had never so much as balled up his fist before that moment.

“I am not some kind of crackpot!”

“Nobody said you were,” said Randolph, startled. “At least nobody here.”

He wanted to tell Randolph everything. The hooded creatures ambushed him just outside the relic room, waving their hands around, shooting out sparks and fireballs pulled Somers across the floor, back into their clutches.

He still wasn’t sure why they hadn’t killed him right where he stood. They seemed to be panicking more than he. No one even noticed that he had pocketed the necklace. He even managed a picture or two with his phone as they dragged him along, capturing their faces twisted in grimaces.

“Waste of time,” one of them had said.

That’s when he saw the man that looked like a tree watching them as the creatures dragged him down a different path to a clearing, opened up a hole in the world and tossed him through it, right back into his office.

Only a little bit later on Earth. He checked every clock he could find to be sure. Almost no time had passed. It was amazing. He was free with no one following him. Those creatures had made it clear they just wanted him gone.

So be it. I’m sorry it happened but there are bigger things to think about. The portals will be opening again. I could lead the way. The thought exhilarated him. Maybe things were finally changing for him. It was an accident. He shook his head as the image of the dying prince crept into his thoughts again. No one can find you. There were no other witnesses.

He had been giving himself the same speech over and over again for days.

Somers went to the small fridge near his desk and took out two Half Acre Lead Feather beers, handing one to Randolph who’d finally lost interest in the plant.

He found the Beatles on his phone, sliding it into a speaker so that ‘Hey Jude’ filled the room. The plant bobbed to the melody and even stretched its reeds toward the speaker like it was the sun.

“They talked about some kind of Armageddon that’s going to happen on their side of things and everyone from their side will have to come over here. Like a prophesy.”

“Mass immigration? We don’t like it when the people we’ve already got here change locations from one place to another. Where would we put them all?”

“Not my problem.” Somers took a gulp of his beer. “Right now, I just have to prove to everyone that something is coming, like a motherfucking asteroid, and I knew about it all along.”

“Dude, you could benefit from smoking a little weed.”

CHAPTER FOUR

The older, taller Light Elf, held up a violet ball of light in his hand and sang into it. Fiery symbols crept up his arm. His eyes glowed a bright, deep blue. Images appeared inside the sphere of light. It showed Leira and Hagan driving back to the precinct.

“She’s sharing her secrets about us with someone else. Her partner, another detective,” he said.

“Good. We can use all the help that’s available to us, Correk. Why does this woman, Leira call you Bert? Is this a human trait, to rename things?” King Oriceran stood with his back to Correk. He was staring out at the expansive view from the third floor of the light castle that hung among the clouds, invisible to anyone passing by.

Down below, several teenage elves were tossing around a gold ball of light that was hard to detect, it was moving so fast, and small enough to duck into pockets or hide in the palm of a hand. A player made contact with the ball, giving it a good, swift kick and it trumpeted a discordant note, changing colors from white to blue to yellow and back to white.

“Two points, well done,” called an umpire standing on the sidelines. “No hands, Sigland. Your side loses a point.”

“It flew into my hands,” the young elf protested.

“Tricky little bastard, isn’t it,” said the umpire. “Feet only, no spells. I see your eyes glowing over there,” he said to another player, spraying sparks from his wide sleeve, catching the offending player off guard and sweeping him off his feet, leaving his hair smoking. The other children hooted with laughter until the ball zipped between them, darting off toward the woods.

“Oh great,” an elf yelled. “We lost another ball in the woods.”

“Well, go retrieve it,” said the umpire. “I’ve gotten the last few. Surely, some of you remember the spell.”

The king smiled sadly, remembering Prince Rolim playing in the same fields. “It’s almost too much to bear,” he said quietly.

Correk came close enough to see what the king was looking at.

“They call them nicknames. Bert, it’s one of those, a nickname. That’s the Earth name she’s chosen for me.” Correk said, shaking his head, trying to distract the king from the window. “Something to do with my forehead. The detective said I had more of a nine-head. I have no idea what it means. There was some mention of my eyebrows and a doll she loved as a child.” He scowled. “Ridiculous.”

“A term of affection. She’s bonded with you. I wasn’t sure she was capable of that. She carries anger with her, always. I wonder if I might join her in that dark place,” he said, glancing back at the window. “You trust her, don’t you?” he asked.

“Yes, your majesty, as much as I would trust anyone from their planet. There are limitations, of course, but my reservations are based on their limited view of magic, not her integrity. They see magic as something only a fool or a child would believe in.”

“Fair enough. It may become necessary to send you into her world to guide her.”

Correk startled, shaking his hand as the ball of light faded along with the images.

The king noticed but turned his back again. “You’ve been by my side for well over a hundred years now. Things have been peaceful here for as long as I can remember. The worst we’ve had to deal with is a dispute over land. The one thing we can’t grow more of in Oriceran.”

“Even that has been dealt with by decreeing the larger estates lift their castles up into the clouds. It was a wise decision, your majesty.”

The king turned to face Correk. He was wearing plain green robes in keeping with the customs when grieving the loss of a loved one. On his head was a simple crown of Oriceran silver that had sprouted small leaves. When the leaves flowered it was time to let go of old pain and move back into society.

“Nothing seems to get easier. There were hundreds of years left of Prince Rolim’s life. No one in the royal family has died at the hands of someone else since before the Great Treaty. The wars that raged over this planet killed thousands, including my grandfather and most of his kin. The dwarves were constantly at our throats and the Wood Elves took every opportunity to help turn the tide for whatever side was losing. They are very clever creatures—helping us to annihilate each other. Do you think the Wood Elves could have helped this human kill my son?”

“No, I don’t. They would never go this far. Not now. We’ve been at peace for so long.”

“The treaty was signed thousands of years ago and for the most part everyone has kept it,” said Correk.

“Yes, for the most part. Only one being tried to change all of that.”

“Rhazdon,” said Correk.

“Yes, Rhazdon, that half-Atlantean who was more than half mad. He was defeated over six hundred years ago. Since then, peace has reigned. Untill now,” said the king, waving his arm as he sang, making the walls appear.

A painting of the nearby woods showed unicorns galloping among the trees. A tree troll with the familiar green tufts of hair, rolled out of its small wooden home nestled on a tree branch. It scampered off into the woods, into the depths of the painting. A large rock had a round opening created by a fern troll.

“Nothing relieves this ache. There is nowhere I can go where I don’t find a thousand memories of my son. Even some of these damn paintings remember him and he will appear for just a moment, walking through them.” His voice was sharp. “Enough,” he said, singing another note, and with a wave of his arm, the walls were invisible again.

Correk let the king speak. He knew that there was nothing he could say that would alleviate any of the misery. Only time, or vengeance or at least answers was going to do that.

The sound of crashing and glass breaking interrupted them. Correk and the king raised their hands, twisting their fingers, fiery symbols twining up their arms, their eyes aglow.

“Someone is attacking the castle!” the king shouted.

He spread his hands apart and half of the castle floors appeared below them like an oversized dollhouse. Several floors down, Queen Saria appeared to be suspended in air in the middle of a room that was still invisible. She was glowing from head to toe, an ancient language on every inch of her in deep red letters. There were no assailants except her own agonizing grief. She screamed in pain, her arms outstretched. Everything that became visible around her was exploding into a fine dust that rained back down on her, melting as it touched her, falling to the ground as large droplets of water that came back together in a glittering, metallic puddle.

She sank to the floor, beating her hands against the stone.

The king sang, “Altrea Extendia,” sending out a wave of bronze sparks that melded into cascading stairs.

He flew down the stairs, Correk behind him as the steps disappeared behind them, to the vast library, still mostly invisible, where the Queen was still screaming, shattering the furniture and turning more than a few books into a rain of ash.

“Leave me to my grief,” she screamed, her long brown hair fluttering around her, as a painting exploded, the image of two tiny elves with silver hair, their arms flailing, tumbling through the air until they dissolved into ash.

On her head was a crown similar to the king’s, made of silver but the green sprouts barely showed through the thin metal.

Correk stretched out his arms at the books leaping off the invisible shelves. “Reflectus Moranus,” he sang, his fingers moving swiftly.

The shelves appeared, a row at a time, stretching back for over a mile where they ended at a large vault with ‘Nevermore’ etched on its face.

“Hoomanna protector,” he sang again and a shimmer appeared in front of the shelves. The books that were flying at the queen’s head, instead hit the shimmer and dropped to the floor just behind it.

Small, bald heads appeared, peering around the books.

They were the gnomes who were appointed thousands of years ago to be the librarians of the Light Elves library. They popped out of every corner, peeking to see if it was safe to come out again. They were no more than a couple of feet high, each wearing a small suit and a black bowler hat they kept pulled down to their ears. Their faces were set in a perpetual scowl over large, bent noses. Their oversized feet were bare.

The suits were the idea of an elderly Light Elf who lived over a millennia ago who had spent some time on Earth at the turn of the last century. She was always delighted with the simplicity of the humans back then.

A small red flower was affixed to the band of each hat. At that moment, all the flowers on the hats were hissing and folding their petals back to reveal sharp teeth, upset over the flying books, and worse, their destruction. The flowers were the gnomes’ early warning system.

The gnomes were believed to be older than the Great Treaty, from the last Gold Age, well over thirteen thousand years ago and were prized for their ability to keep secrets, no matter how long, no matter who was asking. The library was conjured to their exact specifications and the vault at the back contained all the mysteries and secrets and history of every kind of creature in Oriceran. Tucked in among the forbidden books were rumored to be relics and artifacts from ancient times and a forgotten tribe that originated on Earth, the Atlanteans, who had died out around the time of the Great Treaty. It was rumored that within the vault was another, smaller vault that contained the darkest magic of all. All of the objects inside were too powerful to be let loose. It was forbidden for anyone but the gnomes to venture back there.

Even the prophets were forbidden entrance and they had tried over the centuries, many times. The prophets were feared because of their knowledge, as much as they were revered by everything that flew or walked or crawled on the land or swam the seas, except for the gnomes.

The queen’s screams grew even harsher, bouncing off the shimmering wall Correk had conjured, echoing in the room and out into the hall.

An invisible piece of masonry tore away from the outside of the castle, crashing into the grounds. Correk ran to the window to see if any of the children playing below were hurt. Someone was helping a tall elven teenager whose arm appeared broken.

“A simple fix,” said Correk quietly, watching them lead him away to the nurse.

Queen Saria screamed again, shaking the room, causing dust to rain down.

“Saria,” the king said, taking both of her hands firmly in his. She tried to twist away but he refused to let go. “Enough,” he said softly. “I won’t let you give in to this despair.”

“Despair,” she said, her lip curling in disgust. “This isn’t despair, it’s anger in my very soul. I want revenge! I want to crush his bones with my bare hands. I want to see the light in his eyes go out.”

The king hesitated, unsure what to say.

“Then you shall have it, my queen,” said Correk. “As payment for the hundreds of years you will live without your son. Will that ease your pain, your highness?” he asked.

The king let go of his wife’s hands and drew back.

“You always were the clever one, Correk,” said the queen. “I know that if I said yes, you would even bring me this human, this Bill Somers and break every law in Oriceran to do it. No, it will not, except for the moments I can hear each bone break. Perhaps that will be enough,” she said squeezing her hands together as if she could already hear the snapping.

A tear slid down her cheek and sought out the pool of liquid still on the floor, adding to it. The symbols on her cheeks, neck and arms began to fade and the fire in her eyes cooled to their normal luminescent green.

“I want my son back,” she said, looking into the king’s eyes. “Even if for just a moment.”

“In all the world, this is one thing I cannot do. I’m so sorry. I have failed you.”

“There is one place,” said Correk.

“No!” the king cut him off. “No one knows how to find it even if you look for it, and no one has ever come back.”

“The world in between,” the queen breathed, rising to her feet. “All things are possible. Isn’t that what you’re always saying? All things are possible!”

“Not this. Not to the place where souls are caught between Oriceran and Earth. Not without the gnomes’ help and they will never give it. You know the stories. During the wars with Rhazdon, my own father begged them to let him speak to his father. He tried every kind of bribe, every kind of trick. He rightfully pointed out that one conversation could shorten the uprising.”

“But they refused,” said the queen. She looked over her shoulder at the gnomes, still behind the shimmering wall, restoring order to the library shelves, darting about, their bowlers on straight and the flowers back to their more beautiful, and less dangerous resting state.

“We don’t even know if our son is there. He may have passed on,” said the king, giving Correk a menacing look.

“No, he’s there. I can feel it,” said Queen Saria. “The look on his face when he died. He was so surprised and confused. I know he’s there.”

“Entire races have tried to find the world in between, combining their powers and some have died trying, or worse,” he argued. “Do not go down this road.”

“You mean trapped. Some are trapped in the world in between and they’re still alive. Never aging, seeing everything, mixing with the dead. That’s what you mean.”

The king’s face clouded and he chose his words carefully.

“You know what happened the last time someone tried.”

“But if I could just talk to him. One last time,” the queen pleaded.

“No! My only hope is, if he is trapped there we never know.” The king was aghast. “To be nowhere, trapped forever and worse yet, watching others enjoying life but unable to show yourself. The worst kind of prison.”

“He wouldn’t be alone,” said the queen, in a hushed tone, refusing to look at the king.

“You would dare to bring that up? You would carve out a piece of that pain?” he shouted. “No one mentions my father. He is lost to us!” He stormed out of the room, slamming doors no one could see.

The room was silent for a moment. The queen held out her hand, a ball of fire blossomed in her palm. She sang, “Immortus,” into it and the shiny, metallic drops of water on the floor bubbled and streamed to her hand. They passed through the flame, the objects she had destroyed emerging restored and finding their places. Her tears fell once again to the floor, this time sliding away on their own.

“Even these things I can bring back from nothing,” she said sadly. “So simple. A child’s trick, really. You can release the spell. I’m done yelling to the heavens.”

“Hoomanna erasa,” Correk intoned. His eyes glowed and the fiery symbols necessary to complete the spell flowed up his arms and back again like a breaking wave.

The shimmering wall broke into crystal flakes that rained down on the floor. Several of the flowers on nearby bowlers hissed at the queen, baring their teeth. The queen hissed back, curling her lip. The seedlings atop her crown reappeared, but as a pale blue.

“You’re planning something,” said Correk.

“No, no more than we’re already doing. I swear it on my life,” she said with a cold, icy tone that made Correk shiver despite the warmth of the room.

“Then what has changed?”

“An opportunity is coming, whether my dear husband likes it or not. The portals are starting to open. There will be a way to more easily cross over to the world in between and I will find it. The veil between the two worlds will grow thinner. I know the king sees no hope for anyone trapped in there, living or dead. But I have seen strange things in my lifetime. Undiscovered creatures from the bottom of the sea, and great feats performed that older, wiser elves said were impossible. This world of ours still holds a few secrets,” she said, opening her hand to reveal a blood red beetle.

Correk shivered again. The beetle beat its wings and took its place on the queen’s crown.

“Bring me the rock digger,” she said, as she swept out of the room.

CHAPTER FIVE

A gnome from the nearby bookshelves waddled to Correk faster than his short, stout legs should have been able to carry him. He was using an olden magic that gnomes kept for themselves.

“Take this,” the gnome said in a baritone voice that managed to sound like he was holding his nose. “You’re going to need it.” The flower on his bowler puckered its petals and gave a low whistle.

“Doesn’t think you can do it,” he grimaced. “You’re going to try anyway. This may help you stay alive.”

It was a small book with a dusty green cover and pages with gold leaf edges. How to Pass for Human by Sydria Ganfried. Correk recognized the name. She was an elderly teacher when he was in school hundreds of years ago. One of the last remaining elves that remembered the last Great Year, the last Gold Age.

Correk flipped it open and as he did the words appeared. A familiar sweeping cursive that was written by Sydria, herself, and then magically reprinted. The words First Edition sparkled on the page.

He turned the page and the words rolled across the first page of chapter one. It was an old elven spell that protected the books from being stolen.

Unless they were properly checked out by a gnome and a record kept, the pages remained blank. Once the niceties were handled, the words and images would appear, but only on the page someone was reading.

“Be sure to bring it back on time,” said the gnome, tapping the book with a stubby finger.

“Or it’ll come flying back on its own,” said Correk, finishing the thought.

“And we’ll revoke your privileges for a year!” the gnome added, pointing for emphasis. The flower on his hat gathered its petals and did a raspberry, sticking out a pale green tongue.

“I remember.”

“You were a troublemaker back in your day. We remember you still!” he warned, as he waddled back toward the shelves. “Two weeks,” he shouted over his shoulder. The flower settled back into place as the gnome magically zipped down an aisle, covering almost the entire mile before turning left.

“They never forget a damn thing,” said Correk, watching him go. “Why humans worship them with little statues outside of their homes I will never understand.”

“They got the hat wrong, too.”

Correk started and looked down to see a silver willen. No one’s favorite creature. They were rodents the size of small dogs that could walk on two legs and were adept at taking things that didn’t belong to them.

“Pretty bauble,” said the willen, balancing a ring between his paws. Correk looked down to see that the ring was missing from his hand and he snatched it back from the willen before it was secreted somewhere in the folds of its silvery skin.

“Finders, keepers,” snarled the willen, reaching out with its long, thin claws fully extended.

“Not always,” said Correk, slipping it on. “Slither off somewhere else.” Correk got a tighter grip on the book, wondering if the willen could steal it from his hand unnoticed.

“The ring for information,” the willen offered, his pupils spinning with excitement. Correk looked away. It was a way to hypnotize their prey long enough to strip them of their belongings.

“You mean gossip.”

“Sometimes it’s gossip, sometimes it’s important. You decide. Do we have a deal?”

“No, not at all. I don’t need to know about anyone’s private life.”

“Private life? Hardly worth a ring,” said the willen, drawing out the words. “No, this is about the human you secured for a task. You call her detective, don’t you?”

“Close enough and what could you know that would earn you a ring?”

“I’ll tell you what,” said the willen, twitching its long, metallic tail. “I’ll let you decide. The Light Elves are known for their honor. If my information is only gossip to you, I’ll leave you be.”

“But not the rest of the castle,” Correk said.

The willen shrugged. “Pointless, it’s in our nature. Despite all of your traps, and walls and shields. We have our ways. Besides, even if I didn’t come back, we travel in packs,” he said, smiling, his whiskers twitching. “I may exit the premises but my cousins will bring back a little something for me. If it’s valuable information, you give me the ring. As a gift, not theft. Deal?” asked the willen, smiling, his whiskers curling up on both sides and his pupils spinning again.

Correk looked up at the sky. “Agreed.”

“She’s not going to retrieve the necklace, the detective. Very powerful forces want her to fail,” he squeaked then belched. “Some good, some not so good. Sorry, dined on a tasty plunkett fish this morning.” He worked a fish skeleton slowly out of his mouth, still twitching. The willen bit down, crunching the bones. “Satisfying,” he said. A little bit came back up again. “Tasty twice.”

“What forces? Oriceran forces?”

“Of course. Willens don’t care for Earth,” he whined. “Our magic isn’t strong enough there and the humans react so dramatically when they see us and that was thousands of years ago. Imagine what they’d do to us now. They have all those large machines. Run us right over,” he squeaked, wringing his front paws. “Although they do fear us, quite appropriately. Some of our kind still live in the shadows in the depths of the Earth, in something called a subway. So many tunnels, I hear.”

“What forces?” Correk demanded.

“Right, right. Sure, sure. There are some who can sneak up on their prey even better than a willen. Look for one among the prophets who is long extinct.”

“A riddle?” Correk said angrily, his eyes starting to glow and his fingers twitching.

The willen backed on all four legs, ready to scurry away.

“Way more clues than a usual willen riddle. I’m being generous. The ring?” he asked, righting himself back on his back legs, holding out a paw.

“One added condition. You hear anything else about this extinct prophet and the detective, anything at all, you come and tell me. This ring,” he said, sliding it off his finger as the willen licked its lips, “is a down payment on that information. Deal?” asked Correk, holding the ring just out of the willen’s grasp.

“It’s a dangerous thing you ask. The extinct one holds very dark magic, even more than the gnomes,” said the willen, glancing nervously at the gnomes, still scurrying around the shelves. A book flew through the air, its pages ruffling as a gnome caught it, stamped it returned and replaced it on the shelf. The flower on his hat sneered at the willen.

“It’s an assignment that could kill even a willen, if I’m caught. Small danger of that, though. You may find out more than you want to know,” the willen squeaked, reaching for the ring.

“I will worry about that. Do we have a deal?”

“Of course, of course. A down payment on further information. As you wish,” he agreed. Correk dropped the ring into his waiting paw. It disappeared into the folds of his skin a ‘plink’ as the ring rolled against something metallic. The willen smiled up at Correk, one side of his whiskers curling tightly.

“Enjoy your book,” he said. “It’s a fascinating read. Willens can only read books on the premises. None of the gnomes trust us. Foolish. We could make some wonderful trades.”

Correk’s eyes glowed just enough to warn the willen as it trotted upright out of the room, dropping to all four at the hallway and disappearing from sight.

Correk tucked the book into his cloak and hurried through the castle to the nearest outside wall. “Altrea Extendia,” he said, sending out a shower of bronze sparks forming into a spiral staircase.

He hurried down the stairs, the steps disappearing behind him, and across the grounds, slipping into the deep woods. They were dense with tall canopies that towered far above the Oriceran ground below, cutting off most of the sunlight. Many of the trees were species brought from Earth, most of them transported over thirteen thousand years ago before the portals closed.

But there was a legend of a gardener of the forest who was part human, part Dark Elf who still made the occasional trip to bring back different seedlings to plant in his garden. It was rumored he even collected rare species of animals and insects and set them free in the darker parts of the vast forest. No one had ever met him but he made a good story to scare young elves.

Correk held out a fireball lighting his way, and left another one behind him to mark where he had turned. He was veering off the path created by the Wood Elves and into the darker parts of the forest that stretched to the mountain range in the far distance. It was a shorter route over the mountains to Rodania, the lands of the Arpaks and Nychts, winged men and women.

No one was ever known to take the shortcut and venture into the darkest parts of the forest where the trees grew even closer together and the wilder beings lived.

The forest was suddenly alive with sounds he couldn’t quite place.

Nuts and leaves crunched under his feet as he tore aside vines and stepped over old logs, keeping a sharp eye for anything that might leap out.

He’d heard stories of beasts, both big and small, like vicious bugs that could crawl under your skin, and large flying creatures with armored tails, all his life but he believed very little of it.

“Crawk, craaaawwwk.” He heard the sound of wings flapping and the branches of the trees fluttering but he couldn’t make out what had just taken flight. Its screeches faded away over the canopy.

His eyes glowed and a compass appeared on the fireball, the needle slowly turning till it pointed due north. Underneath were the longitude and latitude of Oriceran. He was in the right spot.

“Show yourself,” he said. “I don’t have much time.”

An old oak started to shake as if to shed all its bark. It was in front of a thick stand of elder trees, many of them covered in vines.

Two eyes blinked open, looking around for signs of movement. Each eye had two round, green irises with a dark black pupil in the center and each one moved independently of the other, sliding around the eye, looking in every direction.

“We’re alone,” said Correk, “at least from anything that isn’t interested in us solely as dinner. Show yourself. Completely.”

A Wood Elf stepped forward and small squares all over his body began to flutter and turn, flipping over and changing the surface of his entire body from the texture of the nearby oak tree to the smooth olive complexion of the Wood Elf. The irises all slid toward the center of the eye. The multiple irises helped him to take in information from a wide field of view, processing it into one complete picture.

The features were left over from the time of the wars, over thirteen thousand years ago. It made them even better chameleons in the forest.

“Hold still!” warned Correk.

A yellow lizard the size of Correk’s arm with bulging eyes that rotated independently, dangled from a nearby vine right by the Wood Elf’s ear. The Elf’s left irises moved to get a better look.

“It’s merely a lizard,” said the Wood Elf. He sang instead of speaking, much like the Light Elves but in deeper tones.

“Move slowly,” said Correk. “We’re in the darker, uncharted parts of the forest. I have never believed any of the stories either, but now is not the time to find out I was wrong.”

The Wood Elf slowly turned his head to watch the lizard lazily open its mouth, unfurling its long, pointed tongue. At the end was a small green caterpillar with a large circle of red on its face surrounded by a black stripe. Two thin, red and white-striped antennas extended out the back, bobbing up and down. Two black eyes were fluttering, apparently it was dazed.

The caterpillar turned over, curling into a tight ball and the lizard rolled its tongue back into its mouth. At the last moment, the caterpillar opened its mouth wide, revealing a pair of sharp incisors it used to rip off half of the lizard’s face. The lizard let out a sharp squeal, opening its mouth again, trying to shake the caterpillar loose, but it was too late.

The Wood Elf took a step back, the squares all over his body flipping over again, blending back into the surroundings. The irises of his eyes spread out, keeping watch.

The caterpillar opened wide and bit down again, tearing off another chunk. The lizard fell to the forest floor as the caterpillar chewed, dragging off the squealing lizard.

When it was over the Wood Elf stepped out again, his appearance returning to a smooth, olive texture.

“It’s good to see you again, Perrom,” said Correk.

“After that little display, I’m not so sure,” Perrom replied. “Your insistence on meeting in the dark part of the forest is foolish. My people live among the trees and even we never travel through these parts.”

“That’s why I chose it. It was the only place I could think of where we could be assured no one else would be watching.”

“I’ve known you most of your life. You aren’t usually big on the drama. What’s changed?”

“This,” said Correk, pulling out a small figure-eight made of metal with a green scarab in the center. There were two figure eights intertwined on the back.

Perrom drew back, the skin along his arm and face fluttering as he tried to decide whether or not to stay.

“Where did you get that?” he demanded, horror rising on his face. “Those were all destroyed over six hundred years ago. Do you know what you’re holding?”

“I’m well aware that it’s the amulet from a Rhazdon follower.”

“Not just any follower. That’s the scarab of an elder. If that’s the familiar of an elder it contains very powerful dark magic. Where did you get it? Surely the gnomes didn’t give you something like that? Dammit! They have Rhazdon’s dark magic in that damnable vault too?”

“Slow down,” Correk said. “It didn’t come from the gnomes. I believe it came from a Rhazdon follower. A current one.”

The skin on Perrom’s arms fluttered again and his eyes widened.

“Not possible! They’ve been dead for over six hundred years! Since the uprising! Our elders made sure to exterminate every last one of them. Every warring faction came together to make sure that happened. They worship darkness and draw it into their magic! They were the cause of the last wars!” Perrom was practically shouting.

The birds overhead took flight, squawking and tweeting and a large brown snake slithered through the branches overhead.

“Keep your voice down. I’m telling you it’s from a follower. I found it in the village where the prophets stay when they gather to meet. I think it belongs to one of them.”

Perrom put his hands on the top of his head, trying to take in what Correk was saying.

“Impossible. The prophets have one purpose. To talk endlessly about the seer, Tessa and interpret the quatrains! They care about nothing else, especially as we get closer to the opening of the portals. You and I have both stood before each of them. It’s more likely one of them foolishly kept this as a souvenir. Rhazdon and his kind are gone from this world.”

“What if they’ve learned to disguise themselves, like you but in even deeper detail?”

Perrom held up his hands. “No, no, impossible. If what you’re saying is true then some of the rules we live by would be lies.”

“I was about to leave to meet you when a willen tried to steal my ring. I gave it to him in exchange for one of his riddles. He said to look for one among the prophets who is long extinct. The willen has seen the imposter.”

“May the forces help us. Rhazdon’s followers were barely defeated and at the cost of hundreds of good beings. To think that someone has been inspired to take up Rhazdon’s twisted cause? There’s no one left now who would even remember how his magic was defeated. Your father tried and look…”

“Don’t bring my father into this,” said Correk, between his teeth. “I need your help, and whether you like it or not, you owe me. The willen claims there are forces, good and bad, who are out to stop the human detective, Leira Berens from finding the prince’s killer so they can take the necklace for themselves. I need to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“What’s my part in this?”

“I need you to watch over things here if I get sent through a portal. Don’t act surprised. We both know that creatures have been taking chances and opening portals to Earth for a long time.”

“I’ve never tried it. Wood Elves have died or worse, ended up in the world in between.”

“Getting caught would be worse. Trevilsom Prison.”

“Put that thing back in your pocket,” said Perrom. “Be careful with it. Energy could be seeping out of it and poisoning you already. Never underestimate their magic or what a Rhazdon admirer would do to another living being just for fun.” Perrom shuddered, remembering the stories from the wars.

“If I go through a portal, no matter what, keep watch on this side. You can transform into your surroundings. Tell no one unless you have to and be careful,” said Correk. “When we know more, we will expose the imposter prophet together,” he added, grabbing Perrom by the shoulders, ruffling the surface of his skin.

“First, we will have to figure out which one of the fifteen prophets is the liar.”

“That’s where this archaeologist will help us,” said Correk. “Someone powerful helped him into the castle without being seen. We have to find him and bring him to justice if we’re going to get the whole story.”

CHAPTER SIX

“I’m supposed to be looking for a killer,” said Leira, pulling the Mustang onto Parmer Lane heading back to the station.

Hagan took another large sip of his coffee and swallowed slowly. “First part of this whole story that makes sense. Go on.”

“The killer was a human being who somehow made his way onto their turf and killed a prince. Stabbed him clean through and stole a kind of magical necklace. Not all of it makes sense to me, yet. There’s a steep learning curve.”

“No fucking kidding,” Hagan agreed. “I know they’re sure, but are you sure they’re after the right guy?”

“As sure as you can be. I saw Bill Somers do it, well kind of saw him. Over there, dead bodies can do a kind of instant replay of the last hour but it only lasts for a few days.”

