What Do You Say to a Naked Elf?: Lowth

By Cheryl Sterling

Jane Drysdale is a secretary by day, sex-toy saleswoman by night, and obsessed with old TV series reruns in her spare time. It's a routine, boring life. Then her car hits a shape-shifter elf disguised as a bunny, and before she knows it, she's transported to the magical world of Lowth and put on trial for vehicular Elficide.
It's not anything like what she's watched on Law and Order. Her legal council is half-fairy, half-elf Charlie Whelphite, who spends part of his time trying to decipher Jane-speak, and the rest of it mourning the loss of his nice, comfortable rut. Self-conscious of his wings in a wing-free society, he doesn't need them vibrating whenever she's near.
A dormant side of Jane emerges. She soon takes charge of her life, dragging Charlie along, as they begin an epic journey of danger, destiny and mutual attraction. Lowth, which has an agenda of its own, alternates between helping and hindering them on their trip through swamps, white-water rapids and encounters with a homicidal elf.
As Jane and Charlie confront their heritage and the difference between their worlds, the answer soon emerges to the question "What Do You Say to a Naked Elf?"

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cheryl Sterling
• Release date: Oct 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386271475

Cheryl Sterling

Cheryl Sterling is an American author of several paranormal and contemporary romance novels and short stories. Cheryl is a co-founder and past president of Grand Rapids Region Writers Group in Grand Rapids, MI. She has conducted several workshops that focused on the writing craft and co-chaired their first “I’ve Always Wanted to Write a Book” regional conference. Her passion is learning and improving her craft, but mostly, she is a teacher. Cheryl currently lives in Phoenix with her husband.

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One

KABOOM! The right front tire blew. The car’s headlights illuminated the rabbit sitting in the middle of her lane.

Barreling up the highway entrance ramp, Jane Drysdale didn’t have time to react.

Damn. The animal disappeared between the front tires and the vehicle swung to the right. She heard a sickening thunk, thunk and tightened her grip on the steering wheel to wrestle back control, but it was too late. The car careened down the embankment, still going sixty miles per hour, and she watched in horror as she headed for a stand of trees.

Jane stomped on the brakes. The car fishtailed, straightened and, for a few brief seconds, paralleled the road before a line of trees, smaller than the first, rose up before her. She jerked the steering wheel left and ground her foot into the brakes again.

The vehicle veered up the embankment, shuddered and died. Momentum threw Jane forward. The airbag exploded in her face.

Her last conscious thought was the memory of the rabbit shimmering into a more human-like shape then reforming just before it slid under her wheels.

• • •

An insistent pounding pulled her from the darkness. At first, she thought it came from her right temple where most of the pain in her head centered. It continued, and Jane recognized the sound of someone rapping on glass. With a groan, she twisted and peered from one eye.

Less than a foot away, a man stared at her, mouthing words she couldn’t understand and beating on the car window. He looked deranged. Automatically, she reached to touch the buttons to lock the door and windows only to remember she’d traded in her beloved Mercury last month. The older Neon, with smaller payments, didn’t have the luxury of power options.

Her left arm slow to react, Jane reached across with her right to lock the door. Inexplicably, she noted the button in the down position. Had Detroit changed how things worked? Still disoriented, she pulled up on the tab.

A moment later, the door jerked open from the outside. The man groped her middle with rough hands and fumbled to unsnap her seat belt. The catch gave, and he wrenched her free.

Hey! she yelled, not only from the harsh treatment but the new set of aches that made themselves known.

There is a fire! an accented male voice said in her ear. 

Jane twisted in her rescuer’s hold. From the corner of her eye she saw a flicker of orange. She gasped and struggled against his grip.

Let me go, she shouted. She made her body go limp. Dead weight isn’t easy to carry off to murder and rape.

Her rescuer released her, and Jane staggered to her feet. The scene before her echoed that of a nightmare.

She must have swerved the car too sharply because she’d plowed straight into the embankment and crumpled the car’s front end. The hood had popped open, and from under its steel canopy a fire the size of her microwave blazed.

Jane swore. This will be nice explaining to the insurance company. OhmyGod, the toys! At the thought of her merchandise, packed in Rubbermaid containers in her back seat and trunk, Jane lurched forward. She had a lot of money tied up in inventory, and it definitely would be impossible to explain to State Farm. 

Get back! the man shouted. Stay away!

Try and stop me! she called over her shoulder and stumbled and slipped across the dew-drenched grass.

