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Excerpt from "What Do You Say to a Naked Elf?" ISBN #050526190 Dorchester
Publishing Chapter
One Kabloom! The right front tire blew.
The car’s headlights illuminated the rabbit sitting in the middle of
her lane. Barreling up the highway
entrance ramp, Jane Drysdale didn’t have time to react. “Oh, damn,” she swore.
The animal disappeared between the front tires and the vehicle swung to
the right. She heard a sickening
“thunk, thunk” and tightened her grip on the steering wheel to wrest back
control, but it was too late. Careening
down the embankment, still going sixty miles per hour, she watched in horror as
she headed for a stand of trees. Jane stomped on the brakes.
The car fishtailed, straightened and for a few brief seconds, paralleled
the road before a line of trees, smaller than the first, rose up before her.
She jerked the steering wheel left and ground her foot into the brakes
again. The
vehicle veered up the embankment, shuddered and died. Momentum threw Jane forward.
The airbag exploded in her face. Her
last conscious thought was the memory of the rabbit shimmering into a more
human-like shape then reforming just before it slid under her wheels. .
. . An insistent pounding pulled
her from the darkness. At first she
thought it came from her right temple where most of the pain in her head
centered. It continued, and Jane
recognized the sound of someone rapping on glass.
With a groan, she twisted and peered out from one eye. Less than a foot away, a man stared at her, mouthing words she couldn’t understand and beating on the car
window. He looked deranged.
Automatically, she reached to touch the buttons to lock the door and
windows only to remember she’d traded in her beloved Mercury last month.
This older Neon, with smaller payments, didn’t have the luxury of power
options. Jane's left arm wasn't working too
well, so she reached across with her right to lock the door. She noted the button, inexplicably, was in the down position.
Had Detroit changed how things worked?
Still disoriented, she pulled up on the tab. A moment later, the door jerked
open from the outside. The man
groped her middle with rough hands and fumbled to unsnap her seat belt.
The catch gave, and he wrenched her free. “Hey!” she yelled, not
only from the harsh treatment but the new set of aches that made themselves
known. “There is a fire!” an
accented male voice said in her ear.
Jane twisted in her
rescuer’s hold. From the corner
of her eye she saw a flicker of orange. She
gasped and struggled against his grip. “Let me go!” she shouted.
She made her body go limp. Dead weight isn’t easy to
carry off to murder and rape. Her rescuer released her, and
Jane staggered to her feet. The
scene before her was nightmarish.
She must have swerved too
sharply: She’d plowed straight into the embankment, crumpling the
car’s front end. The hood had
popped open, and under its steel canopy a fire the size of her microwave
blazed. Jane swore. This will be nice explaining to the insurance company –
ohmyGod, the toys! At the
thought of her merchandise, packed in Rubbermaid containers in her back seat and
trunk, Jane lurched forward. She
had a lot of money tied up in inventory, and it definitely would be
impossible to explain to State Farm.
“Get back!” the man
shouted. “Stay away!” “Try and stop me!” she
called over her shoulder, stumbling and slipping across the dew-drenched grass. His hand closed over hers on
the door handle. She yanked herself
free, using the momentum to elbow him in the stomach.
She had the satisfaction of hearing his whumf before she pulled
open the door and tugged out one of six containers.
By the time she had two free,
he’d recovered and pushed her aside to get the third. “Idiot mortal,” he
exclaimed under his breath. “Mortal?” She crawled around him in the almost empty back seat.
Smoke filled the interior, and she heard fire crackling.
“What does that make you? Witch? Warlock?” She
pulled down the split rear back to expose the opening to the trunk.
“Help me with this, will you?” Smoke
billowed around them, making it difficult to see.
“Get out of here!” he
yelled. “Not until I get my
stuff!” The seat down, she
grabbed the closest box and shoved it in his direction.
She heard it slide away, accompanied by a string of what sounded like
curses in a language she didn’t recognize. Smoke stung her eyes and
burned her lungs, but it didn’t stop her from crawling into the trunk and
reaching for its release handle. Pulling
it with her good hand, she kicked the lid open.
Fresh air hit her. Hands
reached and lifted her out. “The boxes!” she cried. “We have them,” said a new
voice, also accented. Jane twisted around.
A man regarded her, older than the first, but the same build - slight,
wiry, an inch or two taller than her five-foot-six.
She swiveled her head and saw four others, similar in appearance, all
wearing woolen hats or baseball caps, jeans and lightweight jackets.
Jockeys? Chimneysweeps?
