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

“They use those to start the fires!” Prof. Birtwistle accused, pointing at the pair of them.

“Liar, liar,” Peter said. “Pants on fire.”

Prof. Birtwistle jumped, looking around to see if a fire had ignited. Of course, there wasn’t.

Daniel winked at him.

Despite the wishes of the witches to see some sort of battle to make them look even guiltier, both Daniel and Peter were compliant with the police. Politely so. Though, the policemen were annoyed when they could not find the sword they had just seen Daniel holding a moment ago. They searched the scorched stage. They searched all over Daniel. But all they found was his wallet, his cell phone, his peculiar belt with all the pouches, which for the life of them they could not open even one, and apartment keys. They loaded them into the paddy wagon and took them away.

But as soon as they arrived at the local precinct with their two prisoners, two agents picked them up to take them to Thames Valley Police. The charges of car theft had caught up with them—and they wanted to interrogate Daniel in particular.

“I was merely borrowing,” Daniel murmured in the back of the newest paddy wagon they were shoving him into.

“With intent to keep it,” the policeman who was pushing Daniel around snapped.

“Nope.” Daniel looked skyward—or rather ceiling-ward. “The witches sabotaged the busses headed back to where I needed to go, so I considered it a tradeoff.”

The policemen exchanged the dirtiest of looks, muttering about arrogant Americans and hate-speech for calling people witches.

“What you are going to get is jail time for grand theft, auto,” the policeman said in his most intimidating voice. At least, he thought he was intimidating—until Daniel sighed, bored.

“And your career is finished,” they said to Peter who was thinking hard over what they had to do next.

Peter peeked to Daniel and snorted—realizing now what Daniel had in mind. Daniel was always ten steps ahead of everyone else. He knew they could not just walk out of an elf-scorched Oxford. Daniel had counted on getting picked up by the police. And fleeing the scene it would have made it worse. 

“You think that’s funny?” the constable shouted at him.

“I…” Peter shook his head. He looked to the constable. “I think you are jumping the gun.”

Going red in the face, like a beet, the police constable shouted louder at him. “You arrogant Yank! You’re all the same! Well, you can’t throw your weight around here.”

He and Daniel exchanged another look. They had the same thought—they had a get-out-of-jail-free card for these sorts of things. Of course they had screwed up in the case of subtlety. But there was a reason they had their UN registered cards for the Seven. They just rarely used them.

When they arrived at Thames Valley Police headquarters in Kidlington, the heads of the police force greeted them along with agents of the National Domestic Extremism and Disorder Intelligence Unit (NDEDIU) who were discussing something with him. Daniel and Peter recognized two men from among them.

“Uncuff them.” The Chief Constable ordered as they climbed out of the paddy wagon.

“What? Sir!” The sergeant on duty went pale. He looked back and forth from his Chief Constable to the arrested Americans.

“Where is the stolen car?” the Chief Constable asked Daniel pointedly.

“In Bath,” Daniel replied with a shrug, proffering up his wrists to be uncuffed as ordered. “It quit working.”

The police who had brought them, looked confused.

“And where is the threat?” the Chief Constable demanded, eyeing them up and down, especially their scorched clothes. He also gestured for the constables to get a move on to uncuff the pair of Americans.

Peter rubbed his freed wrists with a wink to the constable who had roughed him up before. “The threat are those Oxford witches.”

“And the ones in Wells,” Daniel put in.

Those around them drew in breaths, opening mouths in complete shock the Chief Constable was taking this seriously.

“But what about the—” the Chief Constable looked to the policemen who had been rolling their eyes at the word ‘witches’ “—the one who set the room on fire.”

“They did it!” the arresting constables protested, utterly shocked the conversation had gone this far.

“They did not,” the Chief Constable replied darkly. Those with him nodded, affirming to the constables who had apprehended the Americans that indeed these two had not started the fire, but had stopped it. The Chief Constable looked to Peter. “Where is it?”

“We intend to take her away,” Peter explained.

“If we can convince her,” Daniel put in, patting Peter on the shoulder.

Those in-the-know nodded. Those police not in-the-know now stood utterly confused. Under direction of the Chief Constable, they were led off by the others and given a suitable explanation to the chaos that had happened at Oxford—one which the mundane mind could come to grips with, one not involving the supernatural.

“But what if you can’t?” the Chief Constable replied, once they were gone, stiffening.

Peter and Daniel exchanged looks then stepped nearer to him.

“We’ll stay as long as it takes to calm her,” Daniel said with assurance to him.  

“But you must know the dangers of angering an elf,” Peter added. He glanced over at the police who were scowling in their direction—as clearly they had preferred the story that two wild Americans had committed arson at Oxford. Apparently they were not rooting for Peter’s football team and wanted to see him go down.