His hand closed over hers on the door handle. She yanked herself free, using the momentum to elbow him in the stomach. She had the satisfaction of hearing his whumf before she pulled open the door and tugged out one of six containers.

By the time she had two free, he’d recovered and pushed her aside to get the third.

Idiot mortal, he exclaimed under his breath.

Mortal? She crawled around him in the almost-empty back seat. Smoke filled the interior, and she heard fire crackling. What does that make you? Witch? Warlock? She pulled down the split rear back to expose the opening to the trunk. Help me with this, will you? Smoke billowed around them and obscured her vision.

Get out of here! he yelled.

Not until I get my stuff! The seat down, she grabbed the closest box and shoved it in his direction. She heard it slide away, accompanied by a string of what sounded like curses in a language she didn’t recognize.

Smoke stung her eyes and burned her lungs, but it didn’t stop her from crawling into the trunk and reaching for its release handle. Pulling it with her good hand, she kicked the lid open. Fresh air hit her. Someone helped her out.

The boxes, she cried.

We have them, said a new voice, also accented.

Jane twisted around. A man regarded her, older than the first, but the same build, slight, wiry, an inch or two taller than her five-foot-six. She swiveled her head and saw four others, similar in appearance, all wearing woolen hats or caps, jeans and lightweight jackets. Jockeys? Chimneysweeps? Circus performers?

"Who are you people?" she asked. She searched for the first guy, the one who’d pulled her from her car.

Backlit by the destructive fire in her little Neon, he supervised the stacking of her boxes.

Darrin, she cried. Yoo-hoo, Darrin Stephens. Over here. Technically it wasn’t accurate, Darrin being the mortal in the old sitcom, Bewitched, but how many famous warlocks can one name? Jane nodded thanks to the old guy, a move that made her head ache more, and tramped to her rescuer’s side.

He caught her arm, his eyes bright with the reflection of the flames. Get back. It will explode.

She shook her head. You watch too many movies. It doesn’t happen like that in real —

A huge boom cut off her words. Her companion threw her to the ground and hurled himself on top of her. Jane cried out at the impact, her bruised body about to mutiny at the abuse it had taken. They rolled several feet before coming to a stop. Shards of burning debris rained around them.

Pandemonium broke out. Shouts filled the air, again in a dialect she didn’t know. Metal crashed to the ground, some of it very close. The roar of the fire intensified.

Jane lay for several moments under the stranger, adjusting to his weight, listening to the sound of his harsh breathing in her ear. After what seemed a reasonable time for him to move, she nudged him in the ribs with a pointed finger.

Hey, Darrin, you mind getting off me?

He muttered something and rolled away, took her hand and rose with her in a fluid movement.

Are you hurt? he asked.

She had a slight ringing in her ears and the beginning of a headache, plus various bumps and bruises. From the crash? Yes. From the explosion? Not too much. How about you?

He shrugged. Nothing.

Jane looked around. Only the five other men seemed to have stopped at the accident scene. Of course, it was close to one o’clock in the morning. She verified the time on her Indiglo watch and realized Darrin still held her hand.

Hey, she cried, pulling free. Thanks for saving my life and all that, but I’m not giving out rewards. Not the kind you’re thinking of anyway. She changed the subject. Did you guys call 9-1-1?

9-1-1? he repeated.

Yeah, like maybe a fire truck or two. She watched in dismay as the husk of her car continued to burn. Not that it will do me any good, but those hunky firemen like to practice. Keeps their hormones up.

They will be here.

Great. Jane shivered, aware that the temperature had dropped since she’d left Kendra’s party. She’d made a lot of money tonight, and Darrin had helped save what she hadn’t sold. Orders, checks and cash lay tucked in one of the boxes.

Are you cold? he asked.

Yes, I am. Also bruised, battered, dirty, smoky and a dozen other things I’m too tired to think about.

Come with me. I will give you something to cover you.

A sweater or a blanket sounded good. It was early April, and she hadn’t thought it might be cool after the party. Jane followed him a few steps then stopped.

I’m not leaving my boxes. As soon as the fire trucks show up, every gawker within a five-mile radius will rouse himself from in front of his television and hop in his pickup truck. I’m surprised there isn’t anyone here yet, what with police scanners and CB’s.

You are worried about the boxes?

Didn’t he hear what she said? Yes.

He put two fingers in his mouth and let out a multi-toned whistle. My companions will bring them.

