
Chapter 28
Stumptown became the nickname for Portland when
stumps cleared for dirt roads were painted white after cutting,
then leveled with the ground to show obstacles to wheeled
traffic.
KABOOM. Lightning hit a transformer.
The building shook. Lights flickered and died. The ever-present hum
of the refrigerator silenced.
E.T. scooted into the room without knocking. As if
sensing her sister’s position she joined her under the cot,
covering her head with her hands.
A thunderstorm in the middle of the night? In
Portland? We rarely get more than distant rumbles over the
mountains.
A tree cracked. The splintering sounded long and
angry, worse than fingernails on a blackboard. Then the thud of a
tree branch crashed against the ground.
“Don’t hurt me,” Phonetia pleaded.
I lay down beside the girls under the cot, pulling
them close. “It’s okay,” I whispered over and over.
We clung together. Their fingers tightened on my
arms like vines twining and clinging to a cliffside, desperate to
survive in the harsh environment.
Then the wind came up, howling overhead like a
frustrated banshee. It competed for dominance with the near
continuous thunder and the hail against the roof.
This must be akin to what drove Raquel and JJ to
accept shelter from the Nörglein. If the dark elf caused the storm,
why didn’t he bother putting JJ into a trance and transforming
himself to look like Raquel’s husband?
Because he’d put all his energy into the storm. He
had nothing left for his usual chicanery.
Allie crept in and joined us on the floor all
huddled together.
“He can’t keep it up for long,” I reassured the
girls as well as myself. “He’s hurt and sick. This has to pass
soon.”
The next hour felt like an eternity. We trembled as
fiercely as the building. More trees fell. Wind and rain lashed the
windows as if trying to break them for easy entrance to my
home.
And then as quickly as it came, the storm abated.
Just like a two year old packing up his toys and hiding in his room
after a temper tantrum. Of course he had to slam the door on his
way out.
One last boom, crash, and flash, followed by a
torrent of hail that lasted thirty endless seconds.
“What was that all about?” Allie asked with shaking
chin and darting glances. “That one was worthy of Dorothy’s trip to
Oz.”
“I think Father found out where we are,” Phonetia
said.
“That is one mean bastard,” Allie grunted. “Glad we
got you away from his clutches when we did.”
“Did one of the gang bangers with a demon tat get
away to inform him?” I asked. I crawled to my knees and dusted off
my jeans. I really needed to clean in here.
Allie stared through the window, looking backward
through her memory. Her fingers flexed as she counted bodies.
“Tall, blond guy, maybe twenty-four, gold chains on his neck, one
with a pendant to match his tattoo.” She looked up again almost as
if emerging from a trance.
“He ... he’s the leader of Father’s minions,” E.T.
said quietly.
“And I bet he reported everything to the dark elf.
He might have followed us home,” I sighed. “You girls okay to go
back to bed by yourselves? I need to make some phone calls and do
some serious thinking.”
“I ... I guess,” Phonetia mumbled.
“I’ll tuck you in and stay with you till you fall
asleep,” Allie offered. “Has Tess talked to you about your new
names?”
She herded them out of the office like an
overprotective border collie.
I reached for my cell phone. The power surge had
wiped out the landline.

I’d just drifted off to sleep when the phone
rang.
I flopped awake, not sure where I was, what was
happening, why my ears hurt.
The phone, babe. Answer the phone, Scrap
reminded me.
His voice inside my head rattled the right
synapses. I plucked the phone off the cradle, dropped it, fumbled
it up again, and mumbled something into it upside down.
Lights blazed around me. The digital clock on the
desk blinked red numerals showing a few minutes after twelve. The
power had come back on and the phone lines had been restored only
moments ago.
Then I fully opened my eyes and glimpsed the time
on my cell phone beside the landline. Four in the damn morning. Who
in the hell had the audacity to call now?
My heart went into overdrive. Dad! Something
was wrong with my father.
“I was thinking about calling you. Then I returned
from a party and found your voice mail,” Lady Lucia chuckled. “Is
this a bad time, cara mia?”
I flipped the phone around, the better to hear her
phony Italian accent.
“I have to be up in two hours and I just got to
sleep.”
“Sleep is overrated. We can sleep when we are
dead.”
