Page 6 of Shelf-Made Man
The little scissors from the first aid kit failed the challenge of cutting the tunic fabric, so Tobias fetched a bigger pair from the kitchen junk drawer. Again,Alfred didn’t react when Tobias removed the remainder of his clothing.
Tobias reacted, however, with a shudder, because Alfred’s torso was covered in vivid mottled bruises. “I don’t see any more open wounds, but you could have internal injuries.”
“I’m sure you’d enjoy that.”
“Why would you think that? I’mhelpingyou, in case you haven’t noticed.”
Alfred turned his head to look at Tobias through narrowed eyes. He was clearly trying to look fierce, although that was pretty ineffective considering he was naked, injured, and splayed on Tobias’s galaxy-print duvet. “Why is a troll playing healer? What devilry are you plotting now?”
“I wish you’d stop calling me a troll. I told you—my name is Tobias.”
“Why do you deny your nature? Do you think you are fooling me somehow? I know that you are a troll and that you will soon deliver me to Snorkel, and then all will be lost.”
Maybe Alfred had suffered a head injury. Tobias tried to be patient in his response. “I don’t know anyone named Snorkel. But those bruises look pretty bad. And….” He stopped and stared at Alfred’s chest, because in addition to the reddish-purple splotches, there were also several tattoos of intricate abstract designs. And the tattoos weremoving: spinning, undulating, and swaying, while also glittering as if they contained miniature disco lights.
“Um,” said Tobias.
Not even glancing down to see the spectacle on his own body, Alfred continued to glare.
Tobias blinked, but nothing changed. “Um… what are those?” Living in Portland, he saw a lot of artistic tattoos, but never anything like this.
“Don’t pretend more stupidity than you already possess,” Alfred snarled. “Even a troll is capable of recognizing clan marks.”
“Hey!” Tobias didn’t offend easily, but he’d had just about enough of Alfred’s gibes. He knew he should give the guy a pass due to his unsettled state of mind, except Alfred’s gaze seemed clear and entirely lucid.
They stared at each other for a while, unease growing in Tobias’s gut. Something here wasn’t… right—aside from finding a rude, injured stranger in his living room. The weird tattoos. The costume. The delicately beautiful face, which seemed somehow familiar. The pointed ears—that flushed to their tips when Alfred was angry.
Tobias really was feeling like a dumb troll now. He just didn’t understand.
Alfred must have been processing some thoughts as well, because he blinked a few times, surveyed the room, and looked back at Tobias with wide eyes. “You’re not a troll.”
“Thanks?”
“Are you…human?” He said this as if it were the most unlikely thing in the world.
Well, the second most. Theverymost unlikely thing in the world was that Alfred was an elf.
Tobias gave a distressed moan and rushed into the living room. The blood had dried on the floor; the windows and doors remained securely locked. And the doll that Aunt Virginia had given him was gone.
He made a frenzied search of the living room, finding the shoebox that now contained just the fabric and note. There was nothing under the couch cushions or under the couch itself. Nothing hidden in a corner. Certainly not behind the bookshelf, which had been firmly attached to the wall since the bungalow was built in 1927.
No. No. Absolutelynot. It was impossible.
When Tobias shuffled hesitantly back into the bedroom, Alfred hadn’t moved, but he looked as shell-shocked as Tobias felt.
“What’s going on?” Tobias didn’t like how wavery his own voice sounded.
“I’ve no idea. Please, tell me….” Alfred swallowed and didn’t seem able to continue. He had an expressive face and would probably make a terrible poker player.
Tobias decided to ask one of the most bizarre questions of his life. “Are you, um, human?”
“Of course not.”
Okay. Right. Of course. “Then what are you?”
“I am an elf,” was the whispered reply.
There was an upholstered chair in the corner of the bedroom. As usual, it was piled with clean clothes that Tobias hadn’t yet managed to fold and put away. Heswept them unceremoniously to the floor and collapsed heavily onto the cushions. “I see two possibilities here. One is that you are mentally ill and/or on drugs, and after getting hurt you somehow got into my house—while wearing an elf costume and without shoes—without actually breaking in, and there’s a fancy new style of tattoos I’ve never seen before, and you have pointy ears due to a genetic quirk or body modification surgery.”
