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

Prof. Taylor nodded, staring in to space.

Peter left, sure the professor would not stop him after that.

It was pouring when Peter got to the outer doors. And he had no umbrella. Well… there was more than one way to keep dry. It was a simple trick he had learned, something Mr. Jones had taught him before he had left on his journey. A water repellent spell. He could make it so rain would hit him, but not sink into his clothes and hair to make him wet. Or at least, it prevented him from being utterly soaked to the bone. There was nothing wrong with being a little damp.  

Peter enacted the motions and said the words. Then he ran out into the rain, getting under cover for a bus stop as soon as he could.

[1] My dog ate my homework.

Chapter Three

For some reason, Daniel had a knack for recognizing elvish folk faster than most. Peter could spot a witch in a crowd—which was an awesome skill. Peter could also negotiate with his famous face and his impressive degrees in Egyptology, getting him and the Seven access things they could not normally get—and legally. But since they had both agreed that Daniel was more skilled at dealing with the elvish folk and quietly slipping among the crowds where no one could follow him, he was out here in Stratford-upon-Avon while Peter remained in the London area. However, that did not stop Daniel from feeling it was so backward that Peter was the one now sitting on lectures in his field of study. Daniel also felt it was highly unfair.

<< Believe me, Dan, >> Peter said over the phone that evening. << Prof. Birtwistle is a creep. Even Prof. Taylor believes he’s gotten too deep in what he describes as the ‘macabre’. He wants me to protect the jerk in case the faeries come for him. >>

“Faeries, come take me out of this dull world,” Daniel murmured, thinking on that. Indeed, that professor would be in danger.

<< Yeats, >> Peter said, in response.

Perking up, Daniel grinned. “Ah, so you read William Butler Yeats’s book?”

<< Recently. It was fun, but uh… not exactly useful. >> Peter sighed. << How is the research on your end? Is your elf friend there giving? >>

Daniel chuckled, thinking on ‘his elf friend’. “Well… I’ve bought his tee shirts. I drink his tea every day I meet him—”

<< I thought Silvia said not to eat or drink anything an elf gives you! >> Peter protested.

“Calm down,” Daniel said, chuckling more, not sure if Peter was serious or joking. “I told you. He runs an eco-friendly, mobile shop here—”

<< Down where Shakespeare lived… >>

“He was quite fond William,” Daniel said, thinking on that and all the conversations he had had with this elf about William Shakespeare. Apparently, all Shakespeare’s brilliance was truly due to this elf’s friendship and influence. Daniel wondered if that why so many people in the modern age doubted the man had written his own work. Maybe some writers truly did have elvish muses. William Shakespeare’s just happened to be Puck—the infamous ‘hobgoblin’ Robin Goodfellow.

<< I expect when people in England start to tear down statues of him, he’ll rampage. >> Peter murmured.

Nodding, Daniel sighed. It was likely. The human world was going insane, and the faerie realm was reacting. That’s why nature was going crazy. It wasn’t global warming or climate change. It was elves getting ticked off.

<< Well, let me know if you make any headway. I’ll keep you posted on the professor, and if I find anything new. >>

“Did you find anything new at the museum related to Eve?” Daniel held his breath.

<< Not a thing. >> And Peter sounded extremely discouraged. << It makes me want to go back to Egypt to keep searching. I feel like… like I came up to it real close, and somehow lost it. You remember that dig I did with Stanford University and the Cairo museum? The one Professor Wycliffe took credit for? >>

“Yeah?” Daniel shifted his cell phone, peeking out of his hotel window, thinking about hurrying to meet his elf contact soon. He needed to end this call.

<< Some of the artifacts there were recently sorted out. I hear a rumor they are planning to take it on tour. I only have a select few papyri from that dig. It seems to me, there is someone selectively taking out anything truly useful—anything related the Seven. >>

“Wait.” Daniel shook his head. “But wasn’t most of that find stuff stored by the Seven?”

<< You and I know that. But the general public would not be aware of that at all. So, I keep thinking, it is possible someone in Cairo is only sending to us those things that are… uh, publicly fitting the previous narrative of Egyptian lore. It is well known the Egyptian government has been suppressing archaeologically knowledge for decades. It is possible they know a lot about the Seven and the vimp and all the things connected to it. I need to speak with the heads of the Cairo Museum again. >>

Daniel wondered. “Do you think they will be friendly or hostile if you reveal who you really are?”

He could nearly hear Peter cringe on the other side. << I think I should be prepared for both. >>

Nodding, Daniel sighed. “Ok. But don’t go now. Go after we find our Elf. I need you on this.”