“I know that this family of what, elves? Whatever. I can understand they want to see justice, whatever that adds up to on their side, which is another potential problem, Berens. But, why do you have such a hotfoot to solve it?”

“That magical necklace goes off like a timer in just a few more days now and will transfer the energy to whoever is in possession of it. I don’t have much time left to find him. When their two moons are full again the power is released.”

“This is a lot to take in. Two moons, no less. A necklace that can transfer magical energy. This Somers is a magician too, I take it.”

“Something like that, maybe, but I think he has to know how to use it. Kind of fifty-fifty about whether he’s got the skills. He’s an archaeologist, I don’t know much more but I need to find him and I have to hurry.”

“And you have to take your tiny friend with you.”

“It’s a duckling kind of thing. I saved his life and now he’s imprinted on me. If I’m understanding the directions that came with him, where I go he goes,” Leira grimaced. The lump in her pocket stirred and the troll poked its head out.

“Smile at it, Hagan. Let it know you’re friendly.”

Hagan did his best version of a smile, resisting the urge to pull his weapon. The troll trilled and mirrored his smile at him.

“Clearly, Mickey is not attached to my emotions and is not always good at reading the room. Geez, is that what I look like when I smile?”

The troll leaped out of Leira’s pocket, grabbed Hagan’s moustache, and started licking his face.

“Holy crap!” yelled Hagan, not sure how to get the troll to let go. “What the fuck is it doing?”

“Yum, fuck,” said the troll, then dropped down on the seat, sitting between them.

“What you get for smashing doughnuts in your face. I think Mickey licked off the rest of the icing for you,” Leira smiled.

“That’s not his real name, you know.”

“What, you have a better idea?” She asked, glancing over at him.

“Yeah, it’s obvious,” he shrugged. “It’s Yumfuck. Look, he loves it!”

“He loves the doughnut.” She couldn’t help herself, smiling at the troll, who was happily licking his little paws.

“Yumfuck Tiberius Troll. That’s his name,” Hagan said, satisfied. “What? Gives it a little polish. Who doesn’t love James T.?”

“You are too much,” said Leira. Worry quickly returned to her face. “I need to research Somers without getting caught before I go on leave. Any thoughts on that?”

“When are you taking off? You only have a couple of days left and you don’t know where he is right now. He’s in this world, right?”

“Yeah, that’s why they needed me. Non-magical detective for hire. Apparently, their magic doesn’t translate very well here. Magic leaves a trace they can follow, humans don’t. Go figure. They needed a professional who knows how to detect the non-magical way.”

“There’s the whole getting caught and not being human part too,” said Hagan. “That has to have crossed their minds.”

“You’re not quite buying all of this, are you?” asked Leira, glancing at him as she pulled into the precinct’s parking lot.

“Hard to completely deny with the small green-haired friend here. But, not entirely wrapping my arms around the idea that there’s a whole other world and my kids’ movies with flying carpets is real. Was there a little mermaid too?”

“I didn’t see a carpet or a mermaid but I’m not the expert on Oriceran. Frankly, they got tired of my questions pretty quickly.”

“When you ask the Captain tell him it’s a family thing. You need a few days off. Be vague,” he said, waving his hand.

“Vague,” squeaked the troll, waving arms in the air.

“I think Yumfuck likes you,” said Leira, scooping up the troll, wrapping him back in her underwear, and sliding him into her jacket.

“Oh joy, my usual level of fandom. Come on, why underwear?” He looked up at her. “I have to ask,” he said, sliding out of the car, remembering at the last moment to grab the pink box. He looked inside and saw small bite marks in the Grape Ape. “Not cool, Yumfuck! Not cool,” he said, and slammed the door.

A muffled, “Vague yum fuck,” came from Leira’s pocket and she took a slow, even breath.

“Sounds like a rock band my son would like,” Hagan told her.

“What kind of family thing could I bring up,” said Leira, walking across the hot parking lot. “Austin in winter messes with my head sometimes,” she said trying to change the subject.

“It’s a warm spell. You grew up here, you know this. We dress in layers year-round except for summer when we wear as little as possible,” said Hagan. “Shit, sorry about that, kid. Right, what family? You claim that bar owner who leases you the guesthouse out there as some kind of relative, and all the regulars. Think about them when you’re saying it. Then, not so much of a lie. Will come off more believable.”

“You don’t think the Captain will remember I don’t have any family?”

“Aw, come on. Lots of people have some distant cousins tucked away somewhere that they’d show up for their wedding or a funeral or something.” Hagan stopped and shook his head. “He’s not gonna ask you a lot of questions. It’s the Captain. Details of our private lives are not his thing. How it affects the job is his only concern. It’s one of his finer attributes.”

“Completely agree,” said Leira, looking back to see if there was anything unusual around the Mustang. The fireball was already well hidden in the engine, waiting for her return.

“Geez, I’m still hungry,” said Hagan. “Maybe I need some protein or something. Think I still have that jerky in my desk Rollins gave me for my birthday.”

“I think Rollins meant that as a joke and that’s faux food, Hagan. Worse than a doughnut.”

“Meh, before it was processed it started as real meat. That’ll do. Lasts forever. Oh, hey, wait a minute.”

Detective Hagan fished around in his coat pocket and pulled out a short strip of jerky, brushing off the lint and a few crumbs, turning it over to inspect it for anything else that might be clinging to it.

“Huh,” he said, satisfied, tearing off a piece with his back teeth.

“You think food is supposed to be that hard to chew?” asked Leira, trying to look away.

She felt the troll move around and poke its head out of her pocket, sniffing the air.

Her partner looked down. “Look at that! Little fellow has a pretty good sense of smell. Here, you want a piece?” asked Hagan, holding out the jerky. The troll lunged forward, sinking its claws into the jerky, snatching the whole piece and dragging it back into the pocket.

They could both hear the gnashing and tearing followed by more than one long slurp.

He shook his head in wonder. “You should just burn those underwear at some point, Berens. Lost cause.”

“Good tip, Detective. Do me a favor. Try not to engage in conversation with Yumfuck while we’re in there. And no food references either. None,” she said firmly, as they got to the door.

He smiled. “Anything to avoid bringing down the Feds over something smaller than my…”

“Don’t go there,” said Leira, screwing up her face.

“Not in front of you,” said Hagan, scowling. “I was gonna say my hand. All this time we’ve been driving together and you haven’t noticed that I keep it pretty Mr. Clean, for the most part. I know I swear less than you. Fuck this, fuck that. You have a potty mouth, Detective.”

Her pocket squeaked, “Fuck yum!”

“Don’t say that word either,” Leira whispered, as they headed down the hallway.

“We’re going to get caught and interrogated in some subterranean site where everyone wears black and has no sense of humor,” mumbled Hagan. “Hey, how’s it going,” he said to an officer passing them in the hall.

“Stop watching TV after a lot of pizza.” Leira turned around long enough to give him the dead fish look.

“That look is still oddly comforting,” he told her and glanced up the hallway, “Eyes front, Captain incoming.”

“Berens, you wanted to see me. Now’s a good time,” he said, turning for his office without waiting for an answer. She was used to his style of leadership now. Assume everyone already agrees with you. At least it was efficient. Leira liked that much about him, anyway.

Never asked her how she was feeling or wanted anything resembling a conversation. Just the facts, in and out, and on your way. Leira was counting on that today to get her out before anything jumped out of her pocket.

“Shut the door,” he said, as he took a seat behind his desk, checking his phone for messages. He looked up when Leira didn’t move to sit down but stayed by the door.

“It’s really not that big of a thing,” said Leira, her right side turned toward the door.

“Okay, well, you rarely ask for anything so it’s some kind of deal. Take a load off, act like you’re in the room.”

Leira took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, picturing the sweet tackle of a suspect from last week where she had to keep pace with him for well over a mile, waiting for him to get tired. It made her relax, even almost smile, to think about the nervous glances he kept throwing over his shoulder, checking to see if she was still at his heels.

She thought he was going to just give up and stop at one point but he got a second wind and kept going just as Leira closed the gap and caught him round the waist, knocking him to the ground. Yeah, that was a good one, she thought.

She heard soft purring from her pocket. That’s new.

The hum of the air-conditioning masked the sound.

“I uh, I have a family kind of thing. I need a few days off starting tomorrow so I can travel to… uh, where they are, and handle it,” she said, haltingly. Lying was never her strong suit, at least outside of an interrogation room. There it was a necessary tool.

Breathe, Berens.

The Captain looked away from his computer and held her gaze. Leira kept talking, hoping there were no questions coming her way.

“I checked with Hagan, and he’s fine with it. We have no major cases right now and nothing headed to court for at least a couple of weeks.”

“You never take any time off,” he said, still looking directly at her.

“No, that’s true.” She admitted. “Not very good at down time, I suppose.”

“Geez, it’s about time. Take an extra day. Go to a movie or something.”

“Great, okay, well, great,” she said, slowly rising from the chair. “So, good talk. Okay, well, you have my contact info if you need me.”

“Leira, these days we can track you no matter where you go or what you do. You’d have to leave the planet,” he snorted.

Leira almost tripped over her own feet. “Right, leave the planet, sure.”

Her pocket squawked. The Captain arched an eyebrow but Leira wasn’t sure what he’d noticed.

“And even then,” he said, “you’d need to get out of the range of the satellites flying over our heads before we couldn’t pinpoint your location. Once you log into the internet and get yourself a smart phone, your chances of being a no-name hermit are over.”

Leira gave him a curt nod and stepped through the door, ready to escape. The Captain was being chattier than his normal five words that equaled an entire conversation.

Bad timing.

“Good to hear you’ve got some family,” he said, as he went back to his computer.

It caught Leira off guard and for a moment she froze, remembering again she was only twenty-five but had no real tribe to go and celebrate with or complain about to friends.

Enough, she thought, as she left the Captain’s office. “Not even true. I have a tribe, of sorts.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

“What’s the word from the Captain?” asked Hagan as she sat down at her desk.

“I got the time. Was easier than I expected,” she told him, reaching for a pen.

“I was beginning to wonder. You were in there a little while.”

“Yeah, he was saying something weird about how easy it is to track anybody. You know, he’s right. A possibly dangerous wizard-to-be terrorist is a good reason to use Travis County resources to track down a suspect, right? The more detailed the background, the better.”

“How will you know when you’ve found the right Bill Somers, archaeologist? It’s not like you brought back fingerprints or background on him,” said Hagan.

“Remember, I saw him do it. That virtual world in the hereafter. I know what he looks like.”

“What are you going to do once you have him? They give you some kind of magical saying to yell or a magical burner phone to get in touch?”

“All good and also weird questions. They said they’d know. They’re very big on tracking things in this world or the other,” she said, typing in the physical description, approximate age, profession and the name, Bill Somers. It didn’t take long for his driver’s license photo from Chicago to appear on the screen.

“Got him! He’s a professor at a university in Chicago. Look, easiest thing I’ve done all day. There’s his address.”

“Found him on Facebook,” said Hagan, slipping on his reading glasses to get a better look. “Posts a lot about Egypt and something he calls green sectors, or something. No pictures of his food, I like that about him.”

“Too bad about the killer thing,” said Leira.

“Yeah, that’s a major strike against him,” Hagan agreed. “Look, be careful. This guy looks as nervous as a virgin at a prison rodeo but he managed to get the drop on a magical elf. No elf on the shelf either, from your description. Don’t drop your guard, don’t take too many chances, and don’t do anything that will end up getting you arrested. It’d be a tough one to explain. Just find the necklace and click your heels together three times or blink really hard and hand it over, so you can come home.”

“You know, Hagan, the easy part is going to be finding him. It’s everything after that that will be a bitch to pull off.”

“In just a couple of days,” said Hagan. “I’ll hold down the place while you’re gone but if things go south I’ll be on the next plane north. Don’t let me find out you didn’t know how to ask for help,” he said sternly.

Leira thought about giving him a hug but rejected the idea as a little too dramatic and instead ended up patting him on the shoulder.

“I’m touched,” he said. “Oh yeah, if that troll operates off of your feelings, you’re screwed. You have basically one channel. Hunker down and get it done.”

“Not a bad channel.”

“Does make me feel better that you’ll be taking an insta-grow guard dog with you in your underwear pocket, there. At least I know if some weird shit breaks out and weapons from one world or another are drawn, you have some firepower on your side.”

“Thanks, Hagan. I’ll call you when I hand the necklace over.”

“Let me know how you contact them. Maybe it’s some magic word shit.”

“Fireballs, glowing fireballs. I’m pretty sure that’s how they do it.”

“Like an iPhone one thousand.”

“Something like that, yeah. I’m going to go home and pack, and hit the road. I’m pretty sure I don’t want to chance flying with a magic troll in my pocket who doesn’t do well in angry situations. There are no friendly skies these days. Cover for me, okay?”

“Let me know you got there safely. No phone blackouts.”

“Sure,” she said, as she waved goodbye and headed down the hall. She managed to get out to her car and on her way with no more troll incidents.

Leira found a spot on Rainey Street just a house down from Estelle’s and walked through the side gate to the guest house. The lunch crowd was just finishing up and the regulars weren’t there yet, leaving the streets fairly empty for a few surrounding blocks.

At the other end of Rainey, the food trucks were still going strong, serving the tourists plenty of brisket and barbeque, tacos of every kind, Thai or Indian food, alongside oversized cupcakes with cream fillings, or shaved ice. There was even a vegan truck doing a steady business selling raw smoothies.

Leira thought of it all as her grocery store.

“Hey honey!”

Leira would know that raspy voice anywhere. The tiny Estelle, owner of the establishment and her landlady, was sitting at the outdoor bar that stretched across the back of the patio, smoking a cigarette. The smoke swirled around her teased red bouffant that gave her a few more inches.

“What are you doing home so early? Shift’s not over yet.”

“You keep track of my work schedule?” Leira asked, digging for her key in her oversized purse. She balanced it on one knee, tilting it toward the sunlight.

“Somebody has to. You don’t look sick. You forget something?”

“Taking a few days off. Driving up to Chicago. You watch the place for me?”

“Well, it’s about damn time,” said Estelle, taking a long drag on the cigarette, squinting at her. “Though why you have to go so far away to have a little fun is beyond me. Chicago,” she mused. “I suppose that’s a certain kind of fun. I’d say I’d water your plants but we both know you’re not into roommates of any kind.”

Leira tried to smile as she turned to unlock the door.

“Bring somebody home from Chicago. Let us vet him, if that’s what you’re worried about. We’re like family. We’ll give him the stinkeye and ask all the wrong questions. It’ll feel more like home,” Estelle called after her. Leira waved and shut the door.

She dropped her purse on the red velvet chair by the door. In the bedroom she dug out her old blue suitcase from the closet, hoisting it onto the bed. She gently worked her way under the underwear in her pocket, scooped out the troll, and set both on the bed next to the suitcase where she could keep an eye on him.

“Yumfuck. The name suits you somehow.”

He opened one eye and stared at her.

“I’m going to ignore the side eye and get packing. We have a long, strange trip ahead of us, straight up the middle of the country.”

It was going to be a seventeen-hour hard drive from here to there and the sooner she got started, the better.

She hunted through her small, narrow closet for every sweater she’d ever owned, and anything else that looked like it could add warmth. Leira had spent her entire life in Austin and wasn’t even sure what a Chicago winter would feel like, other than very cold.

“Uh, not these,” she said, pulling out a handful of tights in every color that she got years ago when she was going through a phase. “Ugh,” she said, and she threw them into her suitcase. “Not sure what I’m going to do about a real winter coat. Never needed one before. Where’s that ugly scarf Estelle’s niece made me?”

She went to the living room closet and dragged out the milk crate shoved to the back. “Here it is, along with this,” she said, trying on a grey knit hat with a large red pom-pom on the top.

“This I can do something about,” she said, pulling off the hat and biting the yarn that held the pom-pom fast, grinding the stitches between her teeth till it fell off. “Much better.”

She dug further and found an old pair of nice leather gloves that Craig and Scott, two regulars from the bar, had given to her a couple of Christmases ago.

“Done. Here’s hoping a t-shirt, sweater, Texas-style winter coat will work long enough to grab Bill Somers and beam him up, Bert.”

She went back to the bedroom to check on the troll. He was digging down into her suitcase, about to bite down on a shoe. She pulled him away and dropped him on the bed, shaking a finger at him. He shook one back at her, smiling.

“It’s going to be really hard to figure out how to discipline you if I can’t get even a little angry. You’d just blow up like a Macy’s parade balloon,” she said, zipping up the suitcase.

She held up the pair of blue cotton underwear Yumfuck had been using for a nest and the distinctive odor of beef jerky wafted to her nose. “Oh no,” she said, tossing them toward a trash can. “We’re starting over. She dug for the back of the drawer where the old underwear was stashed and pulled out a green pair with yellow polka dots that came in an eight-pack from Target. “Never knew what to do with these, didn’t want to throw them away, but I sure didn’t think this would be the reason I’d need them” she said, scooping up the troll and sliding him back into her pocket. “I’m gonna have to buy more underwear if this keeps up.”

She pulled the suitcase off the bed and headed for the door. “Okay, we’re off to see the fucking wizard. Hopefully, before he actually becomes one.”

Out on the patio, Craig and another of the regulars, Paul, were eating nachos and drinking beer. There was no sign of Estelle.

“Leira!” they called in unison, laughing. “Come join us! We’re starting a new tradition. Happy hour starts right after lunch.”

“Hey, what’s with the suitcase?” asked Paul, glancing up from the guacamole he was loading on a tortilla chip. The chip broke under the weight.

“It’s not a spoon, dude,” said Craig. “Show a little restraint.”

“Pay attention. Leira’s got a suitcase. We’ve been parking ourselves here for a few years. This is a new behavior in the wild. You okay?”

“Taking a road trip to Chicago. Nothing’s wrong, it’s all good.” If you can call chasing the killer of an elven prince, all good, she thought.

“Road trip!” Craig pumped his fist in the air.

“How are you two planning to get this new happy hour off the ground and keep your jobs?” asked Leira, trying to steer the conversation in another direction.

“Joy of being a pharmaceutical salesman,” Craig replied. “It’s Thursday, which all of my customers, the good doctors, call Friday Eve. They’re already on the golf courses by now. Might as well come see Estelle.”

“I took a half day,” said Paul, smiling. “Marketing musicians in Austin is a tough gig, trust me. Live music capital of the world means there’s a lot of competition. Needed a break.”

“He’s only planning to tap in to the new happy hour every once in a while. Don’t worry, others will come,” he said, patting the seat next to him. “Come on, join us for a minute.”

“You hear Diana got that gig at Banger’s just down the street from here? She’s playing with her new band this weekend,” said Paul.

“’Fraid I’ll have to miss that. Take some video and send it to me,” said Leira.

“I can bring Peanuts with me,” said Craig.

“I know dogs are welcome there but wasn’t Peanuts banned for nipping at someone?” asked Leira.

“On probation and it was more of an enthusiastic bite of their hotdog. If he hadn’t knocked over their beer no one would have mentioned it. I bought a round for the table,” said Craig, taking a big gulp from a Shiner Bock. “Almost drove me nuts waiting for them to figure out what they wanted.”

“Over a hundred beers on tap will do that to some. Amateurs,” said Paul. “Stick with the proven,” he said, chasing a hot pepper around the nearly-empty plate with a chip. He used his finger to scoot it on and popped it in his mouth.

“I have to go,” said Leira, “but take it easy on the nachos. It’s still early. You guys need to pace yourselves. Everybody else won’t be here for hours.”

“Hey, you gonna be back in time for bowling night?” asked Craig, as he swiveled around and got up off his stool.

“I know you’re not about to try and carry my suitcase for me,” Leira said, staring him down. “I’m a detective, Craig. I got this.”

“Hey, I was born and raised in Texas. Have to offer, every time. My momma would roll over in her kitchen, if she knew.”

“Just feel it, sitting in her kitchen, huh?” laughed Paul.

“Be there for the bowling!” said Craig, as Leira picked up her suitcase.

“Can’t make tonight. Will do my best for next week. I told you, with my schedule I can only be a floater.”

“Playoffs start tonight! Semi-finals next week. Still good timing,” he said. “Can we hug you?” he asked, getting back off his barstool.

Leira smiled and opened the gate.

“Like a creepy uncle hug,” said Paul, slapping Craig on the back. “Come on, you can buy the next round. I’ll let you.”

Leira could hear their laughter as she worked her way around the side of the house. “Ladies and gentlemen, my family,” she said, smiling again. She threw the suitcase on the backseat and shut the door, getting down on her hands and knees to look under the car.

“I know you’re under there. Let’s not start this relationship on a dishonest note. Come on, Bert, show yourself.”

A violet fireball the size of a softball slipped from between the engine parts, squeezing itself into a teardrop shape as it squeezed out, then rolled back into a perfect ball and bobbed just at the top of the front tires.

“So, this is direct dial,” she said, “and you can hear me in real time. I suppose magic is like that.”

She looked at the ball, the light turning over and over inside the pulsing violet sphere, and she slowly reached out to touch it, to see if it was warm. Curiosity was always leading her down some strange and dangerous alleys.

As her fingers got close she braced herself for scalding heat or a zap of electricity.

The pulsing light was warm on her skin and her fingers pushed easily past the membrane of the fireball. A cool, thin violet line shot up her arm, through her shoulder and out of her eyes, making them glow for just a moment. She opened her mouth and a puff of cold air emerged in the heat, quickly disappearing.

It all felt vaguely familiar, like a memory from a long time ago.

She wanted to leave her hand there and see what else might happen but the light pulled back, staying just an inch or two away from her fingertips.

Her eyes glowed again, the light flickering in them, and she distinctly heard a voice say, “Get out of here.” She rocked back on her heels, shaking violently, gripping the side of the car. It was a voice she hadn’t heard in years and barely recognized. Her mother, Eireka Berens was telling her to run.

She took a deep breath. The troll screamed from inside of her pocket. “How did you do that from inside of a psych ward?” she wondered, watching the fireball fade and disappear.

She got in the car fast before anyone came to see if there was a problem. How the hell could she explain this.

“You may not know this about me, but I don’t run from a goddamn thing, Mom,” she said as she drove off, the tires squealing. She made a point of keeping her eyes off the rearview mirror. The tips of her fingers still hummed and her nails had turned violet.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Correk was sitting in his chambers at the top of the castle. A small room with just a bed and a nightstand but it served its purpose. He chose the smaller quarters mostly because of the glass cupola that stood in as its ceiling, giving Correk a panoramic view for miles, even when the castle could be seen hanging in the sky.

He was trying to decide if he should tell anyone else what had just happened. He saw the icy fire that had spread up Leira Berens’ arm. Her eyes glowing. Something had changed.

“That is impossible,” he said, trying to make sense of it. “She can’t be…We would have known.”

A passenger pigeon fluttered outside the window at a small pane at the bottom, waiting for it to be cranked open. Even though the window was at present invisible to most creatures, birds in Oriceran could navigate the castle with ease.

“Hello Palmer,” said Correk, holding out his arm for the bird to land and Correk pulled him inside. The iridescent brown feathers around its neck sparkled in the sunlight.

“You have some mail for me?”

The bird dropped the postcard in Correk’s other hand. It was trimmed in silver and had the crimson stamp of the prophets. It was embossed with the word, Post Office in the center. It morphed into a ball of wiggling worms. He held it out to Palmer who made a quick meal of them, cooing as he finished them.

Correk eased Palmer out the window and watched for a moment as the bird flew away. He made his way to the side of the building and held out an arm and fiery symbols appeared on his hand.

“Altrea Extendia,” he said, and the bronze staircase appeared. He took the steps two at a time, used to the long trek, passing several others on shorter suspended staircases that only went from one floor to the next.

Druina, the teacher who had the unfortunate task of trying to educate young Eltor, was on a silver staircase carrying her marking book. Correk could see that it was locked and a thorny vine wrapped around it.

“Correk, rushing off? Don’t forget you promised to come and speak to the class next week,” she reminded him. He waved and kept hurrying downward.

A postcard invitation from the prophets could not be ignored or even put off till later.

There were several other passenger pigeons leaving the castle, finishing up the afternoon mail drop, and flying back to the post office. The birds were kept by the gargoyles who operated a mail system out of an old apothecary that had once served the Atlanteans who had emigrated to Oriceran thousands of years ago.

Correk made his way across the open pasture and past the royal gardens and headed down the mossy path toward the post office on the far side of the Light Elves kingdom. Giant oaks that had been allowed to flourish for hundreds of years hung their heavy, leafy branches over the path, dappling the sunlight. Trolls jumped in and out of the large twisted roots where they were known to build nests, and a cloud of red and orange pinching bees swirled around a branch high over his head, building a hive.

He could see the post office in the distance. The imposing building rose high out of the mist. The gargoyles had never seen the need to hide the building. Everyone already knew where the building was.

It was built out of pale yellow stone from a nearby quarry that was now a fresh water swimming hole used by children and stocked with fish, including a mislabeled tadpole that had grown into a hundred-foot lizard that kept mostly to itself at the very bottom, hundreds of feet below.

Correk liked to go there and sit under the ancient elms when he needed a quiet place to think.

It was easy to convert the building into a post office once the potion books were transferred to the gnomes’ vault at the back of the library and the medicinal herbs were carefully moved to a secret location.

The one-room building stretched upward for a thousand feet and was a perfect square, each wall was five thousand, two hundred and eighty feet.

As Correk entered the vast building he took a moment to look up at the crested gargoyles carrying out their duties, sorting thousands of pieces of mail in a moment. There were hundreds of them flying around in the center of the building without ever having a collision.

Nimble workers opened and shut thousands of drawers that stretched from floor to ceiling.

The walls of the post office were covered with wooden boxes of every size that were created from the enchanted part of the forest, each with a narrow brass handle.

Every box had once held one of the thousands of ingredients the Atlanteans used for their magic. Many of them were either forgotten or kept secret by the gnomes in the library.

The crested gargoyles were highly prized for their work ethic and their ability to focus on a task. No bigger than a gnome, their bodies were covered in oversized gold scales that rippled as they moved, claws on their back legs and ended in a tail with a razor-sharp point. Their heads flaunted a deep black crest that ran to the base of their tails.

The bottom boxes were rented out to different elven societies and some dwarves, while the vast array of boxes that hovered higher up were used by the prophets for official business. They never clarified what that meant and weren’t about to start.

Correk passed the large bronze plaque that read, ‘Dedicated to the memory of Tessa, the mother of the Word. Etched in the bronze was an elderly blind woman with children gathered around her.

He glanced at the plaque as the bronze woman moved around in her seat and the children at her feet squirmed. A small girl looked directly at him, holding his gaze for a moment. The art enchantment spell was one of his least favorite. Too lifelike, he thought as he shuddered and hurried through the building.

A group of schoolchildren were gathered near the entrance with their teacher, listening to a Wood Elf explain the history of the post office and the seer, Tessa, depicted in the plaque. One of the boys was sticking out his tongue at the plaque, trying to make someone in the magical depiction grimace back at him.

Correk smiled, waiting for the trick that someone had cast over the plaque.

A small bronze boy turned and looked at the child standing in front of the plaque, his tongue sticking out, crossing his eyes. He laughed when he saw someone looking back at him.

The figure in bronze hooked his finger and beckoned at the child to come closer. He leaned in and the head of the boy in the plaque turned into a timber howler, the hairy apes that lived in the trees. The head grew in size until it was larger than the child in front of him and stuck out of the plaque, opening its wide mouth, jagged teeth shining in the light, giving its signature howl.

The elven school boy fainted dead away, hitting the marble floor with a loud thud.

“That should cure him of any more pranks,” said Correk.

“I remember when you had the very same trick played on you, Correk.” It was his old teacher of basic elven magic, Lucenda. As was the custom for elves, no one took a last name. It wasn’t necessary. Everyone knew what tribe they belonged to and didn’t need a reminder.

“I had a headache for a week.”

“Nonsense,” said Lucenda, waiting for the boy to get back on his feet. She adjusted the voluminous blue robes around her short, stout body. Her long silver hair was tied back in a neat braid rolled into a bun.

“Sorry,” the boy said when he came to, rubbing the back of his head.

Lucenda gave a satisfied, “Hmph,” and waved her hand over his head, her eyes glowing, turning a brighter blue. “Portasus,” she said, and the top of the boy’s head glowed briefly. It was the most basic healing spell.

“I hope you’ve learned something about respect for your elders,” she said. He nodded earnestly at her. “I don’t mean me. For Tessa, or her formal name, Teressa Doe. Go on, go back to the group.”

The Wood Elf waited till the child was back with the group before going on with the tour. All the while, the two irises of each eye were scanning the room, keeping track of everyone.

“They really make the best teachers,” said Lucenda. “Never miss a thing.”

“I don’t remember you healing my head. You made me wait it out.”

“You had a harder head,” she said. “What brings you to the post office?”

“I got a postcard. The prophets want to see me.”

“A silver postcard? Official business, very important. Then I won’t keep you,” she said, turning and patting the plaque. “Such a wonderful role model for everyone. So selfless.”

The same small bronze boy turned and gave her a raspberry, sticking out his tongue.

“Cheeky!” said Lucenda, annoyed, marched back to the school group. “Should really get someone to remove that spell. It’s just magical graffiti, I tell you.”

Every elven child was taught in school about the seer, Tessa who spoke in quatrains, predicting the future. Four-line riddles that were scribbled down by the gnomes and then left to the interpretation of the prophets. Her predictions that talked about every aspect of Oriceran life for thousands of years to come were considered the foundation of the system that kept everything running smoothly. So many of them had already turned out to be true.

The plaque was created upon her death, well over a century ago. Her death was also shrouded in secrecy.

Frankly, no one asked much when it came to the inner workings of Oriceran. So much of it was hidden and dealt with by the prophets. After enough time passed, everyone took the system for granted.

