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

“Who?” The Elf savagely narrowed her eyes on him.

Moaning Peter was about to explain who she was, but the witches chanted something. Immediately, Peter’s head felt as if a cleaver had chopped into it. He grabbed it to hold it together.

“No!” Daniel ran in, filthy, scratched up, sword high and flaming in one hand. “Heather Wood! In the name of your friend Robin Goodfellow and all that might be holy if you paid attention enough, calm the blazes down and cool your fire!”

When he got to Peter’s side he sliced something invisible in the air. The pain entirely vaporized. Then he ran further toward the Elf and witches, pulling something out from a pocket at his hip. Prof. Taylor gasped as Daniel threw something at the group of witches below.  

The witches screamed as it hit the glass vial in Prof. Birtwistle’s hand, then stuck into the wood floor.

A knife.

The vial containing the hair shattered when it hit the floor. The moment oxygen swelled around the hair, Daniel set it on fire.

“No!” Prof. Birtwistle turned, horrified. “Now she’ll kill us all!”

The witches scattered. Mia ran to the right-side exit. Imogen and Eunice dashed to the left. Pat ducked behind the professor before darting behind the large projection screen—abandoning him.

The Elf seized Prof. Birtwistle in her fiery hands, flames licking up to burn him to a crisp.

Daniel grabbed her hands, wrapping his arms around her from behind, preventing her. The fire she sent out, sucked into him. “No. Heather. Cool off. Killing him won’t change anything.”

“What are you doing?” She struggled to set him ablaze, but Daniel was taking in the heat without harm. Her eyes widened even more, realizing she could not burn Daniel at all. “Who are you?”

“They call me Swift,” Daniel said, breathing hard. “And you shouldn’t do this.”

Peter dashed up, yanking the idiot professor away from the Elf, tearing him from her grip. He held the man out of arm’s length from her. “Come on. Calm down. You know this is wrong.”

“It is not wrong to destroy a witch!” the Elf snarled, looking straight at Peter, intending to blind him with her light next.

Moaning, Peter pulled the professor further back from her. “I totally would have agreed with you a few years ago, but we don’t operate that way unless absolutely necessary.”

“Come on,” Daniel whispered next to her ear. “Cool down. We stopped them. They can’t control you anymore. They’ve failed.”

Shivering, the Elf twitched and turned her head. She stared at Daniel, eyes widening on him. “Sir Harris?”

Confused, Daniel looked to Peter. “Uh…”

Peter shrugged. He had no clue who that was.

Prof. Birtwistle kicked at Peter’s leg to get him to let go.

But Peter’s gripped tighter. “Ow! Stop that, you creep! I saved your life.”

“You ruined everything!” Spit flew from Prof. Birtwistle’s lips. His eyes were wild on the burning scene, especially desperate for those who had been his backup but were now gone.

“That’s our job,” Peter and Daniel said, in chorus.

Prof. Taylor ran down to them. His eyes rested wide on the Elf while he skirted around them all to get to Prof. Birtwistle. “You fool! I told you not to meddle with elves!”

“You’re the fool!” Prof. Birtwistle barked back, still pushing against Peter’s arm, which in the light of Elf looked more muscular than previously assumed. “I’ve been able to spy on the Unseelie Court for years, and not once have they detected me.”

Daniel and Peter both moaned. Even the Elf stared at him as if he had said the dumbest thing.

“You spy on Queen Maeve?” the Elf said, nearly shaking Daniel off. Her form stabilized more, flickering less. She remained mostly in her goddess form.

Daniel rushed to get around her, putting himself between. “Hey! He’ll get what’s coming to him in time.”

“You should have let me burn him,” she said to him, her eyes shifting from fiery white to solid black obsidian. She was cooling off. Her body took on a coppery sheen. Her hair formed straight Egyptian waves, her face nearly cat-like. But she was gazing at Daniel as if she knew him.

“Maybe we should just tell Tom,” Peter suggested.

Prof. Taylor’s eyes went wide. “Him? No! That man is—”

“And unofficial member of the Unseelie Court,” Peter replied. “Since your escapade. Queen Maeve took a liking to him.”

“Poor soul,” the Elf murmured, cooling off more into the disheveled modern Elf. She gazed a little more kindly on Peter now. “I have a friend who had escaped her. When Maeve has a fetish for someone, she does not leave them alone. Who is he?”

“Tom Brown,” Peter replied, watching the transformation with relief. “Half-imp.” Then he looked to Prof. Birtwistle. “And a pretty damn good CIA agent.”

The Elf shuddered, glaring at the professors. However, she remained in modern form. Nor more fire. Pointing at Prof. Birtwistle, she said, “I curse you, you meddling witch.”

“Hey!” Daniel grabbed her arm. “That’s not necessary.”

She looked to him, again an odd recognition in her eyes, as if she were seeing some sort of memory. “It is, Sir Harris. I told you. You must behead him. Otherwise, my forest is cursed.”

Daniel closed his eyes cringing.

“Her mind is messed up,” Peter hissed to him. “She’s still not altogether in the present.”

The Elf looked to him. “Do I know you?”

Peter shook his head. “We met today. I’m Peter. One of the Holy Seven. Remember. This is Daniel, another of the Seven.”

The Elf looked to Daniel. “You’re one of the Seven? You never told me.”

“Heather Wood,” Daniel said, moving a finger in front of her eyes as he felt her heat surging up again, “We’ve only met today. Listen to my voice. I am not whoever you think I am.”

She tilted her head, yet sniffed him. “You smell like Puck.”

For a second Peter thought she was insulting him, but Daniel smiled.

“Yes.” Daniel nodded. “He’s a friend of mine. He was helping me find you.”

