Excerpt
Working for elves was like working for the mob, except a lot more dangerous, not to mention irritating. Elves could drive Ghandi to commit murder. If you looked up untrustworthy in the dictionary, you'd see a picture of an elf.
"Are you saying you can't handle an elf?" One of the LeeAnne's sculpted blonde brows rose.
Mal bit the inside of her lip and then gave a little shake of her head. Curiosity killed the cat and probably would kill her too, one of these days.
"Then all is well. I'll leave you here. You will want to be punctual. You know how elves are." She flicked a look at the door and then back to me, smirking before retreating back the way they'd come.
Mal drew a breath, adrenaline spiking through her. The last seconds were ticking away and elves tended to take lateness personally. Not that it really mattered. They weren't her clients and the chances of her taking on their job was slim at best. On the other hand, elves were easy to piss off. Kind of like honey badgers. And they held grudges. Forever, since they were pretty much immortal. Given that bonding with So'la had pretty much given Mal immortality as well, she figured it could save a lot of future trouble to be punctual.
She knocked.
Her knuckles made no sound, but the blue shimmering across the silver rippled. A second later, the doors swung wide. Inside was another glass-walled room. The panes were silver and the roof was made of sculpted silver vines. The floor was intarsia wood in a variety of greens, russets, and golds. Her gaze settled on her host. She tried not to sigh.
The elf stood about six five or so, with lavender-blue hair that hung to his waist. An intricate set of twists too complicated to be braids kept it from falling into his face. His eyes were faded aquamarine—almost white—and his skin was fish-belly white. His features were about as elfy as she'd ever seen—straight thrusting nose like a knife blade, cheekbones that could cut diamonds, and pointed chin.
Despite the faintly androgynous look, he was all male. If he were walking down the street, women from puberty to death would be hiking their skirts and humping his leg. Mal was not one of them. After a few encounters of the unpleasant variety, she mostly wanted to kill them on sight.
"Mallory Jade?" he asked in a musical voice. Seriously. It had a sort of symphonic quality. Again, hearing it would make women of all ages want to crawl naked over glass just to be near him.
"That's right," Mal said, stopping just before the threshold. Crossing might signal agreement to the job, no matter what the terms.
Elves were tricky bastards.Working with them was like juggling fire while tap dancing on the back of a bucking bronco in a hurricane. Inevitably, you were going to come out burned, bruised, and bloody. The only question was how bad would the damage be?
The only way to win is not to play. Yeah, that computer in the movie had it right about Tic-Tac-Toe and elves, both. Mal bit back a grin. She bet Mr. My-Little-Pony-hair wouldn't care for the comparison. Still, refusing to hear him out at this point would be a mortal insult and that might mean he'd have to kill her. Or try, and she'd kill him first, which would lead to no end of trouble.
"You are the Mallory Jade formerly in the employ of Ivan DeMarco?"
Interesting that he knew about Ivan. "That's right."
"I understand you are now working independently and taking clientele."
Saying yes could also imply agreement. That because she was looking for clients, she would automatically take him on.
"I am selectively taking a few jobs, providing the terms are agreeable and the job doesn't break my rules."
She added the second sentence so that he would understand she had right of refusal. Fucking hell. She was already negotiating on a job she didn't even have the first clue about. Damn, but she hated elves.
"I would like to discuss hiring you for a task."
"I am willing to discuss it. Provided no understanding of agreement shall exist until we shake on it. I do not commit to giving you an answer before I leave this meeting."
Mal wasn't going to hurry this decision. And I didn't do paper contracts, especially not with elves. He'd probably wrap her up so tight in legalese that she'd end up paying him to do the job.
One corner of his mouth twitched like he was annoyed. "Let it be so."
He gestured widely toward the round table in the center of the room. It could have sat all of King Arthur's knights, plus maybe the Denver Broncos.
Mal stepped into the room and pulled out a chair. She angled it to face the elf. She'd have preferred to have something between them—like iron bars—but that would be rude.
He pulled out his chair and sat opposite. Mal waited for him to speak. He took his time to examine me. She did the same, starting with his ears.
She wasn't interested in the pretty points on top so much as the intricate earpiece he wore—called a leyurin. His hair style allowed me to see it perfectly. She could tell from the work that he was from the Summerlands, and that he was nobility. She tried to imprint the design on my brain to describe to Law later. Maybe he'd be able to tell me more. He probably had books on elf designs. He had books on just about everything.
The elf's clothing was unsurprisingly spectacular. His coat was intricately sewn and decorated with silver and gems. The high, stiff collar gave him an air of superiority. Or maybe that was just being an elf. The extravagant coat went all the way to his heels. Under it he wore a blousey shirt of pearly blue, indigo harem pants with bands of embroidery and gems at the ankles, and a matching moccasin-slipper sort of thing.
His whole being radiated grace and elegance. Every gesture was like a ballet move. Another reason to hate elves. Mal always felt like a bull in a china shop around them.
"What may I call you?" she asked finally, when he didn't speak. That was safe enough and he might have sat there for another hour or two. Time was fairly meaningless for immortals.
He flinched, his mouth tightening. Oh hell. She'd managed to insult him. Maybe she wasn't supposed to speak until spoken to. Mal sniffed and lifted her chin. Screw that. He'd asked for this meeting, and he'd been damned rude not to offer his name before now.
"I must offer my apologies," he said, standing and giving a flourishing bow, one foot pointed forward, his hands sweeping out to the sides as he bent. "It was grievously rude of me not to offer my name before now."
Oh great. Mal hadn't so much insulted him as pointed out his piss-poor manners. That was getting off on the right foot.
She didn't brush aside the apology though. Elves took ettiquette and manners very seriously. It was exhausting. She don't know how they didn't throw themselves off cliffs in droves from sheer aggravation.
"Thank you. I accept your apologies." Like she had a choice. He'd probably cut her throat to save his honor if she didn't.
"You are generous."
His tone made that sound like an accusation. Maybe she should have demanded some sort of apology bounty. Who the fuck knew?