“Does that mean I get to kill you and all the
Kajiri demons who cross my path?” I wasn’t feeling friendly at the
moment.
Lucia laughed loudly. I could just picture her
throwing back her head, tossing her long blonde—artificial—tresses
into the desert wind, and exposing her vulnerable neck.
A challenge.
Then I had to remind myself, she never allowed
herself to become vulnerable, even if she let you think she
was.
“So what were you going to call me about?” I asked
on a yawn.
“I will be in Portland at the end of next month,
cara, we must talk.”
“Fine. We can meet for coffee at high noon at
Waterfront Park.” Lady Lucia could tolerate sunlight as well as any
human, even though it didn’t suit the persona she projected to
intimidate friends and enemies alike.
She laughed again. This time when she spoke, she
ditched the thick Italian accent. Only a hint of her southern
French Alpine origins leaked through now. “Why did you call, Tess?
You usually avoid me unless you are in dire trouble.”
“Thank you once again for helping clean up the mess
of my mother’s murder,” I said graciously.
“And . . .?”
“And I’ve just adopted two daughters of a Nörglein
elf. I thought you might have some pointers ...”
“Nörglein? Did you say Nörglein? Impossible. They
are extinct. I killed the last of them myself.” She sounded
affronted. “The nasty elf tried to coerce me into exchanging sex
for safe passage through my own forest.”
“One got away.” Now I wanted to laugh.
“Impossible.”
“Explain that to the nasty bugger, hiding in
my forest, who preys on women hikers or binds males while he
seduces their wives in their forms.”
“Don’t worry about him. They breed in cycles. One
child, maybe two. Then none again for a hundred years. That way
people forget about him and don’t hunt him down.” She suppressed a
yawn.
“Not this guy. We’re up to six, maybe seven rapes
in the last year. I’ve got the two girls from his previous rampage
about fifty years ago. They look to be twelve and fourteen.”
“Impossible.” She didn’t sound so sure. “Nörglein
only sire sons. And if these girls look like teenagers then they
are teenagers. The longevity gene doesn’t kick in for half-breeds
until after puberty.”
“But ... but there are no reports at all of lost
hikers in Forest Park ten to fifteen years ago. If five hikers got
lost in the same area in a three year period, someone would have
noted it.”
“They might have noted it, but did they report it?
Hm? Listen, cara, this news troubles me greatly. Your elf’s
genes are breaking down. He should have one son in his care. No
daughters. Only one son. You say he is raising five teens and
siring half a dozen more? Something is terribly wrong. I will take
the next available flight. I’ll call from the airport when I get
in. Ciao.”
She hung up without further explanation.
I had a feeling I should alert someone of her
coming. Like Donovan. But I wasn’t speaking to him at the moment.
Maybe Gollum. No. Not yet. I needed time away from him. Time to
forget how much I loved him so that I could move on with
Sean.
A wicked chuckle erupted from deep inside. Sean
would love to meet a vampire. Even if she was a fake.
Better dig out the hair comb, Scrap said. He
sat on the edge of the desk, idly swinging his bandy legs and
fluttering his wings. You want to watch Lucy’s aura when she
arrives.
“I hate wearing the thing. It turns my hair brittle
and gives me a headache.”
Necessary, dahling. Hey, did you notice my new
warts? Two of them on my chestie. Makes me look real macho, don’t
ya think?
The phone rang again.
“Tess, one more thing,” Lady Lucia said without
preamble. “I’ve heard rumors of a crystal ball of pure beryllium
surfacing. A special crystal ball with power. If you find it, do
not under any circumstances let the elf get his hands on it.”
“Why?” I asked suspiciously. I looked to Scrap to
see if he could enlighten me.
The ball is safe, dahling. Believe me.
Short-gnarled-and-mossy can’t get it.
“Later. Ciao.” She hung up on me
again.
“I guess if you’re the vampire crime boss of Las
Vegas you don’t have to exercise manners.”

I missed my dawn appointment with the sun on my
balcony. But then so did Allie and the girls. I saluted the morning
light, fresh and clean after the storm, halfheartedly with a wave
of my coffee cup as I went about finding breakfast stuff.
Allie rolled over on the sofa and grumbled
something about too much noise.