Circus performers? “Who are you people?” she asked. She searched for the first guy, the one who’d pulled her from her car. Backlit
by the destructive fire in her little Neon, he stood, supervising the stacking
of her boxes. “Darrin,” she cried.
“Yoo-hoo, Darrin Stephens. Over
here.” Technically it wasn’t
accurate, Darrin being the mortal in Bewitched, but how many famous
warlocks can you name? Jane
couldn't name any. She nodded a thanks to the old guy, a move that made her head ache more, and tramped to her
rescuer’s side. He caught her arm, his eyes
bright with the reflection of the flames. “Get
back. It will explode.” She shook her head.
“You watch too many movies. It
doesn’t happen like that in real -- ” A huge boom cut off her words.
Her companion threw her to the ground, hurling himself on top of her.
Jane cried out at the impact, her bruised body about to mutiny. They rolled
several feet before coming to a stop. Shards
of burning debris rained around them. Pandemonium broke out.
Shouts filled the air, again in a language she didn’t know.
Metal crashed to the ground, some of it very close to Jane and her
rescuer.
The roar of the fire intensified. Jane lay for several moments
under the stranger, adjusting to his weight, listening to the sound of his harsh
breathing in her ear. After what
seemed a reasonable time for him to move off, she nudged him in the ribs with a
pointed finger. “Hey, Darrin, you mind
getting off me?” He muttered something and
rolled away, taking her hand and rising with her in one fluid movement.
“Are you hurt?” he asked. She had a slight ringing in
her ears and the beginning of a headache, plus various bumps and bruises.
“From the crash? Yes. From the
explosion? Not too much. How about you?” He shrugged. “Nothing.” Jane looked around.
Only the five other men seemed have stopped at the accident scene.
Of course, it was close to one o’clock in the morning.
She verified the time on her Indiglo watch and realized Darrin still held
her hand. “Hey,” she cried, pulling
free. “Thanks for saving my life
and all that, but I’m not giving out rewards.
Not the kind you’re thinking of anyway.”
She changed the subject. “Did
you guys call nine-one-one?” “Nine-one-one?” he repeated. “Yeah, like maybe a fire
truck or two.” She watched in
dismay as the husk of her car continued to burn.
“Not that it will do me any good, but those hunky firemen like to
practice. Keeps their hormones
up.” “They will be here.” “Great.” Jane shivered, aware that the temperature had dropped since
she’d left Kendra’s party. She’d
made a lot of money tonight and Darrin had helped save what she hadn’t sold.
Orders, checks and cash lay tucked in one of the boxes. “Are you cold?” he asked. “Yes, I am. Also bruised, battered, dirty, smoky and a dozen other things
I’m too tired to think about.” “Come with me.
I will give you something to cover you.” A sweater or a blanket sounded
good. It was early April and she
hadn’t thought that it might be cool after the party.
Jane followed him a few steps, then stopped. “I’m
not leaving my boxes. As soon as
the fire trucks show up, every gawker within a five-mile radius will rouse
himself from in front of his television and hop in his pickup truck.
I’m surprised there isn’t anyone here yet, what with police scanners
and CB’s.” “You are worried about the
boxes?” Didn’t he hear what she
said? “Yes.” He put two fingers in his
mouth and let out a multi-toned whistle. “My
companions will bring them.” “Your companions? Er, I don’t want to sound ungrateful or anything, but where are you fellows from?” “Sylthia.” He ducked his head and held a low branch out of her way as
they continued their walk. “Sylthia,” she repeated.
“And where is that, exactly?” “Lowth.” “Uh-huh. Is that where you learned English? Because you really need to buy a contraction or two, Vanna.” “My name,” he said, his
voice firm, “is Charlie.” Charlie. Uh-huh. Just her
luck to draw a Charlie for a rescuer. If
this were a romance novel, his name would be Chase.
He’d be six inches taller, forty pounds heavier, have buns to die for
and reek of testosterone. Instead
she wound up with a reed of man who didn’t look like he shaved more than once
a week. Without a sense of humor
too. Didn’t he watch television? At least he helped save her
merchandise. Jane looked over her
shoulder to check on it. The leader
followed, one of the boxes in his
arms. Good. She couldn’t afford to lose any of her toys.
Realm of Pleasures was the latest in her long string of
get-rich-quick schemes. At various
times she’d moonlighted from her ho-hum secretarial job.
She’d tried various products, with little success.
Realm seemed to be the niche she’d been seeking:
selling lotions, potions, massage oils and adult playthings to bored rich
women delivered a slow but steady income. Not that she had much use for
anything that involved a partner, her love life being the way it was, but she
could testify to the effectiveness of the vibrators.
