Page 22 of Enticing the Elf
“Dáithí is my happiness.” Ohhh. Dáithí. “But he might not want to be. It’s hard work, being someone’s happiness, even though all Dáithí has to do is exist. He’s… he’s my sunshine.” I squint, because that’s not right. Sunshine is mellow, not sassy. “The kind that sometimes gives you a little sunburn, but you love it and want to spend all your time out in it anyway.”
“Maybe don’t tell him that,” Niamh suggests, and I swing around to frown at her. She’s swaying, for some reason.
“Why? Do you think he doesn’t want to be my sunshine? You do, don’t you? You think he’s changed his mind about giving me a chance.”
“I meant the sunburn part,” she says patiently. “Calling him a sunburn isn’t romantic. Or a compliment.”
“It’s ametaphor,” I explain. “Dáithí’s all hot and burny and sometimes has flaming explosions on the outside, but inside, he’s sweet and funny and perfect. Like the sun.”
“Don’t tell him that either,” Brayan advises. “Also, I’m not an expert on the sun, but I don’t think it’s ‘sweet and funny’ on the inside. I was told it’s a ball of gas.”
Are they deliberately missing the point? “Even a ball of gas can be sweet and funny.”
Niamh opens her mouth, but the king speaks before she can. “Let’s not worry about that for now. We all know what you meant, Eoin, and I think it’s wonderful that you see Dáithí like that.”
“It’s not how I see him; it’s how he is.” Why are there suddenly two of him? Is this an illusion spell—maybe a new security measure? I should know about that, since I’m the headof his security team. Leaning toward Ari—who puts a hand on my shoulder and pushes me back into my chair—I whisper, “Did I authorize the two-Raðulfrs illusion spell?”
He glances across the table at the king, then back at me. “You’re seeing two of him?”
I nod. For some reason, my head keeps moving up and down even after I want it to stop, so I grab my chin with my hand. “Two.”
“Uh-huh. You did approve it. We’re, uh, testing it tonight, remember.”
“Of course I remember. I was just checking that you did. Good job.” I’m so glad he’s my second-in-command.
“I think I’ve worked it out,” Brandt says suddenly. He’s holding the whiskey bottle in one hand and his phone in the other, staring intently at the screen. “This is a community brand, which means sorcery to prevent them from metabolizing the alcohol too fast. Their website says the weave they use is their own patented design, since they only produce whiskey, which is supposed to be sipped.” He looks over at me. “Eoin definitely did not sip.”
“So the effects of the weave are amplified because he drank it fast?” Steffen asks suspiciously. He’s adorable sometimes.
“Steffen, you’re adoramph—” Ari’s hand clamping over my mouth cuts me off.
Steffen frowns. “What did he say?”
“Nothing that would add value to this conversation—or his life.” Ari smiles at Steffen, then leans closer to me and murmurs, “I’m going to take my hand away. Do not speak.”
I nod, my eyes darting around the room. Is there danger? Have I been compromised? Will my voice trigger a detonation spell? I won’t risk Raðulfr, but Ari seems to have things under control, so for now I’ll let him take the lead.
“I guess so,” Brandt is saying. “Alcohol does affect us, after all. It just wears off faster, making it difficult for enough to build up in the bloodstream to make us tipsy or drunk. Before the community began using sorcery to help with that, the trick to feeling a buzz was to drink a lot in a short space of time. Eoin did that, but since he wasn’t drinking human liquor…”
Raðulfr raises a brow. “Should we worry about how you know this?”
“You used to come to Earth back then too,” Brandt teases. “Don’t try to tell me you didn’t chug that fermented grain and fruit mixture I have such fond memories of.” The king merely smiles, and Brandt continues, “Anyway, what Eoin did was the equivalent of having half a dozen strong drinks in two minutes.”
That’s fascinating. “I love science!”
“I don’t think it’s science, exactly,” Ari says. “Should we sober him up?”
My king studies me, and I smile widely at him. “Not yet. Let’s wait for an update first.”
This sounds like something I should know about. “What kind of update? Do I need to be briefed?”
“Will he remember this later?” Niamh asks. “If not, we missed a big opportunity by not recording any of it.”
“Will who remember what?” I demand. “I think I need to be briefed on whatever’s going on.” I’m in charge of Raðulfr’s security, after all. It concerns me that I’ve been left out of the loop on— “Ooooh! These chairs vibrate!”
“They do?” Brandt twists around to look at his chair. “Mine doesn’t—did I get a dud? Raðulfr, how dare you give me a dud chair! I insist on swapping for a vibrating one.”
Ari sighs. “It’s probably your phone. Why don’t you take it out of your pocket?”