The prophets were from every society on Oriceran. The movement started even before the death of the seer, interpreting the quatrains as she produced them despite her protests. After her death and the last of the quatrains were discovered, the interpretations only became more complicated. The last quatrain convinced the group that once the gates began to reopen the magic energy, the very life force of Oriceran would drain away to Earth, eventually ending in a cataclysmic explosion. Oriceran would cease to be.

They spent their days getting ready for the Gold year, sounding warnings, and working on ways to save as much of the living things on Oriceran as possible by moving them to Earth.

The two-seat trolley that ran on the tracks that wove through the building, arrived with just one metal car. A crested gargoyle opened the gate and beckoned to Correk to take a seat.

“Hurry it up,” it squawked. “Make sure all hands and feet stay inside of the car. We won’t go back for missing parts.”

The gargoyle rang a bell and gave the car a push as it took off. The steel tires squealed against the rails unrolling in front of the car and rolling up behind it. Seconds later, Correk found himself at the back of the building.

He got out just as another gargoyle gave the empty seat a push, sending the trolley speeding up the wall off to another destination. Correk looked up, wondering who could be up at the top of the building that would need a ride back down.

CHAPTER NINE

“Correk! Correk, you’re late!” Ossonia, a tall Light Elf who worked closely with the prophets had a ledger under her arm, and was tapping her foot. Correk tried not to smile when he was around her.

He didn’t want her knowing his crush dated all the way back to when they were in school together.

He followed behind her quickly moving feet, trying not to notice her long brown tresses bouncing from side to side as she walked.

She raised her right hand, making signs with her fingers as fiery symbols flared. The mailboxes in front of them flipped over and over, revealing a door.

“What’s a back door doing here?”

“Not a back door,” Ossonia replied. “Just a door.”

It slid open, disappearing into a pocket, revealing a large chamber with four levels of gallery seats ringing the room. Correk recognized some of the Oricerans present. They were the chosen council for the larger group of followers known as the prophets.

Down in the center of the room, beneath where the prophets sat, was a large, worn leather-bound ledger under a tall, glass dome. Correk knew from all the stories he was told as a child it was the book that contained all the ancient quatrains. The original notebook of the elder gnome who recorded the blind seer’s quatrains.

The sight of the prophets gathered together in the deep recesses of the post office, away from prying eyes, instantly darkened his mood. He scanned the room, wondering who might actually be a new follower of Rhazdon’s methods, posing as a friend and an ally.

Correk knew enough about Rhazdon’s old cult to know they were never considered anyone’s friend. It wasn’t going to be easy to ferret out someone powerful enough to remain undetected by the other prophets. After all, they were a suspicious lot by nature.

He needed to be calm and gather information. Take his time. Surely, there was time, if the game had been going on for hundreds of years already. It had to be a slow-moving plot.

“Correk, please step into the center of the room,” said an Arpak, a winged man, from the second tier.

Correk complied. Twinkling lights descended, bobbing in the air. He looked up and was startled to see it was dark.

“It’s just an illusion,” Ossonia whispered from her nearby post. “The prophets find it calming.”

“Do you know why we asked you here?” asked the Dwarf. He was dressed in an ill-fitting suit, a size too small. Dwarves were loath to wear anything but worn-out pants. The formality was not a good sign. They were worried about something. Over the suit was the customary blue robe with the two moons on the pocket inside of a large O. Twinkling star systems radiated across the back and changed position as the prophet moved around, staying aligned with the sky directly above them.

All of the prophets wore the robe over their customary attire.

He took a deep breath before he answered, sensing what he said next would matter more than he had realized. “The truth is, I do not.”

He stole another look around the room but no one looked uncomfortable or warier than usual. Of course, if it was true and there was an imposter in the room, whoever it was may have had hundreds of years to perfect their lie. There was no way of knowing when it all started.

“Correk is a Light Elf and therefore a Cousin. I will direct the remaining questions, as is customary. First, let me start by saying for the entire council, we are sorry for the loss of Prince Rolim. A great tragedy, made more so by the usual peace that we now enjoy on Oriceran,” said an older Light Elf. He had been serving on the council for over a hundred years.

“Thank you. I will see that the king and queen hear your condolences,” he said, trying not to sound annoyed.

“That peace is a result of all parties, over thirty different intelligent species, agreeing to abide by the treaty. How much do you know of the Great Treaty?”

“I have learned the basic outline that the prophets require.”

“Tell us—”

“Then, you know about the ban on opening portals between Oriceran and Earth?” asked the frowning Wood Elf, cutting the Light Elf off.

“Enough,” said the Light Elf, jumping to his feet, slamming his hand on the curving wood table in front of him. “You will direct your answers only to me,” he said to Correk and glared at the Wood Elf. “Tell us, what are the three most important points of the treaty?”

Everyone is more short-tempered than usual, thought Correk.

Even though Correk was only appearing as a courtesy to the council, he wasn’t interested in insulting them. They held sway with too many people who believed in their readings of the quatrains. Besides, someone among them was an imposter.

“The sectioning of the lands between the different kingdoms. The respect for life and property, equally for everyone.”

“And?” asked the Light Elf, before anyone could say anything.

“The ban on opening portals between Oriceran and Earth before the next Gold Age.”

“They were all put into place for the security and well-being of everyone on Oriceran. Would you agree?” asked the Crystal prophet, who had travelled from the most northern reaches of Oriceran for the gathering. His entire body was made up of solid icicles that protruded everywhere and his presence was causing a chill in the air.

Correk slowly nodded his head. All of the Wood Elf’s irises were pointed at him. Their version of a cold stare-down.

“I’ll need you to verbalize all of your answers, please,” said the Light Elf.

“Yes,” Correk sang, his eyes glowing with anger for a moment. The language of the Light Elves sounded like song but they could moderate it when they wanted to be sure others understood. He had let his anger get the better of him.

He knew where this was going. Someone had seen them bring Leira to the castle and had become concerned the human beings on Earth would learn of Oriceran too early, ruining their plans to safely transport most, if not all of Oriceran to the other planet.

“Then can you explain why a portal was opened to Earth and a human who was unaware of our existence was brought to Oriceran?”

“We were in need of her help,” he said, deciding honesty was the best play to calm the council’s fears.

“It was a human that killed the Prince,” he finished.

The prophets started to whisper among themselves.

“You know this for certain?” demanded the Light Elf, loudly, silencing the others. “Was it this detective?”

“No, but we are certain it was a human. We saw the death revenant. The killer was a man who came here to steal from us. He took a very powerful amulet and escaped back to Earth. Out of respect for the treaty…”

“Stole an amulet?” the Wood Elf shouted. Correk noticed several of the prophets looked genuinely surprised.

“And because your magic wouldn’t help you on Earth,” the Light Elf said flatly.

“Yes, that’s true. That played a part as well. However, we still demand justice for the death of the Prince as well as not wanting that artifact to give its power to the wrong person. For that to happen, we needed help. We chose the woman, Leira Berens, from a place called Austin, Texas.”

“Why this woman? Isn’t she a fairly new detective? New at the job of finding out who did something wrong?”

Correk realized they must have been watching Leira. As usual, they were overly vigilant when it came to anything to do with Earth.

“Her skills are already proven in her world and her life circumstances fit our needs. She has no one who would need a long explanation about where she was going and when she would be back.”

“Or if things went wrong, would miss her,” added the Light Elf, looking down his long nose at Correk.

“Yes,” he said, quietly. “That is also true.”

“Did you know she took a magical creature with her when she left Oriceran?” Now it was Correk’s turn to be startled as he let the surprise wash over his face before he could compose himself.

“Good. You are surprised. That’s the problem with bringing a human into our world. They know nothing about the dangers of Oriceran. She must have rescued a troll while she was here. They are very determined pests. It went back with her,” the Light Elf said, his mouth a thin, annoyed line.

“Damn troll,” he muttered under his breath.

“There’s a risk of exposure. Word of the troll has already spread,” the Dwarf added, looking nervously around.

“Tell us about the stolen artifact. Convince us that the detective is not being used solely for revenge,” said the Light Elf.

Correk looked up at the sky. Orion was overhead with the Cassandra belt of stars. The same formation as the last Great Year. The prophets are nostalgic, he thought. Use it.

“The artifact was a piece of lavender stone brought from Earth during the last Great Year. It held special powers to begin with but over the millennia, has been endowed with magic energy from every king of Oriceran. It rightfully belongs to the next heir to the throne when they become an adult.”

“Why is this the first we’re hearing of it?” asked a clearly angry Wood Elf.

Reminding them of the past had failed miserably.

“It is not my place to speculate.”

“So, the necklace is familiar to the royal family and is not only a right of passage, but a sign of their nobility,” said the Light Elf. “The energy that runs through it must feel so comforting, and now it’s gone.”

“Along with the prince’s life,” added Correk. “It could cause great harm in the wrong hands. It has to be returned and I ask your forbearance to understand that Queen Saria needs the man brought back to justice.”

“Not revenge.”

“No,” said Correk, “Trevilsom Prison will satisfy.” Trevilsom was carved into rock on an island in the middle of the ocean. Correk had seen the effects of the prison on a dwarf who was caught trying to steal from the library. A rare book on forbidden magic that was promptly returned to the vault.

The dwarf came out of the prison unable to think straight long enough to cast a spell or sing a line of magic and was reduced to begging and taking odd jobs. It was enough justice for the prince’s killer.

The Light Elf looked relieved at his answers.

“Thank you for your rigorous honesty. We needed to be sure of your character because we have a favor to ask of you. We will need a moment to confer.”

“Of course,” said Correk, and stepped back to Ossonia. The prophets gathered in a huddle, whispering to each other. It didn’t take long before there was an agreement and they took their seats.

“Let us be clear. Your help is vital to us,” said an Ogre that towered over the other beings sitting on the council. The robe draped around his shoulders took up yards and yards of material and was large enough for the entire constellation of Canis Major, the Great Dog. Other robes had only a few stars.

“Of course,” said Correk, stepping back to the center, steeling himself for the request.

“We need you to go to Earth and assist Leira Berens in retrieving the necklace, the troll and the killer, without detection.”

“You want me to go to Earth?” asked Correk, confused. “But the treaty?”

“We feel it’s necessary to make an exception. You see, we are the ones who brought over Bill Somers in order to trade information. We will need to be the ones who apply justice.”

“What?” Correk stumbled backwards, steadying himself on the glass dome.

“No,” Ossonia gasped, when Correk made contact with the glass. A sharp pain stabbed through his head and he recoiled, pulling back his hand. The pain lingered and he squeezed his eyes shut until someone muttered, “Portasus.”

The top of his head cooled and the pain lifted.

“Why would you do this to us?” he asked, his voice rising.

“We did nothing to you. We are only responsible for choosing poorly. We have our reasons and they are more important than everything that’s happened. You will have to trust that the eventual safety of everyone on this planet was a worthwhile sacrifice,” said the Light Elf, holding up his hand to stop Correk from speaking.

“There is so much you don’t know. Give it perspective.”

“Do not ask me to understand any of this,” Correk sang furiously, his eyes glowing.

“Be assured,” said the Dark Elf rising, his eyes aglow. “We are not.”

The tension in the room rose as Correk felt the words of a spell cross his lips. A flame rolled out in front of him, licking at the robes of the Dark Elf.

He waved his hand over the flame, putting it out before it could do any real harm, glowering at Correk. Ossonia stepped forward and stood by Correk’s side. He could see that her ledger was trembling in her hands.

“This is not productive,” the Light Elf said. “Unless someone is considering breaking the treaty altogether, I suggest everyone stand down.”

Correk flexed his hands, willing the symbols to fade back under his skin. “When do you need my voluntary help?” he asked. He wondered how he would face the king and queen and not tell them.

“Now,” said the Light Elf, and he opened a portal. “You are to stay for as long as it takes. Keep the detective safe and bring Bill Somers to us, along with the necklace. No one on Earth can know you are there. We have learned the hard way that human beings don’t always do well with the truth.”

On the other side of the portal was the interior of the green Mustang and Leira driving down the highway.

“What the fuck?” she blurted, hitting the brakes. “Yum fuck!” came from somewhere deep inside the car.

CHAPTER TEN

“Of all the stupid shit!” Leira yelled, pressing herself against the driver’s side door, yanking the steering wheel to the right, and veering off the road. The Mustang mowed down a green highway sign that snapped neatly in two. There was a loud hiss from the front of the car, and steam and smoke rose up over the hood.

The troll, sensing danger, sprung out of her pocket, growing larger and filling the car, making it even harder for Leira to keep it under control.

A man in a minivan looked over and saw her struggling to get away from a large, hairy creature baring its teeth and swerved across two lanes of traffic, barely missing a bus full of seniors on their way to a casino.

Leira was in no mood to try deep breathing and help the troll shrink to its normal size. She looked up to see the Light Elf she called Bert peering through the portal, a pretty female Light Elf by his side, both looking very worried.

A voice from somewhere on the other side boomed, “Jump!” and an enormous, hairy hand appeared, shoving Bert and sending him tumbling into the back seat of the car, head first. The female came through briefly, reaching toward Bert but she was just as unceremoniously yanked back into Oriceran as the portal sizzled and the image faded.

“This isn’t a fucking bus stop, Bert!” yelled Leira, starting to see the wisdom in getting her heart rate under control. Yumfuck was still growing, and was pushing against the roof. He had already put a long scratch in the seat from one of his claws.

“Not the leather, Yumfuck!” she ordered, making him growl and press his face up against the window. A driver sipping coffee did a double take, his eyes locked on Yumfuck. The troll opened its mouth to roar, baring its teeth.

They were in danger of getting found out before she’d even made it out of Austin.

Leira shifted into detective mode and calmly assessed the situation. She watched the driver stare at Yumfuck, shaking all over, spilling the coffee on his hand.

“Must be hot coffee,” she said, as he moved his hand too quickly, spilling more. Leira made herself take a deep breath and even reached out to pet Yumfuck who was leaning against her, anyway. Bert would have to wait a minute.

He was swearing in the back of the car, pushing against the troll, who was practically sitting on his back. At least, Leira assumed that loud singing was swearing on Oriceran. It didn’t take long before he let loose with a few he had picked up on Earth.

“Twinkle, twinkle, little star,” she sang. It was the only song she knew all the words to.

“What the hell are you doing?” yelled Bert from the back seat.

“Singing. You should recognize it. You do it all the time. This was a favorite of mine when I was little. How I wonder where you are,” she continued, rubbing Yumfuck’s arm. The troll trilled and started shrinking.

The highway was starting to get backed up. Everyone in the lanes closest to the Mustang was craning to get a better look. One driver had even lowered his window and was holding up a cell phone. Leira turned her head away, hoping he didn’t get a shot of an oversized troll, a frustrated detective and an elf, rolling around in a Mustang. There was no chance that wouldn’t go viral.

Yumfuck shrunk until he was back to five inches and without Leira saying a word, he crawled into her pocket and curled up inside the pair of underwear waiting for him. She sighed with relief and took a moment before trying to talk to Bert.

“Ohm, Leira, stay calm,” she said, shaking out her arms. She turned around slowly and found an angry Light Elf on her back seat, his hair mussed and his robe hanging off to one side.

“What the fuck are you laughing at?” Correk snapped. He caught a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror and patted his hair down.

“So, you know a few of Earth’s finer swear words as well. Very useful stuff. It’ll help you blend in,” she said. “Uh oh, this isn’t good. Don’t say anything.”

The red and blue flashing lights on top of the Travis County police car could be seen from a distance, weaving in and out of the heavy traffic. Leria knew they were searching for the green Mustang. She pulled out her badge while there was still time and waited, holding it and resting her hands on the wheel.

“Way too many opportunities for me to keep getting pissed off,” said Leira. “But, no, not with my feel-ometer right next to me, alerting the world with a growth spurt.”

“I believe I warned you not to rescue a troll in the first place,” Correk said, turning around to watch the approaching lights.

“No one likes somebody who has to be right, Bert.”

“Correk.”

“What?”

“Correk, my name is Correk,” he said, doing his best to control his own anger and not sing the words.

“Well, then, Correk, it sounds like your voice is breaking and you finally hit puberty. How about if we leave all the talking to me and you sit way back in the seat and say nothing at all,” Leira said.

The black and white police cruiser pulled up neatly behind the Mustang, the lights still spinning. The traffic slowed even more. She did her best not to look in their direction.

She kept an eye on the rearview mirror and watched as the officer called in her plates. “Good,” she mumbled, “he’ll find out this is a slick top.”

She watched him get out slowly and walk over to her window where he could see the badge she was clutching between her fingers. He signaled to her to lower the window and she removed one hand to push the button. He glanced back at the lines of traffic and then at Leira, a look of confusion on his face.

“He’s wondering where the monster is,” whispered Correk.

“Not now,” hissed Leira. “Shut Up.”

“Are you Detective Leira Berens?” he asked, bending down to get a better look at Correk in the backseat. He stifled a smile.

Leira refused to acknowledge that there was anything strange about having a grown man in what looked like a costume in the back of a police cruiser.

“Sir,” he said, nodding at Correk. “Detective, are you okay? We got a report of a large wild animal, maybe a lion, loose in someone’s car.”

“Nothing like that here. We’re in one piece with no animals on board. Just about to call a tow truck.”

“You see anything? We got more than one call. They said a green Mustang. Any chance you saw another car like yours pass through here?” he asked, puzzled, peering into the distance as if the car would appear.

“Haven’t seen another Mustang but I haven’t been looking. No large wild animals of any kind either.”

Correk cleared his throat and gave the cop a cross between a grimace and a tight smile. Leira saw the look in the rearview mirror.

“Yes, we’re fine,” she said, trying to distract the officer. “Headed out of town and thought I heard something rattling. Something must be up with the steering,” she said, hoping her lie would pass muster. “I took out an innocent highway sign.” She smiled, hoping the questions would stop.

“Sure it wasn’t a lion?” asked the officer, smiling back. “Tear off a hose or something?”

Leira slid her right leg over just enough to cover the rip in the seat. It looked too new and she couldn’t easily explain where it came from. He laughed like they were all in on a joke, and leaned down to get a better look at Correk. She watched his face as he took in what Correk was wearing, and the pointed ears.

“Can you tell me where you’re headed?” he asked, his smile growing wider.

“Chicago Comicon,” said Leira, wondering how that idea came to her. “Big fans. Bert back there couldn’t wait. He’s Lord of the Rings. You know the story.”

“That’s a long drive to wear your costume the entire way. I admire your dedication. What’s your costume going to be?” he asked Leira, bending down again to get another view of Correk who was rolling his eyes.

“A hobbit,” she said, doing her best to own the statement. It was the first thing that popped into her mind. She could hear a snort from the backseat but kept looking at the officer.

“That’s an interesting choice,” he said. “You’re from Region Two, right? Make sure you get a lot of pictures. There’ll be a lot of interest.”

Leira did her best dead fish look and added a hint of menacing. “You work in traffic, right?” she asked in an even tone. She was trying to push just enough to slow him down on sharing some of the details when he got back to the station, without annoying him to the point where he asked everyone to get out of the car.

The expression on his face changed and he stood up a little straighter, hooking his thumbs in his belt. Message received.

“Well, you get a tow truck here as soon as you can, Detective, and make sure they check out the steering,” he said, giving her a sharp nod, and knocking the roof with his fist.

Leira instantly regretted being such a dick and started to say she heard there were openings in the CRASH unit when a high-pitched whine came out of her pocket.

“That’s what regret sounds like from a troll,” Correk whispered, leaning forward. “They’re emotional truth-sayers, hobbit.” He drew the last word out into two long syllables.

“You were going to say something, Detective Berens?” asked the officer.

“No, we’re good. Thank you, Officer.” She watched him walk back to his patrol car, glancing over his shoulder twice before finally getting in his car and speeding off, sending a little dust in their direction.

“Someone is going to get a helluva ticket off that guy today,” she said.

“What’s a ticket?” Correk asked.

"Yeah, that’s the biggest question on my mind, too,” said Leira sarcastically, twisting in her seat. The troll squeaked. “What if we start with why the hell are you dropping in unannounced while I’m speeding down the highway, instead? Was it that big of an emergency?”

Yumfuck slipped out of her pocket and scrambled up to the top of the front seat, shaking his fist at Correk.

“Trolls are annoying in general,” he remarked, plucking him off the seat and depositing him next to Leira. “To answer your question, yes, it was an emergency but not for the reasons I was sent here. There are now two groups that seems to want Bill Somers and the necklace back, but for different reasons.”

“Can you get up here in the front seat so I don’t look like a glorified Uber driver? You just squeeze the handle right there.”

“We may not have the same level of technology,” Correk said, climbing into the front seat, “but I’ve used a handle or two in Oriceran.”

“I thought maybe with magic you didn’t bother.”

“Lazier than I aspire to.”

“Going to have to get a tow truck out here. It’s going to delay things for at least a day.”

“Good, then we can talk about what you may find in Chicago.”

“Good? I would think you’d be antsy to get moving. That makes no sense. You dragged me to your world, just one day ago, and told me to hotfoot it because this rock Bill Somers stole has a timer on it. I found him, and by the way, he’s halfway across the country. A very long drive.”

“You have planes. I’ve seen them. Yes, we can see you.”

“Creepy and we’ll talk about that later. But, I’m absolutely certain trolls aren’t allowed on planes. TSA would have a field day.”

“Go back to Austin,” he said seriously. “There’s a lot to explain and things have gotten a lot more complicated.”

“Is that why you were sent here? I saw that big helping hand you got.”

“That was the Ogre prophet. They felt you needed some assistance in order to get the job done in the time that’s left.”

“If that’s true, why aren’t they opening up a hole from Austin to Chicago and just shoving me through it?” she asked steering back onto the road.

“Portals between two places on Earth are even more dangerous for both the conjurer and the traveler. That’s a last resort option.”

“Good news. We’re not at last resorts but it’s more complicated. How complicated?” she asked, looking over at Correk.

“Oriceran was not always a peaceful planet,” he started.

“You’re going back to the beginning of time? Fuck me.”

“It’s necessary if you’re to understand all of the pieces of this puzzle.”

“All of that magic literally crawling under your skin and you can’t make people tell you the truth.”

“Even magic has its rules and its limits. Breaking those rules or testing those limits has very real consequences.”

“Here we call that prison,” said Leira.

“We do as well. Trevilsom Prison in the middle of the largest ocean.”

“How do you keep a magic creature in a cell? We have a hard-enough time with human beings. Can’t figure out how to just hold down a regular job but they can make a knife out of almost anything.”

“Trevilsom is cursed. Magic turns in on itself there and the mind follows. The entire island gives off a gas that only the jailers who are from the island can tolerate and remain sane. No one comes out of Trevilsom unchanged.”

“That’s not justice,” Leira said.

“I’ve seen your justice system. I’ve been particularly interested in watching how you enforce laws. Your system has just as many problems, and breaks just as many people.”

“We’re really going to have to talk about the watching thing,” said Leira, her voice growing cold. She was learning how to get her point across without getting angry and growing a bigger troll.

Enough with the deep breathing, she thought. She called an old friend of her mother’s who owned a repair shop. He came out with an old Toyota with one of his young employees following behind in a tow truck.

“Nice to see you again, Leira. Seems like the only time I hear from you is when a car breaks down.”

“Sorry about that, Ralph,” said Leira. “I meant to call you…”

“It’s okay,” he said, patting her shoulder with a leathery hand. “I expect it’s tough to run into your mother’s old friends. I get it.”

“Same deal?” she asked.

“Same deal. You pay me cash and no one has to know you bent up the police cruiser. Looks like your radiator. You’re in luck. I think I have one that’ll fit back at the shop. This really important?”

Leira nodded her head.

“Then, I suppose it’ll be ready by morning. Promised your mother I’d look out for you, when you’d let me. You should let me more often,” he said with a smile.

Leira didn’t even wait for the Mustang to get on the bed of the tow truck. She gave Ralph a hug and drove off in the Toyota, looking at him in the rearview mirror. He gave her a wave and watched her drive off.

She took the Cesar Chavez exit and turned on to 5th Street, headed for home. Traffic was heavy along the popular route. It was the time of year when tourists from the north flooded Austin for the warm air and cold margaritas. Austin was never meant to be more than a sleepy capital of Texas. The roads were always clogged with cars and bikes.

It was all Leira had ever known and she was used to the slow crawl.

“You say this puzzle is key to this case. All you’re talking about are some leads that look connected. Fine, tell me the whole story. If I can’t get on the road, I’d like to know why,” Leira looked over at Correk.

“And what might be hunting me,” she asked him.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“Thousands of years ago, all the different kingdoms of Oriceran were at each other’s throat over as many different disputes, some of them even forgotten. Still, the fighting continued and everyone lost people they loved.”

“Including your family?”

“Everyone. Light Elves see everyone who is a Light Elf as family. We don’t break into smaller clans like the Dwarves. The war raged on for hundreds of years, across generations and over many lands. It is a long story, and it’s worth the telling but we don’t have time for all of it now. Someday, I hope to tell you more.”

“What finally ended the conflict?”

“A treaty was proposed. Not the first time that had happened, but this one came from the prophets. Like your Supreme Court. A ruling body that serves for life with a member from every society. They oversee everything on Oriceran, across our world. Everyone was weary of hating their neighbor by then, and there was almost unanimous acceptance.”

“I suppose the key word there is almost.”

“Yes, it is. One tribe, the Atlanteans, refused to even listen. They were a privileged race who did their best to forestall the treaty.”

“Atlanteans like Atlantis, like underwater lost city?” asked Leira.

“There are connections. The Atlanteans are distant cousins of the race from Earth. Originally, they came from the sea and looked just like humans except for their hair, which were actually very clever tentacles.”

“Here on Earth we don’t normally refer to hair as clever.”

“These tentacles are detachable and can be used to track others. It’s racial memory from when they had to hunt for their food.”

“You were going to say prey,” said Leira. “That’s what one of these Atlanteans would see me as, prey. I can assure you that’s not the case.”

“I agree or I would have already moved you somewhere safer. The Atlanteans managed to stay out of most of the fighting and were quite happy to let the rest of us wipe each other out. In the end, they were the ones wiped out.”

“Sounds brutal,” Leira said.

“It was complicated,” Correk replied. “They had managed to stay out of much of the fighting by using dark magic. A kind of magic no one else was willing to practice.”

“Even to stop a war?”

“They saw it as an outside issue for hundreds of years until there was talk of a real treaty. My father told me stories when I was a boy about the Atlanteans and how they were suspected of using their dark magic to plant seeds of jealousy and hatred in the different kingdoms. There were stories that the Atlanteans’ dark magic was responsible for hardening hearts against each other and that’s what had taken down earlier treaties.”

“Like an epic tale of Dungeons and Dragons.”

“That game was started by a Light Elf who lives among your people.”

“So many questions I want to ask right now. Like a hundred different rabbit holes I could get lost in,” said Leira, as she turned the car onto Rainey Street. The lunch crowd was in full swing with lines in front of all the food trucks. As usual, Carra’s Taco Truck, painted a bright red with the lettering in yellow and blue had the longest line.

“But I’m more interested in how this all pertains to you showing up out of nowhere in my car,” she said.

“The Atlanteans saw that the treaty was gaining ground and they did the unthinkable. They used a kind of dark magic that has only been used once before and was forbidden, even during the wars. They tried to send the prophets to the world in between. A nether world that is full of the living and the dead where nothing ever happens and no one ages. I think your people call them ghosts.”

“That’s really a thing?” she asked, a chill running down her back.

“The kings from all the realms, all across Oriceran, finally came together and in a battle that raged for days, weeks even, they managed to kill the Atlanteans. The ground was soaked with the blood of both sides but the wars were over. Somehow, that tragedy from thousands of years ago reared up again, six hundred years ago to poison the mind of a half-Atlantean named Rhazdon who turned Oricerans from everywhere into his own apostles.”

“A resentment that spanned across millennia is impressive,” said Leira.

“He was seeking revenge and probably enjoyed the irony of using the different races to avenge his forgotten race. To join his movement every follower had to swear to purity of mind and embrace Rhazdon’s philosophies.”

“We’d call that a cult on Earth. I’m familiar with what it can do to human beings when they drink the poisoned Kool-Aid.”

“Rhazdon didn’t care about anyone or anything else. Vengeance was his only motivation. To prove the Atlanteans, this part of himself he had embraced, were superior. He used his followers to cause dissent, eventually leading them into small battles that were only growing worse. The kings stepped in and there was one enormous battle that wiped out most of Rhazdon’s followers. A great painting to commemorate the worst and best day on Oriceran hangs in our post office.”

“So many things I want to ask. The only things in our post offices are wanted posters and ads for stamps.”

“After that, lasting peace came to Oriceran,” he said.

“An entire group of people had to be wiped out, twice. That is intense. What about their leader, this Rhazdon. What became of him?”

“The king of the Light Elves chased him into the castle. He was cornered in the tower when it began to burn in a fire set by magic, engulfing everything. Rhazdon was trapped inside. The tower collapsed. He couldn’t have survived in the burning rubble. Their magic, their books, their potions, all of it was taken and locked away by the prophets. Gnomes protect it to this day.”

“Sounds like a happy ending,” she said. There was no place to park right in front of Estelle’s, which was unusual for Leira. She even circled the block once, she was so sure that something would open up.

Instead, a Chevy truck backed out of a space in front of the food court and Leira gave in, sliding into the spot.

“I suppose my luck had to run out sometime,” she said. She started to open her door but Correk grabbed her arm.

“There’s something more to the murder of the prince. The pieces all fit into something. The Prince’s murder by a human being, the willen warning me of something not extinct. Then, there’s the scarab,” said Correk, pulling a small drawstring pouch out of his pocket. Inside was the green stone set into a scarab. He turned it over to show Leira the figure eight, the sign of infinity.

