Elfish by Julie Steimle (best historical fiction books of all time .txt) 📕

Daniel searched for a rent-a-car place next. He had to get back to Oxford before they did.

Chapter Six

Puck-the-owl chased after the scent of his dear friend on the wind as fast as his wings could carry him. He never would have done this a century ago. But he was desperate to help her—and that mortal pyromaniac Daniel Smith whom he had become particularly fond of despite having a witch for a sister.

Thing was, he had learned long ago to let things alone. It was not his job to tame the mortal realm or get in between elvish squabbles. His job was to encourage creativity, life, and happiness. He had his ups and downs. And he had his skeletons in his proverbial closets. So when Daniel showed up and begged for his help to find his dear friend whom he had left alone since the 80’s, it had startled him.

Yes, he was the infamous Robin Goodfellow, also known as Puck. But he was just a pookah—or a hobgoblin as some liked to call him. One of the damned, in the view of many Catholics. As elves went, he was a nobody. In faerie hierarchy, he was a mere footman for faerie queens. Was. He had long fled the service of rather wicked elf queen who, if she ever had the mind to track him down, would tear him limb from limb and eat his heart. She had nearly caught up with him when he was messing around with William Shakespeare who was just plain fun. But Daniel Smith’s arrival had woken something in him that he had not felt since forever, and he felt duty bound now to help him.

Puck could smell the elfish raven had landed down a westward town just south of the forested area comprising the North Wessex Downs and Chiltern Hills. It was village called Cold Ash. When he landed on a rooftop there, he could already tell she had gone.

Puck-the-owl flew down to investigate.

Over the hubbub and human chatter between the Bobbies and the local plebs, he found out that the elf had ravaged a small tea shop run by a ‘harmless’ little old lady. When he got a closer look, he saw she was about as harmless as Belladonna. And she sold unusual teas. The shop itself was in shambles. It looked like a tornado had hit it. Practically all the teacups were shattered, and the woman’s clothes and face were shredded as if a cat had clawed her up in search of catnip which had been hidden in her bra.

Cat form. She had taken cat form. Heather had not taken cat form in ages. She was no longer Heather Wood….

Shuddering, Puck-the-owl flew up again. His Elf friend clearly had gotten what she was after, but had not gone home. Tasting the wind, feeling her trajectory, he could tell she was heading north at an angle, as the crow flies.

“Damn,” he swore, wishing Daniel were there to curse at. The man was trouble. Good trouble, but trouble. And Puck wished the Holy Seven hadn’t come looking for her—at least, not now. But it all seemed connected. Their peace as about to end. All peace. Daniel had said it was the End Times, but Puck had not wanted to believe it.

It took the greater portion of the day to reach where the Elf-gone-black-bird had flown. And he already missed her when he landed, breathless, atop another roof. This time he was north of the Cotswolds in a town called Halford, and it was nearing sunset.

Resting atop the steeple of St. Mary’s Church, he listened to the trees and shrubbery tell him what the Elf had done when she arrived. It was rather exciting, actually. All the plants and animals of England still knew her. They had celebrated when she had arrived, though they were dismayed she had come with a focused vengeance. According to them, she went after a young woman who had just arrived in her car to the town from a trip down south. The Elf had laid siege to the car, recruiting local birds in the attack. Even now, Puck could hear people comparing the event to the Hitchcock movie. Puck had asked the birds where his friend had gone next, and they all pointed him to the southwest, somewhere towards Chiltern Hills.

“Damn,” he swore again. What was she doing? She could have gone to Chiltern Hills right after Cold Ash. Where was her brain? “Where is she going next?” he asked the birds.

They gave him scattered responses.

“Then find out,” he muttered, realizing he was too exhausted to play this catch up game. Those witches had meddled with his beloved friend, and they had said it was not about the hair. And as much as he believed it was a lie, it was also the truth. It was more than that. A lot more.

On command, the birds from the village scattered out toward the neighboring ones, spreading the word in search of the rampaging elf.

Sitting atop the roof, Puck continued to catch his breath. He also thought things over. Despite disliking the arrival of the Seven into their lives—there was another thing he liked about Daniel. He wasn’t just fast, he was smart. He knew that sometimes research got you places faster than running around. Closing his eyes, Puck shifted physically again to his most recent favorite form—the boy in jeans who liked to skateboard. Immediately, he slid off the roof and down to the ground to gather more information, how Daniel would.