Your companions? I don’t want to sound ungrateful or anything, but where are you fellows from?

Sylthia. He ducked his head and held a low branch out of her way as they continued their walk.

Sylthia, she repeated. And where is that, exactly?

Lowth.

Uh-huh. Is that where you learned English? Because you really need to buy a contraction or two, Vanna.

My name, he said, his voice firm, is Charlie.

Charlie. Uh-huh. Just her luck to draw a Charlie for a rescuer. If this were a romance novel, his name would be Chase. He’d be six inches taller, forty pounds heavier, have buns to die for and reek of testosterone. Instead, she’d wound up with a reed of man who looked like he didn’t shave more than once a week. Without a sense of humor, too. Didn’t he own a television? Of course, not everyone watched reruns night after lonely night like she did. Nevertheless, the guy didn’t seem to have a clue.

At least, he’d helped save her merchandise. Jane looked over her shoulder to check on its progress. The leader followed them, one of the boxes in his arms. Good. She couldn’t afford to lose any of her toys. Realm of Pleasures was the latest in her long string of get-rich-quick schemes. At various times, she’d moonlighted from her ho-hum secretarial job. She’d tried various products with little success. Realm seemed to be the niche she’d been seeking. Selling lotions, potions, massage oils and adult playthings to bored, rich women delivered a slow but steady income.

Not that she had much use for anything that involved a partner, her love life being the way it was, but she could testify to the effectiveness of the vibrators. The Long, Tall Texan was her current favorite.

A gust of cold wind snapped Jane from her thoughts. She looked from the path they’d been following and realized they weren’t anywhere near the highway. Furthermore, they’d been walking for some time.

Hey. She stopped in her tracks. Where are you fellows parked, anyway? Why aren’t we up by the road so we can direct the firemen? She turned, trying to make sense of the landscape. Where are we? Mist swirled around them, making it impossible to see more than a few feet. It muffled any noise. She felt as if she’d stepped into a white vacuum.

Charlie stopped, a look of impatience on his face. We are almost there.

How far away is it? Why are you guys out this late?

Her companion touched her arm. All will be answered.

Something didn’t sound right about this outfit. Jane tried to pull free from his grip, but he was stronger.

Let go of me, she shouted. The mist swallowed her words. Not so much as an echo came back to her. I don’t like this. Where are your companions? Help!

They went ahead. He tugged on her to follow him. We are almost there.

Jane resisted. She hadn’t heard anyone pass them.

You belong to some kind of cult, don’t you? I can tell by the way you’re dressed. OhmyGod, you’re white slavers. You’re going to sell me into a prostitution ring. Her heart raced faster. She raised her free hand. Watch out. I know karate.

You are wrong. Charlie looked ready to do the Vulcan neck pinchy thing on her.

"You’re wrong. I’m not taking another step with you."

He sighed. As you wish.

Before she knew what he’d done, she felt a sharp pain, like the bite from a ten-pound mosquito, on her bare arm. She looked down to see him withdraw a small thorn from her flesh.

OhmyGod, she said again. You’re into drugs, too. Then the mist changed to black and swallowed her.

• • •

Jane woke in an uncomfortable position. It took a moment to realize the pressure on her stomach, the ground rushing at her and her body bouncing up and down meant she laid across someone’s shoulders. Charlie. She thumped his back hard.

He dropped her. She fell in an ungraceful tangle of legs and arms into a bush, receiving more than her share of scrapes.

Hey, she yelled and tried to scramble from the foliage. What’d you do that for?

Charlie bent over, his hands on his knees as he gasped for breath. Why did you hit me?

You? she exclaimed. "I’m the injured party here. I banged up my car, then it caught on fire, and then I was kidnapped by white slavers with drug addictions. On top of everything else, I killed a bunny tonight."

Charlie straightened. He winced as if he’d pulled a muscle.

It was not a bunny.

She extracted herself from the woman-eating plant. I ought to know one when I see one. He was definitely a Looney-Tunes-union-card-carrying bunny when I creamed him.

It was not a bunny.

Oh, yeah? What then?

He looked her in the eye, as serious as an executioner.

An elf.

Jane burst out laughing.

Are you sure you didn’t shoot up after me? she asked, her breath labored from her exertions. Or maybe I’m hallucinating. She felt her forehead. No fever, but a low throb pulsed.

You’re quite sane.

Then you’re the one who’s Looney Tunes. I thought you said I hit an elf.

You did. His name was Tivat.