“This is a symbol of Rhazdon’s old dark magic.”

“You think one of his followers survived the last battle,” said Leira in a hushed voice, her eyes growing wider.

“If one did, and passed this down through their family then Rhazdon’s dark magic may still be out there where it can be used. Magic most of us have never heard of and do not know how to combat.”

“What does all of this have to do with the sudden urgency from all sides to get Bill Somers and return the necklace?”

“You’re a good detective, Leira Berens. I don’t have all the answers yet. I wonder if you’re also somehow the key to solving this mystery. I saw what happened when you reached out to the fireball.”

“Nothing happened,” she said quickly. “We need to come up with a plan. Are you here for the duration or was this a drive-by?”

“I was given a directive to stay for as long as it takes. To keep you safe and to return Bill Somers.”

“I can keep myself safe. Don’t use that as an excuse to get in my way. I’m the lead detective,” she said fiercely. Leira got out of the car, leaving the luggage behind. “We need to get on the road, sooner than later. What are you doing?”

“What is that wonderful smell?” he asked, turning around in a circle, smelling the air.

“You’re easily distracted like a dog and a squirrel. It’s got to be the Bangers truck in the food court. They sell all kinds of hot dogs. It’s like a tube of hot meat. Delicious. Yes, I’ll get you one,” she said.

She stepped into the line behind two men talking about a bet.

“We only bet a dollar and he argued about losing. A dollar!” The two men were laughing, betting another dollar on whether their friend would ever pay up. Leira watched them, wondering what it would be like to have friendships like that. Losing her mother and then her grandmother had set her on a course that didn’t leave a lot of time or desire, until now, to just hang out, cracking jokes. Her pocket uttered a muffled, high-pitched whine, causing the men to turn around and look at her.

Leira tried a half-smile on them, acting like she was just waiting to order.

“How fortunate you found a place right in front of this truck to put your car,” said Correk, nodding to the person next to him. “Hello.”

Leira turned around and looked at the car and back at Correk, puzzled. “Yeah, kind of lucky,” she said.

“Nice costume, dude,” said the young man in cargo shorts standing behind Leira. “You doing some kind of medieval gig?”

“This isn’t medieval. Entirely different era. This is one of my favorite capes,” Correk replied.

“I get it,” the man said, nodding his head and smiling. “You got your own thing going on. Keeping it real. Should monetize that feel and get a booth at the Sherwood Forest Faire. People would eat that up. Look, you even have the ears!”

“Two bratwursts with everything,” said Leira. She handed over a twenty and took the two sausages piled high with mustard, peppers and onions, passing one of them to Correk. “Here,” she said. “Stop playing with the locals.”

She waited for the change and threw a dollar into the tip jar, taking a big bite of her bratwurst before heading back toward the house.

“Yummmm, fuuuuuck,” drifted from her pocket before Leira could clamp a hand down over the opening.

“Should have known.” She rolled her eyes.

“Should be their new slogan,” the young man laughed. “Yum fuck!”

Correk was already halfway through his sausage when Leira caught up to him and they walked down the block together, weaving through the crowd. A few people took a second look at Correk but no one said anything else.

“Do I stand out that much?” he asked, taking another large bite.

“You’re good. This is Austin. We keep it weird.”

“What was that language that man was speaking back there? How do I monetize that feel?”

“It’s Austin English used mostly by street performers,” she replied. “Means you don’t have a regular job. You might want to slow down a little. A bratwurst can talk back to you if you eat it too fast. Could find yourself face down on the floor. Do you even eat normal things over there on Oriceran?”

“It’s very similar to Earth but nothing like this. You don’t take advantage of the nutrition in insects.”

“We eat Doritos in eight flavors. That should count for something.”

Correk groaned softly as they neared Estelle’s, pounding on his chest with his fist. “Ooof,” he said and belched, the smell of bratwurst lingering in the air. “That’s better.”

“Told you. You could have left that cape in the car.”

“I have too many valuable things in it.”

Leira held the side gate open for him. “I get it. Like a man purse.”

He glared at her but walked through the gate.

The regular crowd was already filling seats near the bar. Craig and Paul were still there listening to Janice tell what looked like a long, involved story. Most of them were dressed in blue bowling shirts with their names embroidered on the pockets and the team name, Pin Pushers, embroidered in navy blue on the back.

Leira thought about trying to slide by them, hanging back behind the crowd at the edges. There was a table of women, some of them with a dog sitting at their feet, all talking at once.

Fat chance of that with a giant elf in a cape, she thought.

“Leira!” several of them called out.

“Hey, I thought you would be passing Dallas by now. Who’s your tall friend?” shouted Paul.

Mitzi’s schnauzer, Lemon let out a sharp bark.

“Ooh, good, does this mean you’re not going?” Craig asked.

“Don’t say that!” said Margaret, swatting Craig on the arm. “She was going to take an actual vacation! And from the looks of things, a really good one.”

“What’s your friend’s name, honey?” Estelle was tending bar on the patio, standing on a metal box behind the bar so she could reach all the taps and get the beer across to the customer. She was wearing a similar bowling shirt but her participation on the team was limited mostly to cheering them on and a free round back at her place after games.

A cigarette was dangling from her mouth and one eye was closed as smoke spiraled above her bouffant. No one who came to Estelle’s would rat her out for any health violations.

Estelle inspired that kind of loyalty in her customers by treating them all like family. She showed up at bedsides in hospitals, fed hungry musicians, and gave unasked for advice.

“This is Bert,” she said, not looking at Correk. It was bad enough she was going to have to explain the outfit. A long conversation about his name and where was it from was not on Leira’s agenda.

“This a regular getup or for something special hon?” Estelle asked, looking Correk up and down. She opened two Shiner Bocks and put them down near Correk and Leira. Estelle claimed she knew best what people needed to drink or eat and often ordered for someone before they had a chance to say anything different. Leira found it easier to go along with it, and besides, there was something oddly comforting about her confidence.

Leira handed Correk the beer, whispering, “This won’t send you over some magical edge, will it? We don’t need to see your skin suddenly light up with some ancient language or sparks shoot out of your hands.”

“The next time you’re on Oriceran I’m going to give you a longer tour. Somehow, you’ve gotten the idea that we’re fragile creatures wandering around, barely getting by. Who do you think taught your ancestors how to grow good hops?” He took a large gulp of the beer. “Perfect thing after that sausage.”

“You went to Bangers?” Mike asked. He glanced sideways at Estelle.

“As long as you don’t bring it back in here,” she growled, as she poured a shot for someone at the other end of the bar.

“Be right back,” he said, sliding off his stool.

“Not the side gate. We’re not that close,” said Estelle, pointing over her shoulder at the bungalow she had turned into the bar.

“Bring me back one,” yelled Craig.

“Yeah, with everything,” said Margaret.

“Me too!” said Mitzi. “Don’t worry, I’ll share pumpkin,” she said, looking down at Lemon.

Mike looked back at Estelle, waiting to see if she objected.

“Bring me one too,” she said, sucking on the cigarette. “Just this once.” A cloud of smoke hid her face for a moment. Correk coughed and tried to blow the smoke away from his face.

“Okay, sucking on burning sticks is one thing we don’t have,” Correk whispered at Leira, coughing again.

“Craig, come help me carry,” Mike yelled. They could see him scooting around the tables inside, making for the front door.

“You have a friend for your road trip,” Margaret said cheerfully. “Good for you!”

“It’s not like that,” Leira insisted. “Bert needed a ride at the last minute.”

“Honey, a fine-looking man like that suddenly shows up wanting a ride with me somewhere and I promise you, I’ll become wittier, prettier and tittier, like that,” Estelle quipped, snapping her fingers.

Even Leira couldn’t help laughing at that, even in the middle of all the chaos.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The black bespoke tuxedo was costing Bill Somers a month’s salary but it would be worth it. All the local press would be at the university’s centennial celebration and stories would be posted online.

When everyone saw what he could do, there would be pictures. He wanted to look good.

“You only need a deposit today, right?” he asked nervously, running his hand down the expensive wool, smudging a chalk mark. The tailor gently pulled his hand away.

Never bat at a paying customer.

“Professor Flanagan sent me,” he said, remembering what his friend Professor Randolph had told him to say. The tailor owed Flanagan a favor and was known to give discounts to friends of friends.

“You’ll have this ready by the weekend? Seems like a lot of work,” he said, admiring himself in the mirror. He couldn’t remember ever looking this good.

The tailor was deftly pinning the hems of the pants and nodded his head without looking up at Somers.

“This will change everything,” Somers said in a hushed voice. “No one will ever doubt me again.”

“The single-breast gives a man some authority,” said the elderly tailor, in heavily accented English. Somers was sure it was German, or maybe Viennese. It added to the experience.

“Slims you down,” the tailor smiled. He was pulling pins from a black pincushion attached to his wrist, steadily moving around the suit and adjusting the fit. “No bow tie. Go with a nice silk tie. Lets them know you’re not a child and you’re not retiring. Old men and little boys. They should wear bow ties.”

“And a good white shirt,” said Somers, smiling nervously at his reflection.

“Perfect,” said the tailor. “You will get all of the attention.”

“You have no idea,” he replied. “Are you done yet? I have to be somewhere.”

“Done,” the tailor said with finality, smiling and holding out his arms as if he was conducting an orchestra. Somers liked being treated as if he was worth all this trouble.

It had never happened to him before despite his best efforts.

“Let me help you out of the jacket,” said the tailor, easing the jacket off Somers’ shoulders. “Wouldn’t want the pins to shift.”

Somers went back to the small changing room and pulled the heavy blue velvet curtain shut. He looked down at his jeans and t-shirt and felt embarrassed to put them back on and march past everyone. Today’s t-shirt had a picture of a wanted poster featuring a cat that read, ‘Wanted Dead and Alive, Schrodinger’s Cat.’ A puffy green coat completed the ensemble.

He was sorry he didn’t think about what he was wearing a little longer this morning.

“You have the pants off?” asked the assistant who had shown him to the dressing room. A hand appeared through the curtain, hand open, waiting to receive the pants.

“One, one second,” he stuttered, sliding the pants off. One of the pins in the hem caught on his sock and he found himself hopping over to the bench and plopping down next to his clothes. The wooden bench felt cold against the back of his legs.

There was a chilled glass of champagne waiting for him next to his pile of clothes. He jostled it as he sat down and lunged for it, sloshing some of the champagne on his hand.

“Everything all right?” the assistant inquired, pulling his hand out

Somers licked his hand and looked around for something else, settling on wiping the rest on his faded white underwear, gulping down some of the champagne. The bubbles tickled his throat and made him want to sneeze.

“Not now,” he muttered, not wanting to look like he was at a complete loss in such a nice place. The truth was the shop was small and worn. It was the customers who were important, for the most part.

Somers felt a sharp pang in his chest, wondering what the person who delivered the glass must have thought.

“I’m no better than him,” Somers said quietly. “A glorified academic errand boy for Dean Muston.” The spark he felt seeing himself in the handmade suit was fading. He opened his leather satchel and dug around inside, panic rising in his throat when he had to dig deeper.

“There it is,” he said, grasping the stained leather pouch. He pulled the drawstrings and looked inside at the necklace. “You are my ticket to something better,” he whispered.

“The pants?” came the voice of the assistant again, the hand poking back through the curtains. Somers handed over the pants, still holding the pouch. He dressed quickly and went to the front, putting down the necessary deposit.

“I’ll pick it up on Saturday morning?” he asked nervously.

“Yes, it will be ready for you when we open,” the tailor replied, the same gracious smile on his face. It was only making Somers feel worse.

He left without another word and stopped on the sidewalk for a moment, getting his bearings. He lacked the ability to know instinctively where he was standing and was terrible at maps too. His mother called that ironic.

He learned to take note of certain landmarks when he got off the subway. Visual cues usually did the trick.

“Walgreens,” he said, doubting himself already, even though he was crossing the street and hiking up the long flight of stairs to the train platform. He was resigned to the idea that he could be wrong and might end up having to come right back down again, crossing the street and up the other stairs. It happened all the time.

“Today, it’s a character flaw,” he said. “After Saturday, it’ll be a quirky habit.”

He had picked right the first time, bolstering his confidence. He went and stood in one of the warming booths Chicago turned on during the winter and hit the button and the red lights came on overhead. Across the platform a flock of pigeons were standing around doing the same in another booth. He wondered how they figured out how to press the button.

“Anything is possible,” he reminded himself. He wanted to wave at the birds to see if they waved back. A sign from Oriceran.

A man in a suit and a black wool overcoat joined him in the booth, standing on the other side, his eyes glued to his phone. Somers made a mental note to get himself a better coat when the money started rolling in. “Saturday,” he said quietly.

He could see the Brown Line in the distance, the silver cars rattling on the curve around the Loop. When it arrived, the doors slid open and people streamed out, brushing past the small crowd waiting to get on the train.

Somers pushed his way on, getting the last seat. A man with a cane got on and stood in front of Somers, looking down at him, raising an eyebrow. Several others on the car were watching, wondering what he’d do, but no one was offering their seat instead.

Somers got up slowly and made his way to the pole near the door, not looking back. The man with the cane muttered a thank you, and sat down, letting out an “Oof,” as he landed.

Somers was stuck on the pole by the door and at every stop he had to adjust his position, depending on the stream of people pushing on or off the car. The doors opened at Fullerton and a large group of college-age kids got off, headed to the nearby campus. He slid into one of the seats by a window and looked out at the people anxious to get on before the doors closed.

“Doors closing. Do not hold the doors,” said the conductor over the loudspeakers.

No one ever listened to that admonition. The doors made feeble attempts to slide shut and someone shoved them back.

Somers reached inside his backpack and slid his fingertips into the pouch, checking it was still there. He felt a small buzz that crept up his arm and filled his entire body, lifting his mood. He saw a glow from inside the pouch when he looked in the backpack.

A woman carrying a large Marshall’s bag slid into the seat next to him. She held the bag on her lap, glancing at Somers and looking away. He pulled his hand out of the satchel and felt the friendly hum drain out of him.

I’m special, he thought, reminding himself that the hooded creatures that found him, picked him out of all the archaeologists they could have chosen. Intelligent life from another planet wanted him.

The murder was an accident, he thought. An accident. Not a chance he could have seen that coming.

The dark mood was returning. He slid his hand back inside, feeling around for the pouch. He found it and pushed his fingers inside, opening it wider so he could hold the stone in his hand. He squeezed hard, feeling the edges digging into his skin.

The buzz was stronger, pulsing through him. He felt relief as the energy flooded his brain. “It worked again,” he said.

The woman next to him gave him the side eye. He smiled at her saying, “Looks like you found some things,” indicating her bag.

The train stopped at Wellington and the woman shut her eyes, saying loudly enough for everyone to hear her, “God grant me the serenity not to knock this fool out. The courage to let him live and the wisdom to do it anyway if he’s stupid enough to bother me again.”

A couple sitting in another row started snickering.

Somers squeezed the rock harder, feeling the pulse strengthen. It was responding to his touch. He found himself enjoying the attention.

“Next stop, Paulina,” the loudspeaker squawked and Somers got up, pushing past the woman and her large bag as she rolled her eyes, letting out a loud ‘tsk’. People looked up as if they expected something to happen.

Somers felt emboldened by the energy coursing through his veins and paused at the doors. “Have a fucking miserable day. Or in other words, an average day for you,” he said in a cheerful voice. He stepped out of the car as the woman scrambled to her feet, spilling out a stream of mumbled expletives. Her shopping bag was banging against people who were trying to get out of her way.

“Doors closing,” the loudspeaker said, and Somers waited patiently on the platform to see if she was going to make it off the train. He didn’t care. He even wondered if he could take her.

The doors closed on her as she pressed her hands against the glass, yelling, “I’m gonna find you and kick your skinny little ass!”

He smiled and gave her the finger as the train slid away, picking up speed. A man in the back of the train gave him a thumbs up. He returned the gesture with a sharp salute. His other hand was still clutching the stone.

“I am somebody,” he said, grinning widely, and he set off for his apartment on Leavitt Street. “I just needed a little juice.”

He stepped out of the station, a cold wind hitting him in the face. He took the necklace out and put it on over his head, quickly tucking it under his t-shirt not wanting to attract any attention. He could feel the metal against his skin start to warm and the buzz grew inside of him. A train rumbled over his head, adding to the dizzy feeling.

He staggered to one side, and stopped, trying to will himself into walking a straight line.

“It’s not even happy hour, dude,” said a man walking toward the train. “Get help,” he sneered.

Somers didn’t care. A wave of nausea came over him and bile rose in his throat. He swallowed hard and marched toward home. He still didn’t care. He navigated down the wide sidewalk, drifting back and forth, swimming in the feeling that he didn’t have a care in the world.

It seemed to take forever to make his way into the middle of Roscoe Village and turn down his street. The recent snow had turned into ice and he was having to pick his way down the sidewalk.

“Whooooop!” he yelled as his left foot went forward and his right leg went back. His bag twisted behind him, slapping against his back. He braced himself for the fall, putting out his arms, then his legs found the strength to come back together, leaving him upright.

He knew it had to be the necklace. “Hot damn!” he whispered, still wobbling, his arms outstretched. “Hot damn!” he yelled again, raising his arms higher.

The few people on the sidewalk made a point of giving him a wider berth. He watched them pick their way carefully between the icy patches, their shoulders hunched against the cold.

He took a step forward and felt his foot slide and magically come back just in time. He did it again, taking two steps, then three. He strolled, gaining speed, first jogging, falling into a run. He wasn’t even sure if his feet were always hitting the ground.

The nausea rolled over him in waves, reminding him of riding a roller coaster.

He stopped at a corner to catch his breath, doubled over with his hands on his knees.

“Oh man,” he said, and he puked on a pile of snow that already had a frozen mound of dog poop. He shook his head, clearing his mind, and laughed out loud.

“Small price,” he muttered, and took off running again.

He got to his front stoop and kicked his neighbor’s neglected wet newspapers to the side. Every other day they were another reminder to Somers of how inconsiderate the world could be to him. Today, he got a charge out of watching them slide off the step and into the bushes.

Problem solved.

He put his key in the lock and jiggled it hard to the left while pulling back on the handle. The finicky door unlocked and opened.

“First try!” he exclaimed. He stepped in to his studio apartment. The beige couch in the front doubled as a bed. Professor Randolph had given it to him when he bought a new one. There was an old pizza box shoved under the coffee table and dishes scattered everywhere.

His laptop and research papers were on the coffee table. A nearby bulletin board was covered with articles about unexplained phenomena around the world. He had circled important parts with a yellow highlighter.

The galley kitchen was tucked into a back corner and consisted of a short refrigerator, a sink and a gas range that had seen better days. Two of the burners had never worked.

A plastic basket of clean clothes sat next to his empty dresser that doubled as a TV stand.

He usually hated being at home. Everywhere he looked reminded him of how far he hadn’t made it in life.

Today was different. Nothing seemed impossible.

He took off his coat and stuffed it into the only closet, setting it on top of a hamper full of dirty clothes. He went searching under the sink for the plastic grocery bags he was always cramming under there. He pulled a few out, shaking off the water that leaked from the pipes, and started piling trash into them, tying them off when they were full.

He folded the clean clothes neatly and put them away in the dresser. The dishes took him longer but eventually the small place was neat as a pin. He wondered why he’d waited so long.

He stood still in the middle of the small apartment, sweat beading on his forehead and his chest felt like it was burning. He stripped off the two layers of shirts he always wore in the winter and looked in the bathroom mirror.

The necklace was glowing, and the skin underneath it looked like it was sunburned. He gingerly lifted the chain and felt his skin. It was tender to the touch.

He took the necklace off for a moment and set it on the back of the toilet, and waited to see what might happen.

It didn’t take long for the energy to start draining out of him and the self-recriminations to start. What if I can’t make it work on Saturday? And in front of all those people. I’d be finished. What if this is the way my life will always be? What if this is the best I can ever do?

All he wanted to do was sleep.

He snatched the necklace off the top of the toilet tank, scraping the gold against the ceramic and put it back around his neck. The energy started flowing through him again.

He looked at himself in the mirror and noticed his eyes looked shinier than he remembered. He really wasn’t such a bad looking fellow after all.

He winced as the necklace warmed against his skin.

“Totally worth it.” He put his shirt back on. “Ack, ow,” he said, moving the necklace around under his shirt. “The skin will get tougher, like a tan,” he told himself. “I just have to make it to Saturday.” He felt his newfound courage return.

He stood in front of the small mirror over the sink and flexed his muscles, admiring the way he looked. He felt good. He relaxed and let the energy fill him.

Images of Oriceran ran through his mind and he imagined the night he would tell his world, or at least a large academic celebration, about this magical place.

As the feeling grew inside of him, his reflection in the mirror blurred in wavy lines. Somers blinked hard over and over again, trying to get it to stop.

He turned around and leaned on the sink for support, wondering if he had gone too far. He fell back into the space where the sink should have been, where it just was, and landed on the ground.

He felt the dirt under his hands and looked up at the trees. There was a hole hovering above him, ripped through a large oak tree. His bathroom was on the other side of the hole. He could see the faded yellow ducks on his shower curtain.

The air around him was warm and humid and he was surrounded by dark, dense forest on every side. Ancient American elm trees that Somers knew were largely gone on Earth, stretched upwards, blocking out most of the light. The ground all around him was mossy, making the forest floor look like a deep, green, fertile ocean.

Something clattered over his head and he looked up and saw crab beetles, a large claw for a head, scampering across the front of the tree trunk. They were making their way toward a nest tucked in a crook where several branches met.

Somers watched in fascination, frozen to the spot.

A small fuzzy head resembling a vulture peeked out of the nest, prompting a chorus of squawking. The line of beetles reached the nest, pincers clicking and clattering, making their way over the edge of the nest.

Somers braced himself for the carnage, unable to look away as he waited for the first baby bird to lose its head. At the last moment, up out of the nest the mother appeared, her iridescent feathers rippling, neatly picked off the beetles, crushing them in her beak and feeding them to her babies to loud squawks.

Somers got up slowly, keeping a wary eye on the bird, and brushed off his pants, He noticed the red glow from the relic was showing through his shirt.

“Oriceran,” he whispered. “I’ve opened a portal.” he said awed. “I can do it. If I did it once I can do it again. Best day ever!” he said. He looked at his bathroom through the portal, waiting a few moments to see if the portal closed.

Nothing happened.

“Stable, good,” he said. He took a look around at his surroundings. “Samples,” he muttered. They’d be perfect for the university celebration on Saturday. “More proof.” he said and gingerly stepped off the path and looked for something to take back with him.

“Nothing to fear while I’m wearing this,” he grinned.

He noticed the tall grasses near where he was standing gently swaying every time he spoke. “Well, hello there,” he said, watching the grass undulate back and forth. “Red dog, blue dog.” He marching back and forth in front of the plant to see if movement affected it at all.

“It does,” he said in a hushed tone. “Perfect! Boom, shakalakalaka, boom, shakalakalaka!” He danced around, shaking his hips, watching the plant dance along with him. “Woot! Woot!” He knelt down by the plant and started digging around the roots. The plant quivered and let out a deep moan.

“Sound, no less!” Somers was getting more excited. He was picturing his big night and every night after that as the start to the life he had always deserved. The plant moaned again as he uncovered the roots.

A great roar went up from the dense forest, making the ground rumble. The plant shivered and drew back.

Somers started and tried to steady himself. He could feel the ground shake under his hands as the forest roared again, closer this time.

He looked at the portal, still hanging over the path behind him, his bathroom just on the other side. “I can still do this,” he said, gritting his teeth and turned back to pull out a handful of the plant. The plant moaned piteously, screamed and went limp in his hands.

“Got it,” he said, hoping the grasses could be revived. He got up to make a run for it.

He had only taken a few steps before something in the forest roared again, shaking the ground so hard he fell to his knees.

A large male lion with a full rack of antlers leaped into the clearing. It was carrying a tall, muscular elf with dark purple skin and thick brown hair. Plants and bugs wove in and out of his long hair.

“Thief!” the Dark Elf shouted. “No one steals from the Gardener!”

Somers scrambled back to his feet and dashed for the portal, still clutching the plant. He threw himself through the opening just ahead of the lion’s snapping jaws. He tumbled in head first, crashing over the sink and landing in the tub.

The lion’s head burst through the portal, roaring loud enough to rattle the ducks on the shower curtain.

Somers tore off the necklace, dropping it by his side. The lion fell back to the other side, back to Oriceran as the portal closed.

Somers smiled despite almost getting mauled. The energy was draining rapidly, but he clung to the feeling that everything was good in his world. “Things are working out for me,” he decided. Another thought fought for his attention. “It was an accident,” he whispered.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“You sure you’ll be okay?” asked Leira, eyeing Correk suspiciously. “Aaaaa!” She held her breath trying to hold back another sneeze. “Cold came on pretty fast. I don’t usually get sick.” She sneezed hard, holding the crook of her arm over her mouth.

A tiny, “Yum fuck,” could be heard from the other room where the troll was nestled in a shoebox with a pair of fresh underwear.

“Aw, that was like a little bless you.” Leira blew her nose. “Make sure to watch for cars. They’re pretty wild around here, driving on the side of the road and trying to beat red lights.”

“I’ve consulted with kings and prophets. I think I can handle walking to a merchant. We have roads and shops on Oriceran,” he said, an edge to his voice. He eyed her warily.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said. “The trip to Oriceran. It may have overcharged the energy in your body. It’ll pass.”

“Is that your way of saying I got a magic cleanse? How is that even possible? A little heads up next time, that Oriceran has that effect on humans.”

Correk looked like he wanted to say something but thought better of it. Instead he said, “You stayed at the bar too long.”

“That’s what you do with family. Yes, that’s my family of choice. That’s a thing here. You pick your own and they can be all kinds of creatures.”

“Is that why you agreed to this bowling? Never mind. It’s a necessary distraction, I understand. I can handle going to a shop. I’ll be back.”

“But do you have CVS Pharmacies? Whole other animal. Don’t get lost in the, as seen on TV aisle. You could be there all day,” she said, pulling out her phone. “Turn left out of here and look for a sign that looks like this,” she said, holding up an image on her phone. “And they’re going to hand you a long piece of thin paper at the end that’s proof you paid for your things. It’ll go on forever and have a coupon on the end. It’s their thing. We call it a receipt. Don’t let that throw you.”

“You’re using a lot of strange words. This is still English? What’s a coupon? You’re not a very trusting lot. You make a deal with someone on Oriceran that’s the end of it.”

“That’s a lot in one burst. First, you don’t need receipts on Oriceran because you can zap them with a fireball. It’s a fiery receipt and second, a coupon is a piece of paper that says you can have something and give them less.”

“Bartering with a note, interesting.”

“Never thought of it that way, but sure. Here, you’ll need this,” she said, handing him her credit card. “There’ll be a little machine by the cash register. You swipe it,” she said, making the motion with the card. “I’m beginning to think this is not going to go well. Don’t tell them you borrowed the card. No one will believe you. Make sure you get Doritos, the cool ranch flavor.”

“What am I getting?”

“I told you to write it down. Do you know how to write? That’s insulting you too, isn’t it,” she said, shrugging a shoulder. “Okay, from now on I’ll assume you have the basics. Hang on,” she said. She dropped the blanket and went to the kitchen and pulled out a plastic bag.

“In here somewhere,” she said, digging through the trash. “Nectar of the Gods!” she announced, pulling out the crumpled blue Doritos bag. “Take this with you. Anything that comes in a bag like this and is in the same aisle will be suitable,” she said, handing him the bag.

“I’m taking a bag of trash with me to the shop?”

“We call these snacks.”

“Are they even food?”

“Depends on who you ask. They’re good and they take years to kill you. I know, sounds stupid when I say it out loud. I hear it. But if we’re going to go on a road trip together, then we have to have them. Got it? Toilet paper and snacks for the road, when we eventually get on it. We don’t have much time left.”

“Fully aware,” said Correk. “We have to be sure we’re not walking into some kind of trap.”

“I want to ask you if you use toilet paper on Oriceran but I’m sensing that’s out of bounds too.” Leira looked up and saw that Correk wasn’t moving.

“Yes, I know something’s wrong,” Leira said, annoyed. “I’m still a damn fine detective and this is my town. Hell, this is my country, my world. I don’t run from anything. If there’s a monster out there, we’ll find it, tag it and bring it in. Go to the store. I’ve been taking care of myself for years. I’ll survive another hour on my own.”

“I’m not worried about that. I want your word you won’t decide to leave without me.”

“That’s sweet, you do get me,” she snapped. “Don’t make me say this to you again, Bert, I’m a fucking good detective. I don’t run into situations without knowing as much as possible, first. You say there’s more to the story, then there’s more to the story. I’m beginning to think there’s an entire fucking anthology.”

The troll, the size of an overgrown house cat bounded into the room growling at Correk.

“See? Nothing to worry about. I have an attack troll, a gun and a pretty good right hook. Wait, you can’t go out there like that unless you want to keep telling people you’re heading to work at Sherwood Forest. Not sure they even have elves.”

Leira dug around in the bottom of her closet and found an old red knit hat from the milk crate in the back. She pulled a large green windbreaker off a hangar and handed them to Correk.

“Put these on. The jacket should fit you.”

“I assure you, my cape has seen me through many Oriceran winters.”

“I’m not doubting the cape, just the look. Take the coat. I borrowed it from Hagan when we were on a long stakeout. The rest just looks like a typical day in Austin,” she said, looking at the brown suede pants that laced up the sides. “Very typical Austin, where hippies go to retire.”

“That is the second time someone has suggested this forest.”

“Let it go. Earth humor,” said Leira, sneezing again. “If I tell you to get Dayquil, do I have a shot at seeing it?”

