Elfhome

“I should have never come to Pittsburgh.” She cried into his shoulder as he railed silently at himself. “I cast my lot nae hae ago, when Wolf brought me to the Westernlands and his household was living in tents and there was nothing but trees. I didn’t trust him then; I didn’t believe he could carve prosperous holdings out of the wilderness.”

And of course, because Tommy was thinking with the wrong head, he was happy that she hadn’t trusted the male, that it was his shoulder that she was crying on.

“All I could see was ruin,” she wailed. “So I put distance between us and left him to fail alone.”

That was what Tommy needed to do. He couldn’t afford to be soft-hearted over any female, especially an elf. Of course there was the annoying problem that he needed to deliver her alive and well to Prince True Flame.

“I should have lived with my failure.” Jewel Tear sobbed and clung tighter to him. “But everything was unraveling and word came that his child bride had been taken and may be dead. I thought if I was here when they found her body…”

He kissed her to silence her. He didn’t want to hear how she planned to win Windwolf back. He didn’t want to think of her in bed with the male — true stupidity to feel jealous — to feel anything. Still he couldn’t help holding her and soothing her and feeling like an idiot for wanting to protect her.

She calmed down enough to realize that they really didn’t have time to screw around any more. When she pulled out of his arms, it felt like something tore inside of him because he knew he would have to keep her at arm’s length from then on. It made him angry that it hurt — angry at himself and at her and at the elves and the stupid oni.

Spot tugged at Tommy’s shirt and pointed upward.

A gossamer swam on the horizon, the bulk of its giant body just a shimmer of light. Its passage was marked by the massive gondola gliding underneath it like a black needle threading through the blue.

Jewel Tear gasped. “It’s one of ours.”

Ours. Like he was an elf too. But she didn’t sound anymore happy about it than he did.

“And that’s bad?”

“I don’t know how many of my clan are working with the oni.”

34: Amaranth and Forge

Since finding Merry outside the train station, Oilcan’s life had veered off onto a strange road. Despite the fact that the way was full of twists and turns, winding through a dark country, he had felt in control. He’d decided to be responsible for the kids. He’d chosen to move to Sacred Heart. He had been holding off on sponsorship, trying to see if they could open an enclave without the commitment to any one clan.

He had an uneasy feeling, though, that the brakes on his life were going. Any moment, he would go hurdling down a steep hill, stomp down to stop it all and the pedal would sink to the floor and nothing would grab in the wheels.

He went to his project board in an attempt to find things that would make him feel like he was staying in control. Of the countless projects yet to be done, the one that spoke to him was painting. The bullet holes had been filled and the plaster sanded and primed, but none of the walls had been given a final coat of paint. The whole building looked infected with the countless white spots bright against the grimy walls. Fresh paint would erase the last traces of the oni on the enclave and make it wholly theirs. Buying paint would also take him to one of his favorite places: the hardware store.

Wollerton’s had ruled over South Side, like so many of the successful surviving businesses in Pittsburgh, for generations out of mind. Its narrow, dim aisles had everything conceivable for keeping a home livable on Elfhome, from paint and ladders to flame throwers and wolf traps. Becky Wollerton leaned toward crockpot dishes while tending the store, which wreathed the place with the smell of stewing meat. Occasionally there was the thunder of little feet overhead as the next generation of storekeepers played soccer or tag in their sprawling apartment. It was a comforting safe place for Oilcan.

He guided his kids to the painting section while Thorne slipped through the aisles like a grim shadow. He couldn’t imagine the pain she was going through, losing all her brother warriors in one night. At night, in bed, she allowed herself the freedom to cry, but he’d learned that daylight meant she was working and she preferred her space.

The kids stood silent and still in front of the massive array of colors, apparently stunned at the number of choices.

“They’re so pretty.” Merry fingered the paint chips. “We can only choose one?”

“You can choose two or three if you want.” He pulled out cream and paired it with a dark green in the same family. “The trick is to pick colors that look good together. See, we could paint three of the walls this cream and one wall this green.”

He put the chips back into the trays. “The rooms are big. We can paint them any way you want, but the easiest is just to pick one color you like a lot.”