Stolen Magic. Esri Rose

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      ZEBRA BOOKS

       Kensington Publishing Corp.

       http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

      This is dedicated to the ones I love.

       Angel Joe and the ’rents, Roger and Toni.

      Contents

      Acknowledgments

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Chapter Seventeen

      Chapter Eighteen

      Chapter Nineteen

      Chapter Twenty

      Chapter Twenty-One

      Chapter Twenty-Two

      Chapter Twenty-Three

      Chapter Twenty-Four

      Chapter Twenty-Five

      Epilogue

      Acknowledgments

      The thanks of a grateful writer go to the following: My agent, Jennifer Unter, who is great at her job and also gets my jokes. To my editor, Danielle Chiotti, who illuminates my manuscripts’ trouble spots like blood on a crime scene. Thanks to my interim editor, Peter Senftleben, and all the wonderful folks at Kensington Publishing/Zebra. Thanks to Scott Gould at RLR Associates.

      Big thanks to authors/blurbers Kerrelyn Sparks and Jeanne C. Stein. Thanks so much to author Lynda Hilburn for all the promotion fun! Smooches to my Noodley sisters in the Wet Noodle Posse. Thanks to my ’rents, Angel Joe’s wunnerful family, Red Leather Heather and Thanksgiving Sheila, Laura Hansen, Olde Crone Amy, Musette’s Uncle Dennis, neighbors Brad and Dominick, and members of the Chorale. Thanks to Musette La Plume for squeaky love.

      Special thanks to my buddies Maria Mazzaferro and Amy Berliner (née Castronovo), for giving me glimpses of what it means to be Italian. You’ll notice I stole some names and stuff. Thanks to Eric at the Outlook Hotel for letting me case the joint.

      And finally, big squeezing thanks to all my readers, especially those who contacted me with praise for my first book! Come visit me at ElvesAmongUs.com.

      Chapter One

      When it comes to elves versus humans, the deck is stacked against us—us being elves. Yes, being an elf means always having the last word. A shot of elven hypnotism, or glamour, and a human thinks what you want him to think. This ability keeps us hidden among the enemy, but it only works in person. Glamour hasn’t stopped humans from slowly driving us toward extinction. Elves need wilderness. Humans consume wilderness like breakfast cereal. In the end, it all comes down to real estate.

      The few humans who know about elves often say we’re not doing ourselves any favors by staying hidden. How can we help you if we don’t know you’re there? Let us know, and we’ll share. Yeah, because that worked so well for the Native Americans, and the Australian aborigines, and the Picts. Who are the Picts, you ask? Exactly. Who are the Picts? You never hear about them anymore.

      Humans as a group are trouble, but humans as individuals can be very…attractive. For one thing, humans generate positive life energy when having sex—and elves live on life energy. Yes, humans are often ignorant, destructive, and careless, but they’re just as often clever, generous, and loving. Humans are like the cousins you’re not supposed to hang out with—the distant and disdained branch of the family tree, with the cool toys, bad habits, and a twinkle in their eyes.

      Take Mark Speranzi, my photography teacher. He definitely has a twinkle in his eye, and all too often it seems to be directed at me. Since I learned most of what I needed to know during the first two classes, I’d taken to drawing Mark in the margins of my notebook.

      I shaded the dark circle of his eye, leaving a white glint in the pupil, then studied the result. His shaggy hair and narrow, intelligent face were just right, but there was something wrong about the mouth. It was too smiley—or maybe not smiley enough.

      “Is that a drawing of me?”

      I looked up to see Mark himself standing next to my chair. At the moment, his mouth was very smiley.

      “It is me, isn’t it? I should get a haircut.”

      Around the classroom, other members of the class craned their necks to see what our teacher was talking about. I made a quick adjustment to Mark’s thoughts so he forgot the sketch, then turned my notebook’s page to hide the drawing.

      His brow furrowed. “I’m sorry…Did you have a question, Adlia?”

      “No, I’m fine.” I picked up the digital camera in front of me. “Adjust for fluorescent or halogen lighting. Got it.”

      He nodded and resumed his lecture on the color effects of different light, walking as he talked.

      Even though no one but Mark had seen the drawing, I sat in a pool of my own embarrassment during the rest of class, wondering yet again why elves associated with humans when it was so exhausting.

      The disadvantage of sitting in the back of the room is that you can’t make a run for it when class ends. As we packed up our notes and gear, the woman seated next to me said, “Can I ask where you get your hair done? That reddish-gold color is so pretty, especially with the curls.”

      “I don’t get it done anywhere. It’s just my hair.” I didn’t know what else to say, so I picked up my camera. “Excuse me. I need to put this away.”

      She pursed her mouth. “Sorry to keep you.”

      I didn’t mean to be rude. It was just that my social skills weren’t the greatest. To avoid further conversation, I took a long time organizing my messenger bag as people moseyed toward the door, chatting like sparrows. СКАЧАТЬ