Suzanne Johnson - Elysian Fields

I spoke through gritted teeth. “Mace Banyan.”

The head of the Synod eyed me with an infuriating expression of detached amusement. “Drusilla Jaco. Welcome to Elfheim.”

Like I’d chosen to visit. “Why the secrecy? Why kidnap me and piss off the Elders? I’d already agreed to meet with you.”

“Call me Mace,” he said, ignoring my questions. He walked into the kitchen and pulled several wine glasses from an overhead rack. Six glasses. Awesome. The rest of the Synod must be on the way.

He pulled a bottle of red wine from beneath the counter, popped the cork with practiced skill, and poured three glasses half full. He handed one to Rand, who took a seat on a stool at the bar. Mace held the other out to me.

I shook my head. “No, thanks. You’ve already kidnapped me. Why shouldn’t I think you’d poison me as well?” Okay, they were drinking the same wine, so it wasn’t likely poisoned, but I was through giving Rand—or any other elf—the benefit of the doubt. Plus, Mace Banyan scared the crap out of me. I remembered our first meeting all too well.

“You might as well relax, Drusilla.” Mace leaned against the kitchen counter, a picture of relaxed arrogance. “We’re just going to get to know you better, and then you can go home. We’ve saved a lot of time and political maneuvering by having Rand bring you to Elf heim.”

I gave Rand my surliest look. Words weren’t needed. He shrugged and looked cute.

Some pretes were easy to type. Vampires were pale, had an unmistakable air of world-weary resignation, and projected emotions like humans. Mers and werewolves and other shifters were full of buzzy energy.

Not elves. I tried to find any similarity between Mace and Rand, something that should have tipped me off besides Rand’s lack of aura. Even with no peridot, their energy was like a whisper across skin. Rand was tall, Mace was of medium height. Rand was bright and shiny like a silver Mardi Gras doubloon; Mace was dark and suave, but looked prone to brooding. No pointy ears. Brown eyes versus blue. Stylish, charcoal sweater and slacks versus crunchy-granola sweater, jeans, and long hair.

I should give myself a break—there was nothing about Quince Randolph to set off my radar, except for his weird preoccupation with me. I’d even suspected he was an elf; I just hadn’t suspected he was a kidnapping elf.

I rethought the wine and snatched the glass off the counter. Rand laid his hand over mine. “It’ll be okay. Everyone promised to behave.” He spoke softly, his eyes on Mace. The Synod leader had strolled to the far side of the room and was looking out the window with his back to us.

“I was going to meet with the Synod in just over a week anyway.” I spat the words at him. “What is the hurry?”

“There are political considerations which are none of your concern.” Mace turned away from the window. “It has become important that we understand the scope of your abilities and your use of our ancestral staff.”

As Mace spoke, a crackle of power sent a ruffling shiver across my scalp. Forget that whisper-across-skin thing. They could turn it on and off. Mace oozed power of a kind I’d never encountered, and my fear of him jumped another notch. How can you fight what you can’t understand? One touch from him few weeks ago had almost incapacitated me and had freaked out Jean Lafitte. Jean was immortal, plus he’d seen some dangerous things in his day. Whatever unsettled him had to be bad.

“No doubt Elder Zrakovi will be unhappy about our methods, but we wanted this meeting on our terms,” Mace said. “We’ll learn more by talking to you alone.”

So this was partly about me, and partly to show the Elders they couldn’t call the shots? Willem Zrakovi would take this kidnapping very seriously. If Mace Banyan wanted to get the Elders’ attention, he’d definitely have it. But what was so urgent? I’d been using the staff for three years.

“You’re an arrogant jackass.” My anger overtook my fear, and I ignored a hiss from Rand to be quiet. “You underestimate the Elders. If your political considerations are serious enough to pull this kind of stunt, you might get more than you expect. And you”—I turned and stabbed a finger in the air at Rand— “should be ashamed of your part in this.”

I met Rand’s gaze, and his voice sounded in my head. They won’t hurt you. Stay calm. Don’t antagonize him.

My breath caught in my throat. How had he done that? Did I imagine it?

I tried to think something back at him— how did you do that? — but he just frowned and blinked.

“What are you doing?” Mace’s voice wasn’t in my head, but across the room. He spoke sharply to Rand. “Can you communicate with her?”

“Of course not,” Rand said, his voice smooth and easy. The elf was a good liar. “She’s just a wizard with a few minor elven skills. You’ll see.”

“Yet Mahout, one of our most revered relics, claimed her.” The cold brilliance in Mace’s eyes was at odds with the easy smile on his lips.

The elves wouldn’t dare hurt me, or at least I told myself that. Doing any real damage would end a centuries-long truce between the wizards and elves. Unless, as Adrian Hoffman kept telling me, I just wasn’t that important.

Or unless they were trying to break the truce. Tucking that thought away to consider once I got out of this mess, I focused instead on not hyperventilating. Suddenly, my lungs had trouble drawing air, and a headache began a steady rhythm behind my eyeballs.

“Lighten up on her, Mace.” Rand’s voice was soft. “You can’t influence her emotions. She’s one of Vervain’s—and mine.”

I could tell the second Mace’s gaze left me, and I took a deep breath. He’d been trying to control my emotions?

Mace and Rand had some kind of stare-down I couldn’t interpret. “She might be one of Vervain’s, but she’s not one of yours yet,” Mace finally said. “Don’t forget your place.”

I sat in one of the armchairs across from the sofa where Mace had taken a seat and banged my cell phone on the end table to get their attention. I’d been trying to get a signal but it was dead. Guess Verizon couldn’t hear me in Elf heim.

“Wait just a damn minute, both of you.” It wasn’t like I couldn’t hear them talking about me. “What do you mean, I’m one of yours and Vervain’s?” I asked Rand, and then turned to Mace: “You can influence a person’s emotions?”

“You don’t need to know more about our skills—you know too much already.” Mace went to pour more wine. He needed a serious attitude adjustment, and I had just the staff to do it with. If it even worked on elves. Not that I had it with me.

“Reading and manipulating emotions is an elven skill,” Rand said, coming to sit on the arm of my chair. I wasn’t sure if he was being his flirty self or was there to protect me from Mace. I suspected the latter, which made me both grateful for his presence and even more furious for bringing me here. “But it only works with members of other species, and within our own clans. Your skills seem to be aligned with my clan, the Tân.”

Fire elves, just as Adrian had suspected. “And Mahout was the staff of the Tân.”

“Yes, it—”

“Silence, Quince Randolph,” Mace snapped. “We don’t discuss Synod business in front of wizards.” Mace said wizards much as I might say toad spawn .

I looked up at Rand. “You’re not Synod, are you?” The Tân chief ’s name had been Vervain.

Mace came to stand in front of us. “No, he’s not, and he’d do well to remember that.”

Rand rested a hand on my shoulder, and I felt myself relax involuntarily. Mace couldn’t manipulate my emotions, but Rand could. He’d hidden his power when he was spying on me in New Orleans and pretending to care about Eugenie, and that thought was enough to help me shrug away from his hand and welcome my anger back. I was tired of this crap.