Suzanne Johnson - Elysian Fields

My eyes started glazing over. “So, I can study this all later, right?” Or was he planning a pop quiz?

He sniffed. “I suppose your attention span is too short to absorb more than the barest of basics in one sitting.”

Damn straight. “So, from your vast knowledge about elven magic”—Adrian nodded solemnly, the snark flying right over his shiny head—“which clan do my skills best fit?”

He thought a moment and looked back at me. “Let me ask about a few more of your skills, and I might have a better idea. Given that the staff Mahout claimed you, and you wield fire with it, my first instinct would be to guess that your dominant clan is the Tân.”

Fire elves. That made sense. I wondered if that dominant gene came from Gerry or my mom, who’d given up her Green Congress skills to live as human just as her mother had done.

Adrian put the papers back into his briefcase. “Shall we continue?”

I put my own sheaf of elven bureaucracy in my backpack. “I’ll look through the papers tonight and write down any questions I have.”

“Fine. Let’s go through a few other elven skills.” Adrian moved the briefcase aside and turned to face me on the bench. “Can you discern health issues—if you touch a person, can you tell if they’re ill or have a pending health crisis?”

That was an elven skill? “No, I can’t do that. Can all the elves do that?” Thank goodness Zrakovi hadn’t set up the elf meeting until after the full moon, when I’d be gone. Otherwise, Mace Banyan would know about my little fur problem and use it against me.

Adrian folded his arms over his chest. “Not all elves can do that—chiefly the earth elves. You’ve said you and your father could communicate through dreams. Have you been able to communicate telepathically with anyone while awake?”

“No. I can only read emotions and energy signatures,” I said, earning a look of confusion. “It’s the thing I was talking about at the office last week. Every species has a unique energy field—I can feel them and tell what species someone is, most of the time.” Quince Randolph being an annoying exception.

Adrian frowned. “So you can identify a species by the aura they project?”

I nodded. “It’s how I was able to tell that murdered professor whose body we found last month was a wizard—there was still enough of an energy signature on him that I recognized it. And how I knew the Axeman Deux murders were being done by the real Axeman. The historical undead have a slightly different aura than a human or another undead species like vampires.”

He frowned. “So you can tell I’m a Blue Congress wizard by the energy I give off?”

His interest surprised me. Of all the elven skills I had, energy recognition was helpful but hardly exciting. “No, I can tell you’re a wizard, but not what congress you’re in or what your unique abilities are.” Too bad, because that would have been useful.

“What about the emotions—you claim to be empathic?”

“I am empathic, and those abilities are ramped up by touch.” I reached out and rested my hand on his arm. He flinched but didn’t jerk it away. “I can tell you are uncomfortable with me touching you, and that you’re worried about something . . . and that you feel love toward someone.” Interesting.

I smiled at his look of alarm. “Don’t freak out. I can’t tell what you’re worried about or who you love—only the emotion. I’m not psychic.”

He stared at me a long time before finally moving on. “Can you do memory acquisition? Touch someone and pull memories from them?”

I shuddered at the sensation of Mace Banyan scrambling in my head. “No, but that’s a trait of the Air Elves, right?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yes, although it’s the water elves who are most adept at it. How did you know?”

I told him about my brief encounter with Mace Banyan in the Beyond.

“Interesting,” he said, eyeing me curiously. “What did it feel like?”

I tugged down my sleeves to ward off a chill that had nothing to do with the weather. “It felt like my brain was being run through a food pro cessor, set to liquefy. It hurt.”

Adrian digested that for a moment, then abruptly stood. “Let’s work on your staff skills.”

I set my backpack on the bench, pulled out the staff, and walked over to inspect the targets. They were about six feet tall, metallic silver, and in the shape of men and women—sort of like the little universal symbols on the doors of restrooms. An etched X marked the rough location of heart and brain. “You got these from central supply?”

He nodded. “The enforcers use them with trainees. The metal targets are good for using incendiary ammunition like one would use on a zombie—or for wizards who have poor aim with elven staffs.”

Yeah, because there were so many of us.

“Pay attention,” Adrian snapped, taking a spot about four feet away from the figures. “Start from here. Once you’re accurate at this range, you can move farther back.”

For the next hour, I practiced aiming the staff and shooting small ropes of flame at the targets. Adrian complained about the size and fury of my flames, insulting my lack of power, but I wasn’t about to waste energy on target practice when I needed to plan an escape to the Beyond.

Finally, I managed to hit the heart four times out of five from close range. The head remained a problem, being a smaller target, but I’d had enough. The lack of sleep, plus the physical magic used to channel the staff, left me with a pounding headache and muscles that felt like they’d been squeezed through a wringer. Not to mention loup-garou changes, since I’d worked up an unladylike sweat and had pushed my sleeves up to my elbows.

Adrian was sort of droopy himself. “I need to go to Edinburgh on business for a few days, so after our lesson tomorrow we won’t meet again until next week. But you should come out here and work over the weekend. You need the practice.” He helped me drag the targets into the shelter of what was left of the Cajun Nation building. They’d probably be covered in gang tags by tomorrow, unless they’d been stolen.

But he was right—I needed the practice. The fire from my staff was going to be my best weapon against the Axeman if he managed to catch me. Correcting my aim was just going to take practice.

Lots and lots of practice.

Alex got back from his DDT run well before dark. In case I had missed him slinging gravel when he rammed his monster truck into the driveway, he’d shown up ten minutes later, striding through my back door like the leader of an invading Mongol horde. “Dinner’s at my place. Pack up a few days’ worth of stuff.”

If I’d known sex was going to make him so domineering, I might have rethought that bucket-list thing. Then again . . . “Where am I going?”

He picked up the staff and handed it to me, and I followed him into the living room, watching as he stared at the cheap plastic lawn chair parked in front of the TV.

“I brought it in from the yard so I’d have a place to sit.” Like I should have to defend my décor under these conditions.

He shook his head. “Take the staff. You’re moving in with me, at least until we’ve caught the necromancer or it’s time to make a run for the Beyond.” He turned to give me a little half smile that made my toes curl. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Yeah? How are you going to do that?” Good Lord, he just had to bat those chocolate-brown eyes at me and I started simpering like a high school girl. Totally pathetic.

He gathered me in his arms and kissed me, in case I’d forgotten exactly how he could make it worth my while. I wrapped my legs around his waist only to keep from falling. Really.