Wood Sprites

In the next room, the painters finished up painting. During the last two days, Louise had come to recognize individual voices. The workers’ supervisor was a female that Anna believed to be named Cosette, but whom the other elves called Dovetail. As Louise listened, Dovetail announced that she would install the lighting, but she wanted to wait on hanging curtains and moving in the furniture. Louise breathed out in relief; another day of work before Dovetail could call the room finished.

The workers gathered up their painting equipment and trooped out. Dovetail remained to install the lights. Her footsteps echoed in the empty, high-ceilinged room. She sang as she worked. The song seemed to be Low Elvish, full of puns that Louise suspected were sexual in nature.

Dovetail suddenly stopped in mid-word. “Oh! Husepavua! I’m so sorry! I wasn’t thinking.”

Husepavua? Was Sparrow here?

“Finish what you’re doing,” a familiar male voice answered in French.

Louise smothered a gasp as she recognized Yves. The twins hadn’t officially met the male. According to Anna, he had been away on business since they had arrived. When had he returned?

Dovetail’s sigh of relief echoed loudly in the empty bedroom. “Yes, husepavua.”

“Black and gray?” Yves snorted. “They’re just like their mother; she was a moody little bitch. It’s ironic that Sire felt that he couldn’t safely lock Esme up and use her as a brood mare. Yet she turned around and made herself one.”

“Do you think there are more than these two?”

“Assuredly,” Yves said. “Finding them is the problem. Damn these monkeys with their mechanical idiocy. Every twenty years, they’re changing how the world works. Just as you’re starting to understand how to run their machines, they change everything. Nothing new works with anything old.”

Dovetail made a sound of disgust. “I know. Every fifty years I’ve had to completely redo all the damn lighting because they’ve changed the lightbulbs again. You can’t get one of these to save your soul.” She apparently held up the old bulb. There had been an antique crystal chandler hanging in Lain’s bedroom with large flame-shaped bulbs. “What is it you need, husepavua?”

“I need you to supervise uncrating our prize.”

“Ha! I heard about your adventure! So we’re going to take it apart here? I thought you’d ship it to Elfhome with the others.”

“I don’t want the others to know I have it. They’ve been saying that the beast doesn’t exist. I’m not sure if they were being naïve or deceitful.”

“Or just plain stupid.”

“Possibly. Still, you’re right. This is not the best of places for spell-working, so I need your expertise.”

“Understood.”

Footsteps echoed, moving away.

“Husepavua?” Dovetail called before Yves left the room. “Will we follow Sire soon?”

Follow? Follow Ming where? The twins hadn’t seen Ming since before Shutdown. Had he return to Elfhome without any fanfare?

“What are a few months to the thousands of years that we’ve waited?” Yves said.

“I’m so sick of this world,” Dovetail whispered fiercely. “I’ll be glad when we can go home. Reclaim all that was taken from us. I hate huddling around little pools of magic, praying that it will be enough to sustain us. I hate the monkeys with their stupid hidebound mores that keep changing according to some illogical male whim. Don’t bathe together. Don’t go out without a veil. Don’t go out without your breast covered up like it’s something indecent instead of a simple mammary gland. Don’t sleep with the slaves! Don’t own slaves. Treat everyone equally. They’re imbeciles.”

“Oui, oui.” Yves laughed in agreement. “We will follow soon. The monkeys found us that damned box with the loaded nactka

. Sire now has everything in hand that he needs to crush the rebel slaves underfoot. We will continue to funnel weapons to Pittsburgh for as long as we can and then destroy the gate. A year or two at most.”

“Tomorrow would not be soon enough.”

Yves snickered at Dovetail’s impatience. “Patience. We want the first blow to be crippling.”

* * *

Jillian was in character. Louise wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or bad. Her twin had found an Air Force officer’s peaked cap, a baseball and glove. She strutted around the card table, tossing up the ball and catching it. She had placed an enlisted man’s garrison cap on Nikola’s head; judging by the beat of his thumping tail, this made him one happy puppy. Even Joy had a little paper hat that she was currently taste-testing.

“Private Dufae!” Jillian flung the baseball so it hit the floor, bounced off the side of the desk, and rebounded to her glove. “Cue The Great Escape theme song.”

“Aye, aye, sir!” Nikola saluted, paw cocked up to his ear. The trumpet and drum military music started to play on Jillian’s tablet.

“Now to break out from Stalag Luft Drei, we face the following difficulties.” Jillian used a broad Midwest accent that gave a nod toward Missouri.