Tivat the Elf, hmmm? What was his last name, Keebler?

Charlie shook his head. I’m not familiar with that name.

Of course not. Are you familiar with the term ‘psychiatric treatment’ because I think you’ve missed a few sessions, buddy.

My name is not buddy. It’s —

Charlie. I know. Mine’s Jane Drysdale. Get used to it. You’ll be seeing it on quite a few legal documents after I figure out where I am and get to the nearest lawyer.

I am the nearest lawyer, he said with a slight bow. And you are in Lowth.

Lowth? Your home planet? Go to mapquest.com, bud-de, because we’re in Walker, Michigan. That road, she pointed in the general vicinity of the way they’d come. Is I-96. There should be a house around here I can call from and get help.

You are the one who will need help, Jane Drysdale. Mine. I am your legal counsel.

Maybe the air bag hadn’t inflated. Jane wondered if she’d suffered a serious head injury. And why would I need legal counsel, Perry Mason?

For the murder of Tivat. He looked at her as if she’d forgotten two plus two equals four.

Tivat? The elf turned rabbit? Okaaay. And what is that called? Elficide? Vehicular Fairyslaughter? Reckless Endangerment of a Pixie?

It’s called murder. I wouldn’t joke about it, Jane Drysdale. The implications are serious.

Tenacious little fellow. Riiight. Just call me Jane, okay? Hey, you used a contraction. What’s up with that?

He sighed. You’re on Lowth. The sap from the stitchtree thorn also works as a translator. We’re speaking my language.

Riiight. Very interesting, Charlie-defender-of-elves. Well, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll be going now. It’s been a lovely evening. Let’s try it again some time. Not.

Disgusted and tired, Jane spun and stalked off the way they’d come. Sooner or later she’d find a house and rouse someone from their toasty bed, even if it was past midnight. She’d go home to her own bed and forget this crackpot.

She’d taken a few steps before she noticed the difference in her surroundings. For one thing, it looked a lot lighter than the middle of the night. More pre-dawn-ish. For another, big trees, like Sequoias, surrounded her. She’d lived in Michigan all her life and had never seen anything like this. Least of all in Walker, with its industrial sprawl.

Hey, she cried, whirling around. Charlie stood where she’d left him. How long was I out anyway? Did you and your buddies throw me in the back of your padded wagon and take me someplace different? Where am I?

You’re on Lowth. He walked over to her. As I said earlier. My world.

Well, beam me back, Scotty, because I don’t want to be here. She’d had enough of this train wreck. Either he was crazy, or the stuff he’d injected had taken her on a trip to write up in The Junkie’s Home Journal.

Jane, there is no way back. The portal has closed. His eyes, brown, she noticed, filled with empathy.

Portals don’t close on their own. Turn the key or cast a spell or do whatever you elves do to open it back up. Jane blinked her eyes, hoping sanity would return.

No such luck. Giant trees still loomed over them. Too much green and too many leaves for the beginning of April told her she’d been transported to another season, as well.

Charlie watched her.

Are you ready? he asked with a touch of impatience.

She shook her pounding head. Not until I get some answers. Who are you?

Charles of Sylthia.

A lawyer?

He nodded.

An elf lawyer?

Technically, not an elf. I’m a Whelphite.

And what, she asked slowly, is a Whelphite?

Half elf, half fairy-sprite. Interspecies breeding is not uncommon on Lowth.

Jane took a step back. Uh-huh. Don’t get any ideas about breeding with this species, buddy. I’ll show you a Klingon choke hold you won’t forget for awhile.

His brow wrinkled. I’m not —

Familiar with that name, she finished for him, exasperated. Jeez. Did the guy live in a time capsule or something? I suppose you have some proof of this preposterous claim of yours?

In answer, Charlie reached up and removed the wool cap he’d been wearing. She first noticed his hair, gold and shoulder length in the back, short in the front. Very Michael Boltonish, in his long hair days, that is. The next thing she saw should have been the first, his two pointed ears.

What kind of whacked out Trekkie had picked her up? She hoped his ears were silicone, not the result of some sick, mutilation surgery.

Nice ears, Spock. Buy them at a convention? At his look of puzzlement, she waved away the comment. Never mind. Obviously, they don’t have television on Lowth. I’ll tell you about it sometime over a Starbucks. That explains the elf half of being a Whelphite. I suppose you have proof of the fairy half?

He frowned. You won’t take my word for it?