The Long, Tall Texan was her current favorite. A gust of cold wind snapped
Jane from her thoughts. She looked
from the path they’d been following and realized they weren’t anywhere near
the highway. Furthermore, they’d
been walking for some time. “Hey,” she called,
stopping in her tracks. “Where
are you fellows parked, anyway? Why
aren’t we up by the road so we can direct the firemen?”
She turned, trying to make sense of the landscape.
“Where are we?” Mist
swirled around them, making it impossible to see more than a few feet.
It muffled any noise. She
felt as if she’d stepped into a white vacuum. Charlie stopped, a look of
impatience on his face. “We are
almost there.” “How far away is it?
What are you guys out this late?” Her rescuer touched her arm. “All will be
answered.” Something didn’t sound right
about this. Jane tried to
pull free from his grip but he was stronger. “Let go of me,” she
ordered. The mist swallowed her
words. Not so much as an echo came
back to her. “I don’t like
this. Where are your companions?
Help!” “They went ahead.”
He tugged on her to follow him. “We
are almost there.” Jane resisted.
She hadn’t heard anyone pass them. “You belong to some kind of
cult, don’t you? I could tell by
the way you’re dressed, like that Heaven’s Gate guy.
Ohmigod, you’re white slavers. You’re
going to sell me into a prostitution ring.”
Her heart race faster. She
raised her free hand. “Watch out.
I know karate.” “You are wrong.”
Charlie looked ready to do the Vulcan neck pinch on her. “You’re wrong. I’m not taking another step with you.” He sighed. “As you wish.” Before she knew what he’d
done, she felt a sharp pain, like the bite from a ten-pound mosquito, on her
bare arm. She looked down to see
him withdraw a small syringe-like thorn from her flesh. “Ohmigod,” she said again.
“You’re into drugs, too.” Then
the mist changed to black and swallowed her. .
. . Jane woke in an uncomfortable position. It took her a moment to figure out that the pressure on her stomach, the ground rushing at her and her body bouncing up and down meant she lay across someone’s shoulders. Charlie. She thumped his back, hard. He dropped her. She fell in an ungraceful tangle of legs and arms into a bush, which practically devoured her. “Hey,” she yelled, trying
to clamor from the foliage that was scraping her all over. “What’d
you do that for?” Charlie bent forward, his hands
on his knees, wincing in pain. “Why
did you hit me?” “You?” she exclaimed.
“I’m the injured party here. I
banged up my car, then it caught on fire and then I was kidnapped
by white slavers with drug addictions. On
top of everything else, I killed a bunny tonight.” Charlie straightened, wincing
as if he’d pulled a muscle. “It was not a bunny.” She extracted herself from the
woman-eating plant. “I ought to
know one when I see one. He was
definitely a Looney-Tunes-union-card-carrying bunny when I creamed him.” “It was not a bunny.” “Oh, yeah? What then?” He looked her in the eye, as
serious as an executioner. Jane burst out laughing. “Are you sure you didn’t
shoot up after me?” she asked, trying to catch her breath.
“Or maybe I’m going nuts.”
She felt her forehead. No
fever, but a low throb. “You’re quite sane.” “Then you’re the one
who’s Looney Tunes. I thought you
said I hit an elf.” “You did. His name was Tivat.” “Tivat the Elf, hmmm?
What was his last name, Keebler?” Charlie shook his head.
“I’m not familiar with
that name.” “Of course not.
Are you familiar with the term ‘psychiatric treatment’ because I
think you’ve missed a few sessions, buddy.” “My name is not buddy.
It’s - ” “Charlie. I know. Mine’s
Jane Drysdale. Get used to it.
You’ll be seeing it on quite a few legal documents after I figure out
where I am and get to the nearest lawyer.” “I am the nearest lawyer,”
he said with a slight bow. “And
you are in Lowth.” “Lowth? Your home planet? Go
to Mapquest.com, buddy, because we’re in Walker, Michigan.
That road” -- she pointed in the general vicinity of the way they’d
come -- “Is I-96. There should be a
house around here I can call from and get help.” “You are the one who will need help, Jane Drysdale.
Mine. I am your legal
counsel.” Maybe the air bag hadn’t
inflated. Jane felt as if she’d
suffered a serious head injury. “And
why would I need legal counsel, Perry Mason?” “For the murder of Tivat.”
He looked at her as if she’d forgotten two plus two equals four. “Tivat? The elf turned rabbit? Okaaay.
And what is that called? Elficide?
Vehicular Fairyslaughter? Reckless
Endangerment of a Pixie?” “It’s called murder.