<< Because you don’t have your pal watching your back anymore… >> Peter murmured, implying Daniel’s best friend James Peterson who, in the other world, had always been by his side. Daniel felt the sting of it. They had parted ways physically in this world, going separate directions with their careers. It had been unthinkable when they were younger, but now it was excruciatingly necessary. James was a committed forest ranger now. He was doing good in the wilds of the US West, making inroads among the Natives and elvish folk there, incredibly important for the Seven who resided mostly in the US. But Daniel missed him. They had been a team.

“We’re all friends in the Seven right?” Daniel said, taking a breath for strength.

Peter laughed. << It is always my hope. >>

Laughing too, Daniel ended the call with a few more words—and thought on what Peter had said as he grabbed his jacket and umbrella as he rushed out the door. He had always thought Peter was ‘an odd duck’ (as his stepmother Helena put it). Everyone in the Seven contributed in his (or her in Jessica’s case) unique way. The cause united them. But each one had their quirks, which sometimes irritated the others. Like Eddie’s fascination with horses… everyone teased him about it until he ended up becoming a horse trainer, establishing a home base in Middleton Village for the Seven. Or Semour’s intense computer training as a child which led to his obsessive work in technology, now linked with medieval weaponry—acting as the Seven’s Q.

None of them were normal, really. Not even Andrew, who was their leader. He was still part wolf from that curse a lousy witch had put on the Middleton Village basketball team to cheat at the game. Daniel could see it in ‘Red’, which on the whole was a good thing as the curse made their werewolf friend a lot more comfortable with them. Daniel had a feeling that Howie Deacon would not have trusted them otherwise, despite being Andrew’s best friend since forever. And they needed the financial support from the Deacons, because Michael Toms—who was the eighth and lived in the West Coast, but was also CEO’s heir to billions like Howie—was being strictly monitored by the SRA, whom he had joined for the Seven’s sake. They needed a spy in the SRA to make it all work, but Michael could not spend his money like Bruce Wayne. All of it was being watched.

 Daniel murmured the words of that Yeats poem again, as he rushed along to meet with his elf contact: “Faeries, come take me out of this dull world, For I would ride with you upon the wind, Run on the top of the disheveled tide, And dance upon the mountains like a flame.”

“Yeats was an idiot,” said a man who sounded like he was one of the Beatles. He was leaning against the gypsy style cart which was in fact a small bus turned mobile shop that Daniel was approaching. It had all the fancy awnings and color. The man was just as colorful, with a crooked grin that would rival Tom Brown’s, dreadlocks hanging around his olive face. No one who did not know any better would know he was an elf.

Grinning, Daniel strode up to him. “Good evening Robin.”

Smiling a little wider, the hobgoblin-turned-hippie tipped his Rasta hat and said, “A little early for that. Have you come again to bribe me?”

Laughing, shaking his head, Daniel replied, “No, sir. I’ve merely come to make my plea once more.”

“The brother of a witch…” Robin Goodfellow murmured to himself. “I can’t understand you. Against her cause, yet for saving her soul. Seeking an elf that does not want to be found.”

“But needs to be,” Daniel interjected, earnest in his gaze. “Come on Robin. Isn’t it about time you helped her and us. I am sure she has merely forgotten.”

“I think she wanted to forget,” Robin replied, frowning. Yet watching Daniel’s looks, he said while starting up a pot of fresh tea, “Why should I aid you? Why should I disturb her peace?”

“These are the final days, Mr. Goodfellow,” Daniel said, in earnest, watching him go to work. For an elf, Robin Goodfellow made a stunning cup of tea which truly did help a lot of people who patronized his tiny shop. “Things are moving faster now, and we need her help. We need her help to help our other friend.”

“The demon,” Robin Goodfellow replied darkly.

Sighing, Daniel nodded. “She’s a destroying angel now, like I told you. You did check it out yourself, like I asked? I did say you should verify everything I said—”

“I did…” Robin rolled his eyes with dramatic reluctance. He handed over a cup of tea—faster than most could. And some ‘biscuits’.

Daniel’s heart jumped. “And?”

Sighing, Robin nodded. “Your story checks out. Utterly.” He sighed again then looked at Daniel straight, taking up a cup for himself. “You are so annoying.”

Daniel grinned. That was a compliment. He tasted the tea. Chamomile.

“The thing is,” Robin continued, adding some cream to his tea, “I’d hate—and I mean really hate—to disturb her. My dear beloved friend is at peace where she is. She has had a rough century. Thanks to the wonderful green movement, people where she resides have wisely left her alone. They respect the forest now.”

“Are you saying that generally, or about her forest?” Daniel asked, hoping that was a clue to their Elf’s whereabouts.

Smirking, Robin Goodfellow shook a finger at Daniel. He took a sip. “Cute, little boy. But I speak generally.”

Excitement ebbing, Daniel hunched his shoulders. He took another sip of his hot tea. “Fine. I see. It’s