Stolen Magic. Esri Rose

      “I understand. Come on, Fia.”

      She went to him a little hesitantly. “Why are you so big?”

      Chapter Six

      I went home at around five in the morning, exhausted from dealing with Kutara, working with numbers, and being on my best behavior around Dag. My land welcomed me with unconditional support, and I thought once more that it had been my truest parent. If only it could talk, a lot of my loneliness would go away.

      When I rematerialized, I felt rested but restless. Humans would still be hanging around the office, so it was too early to go to work.

      I thought of Mark and remembered his invitation to a pool tournament at ’Round Midnight, wherever that was. What exactly was pool? I sank into the ground and traveled to the library, where one of the free Internet terminals answered all my questions. Pool did not involve water, but a green table, some balls, and long sticks.

      Just for fun, I looked up the origins of the word. The online Etymology Dictionary said the name might have evolved from the French term for a Middle Ages game. Players threw rocks at a chicken, or poule, and the one who hit the chicken got to keep it. Those wacky humans.

      MapQuest showed that ’Round Midnight was a short walk away. I wasn’t going to kid myself—I wanted to see Mark again. He might have a girlfriend, but he had complimented my hair and said I was an artist. Of course, Kutara believed that making friends with humans was slumming, even though she had a human lover. She insisted that he was strictly to serve her energy needs.

      Maybe I should think about getting friendly with Dag. He was intriguing, although his elf-on-a-quest vibe was a little serious for my taste.

      I sighed. Somewhere out there, people were having fun. I wanted some for myself.

      Leaving the computers, I walked toward one of the automated sliding doors that led into the library’s vaulted, glass lobby. A woman passed me going the other way, and my head swiveled like a cap being unscrewed. Wasn’t that the woman in Mark’s picture? I turned abruptly and followed her back into the main building.

      She walked through the large-print and movie sections and headed up the ramp that led to fiction. I could only see the back of her head. The area we were passing through was too narrow for me to get beside her without being obvious.

      We passed mysteries and entered general fiction. She didn’t stop to look, but continued into the enclosed flyover that connected the new library building to what had been the original library. The original building now housed art exhibits and a movie theater/auditorium. And Elf Ops, of course.

      Still in the glass-enclosed tunnel, she stopped at the small espresso bar and picked out a wrapped brownie.

      I walked past her into the original building and paused to study a painting.

      When she appeared in my peripheral vision, brownie in hand, I turned and got a good look at her face. The wide mouth and eyes were the same, although her dark hair was longer than in the photo.

      She sat on a bench with a tired plop, unwrapped her brownie, and took a bite.

      She wasn’t an elf, anyway, not with that mouthful of brownie. Someone else had glamoured Mark. As she chewed, she gazed at a giant canvas depicting a dog diving into the water after a fortune cookie.

      Interesting. While Mark was in a bar, poking symbolic chickens with a stick, his possible girlfriend looked at paintings of dogs. Maybe it was their interest in animals that brought them together. Or maybe they weren’t together.

      Outside, the streets were full of dressed-up people. I found ’Round Midnight and then walked past. Mark might not be there. Mark might be there. Why was this so hard?

      The bar sat below street level, down a flight of stairs, and through a door framed by pink and blue neon. I went down the stairs on my second pass and entered beneath a sign showing a man’s hands playing a guitar.

      A few guys caught my eye and smiled as I walked past the bar and into the room beyond, where I spotted the pool tables. People conversed in a near shout, punctuated by the occasional, “Oh!” or “Nice shot!”

      I didn’t see Mark, but Butch was plenty obvious as he leaned over the table, cursed, and slapped fellow players on the back. I had just taken a seat on a stool when he spotted me.

      “Hey! Mark’s cute friend!” he called, waving.

      I brightened. That was a much better description than gloomy.

      He took five more shots, then came over. His cue stick was black, I noticed, instead of the light wood of the other players.

      “What’s your name again?” he asked.

      “Adlia. And you’re Butch.”

      “Good memory! What are you drinking?”

      “Oh, I don’t need anything,” I began, but he was already walking away.

      “Pretty girls must have drinks,” he shouted back. “It’s the law.”

      He was back in a few minutes, carrying a pint glass of something gold-colored. “Hard cider. I never met a chick yet who didn’t love it.”

      “Thanks.” I wouldn’t drink it, of course, but I was saved from having to make him think I was by the shouts of the men around the table.

      “Butch! Come put us out of our misery!” one of them yelled.

      As Butch walked back to the table, Mark appeared from farther back in the club. Butch said something and jerked his thumb over his shoulder in my direction.

      Mark caught my eye, grinned, and came over. “Hey, there! Can I get you something to drink?”

      What was it with men and beverages? I pointed to the glass on the ledge beside me. “Butch already did.”

      “If you’ve never had cider before, be careful. It tastes like soda, but it can sit you on your ass.”

      What did that mean? “I’m already sitting on my ass.”

      He laughed. “Do you want to play pool?”

      “I don’t know. I just thought I’d drop by and watch for a little, since you mentioned it.” I was proud of how smooth and casual that sounded.

      “Well, I’m glad you did.” He smiled and touched the side of my knee briefly.

      Again I felt the trace of glamour on him, although it seemed fainter. “Hey, I saw Faith at the library today.”

      “You did?” He frowned slightly.

      “Yeah. I recognized her from your picture, although she looked kind of tired.”

      His frown deepened. “I have got to see that woman. She has a habit of getting involved with the wrong guys.”

      “Does that include you?”

      “Me?” He chuckled. “No. She’s my cousin, but it’s more like she’s another sister. That’s why I first came to Colorado. She was having trouble with a stalker.” He leaned against the bar on the wall behind us. “She hasn’t been returning my calls, and when I go to her apartment she’s always out. I’m starting to wonder if she’s gotten involved with a cult.”

      “She wasn’t with anyone when I saw her. She was just sitting, eating a brownie.”

      “At least it’s not an anti-brownie cult. Good to know.” He shifted, then turned when his arm hit something with a small clunk. “Your drink is still back here.”

      “I tasted it. It’s not really my thing.”

      “A woman who doesn’t like cider. Butch will be shocked.”

      “You can have it if you want.”

      Mark picked it up. “Trying to get me drunk so you can take advantage of me?” He