“Long days call for tall drinks,” Rikky declared after she got home from work. She was short on details about what made her day so long—other than vague comments about a couple kids who had broken each other’s arms wrestling—but she claimed the length of our day was written on our faces.
That made sense, since we had spent the morning at the Postkontor trying to understand Indu Mattison and the trail of dead children he had left behind him. I wanted to ask Bekk more questions about all of that, but it felt hugely inappropriate to ask a pregnant woman, Hey, are you worried your baby is going to die like all the others?
“Maybe it’s because he’s not Omte?” Pan had wondered once we were back at Rikky’s and free to talk without worrying about Bekk overhearing. He sat back on the couch, which was still in the slightly disheveled state of pillows and blankets he had left it in this morning.
Wade was up, exploring his larged domed birdcage, so I poked my fingers through the bars to scratch his nose and slipped him a treat. I glanced over my shoulder at Pan. “What makes you say he isn’t Omte?”
“Aren’t the Älvolk supposed to be something else?” he asked. “They’re trolls, sure, but they’re not really from any of the tribes. By our best records, they were once known as álfar.”
“But the álfar lived in Alfheim,” I reminded him. “The ekkálfar are on earth.”
“Yeah, but we don’t really even know what that means or how the various álfar differentiate from each other. Álfar could be their way of saying ‘Alfheimian,’ and ekkálfar is their word for ‘Canadian’ or ‘Omte’ or even ‘earthling.’”
“Whoa. Wait.” I faced Pan and hugged my arms across my chest. “If we’re earthlings, does that make the álfar extraterrestrial?”
Pan thought for a moment before answering. “In the most literal sense, I would say … yes?” He shook his head. “If they even exist, and if the legends have any truth—which are two really big ifs—then they came from somewhere else. Whether it’s another dimension or afterlife or another planet, it still means they’re not from this world. This earth.”
“But that’s … ridiculous.” I sat on the floor. I wasn’t paying enough attention, so I missed the cushion and sat on the hard floor with a painful grunt, but I barely even registered it.
“Is it, though?” he asked thoughtfully. “To suggest that we’re somehow connected or possibly related to otherworldly beings sounds far-fetched. But we’re an ancient race of supernatural beings with a variety of psychokinetic powers, so who are we to throw stones?”
“Do you think Indu is from Alfheim?” I asked.
“Maybe. Or maybe he’s someone who worships old stories about long-dead álfar.” He shrugged. “I don’t know if we’ll ever find out the difference.”
I chewed my lip. “Of course, we can find out. We can check the blood.”
“The blood?” Pan straightened, his eyes narrowing.
“I saw Eliana’s blood,” I reminded him. “It wasn’t like mine or even any animal’s I’ve ever seen. It’s darker than normal, like a deep burgundy, and thick like syrup. There was a strangely beautiful shimmer to it, even though it was still blood and therefore super-disgusting.”
Pan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his legs, and stared off into space as he considered this. “What does your blood look like?”
“Red, wet, I don’t know. I honestly have never really studied my blood.”
“It doesn’t look anything like Eliana’s?”
I had shaken my head. “No, nothing like that. Hers was … dramatically different.”
He’d rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know. There’s a lot of things I could speculate on … but honestly, we don’t have a lot to go on until we find Indu Mattison.”
It was shortly after that that we picked Rikky up from work. As soon as we got home, Rikky piled her hair up and ducked into her bedroom without saying anything after her brief but incisive commentary about our “long day.”
“Is she okay?” I whispered to Pan after she’d been in her room for several minutes.
He shrugged and talked to her door. “Rikky? Is everything all right?”
“What?” she shouted, her words only slightly muffled by the walls. A few seconds later, she poked her head out—carefully hiding her bare shoulders behind the door. “I’m changing real quick. Do you guys need more time to get ready?”
“Ready for what?” Pan asked.
“The bar,” she said, like it should be super-obvious. “You guys are looking for Indu, and we’re all in dire need of a good time. Ergo, the Ugly Vulture.”
“Oh, right.” I said, pretending I understood that the singular mention of the bar the day before meant that we’d made concrete plans.
“Oh, okay.” Pan sounded taken aback, and he ran his hand through his hair. “Are we going now? It seems a little early.” His dark eyes bounced up to the sunny skies above the skylight.
“The Vulture isn’t the kind of place you’d like after dark. Or at least it’s not the kind of place I like.” Rikky laughed loudly—a short burst of a self-satisfied cackle—then she ducked back into her bedroom, this time leaving the door open slightly so she could talk more freely. “They have pretty tasty bar food too, so we can grab supper there if you want.”
Pan looked to me, and I shrugged, so he answered, “Yeah, sounds good.”
“I guess I’ll go get ready, then,” I said, already backing away to the “guest room” three-season porch to try to figure out what to wear to a roughneck Omte bar.
By the time I decided—a knee-length slip dress in a brassy dandelion color paired with nearly all the black and gold jewelry I had (the legends of trinkets completely mesmerizing trolls are only slight exaggerations, and my trio of necklaces, two rows of earrings, and chunky faux-diamond rings would definitely make me more eye-catching and enchanting)—Rikky and Pan were talking and laughing loudly over the Rolling Stones playing on the record player.
The burgundy liquid sloshing in Rikky’s glass looked an awful lot like the Omte sangria she’d made the other day, and she either didn’t notice or didn’t mind the few droplets that spilled onto the floor as she danced around the living room. Pan was sitting on the couch, laughing at something she said, and he turned back to look at me when he heard the door close.
His eyes widened slightly, and his smiled faltered, but he quickly corrected it with, “Looks like you’re all ready to go.”
Rikky spun around in surprise—she’d been so focused on Pan that she hadn’t noticed me—and she laughed and threw a hand to her chest. “Ulla! Come join us for pregaming!”
“Rikky’s always been big on pregaming,” Pan said with a smile, but it was forced and thin, and his voice had a subtle weariness underneath his usual jovial lightness.
“It’s a matter of practicality,” she insisted with a dramatic head bob that made her plastic earrings rattle. “They’d charge four times as much for a drink half this size.” She held up her glass as evidence. “My mama always told me: get a buzz before the bar.”
“This is the same woman who told you to treat a toothache with a drop of honey in a big mug of eldvatten?” Pan asked dryly.
“The honey was optional. The eldvatten was really the key part,” Rikky clarified and took a quick drink. “She had a lot of good advice.” Then she looked over at me. “So, did you want a drink?”
I shook my head. “I’ll wait until we’re there.”
“I’ll finish my drink, then.” As she eagerly downed it, Pan went over and grabbed the keys from off the hook by the door.
“I’m driving,” he announced.
“Come on, Panny!” She grabbed his hand for the keys, but he turned and faced her.
“You know I hated that nickname then, and I definitely hate it now,” he said coolly.
Hurt flashed across her face, but she hurried to smile through it, even as she dropped his hand and offered an apology. “You’re right. I just forgot, Pan. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. Let’s go have a good night.”
We loaded up into the boat, with Rikky much more subdued than she had been in the house. That made for a long, quiet ride to the bar, but at least Pan had gotten a better handle on driving. Rikky shouted back directions until we finally arrived at a shanty-style marina that spidered out from several gigantic tree trunks.
I’d never seen the giant sequoias and redwoods of California, but I thought the thick, towering cypress trees had to be comparable. I couldn’t imagine any tree larger.
Around the trunks, curved staircases had been built, leading up to a sprawling tree house spreading out through the branches. Even before Pan parked the boat, when the fan was still on, I could hear the music and yelling. The sun hadn’t even set yet, but the place was packed with rowdy Omte.