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

Peter lifted his eyes to the shelves. “Where should I start first?”

“Tell me about your elf again?” The professor asked, sounding a tad faint.

Nodding, thinking aloud, Peter said, “The Elf’s origins are here in the UK. But the Elf left for a time. All the signs point that the Elf came back to here and settled somewhere before the dark ages. The Elf would be a nameless elf now—possibly with a loss of identity if not also memory. But the Elf had previously traveled into Greece and had settled in Egypt for a time.”

Something in the professor’s eye flickered with recognition and uncertainty. Yet he said, “And? Do you have a description?”

Peter sighed, thinking on all he knew. “Physically. No. Elves shapeshift—sometimes using multiple forms. They have favorite forms though. This one… the cobra, the crow or raven, the cat, and the owl. But this Elf also has an aspect of fire. Possibly a power. I have encountered some of the Elf’s former names, though. There is a pattern.”

“Ok…”

Seeing the professor was honestly listening, Peter continued, “Here’s the thing, one name keeps repeating in different forms, all which go back to a word in Aramaic. Shamsiel. Shamshel, Shamash. Things like that. But I’ve found all these at temples of goddesses—like in Egypt, Bastet’s temple, then at a temple to Wadjet. Then in Greece, a goddess known as Ailuros. At least I think it was a goddess. Which makes me think this Elf may be a she-elf.”

The professor nodded. “And why do you think this elf is in the UK?”

Peter nodded to him. He could tell the professor knew something. This was promising. He said, “Because, I’ve tracked Egyptian influence, or roots, to the British Isles. Wadjet was the lady of the flame. Which consequently sounds not that different from—Brigidt also known as Brigtania, the green goddess, who was also known as a fire goddess. Wadjet, Bastet, Brigidt…. Coincidence maybe?”

“The triple goddess?” Prof. Taylor murmured. “Are you sure?”

Peter shrugged. “I’m really not sure of anything except that I think my Elf was once called Brigidt and was extremely powerful but isn’t anymore. She had diminished and is in hiding, I think. All of these goddesses and names are connected to fire.”

“You did all this research on your own?” The professor’s expression widened in pure amazement.

“Not entirely,” Peter muttered, his cheeks coloring. “I had resources. And we have spoken to a few elves, tracking her down.”

“Spoken to elves?” The professor gawped at him.

Peter nodded frankly. “Well, yes. Some elves can be quite reasonable—especially if you are not treating them like monsters.”

“I…” Prof. Taylor shook his head and leaned against a bookcase. “I have a friend who is an expert on what you are looking for. His research includes several categories about elvish folk, and he is seeking proof that they are real in the world.”

Shivers went down Peter’s back. He breathed out, “Now that is dangerous. You could seriously offend an elf that way. They like their privacy. I just need to find one elf. I intend to leave the rest alone.”

“One who travels,” the professor murmured.

Peter nodded. “But we think the Elf is not traveling now. Rather, she is just waiting for the End of Days.”

Prof. Taylor lifted his eyebrows. “That’s real?”

Peter nodded, snorting. “I’m proof of that. This generation’s Seven is not the usual.”

“You mean besides being all Americans?” Prof. Taylor muttered, shaking his head.

“Oh…” Peter nodded to himself. That’s what he meant by Yankee Magi. “I suppose. They did come from all over the earth before, didn’t they?”

“Thus your claim is challenged.” Prof. Taylor nodded, lifting one eyebrow. Apparently he knew much more about the Seven than just a rumor.

Peter wondered if he ought to pick the professor’s brain on it now, chuckling. “Ah, that would make sense.”

The professor looked up to the shelves then chose a particularly pristine record box. He slid it off the shelf.

“Why is it?” the professor asked, since they came to the topic, now carrying the record box to the small podium in the center of this room. “Why is this group of Seven all from America?”

“It’s worse than that,” Peter said, chuckling as he followed him. “We’re also connected to the same town, the same curse, and there are eight of us—with only one girl.”

The professor almost dropped the case. Peter caught it. He could see shivers go through the professor.

“Believe me.” Peter snorted as he gently eased the case to the center of the podium. “We’ve gotten flack for it already. We aren’t ‘diverse’ enough.”

“Eight of you?” The professor stared more, hardly breathing.

“Just like in the beginning,” Peter tagged on, in case the professor did not know, though clearly he did. Peter wondered if he had talked about it with Mr. McDillan. “It was called the Holy Seven because only seven had stayed true, and they have never had a full eight since—at least not until now.”

“And the demon that hunts you?” the professor asked, checking to see if Peter knew about that. They were indeed testing each other. It was almost like playing tennis with words.

Nodding, Peter grinned. “The vimp? We’ve already met her. But she’s gone and become a destroying angel. It is one of the reasons we want our patron elf.”

Prof. Taylor gasped. He clearly had heard about the vimp. Peter wondered how much in correspondence he had been with Mr. McDillan, or the SRA. They too had painted Eve with a broad brush of ‘pure evil’.