On skateboard, while roving innocently around as any kid, Puck listened to the town chatter.

“… swooped down on her. It was mad!”

“What would make the birds do that?”

“5G! I tell you, it is the 5G towers!”

Puck smothered a chuckle amused at how mortals thought. He loved it when they blamed tech for things. It kept them blind to the supernatural. Not that he was a fan of 5G or anything like it. Certain radio frequencies did mess with the equilibrium in the animals and they hated it. Honestly, he was surprised other elves didn’t go around sabotaging the towers. He had. And he was sure his friend had as well. It was one of the reasons the town of Wells had considered her a nuisance. She messed with their WiFi. But he did not pick up much else from the locals until he saw the woman who had been attacked. She smelled like a witch, with all the herbs and oils and peculiar spices they used in their potions; and he could tell that the Elf had indeed taken back her hair before the witch could use it against her. The witch was covered in scratches, though these looked like they were from a falcon and other birds. But where did his friend go from there?

A bird landed on Puck’s shoulder, twittering what news it had gotten.

Several townspeople turned their heads, staring at him. The witch most especially did, going white.

He smiled and waved, walking away before skating away on his board before the witch could do anything.

“Where did she go?” he asked the bird.

The bird said it again.

Rumor among the flocks was the Elf had gone to High Wycombe, which was this town encircled by forest. All the animals were in a tizzy there, anticipating her arrival. It was far to the south east. Puck knew he would not be able to get there in time. He had no choice but to anticipate her next, if not final location. The problem was, most birds were not deep thinkers, and they really did not care or think that far ahead. Crows were worth talking to, of course. They were smarter than the rest. Ravens also. If he could find one, he would get the help that he needed. But even then, to anticipate her next move took a different sort of mind. A human one.

Shifting forms back into that old potato-faced tramp he had been in Wells, Puck decided to follow that witch back to her home. If anyone would know where his friend was going, they would. It was their scheme after all.

The witch ended up at the Halford Bridge Inn. He drew in a breath, realizing she wasn’t a local after all. Old-Tramp-Puck slid into a spot inside the pub where he paid for some ale and just sat there, waiting. The sound of creaking wood and flies that were struggling to get into the cool distracted his thoughts as he waited and looked for a solution to his problem, hoping to see her. But after a few minutes of this, it offered to him that the witch was probably upstairs making a phone call and would not be down until late. So, he glanced secretly about to see if the inn would allow him to use the loo. And they did, not even giving his look a glance. There, in the small lavatory, he shrank into a rat and scurried into the walls to find the witch’s room. It took a lot of sniffing and listening for her voice.

He found her in a side room with a view. Puck listened within wall gap as she talked—his lucky guess paying off.

“…gone. She should be in Fairford tonight if she does not stop for a rest.”

<< She should be infuriated enough. Did you try to stall her? >>

Puck-the-rat bated his breath. Fairford. That was to the west of where the birds had said.

“I tried. I really did. But she was like…. I wet my knickers, ok? I gave her the hair before she took more blood than necessary.”

<< How much of your blood did she spill? >>

“I sufficient amount for it to work. I gave my fair share.”

Gave? Shivers went through Puck’s whiskers and down to his tail. His ears twitched as he heard the witch on the phone say, << Good. You’ve done your part. Now come in. He’ll need you to help contain her. >>

Contain her? Done her part? Gave her fair share of blood? Holy hollyhocks! It was a trap! And worse, it was a spell. Something bigger. They weren’t just after her hair. They were after her. But why had they not just done it at Wells?

Puck-the-rat scurried toward an exit hole. However, he halted when he heard the witch murmur, “Did you stop him? That Yankee knight?”

<< He ‘borrowed’ Chelsea’s car. >>

“You mean stole!”

<< At sword point. But we delayed him. However, he has a fellow Yank up in Oxford already. What I want to know is why are the Yankee Seven targeting this elf? >>

Puck’s rat body shivered. They didn’t actually know who is dear friend was? Thank all the heavens and Oberon! That was an advantage.

“I have no idea. But I did hear the one at the British museum is looking for a cure for the vimp.”

<< How is that connected? >>

“Maybe they think this elf has the power to end it. Or maybe they think she knows more about the vimp’s