the bowls of popcorn, a bottle of
orange soda, and three cups, taking them all into the living room,
where the girls were playing some teen show that Ashley had DVR’ed
the night before. I grabbed Ashley’s laptop and settled into the
leather chair, taking note of Charm, who was snuggled on the couch
between the girls. Then I opened the browser and Googled the word
‘elves’, pausing once to glance at gramp’s shotgun where I had
leaned it near the door.
***
I was up early the next morning, dressed,
armed and very thoughtful as I checked the household. My sleep had
been spotty to non-existent so I started a steady intake of coffee
to compensate. Everything looked secure, even outside, where the
sun was starting to rise on a cold, clear November morning. Frost
glittered on every surface.
My research hadn’t told me much, although
folklore about the Fey as some called them was extensive. The Irish
had names like sidhe, unseelie sidhe , and leprechauns, while
Wikipedia told me that elves were Germanic and Norse in origin.
Wights, goblins, hobgoblins, pixies, fairies, brownies, dwarves,
trolls, ogres, gnomes, sprites, the list goes on and on.
Every nation on earth, every race of people
have legends of little people and strange, almost magical folk.
Legends that go back hundreds of years, maybe thousands.
Jittery and jumpy, I left the house, locking
the door behind me and checking it twice. Then I headed to the old
part of the barn where the horse stalls used to be. Still are, but
they’ve been modified a bit. One of the two stalls is now my weight
room, having enough room for my Olympic set and a decent bench. The
other, slightly larger space has a heavy bag suspended from the
ceiling. I took off my jacket and tightened my belt. I wasn’t
really dressed for a workout, but my baggy cargo pants and long
sleeve tee shirt wouldn’t bind me or slow me down. Plus it’s not a
bad idea to train as you are, wearing what you would possibly be
wearing if a street fight, mugging or other scenario developed. I
left the gun on my hip as I jump roped to warm up, slightly awkward
in hiking boots. After a couple wind busting sets of rope, I
slipped the bag gloves on and went to work. Pounding the heavy bag
is about as therapeutic as forging. You slip into a rhythm, and
your brain can run free while you work combinations and footwork. I
immediately started to run through what I thought I knew.
Greer had implied distrust of the Green
Court, but also that there was a tenuous working relationship.
White guarded the gateways (?) which implied
one was near; while Green hunted for gifted children. Gifted how?
Intelligence, athletic ability, artistic? But he had also mentioned
talent and gifted in relation to those of his people that could
cross to this world. So talented might imply something else.
I had read enough fiction in my youth and
have seen enough bad science fiction movies to make a guess about
what ‘talented’ might imply.
“You move well,”
I jumped one foot up and three back,
struggling to get my right hand glove off and my gun out. Greer was
leaning against a post about fifteen feet away, arms crossed, with
an interested glitter in his frosty eyes. He grinned at my awkward
spaz attack, holding both hands up to indicate no ill intent.
I got my hand on my Sig, but stopped, as he
obviously could have killed me while I wasn’t looking.
“What the fuck!” I demanded, mad and
embarrassed in equal parts.
“It was not my intention to alarm you. You
were lost in thought and I might have some blame for that,” he
said. “I thought to talk some more.”
My heart was jumping damn near into my
throat, adrenaline racing through me, but I managed to get a grip
on myself and avoid getting smacked by the heavy bag as it swung
back at me.
After a moment he pointed at the bag and
commented again.
“You move well for a human. Heavy on your
feet, but with power. T’oorcs fight like that, although they
are
orange soda, and three cups, taking them all into the living room,
where the girls were playing some teen show that Ashley had DVR’ed
the night before. I grabbed Ashley’s laptop and settled into the
leather chair, taking note of Charm, who was snuggled on the couch
between the girls. Then I opened the browser and Googled the word
‘elves’, pausing once to glance at gramp’s shotgun where I had
leaned it near the door.
***
I was up early the next morning, dressed,
armed and very thoughtful as I checked the household. My sleep had
been spotty to non-existent so I started a steady intake of coffee
to compensate. Everything looked secure, even outside, where the
sun was starting to rise on a cold, clear November morning. Frost
glittered on every surface.
My research hadn’t told me much, although
folklore about the Fey as some called them was extensive. The Irish
had names like sidhe, unseelie sidhe , and leprechauns, while
Wikipedia told me that elves were Germanic and Norse in origin.
Wights, goblins, hobgoblins, pixies, fairies, brownies, dwarves,
trolls, ogres, gnomes, sprites, the list goes on and on.
Every nation on earth, every race of people
have legends of little people and strange, almost magical folk.
Legends that go back hundreds of years, maybe thousands.
Jittery and jumpy, I left the house, locking
the door behind me and checking it twice. Then I headed to the old
part of the barn where the horse stalls used to be. Still are, but
they’ve been modified a bit. One of the two stalls is now my weight
room, having enough room for my Olympic set and a decent bench. The
other, slightly larger space has a heavy bag suspended from the
ceiling. I took off my jacket and tightened my belt. I wasn’t
really dressed for a workout, but my baggy cargo pants and long
sleeve tee shirt wouldn’t bind me or slow me down. Plus it’s not a
bad idea to train as you are, wearing what you would possibly be
wearing if a street fight, mugging or other scenario developed. I
left the gun on my hip as I jump roped to warm up, slightly awkward
in hiking boots. After a couple wind busting sets of rope, I
slipped the bag gloves on and went to work. Pounding the heavy bag
is about as therapeutic as forging. You slip into a rhythm, and
your brain can run free while you work combinations and footwork. I
immediately started to run through what I thought I knew.
Greer had implied distrust of the Green
Court, but also that there was a tenuous working relationship.
White guarded the gateways (?) which implied
one was near; while Green hunted for gifted children. Gifted how?
Intelligence, athletic ability, artistic? But he had also mentioned
talent and gifted in relation to those of his people that could
cross to this world. So talented might imply something else.
I had read enough fiction in my youth and
have seen enough bad science fiction movies to make a guess about
what ‘talented’ might imply.
“You move well,”
I jumped one foot up and three back,
struggling to get my right hand glove off and my gun out. Greer was
leaning against a post about fifteen feet away, arms crossed, with
an interested glitter in his frosty eyes. He grinned at my awkward
spaz attack, holding both hands up to indicate no ill intent.
I got my hand on my Sig, but stopped, as he
obviously could have killed me while I wasn’t looking.
“What the fuck!” I demanded, mad and
embarrassed in equal parts.
“It was not my intention to alarm you. You
were lost in thought and I might have some blame for that,” he
said. “I thought to talk some more.”
My heart was jumping damn near into my
throat, adrenaline racing through me, but I managed to get a grip
on myself and avoid getting smacked by the heavy bag as it swung
back at me.
After a moment he pointed at the bag and
commented again.
“You move well for a human. Heavy on your
feet, but with power. T’oorcs fight like that, although they
are
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