Free Elvendude by Mark Shepherd

laughing.

    Through the bay window Daryl noticed a charcoal-gray Chevy Caprice, the cop car of choice, pull in beside nine identical Caprices, five of them black and whites, in front of the Winton mansion. With the cars already out there from last night's party, cops were having to park on the lawn. It was getting a little full out there. Daryl squirmed, noting the time of day, feeling a little anxious. He'd started to come down big-time an hour ago, and he didn't like it one bit.

    This one pulled in where the fire truck had pulled out. A well-dressed lady cop got out, a cop Daryl had known for years.

    Sammi McDaris. Adam's mother. Daryl wanted to hide.

     

    I smell the death already. Sammi grimaced as she pulled in front of the Wintons' mansion, finding the one parking space that wasn't taken by either a cop or a recently deceased teenager.

    She had heard the report of nineteen overdoses, probable DOA's, over the radio. At least one of the kids survived and called the cops that afternoon. Several TV crews had set up shop in front of the gate, where a cop stood guard, letting only official people onto the grounds. "Not enough parking," he explained. The satellite city spread down half a block, an instant community of vans, trucks, satellite dishes, and well-dressed men talking into vidcams. Clearly, Sammi wasn't the only one listening to the cop frequencies that afternoon.

    Sammi worked homicide, and even though this didn't sound like a murder, she called her commander and convinced him to let her check it out.

    "I know some of the kids involved," she'd said. "I might be able to help. Sir."

    What she couldn't say was, "and my son was at that party last night, and might have died along with them. I want to know what the hell happened. Sir."

    Last night Sammi quizzed Adam on the "party," knowing it would be less than wholesome. Adam had replied that it was supposed to be drug-free, and she'd shrugged, and let it go at that. Her willingness to let him go had much to do with specialized spells she renewed on a weekly basis, which would alert her if he ingested any drugs, including alcohol. If the "alarm" went off, there were other things available to her, allowing her to spy or protect, should the need arise.

    Adam returned unusually early from the party and told her the whole story, that drugs appeared and he just left, "bored with the whole thing," but she saw genuine disgust in Adam. Either disgust, or disappointment in Daryl.

    She wanted to seize the opportunity to drive home the message that Daryl was slipping beyond their reach, and he would be doing himself a favor by cutting loose from him completely. But to do so might have alienated Adam. That was not a chance she wanted to take just at the moment.

    Admitting her son's involvement in the Winton party at the household the night before would simply not enhance her image of being a good single parent. But what she really couldn't say was, "My son Adam is actually an elf, an elf prince, and I am his sister, also an elf. . . ."

    As she got out of the car, she sensed not only death, but a hideous, dark magic at work here, a darkness that went beyond the evil capable of humans. She paused, fighting a wave of nausea.

    The Unseleighe were here, she thought. They must have been. And recently, too. Last night?

    When she entered the house, the feeling of Unseleighe power grew. Adam should never have been here. Had they known who he was, they would have killed him.

    "What happened to the air-conditioning?" she said to the first officer she saw, who looked rather pale. She sniffed, and realized why.

    "There were four bodies in that bedroom. Looks like some kind of orgy gone terribly bad," he said, gesturing across a broad marble hallway to what looked like a master bedroom.

    "I'll say," she said, trying to hide her horror. Adam was here last night. Gods, we've got to be more careful.

    The cop handed her a set of Polaroids. The detectives usually took these in