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

Puck felt like laughing at that. Cure the vimp? The demon. These Seven truly were hopeless if that was what they were doing. He inched further out, almost gone from her walls when he heard the witch say, “When the Elf finishes the pentagram, where will you be?”

He stopped, listening.

<< At stage three. We need a plan for if this fails. It’s one thing spying on the Unseelie Court and collecting faerie items. It is quite another awakening god-elf that had found redemption as a destroying angel. They say those angels never lose their weapons. They just go dormant. >>

Scurrying out, Puck hurried back into the loo and rushed out of the inn.  Taking shelter atop St. Mary’s Church again, he fluttered back into owl shape, shuddering. And thinking.

This was really bad. They had partial information, but not the whole of it. And for the first time he wished he owned a cell phone. That was the advantage of being human. Having a stable identity that allowed them consistent tech was so convenient. He would have to steal a phone or borrow one. Pay phones were, sadly, a thing of the past.

Fluttering off the roof again, Puck decided to go inside the church. Maybe they had a phone.

Taking skater-boy form again, looking to the priest who was straightening books in the pews, Puck decided to play lost child. He had lost his cell-phone, he said, and he needed to call his father for a ride.

The priest was obliging, but he also sat in on the call, remaining in the office where the phone was. That part was annoying.

Daniel picked up on the second ring. << This is Swift. Who’s this? >>

“This is Robin. I—”

<< Found her? >> Daniel sounded hopeful. He also sounded like he was not driving but was in a wooded area. Puck could hear animals in the background and creaking of trees as well as his footfalls over sticks, moss, and brambles. Was Daniel on foot?

“I wish,” Puck-the-skater kid said, wondering what had happened to Daniel and the car he had stolen. “I’m at the St. Mary’s Church in Halford and—”

<< The witches are doing everything in their power to stop me from returning to Oxford. I think that is where she is going to end up. >> The sound of breaking sticks and walking came more heavily from his side.

Puck nodded. “Yeah, but if I can stop her—”

<< Then stop her. But you’re not calling for that are you? >> He could hear Daniel pause for breath, the creak of the trees in his ears. Puck tried to guess where Daniel had ended up. It sounded like the Cotswolds near Bath. He must have abandoned the car there. Or got in an accident.

The priest eyed Puck-the-skater kid, listening critically. Rolling his eyes, Puck said, “Look. There is a priest here listening into this conversation. I told him I was calling home and—”

<< Hand him the phone. >>

Puck did.

He could not hear what Daniel was saying, and at first the priest maintained a skeptical expression—until halfway through when he paled. His eyes whipped onto Puck. He handed the phone back, fingers shaking.

“What did you tell him?” Puck inquired.

Daniel chuckled, << The right things. The point is, he’ll help you. Now what do you need from me? You would not call if you did not need something. >>

Nodding, Puck then explained what he had heard through the walls as a rat. When he finished, Daniel murmured, << Pentagram? When the Elf finishes the pentagram? Robin, what places do you know that she’s been to so far? >>

Nodding, thinking, Puck recited, “Cold Ash, then here in Halford. She then went to High Wycombe and they expect her to go to Fairford tonight.”

<< Get a map. >>

Puck-the-skater turned to the priest. “Do you have a map of the area?”

<< The map should include all those places and Oxford. >>

 The priest got up and hurried out of the room. He came back after several minutes. In the interim, Daniel explained what they needed the map for.

<< Witches often draw pentagrams for spells. But you know this. >>

“Yeah, I do,” Puck muttered.

<< Blood is often spilt, usually by the innocent, but also by the sinner—willing sacrifices. >>

Puck felt sick. He looked to the priest when he arrived, laying out the map of England onto his desk. “The map’s here.”

<< Mark all the places you know already on the map. >>

Puck did.

<< Now draw a line to each in order of her arrival. >>

Doing that, Puck then stared in horror at the map. Her path was making an incomplete, inverted star.

<< Does it show you where she will go next? >>

Puck nodded. “Somewhere like Wolverton.”

<< There’s a place called Wolverton there? >>

Nodding again, feeling his heart pound in his chest, Puck said, “Yeah. Why?”

<< Make sure there are no werewolves there, >> Daniel said, paused somewhere. Puck could hear the tree talking about this annoying human leaning against him as Daniel caught his breath.

Puck chuckled. “There are no werewolves in England—despite what that song says.”

<< You could be very wrong about that, my friend, >> Daniel murmured. << In fact, I know you are. >>

Shivers going down his arms, Puck gasped. “The Seven knows something?”

<< Currently irrelevant to this situation, but yes. Good thing, though, they’re not hostile. >> Daniel then changed the subject. << If you can head her off at Wolverton, do it. Don’t let her complete the pentagram. It’s a trap. >>

“I know,” Puck grumbled. However, he knew Daniel was right. He could head her off that night and wait for her arrival. He could even find that witch first.

<< I’ll keep heading back to Oxford. If you can’t stop her, either go back to Wells and stop the destruction of her forest, or come to Oxford to help us. >>

“Got it. Until next time, Speedy,” Puck said and hung up the phone. He looked to the priest. “Do you have something I can eat? I’ve got a flight to catch and no energy.”