Would the girls eat cereal? Or did they prefer eggs
and hash browns? What about pancakes and waffles? If they didn’t
get up soon and give me some ideas we were all going to get toasted
peanut butter and jelly.
My alarm over my dad made me wonder if I should
call him. No, he’d be worried about me if I called outside my
Monday morning routine.
A squeak from the bedroom roused my
curiosity.
“Would you girls shut up and go to sleep!” Allie
yelled. “All night they’ve been grunting and moaning. All night
long.” She pulled her pillow over her head.
The squeak came again. It sounded like tree limbs
sawing against each other in a high wind.
“That’s not teenage girls being brats!” I dashed
down the hall to the bedroom. Why hadn’t I heard this
earlier?
“What?” Allie asked. She came up behind me, both
hands wrapped around the grip of her revolver. Weapon carefully at
her side.
“Phonetia? E.T?” I asked as I tapped on the
door.
The muffled squeak came again, this time I caught a
hint of desperation behind it.
“Scrap, what’s happening?”
Heck if I know. The other side of the door, it
doesn’t like ... exist, he slurred. Then he hiccuped.
The fine hairs along my spine stood on end and my
scar pulsed. Something was definitely wrong.
“If I go charging in there will I step into another
dimension?” Like the Nörglein home world?
Unknown. If this is elf guy’s work, he shouldn’t
be able to hide from me. Not unless ... not unless ... Back in a
moment, babe, I’m gonna check on the crystal ball. He flew off
in a drunken swoop.
“What did he say?” Allie’s question masked the pop
of displaced air as Scrap went elsewhere.
“Proceed with extreme caution. And put that thing
down before you shoot someone with it. I don’t think the gun will
help against a forest elf. Otherworldly hide is impervious to
bullets.”
Allie responded by raising the gun and aiming it
over my shoulder. “Open the door very slowly,” she whispered. “If I
need to shoot, you hit the floor.”
“Okay.” I drew out the word into about five uneasy
syllables.
I turned the doorknob slowly. It moved easily,
unlatched. A push from one finger opened it. The hinges creaked
like the sound effects of a haunted house.
Different from the weak sounds coming from within
the room.
Okay. Now I knew something strange was going down.
My faucets didn’t drip, my drawers didn’t stick, and my hinges
definitely didn’t squeak. I made sure of that during the long hours
of writer’s block, insomnia, and depression over the last
year.
Thick, Stygian blackness greeted me. The air felt
so gelatinous and damp I could almost push it aside. It smelled of
damp earth, fecund with growing things. A sharp chill redolent of
fir needles and holly berries caressed my face.
Let’s explore. Scrap dove back into this
reality. Whee! This is better than Disneyland! he chortled
as he thrust the magical comb into my hair. Come on, Tessie,
nothing to fear in here. It’s all just a big blank nothingness
filled with worms and bats. Oops, not supposed to talk about bats
around you. Sorry, dahling, but one of them is just so cute and
he’s playing coy with his wings. What a flirt.
“Scrap, have you been drinking?” I planted my feet
firm and solid, like a deep-rooted oak.
Drunk on life, babe.
“Imp bane,” I snarled. We’d run into that nasty
trick before. Seems that when mistletoe, ivy, and holly are knotted
together in an arcane but very specific pattern, it blocks imps’
senses and prevents them from transforming into Celestial
Blades.
No wonder I hadn’t known what went on in this room.
With Scrap blocked, so was I.
But now that I wore the comb, I caught three
separate heat signatures. One was shifting about restlessly; the
other two were still and recumbent.
Gathering my courage, I thrust my hand into the
inky blackness and found the light switch in the usual place to the
right of the door. One flip and the room sprang to light with too
vivid colors and too sharp definition to each object. I saw auras
everywhere; but none so vivid as around my daughters.
My girls lay on the bed, stripped to their bark and
bound hand and foot with their own pajamas.
Standing over them, wearing his traditional
ensemble of green coat, buff breeches, and a green tricorn hat, a
thorned whip in his hand, eyes glowing demon embers, stood their
father, the last of the Nörglein elves.
He must have crept in through the French doors
during the storm and hidden until we all slept.
“About time you showed up, girlie. I thought you
were dead the way you clung to sleep. Now you’ll learn what happens
to those who steal my property.”
He turned and flicked the whip into my face.