“Can you add some remnant of it to my trash bag?”

“Can you conjure up an image of it with one of your magic fireballs? By the way, I know you’ve been following me from the moment I got back from Oriceran.”

“Yes, you yelled at me underneath your car. That clued me in.” He pulled the hat on over pointed ears. “Something you should know about magic on Earth. It’s limited. I have to conserve my energy for times when a fireball or an incantation is really needed. Making sure I get the right snacks for you doesn’t count.”

“It’s medicine. You’re never going to remember all of this. Here, let me write it on your hand,” said Leira grabbing a pen from a nearby drawer. She wrote Dayquil, toilet paper, snacks in the palm of his hand. “Wait, get Coke too. Not Pepsi, very important,” she said, adding to the list on his hand.

“I appreciate that you assumed I could read English.”

“It’s become apparent that Light Elves are giant peepers and you’ve been watching humans on Earth for a long time. Go, so you can get back and we can figure out who the hell else is after that necklace.”

Correk shut the door behind him as quietly as he could and tried to stay to the shadows as he made his way around the patio to the side gate. Everyone was still at the bar, laughing at Paul’s stories.

“Bert!” Paul called to him, waving him over. “Happy hour’s almost over!”

Correk waved but kept moving. There was too much to do already.

“See you in a couple hours,” Estelle said from behind the bar. She was standing on her box pouring peanuts into bowls. “We’ll loan you a bowling shirt. Hey, you fools quit your drinking. I don’t plan on losing tonight to those less thans, the E-bowlas,” she said, sliding a bowl of peanuts in their direction. “What’ll you have, honey?” she asked in her deep-throated croak to a young woman with long blonde hair.

Correk went out the gate and around the house, keeping his head down, trying to blend in with the crowd moving up and down the sidewalk in front of the bars.

He looked to the left and saw the red and white sign in the distance. He weaved through the crowd, not looking at anyone, making his way to the store.

A black tentacle slithered through the grass next to the street, gleaming in the street light, following just a few feet behind him. A drunk woman in high heels holding a red plastic cup staggered onto the grass, her heel grazing the tentacle.

“Oh my God, Darlene!” her friend shrieked, backing away and pointing. The tentacle melted into the street, turning into liquid as it ran down the gutter, still headed in the same direction as Correk.

“What? What?” the woman yelled, looking at her feet.

“Shit, I could have sworn I saw a snake right by your shoes, Darlene!” They both peered at the grass.

“Those dirty martinis always mess you up, Jasmine,” she, laughed. They held on to each other laughing, the plastic cups in their hands spilling onto the sidewalk.

Correk glanced back but didn’t see anything and quickly turned away, not wanting to draw any attention to himself.

The black liquid in the gutter reformed into a tentacle, and slithered after Correk, keeping to the grass.

“Hey, look out,” yelled a man on a bike as Correk darted across the street. A truck leaned on the horn. Correk leaned back, whispering “Decantata,” his eyes glowing, and the truck swerved enough to avoid grazing him. The driver shook his fist out the window. Correk looked around to see if anyone had noticed.

A few people had turned to see why someone was honking but quickly went back to what they were doing. No one had seen him cast the spell except the tentacle that curled up by the lamp post, waiting, as Correk went into the drugstore.

He stood dazed in the front of the aisles looking out over the rows of things to buy. Directly in front of him were square fuzzy pillows that could vibrate. Each one had a large, ‘try me’ sticker on the front. Correk pressed gently and felt a tingle go through his hand as the pillow hummed. “Hmm,” he said, tucking one under his arm. He wandered down the makeup aisle passing by the large Revlon and L’Oreal signs, smelling a lotion scented with peppermint. He put a little on his hand and rubbed it in.

“We don’t do samples here, mister,” said a short, stocky woman in a bright red vest.

“Of course,” said Correk, taking the lotion.

He moved down the aisle and turned the corner, amazed at the rows upon rows of products meant to hold something, cure something, or dress something up.

The same clerk came up behind him as he was looking at athletic socks and handed him a shopping basket. “Looks like you’re gonna need this,” she said. She wandered off before he could answer.

He threw two pairs into the basket along with the other things.

“Can you point me in the direction of the Doritos?” he called to her.

“Aisle two,” she yelled back, bored. “Right across from the milk in the refrigerated section.” He looked over the aisles, hesitating. She sighed and pointed. “That way. You’d think he’d never seen a CVS before,” she mumbled, wandering off toward the photo counter.

“Ice Cream Magic Personal Ice Cream Maker,” Correk read. “That’s not magic,” he said, reading the directions on the back. “That’s poor science.” He worked his way down the shelf picking up the ultralight, slim book light and magnifier, tossing it into the basket. “Cat’s Meow Motorized Wand,” he mumbled. “What do they need with all of this?” he wondered and tossed it in the basket. At the end of the aisle was a red oval sign that read, ‘As Seen on TV!’

“She did warn me about this,” he said, pulling himself away from a Hurricane Spin Scrubber. He went in the direction the clerk had pointed, pulling out the empty Doritos bag, looking for a match.

“Damn,” he said in awe, as he stood in front of the rows of different flavored Doritos. “This is incredible.” He pulled out the cool ranch. He filled the basket with bags of Cheetos and corn nuts, sea salt potato chips and honey roasted peanuts.

At the end of the aisle he found the different flavors of beef jerky and threw in one of each, along with a Whitman’s Sampler and a box of mini-Charleston Chews.

He got in line behind a man buying diapers and glanced down at his hand.

“Dammit,” he said, “She was right.”

“Problem?” asked the clerk.

“Toilet paper and Dayquil? I’ll need the Coke, not the Pepsi,” he added, showing the clerk his hand.

“Let me guess. Wife is sick, it’s coming out both ends and you’re having to take over. I’d guess for the first time in a very long time. Never mind. Coke’s right there. You want the regular, the cherry, the lime or the diet? Take the regular, can’t go wrong with that. Right this way. Let me walk you to the other things on your list. Can I help you carry any of that? The pillow, sure.”

She kept up the running commentary as she walked him to the toilet paper. “You care about softness or thickness? You don’t know, do you? Okay, let’s go for on sale. Come on, this way,” she said, holding on to the pillow and the toilet paper for him. “Dayquil. I imagine whoever’s waiting for you at home didn’t want the stuff that would knock her out. Probably needs to keep one eye on you, huh?” she laughed. Correk raised an eyebrow and reached for the Dayquil.

“Listen, don’t feel bad. We get guys like you in here all the time. On Mother’s Day, Valentine’s Day and Christmas Eve this place is packed with you guys, buying all kinds of weird shit and asking if we’ll wrap it. Guy talked me into wrapping a skillet and a spatula once. Said his wife needed a new one. Bet she hit him with it.”

“Thank you for your assistance,” Correk said stiffly, standing up straighter to make himself look more dignified. He set the basket on the counter as the clerk added the other things and went around to ring him up.

“You have a discount card? What about a phone number? It’s like you just got here or something. You must be from another country. Don’t have much of an accent, though. Should get to know the area while you’re here.”

The clerk bagged everything in large shopping bags, pushing them over the counter to Correk.

“That’s a hundred and fifty-six dollars and ninety-seven cents. Just slide your card,” she said, pointing at the small black machine partially hidden by one of the bags. “Dear Lord, honey, you need to get out more. You one of those fellas that just uses cash most of the time? Dollar, dollar bill! That’s what my Ernie is always saying. Don’t know where he got that from. There you go. You need cash back? Press no. Sign there. All done!” she chirped, clapping like he had achieved something remarkable.

“Thank you,” he said, as she held the door for him. The line waiting behind him glowered as he grabbed his bags and headed for the door.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Out on the street the sun had set and the moon was out.

Correk looked up at the lone moon, missing his own planet’s two silvery orbs. It wasn’t like him to be homesick. He remembered the look on Ossonia’s face when he tumbled through the portal.

The black tentacle unwound itself from the shadows and slithered into the gutter again, following just close enough to see where Correk was going and waited patiently just inside of the gate, watching him walk back to the cottage on the far side of the patio.

“Estelle, you got a damn snake in here,” yelled a woman who was trying to bash the tentacle with a deck chair. The tentacle slithered under the gate and out into the darkness, back to where it had come from.

Correk looked back from the cottage door, catching a glimpse of the tentacle before it disappeared.

“No,” he whispered, a cold chill passing through him.

“Damn snakes!” said Estelle. “You’ll get it next time, honey,” she said, coughed.

“Hey, there’s Bert!” Mike exclaimed from the bar. He had changed into his blue bowling shirt. “We found you a shirt!” he yelled, waving a large blue shirt, ‘Pin Pushers’ clearly visible.

“We gave it to Leira,” said Janice.

“Keep your shirt on,” said Craig.

“So funny,” said Mike. “Keep drinking. It helps your game.”

Correk tried to shake off an eerie feeling and went into the cottage.

“Did you get everything?” Leira asked, still wrapped in a blanket on the couch.

“You’re not well enough to go anywhere tonight,” Correk, said grimly.

“Not true,” she replied, shaking off the blanket. She was already dressed in her bowling shirt. “I already feel better. Something weird must be going around, but, I never stay sick for long. Good DNA.”

“Look, I think whoever else wants that necklace too has put a tail on us,” Correk said hesitantly. “I can’t be sure of what I saw. There was hardly any light and it was only for a second…”

“But…” said Leira, rising off the couch. “What do you think you saw?”

“A black tentacle. Something I’ve only ever heard of from stories in the past.”

“You mean like an Atlantean. That’s not necessarily bad news,” said Leira before she looked at him a second time. “Or is it?”

“If it’s an Atlantean who wants the necklace, it’s for a spell. Dark magic of some sort.”

“It doesn’t have to be a dark plot. It could just be good old fashioned greed, which is a very popular motive,” Leira said. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. Don’t worry,” she patted his arm. “We got this.”

She noticed all the bags he’d dropped on the red velvet chair. “Whoa, what happened here? You went down that aisle, didn’t you? Rookie mistake. Hey, this pillow is pretty sweet,” she said, holding it against her chest as it vibrated.

“I don’t think I’ve seen a Whitman’s box of candy since…” Leira stopped herself. She was about to say, since her grandmother was here. She put the pillow down and took the bags from Correk. “We should get going.”

He followed her into the kitchen. “I got your Doritos and something called a Cheeto.”

“I can see that. You got a nice mashup of junk food. Will make for a great road trip even if we’re hunting for a killer and a suspect to be named later,” she said, her mood growing darker.

The troll moaned from the other room.

“Yumfuck’s going to be a problem at the bowling alley,” Leira said, as she put the Coke in the refrigerator.

“You can tell him to stay in his nest. He’ll listen to you.”

“What? That would have been very useful to know yesterday.”

“I didn’t know you were taking a troll home with you.”

“Just tell him to stay, like a pet?”

“It’s a little more than that. Say Nesturnium to him,” Correk instructed. “Stand right in front of him, and wave your hand over him.”

“Next thing you’re going to tell me to wave a dead chicken over my head under a full moon.”

“Live chicken, and takes two full moons, like on Oriceran.” Correk moved to the opposite side of the bedroom where he could face Leira.

“So, you do know sarcasm,” Leira said. “Okay, here goes. Nesturnium,” she said, waving her hand over the troll. Her hand tingled and she felt her face warm. The troll trilled and settled down in its nest.

Correk saw her eyes starting to glow. Not human, he thought. Not entirely at least.

“That’s a relief,” she said, watching the troll’s tiny chest move up and down as it slept. “Come on, let’s get our bowl on.”

“How do you put on a bowl?”

“So much slang, so little time,” said Leira. “Keep that hat on. I can explain away everything else. This is Austin. Keep it weird, dude. But your ears would cause some questions. Here, change into this,” she tossed him a blue bowling shirt. “Estelle brought it over while you were gone. It’ll help normalize the Robin Hood pants.” She grabbed two pairs of socks, glancing at Correk’s feet in the large boots. “These will never fit you,” she said, waving the socks, “but they’ll have to do.”

“Not to worry. I picked up some more while I was out,” he said, digging them out of the bag.

“How much did you put on my card? Never mind. Good call. But you are to stay out of Target.”

“This is a lot of trouble in order to be with friends. It’s an odd thing with humans. Great tragedies can occur and you seek each other out to do mundane things like this bowling. It serves no purpose.”

“I suppose that’s the point. Change in there,” she said, pointing to the bedroom. “And make it snappy.”

Correk shut the bedroom door. Leira yelled, “I want to win a trophy!”

“I can fashion you a trophy in a matter of moments,” he yelled back, buttoning up the shirt. The troll was snoring happily in its nest.

“Trophies are just useless junk unless you earn them by beating the bejeezus out of somebody. It’s even better if it’s someone you know.”

Correk came out of the bedroom and reached for the knit hat. He noticed the look Leira was giving him.

“What?” he asked, holding out his arms like he was ready to be inspected. “Do I not look human enough?”

“Fortunately, in these parts, humans come in every shape, size and description. Very fortunately,” she said. “Come on.”

Correk pulled the hat down over his ears as Leira grabbed her leather jacket and purse sitting on the chair by the door.

“What? It’s convenient to leave my stuff right there,” she said, as she waited for him to follow.

“I have no comment on how you choose to live.”

“No, just plenty of elven looks.”

The bar was full of patrons but everyone from the bowling team was already gone, including Estelle. Though her cigarette smoke still hung in the air.

A few college students from University of Texas were playing cornhole, tossing large bean bags toward the raised wooden board with a hole in the center.

One of the bean bags landed at Correk’s feet.

“Hey, dude, can you toss it back?” asked one of the young men.

Correk hesitated and Leira was about to step in when he flicked the bean bag up in the air with his foot, caught it and threw it all in one fluid motion. The bean bag dropped through the hole.

“Nice!” the man said, smiling broadly. “Whoa, that was downright evil. You gotta show me how to do that.” Correk headed for the gate. Leira let him pass, a crooked smile on her face.

“This trophy is in the bag,” she announced.

“I’ll have you know, Light Elves are known for their athletic ability.”

“Without…”

“Yes, even without magic,” Correk cut her off. “It’s not really a test of athletic skills if you bring magic into it.”

“Good to know.”

Correk let Leira get in the car while he took a long look, scanning the street, paying careful attention to the ground around him. It was too dark to see any further. He couldn’t shake the feeling someone, or something, was watching them.

“I haven’t been around Light Elves long,” Leira said, as Correk slid into his seat. “What? Did you see anything out there? Hello? When you don’t answer me that usually means there’s more to the story than you’ve told me. I don’t play well with people who keep things from me. So, start talking.”

Correk considered how much to share with her, including his suspicion that she wasn’t entirely human.

“Our two worlds connect more than either side would like. It’s just a feeling,” he said finally, not willing to say anything more.

Leira stopped at the red light and turned to look at Correk, her face set in a determined look.

“It looks like you and I are partners on this job, at least for now. Whatever sent you through that portal gave you a pretty good shove. They seemed pretty determined. Partners don’t keep shit from each other. That’s how someone ends up dead. I’m the non-magical one in this equation and even though I have a gun, I don’t like the odds. So, you’re going to need to be more forthcoming. You may have been under the impression earlier that I was asking. I wasn’t. Tell me what the fuck is going on or I quit right now. You can be the one to explain it to the grieving queen.” Her voice was hard.

“All I can give you are pieces that add up to nothing at the moment,” Correk said.

“That’s how a detective works. We take all those pieces and look for the ones that fit in with them. But, when you don’t give me what you have I have to bust my ass to find out shit you already knew. And now, apparently, with magical shit chasing after the same prize. Gives everything a whole new stink to it.”

“Remember what I told you about the Atlantean, Rhazdon?

“The one who has some follower that might still be alive. Yeah, I remember. Hard to forget a maniacal six-hundred-year-old.”

The light turned green and Leira turned, heading for the bowling alley. The tall pink and orange letters, Highland Lanes was visible in the distance.

“Rhazdon was no ordinary being, even by Oriceran standards,” said Correk. “He matched his arrogance and need to be something with an innate talent for magic. He was considered gifted from the very start.”

“Probably attributed that to his Atlantean blood.”

“He attributed everything to that. The stories that are told usually leave out that he was only half Atlantean, from Earth, because after a while Rhazdon forgot. He researched the Atlanteans thoroughly, retracing their steps from thousands of years ago, resurrecting their magic. Dark magic.”

“How dark are we talking? Gargamel with some cute smurfs or did he go all Lord Voldemort and build a following?”

“He took what he learned and went from town to town, recruiting other lost souls from all the different kingdoms and lands of Oriceran, building his own following.”

“You’d have thought that someone from such an aristocratic background wouldn’t like mingling with just anybody.”

“He was after purity of thought,” said Correk. “In the end, what bothered him wasn’t what you were made from but how you thought, how you believed.”

“Fuck, that’s deep,” she said. She pulled into the parking lot and found a space right by the door.

“Pull around to the back of the building,” Correk said, looking around. He saw Leira hesitate. “Humor me,” he said.

She started the car and gently eased out of the space, turning down the strip of narrow blacktop alongside the long building.

“Park over near the back door.”

“You’re anticipating trouble at bowling? Low score or magical shootout?” she said. She parked the car and turned off the engine.

“You may be right and we’re being followed by a clever thief. But if someone is trying to mimic Rhazdon, they are not to be taken lightly. If they have managed to gain even a tenth of his power, then darkness approaches. At his height, he had thousands of followers and had built his own kingdom, complete with a well-fortified castle. From there, he began his revenge, attempting to destroy those who he saw as responsible for the end of the Atlanteans.”

“So, basically everyone else.”

“Yes, and eventually we were at war. I believe here on Earth you would call it a world war. So many died enforcing the treaty, pushing back Rhazdon’s followers.”

“Like what it took thousands of years ago to just get the treaty,” said Leira.

“Almost.”

“Didn’t all of the other kingdoms combined outnumber his followers? And it sounds like they were chosen for their weakness of mind and heart. Not exactly the recruitment poster for a strong army.”

“We should go in,” said Correk. “Your friends will be wondering where you are. There will be plenty of time on the road trip to tell you the rest of the story.”

They got out of the car and were headed for the door when Leira grabbed Correk’s arm, pulling him back a step.

“The dark magic. It’s that powerful?” she asked in a hushed tone. “He was able to threaten the very existence of everyone else on Oriceran by using the dark magic.”

Correk nodded his head solemnly and his expression was grave. “Every bloodline, every kingdom felt the losses. For some, their name was ended for all time. He would tell captured soldiers, and women and children to follow his path or die. Most chose death.”

“Where is this story going?” she asked.

“It took all the kingdoms of Oriceran working together to defeat Rhazdon. He died in the final battle, burned alive in his own tower. Those who survived were sentenced to Trevilsom Prison. All the evidence of his existence, every relic, every artifact, every book of spells was hidden away in a vault that is guarded at all times by very vigilant gnomes.”

“But…” Leira sensed this was all adding up to a lot more trouble. It wasn’t just about finding Bill Somers anymore. The necklace was just as important.

“But I came across a Rhazdon artifact in Oriceran. That shouldn’t be possible. It means some of his magic is still out there in the world.”

“And there’s no way of knowing how much or what kind,” said Leira.

“Precisely. And a willen traded a trinket for a riddle whose only answer is that there’s someone new who could be picking up where Rhazdon left off.”

“A willen,” said Leira.

“A giant silver talking rat. Unlike Earth, Oriceran is full of different creatures with varying amounts of intelligence and we all exist together.”

“Nice dig at us ordinary humans,” Leira said, pulling open the large door.

“You have only one intelligent species that is native to Earth and regularly shoot each other. Finding out who did it is a large part of your job description.”

“Unless you come up with anything concrete that says we shouldn’t head to Chicago then we’re out of here at first light, no arguments,” she said. “If you don’t agree, you don’t have to come.” She strode in to the bowling alley without looking back. Her mind was made up and she would leave it to Correk to decide for himself if he was on board.

I didn’t ask him to come, she thought.

“I realize I was not part of your plan,” Correk said, catching up with her. “But we need to work together to ensure the right outcome.”

“The one where we get the killer and the necklace back and everyone is still in one piece,” Leira replied. “Then you tell me the truth about everything from now on and we’ll work the case together. That’s not a request.”

“Leira! You brought Bert! Perfect,” Craig, yelled waving from the top of the seventh lane. “Get your shoes, we’re just about to start.”

Leira waved back and pointed Correk toward the shoe counter.

“You totally got that smurf reference. You’ve been spending way too much time watching us so-called common humans.”

“Only for cultural context,” he replied tersely, making sure his hat was still pulled down far enough.

“I don’t judge. Everyone needs a little Papa Smurf sometimes,” she said, trying to lighten the mood. “The end of this story is that someone is trying to rally the thought police again and this time may be traveling over to Earth, too.”

“That last part is only a feeling. I have no proof. But we use feelings to guide magic and take them very seriously. I think the saying on Earth is, we will have to watch our back.”

“Oh, you’ve been watching cop shows too. Respect,” Leira smiled, pulling off her blue and orange Merrell running shoes. “Size eight,” she said to the girl behind the shoe counter. “He’ll try a twelve.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“Okay, Bert, you’re up!” said Mike, taking a large sip of his beer. “Perfect sport. Roll a ball, drink a beer. Roll a ball, eat some fries. At the end of it all you might even get a trophy.”

Correk leaned in and whispered to Leira, “I blame you for this Bert thing.”

“It’s a beloved Muppet,” said Leira. “Go, take your turn. You think you got this?”

“Get the heavy ball down the middle of the lane and hit the pins at the end.”

“Without using magic or stepping over that painted yellow line.”

“I’m not useless without magic just like you’re hopefully not useless without your coffee machines and smartphones,” Correk retorted. He looked down at the red, black and white shoes on his feet. “These things are ridiculous.”

“And have been worn by hundreds of strangers, some with questionable hygiene,” said Leira. “You don’t want to know.” She laughed when he grimaced. “That would be like getting a good look at who used the restroom stall before you and had their naked ass right where you’re about to put your naked ass. You don’t even exchange a nod. Better to look away.”

“Go get ’em, honey!” yelled Estelle. “Beat those fuckers! Sorry, yes, I know,” she said, waving at the people in the official Highland Lanes shirts. “No more swearing. Won’t happen again,” she promised, making an X over her heart.

“That’s got to be getting close to a hundred times just this week,” said Scott, laughing.

Correk glanced back at Leira who gave him a thumbs up. Leira was anxious to get on the road and work on the case but if she had to be in a bowling tournament, she wanted to win.

Correk picked up a blue ball and tested the weight in his hands. Too light, he thought, putting it back. He tried a black bowling ball, fitting his fingers in the holes like he’d seen the other players doing and held it up to his chest. Still too light.

He put his hand on each ball, feeling their weight, connecting with the energy of the ball.

“This one,” he said, picking up the gold ball.

“My man is going for the King Kong of balls,” said Paul, smiling. “I like it! Confidence! You hear that E-Bowlas? We got this!”

Correk stepped up a few feet from the yellow line and held the ball up against his chest. He stood there for a moment, calculating the friction of the ball against the wood in the lane, combined with the pitch of the floor and the distance to the pins. He took a deep satisfied breath and strode up to the line, swinging the ball back, letting its weight carry it forward, and releasing mid-stride, right at the line.

The ball was already rolling as it hit the ground and swerved momentarily to the right.

“Ooooooooh.” An anxious murmur rose from the crowd behind him.

Just as the ball neared the gutter, still going at a fast clip, it curved back to the center of the lane, barreling down the middle, smashing into the center pin, toppling everything around it.

“You got a strike!” Leira yelled, forgetting everything else for just a moment. “You did it!” she exclaimed, jumping to her feet.

Mike pumped his fist in the air and Estelle pounded Correk’s back when he came back to take his seat. “Good job, Bert! Your next beer is on me,” she said.

“Beer’s free to tournament players tonight, Estelle,” said Janice.

“Which she knows,” added Mitzi with a smile.

“Well, then I’ll pour it for you,” said Estelle. “Keep throwing like that and I may even buy you a beer back at my place.”

“Now, that’s saying something!” said Scott.

“Leira, we like your new friend,” Craig said, holding out his fist to Correk who stared at the fist, confused. Leira leaned over and quickly fist bumped Craig.

“You have a few things left to learn about us,” Leira said to him when he sat down next to her. “That was a perfect roll. No magic, right? I want to win but not by cheating.”

“Simple mathematics and a strong arm. No magic,” he replied. “Not necessary. It’s an interesting pastime but does not require magic. Now Lutea ball, that’s a game that requires magic if you hope to win. Dragons have been known to get involved in the longer matches and incinerate your roffle.”

“You can tell me on the long ride to Chicago tomorrow what a roffle is,” said Leira. “Big believer in singleness of purpose and right now, we have a match to win. I’m up!”

Leira grabbed a black bowling ball and went up and stood at the line. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed a young man with wavy brown hair from the other team smiling at her in a way she wasn’t used to.

She did a double take to see if he was trying to throw her off her game.

“Not going to work,” she yelled to him. “I am focused and ready to roll.”

The man smiled harder, showing even, white teeth and Leira felt her face flush. She wasn’t used to men taking that much notice of her. Her hard edges were good at sending out a stay the fuck away signal.

What the hell is happening to me, she wondered, shaking her head to clear out any other stray thoughts. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, stepping forward and swinging the ball, letting it go, willing it to stay true.

The tips of her fingers started to glow as she watched the ball take a similar path as Correk’s roll. She quickly shoved her hands in her pockets and her heart beat faster in her chest.

The ball seemed to respond to her sudden panic and veered off course at the last second, hitting the pins to the right of center.

Leira plastered a blank look on her face before she turned around to face everyone. They were used to her dead fish look.

“You can still get a spare, honey,” Estelle encouraged. “We can use one of those too.”

Leira didn’t look up to see if Correk had noticed what just happened. She went over to the balls and slowly pulled one hand out of her pocket, looking down to see if the fingertips were still glowing. Her hand was shaking slightly but back to normal. She felt her chest lighten as she pulled out her other hand and looked down. No glow.

Stay calm, Leira.

She stepped back up to the line and noticed the young man was still there but he was no longer smiling. Instead, he was looking at her as if he was confused.

She looked away, knowing he must have seen it too, and focused on the pins.

Look where you want the ball to go, she thought, and threw the ball down the lane.

“Singleness of purpose,” she whispered. She wished her grandmother was there. My mother, she thought, feeling a pang of guilt that she hadn’t done more to get her out yet.

The ball rolled neatly down the left side of the lane, striking the rest of the pins, earning her the spare. Cheers went up behind her. She stood there for a moment, centering herself before she went back. This feelings thing is going to get me in trouble.

She glanced at the other team but the young man was gone. Scared him off, she thought.

“Singleness of purpose,” she said again, hardening her resolve. “First, we get the killer, then we get my mother out.”

From across the room, the young man who had seen Leira performing magic was making his way through the crowd to the restrooms at the back. He was hurrying, going as fast as he could to find his friend Ernie, still in one of the two stalls.

“Ernie, Ernie, dude, you have to come out here,” he said, banging on the stall door.

“Dude, not cool!” Ernie yelled. “Give me a second. The place isn’t on fire, is it, Peter? It’s not, right?”

Peter leaned down to make sure the other stall was empty. “Light Elves are here,” he whispered urgently.

“What?” Ernie asked.

He came barreling out of the stall, still zipping his pants, headed for the door. A strip of his belly showed between his black pants and the red E-bowla shirt. The tie under his bowling shirt was crooked. The fluorescent lights gleamed off of his smooth, bald head.

Ernie grabbed Peter by the arm, dragging him out of the bathroom, and out the front door of the bowling alley. They stood in the parking lot in matching red, black and white bowling shoes. They both looked around to make sure no one was close.

“How can you be sure you saw a Light Elf? Was it the ears?” Ernie asked. “This is Austin. That could be like a man bun and somebody’s idea of cool.”

“I saw it. I saw her hands start to glow. Glow, Ernie! We have to tell someone.”

“You sure we want to do that? You know what happens if we tell the Order. This gets moved up the chain of command, they do an investigation and if it’s true…” He drew a line across his throat with his finger. “Order don’t play.”

“What if they find out we knew? If they can connect us to her at all and we didn’t say anything…” Peter whined.

“Good point. Did you get her name?”

“No, but she’s the cute one on the Pin Pushers team.”

“The one with the short dark hair. Yeah, noticed her too.”

“Right? I was thinking about asking her out,” Peter said.

“Bad idea for so many reasons,” Ernie replied, shaking his head.

“No kidding, asshole. She’s some kind of Light Elf that can’t control herself and we’re both wizards.”

“Too bad, too. You would have had a lot in common. Well, at least a whole other world.”

“Yeah, I got that,” said Peter, annoyed. “You go call it in and I’ll see if I can scope out her name. See if she’s the only Light Elf on the team or not.”

“I knew there was a reason they were wiping the floor with us! Bunch of cheaters,” Ernie grumbled.

“That’s not our biggest problem right now. Do us both a favor and leave that out of the phone call to the Order. Stick to the facts, Ernie. I can trust you, right?”

The door swung open and the girl from behind the shoe counter leaned out. “You guys will need to return those shoes before you leave. You’re not supposed to be outside with them on.”

“Because a thousand sweaty feet is no problem but some sidewalk dust will ruin the fine Corinthian leather,” Ernie retorted, gesturing with his hands and doing a little dance, turning in a circle.

“Douchebags,” the girl said, and went back inside, letting the door swing shut.

“Way to keep a low profile for us, Ernie,” Peter snapped, pulling open the door. “Make the phone call and keep it short and sweet.”

“That was a little douchie of me, wasn’t it? She was kind of cute.”

“Oh my God, stay on point, Ernie or by the time this is over, we’ll be in Trevilsom.”

“How? The Order can’t send us back from here.”