“You need the Elf to save you from the demon?”

“No.” Peter chuckled, shaking his head. “To help her, the vimp, find the end to her curse. She needs our help to be free of it. The vimp, this generation, has chosen the side of good.”

“I don’t believe it,” Prof. Taylor pulled back. It was disappointing.

Peter rapped his knuckles on the box to get his attention. “It’s the truth. You can consult with Mr. Brian McDillan to see if we are lying. He knows her—as you should know.”

Prof. Taylor nodded, agreeing to that. “I haven’t spoken to him for a while. He was the one, though, who had warned me of her.”

“When was the last time you had talked to him?” It seemed odd, the way the professor had said that. Peter waited, folding his arms.

Coloring, Prof. Hamish Taylor shrugged a smidge. “It’s been years. We had an argument. He had called me an idiot.”

“Can I ask what it was about?” Peter asked, raising his eyebrows.

“How well do you know him?” Prof. Taylor asked, deflecting.

Laughing, Peter shrugged. “I… well, I met him once ages ago. But later, more recently, when Eve went missing and we were charged to help end the curse, I figured he was the foremost expert on the subject of vimps. Him and our friend Michael who is also of the Seven. I spent a week with him getting all the facts. I’ve been looking for our elf longer than I knew him, though. But he pointed me to you. He said you were the expert on elves.

“Now, you said you had a friend researching this. Can he help me? Or is it him who has what I am looking for?” Peter glanced to the record on the podium again.

“You can read any manuscript in this room,” Prof. Taylor replied with a sigh, taking his hands off the box. “Just handle everything carefully. However… what you are seeking sounds like a god-elf, which is dangerous.”

Peter lifted his eyebrows, then peeked to the manuscript itself. “You know that term? It’s more colloquial than academic. And I know the SRA don’t use it. Where did you pick it up?”

“Oh, I know it.” Prof. Taylor nodded grimly. “My friend, the true elf expert, uses it. His sources are reliable, but he won’t share them with me. They are more… macabre in nature, I’d say. You see… he is now where I used to be back then, on the verge of being spirited away.”

Peter nodded. That was bad news.

“I recommend you also sit in on his lectures,” the professor said, thinking on it. “He might help you. Though, you could probably help save him from the fate I nearly had. His name is Professor Hugh Birtwistle.”

“But macabre?” Peter’s brows knit together.

Nodding, looking exhausted, Prof. Taylor replied in earnest, “He goes places I have long chosen to avoid. Not since my encounter…” The professor shuddered. “But he was one of the few who believed me when everyone else said I was insane. One has to respect that.

That gave Peter much to think about. And, looking to the box on the podium, he now had a possibly useful manuscript to inspect.

“In the meantime, use my library.” Prof. Taylor backed toward the door, though he halted in the doorway. He paused thoughtfully, and looked to Peter. “Can you guarantee your werewolf friend is not a threat?”

Halting in his efforts to unfasten the box, Peter smiled back at him. “If you want to meet Howie Deacon, I can arrange it—in a nice safe public space if needs be. You can see for yourself. He’s a friendly guy.”

The professor nodded. He left the room, most likely to go back to his computer, though Peter checked to make sure he was not just calling Campus Security on him. When he was certain, Peter went back to the manuscript on the podium, opening it up. Maybe this time he will find her.

[1] Tales from Gulinger High: Tale Twenty-Three “The Halloween Highway”.

[2] A demon, crossed between a vampire and an imp. Vimp Novellas: Book 1 Without a Shadow.

[3] All Middleton Village friends call Howard Richard Deacon III—‘Howie’. His others call him ‘Rick’.

[4] HallowedSpell Book 7: Seven

[5] Which was in Andrew Cartwright’s possession.

Chapter Two

The professor’s friend, Hugh Arnold Birtwistle, was a professor of ancient languages, mythology and folklore, exactly up Daniel’s alley when it came to research. Normally Peter would have handed off posing as an ordinary student to Daniel who could pull it off perfectly and remain unnoticed if he so chose. However, Daniel was currently out of town visiting with an elf-informant whom he had befriended a year ago. So Peter was stuck with the task of seeking out this professor then getting permission to audit his lectures.

This took subtlety.

Subtlety was more Daniel’s and Jessica’s arena. Both of them could walk into a room without being noticed and give the impression of being harmless. But Peter never had the knack. He had always stood out, even as a kid back home—fame or no fame. However, after looking at Daniel’s wardrobe, when Peter chose to sit in on the first lecture, he decided to tuck away his shrunken head and put on a more ‘business-like’ shirt with trousers rather than his usual jeans and striped shirts. He mostly blended in with the crowd—visibly, at least. He was still identifiable among all the well-off Brit students, but less people identified him or cared to.

Peter’s mind was occupied when he grabbed his backpack and notebooks,