“We need to get back to Wells,” Daniel said pointedly, meeting the Chief Constable’s gaze. “This is not over. The Elf is still angry, and we need to help her deal.”

“And take her away,” the Chief Constable said, eyes narrowing on them.

Peter and Daniel snuck a glance together. Sadly, this man also had a negative feeling toward elves. They were not sure where he stood on the issue, or if he were more inclined to deal with the SRA. For all they knew, he was a secret member. Those two men from NDEDIU were.

“Not against her will,” Daniel reminded.

Peter nodded.

The Chief Constable heaved a frustrated breath, shaking his head. He folded his arms, thinking.

“But I have a feeling we’ll be able to convince her,” Daniel added. He lowered his head. “Her town had made an extremely dirty deal. And I think she’s already found out about it. It would not be surprising if you found it on fire.”

Paling, the Chief Constable said, “Is there any way you can stop it?”

“You mean stop her,” Peter said. “Stop calling her an it. She’s a powerful elf. Once a great and powerful angel.”

“Fallen angels are still damned,” the Chief Constable seethed in a low voice for only them to hear. “She set Oxford University on fire!”

“Technically, it was one room, and the fire went out when she left,” Daniel interjected.

“Same thing!” the Chief Constable shouted.

Peter shook his head. “Nope. Entirely hyperbolic. And not her fault. If she had been in her right mind, she would not have done it at all.”

Daniel nodded.

The Chief Constable eyed Peter. “You don’t talk like a footballer.”

Peter shrugged. “Do I talk like an archaeology student?”

The man huffed, leaning back.

“Nobody is ever going to see you like that, Zombie,” Daniel whispered with a snort. “We live in a superficial world.”

Shooting him a dirty look, Peter would have bit back something, but another notion struck him. “Chief Constable, we need transportation. We need to get back to Wells.”

Daniel nodded.

“And all charges dropped,” Peter added. “Especially the ‘borrowing’ of the car that belonged to the witches who caused this whole thing.”

With a look, Daniel grinned at him, nodding again.

With a heavy sigh, the Chief Constable agreed. “It will be done. You can take one of our cars.” He then spoke to one of his sergeants who immediately handed over a set of keys. The sergeant then directed them to a vehicle at the front. “It’s a company car.”

Grinning, Daniel then said to Peter. “Great. That means I can pick up my suitcase in Bath, where I stashed it.”

“You should get a magic pocket for clothes,” Peter said, walking with him to the car.

Laughing, Daniel nodded. “I’ll ask Silvia about it. But I’m sure she’ll tell me that kind of magic is fiction.”

Peter took the driver’s seat, as he was well rested and Daniel looked like he needed a break. While he started the engine, another thought occurred to him. Peter rolled down the window and called out to the Chief Constable who was dealing with police who had brought them there. “Hey, Chief! You really should contact the SRA and let them know about the Oxford witch coven and Prof. Birtwistle’s research.”

The man stiffened. Yet he nodded once.

Peter and Daniel drove off to the road. They had to get back to Wells fast.

Chapter Nine

They were already spreading wet concrete over where the grass used to be, smoothing it out, when the Elf arrived home. She had landed on her rooftop then flew over to where her trees ought to have been—only to find the backhoes and cement trucks on the street, workers struggling full speed to finish off what looked like the foundation for a swimming pool, a small building, and two tennis courts.

How many seconds had they waited after she was gone before they proceed to destroy what was left of her trees? One? Two? A whole minute? And how long had they been planning this?

“My soul is lost…” she murmured, seeing the concrete dry in the sun. “I let it happen again.”

Within in her, the fire surged up once more, filling her with fury as intense as the summer sun and the east wind. As her grief overwhelmed her, a yowl broke deep from her chest and out her throat with a sound that split the sky—summoning lightning to the earth with a deafening boom. It cracked into the core of the damp cemented-over construction site.

Workers scattered—at least, those who had not been knocked through by the blast.

Advancing upon the land, the Elf stared down at their destruction, leaving her blazing footprints in the wet cement.

“Heather!” Robin Goodfellow in his silly Rasta outfit ran up to her, holding out an acorn. “I salvaged one! You can plant again!”

Her eyes fixed on the acorn. She had healed her forest once with one. She could do it again, surely.

Nodding, her entire body shaking, she took the acorn from him, crossed over the rest of the damp cement, and set it into the center of the split earth.

She had done it before. She could do it again.

The Elf set her hand on it, putting into the seed all the life energy and rage she had within her. It took root, sprouting into a full sapling, then a full tree. Its roots tore up the wet cement, tangling and even digging into the road and front gardens of the homes in the circle—causing the earth to shake.

Residents scrambled out of their homes.

The tree continued to grow, expanding as it reached into the sky, filling the entire space with the tree she had wanted for decades—the one she had been waiting patiently for but had been