“They have their ways.”

Peter ran back inside as Ernie pulled out his phone. He stripped off the bowling shirt, straightening his tie. He wanted to look his best for his first official report.

He called the number he had memorized when he was inducted into the Order of the Silver Griffins. He had never had the chance to use it before and at first his voice came out in a squeak. He cleared his throat and started again.

“Hello? This is Silver Griffin two hundred and one. There’s been a sighting in Austin. Magic was being used in the open. We believe it’s a…”

“Hold please,” the voice on the other end cut him off.

Light jazz played while Ernie waited, considering how he would tell this story later. It would be a lot more exciting and he’d play a bigger part. Maybe he’d say he saw the girl’s hands light up. Peter wouldn’t need to know.

“Hello?” The music stopped and there was a series of clicks on the phone.

“Your location has been recorded. Someone will be there shortly. Do not leave the premises. Get a picture of the offenders but do not approach.”

“We, I mean, I, yeah, I,” he said, wondering if this could get him a promotion. “I think it’s just the one offender. A pretty cute girl.”

“Get a picture. Don’t leave the premises,” the voice said firmly and then another click. They were gone.

“Rude,” Ernie said, putting the phone back in his pocket.

Peter barreled out, breathing hard.

“I can’t find her,” he said, panic rising in his voice.

“What? What do you mean? She was just there. The tournament just got started. Did you at least get a name?”

Peter shook his head hard. “No! The Pin Pushers clammed up. That little old lady kept poking me with her finger.”

Ernie was disgusted. “Dude, you’re a wizard. You know magic and you’re afraid of a chain-smoking grandma?”

“That’s no one’s grandma,” Peter said. “We can’t use that magic any more than anyone else.”

“Except to save our own lives,” said Ernie, rolling his eyes and looking around.

“I’d like to see you explain to the Order how you were saving your life from a five-foot old lady. What’s with the tie?” Peter asked him, flipping it up in the air with his hand.

“You know, Men in Black. We’re the good guys keeping the world safe from magic and all things it doesn’t need to know. I’m Will Smith. It’s a vibe of coolness.”

“It’s a vibe of ridiculous. We’re at a bowling alley. You already stick out like a sore thumb even when you’re wearing the bowling shirt.”

“Nah, chicks dig it. I look responsible, like I take things seriously. Check it out, I even have the sunglasses,” he said, reaching into his shirt pocket and slipping on a pair of black Raybans.

A blue minivan pulled in and parked in the back of the lot. Two couples got out dressed in jeans and t-shirts, headed for the bowling alley.

Ernie held the door nodding his head and saying, “Ma’am.”

They stopped and looked at him sternly.

“Really?” asked Peter, exasperated. He leaned toward Ernie and said, “Those are the Silver Griffins that we’re waiting for. They don’t run around in black suits or battle gear.”

“Except when necessary,” said the taller wizard, winking at Ernie.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The woman pressed her mouth together. “Don’t encourage them. They’re new and they need to learn the right way to keep themselves out of trouble,” said the witch, who was clearly in charge.

“Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen,” whispered Peter.

“What are you doing?” asked the wizard. “Counting to yourself? I get it. Takes a few years to really fit into the Order of the Silver Griffins. The key is remembering you’re part of a team. A healthy dose of courage doesn’t hurt, either.”

“In case someone tries to use magic on you?” Ernie asked. It was his greatest fear and his greatest wish, depending on how something like that turned out in the end.

“We see all kinds of things in our service,” said the wizard.

“If you’re done with trying to impress the novices,” said the stern witch.

“I’m Ernie, I mean Silver Griffin two hundred and one,” said Ernie, putting out his hand to the friendlier wizard, who shook it back.

“We don’t do a lot of chitchat in the field, Ernie. We like to stick to the mission. Things tend to turn out better that way.”

The witch at the front of the group scowled at Ernie but he didn’t notice. He was too busy basking in the glow of being a part of a mission.

“Our first mission,” he said in a reverent voice.

“Oh, for the love of…” the witch snapped.

“Ernie doesn’t mean anything by it. We’re both new. Recent recruits.”

“You don’t say,” said the woman in the front of the group. She looked more like somebody’s mom here to pick up her kid from a birthday party. She pulled a portable wand out of her pocket, letting it unfold and click in place.

“Oh man, she has the latest version!” exclaimed Ernie, reaching out to touch it. Peter batted his hand away.

“Keep watch,” she said to the others. The other witch and wizard went just inside the building while the wizard who was being friendly with Ernie stood on the stairs, looking out toward the parking lot. He kept the same easygoing look on his face while he kept watch.

“Don’t let his demeanor fool you. He’s dispatched plenty of magical creatures who wanted to cause trouble here on Earth,” said the witch, as she tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. A charm bracelet dangled from her wrist.

Peter noticed the charm with the two interlocking circles that represented the Silver Griffins and the connection between Earth and Oriceran. It was swinging between a charm shaped like a soccer ball and a large dog.

Ernie swallowed hard, looking at the wizard. “Dispatched? You mean dead?”

“Of course I mean dead. Well, dead or Trevilsom Prison where you’ll wish you had died. We have hard and fast rules. You wantonly display magic in front of the home team, the humans, and we take care of it. There are no second chances,” she said. She had been with the Silver Griffins for well over a decade. “Now, which one of you saw the woman performing magic?” she asked.

“That was… well… that was,” Ernie stuttered. He was afraid to move a muscle.

“You then,” said the witch. She traced a small circle with her wand next to Peter’s ear. A shimmering gold circle appeared, unwinding into a thin line, vanishing into the wand,

“Memorialum,” she said quietly but firmly.

The wizard standing on the stairs joined them, pulling a device from his pocket no bigger than a smartphone and held it to the tip of the witch’s wand. The phone sucked out the swirling gold lines with a soft whoosh, as the wizard tapped the small screen.

“So cool,” said Ernie, trying to look over his shoulder. “Look at that, Peter! It’s what you saw! Like we’re looking through your eyeballs.”

The images played on the screen, intently focused on Leira as she set up to throw the bowling ball. For a moment, the focus drew in on her ass. Everyone turned to look at a blushing Peter.

“It’s my day off. I thought she was cute,” he said sheepishly.

“There are no real days off,” said the witch.

They turned back to the screen and watched as she seemed to be concentrating and let the ball fly, her fingertips aglow. A look of panic came over Leira’s face and she shoved her hands into her pockets.

“It’s the detective,” said the witch. “Just like the reports from the Order said.”

“Reports? You know about her?”

“You might say she’s a friendly. We’re here to help if she runs into trouble.”

“She’s with us!” said Peter, brightening.

“That’s Light Elf magic. She must be only half human. They left that out of our briefing,” the wizard said.

“Doesn’t look like she knew that was coming,” the witch observed.

“That’s good news, right?” asked Peter. “Intentions matter.”

“We let the Order decide those things. Our job is to track magical objects that are loose in the wild, like the suburbs,” the wizard smiled, “and take them into possession to be stored in our vault.”

“And to hunt down and stop all magical creatures from wantonly displaying magic where humans could see it,” the witch said pointedly. “It’s fine,” she said, looking at Peter’s anxious face. “Leira Berens is a special case. We have orders to stay back and only step in if the detective or the elf traveling with her need assistance.”

“Roger that.” Ernie saluted. The witch stared at him for a moment mumbling something about thin pickings for new recruits.

“You do realize we’re expected to blend in as well,” she said, looking him up and down.

“Totally,” said Peter, jumping in to try and protect his friend.

“How long you been a Silver Griffin?” Ernie asked the wizard.

“Going on my second decade. Third generation. My great grandfather was born on Oriceran.”

“No kidding!”

The witch’s phone started to vibrate and she pushed the button. The other witch’s voice came over it, the urgency clear.

“We have a level one problem in here. Get in here immediately.”

“Level one,” said Peter, trying to remember his training. “Isn’t that the worst level saved for some outdated Atlantean thing or something?”

The witch didn’t answer his question or even look back. She ran into the bowling alley, not bothering to keep a low profile, drawing stares and looks of concern from other bowlers. Soon, someone was bound to ask if they could help.

Peter knew they were breaching protocol right and left, which meant whatever the other witch and wizard found, it was bad.

“Diggin’ the Men in Black thing you’ve got going on here,” the wizard said to Ernie, as they ran in behind the witch.

“Right?” said Ernie, smiling broadly, and punched Peter in the shoulder.

“You’re still going to need to blend in,” said the wizard.

They found the witch and wizard by the snack counter. The witch was holding a silvery bag that was wriggling wildly, left and right. People were taking notice, glancing at the bag and whispering to each other.

“This is bad, Ernie,” Peter whispered.

“What’s in there?” asked the witch, her eyes wide with alarm.

“Not something I’ve ever seen before or ever expected to see,” said the other witch as she carefully folded back the long bag so that the lead witch could get a better look.

“No,” she gasped, the color draining from her face. “How is this possible?”

Twisting wildly in the middle of the bag, a long black tentacle tried to escape.

“Stop!” yelled the witch holding the bag as the tentacle swarmed to the opening, reaching for her with its suction cups.

Before she could shut the bag, the tentacle wrapped itself around her neck in one fluid motion, and started drawing tighter like a noose, the suction cups planting themselves firmly on her skin.

“Ga,” was the only sound she was able to make.

The lead witch whipped out her wand and said loudly, “Into the fire!”

Purple flames appeared around the tentacle, which only made it squeeze harder. The witch gasped for air, trying to clutch at her throat. The wizard held her hands back.

Peter could smell burning seafood as the tentacle started to glow purple from the flames. The witch fell back into the wizard’s arms. The tentacle darkened and turned to ash, a small cloud of soot drifting across the front of her blue velour jacket.

“Is she breathing?” Ernie asked, trembling.

The wizard passed his hand over the witch’s face, gently puffing air. The witch’s chest rose and fell with each gentle puff until she finally took a breath on her own and her eyes popped open.

He helped her stand, saying to Ernie and Peter, “Much gentler than mouth to mouth.”

“Everyone all right?” The manager of the bowling alley, a large fellow with wisps of air on the top of his head and a bushy greying moustache was hustling toward them. “Your friend need an ambulance?” he said, looking concerned.

The head witch looked around and saw that every face was turned toward them. More than one person had their cell phone out and was filming the whole thing.

Peter stepped back, his eyes wide, as the witch drew out her wand in full view of everyone and held it high in the air.

“Never was, never will be,” she intoned. Rays poured out of her wand in widening shafts of white light that were so bright Peter expected them to hurt his eyes. Instead, a growing sense of peace filled him as the light caressed the entire bowling alley, even seeking out the kitchen and the rest rooms till everything within the four main walls was bathed in the light.

All the humans looked around, dazed, with goofy, lopsided grins on their faces. A large man dropped the bowling ball in his hands, giggling as he watched it slowly roll down the gutter.

The light hummed and grew steadily louder until it ended with a sharp snap and disappeared. Everyone froze, suspended in time.

“This will only last a few minutes so we need to make this count. Help her out of here. Both of you are coming with us,” she said, pushing them toward the door.

“What just happened?” said a dazed Ernie.

“What about them?” Peter asked. He was pointing at a small group in one of the middle lanes who were all still moving, nodding to the witches and wizards.

“A group of Arpaks, most likely,” said the wizard, holding up his phone. “Yeah, I was right,” he said. Peter looked at the screen on his phone and could see a silhouette of the people in front of them but they appeared to have grown large wings. He looked back and forth between the average looking people standing in the lane and the image on the small screen.

“Arpaks always blend in so easily,” said the wizard. “They’ll follow the usual protocol and play along. The spell took out the last thirty minutes of memory. All the humans will take up where their memory’s left off. Some will think they need to pee again or go get something to eat and then just change their minds when they realize they must be wrong.”

“Does this happen all the time?” Peter asked, helping to get the injured witch to the door.

“That is going to leave a mark,” Ernie said, wincing as he looked at the red welts on the witch’s neck. They were starting to swell. “Is that normal?” he asked, gently pointing to the large bubbles growing on her skin.

The lead witch turned around and gasped before catching herself.

“Hurry,” she said.

The wizard said to Ernie, “There’s no way for us to know what that thing could do. That kind of dark magic hasn’t been seen for six hundred years. I’ve seen a tentacle or two in my day but not one that can do that.”

“It’s supposed to all be under lock and key!” said the lead witch as they went out the doors. “Under lock and key on an entirely different planet!”

“It’s getting worse,” Ernie said, wrinkling his nose. “It’s starting to smell like rotted fish.”

The welts on the witch’s neck were starting to bubble and creep up toward her face.

“What’s happening?” pleaded the injured witch, as the wizard once again stopped her from touching the pulsing wounds around her neck.

“There’s no time to waste. We have only seconds left. I can’t even alert them we’re coming,” said the head witch, as she waved her wand in a large circle and golden sparks started to spit out of thin air, creating a large hole in the air, right there in front of the bowling alley.

“A fucking portal,” said Peter, drawing closer. “That’s Oriceran,” he said, peering through. “My Nana told me all about it.”

They were high atop a cliff with a view that went on for miles. Strange birds flew nearby.

Ernie pulled back, inching away from the portal. The witch grabbed him by the arm and dragged him back.

“We’ll have to explain once we’re there,” said the tall wizard.

“Agreed,” said the wounded witch’s partner as he picked her up in his arms and stepped through the portal. The other wizard followed quickly.

“Come on, come on. There’s only a couple of minutes left before time starts again. Get in here. That’s an order!”

Peter snapped to and dutifully stepped through, grabbing Ernie’s hand and dragging him. He felt an odd tug as he passed through to Oriceran and Ernie’s hand slip out of his.

The last thing he heard before the portal zipped shut, sparks shooting everywhere, was a short plaintive cry. “What the hell?”

Ernie had hesitated a moment too long and slipped, out of Peter’s grasp into the world in between.

“No!” cried the lead witch. She raised her wand but it was too late. They were safely in Oriceran and the portal was closed. Ernie was lost.

“Where did he go?” Peter shouted, frantic.

“The world in between,” one of the wizards gasped. His voice was angry as he spit out, “This was all handled badly. Where he is, that’s worse than death! Trapped for eternity with other lost souls. The living and the dead!”

“What the fuck? No, I’m not leaving this spot till you tell me how we get him out of there. He’ll never survive it!”

“I don’t have time to baby you,” said the lead witch, taking Peter by the arm, “so I’m going to tell you the facts, as much as we know. He’ll survive it and that’s the problem. The world in between seems to be some kind of waystation between Earth and Oriceran and whatever afterlife there is. He can see us and sometimes, maybe, we will be able to see him.”

Peter’s look of fear was turning to horror and he tried to sit down.

“Not just here, Peter. Ernie will be able to travel through the realm he’s in and hear everything in both worlds. Even communicate sometimes but that’s about it. Right now, we don’t know any more than that. I can’t do anything else for him but if you don’t come with me, and quickly, my friend here will die.”

The boils along the witch’s neck spread and were turning black. The veins in her arms were also a deep, dark black.

“This magic is beyond me. It’s beyond all of us here. Our only hope for her is one of the healers on this side of the world who is old enough to remember the old ways when they had to fight Rhazdon’s cult. Now get off your ass and move!” she shouted and slapped him hard across the face. There were tears in her eyes.

“You are an elite member of the Silver Griffins,” she shouted into his face. “We serve to protect all magical beings and sometimes we die doing that, or worse! You’ve been given an order and I expect you to follow it. If you can’t be trusted to do that, there’s no place for you in the Order of the Silver Griffins.”

“I’m going,” said the wizard carrying the witch. He put her down and waved his wand over her. She rose into the air in front of him and they disappeared in a swirl of wind and dust.

“Don’t you understand yet? Dark magic is trying to return to this world. It’s the very reason we were created. To make sure it can never come back. If it has then we have failed that part of our mission but for the sake of all living things we cannot fail the more important part. To stop it by any means necessary,” said the witch as she swirled her wand around the three remaining figures.

They disappeared into the wind.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“What the hell was that about?” Leira yelled as they barreled down the streets, gunning the motor.

“You were seen performing magic. It’s a crime to do so on Earth punishable by prison or even death,” said Correk, forming a ball of red pulsing light.

“You did see it! Wait, what the fuck are you doing?” she asked, looking over at him.

“Seen performing magic is the key word,” he said, singing into the energy ball. His eyes glowed in the darkness of the car.

He rolled down the window and released the ball into the night air where it split into a thousand little sparks of light that looked like so many fireflies taking flight.

“What is that supposed to accomplish?” asked Leira. “You’re sending up a smoke signal.”

“That’s a crude way of putting it, but yes. I need to get a message to the king before the Silver Griffins beat me to it. We were able to get out of there before they had a chance to identify you and I’m counting on the loyalty of the Pin Pushers back there to not give away any further information. But they’ll make a report anyway and a hunt will be on unless I can get the king to somehow intercede and tell them to call it off.”

Leira made it back to Rainey Street in record time. It was the first time she was the one being pursued instead of the detective on a case.

There was nothing about it that she liked.

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” she said defiantly. She found a parking space right next door and got out quickly, running for the gate without looking back to see what Correk was doing.

Correk hesitated at the sidewalk looking around to see if anyone had noticed them screeching to a halt and leaping out of the car. He still had the unsettled feeling that something magical and dark was following him.

“Is everything alright?” asked a twenty-something girl with a handful of friends. They all looked a little tipsy, dressed up in short skirts and tops with thin straps They stood close together, using the proximity to hold each other up as they wobbled on stiletto heels.

“Yes, routine call,” said Correk, standing up straighter doing his best imitation of a police officer.

“You’re kind of cute,” said a girl with teased blonde hair that added several inches to her height. She pointed a painted mauve fingernail at Correk and said, “Are you really a stripper?” She gave him a smile that was more of a leer.

“Earthlings,” muttered Correk under his breath.

“Ooh, that’s kind of cute,” said another girl. “Take me to your leader,” she said, and licked her lips suggestively.

“You’re a tall drink of water. Where’s the party, Robin Hood?”

“Thank you, ladies,” said Correk, exasperated. “There’s no party. There’s no stripper. Please move along. There’s nothing to see here.”

He walked away from them sensing that nothing good could be gained from continuing the conversation.

They would have followed him except one of them suddenly fell off her heels crashing into the grass. They surrounded the fallen friend oohing and aahing, overly concerned with her well-being.

“Crap! I think I got a grass stain on my skirt.” She frowned and rolled over to take a look. Her mood brightened when she noticed she didn’t spell a drop of her drink.

“Nice,” she smiled. Her friends pulled her to her feet and she slipped her foot back into her shoe.

By then, Correk was briskly walking through the crowd at Estelle’s, ignoring the shouts from the bar asking how the team was doing at the bowling alley.

“Is the tournament already over? Did we win?” people yelled from the outdoor bar.

“Estelle on her way back?” asked the bartender who was filling in for her. Correk ignored them all.

Leira was nowhere in sight.

He walked into the guesthouse and quietly shut the door behind him. There was already enough drama and slamming a door would’ve brought people asking what was wrong. Leira was changed back into a more typical outfit, a pale green shirt and black pants, and had slipped on her leather jacket. She was ready to roll. Her service weapon was strapped under her shoulder.

She was paying no attention to Correk and he could see that her mind was made up.

“In the short amount of time that I’ve known you I already realize that trying to change your mind is useless and a waste of time,” said Correk.

“Good. Then I won’t have to work so hard actively ignoring you,” she said angrily.

Correk stripped off the blue pin pushers bowling shirt and tossed it on the couch, revealing ripped muscles and a well-defined torso. Leira caught herself taking a second look and her face warmed.

“Damn,” she whispered, surprising herself.

Correk raised an eyebrow at her. “You have many different layers, Leira Berens. There may be hope for your magical abilities yet,” he said, putting his own shirt back on.

“No, no, no,” said Leira, waving her hand at the shirt he was trying to button up.

“It’s a little indelicate that you’re trying to get me to take my shirt off again,” he said, still buttoning it up.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” she said, pulling out an old t-shirt that said, ‘Keep Austin Weird 5K’ with an old hippie truckin’ across top of the words, a big foot in a floppy sandal stretched out in front of him.

“This is left over from some 5K I ran a while ago. They had run out of every size but large by the time I got there. It should do fine. You can’t go around in this medieval costume everywhere we go. It gets old after a while and harder to explain. Put it on.”

Correk slipped out of the white shirt, glancing over at Leira before turning his back to pull the t-shirt over his head. Leira couldn’t resist and took one last look at his back muscles rippling when he pulled the shirt down over his shoulders.

She shook her head, clearing her mind. “Too much to do,” she muttered.

She felt a new sensation running up through her chest and out through her arms. “I’ve already been through puberty,” she whispered, embarrassed.

Suddenly her fingertips began to glow

“No!” she shouted, shaking her hands violently, trying to will it away.

Correk whipped around, his eyes widening as he saw the source of her distress.

“That won’t help!” he shouted. Correk’s eyes glowed briefly and symbols appeared on his arms. He scowled in frustration.

The glow in Leira’s fingertips spread up her arms and symbols appeared under her skin, giving her the same warm feeling that was now spreading to her bones.

“It’s clear you have no idea who you really are,” said Correk, trying to get his emotions under control.

Leira’s training as a homicide detective kicked in and she steeled herself, taking a deep breath and assessing the situation. It never failed her. She was damned determined it wouldn’t fail her now.

The symbols slowly faded from Leira’s skin, a hum lingering that she felt all the way to her lips.

“You’re getting better at this,” Correk said. “You’re a fast study. But, common sense says we should wait until morning to leave when we have the Mustang back. Your friend will want his car and I’m not sure it will carry us the entire way to our destination.”

Leira sat down heavily on the red velvet chair. “You have a point. But first light and I’m checking on the car.”

“Deal.”

***

True to her word, as the sun rose the next morning, Leira reached for her phone.

“I figured you’d be getting anxious.” It was Ralph. “She’s all ready. You speared the radiator just like I thought, but it’s all taken care of.”

“What do I owe you?”

“Don’t insult me with questions like that. Meet me at the station so I can get home to my wife. You know, she misses you too.”

Leira hung up the phone and felt an unfamiliar pang in her chest. She realized she was letting herself feel something. The troll let out a small whimper. She shook her head, hard. “Enough of that. Shelve it all till later,” she said, hoping it was possible.

“Ready to go?” Correk stood in the doorway, already dressed. He was holding the CVS bags of snacks he bought for the road. “You can get the troll. He’s not as fond of me as he is of you and I’d hate to have to turn him into stone.”

“That’s it?” she asked, astonished, swinging her feet out over the side of her bed. “You’re not going to try and get me to wait or talk more?”

“You’re the one who said we needed to get going,” said Correk reaching for the door handle. “We have a long ride ahead of us and hours of time to explain what’s happening to you. I can explain now because it’s become clear. Why you don’t know is going to take a little detective work that will have to wait for another day.”

Correk stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “I’m not making light of what’s happening to you. Your life is in danger from more than one source and it’s all because of who you are. But if I start this conversation here it will make it that much tougher to walk calmly through the patio, smile and wave to anyone who might be there as if nothing is happening, and get in the car as quickly as possible.”

Leira was about to protest but Correk held up his hand without turning around and opened the door. There was no more to say till they picked up the car from Ralph.

***

“Thank you. I really will call.” Leira accepted the car keys from Ralph.

“I know,” Ralph said. “Be careful out on those roads. Never know when a sign will run out in front of you.” He smiled and squeezed her shoulder.

Really have to do better at keeping in touch, she thought. She gave him a crooked smile. There was so much more she wanted to say.

***

Correk refused to answer any of Leira’s questions until they got out onto the open highway beyond the city limits and the constant congestion on I35 that had become part of Austin. The sky was different shades of blue and purple behind the tall buildings downtown.

Leira tried to get Correk to answer at least one or two questions but he sat in stony silence watching the passing scenery, biding his time.

Leira bit her bottom lip, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, counting blue cars, one of the least popular colors. She managed to get all the way to five before Correk finally spoke.

“I would think it would be obvious by now,” he said.

“Obvious has to be based on past experience and that hasn’t worked for me since you and his majesty showed up in a hole in the world and pulled me back through it,” Leira said.

“That must’ve been the trigger,” he said, clearly trying to make sense of it all. “You are, young lady, at least half Light Elf, and from the look I got of the symbols that appeared on your arms, you have an ancestor of royal blood. You are a very powerful elf.”

“That’s ridiculous. I’m twenty-five years old. You don’t think I would’ve shown some sign by now? No one has ever mentioned anything like this to me.”

“Who would have known enough to have explained it to you?” he asked.

“My mother.” She bit off the words. “Don’t say anything. Not about that. Not yet when I can’t do anything about it.”

“Fair enough.” Correk’s head was down as he dug through the bag of snacks, pulling out the Cheetos.

“No, you can’t start digging in to the food just yet. It’s a well-known rule of road trips that you have to wait at least two hours after you get outside of the city limits before you start. On longer road trips like this one, you wait till you’re out of the state.”

“I’m not from this world,” said Correk. “Your rules don’t apply and besides Texas is far too big a state for me to wait that long. I’m hungry.” He pulled the bag open and sniffed. “Reminds me of an aged cheddar but there’s something else I can’t identify.”

“We call those preservatives and other five syllable words we can’t pronounce but are glad to ignore,” said Leira.

Correk took a cheese doodle out of the bag and gave it a lick. “Not bad.”

“This is how we indoctrinate you. We slow you down with our fast food till you can’t think for yourself anymore. Correk, if you can pull your attention away from the faux food, my mind is getting blown over here.”

“I’ve watched your culture for years and learned a lot of your idioms. You’re very fond of adding new ones all the time,” he said, crunching down on a large doodle. He gave his orange fingers a quizzical look and started to brush his hands together.

“Rookie move,” said Leira. “You’ll spread the orange fairy dust everywhere and once it gets on your clothes it’s kind of tough to get out. You either lick it off, wipe it off, or just keep eating.”

He stared at his fingers for a moment, incredulous. He seemed to make a decision and dove back into the bag.

“Yeah, that’s the choice I would have made too,” said Leira. “You have to make a mental decision ahead of time when you choose Cheetos that you’re just going to eat most of the bag in one sitting. It’s a commitment snack.”

“Should we honor your little road trip rules and not talk about your newly evident magical skills until we’re out of Texas?” he asked, his mouth full of mashed Cheetos. “Or shall we just go rogue with all of it and start talking.”

“That is not a good look on you,” said Leira, looking at the orange that was getting all over Correk’s face. “But you do look more like you belong right here in the good ol’ USA.”

Leira looked back at the road and cut around an eighteen-wheeler ambling down the middle lane. “Before all of this started it wouldn’t have taken much to convince me I was losing my mind. I would’ve thought I was the only one seeing the symbols or that crazy warmth you get under your skin,” she said, a warm shiver running through her. “My mother…”

“I see you’re wearing the ring we helped you find when we first met. That’s your mother’s ring with the two blue sapphires. You’ve mentioned her more than once but from everything we’ve observed you have no contact with her.”

“Okay. I can’t avoid talking about her, it seems. I have no contact because my mother, Eireka Berens, has been locked up in a psychiatric facility for fifteen years, since I was ten years old. She started talking about strange men with pointed ears and an entirely different world where people could make things appear out of nowhere and castles that couldn’t be seen and was diagnosed with an official stamp of crazy.”

“Do we have something in the car to wipe this off with?” Correk was trying to lick the orange off his fingertips but it was proving resilient.

“Check the middle compartment. There’s hand wipes in there that I saved just for this kind of occasion.”

Correk pulled out one of the wet wipes, rubbing his hands against it and admiring how the orange kept its color and was never diluted. “That was amazing.”

He turned his attention back to Leira. “I ate so many of them and I don’t feel at all full. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad. Okay, okay, how long ago did your mother start talking about elves and Oriceran?”

“About six months before they carted her off and I ended up with my grandmother.”

“Where’s your grandmother now?”

Leira grew quiet and didn’t say anything for the next few miles. The troll whimpered from the underwear nest on the backseat, picking up on Leira’s sadness.

Correk waited patiently for Leira to speak.

The brown and green cliffs of the Texas Hill country rolled past them. Correk looked out at the large mansions built into the sides of the cliffs.

“Human beings have no access to magic and yet you manage to do these amazing things,” he said. “Technology for you has become a kind of magic. You can manipulate your environment in so many ways. I suppose the difference is our magic leaves nature alone, for the most part.”

“My grandmother disappeared over four years ago. It’s why I became a cop. I want to solve that mystery.”

“You believe she was murdered,” Correk said softly.

“I did… I’m not so sure now.”

“That’s something to think about,” he said. “She may be on Oriceran and unable to relay a message to you. It explains some of why you knew nothing about your heritage. That was probably for the best. You haven’t had to deal with getting your magic under control all these years. Emotions drive magic, and there has to be somebody around to teach you the right way. Magic out of control can quickly turn into dark magic.”

“I need to get this case solved so that I can get my mother out of that damn hospital,” she said, hitting the steering wheel. “She never belonged there in the first place. There’s no telling what fifteen years in a psychiatric facility will do to someone.”

“If your mother is the one who’s in the Elven line then the magic will have helped her survive. I suspect, though, she does not know enough about how to use it or the walls wouldn’t have held her all this time.”

Leira moved into the fast lane again and accelerated to eighty-five miles an hour. The Mustang was cruising down the road, the engine humming.

“I thought we were trying not to attract attention,” said Correk.

“We need to get to Chicago. Time is running out and Bill Somers has been alone with that necklace for days. There’s no telling what’s happened. I’m catching on that magic is not as stable as I thought,” she admitted.

Correk thought a moment. “If we are planning to drive through the night then you will need assistance with the driving.”