I wouldn’t joke about it, Jane Drysdale.
The implications are serious.” Tenacious little fellow.
“Riiight. Just call me
Jane, okay? Hey, you used a
contraction. What’s up with
that?” He sighed. “You’re on Lowth. The
injection I gave you also works as a translator. We’re speaking my language.” “Riiight. Very interesting, Charlie-defender-of-elves.
Well, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll be going now.
It’s been a lovely evening. Let’s
try it again some time. Not.”
Disgusted and tired, Jane spun
and stalked off the way they’d come. Sooner
or later she’d find a house and rouse someone from their
toasty bed, then she'd get home and forget this crackpot. She took a few steps before she noyiced the difference in her surroundings. For one thing, it looked a lot lighter than the middle of the night. More pre-dawnish. For another, big trees, like sequoias, surrounded her. She’d lived in Michigan all her life and never seen anything like this. Least of all in Walker, with its industrial sprawl. "Hey,"
she cried, whirling around. Charlie stood where she'd left him.
"How long was I out anyway? Did you and your buddies throw me in the
back of your padded wagon and take me someplace different? Where am
I?" “You’re on Lowth,” he
said, walking over to her. “As I
said earlier. My world.” “Well, beam me back, Scotty,
because I don’t want to be here.” She’d
had enough of this train wreck. Either
he was crazy, or the stuff he'd injected had taken her on a trip to write up
in The Junkie’s Home Journal. “Jane, there is no way back.
The portal has closed.” His
eyes - brown she noticed - filled with empathy. “Portals don’t close on
their own. Turn the key or cast a
spell or do whatever you elves do to open it back up.”
Jane blinked her eyes, hoping sanity would return. No such luck. Giant trees still loomed over them. Too much green and too many leaves for the beginning of April
told her she’d been transported to another season, as well. Charlie watched her. “Are you ready?” he asked
with a touch of impatience. She shook her pounding head.
“Not until I get some answers. Who
are you?” “Charles of Sylthia.” “A lawyer?” He nodded. “An elf lawyer?” “Technically not an elf.
I’m a Whelphite.” “And what,” she asked
slowly, “is a Whelphite?” “Half elf, half
fairy-sprite. Interspecies breeding
is not uncommon on Lowth.” Jane took a step back.
“Uh-huh. Don’t get any
ideas about breeding with this species, buddy.
I’ll show you a Klingon choke hold you won’t forget for awhile.” His brow wrinkled.
“I’m not - ” “Familiar with that name,”
she finished for him, feeling exasperated.
Jeez. Did the guy live in atime capsule or something?
“I suppose you have some proof of this preposterous claim of yours?” In answer, Charlie reached up
and removed the wool cap he’d been wearing.
The first thing she noticed was his hair, gold and long - like Legolas,
from the Lord of the Rings movies. The next thing she saw should have been the first:
two
pointed ears. What kind of whacked-out Trekkie had picked her up? She hoped his ears were silicone, not the results of some sick mutilation surgery. “Nice ears, Spock.
Pick them up at a convention?”
At his look of puzzlement, she waved away the comment.
“Never mind. Obviously
they don’t have television on Lowth. I’ll
tell you about it sometime over a cappuccino.
That explains the elf half of being a Whelphite.
I suppose you have proof of the fairy half?” He frowned. “You won’t take my word for it?” “The word of a drug-addicted
white slaver who thinks he’s an elf? Riiight.”
Jane snapped her fingers, feeling a twinge in her shoulder at the
movement. “Cough up it, Keebler
boy.” "You're not going to be satisfied until you see it all, are you?" he asked, arms crossed in front of him. "Nope. I'm not budging another step. Don't even think about sprinkling pixie dust on me, either." Charlie
glared at her, then softly swore. He unbuttoned his jacket and
shirt. "I don’t do this for
everyone,” he grumbled, shrugging them off.
“And it’s still cold out.” “I don’t get to see a
fairy strip every day, either. Too
bad I don’t have any dollar bills on me.”
She tried not to think of her purse, a charred piece of imitation leather
somewhere in another world. Or, she
thought, outside this hallucination. Charlie’s physique, however, wasn’t an illusion. He wasn’t thin and scrawny like she’d first thought, but simply of a slight build. It had been a long time since Jane had seen a man’s chest, and he had a nice one: chiseled, with golden threads of hair sprinkled across it. Hoo-boy. She was about to let loose with a hoot when he turned his back to her. A pair of glimmering, almost transparent wings unfurled from it, catching in the morning breeze. Jane fainted. (c) 2007 Cheryl Sterling
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