Elfish - Julie Steimle (books for 6 year olds to read themselves .TXT) 📗

yet dead, witch. “Too late now, faerie boy.”

 He turned. His eyes went black and glassy. “You bloody witch. What do you have planned for her?”

“You’ll see,” she cackled, sitting up with effort. Her eyes trailed to the fire with a flicker of resigned dismay.

He wanted to kill her right there. However, he had feeling if more blood were spilt on that land, things would only get worse.

He rushed out of the house, mind in panic mode. Where ought he go? Oxford where Daniel was headed and his friend Peter was waiting? Or Wells, where the townspeople were destroying his friend’s remaining trees? Which needed him more?

Shaking off his human form, Puck lifted into owl shape and flapped into the sky. One thing was for certain, he could not let this alone.

The Presentation

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Seven

 

Saturday morning, Peter just felt off. The air felt off. There was a pressure in it that he could not explain. All the birds in the sky were extremely restless and woke him early. That alone was unsettling.

Daniel had kept him up-to-date about the Elf situation. The Elf was after the witches who stole her hair, and he was on his way to Oxford, but was having trouble due to the witches who were on his tail. He had stolen one of their cars yet had to abandon it as it started to malfunction on the road. Pretty sneaky how those witches were able to sabotage their own car. Daniel had gone on foot in Bath, hoping to catch a train to Oxford from there. But he had to ditch the train when someone had pegged him as a ‘wanted car thief’ and he did not have time to hassle with law enforcement. The witches moved fast, and apparently they had a tight network. The good news was that Puck was heading off the Elf and might be able to stop the entire disaster from happening.

Might, Daniel had said. Daniel was not one to doubt the capacity of his ‘teammates’, but Peter could tell Daniel thought the witches were well-prepared, and they (meaning he and Peter) might have underestimated their adversaries this time around.

Thinking on his options, Peter figured he had only one course of action. He needed to stay at Oxford and attend the lecture, keeping his eyes peeled for those witches. If he could get the Elf’s stolen hair, he would be able to stop this.

He went out for breakfast, then met up with Prof. Taylor who was at his office, strangely, talking to campus security.

“What’s this?” Peter said as he marched up to them, a shiver of worry stroking the back of his brain.

Prof. Taylor and the security officer turned. Grief was all over the professor’s face. He beckoned Peter over, speaking in whispers. “My office. It was broken into.”

“Was anything stolen?” Peter asked, looking to the security officer who was examining Peter. Peter had reverted back to his striped shirts, deciding it was best to just be himself when he went about campus.

“Yes.” The professor’s face seemed to go paler. “They records you were researching from. Gone.”

Peter went white. “You’re kidding.”

Prof. Taylor shook his head. “No. And someone said they saw you taking them. But that’s ridiculous. I gave you a key.”

Digging into his pockets, Peter lifted it out. “I still have it.”

The security officer nodded. That was enough for him

“Exactly.” Wringing his hands, the professor moaned. “Who would do this?”

“Someone who wants to stop my research?” Peter suggested peeking toward the desks and shelves, just in case something suspicious stood out him.

Prof. Taylor nodded meaningfully. “Or wants to frame you, and get you kicked out of Oxford.”

“Whoever they are, they did not think things through.” Peter shook his head. Nothing looked out of place or added on. “They did not realize I have full access to your files, with permission. Or that my research is done.”

“Done?” Prof. Taylor’s eyes widened on him. 

Peter nodded. “We found her.”

 

They carried on their conversation on the way to the lecture. Campus security continued to work with the police over the break-in, searching for evidence of who had done it. Peter suggested they wait until Daniel arrived to hunt down the stolen manuscripts. Daniel was better at finding lost things than him. It was a knack of his. That, and Daniel knew more magic than Peter did.

“… In Wells?” The professor was astonished when he heard all that Daniel had told Peter. “Witches?”

Peter nodded. “Yes. I keep telling you. Witches are real. They’re not caricatures of Halloween, though. I grew up in a town full of them. They harassed my family on a regular basis.”

“But why?” The professor appeared likely to wet his pants.

Shrugging as if it were nothing, Peter replied as they selected seats in the middle yet near the center aisle for the lecture—which was open to the public and had reporters as well as bloggers there. “We saw too much, and we believed it.”

The room was filling almost every seat. Peter kept the one next to the aisle open for Daniel, though. Most of the attendees looked like the usual collection of professorial folklorists, historians, and the odd conspiracy geek who really believed in the supernatural, yet really wasn’t connected to it in any dangerous way. There were even LARPers who were there out of fond memory for JRR Tolkien and were probably wondering if this professor was producing more of the same thing—a reimagined folklore. But in the front row Peter spotted Pat and Imogen—and Eunice was there.

“She was in Wells,” Peter murmured. His eyes searched around for Mia—who had to have brought the Elf’s hair.

Prof. Taylor looked over. “You’re not saying that she—?”