“When you get your own badge,” Leira said evenly, drawing her lips into a thin line. “This is an official badass Austin police car. Besides, you don’t even have a license. I didn’t see a single engine of any kind on Oriceran. This isn’t something you can pick up in a few minutes.”

“I’m a fast learner,” he said. “But I will let you do the driving for now.”

“Big of you,” she commented as she swung out from behind a large truck to pass it on the left.

Correk ignored Leira’s comment. “To ensure that we both arrive safely and complete this mission,” he said, “I’m going to teach you how to access the Elven side. It’s not even magic, really. If you can lock into this feeling of determination and belief in this mission then you can summon the Elven blood that will keep you awake and alert for as long as you need.”

“How do I do that?” asked Leira.

“You have to feel it.” he replied without a thought.

She made a face. “Then we’re fucked,” she told him, “and I’ll have to use the human method of gallons of coffee.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Correk thought about his response to her answer before trying another time. “Leira, you have Royal Elven blood flowing through your veins. It elevates your magic to an entirely new level. You’re more than capable of this. Come on, you’re telling me that you’re backing away from a challenge?”

Leira gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles whitening. “Point taken.” God, she wanted the coffee. “Give me the first lesson.”

Correk turned in his seat to face her and tapped the center of his chest with his fingers. “You have to feel it in here. Draw on the feeling as if it is a living, breathing, being within you, because it is. Name something that you already believe without question.”

Leira’s eyebrows drew together, running through the possibilities. “I believe in my own ability to survive all this shit.”

He made a twisting maybe sort of motion with his hand. “Reach for something more. Something positive.”

“I believe… I believe that the people who hang out at Estelle’s care about me.”

It was the first time she had ever acknowledged it to herself. “They’ve done a decent job of being a family to me. A smoking, drinking, bowling family. I know if I needed them, any one of them would drop everything to come and help.”

Leira felt the growing warmth in the center of her chest. A surge of energy that felt solid, felt real.

He nodded. “Draw on that belief,” said Correk. “It is the belief in others, the connections you have that matter most that will be the most powerful. Now, pull that belief into the idea that you need to be alert, focused and able to sustain this energy for the next few days. It won’t stop you from sleeping when you choose to, but the choice will become yours. It is a power of the Light Elves and for a Royal Elf is immutable.”

Leira felt the energy wash over her like she was taking a drug. She was able to think with speed and clarity.

“Oricerans have apparently been coming over to Earth for quite some time, if my magical lineage is to be believed.” She flashed her lights to catch the attention of the slow Impala in front of her. Thankfully, they slid aside as she barrelled past them. “No wonder there’s a need for the Silver Griffins.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that. Our two worlds have a unique connection that has gone on for many millennia. Every twenty-five thousand eight hundred years portals, like the ones you have passed through open and stay open. But those are larger and very public. Anyone can walk right through them at any time.”

“Are we getting close to one of those years?” she asked. They came over a rise and from the top she could quickly see what pattern she would need to take through the miles of cars ahead of her in order to make the fastest time. She wove in and out of traffic easily, missing bumpers by mere inches and maneuvering her way out of a snarl of slow-moving traffic.

“We are only decades from when the process starts. A little under sixty-five hundred years till it hits its peak and crests.”

“That means the last one was about nineteen-thousand three hundred years ago,” said Leira, doing the math in her head. “I think.”

Why was it always a problem to subtract fives, threes and eights in her mind?

“Frankly, residents of Oriceran have lived on Earth forever. Every time the portals have started to close some humans chose Oriceran for the magic, and some magical species chose Earth for their own reasons. Technology has its own allure too. Some were also fugitives from Oriceran law, and some formed relationships with a human and were unwilling to leave.”

“What you’re telling me is that there are magical people all around the world,” Leira said.

“Yes, entire magical communities and many of them live in plain sight. There are even many different types, too many to name.”

“Even Light Elves?”

“A full-blooded light Elf is pretty hard to hide,” said Correk, tapping his ear. “The points are a dead giveaway. Early American settlers kept referring to us as demons and that was a problem. Magic never did go over very well with the Puritans.”

“Were those distant relatives who got burned at the stake in old Salem?” asked Leira.

“No, even a human being with a small percentage of Elven blood would have easily been able to confuse and persuade the simpletons of old Salem. Those were most likely innocent human beings. But if you know where to look it gets easier and easier to spot your distant cousins. You knew a half Elf as Elvis Presley. His mother had a sense of humor and gave him a first name as a clue.”

“I can see that,” said Leira. “He has a certain luck. That explains the singing.”

“And the dancing. Oh yes,” said Correk, “we know how to dance but it’s something normally only shared with your partner. It’s considered intimate.”

“Those rockin’ hips,” said Leira, smiling, despite how she felt. It was one of her best defense mechanisms. She knew how to compartmentalize her feelings and put them aside altogether if there was a job to be done. It helped make her a good homicide detective. But she could sense things were changing and being able to intertwine her emotions in with her thoughts was becoming essential. The magic within her was waking up.

They drove all night, making only occasional stops to put more gas in the car or use the bathroom. Correk had his first soda, choosing a Dr. Pepper. He took a sip, screwed up his face, commented on the bubbles, swallowed and did it all over again till the bottle was drained.

“It’s like watching National Geographic,” Leira said.

It was just around breakfast time the next day when they arrived in Chicago. They pulled in the parking lot of one of the no-tell motels along part of Lincoln Avenue along route forty-one that dated back to when the road was the main state thoroughfare. It was replaced long ago by bigger highways and the motels were mostly ignored by everybody except those who wanted to use it by the hour or were trying to hide.

When Leira rented the room the clerk behind the counter looked lazily up and glanced at Correk still waiting in the car. “Double occupancy, I take it,” he said. “You want it for the night?”

“We’ll need the room through the weekend,” she said, giving him a cold hard look. She was tempted to flash her badge but she was operating outside of the rules. Getting caught on a case that wasn’t assigned to her outside of her jurisdiction was breaking the law. She resisted the urge and instead remembered what Correk had said to her.

She stared at the clerk coolly, summoning the feeling of belief within her that all was well and they would succeed. A calm settled over her that she was sure the clerk could see, evidenced by the change in his personality. He suddenly became more amiable.

“Room two oh two on the second floor. It’s one of our better rooms. The maid’s been in that one today and the comforter hasn’t been used, well, that much,” he said, holding up his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “Ice machine will be halfway down outside this door and there’s plenty of fast food restaurants everywhere you look. Welcome to Chicago and Lincoln Square.”

She got back to the car and found Correk chewing a piece of beef jerky. He was beginning to look a little nauseous.

She opened her door and leaned in. “I have the room key but I don’t feel good about leaving our stuff there. We should really get some real food in you before this gets ugly,” she said.

“This is your world, what do you suggest? And no more Cheetos,” he said, putting a hand on his stomach gingerly.

“Yeah, that’s phase two of eating too many Cheetos, and throwing in corn nuts and beef jerky on top of it with a Dr. Pepper. You have to work up to that. This is a marathon, Correk, not a sprint. Let’s see, we’re in Chicago. We need to go find Lou Malnati’s deep dish pizza. It’ll either fill you up or kill you off, but either way you’ll be out of your faux food misery.”

“What’s a pizza?” he asked.

“How is it possible in all of your eavesdropping you didn’t pick up on so many barely-edible delights? Lou Malnati’s is a thick crust followed by a ton of melted, gooey cheese, with homemade tomato sauce on top. More toppings are optional.”

“Anything you’d call a vegetable?”

“You can get a mushroom or a green pepper thrown on there if you need to,” said Leira. “Try a slice and then we’ll head out to locate Bill Somers.”

Leira found the restaurant easily as if she was following an old memory in her head.

“How did you know where to go without a map?” asked Correk.

“Not sure, really. My grandmother used to take me on road trips a lot when I was younger. We’d go to Santa Monica, upstate New York, Chicago. She always said we needed to recharge. What? I saw that,” she said, as they walked into the restaurant.

“I’ll explain later,” he said.

“Can we have a table near the front window?” Leira asked.

“Right this way,” said the waitress. She showed them to a booth and set down two tall plastic menus in front of them.

Correk took one look at the menu and winced, looking up at the waitress and asking, “Do you have anything smaller, you know, thinner?” he asked, pointing at the picture of the three-inch deep pizza.

The waitress and Leira gaped at him.

“We don’t really do thin crust here, honey,” the waitress said. “You’re in the wrong city. Try New York. How about a nice green salad for you? You look like you might need it.”

“We’ll get a small deep dish and maybe a salad on the side,” said Leira.

“And a Dr. Pepper,” said Correk, with a little too much enthusiasm.

The waitress tapped her forehead behind Correk’s back with her eyebrows raised, asking Leira a question. Leira ignored her.

She returned with a paper placemat and a small box of crayons and set them off to the side. “I’ll just leave those here, in case there’s an artist in the family,” she said.

Leira laughed, and then glanced out the window toward the car to see if the troll was awake. No movement.

“Tell me what that look was about when I mentioned the road trips,” said Leira.

“Your grandmother knew that there was Elven blood in your family. It’s common for the magical communities here on Earth to live near what are known as kemana or green sectors. They are locations on Earth that have large amounts of quartz imbued with magical energy. It was done before the portals closed the last time. They’re used as a kind of charging station so that Oricerans can maintain at least a minimum of magical ability. They’ve also become a way for different species to find each other. Like a community bulletin board.”

The waitress came back with their pizza and a stand to set it on and Correk got quiet.

“Here, let me help you, honey,” said the waitress. She was determined to help him get his slice. She put it on a plate for him and stepped back. “Try a knife and fork. It’ll be okay,” she said.

Correk looked at Leira for some help to get rid of her but Leira was enjoying it too much to say anything. The waitress wouldn’t leave until he tried a bite and assured her that he liked it.

“Now that’s what I call service,” said Leira, after the waitress finally bustled away to tend to someone else.

“She’s treating me like I’m a child.”

Leira nodded. “I think you hit the nail on the head.”

“You know, this really is delicious but I have a feeling I’m only making matters worse.”

“Now you’re catching on to the American diet,” said Leira, smiling as she bit into her pizza. Memories of sitting here with her grandmother came flooding back to her. Just enjoy it Leira, she thought. More answers will come soon enough.

Correk insisted on taking a slice to go, earning him a hug from the waitress. Leira noticed that she tucked the placemat and crayons into the bag. He seemed startled by the hug but was gracious enough to just let her do it.

“Humans are very odd,” Correk observed as they left the restaurant and walked to the car.

“Agreed.”

They tracked Bill Somers all over Chicago for the next two days. At the university, they found Dean Muston who said, “Professor Somers has taken a short break from work.” Both Correk and Leira noticed how relieved the Dean looked when he told them. “I’m sorry, but we’re getting ready for our Centennial celebration of the school. I really don’t have time to help you reunite with Bill Somers.”

At his small, cramped apartment they found evidence of Oriceran, a clump of tall grasses that had fallen limp. Correk wrapped them gently in a small square of cloth and tucked them in his pocket.

“No evidence should be left behind,” he said.

But there was no sign of Bill Somers.

“Do you think he knows someone is looking for him?” Correk asked.

“It would appear that way,” said Leira, studying the papers on his desk. “Look at this,” she said. “It’s a receipt for a handmade tuxedo. That’s a lot of money for someone who lives like this. From the little I know of the man, style and fashion doesn’t seem to be high on his list of priorities. He’s getting dressed for a special occasion.”

She looked down at a piece of paper on the wobbly folding table that served as his dining room table. It was a memo from Somers’ department about what to expect at the celebration.

“This Centennial is on the same day that you said the energy will transfer from the necklace to whoever has it,” she said, tapping the paper.

“We’re going to the Centennial, aren’t we?”

“Seems like our best chance to find Bill Somers and the necklace all in one place. The trick will be to find him before he tries whatever it is he’s going to try. Right now, he’s in the wind and I don’t have my usual tools to find where he might be hiding out. He might be smart enough to stay off the grid until tomorrow and the celebration. Looks like you’re going to need a monkey suit.”

“Why would I want to dress like a monkey?”

“It’s our cute way of saying a tux,” said Leira.

“We have far more sentient beings on Oriceran than there are on Earth and yet we managed to find one unique word for everything.”

“Come on, you can comfort yourself with more deep dish pizza. Eat too much of that though, and you’ll need a cummerbund to hide the middle.”

“What are you going to wear?”

“That’s a very good question. Something that will hide a gun,” said Leira, “and still let me blend in.”

“I will need to return to Oriceran to recharge before the events tomorrow,” said Correk.

“Won’t one of the kemana suffice for now? There’s a lot going on here and I could probably use your help.”

“That’s why I have to go back. I can recharge faster to full capacity in Oriceran and I can make sure the Order accepted what happened in the bowling alley.”

He took a deep breath and his eyes started to glow. Symbols appeared on his arms and Leira noticed for the first time that they were different from the last time. Correk held out his hand and formed a ball of light, stretching the light in every direction, opening up a portal. Leira could feel the pull in the middle of her being, as well.

“I can feel it,” she said, surprised.

“Inhabitants of Oriceran are always aware of when a portal is opening if they’re anywhere nearby. It’s just another sign of your Elven blood awakening inside of you.” He put one foot through the portal, turning back to give her a stern look. “Don’t leave this room.”

“I know, time moves differently between the two planets. Days can go by on your side and will only be a minute over here. How far can you stretch that out before time moves on here?”

“Only a week and then hours will start to pass and you will miss time. I will not be gone that long,” he said, stepping all the way through the portal. Leira could see deep woods on the other side.

“You can direct where you come out to some degree can’t you?”

The question was lost as the portal closed and gold sparks showered, sputtering in the close air of the musty apartment.

Leira looked around at the dingy room and wondered if anything was safe to sit on. She noticed a metal folding chair and decided that was the best choice. But she’d barely sat down when she heard a fizzing and cracking from the small bathroom.

She heard a crash and the sound of a shower curtain being torn down as she rushed into the room. Correk was crawling out of the bathtub, looking sheepish.

“Are you hurt? I thought you had a better handle on this portal thing.”

“A portal was opened here recently,” he said, an edge to his voice. “Very recently. That affects the opening of the next portal and draws the energy toward it. It’s certain. Bill Somers has been back to Oriceran.”

“Are you fully recharged?”

“You’re not going to ask about the Order?” asked Correk.

“If it’s good news I don’t need to know and if it’s bad news I don’t want to know. Come on, we have things to do. You can tell me what you’ve learned while we get a jump on Bill Somers. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find him and the necklace before the big party.”

“There’s only a day left to pull that off.”

“Stranger things are happening every day,” she said.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The prophets on the council met in the hidden room at the back of the vast Oriceran post office. The mood was somber and the Kilomea’s representative was banging his oversized thorny fist on the table, leaving small holes in the hardwood. “Things have gotten too far out of hand,” he said. He was wearing a deep red cloak over his leather and armor. No one had bothered to put on the familiar blue robe of the prophets.

The Kilomeas were a brutish species. In the past, they were more interested in war than group consensus.

“Let me guess,” said the Mystic Dryad, a tree nymph from the far north, beyond the mountains. “You want to restore order by any means necessary.” She stared at him defiantly even though she was only a quarter of his size and he could have swatted her like a pesky bug. That is, if he was fast enough. Dryads were known to flit so quickly, their wings beating too fast to be seen, they seemed to vanish from sight.

An Azrakan stood up, its great horns encircling its head like an organic crown of bone. “We are getting ahead of ourselves. First things first,” he said in a deep, booming baritone.

“The intelligent elk has spoken,” said the Kilomea. The Azrakan opened his mouth and unfurled a long, thin forked tongue, hissing at the Kilomea.

“I call this meeting to order,” said an elderly underground gnome whose people lived in the old mines underneath the Dragon mountain chain. They were cousins to the gnomes who looked after the Light Elves’ library and were rarely seen outside of the mines.

They were also known to live for hundreds of years, perhaps longer. No one was sure. They weren’t big on socializing with anyone else.

“Put your differences aside,” said the Gnome in the deep, rich baritone they were known for, even the females and children. It was only the difference in costume that made it possible for many outside of the gnome world to tell the difference between the men and the women.

“Take your seat, now,” said the Gnome, picking up an oversize gavel and banging it on the table in front of him. “There is far too much at stake here for petty jealousies or old disputes. Take them up later. Right now, we have more important things to discuss. We have put things in motion…”

A clamor of voices rose as the prophets started arguing amongst themselves.

The gnome raised the gavel over his head and smashed it down on the table. A loud crack echoed off the nearby walls.

“Enough! It no longer matters who came up with the idea, we all discussed it, and voted on it. It was unanimous, as I recall,” he said, leveling his gaze at everyone in the room. “Now is the time for us to rise to the occasion. We did what we did for the best of reasons. Oriceran must be put first. That is our mandate, from which we must not shy. Our followers depend on that. The seer, Tessa, accurately predicted everything that has happened in the history of Oriceran to this day. Thousands of accurate predictions. We all know what her last quatrain said. The destruction of our beloved planet. Our only hope is to migrate to Earth. We had to take action.”

“We are responsible for the killer being set loose in the Light Elves royal palace,” said a Light Elf, hanging his head.

“We should never have trusted a human,” said the Crystal prophet, plumes of frosted air flowing out of his mouth as he spoke. “We’ve all seen how they treat each other on their planet. One species and they have never been able to live side-by-side peacefully for very long. Each one always looking for the advantage.”

“They have also shown themselves to be able to rise to the occasion in the most tragic of times and come together as a species,” said the Wood Elf sitting in the back row. “And like it or not, we will need to trust them, soon enough when the prophesy comes to pass.”

“Whatever we did, we did it together for the sake of the bigger picture,” said the Mystic Dryad. “To save our people. Mistakes were made but now we have to decide what we’re going to do about it, if anything. We are all to blame and if this succeeds, we have all done our duty well. It was to be expected that there would be problems,” she said, putting her hand on the shoulder of the Light Elf nearby.

The gnome held up his short sturdy arms, waving his hands to calm everyone down.

“The Light Elves have hired a human homicide detective from Earth to track down the killer. If she is successful it’s possible more beings on Oriceran will find out what we have done,” said the Gnome.

“What do you suggest we do?” asked the Mystic Dryad. “We have no reason to interfere.”

“All is not lost,” said the Gnome. “The very survival of Oriceran depends on what we do. We must set aside niceties to ensure our population will not only survive on Earth, but thrive. Nothing must get in the way of that edict. The seer Tessa made it very clear in her last quatrain. Once the portals are fully open again, the Oriceran way of life will be no more,” said the gnome. “We will continue to keep our secret.”

“It’s a betrayal!” said the Light Elf, his eyes glowing with fury. “We have become what we hate so much about the human species. We do what we want to do, and we justify our actions later. Consequences mean nothing as long as we get what we want.”

“We all agreed that we had to find a way to build a bridge to the humans so that by the time our people were crossing through the gates in greater numbers they would have become accustomed to us. All of us,” said the Gnome.

The Light Elf stood, gnashing his teeth, his eyes like two burning embers, fiery symbols raced up both of his arms and he lashed out, sending a fireball smashing into the opposite wall. The Kilomea raised his heavy sword, ready for any trouble.

“Weapons are forbidden within this chamber,” the Wood Elf said sharply. “Are we now picking and choosing which of our rules we will abide by?”

The Light Elf stormed between the rows of tables and waved his arm, opening a door in the back of the room. The woods beyond the post office could be seen through the magical opening and a gust of wind blew in, ruffling papers. He walked out, leaving smoldering footsteps burned into the floor behind him.

The Wood Elf followed him, yelling over his shoulder, “This is not over!”

The remaining prophets sat in stunned silence. In the millennia since they had formed the movement there had never been such discord.

The prophets gathered their things, most leaving by a hidden corridor, their usual path. Some made their own exits in the wall, erasing the openings behind them.

No one noticed that the old Gnome lingered until the chamber was empty.

A smile crossed his face as he stood in the center of the room, taking in all that he had accomplished. He waited till he was sure no one would come back for a lost object or to ask a question. When enough time had passed, he raised his arm and said, “Close them all,” sealing every exit, making it impossible even for a spell to reopen them.

He carefully took off all of his garments and stood naked in the middle of the room.

“Transformalia,” he said with force. He held his arms out and began to shiver violently. It started at the top of his head and rippled slowly down toward his feet. The sound of bones crunching echoed off the walls of the chamber as his skin began to stretch and grow and his height doubled. Bulges bubbled and moved under his skin as his skeleton reformed.

Pain flashed across his face and he doubled over for a moment. Long black tentacles sprouted from his head until they hung down like long, oceanic hair.

When it was done, the ancient Atlantean, Rhazdon stood there, naked and for once her truest self, a woman. Not only did the world not know that she lived, no one had ever known she was a woman, standing in their midst.

“Too bad about the old Gnome,” she sneered, remembering when she slayed him long before he could make the journey to the Light Elves realm. “Nasty little people.”

It had taken her years to find the right dark potion to transform herself into the Gnome. It was only right. After all, their cousins had stolen her treasure of dark magic that she had carefully gathered so many years ago.

Her face twisted into a snarl at the memory. “I will take back what is mine,” she said, clenching her fists.

Dark magic had long ago twisted Rhazdon’s mind, even as it gave her the ability to live on for hundreds of years.

“The only time I can be myself,” she said, rubbing the smooth, perfect skin of her arms. “Even if it’s just for a few minutes.”

She stretched her arms over her head as high as she could, running her hands over the tentacles on her head as they coiled around her fingers. She plucked one from her head and held it out, giving it instructions.

“Find the mouthy willen and tell me where he is,” she said, laying the tentacle on the ground. Another one quickly grew in its place.

“Intransformalia,” she said, reversing the process. Once again, the room was filled with the hideous sounds of the transformation. .

The old Gnome slowly reappeared. He was the only prophet that wouldn’t have a fellow Gnome travel to check on him. None of their kind would leave the dark confines of their home in the mines. And he would not be expected to make many friends. The perfect disguise.

He wearily took up the clothes and put them back on again, retrieving the tentacle, calmly going about his business. “I’ve already waited six hundred years for my revenge. A little longer is no matter. Everything is coming together nicely.”

He lumbered to the far wall.

“Open the way,” he said, waving his arm, calling on the dark magic that flowed through him. A doorway just tall enough for the Gnome opened in the back of the room. He walked out into the sunshine and put the tentacle on the grass, watching it slither away.

“I can be patient,” he said.

He found a human with a horse and cart from a nearby village and offered him a few coins to give him a ride to the open-air bazaar, a vast market on the edge of all the kingdoms this side of the mountains. Beyond was the road toward the mountains and the dark forest.

The journey to the bazaar was rough and shook the old Gnome in the back of the cart continuously, rattling his teeth every time a wheel rolled over a deep rut in the road. The entire cart smelled of hogs and dung but it was a much faster way to get to his destination, especially on his short legs.

“Drop me off here, he said, as they approached the bazaar.

He waited until the cart came to standstill before he scooted off the edge and dropped to the ground. “Thank you,” he said, waving to the man. The old prophet knew it paid to keep up appearances. Everyone would expect the current leader of the prophets to be a diplomat with everyone he came across.

The bazaar was a series of colorful tents, each one stretching across an acre of land. A huge open air market teeming with activity. Booths were crammed into every inch of space leaving only narrow pathways winding in and out among the peddlers in a maze.

Hawkers yelled out about their wares, promising the finest woven baskets or the freshest fruit. The Gnome passed one stand that was full of household items, some of them far too nice for the Light Elf who was selling them.

The Gnome knew the Light Elf must have bargained with a willen.

They were a nuisance the palace tolerated. They stopped just short of going too far and they were a constant source of the best gossip.

The Gnome pushed aside colorful drapes of fabric in every texture and color, working his way through another narrow path, avoiding pointed elbows from taller Oricerans busy bargaining on every side, trying to get the best deal.

At last he got to a far corner of the market to a booth that was closed with heavy velvet draperies and a large Kilomea standing guard in front of them. He nodded at the Kilomea who barely looked in his direction. He held back just enough of the curtain for the Gnome to pass through but not enough to let anyone else see what was going on inside.

Inside, some of the highest-ranking members of the Oriceran society were busy negotiating on a thriving black market, trading technology brought over illegally from Earth.

They all eyed the old Gnome. They were careful to stay in his favor. The prophets followers numbered in the thousands across Oriceran.

If it were to come out that politicians and business owners were giving themselves better deals than they offered the rest of Oriceran, it would damage their reputations forever and threaten their livelihood. It helped the Gnome bend them to his will.

Several of them tracked his movements carefully, waiting to see what happened next. He stepped over to a table where several Wood Elves had laid out the latest smartphones and were explaining their use to a couple of Light Elf brothers who served in the royal palace.

The black market had existed since the turn of the twentieth century when Earth started to have any technology worth stealing. Ever since then, prominent Oricerans watched with fascination and envy as the humans figured out how to make their world work for them in ways that Oricerans never imagined possible. Their cleverness and determination never ceased to amaze the Oricerans.

It didn’t take long before an enterprising Wood Elf figured out how to combine the organic with the new technology they were gathering, creating hybrids on Oriceran that were more powerful than their original design. Insects were turned into drones that could gather information without being noticed, and small engines replaced the hearts of the Oriceran version of a horse. They were a much larger beast than the variety found on Earth. They lived far longer and with the new engine were able to run for hours without needing a break. It was said, the engines were more effective than magic, especially for those with lesser skills.

All of it, of course, was illegal on Oriceran.

But it was a well-known fact among the elite that the well-connected Gnome was willing to look the other way as long as he received his share of the new technology. He made sure others looked away as well.

There was a special liaison assigned to make sure some piece of everything that came in went to the Gnome. That way, everyone got what they wanted.

There were good deals to be found for anyone enterprising enough and willing to take the necessary risks. Death or prison or even worse, the world in between.

The old Gnome encouraged all of it. The black market created a behind the scenes kind of chaos that was creating cracks in the society of Oriceran. So many different people keeping secrets from each other, damaging the trust between the species, teaching an entire generation of leaders to take what was theirs rather than share for the good of all.

It was exactly what he wanted. If he was to exact revenge for what happened six hundred years ago, then he would have to unravel Oriceran one thread at a time until it was too late, and dissent would be normal once again.

The old Gnome made a point of shaking hands and saying hello to a few key people before gathering the rucksack with his share. He paid a Mystic Dryad missing a wing a coin to carry the bundle for him back through the tangled jungle of the bustling market.

At the other end of the market, when he finally got back to the road, the regular stagecoach was arriving, making its usual stop.

The old Gnome went to stand at the back of the line, waiting to get on the stagecoach. Several recognized him and tried to wave him to the front, but he refused.

He knew he would soon have every luxury he ever dreamed of for over six hundred years. He could afford to sit up with the driver a few more times.

The rucksack was tied securely to the top of the stagecoach where the Gnome could keep an eye on it on the ride back to town.

When they arrived at his stop, the driver hopped down and waited for the Gnome, holding out his hand. The Gnome detested needing help but as long as this was his disguise, this was part of his character. He took the hand and jumped awkwardly down to the next step, almost falling to the ground, catching himself at the last moment. The other riders looked away in embarrassment for him, angering him further.

But he hid it all.

He waited patiently for the rucksack to be untied and held out his arms as the driver placed the bag in his arms. It overwhelmed him with its size. The driver looked like he wanted to say something but thought better of it.

“Have a good evening,” he said.

“Always do,” the Gnome replied. He walked slowly back along the road, around the bend, working his way to the woods. No one to see what he was doing but the beasts of the forest.

He was well into the known part of the woods before he made a sharp turn into the dark forest where no one ever roamed.

“Fleet of foot,” he said, casting an old spell, long forgotten by others. The dark magic came rumbling to life inside of him.

Birds scattered overhead, flying off in every direction.

He was able to run through the dark forest at an incredible speed, carrying the heavy load easily. Deep into the dark forest to the old oak, where he had built his lair.

“Things are progressing nicely,” he said, satisfied, when he was finally settled at home and the new mechanical bits and pieces were laid out. “Let’s see what we can do with all of this. More will be revealed, in due time.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Bill Somers could feel the sweat under his new tuxedo. Not a good sign. He was never very good under pressure. It wasn’t going to be easy setting up his reveal under the nose of Dean Muston. The man was everywhere that night, checking all the details and Somers was sure he had seen him once or twice casting a wary glance in his direction. A couple of times he saw him talking to someone, while looking over at Somers.

Somers half expected to see someone following him for most of the night like an academic babysitter. Clearly the dean saw him as a liability. It only made Somers want to pull this off that much more.

He’d been staying at Richard Randolph’s apartment, only slightly better than the one he had abandoned after he was ripped through a portal from his grimy bathroom.

Most of his time was spent studying old documents and working on the timing of wearing the necklace to open the portal. Everything he read that talked about doorways or openings to a better place said the same thing. It took a living host to access the energy in the artifact and stream it outward to open the portal.

He was still tempted to wear the necklace again, if only to calm his nerves. He patted the front of his jacket, checking that it was still safe inside his pocket. “Wait, just wait,” he mumbled. “Nothing can go wrong.”

Besides, there was no telling where the portal would open up this time and he didn’t want to risk running into any more large beasts that could rip his throat out.

“Soon enough,” he said quietly, wiping his face with a small cocktail napkin embossed with a shiny gold ‘one hundred’. He ran the checklist through his head again. He had been doing it all day, finding a small amount of comfort in it.

Mingle with others for the first part of the party. Wait till a few minutes before Muston’s speech and put on the necklace in the men’s room. Go back to mingling and work his way slowly toward the podium on the stage up front. Give himself the time to let the energy flow through him again. Maybe even make some points with his charm, for once. Let others, like the dean see his easygoing, positive side, even if it was enhanced.

Just as Muston was winding things up, Somers planned to slip backstage where the two plants were hidden and stride out onto the stage. The plants would be a small sideshow after the main event.