Her eyes flickered with flame. “Puck? I-don’t-want-to-get-involved-in-everyone-else’s-business Puck?”

Daniel nodded, chuckling. She was sounding more normal. Her voice still had that elvish magic, but now it was less vengeful.

She looked introspective for a moment—but that moment abruptly vanished. She stiffed as if someone had shoved a knife into her back.

Daniel looked, but there was no one there. And no knife.

Peter looked up for Malcom.

“My forest!” Immediately, the Elf shook off her human form, once more taking the shape of a falcon. In three large flaps, she soared out through the broken window she had entered in—and was out of sight.

They had all watched her, breathless.

“And… she’s gone.” Peter moaned, hanging his head and shoulders.

“How can you say that so casually?” Sean, who had been hiding within the chairs called out, dripping with wet. The sprinklers had shut off, though. “That was a flaming elf thing! And then she flies off again! And you here are acting like it was like you just handled a bunch a kids messing with a pack of matches!”

“In a way, it was,” Daniel muttered. He pointed his sword at Prof. Birtwistle. “You. You have a lot to answer for.”

But the professor shook his head. A smug smirk returned to his lips. “Not me. You. It was all recorded. Every last second. I’ve been vindicated.”

They glanced to the corners where cameras would be. Sure enough, in the back was a shielded stand that surrounded a video camera. Yet there were also security cameras. Campus security would have also recorded the incident in its fullness—not a bad thing for evidence, but easily misinterpreted by the ignorant.

“What are you going to do? Post it on the internet?” Peter snorted, letting go of him to march up to collect the tape or data card.  

Daniel chuckled, nodding. He eyed over Prof. Birtwistle now, this really being the first time to see the man. He quietly agreed with Peter. He looked like a Moriarty clone.

“Yeah! I will!” Prof. Birtwistle declared, though he did not try to stop Peter.

“In the age of CGI and deep fakes, who is going to believe it?” Peter said, reaching into the back of the machine to eject the video card. But it was missing. He cursed under his breath. “Damn… Malcom.”

They could see a slight shiver go through the professor. Yet he said, “The right people will believe it.”

“Like the SRA?” Daniel chuckled again, adjusting his grip on his sword. He was half inclined to give the professor a cut, just to remind him who he was up against. “I thought you witches weren’t into dealing with that sort of devil. They’ll come after you. Not us.”

“Not the SRA,” Prof. Birtwistle said. “I said the right people.”

Both Peter and Daniel rolled their eyes together. Peter came back down to join Daniel.

Prof. Taylor peeked nervously to them. He whispered, “You could be targeted.”

“We already are targeted,” Peter snapped back, joining hem once more. He then nodded to Daniel. “Both of us grew up in Middleton Village. There are no worse witches than them, and they know who we are.”

“And where our families live,” Daniel added. He called up to Sean. “Who are you?”

Sean walked down the scorched stairs, staring at Peter more as if his world paradigm had been shaken. “Sean Dougan. A professor of—”

“He’s like you,” Peter said, glancing to the security cameras again. He had the feeling they ought to go. It was strange that Daniel was dawdling. It wasn’t his usual play.

“A guy with a witch ex-stepmother, and family?” Daniel glanced Sean up and down.

“No,” Peter said, looking around for the other witches. Most likely they would go for campus security and blame them for the fire—which had entirely snuffed out when the elf had left. “Into mysticism and legends. You should exchange notes. But what I want to know is where our Elf went.”

Sighing, Daniel nodded. “She probably back to Wells.”

Peter inwardly moaned. “So we have to go there?”

“Yeah,” Daniel nodded once more. “But hopefully Puck is there. He didn’t come here, so I’m hoping he didn’t skip off—you know when she went ballistic.”

“Puck?” Prof. Taylor echoed, eyes widening. “You mean…?”

Daniel nodded to him. “Yeah. Robin Goodfellow.”

“You mean elves really are real?” Sean came up to them. Of course by then Peter and Daniel had stopped glowing.

Peter laughed. “Were you asleep when—?”

“I was awake!” Sean shouted, singed and ruffled. “But I… it was nearly impossible what I saw!”

“But you saw it,” Daniel said, lowering his sword.

The doors at the side burst open.

“There, constable! Those two!”

They all turned. Up at the back doors marched in armed police with guns—not school security, though clearly they had a hand in summoning them.

“Put your hands up!” they called down.

Prof. Birtwistle smirked, rocking on his heels. “Now you’ll get yours.”

“This is so lame,” Peter muttered. Yet he held up his hands in surrender.

“Drop your sword!”

Sighing wearily, Daniel sheathed his sword, tucking it back into the hidden part of his jacket where it vanished. He then lifted up his hands. Sean’s eyes widened on him, then on the burning scars in the center of both men’s right palms.

Peter and Daniel exchanged looks as the police ordered them to kneel. Prof. Taylor protested the arrest, along with Sean who shouted that he was a witness of what really happened. Peter and Daniel exchanged yet another look before they knelt down in compliance. They both patted Sean on the shoulder, one on the right, the other on the left, burning their marks there into the fabric, then got on their knees.

“Professor,” Peter called to Prof. Taylor as he was being cuffed. “Keep this man safe. You know what we are up against.”

“Hey! Where’s your sword?” one of the police constables demanded of Daniel.

“You can’t find it?” Daniel sounded mildly shocked, though more amused.

“You should take their red crystals,” Prof. Birtwistle said to the police.

Prof. Taylor shot him a dirty look, pulling Sean back from him. It was odd, though. The police nor Prof. Birtwistle could see Sean anymore. Sean himself seemed stunned. The professor had to steer him out of their paths as the police forced both Americans’ wrists into cuffs