“Is a witch? Yeah. She is.” Peter glanced to his watch, wishing Daniel would get there. He realized that he needed him. Daniel had a sword and knew how to use it. He just had his firestone and his wits. Peter had a feeling that he needed a knight against those witches. And he would not be enough to quell an angry Elf.

A man sat down in the empty seat next to him, speaking immediately in a thick Irish brogue, “Do ya think he’ll really produce an elf?”

Both Prof. Taylor and Peter looked to him.

Nothing really felt off about the man. He was dressed in a comfortable suit which he did not seem as comfortable in. He had the look of a sweater-wearing kind of guy—but it was too hot for those. However, Daniel’s seat was now gone.

“Pardon?” Peter blinked at him.

The man grinned back. “Hi. Sorry for the intrusion, but when you get a chance to sit next to the Witchdoctor, you take it.”

Oh, Peter thought, a football fan.

“I’m Sean Dougan, by the way.” He extended a hand.

Peter glanced at it, not sure if it was a trap. Witches took all shapes and sizes, and the man was wearing a musky cologne which could mask herbal smells.

“Prof. Taylor.” The professor reached across and gripped Sean’s hand for a firm shake. Sean smiled.

And nothing happened.

That released his worry enough that Peter shook the man’s hand next. There was no spell. There was no magic.

“What brings you here, Mr. Dougan?” Prof. Taylor asked, noticing how unsettled Peter was.

Sean smiled widely. “Oh, rumor, mostly. I’m a professor out in Dublin, actually. I teach Irish culture, myths, language and history.”

Peter smiled. “Ah, you are what my friend Daniel wants to be. He’s into mysticism and folklore. He should be coming, shortly.”

“Oh!” Sean rose from chair, flushing. “Was this seat for him?”

“Settle down.” Peter waved it away. “I have a feeling he will be late.”

“What have you heard about Prof. Birtwistle’s lecture that drew you here?” Prof. Taylor asked.

As Sean replied, settling into the seat again, Peter felt a sting in his palm. And he heard the breath of someone with a familiar smell sit behind him who whispered, “So you came. I heard you were getting arrested.”

Peter stiffened. Malcom Dicks. He knew the guy’s voice and the scent of his breath. Admittedly, he had not pegged the man as a witch. Then again, in the museum, the man smelled mostly of preservatives and rubbing alcohol. It started to occur to Peter that Malcom had done that on purpose to throw him off. Apparently he had been spied on longer than he had thought. The witches must have known he was one of the Seven from the beginning. He wondered how long they had been watching him.

“…this lecture. True or not, evidence of elves would be amazing.” Sean grinned at Peter whom he could tell was distracted. “What draws you here? I heard you had a thing for Egyptology—not British folklore.”

Drawing a breath, Peter replied, trying to be pleasant, “I’m actually here connected to the Egyptology department at the British Museum in London. But I have a friend who would be here—Daniel, the one I told you about. This is up his alley. I am here for him.”

Malcom snorted with amusement. Hyper aware of him now, Peter grit his teeth. Clearly he knew Daniel had been delayed. He probably would be late. That was not good. And they were in a crowd, so Peter could so nothing about it for now. He was in their territory. He had to be careful.

“Ah,” Sean said, nodding. “So, you are saving his seat.”

Peter shook his head. “No. Actually, my friend Dan got me interested in this sort of thing. I’ve already heard Prof. Birtwistle was the foremost expert in elf lore from Prof. Taylor here, whom I was told was the foremost expert in elf lore by other people.”

The professor nodded to Sean.

“Really?” Sean’s eyes brightened. A sense of opportunity swelled in him.

Peter nodded. He then immediately got up. “Let’s switch seats. I’d think you’d benefit in gaining acquaintance with him more than with me.”

Sean rose and Peter stepped to the aisle seat they had been saving for Daniel, allowing Sean sit next to the professor. It also prevented Malcom from sitting behind him during the lecture, breathing down his neck with a curse. Win-win.

Malcom muttered something under his breath. Peter snatched at his crystal and snapped his fingers. Whatever Malcom was doing or handling, he dropped it with a yelp.

“I really appreciate this,” Sean said, grinning wider. He looked to Prof. Taylor. “So, you and Prof. Birtwistle go way back?”

Prof. Taylor nodded, smiling fondly on this new man, glancing to Peter also with warning. He was no fool. He could see Peter needed them safely out of his way. This was going to get tense.

Malcom was about to say something else when Prof. Birtwistle marched into the room. The professor was dressed in a clean gray suit, his ruddy beard trim, and his eyes searching the audience as he stepped up to the podium, setting down his notes. Several attendees began with applause, greeting him. But they hushed when the professor raised his hands and spoke.

“To skip all prevarication and chatty introductions—the subject of this speech is the nature of god-elves and ‘The Woman of Many Names’. But to get there, I need to backtrack for the uninitiated, so bear with me.” The professor gazed deeper into the crowd, his eyes taking in the numerous familiar faces. He spotted Prof. Taylor with Sean, then saw Peter sitting with his arms folded at