He closed his eyes and imagined the looks on everyone’s faces, especially Dean Muston, when it turned out Somers had been right all along, and the dean was a close-minded fool.

“You have everything ready?” Randolph was practically leaning against him, whispering in his ear, his hot breath against his face. Somers jumped, sloshing the drink in his hand.

“Don’t sneak up on me,” he hissed, a flood of anxiety pouring over him. “There’s too much at stake here!”

“You mean your career,” said Randolph, taking a step back. “People are going to freak when they see you disappear. You’re an intergalactic Houdini!”

“Those were sleight of hand. Stupid magic tricks,” snapped Somers. “This one night will finally reset the world’s history and everyone will remember I was the one who showed them the way. Like Moses.”

“You think he could have been from Oriceran?” asked Randolph, stopping a waiter to scoop several hot crab balls off the tray, popping them into his mouth. “Hot, hot, hot,” he said, holding his head back, his mouth wide open.

“Sometimes I have to wonder why we’re friends,” said Somers.

Randolph grabbed a half empty glass of champagne off a nearby table that an older woman was reaching for.

“Sorry,” he said, throwing it back. “Medical emergency. Ate too fast.”

Somers took the glass from Randolph’s hand, putting it back down. “Sorry, sorry,” he said in the direction of the scowling woman, and he pulled Randolph away.

He looked around for the dean and saw him chatting away with a small circle of men and women, using the charming laugh he reserved for large donors. He pulled Randolph behind a pillar, keeping his eye on the dean.

“You want to get us kicked out before we even get the chance to show everyone? Please tell me you have everything ready,” he demanded.

“I do, I swear I do,” said Randolph, biting down on the last crab ball. “Man, I never get to eat like this,” he said, looking around for a napkin. “Okay, okay, yes, I do. I paid the guy doing the lights for the stage the fifty bucks like you said to keep the spotlight on you, no matter what.”

“And?” he prompted, pulling the details out of Randolph.

“And I’ll be near the sound system to make sure no one cuts off the microphone till your big reveal. You really think this will work? You know, it’s not the worst thing in the world if it doesn’t. I mean, like, doesn’t work tonight. There are other days. You just have to have an audience. We could do that over and over again. Take it on the road even.”

“It’s not a Vegas act. This is science,” said Somers sternly. “Besides, you have no idea what I’ve gone through to show everyone,” he said. Not my fault, he thought, his stomach twisting into a knot. “When I pull this off tonight it will make up for all of it. Sometimes, sacrifices are made in the name of advancement. It’s an age old saying for a reason. People will look back and say, it was tragic but necessary. Besides, he wasn’t even from this planet!”

“What are you talking about? What exactly did you do on that planet? Are there some kind of intergalactic police after you?”

Somers went pale when he realized he’d said too much. “No, no,” he said, shaking his head. He grabbed Randolph by the shoulders. “Look, it was an accident.”

“What was an accident?”

“It happened so fast. I…”

“Somers!” Dean Muston stood next to them, frowning. “Staying out of the way over here. Probably for the best.” He fingered the lapel of Somers’ tuxedo. “Very nice, Somers. If I didn’t know how much you make I’d swear this was handmade. Glad to see you take something seriously, even if it’s not your work,” he sneered. “Randolph, are you in a wedding later?”

“I take my work very seriously,” he said quietly, his jaw clenched.

“What’s that? Couldn’t make out the words. Speak up. Oh, Mrs. Jarvis, so nice to see you,” he said, distracted by a large woman with a small dog in her purse. The dean was gone without waiting for an answer. There was a small, oval grease stain on Somers’ lapel where the dean had touched it.

“It’s time,” said Somers, clenching his fists at his side.

“But, you said you wanted to wait till Muston gave his speech. Had everyone settled down and bored to death so they’d pay attention. Not miss a thing!”

“I’m tired of waiting,” he said, his voice carrying. Several heads nearby turned to look. Somers gave a nervous smile and a small wave.

“I’ve waited long enough. Hell, a giant hole in the very air around them should attract enough attention. Give me fifteen minutes to rev this thing up and I’ll be good to go.”

“Should we do a hand thing or a high five for good luck?” asked Randolph, holding his hand up in the air. “Fist bump?” he asked, “No? Nothing? Okay, then,” he said, “ready to go. On three.” Somers turned, scanning the crowd and walked away, ignoring Randolph.

“Not even that. Hard to feel like I’m on a mission without some kind of official sendoff,” he said. “One, two, three, you can do this, Randolph,” he said. “Hey, how are you? Nice to see you,” he said to the couple passing by. “Nice night,” he said. “Hard to change the world these days. Hey, Bobby, we on target?” he asked, flagging down the man in charge of the spotlight.

Somers made his way to the men’s room, holding open the door for someone leaving as Correk and Leira entered the hall.

“Invitation,” said the large man in a tuxedo straining against his oversized biceps. A small woman in a long red dress stood next to him, checking off names. They both looked first at Correk and then to Leira.

Correk’s eyes glowed for only a moment.

“Nastratium,” he said softly. The pair blinked their eyes, glanced at each other and smiled at Correk and Leira.

“Welcome,” said the young woman.

“Enjoy yourself,” said the overdressed guard. “Ticket,” he said to the couple behind them.

“Nice move. How much energy did that cost you?” asked Leira.

“Child’s trick. A five-year-old knows how to do that one to convince a parent to let them stay up late. Even the Silver Griffins will ignore a trace of magic that small.”

“The Silver Griffins. We’ll need to straighten that out later. Giving back the necklace should go a long way with them.”

“We may be okay.” Correk hesitated. “The necklace is here,” said Correk. “I can feel it.”

“Is that what that is?” Leira put her hand on her stomach, feeling the energy pulsing through her.

Correk looked down at Leira, dressed in a dark green velvet ballgown. “I believe there is a saying here. You clean up well,” he said, taking in the curves that had emerged in the form-fitting sleeveless dress.

“Good thing we spotted that costume shop. Right out of Beauty and the Beast,” she replied. “Aren’t we cousins or something? Eyes up here,” she said, pointing at her face. “You can rock a hat. Lucky break, men sporting man buns, satchels, and hats indoors these days. Don’t know how we would have hidden your ears.”

“There’s a spell I found in an old book from the library but if I can avoid using the energy.”

“So you can save it for Somers.”

“Besides, satchels are quite common on Oriceran,” said Correk.

“Mmm, not a newsflash,” said Leira. “Let’s move around the room and see if we can ferret out Bill Somers and hopefully, the necklace. Maybe this will work like a kind of magic GPS.”

“You may be right. The rules are not proving to be exactly the same for magic here in your world as they are on Oriceran.”

“Unsettling to know,” she said, scanning the room. “I don’t see him. He has to be here.”

“He’s here. The necklace is growing more unstable and the presence of magical people is only making that worse.”

“We’re making things worse. Great. Is there some kind of app that will give me all of your magical rules?”

“We learn them as children. You’ll have to pick them up as we go along. There’s too many to stop and try to tell you. And, it’s not just us,” said Correk. “Believe it or not, you brush up against people whose family is originally from Oriceran all the time. We’ve been here for thousands of years.”

Leira saw a woman fanning herself with one of the programs listing tonight’s events. She looked flushed and confused. Here and there, around the room were different people, tugging at their collars or drinking down a glass of water.

“Hidden in plain sight,” said Leira. Her scalp prickled with the slowly growing heat from the energy already seeping out of the artifact. “There!” she pointed.

Bill Somers was leaving the men’s room, his face red and splotchy, making his way toward the steps that led up to the stage.

“You take the left side,” said Leira, hiking up the front of the dress. Underneath she was wearing her running shoes.

Correk looked down, raising his eyebrows.

“I’m still on the job,” said Leira. “My service weapon is under here, too. I’m not here for the party,” she said, elbowing her way through the tight crowd.

“Young lady! Young lady!” Dean Muston was shouting over the crowd at Leira. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Somers looked back to see what the dean was yelling about and saw Correk first. Even with a tuxedo and hat, it was clear to Somers that he was a Light Elf. He swung around and spotted Leira, who had pulled her badge out of the top of her dress and was flashing it at Somers.

“Stop right there!” she shouted.

“Somers!” shouted the dean. “What have you done?”

“Now!” said Randolph, signaling Bobby. The spotlight switched on and shone directly on Somers, blinding him. He staggered backward, not sure what to do next.

The necklace burned against his skin, and his confidence surged.

“This is my time,” he said, holding his arms out like a showman. “Screw the plants. I can show them later,” he said, closing his eyes and willing himself to feel the energy course through every particle of his being.

Leira reached out to grab his arm, followed closely by Dean Muston who had scrambled up the front skirt of the stage. He wanted to be sure to fire Somers before he was carted away.

Somers’ skin turned a deep red and a calm, deeper than anything he’d ever experienced, enveloped him. “It was just an accident,” he said. There was loud humming in his ears that made it difficult to hear all the shouting that was going on right in front of him.

Correk watched in horror as steam poured out of Somers’ collar, soaking his new suit.

“Welcome to Oriceran,” Somers shouted, opening his eyes. He looked confused and surprised looking out at the audience, turning in a circle as if he was expecting to see something else.

“No!” shouted Correk. “It’s too late. Something has gone wrong.”

“Got you,” said Leira, reaching for Somers. Correk yanked her arm away, lifting her off her feet. “What the hell?” She didn’t have the chance to say anything else.

Correk threw her as far as he could, knocking over several people who were watching the fight on the stage. She instinctively tucked and rolled, one hand on the front of her dress, the other reaching for the gun strapped to her thigh.

She stood and turned in time to see Correk leaping through the air, trying to pull the dean with him. At the last moment, Somers opened his eyes and saw the dean, grabbing him in a tight embrace.

Correk rolled over in mid-air, stretching out his arms toward the stage, his eyes glowing like embers and his entire body glowing with fiery symbols. “Hoomanna protector,” he yelled, throwing up an invisible wall of protection.

On the stage, a swirl of light started around Somers feet, encircling the dean as well, as it wound higher around them, faster and faster, until it was hard to see the two of them through the solid, pulsing light.

“Crack!” The sound was sharp and loud, and a rolling wave of clear energy spread out from the two men on stage, so powerful it pushed against the magical protection, bowing it in the center, sending shivers of blue electricity rippling through it, and knocking everyone to the floor.

Leira fell backward, her head hitting the wooden floor, making her squeeze her eyes shut for a moment. The impact knocked her breath out, making her gasp for air.

“Dammit,” she said, clenching her teeth against the pain. She made herself open her eyes and looked down to see if she was hurt. Her gun was still in her hand. She rolled over and saw Correk flat on his belly, starting to stir. The hat had flown off his head and his long hair was neatly pulled back, exposing his pointed ears.

“No time to worry about that one, right now,” said Leira, grimacing as she stood up, helping a woman nearby to her feet.

A man next to her was reaching for his glasses, the frames slightly bent in the blast but the glass still intact.

She made her way toward Correk and knelt next to him.

“You okay?” she asked, touching his shoulder. It was hard for Leira to hear over the ringing in her ears. Everything was muffled. She gave him a thumbs up with a questioning look and he nodded, pulling himself upright.

Leira ran for the stage.

All that remained was two piles of ash where Somers and the dean had been standing only seconds ago. Everything was incinerated.

“It’s all gone. Even the necklace,” Leira said to Correk as he rushed up next to her.

“Impossible,” he said, digging through the ashes with his bare hands. “That artifact by its nature would not destroy itself. It has to be here somewhere.”

“Where’s Bill?” asked a confused Randolph, staring at the ashes. Correk spread them out all over the floor, searching for the necklace. “That’s not…” Randolph said in horror.

“It’s gone!” Correk said, standing to get a better view of the crowd. He turned his attention to the back of the stage and found an exit to the alley.

Leira followed, looking in both directions, but there was nothing.

“I take it this is bad,” said Leira, “for many reasons.”

“Your assessment is on point. Somers was a full-blooded human being and his being couldn’t handle the surge of energy. He had no idea he was supposed to take it in small doses and store it or channel it. That crack you heard was the speed of light being passed as the energy surged forward.”

“That was a lot of magic back there. Our suspect has evaporated and the necklace is lost. Plus, you lit up like a Christmas tree and threw down with a magical shield.” Leira looked pensive.

“That about sums it up. We’ve exposed magic on a grand scale.”

A minivan pulled into the alley spitting gravel as it pulled to a stop right next to Leira and Correk. The side door slid open and out piled three wizards and a witch, their wands already out in front of them. They were all dressed in some form of workout clothes.

They nodded to Correk and Leira and rushed into the hall through the back door. The red exit sign glowed in the darkness.

The passenger side door opened and a witch with long dark hair and bangs said, “Get in and stay put.” She pushed her glasses back up her nose. “We’ll take it from here. We’ve been tracking you.” The witch jumped out of the car and followed the others.

Leira hesitated and went after her.

“This is my world,” she said. “Damned if I’ll turn over everything to out of town cops.”

“You’re from out of town,” said Correk, right behind her.

“I outrank anyone not from this planet.”

“You’re not…”

“Okay, I get it,” she snapped.

Inside, the wizards and witches stood in a tight circle, their backs to each other, as they held out their wands and chanted in unison, “Never was, never will be,” freezing everyone where they stood.

“What did you do?” Leira asked, waving her hand in front of a man frozen in mid-sentence. “Are they all right?”

“What, you’re still moving?” The wizard was startled. “You must be Leira. We heard about your elven blood. It must be strong in you. Let the others know we’ve located her,” he said into his phone. “The detective is safe and sound.”

“It’s that obvious,” said Leira. “The elven blood.”

“Quite. Royal Elven blood is hard to hide. Come on,” said one of the witches. “If you’re going to interfere at least help us get everyone back up in normal party poses. We only bought ourselves an extra few minutes doing the spell as a group.”

“Aren’t you here to arrest us?”

“Arrest you? We’ve been assigned to help you, dearie. The network has been keeping track of you, just in case you needed our assistance. Didn’t you get the memo? We lost you in the bowling alley but picked up on you again once you got to Chicago.”

“You were the ones tracking us,” said Leira.

“We were one group. Someone else was keeping an eye on your whereabouts but we were never able to determine who. Come on, there’s no time to stand around and chat. Help me with this big fellow.”

Leira helped the witch get a heavyset man back into a chair, and moved on to pose two waiters nearby, scooping up the spilled cheese puffs back onto his tray.

“Check the restroom,” said one of the witches. “Go on,” she said to the wizard. “I had to do it last time. It’s your turn.”

“Fuck me,” he said, but ran for the men’s room.

“Messy piece of business. Never know what you’ll find and have to get it all straight in a hurry,” she said, wrinkling her nose.

Another wizard used a portable vacuum cleaner and sucked up what remained of Bill Somers and Dean Muston.

“That’s going to confound the police for some time,” the witch observed, pushing up her glasses again. “Nothing to be done about that,” she told Leira. “There are a few of our kind on the Chicago police force. We gravitate to this line of work. That should help.”

“Okay, that just about does it. We all need to get out of here. They won’t remember the last thirty minutes of their lives and that should erase every memory of the two of you. That way when the police question everyone here about the mens’ disappearance, no one will describe you two.”

“We think Somers had an accomplice,” said Leira.

“It won’t matter. All he can do is talk about magic and portals. If he’s not careful, whoever he is, he’ll find himself in a padded room. Don’t worry,” she said, smiling at Leira. “We’ll keep watch. This kind of thing happens more than you realize. Not usually on this grand a scale,” she admitted, “but close.”

“Time to go,” said one of the wizards, breathing hard. He was posing a large man, making him look like he was laughing at someone’s joke.

“You can make their faces do that,” asked Leira, pushing the sides of someone’s mouth into a smile to test it out.

“Sure can,” said the witch. “We find it helps them ignore the momentary disorientation if they think they’re having a good time.

“This is not your first time,” she said to Correk, watching him deftly pose a woman. She looked like she was whispering something into another woman’s ear.

Leira looked out over the room and saw that everyone was smiling or laughing. One man was even bent over in laughter.

“I had a hard time getting him to stand up straight,” said a wizard, sheepishly. “Had to go with this.”

“Only about ten seconds left. We need to be gone like the wind,” said a witch.

The witch took one last look around the room and then ushered everyone quickly out the way they came in, piling into the minivan, shoving Leira and Correk into the middle seat.

“What just happened back there?” Leira asked jerking a thumb over her shoulder.

“The prince’s death was avenged, granted, in an unexpected and unconventional manner and the necklace is still lost,” responded Correk, concern written on his face. “Someone beat us to it.”

“That will have to be for another day,” said the witch from the front seat.

“Agreed,” said Correk. “The necklace has lost most of its power.”

“Still, even with only half it’s a powerful artifact,” said a wizard.

“We’ll send out a description through the magical world here on Earth,” said the witch. “If it turns up we’ll hear about it. The Order thanks you for your service. We’ll file a report and for the time being, this matter is closed.”

“We’ve done all we can for now and there are other matters for us to get to.” said Corrik, looking around.

“Like my mother.” She nodded her head. “You’re right. She’s waited long enough and so have I.”

FINIS

The Troll Owns Us

So, when Martha and I were kicking around how to explain the world’s history, I told here we HAD to add in a sidekick…Something fun…something cute … a troll.

(Her idea of cute is WAY off normal… but I digress.)

However, the Troll didn’t have a name (ok, a name that was cute), until a fateful plane trip between New York, USA and Barcelona, Spain when I was reading Martha’s beta of the story.

I read “Yum fuck” and LOST it. It was making me laugh too much and I knew we had to change the name from her original name, to …

Yumfuck… then we played with different versions etc. until we both loved Yumfuck Tiberius Troll… YTT for those who need a “G” rating ;-)

Because, the power is in the name, right?

We talked about merchandise and everything, but there just wasn’t time.  Until Monday.  On Monday, you readers made Martha’s dream become a reality and I wanted to give her something that would mean something special.  So, I grabbed the artwork we had, and worked on it to place it up on Society 6 (where we have Kurtherian swag as well) just so I could order her a mug.

Well, the instructions say “make an image at least 6500 pixels on the shortest side” but they don’t tell you what that means, or exactly how many products that image can be put on.

So, when I uploaded the image, it created a TON of products.  Now, I was secretly wondering if my wife would notice if we had this troll show up everywhere in the house, or not?  I mean, she wouldn’t notice if I switched out the shower curtain, right?

Or the bath mat?

How about the cups and mugs, notebooks or iphone cover?

I decided maybe I would send Martha her mug (I did) and get myself a couple of things that wouldn’t cause my wife to think I’d lost my damned mind.

“But,” the Author says, pleading to his wife when she points to the new pillows on the bed, “He’s so damned CUTE!”

If you want to see just how many places Yumfuck can show up, check out the Society6 page now.  From time to time, they will have huge sales (either free shipping, or % off or upon rare occasions, they will do both!)

Yumfuck’s store is here: http://oriceran.com/cool-troll-stuff

Author Notes - Martha Carr

Written August 2, 2017

What do I say about all the readers who made a life-long dream that was over thirty years old come true in less than a few hours?

I’m not sure, I am struggling with it right now.

It was even one of you who had to point that rare thing out to me because I never expected to see it.

It was my first time – I didn’t know to look!

But there it was. A little orange flag that reads, ‘BEST SELLER’! And if that wasn’t enough, then all of you wrote in, left reviews, sent messages that said how much you love Leira Berens, you love the characters, you love the story – you love the ENTIRE UNIVERSE!

You were even asking, where’s the next one? How much longer?

Boy, is this a lot of fun, and well worth the wait. Everything happens in its own time.

Monday was an all-around amazing day!

Then the grown offspring, Louie called right after I noticed and I had to take a few breaths so I wouldn’t cry on the phone. He said “great” and then wanted to tell me about his day.

Ha! This is why offspring are very useful. Back to reality, get back to work. Be a fellow among fellows.

And he’s right. There are stories to weave and magic spells to create and some adventures to go on…

Plus, there are FOUR MORE AUTHORS coming along behind me. (SM Boyce, Abby-Lynn Knorr, Flint Maxwell, Sarah Noffke).

Lots to do to build this universe, as well as get to know all of you better too. So much fun…

But this result for me was thirty years in the making – just one more look back… back to what I was saying in those first author notes about dreams back in Quest for Magic, Book 0.

I made a wish as a kid the first time I walked into the Philadelphia library and my dad said, “If you can carry the books, you can check them out.”

I was stunned.

We were pretty poor and I was a preacher’s kid - #4 in a line of 5 kids. The idea of unlimited anything really didn’t happen for us.

And books… wonderful, magical, take-you-anywhere books. I devoured the stories and kept going back for more. I made that wish that someday I could do the same thing and write a magical story that would take someone else on a ride and let them know, the world is a lot bigger place than they ever imagined.

Tell them, Go for it – I believe in your dreams!

Well, yesterday, all of you helped me get to that place.

I will never forget and I will be forever grateful to each and every one of you.

I’m telling you, it was a magical day all the way around. Dreams do come true – and sometimes they take just a little collaboration and a lot of other wonderful readers – exactly like you. So, thank you from the bottom of my heart.

One last thing… If you’ve read this far, you know the troll’s real name – and we read how much you LOVE, LOVE, LOVE the troll too. So… if you want a little somethin, somethin for yourself go to: https://society6.com/product/yt-troll-revelations-of-oriceran-c_mug#s6-7392665p30a27v200. I already got some for myself (coffee mug) and more creatures are coming!

Make it so… (Yeah, I had to go there. ;) )

<Edit by Michael - Martha didn’t know I added the Yumfuck’s store when she wrote these Author Notes… I left the link in on purpose. Why? Because I desperately what to see Yumfuck t-shirts and stuff out in the real world.>

Author Notes - Michael Anderle

08/02/2017

I’m sitting on the same couch, just about 50 hours or so after Quest for Magic, Book 0 of The Revelations of Oriceran went live.

And I’m so damned surprised and happy.

Each time another one of my collaborations comes out, I fear I have failed my collaborator some how, some way. Did we dream up the right story to explain the Universe? Are the fans going to like this weird set of characters we put together this time?

How about the fact that we took on a whole new universe?

One of our reviewers said it best and I’ll do them the fair shake of clipping the first part of the review, before I comment (from Amazon.co.uk)

A great introduction to a new universe that leaves you wanting more

By Mr P McLean on 1 Aug. 2017

Format: Kindle Edition

I have read all of the Kurtherian Gambit and all of the expanded Universe books so was highly expectant of this new venture into the Oriceran Universe. You must have been really nervous to open up this whole new world to an established voracious fan base. Well done! Totally worth it. I immediately felt myself being drawn into the worlds and characters without wondering about what would BA do in this situation? … (more follows.)

Mr. P. McLean is absolutely right. I was INCREDIBLY nervous to start a second Universe with a very successful first universe in play. First, the two universes are dissimilar to some degree, but not so far apart that fans of one, won’t like the other.

However, the bigger fear was born of the comments about how music artists or bands usually have an incredibly tough time with their sophomore album and THAT is where my desire to chew my nails down to the bone came from.

While we only have the first book (the introduction) out, and this book (Waking Magic) is the next test, it seems we have some amazing fans who have clapped us on the back and said ‘Well done, well done indeed…Now, hurry up with the next book!’ and to you and those who bought and read, I say THANK YOU.

I have about as much success in Indie Publishing as I should ever hope to wish for, and then some more after that. In my early days in Nov-Dec of 2015, my goal was to be a one percenter.  You know, top 1% of Amazon’s 200,000+ authors meant I was hoping to jump into the top 2,000 authors on Amazon.

Now, through you amazing fans, a lady by the name of Bethany Anne and some amazing collaborations, I’m a top 100 Amazon Author.

It still feel’s SO damned cool to type that…Just saying ;-)

I set out in early 2016 to help other Indie Authors just because I could, and I didn’t care about how it was ‘done before me.’

That effort became 20Booksto50k.

Then, the people in that group kept saying ‘why don’t we have a conference?’ and Craig Martelle (yes, THAT Craig Martelle of Terry Henry Walton Chronicles fame) said ‘I’ll do it’ and by God, he has! (One Indie authors conference in Vegas in November 2017, one in London in February, 2018.)

Next, I wanted to see if I could help teach a new way of story telling (basically, was I a special Unicorn (that isn’t a compliment, by the way), or could other’s learn a new way of writing … could I share my style?) so in late 2017, we started the Age’s in Kurtherian Gambit and I’m super happy to say “HELL YEAH” they are very successful and the fans have (by and large, not everyone) loved the different authors and their stories…

Then, as I mentioned last book… I wanted to play with another idea and Oriceran was born.

But, could I do it? Could I create a new Universe and take what I thought I learned from the readers and the fans and deliver another cool experience?

Or, once again, was I just fortunate with The Kurtherian Gambit.

It seems, so far, the response has been… “Shut up about your worries already, when is the next book coming out?”

And that is the BEST response you fans can give us.

So, thank you!

Michael

Want more?

Join the email list here:

http://oriceran.com/email/

Find the Oriceran Universe on Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/OriceranUniverse/

Find the Oriceran Universe on Pinterest:

https://www.pinterest.com/lmbpn/pins/

The email list will be a way to share upcoming news and let you know about giveaways and other fun stuff. The Facebook group is a way for us to connect faster – in other words, a chat, plus a way to share new spy tools, ways to keep your information safe, and other cool information and stories. Plus, from time to time I’ll share other great indie authors’ upcoming worlds of magic and adventure. Signing up for the email list is an easy way to ensure you receive all of the big news and make sure you don’t miss any major releases or updates.

Enjoy the new adventure!

Martha Carr and Michael Anderle 2017

Martha Carr Social

Website:  http://oriceran.com/

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/ChroniclesofLeira/

Michael Anderle Social

Website:  http://kurtherianbooks.com/

Email List:  http://kurtherianbooks.com/email-list/

Facebook Here:  https://www.facebook.com/TheKurtherianGambitBooks/

Michael Anderle

Kurtherian Gambit Series Titles Include:

First Arc

Death Becomes Her (01) - Queen Bitch (02) - Love Lost (03) - Bite This (04)

Never Forsaken (05) - Under My Heel (06) - Kneel Or Die (07)

Second Arc

We Will Build (08) - It’s Hell To Choose (09) - Release The Dogs of War (10)

Sued For Peace (11) - We Have Contact (12) - My Ride is a Bitch (13)

Don’t Cross This Line (14)

Third Arc (2017)

Never Submit (15) - Never Surrender (16) - Forever Defend (17)

Might Makes Right (18) - Ahead Full (19) - Capture Death (20)

Life Goes On (21)

**New Series**

The Second Dark Ages

The Dark Messiah (01)

The Darkest Night (02)

The Boris Chronicles

* With Paul C. Middleton *

Evacuation

Retaliation

Revelation

Restitution 2017

Reclaiming Honor

* With JUSTIN SLOAN *

Justice Is Calling (01)

Claimed By Honor (02)

Judgement Has Fallen (03)

Angel of Reckoning (04)

Born Into Flames (05)

Defending The Lost (06)

The Etheric Academy

* With TS PAUL *

ALPHA CLASS (01)

ALPHA CLASS - Engineering (02)

ALPHA CLASS (03) Coming soon

Terry Henry “TH” Walton Chronicles

* With CRAIG MARTELLE *

Nomad Found (01)

Nomad Redeemed (02)

Nomad Unleashed (03)

Nomad Supreme (04)

Nomad’s Fury (05)

Nomad’s Justice (06)

Nomad Avenged (07)

Nomad Mortis (08)

Nomad’s Force (09)

Trials and Tribulations

* With Natalie Grey *

Risk Be Damned (01)

Damned to Hell (02)

Hell’s Worst Nightmare (03) coming soon

The Ascension Myth

* With Ell Leigh Clarke *

Awakened (01)

Activated (02)

Called (03)

Sanctioned (04)

Rebirth (05)

The Age of Magic

The Rise of Magic

* With CM Raymond / LE Barbant *

Restriction (01)

Reawakening (02)

Rebellion (03)

Revolution (04)

The Hidden Magic Chronicles

* With Justin Sloan *

Shades of Light (01)

Shades of Dark (02)

Storms of Magic

*With PT Hylton*

Storms Raiders (01)

Storm Callers (02)

Tales of the Feisty Druid

*With Candy Crum*

The Arcadian Druid (01)

The Chronicles of Oriceran

The Leira Chronicles

*With Martha Carr*

Quest for Magic (0)

Waking Magic (1)

SHORT STORIES

Frank Kurns Stories of the Unknownworld 01 (7.5)

You Don’t Mess with John’s Cousin

Frank Kurns Stories of the Unknownworld 02 (9.5)

Bitch’s Night Out

Bellatrix: Frank Kurns Stories of the Unknownworld 03 (13.25)

With Natalie Grey

AudioBooks

CLICK HERE TO SEE ALL LMBPN BOOKS ON AUDIBLE

Available at Audible.com and iTunes

The Kurtherian Gambit

Death Becomes Her - Available Now

Queen Bitch – Available Now

Love Lost – Available Now

Bite This - Available Now

Never Forsaken - Available Now

Under My Heel - Available Now

Kneel or Die - Available Now

Reclaiming Honor Series

Justice Is Calling

Claimed By Honor

Judgment Has Fallen

Angel of Reckoning

Terry Henry “TH” Walton Chronicles

Nomad Found

Nomad Redeemed

Nomad Unleashed

Nomad Supreme

Nomad’s Fury

The Etheric Academy

Alpha Class

Alpha Class 2

Anthologies

Glimpse

Honor in Death

(Michael’s First Few Days)

Beyond the Stars: At Galaxy's Edge

Tabitha’s Vacation

Table of Contents

Contents

Dedication

Legal

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

YTT Store

Author Notes - Martha Carr

Author Notes - Michael Anderle

Social Links

Series List