Stolen Magic. Esri Rose

never be won.”

      He leaned back, cupping both hands around his coffee cup. “And you don’t think you’re an artist.”

      He smiled so sweetly at me, I wanted to touch him. Instead, I turned away and fiddled with the strap of my bag as it hung over my chair. “Besides pictures of Boulder, what else do you photograph? Wildlife?”

      “God, no. Those guys are out in all weather, getting bighorn-sheep crap on their Patagonia jackets and picking up fleas from the prairie dogs. I’m a people person, so I do a lot of portraits.”

      “Do you have any you can show me?”

      He reached toward his camera bag, then stopped. “I would, but I cleared the card last night. Wait—I do have something.” He put a hand in his pocket and pulled out his wallet. “This isn’t very big, but it’s one of my favorites.”

      I took the dog-eared photo he handed me. It showed a lovely brunette, elbows propped on the floor and face cradled in her hands. Her dramatic brows arched slightly and one corner of her wide mouth curved up. “She looks—” It had to be said. “She looks kind of elfin.”

      He nodded, smiling. “And she didn’t believe she was beautiful—can you believe it? That’s Faith. She’s the reason I came to Colorado.”

      Of course she was. The picture didn’t show the woman’s ears, of course, but I would bet good money this was the source of Mark’s glamour traces. Actually, she looked a little familiar. “I think I’ve seen her around. Has she ever come to class?”

      “No.”

      We were interrupted by a blond bear of a man, who clapped Mark on the shoulder. “Mark! How’s it going, man?”

      Mark made the introductions. “Adlia, this is Butch, whose only job appears to be beating me at pool. Butch, this is Adlia—one of my more promising photography students and a specialist in humorous gloom.” He winked at me.

      Butch engulfed my hand with his and grinned. “Right on.”

      “I’m not that gloomy,” I said.

      “Why shouldn’t you be?” Butch’s grin was wide enough to show his molars. “The world’s going to hell, but we can have a good time on the way.” He turned to Mark. “Eight-ball tournament this Saturday night at ’Round Midnight. I’m spreading the word.”

      “I’ll see if I can make it,” Mark said.

      “You’d better.” Butch gave me a wave and left.

      I pushed back my chair. “I should go. You know how it is—things to negate, people to depress.”

      He looked sheepish. “I’m sorry I said that. Sometimes I try too hard to be funny.”

      “Can I claim you were wrong? I don’t think so. Anyway, I have to go.” In truth, I was feeling pretty exhausted, and needed to get to my land.

      “Okay. Listen, would you like to go to the pool tournament?”

      “Um, maybe. I’ll think about it.”

      “All right. Maybe I’ll see you there.”

      I went out the back, into the alley that ran between Pearl and Walnut. Two businesses down, I passed a Dumpster. Chunks of broken asphalt jutted from under one of the legs, where it had been set down repeatedly. A dandelion grew in the exposed patch of dirt. I put my foot down as if to crush it and instead disappeared with a shimmer that would have made George Lucas moan with envy.

      I gave the metaphysical equivalent of a relieved sigh as I dissolved into the ground and focused on my destination. The molecules of my messenger bag dragged on me slightly, but everything I carried had originally come from the earth. It followed me like fog as I flowed through dirt and tree roots, dodging pipes, wires, and the occasional underground stream.

      The sensation of living things—earthworms, fungus, bacteria—felt like an electric hum, with the occasional racketing buzz of larger animals, like the raccoons that ruled the storm sewers. You learned not to mess with raccoons. I was just glad they hadn’t figured out how to buy guns.

      Was Faith Mark’s girlfriend? She’s the reason I came to Colorado. On the other hand, he’d also said, I like the color of your hair. Not her hair, mine. And he’d invited me to the pool tournament, whatever that was. I felt up on human culture most of the time, but less than a year of intensive study meant there were gaps in my knowledge.

      Maybe Mark had asked only to be polite. Of course, it was unnecessary for me to feel all this uncertainty. Kutara would point out that elves could learn anything they wanted about a human, at any time. The only things that kept me from doing it were good manners and terror. Never eavesdrop. You might hear something about yourself.

      I reached home and felt myself relax. Kutara was always telling me not to take my land for granted, but it was sort of like humans and their skin. They wouldn’t want to be without it, but they also didn’t run around yelling, “My skin, my skin! I’m so grateful for my skin!”

      I let myself disperse fully, expanding out between the roots of the tall pines, taking time to tweak the course of an underground stream that might destabilize a slope, and buzzing a mountain-pine beetle with negative energy that sent it flying elsewhere. Of course I loved my land. It was the one thing that had always been there for me.

      When I walked into Elf Ops that evening, I was surprised to see Fia still there, being examined by Galan’s human mate, Erin. Kutara solved most problems so quickly, I had assumed Fia would be fixed and home by now. I went to my desk, where the newly delivered Quicken program sat with awful precision in the exact center.

      Kutara lounged in the chair across from me, watching Erin and stroking her jaw in a way that would look thoughtful to the outside observer but actually signaled unease. When Kutara was truly relaxed, she moved about as much as an Easter Island statue.

      Across the room, Galan and Lenny also watched as Erin stood behind Fia with her eyes closed and her hands lightly cradling Fia’s temples.

      Erin had short auburn hair and was almost as tall as an elf—certainly taller than me. She was usually so energetic and outspoken, her silent examination of Fia made the situation seem even more serious.

      I spoke quietly to Kutara. “No luck finding out what’s wrong with Fia?”

      Kutara kept her eyes on Erin as she spoke, forefinger tracing her chin over and over. “We got an e-mail today from someone who’s around eight hundred years old. He remembered an elf losing his memory. The affected elf wandered off and was found dead. They never found out what caused it.”

      “What’s Erin doing? Trying to heal her?”

      Kutara shook her head. “If I couldn’t heal her, Erin certainly won’t be able to. But she might be able to get a feel for Fia’s energy. I’d like a second opinion.”

      Normally, Kutara getting an opinion from a human was like a neurosurgeon asking for tips from the aide who empties the bedpans, but Erin had learned to raise energy for elves through meditation, and had developed some healing abilities after bonding to Galan. As far as we could tell, she was unique in this, but she and Galan were the only bonded elf-human couple we knew, so it was hard to know for sure.

      Elves had once had a tradition of oral history, but our reduced numbers and isolation from each other meant that much of our own past was lost to us.

      Erin squeezed Fia’s shoulders and came over to Kutara’s desk. Lenny and Galan drifted over to join us. Lenny was dressed in his usual outfit of low-slung jeans, muscle shirt, and knit cap, which hid his ears and kept his dark, wavy hair out of his face.

      “Well?” Kutara asked, still staring at Fia.

      Erin shook her head. “It’s like she’s melting inside.”

      Kutara’s shoulders lifted in a delicate shudder. “I felt the same thing.” She turned to Lenny, who had a real gift