Still pale, the priest nodded, then directed Puck to the church’s kitchen, going with him.

Puck got a bite of cold ham, some carrots, and a snatch of cheese before he was up in the air again as an owl, soaring directly eastward. It was extremely late when he landed on a roof somewhere in the town just west of Wolverton, Stony Stratford. Exhausted, he called to the birds to wake him as soon as the Elf arrived. Puck dropped off into sleep, snoozing under his owl wing.

Like a shriek, zipping practically as lightning, the Elf landed in Stony Stratford, blazing almost as the sun. Puck-the-owl was startled awake and nearly fell over when he saw her.

This was not Heather Wood. Nor was this Rowan. This was a blazing fire goddess, set to burn down the town without a care who got singed. There was blood on her hands, and her face was like brass, glistening with a coppery sheen in fire. Her clothes were rags—barely showing they were once modern tee shirt and jeans. He could still see the writing on her shirt which said, Go Green—but barely as it had been nearly burnt black and smeared with blood splotches.

Sliding off the roof, Puck dropped to the ground as Tea-shop Robin, rushing up to her. “Heather!”

Her head turned, looking straight at him, teeth bared. Her chest was heaving.

“Heather Wood! Snap out of it! It is your friend, Robin!”

When he reached her, her eyes shifted from glassy hot white to black. “Robin? Are you part of this?”

“No!” Robin shook his head vigorously. “I actually tried to meet you in Wells, but you flew off. I’ve been searching for you everywhere!”

Her eyes narrowed on him, her body shaking. Her bloody fists remained clenched, but they looked like they were in the form of claws. “Why? I thought you were happy in Shakespeare land. Get out of my way, Puck. I’m retrieving my hair.”

“I have some.” Puck held out the hair he had collected in Wells. “I saved it before those others in the town grabbed it.”

The Elf looked to his hands and snatched it up. But instead of reattaching it to her chopped locks as she used to, she just burned it to ash with the very flames she conjured. This was bad. Especially as she marched on, sniffing out the witch there. 

“Let me get the hair,” Puck said, chasing after her. “You’re not in your right mind. The witches are manipulating you.”

“They’re destroying my forest…” The Elf started to convulse, shifting out from fire goddess and into Heather Wood in charred rags, and back again, almost like a strobing light. “I can feel it.”

“Then go back to Wells and stop them!” Puck shouted. That would at least break the pentagram. The trap would not work.

Her inner flame burned brighter, her fury surging up again. The Elf shook her head. “No. I can’t. I…” Her eyes went wild. She looked to Puck desperately, grabbing his shirt front. “It is Merlin all over again! He used my hair too! He brought me to this future! He used me! He’s back! I thought I killed him! But he’s back!”

Puck shook his head, grabbing hers. “No. No. Merlin is dead, or trapped still. Didn’t you leave him in a time loop?”

She shook her head. “All loops end eventually. Lousy professors meddle where they ought not to be.”

“You know about the professor?” Puck was shocked. Did one of the witches divulge it to her?

Yet the Elf shuddered. “Which one? That Stanford idiot in the time loop? Or that creep from the last time they destroyed my forest?”

“This is a new one,” Puck murmured, realizing she didn’t know. “Oxford.”

She shivered with pain, staggering. “Oxford?”

Nodding, Puck said, “Yeah. Come with me to Oxford. We can end this there.”

Yet her body wrenched into more convulsions, as if going to Oxford would break her, just like going back to Wells would. Something nasty was stopping her from acting on her free will. She marched once more toward where the witch had to be lying in wait. Puck sniffed around her and stiffened. He got the scent of mint, rancid oil, blood and a metallic binder. It was a spell. A spell was on her.

She ran ahead. Puck ran after her, but did not dare tackle her. She was blazing with flame again, and he could feel the heat. It would burn him if he got close.

“Heather!” He shouted after her, racing to keep up, then took on stallion form. She was taking on her former speed from ages ago—and nothing would be able to stop her once she reached it.

She found a house. He was breathless when he caught up. Inside, already he heard a ruckus. When he rushed in as a man, it was too late. Blood was spilt, and the blazing form of his Elf friend was burning up that small chunk of her stolen hair. She then turned to face the south.

“No!” Puck grabbed at her, ignoring the flames that licked about her and was setting the house ablaze. “You’re being manipulated. Come on, Heather! Look! The Seven! The Holy Seven are searching for you. They can heal your mind! Help you remember again!”

“The Holy Seven?” The Elf turned her blazing eyes on Puck. “They betrayed me! They betrayed me! They shattered my memories! And I don’t need them to get them back!”

“Come on… Don’t go all Shamsiel on me,” Puck muttered, feeling the heat singe his hair and clothes. His body adjusted, remembering his immortal origins.

Eyes blazing, the Elf vehemently shook her head. “Who? I am the eye of Ra!” She shoved him off, marching through the burning wreckage.

“That’s worse…” Puck went white, staggering back.

Immediately she took the shape of a large Egyptian falcon. It soared out the window she had busted through, heading straight for Cold Ash again.

Behind him, Puck heard a low laugh coming from the wounded, but not