Elfish by Julie Steimle (librera reader txt) 📖

there. They had not followed the signs as he had, though they had been right there on the wall like a map. The tree of life in the first mural was clearly a representation if the Nile. And where those images of Magi standing next to it had pointed, he went.

Peter took pictures of this one, made rubbings and inspected pristine the artifacts which showed this place was once a temple to Wadjet—also known as the eye of Ra. Yet there was one wall which had writing from different cultures on it. More cartouches. He saw once more Aramaic, Greek, and something that made him think of Vikings for some odd reason, though it made no sense. However, he had copied down the writing, inspected for more maps in plain sight, sealed up the room again, and then followed where the newest map led him—to Greece. The Greek in the cartouche, he noticed, had two names: Ailuros and Σεμιήλ—Shamsiel.

However, Peter did not spend much time in Greece. The location on the map that he was seeking had been demolished long ago. Razed to the foundation stones. There was nothing left, not even a basement to a temple, though he searched around for one.

And that would have ended his journey had he not looked more into the Aramaic שִׁמשִׁיאֵל and peculiarly Celtic or Nordic type of markings he had copied. He could read the Aramaic which had only one word: Shamsiel, the same as the Greek. Which in translation means Sun of God. Sun. Not Son. He thought it was rather fitting that the patron elf had a name connected to the very symbol burned on the Seven’s palms. But he could not read the other writing, which he felt truly pointed to who this elf actually was and where to find him. What he needed was an expert.

Which was why they were now in England.

Due to his obsession with the faerie folk, Prof. Taylor was the foremost expert in such things as Ogham, Old Norse, and elfish folklore in general. He had accumulated copious records of elfish activity in Europe and Great Britain, and evidence of their existence in the world altogether. He kept it all stored in a secure cool room where the documents could be handled in a controlled, moisture-free, environment. Though he knew about the gifted professor himself, Peter had actually learned of the professor’s collection while studying the Egyptology collection at the British Museum, as well as the Greek artifacts, still searching for clues. When was finally allowed to use the professor’s collection, it had been extremely useful. It at least gave him names and locations of real living elves.

The only problem was, as far as he knew, Prof. Taylor did not know a thing about the Holy Seven, which meant he could not get in too deep with the man or tell him the truth about his research. Besides, Peter and Daniel agreed not to drag Hamish Taylor any deeper into the supernatural world than he already had been. The man had seen enough.

Presently, Peter had finally arrived at the professor’s office adjoining the record room. The office was a regular sort of study, with dark shelves full of books covering one half of the room, a lamp, with a table and chairs, while the side with the bay windows contained the office desk, and the professor himself sitting in a swiveling high back, leather chair. As usual, Prof. Taylor was scouring the internet—undoubtedly for real sightings of the supernatural in the modern day among the various social media websites. Peter quietly walked over to that side of the man’s desk. The professor too fixated on the computer screen to notice him coming in. He peered over the man’s shoulder to see what he was staring at exactly.

One tab open displayed the Supernatural Regulator’s Association website—a dismaying sight but expected considering the professor had found out about the SRA since the morning after his faerie abduction and subsequent escape so many years ago. Another tab was Anonymous_Wolf’s website… which consequently was Howie Deacon’s site created to inform ordinary people of true werewolf facts, for their protection. Peter had to hide a smirk. Howie had done a great job maintaining this site. It was getting solid traffic, hopefully dispelling the lies the SRA were spreading about werwolves. Peter did not recognize the third tab on his screen. Currently, the professor was reading from the SRA’s page.

“Afternoon, Professor,” Peter said with a nod as he stepped in a little louder to get the man’s attention. “I called ahead and—”

“It’s on the table,” Prof. Taylor said, not looking away from the computer screen. He wasn’t even startled, which meant he had been aware that Peter was there after all. “Use gloves.”

Nodding, Peter walked over to the table in the center of the other side of the room, pulling out a pair of nitrile gloves from the box next to the document. This was how they usually did it. The professor often selected manuscripts for Peter to study—most in Old English though some in even older writing as an exercise on Peter’s ancient languages study skills. Peter pulled the gloves on with a more obvious peek to the computer the professor was engrossed in. “Back at your old research? What are you looking for?”

“Patterns,” Prof. Taylor muttered, ignoring him.

Peter nodded again, picking up the document. They already had the discussion about the SRA website. Peter had accused them of being LARPers to test the waters of skepticism, and the professor merely hid what he was doing after that. Prof. Taylor did not respond to mockery and did not spend time explaining himself to skeptics. That was fine. However, Peter was worried the man was taking the SRA site as gospel. Eventually, some day in the future, he might have to have a little talk with Prof. Taylor about trusting people who had an agenda. And, of course, he would have to point out the SRA’s agenda as well.

Peter walked back to the table and carefully cleared off a space to read the Old English. It was a gift Peter had, the ability to acquire old if not dead languages. He was not sure if it was a result of his time in the other world when he had been ‘zombified’, thus making his brain more flexible, or if he had always had the knack. He had mastered Ancient Egyptian a long time ago, then Ancient Greek and Latin. Aramaic had been a must also. He had been studying various forms of Gaelic and Slavic, but he found Old English pure fun. He had devoured document after document in the old writing, often decoding it for Daniel and the others on his laptop so they could know what he was discovering along the way. But he must have been enjoying it too much because Prof. Taylor lifted his head and said, “You’re giggling again.”

Lifting his head, taking his eyes from the document, Peter chuckled. “Sorry. Um. It was a rather funny account. But I think I’ve read this in English already in Yeats’s Fairy and Folktale Book of the Irish Peasantry. Or a form of, at least.”

Prof. Taylor smirked benignly at him. The hale yet older man leaned back in his seat, his haunted eyes finally leaving the computer screen to take Peter in. “Ok. You’ve convinced me. You want something more difficult?”

Peter perked up. This was promising. “You have something more precious?”

The man nodded, yet remained seated, his hands taking their places on the arm rest. “I do. But I don’t share some of my records with dabblers. You keep calling some of these researchers I’ve been contacting LARPers—”

“Just that one stupid website.” Peter chuckled, watching the professor carefully as his reaction mattered. Some people were too sensitive these days. “You actually think there are people out there regulating the supernatural?”

Heaving a sigh, Pro. Taylor rose. “There are things that I have seen, young man, which would make your hair curl.”

Yet he got up to fetch the document he had promised. That was a good sign.

Rising, Peter felt his heart thump in his chest. Finally he would get to see something more substantial. He had mostly be mucking through all sorts of British and Celtic folklore which Daniel was already well-versed in and was therefore useless. Peter’s main job was to find out how much of these stories might be real and how much was just made up to scare kids… like Santa Claus and the tooth fairy. He had been looking for real places connected to the faery folk. His notebook was full of those names and locations which Daniel was verifying or clearing out. So far they had identified a handful of real elves just trying to get by in the real world, but not the one they were looking for.

However when the professor came back, Peter could tell he had not fetched a useful record as claimed. Peter recognized the one in his hands.

“I’ve already read that one,” Peter said, pointing to it. It had been useful. It had given him one location and one connection which had influenced his decision to limit his research to the UK and not to go into the rest of Europe at all. It was one of the oldest legends of Merlin which had mentioned a nameless elf who had matched his research enough to validate the move.

Prof. Taylor halted, glancing at the manuscripts in his arms. “Then you have read everything I possess.”

“I don’t think so.” Peter shook his head, approaching him. “I’m sure you have reserves which you keep for yourself.”

The professor shifted, his eyes raking him over again. “Those are not for skeptics like you.” Prof. Taylor turned to put away the manuscript.

“You actually think I am a skeptic?” Peter asked, smirking while following him into the room. He had been in several times, but had never dared to just take what he wanted. He needed to keep things proper and respectful. It did not pay to insult even a proud Brit who deserved it.

“I know you are skeptic.” The professor huffed, picking up the protective case, slipping it inside. He made sure the damp absorbers were fresh. “You mock the serious modern research I do—”

Peter squashed a throat-laugh, thinking of the SRA website.

Hearing him, Prof. Taylor turned with a sharp eye. “You think I’m being hornswoggled?”

Wiping his mirth off his face, or trying to, Peter replied, “Oh, no sir.”

“You are being disingenuous.”

Peter more successfully cleared his expression, realizing he might lose this opportunity if he did not make peace soon. “It’s not that, sir. It’s just that—”

“You don’t actually believe in the supernatural,” Prof. Taylor rebutted. “You are merely doing this to amuse yourself between football matches.”

This time Peter shook his head, watching the professor put the manuscript away with care. “The opposite sir. I do matches between this.”

Yet Prof. Taylor glared at him, locking the case to his preserved records, each in its own clean container. Peter looked up at all of it, wondering if he’d have to do a Jessica Mason and just break into the place to read what he needed. He knew how.

“If anyone is a LARPer, it’s you,” the professor said, once more heading to the door, gesturing for Peter to go.

Peter quickly whipped his eyes back to him. “No. You have it wrong.”

“I don’t think we have the same end goals,” the professor grumbled, shooing Peter more forcibly back toward the door.

Peter only went because it was not his place and he had to do things legally.

“You think this is all amusing.”

Moaning, Peter loudly protested, “I didn’t spend all these years studying ancient languages to make fun of it.”

The man shoved Peter (who as a tall ‘footballer’ could have easily fought back) out the room and shut the door. It immediately locked. Peter wondered if it was also alarmed. He knew the professor had more than just a metal key securing that room. Stepping briskly back to his desk, the