The word of a drug-addicted white slaver who thinks he’s an elf? Riiight. Jane snapped her fingers, feeling a twinge in her shoulder at the movement. Cough up it, Keebler boy.

You’re not going to be satisfied until you’ve seen it all, are you? he asked, arms crossed in front of him.

Nope. I’m not budging another step. Don’t even think about sprinkling any pixie dust on me, either.

Charlie glared at her then softly swore. He unbuttoned his jacket and shirt. I don’t do this for everyone, he grumbled, shrugging them off. And it’s still cold out.

I don’t get to see a fairy strip every day, either. Too bad I don’t have any dollar bills on me. She tried not to think of her purse, a charred piece of imitation leather somewhere in another world. Or, outside this hallucination.

Charlie’s physique, however, wasn’t an illusion. He wasn’t thin and scrawny like she’d first thought, but of a slighter build. It had been a long time since she’d seen a man’s chest, and he had a nice one. Chiseled, with golden threads of hair sprinkled across it. Hoo-boy. She was about to let loose with a catcall when he turned his back to her. A pair of glimmering, almost transparent wings unfurled from it, catching in the morning breeze.

Jane fainted.

Two

JANE WOKE to the smell of pine. Its sharp pungency tickled her nostrils and made her want to sneeze. Intending to suppress it, she moved her hand in the general vicinity of her nose. On the way, her fingers brushed against something. Someone, she realized. Her eyes snapped open.

Charlie. Elf-man extraordinaire.

His face wavered like the start of a cheesy dream sequence in a sit-com. Light filtered through leaves above him.

Are we flying? she asked.

No, he said. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Jane had a feeling he didn’t smile often and had to stop and read the instructions when he did. You fainted.

Fainted? Ridiculous. I never faint. She touched her head to explore for bumps and found a large one over her right eye. It throbbed to the rhythm of a bad rap song. Must be some residue from that drug you gave me.

You fainted, he repeated, more firm this time. It’s the third time you’ve been unconscious since I met you.

And none of them my fault, Jane corrected. She struggled to sit and noticed for the first time she lay on the forest floor, and Charlie knelt beside her. He extended a hand. She accepted his offer and swayed to regain her footing.

Your friend Tivat threw himself in front of my car, then you shot me up with happy juice, then you surprised me with your wings. I’m the most unfaintiest person you’ll ever meet.

Jane cautiously glanced around. Forest surrounded them, the trees as wide as her Neon, God rest its charred soul, and rising two hundred or more feet in the air. Ferny type plants crowded their bases and spilled into the path.

She swung her gaze in Charlie’s direction. These trees won’t throw apples at me or anything, will they?

He wrinkled his brow. Why would they do that? Is that what the trees do in your world?

Only in the movies, Charlie, only in the movies. At his perplexed look, she added, Remind me to tell you about it sometime.

Jane rolled up the sleeves of the jacket he must have put on her. She noticed as she did that he had his shirt on again, his wings no doubt folded under it like a Japanese fan. Too bad. He had such a nice body.

Do you really have wings? she asked, unsure she’d seen them now that she’d had time to think about it. So many strange things had happened to her since she’d left the party.

Yes, I really do, he confirmed. His eyes, the color of coffee with two creams, filled with amusement.

Kind of cute when he isn’t being so serious. Jane stuck her hands in the pockets of her slacks. I don’t suppose you’d let me see them again.

He looked baffled, like women didn’t ask him to undress every day. Which, come to think of it, they probably didn’t.

She did her best Scarlett O’Hara impression, fluttering her Revlon-enhanced eyelashes at him. Please, Charlie.

Certainly not. His voice huffy, he took a step back. I only showed you the first time to prove my point.

The prude returns. Oh, good grief. You act like I want you to audition for the Chippendales. At his habitual look of puzzlement, she added, I don’t want to see you naked.

Partial truths for one hundred, Alex. She did want another peek at the chest she’d swooned over. Nicely sculpted, if she remembered right. As for his wings —she wondered what they felt like. Hoo-boy, did it always get this hot in Lowth, or did her part-time job affect her libido?

Charlie blushed at her comment. Charming, she decided. She didn’t meet many men, and none of the ones she knew would be un-macho enough to blush.

I didn’t think you did, Jane Drysdale.

Back to the full name. She must have upset him more than she realized. Trying not to discomfort him again, she gestured ahead. What’s next?

We’re almost to Sylthia. Charlie started up the path, his relief obvious by his haste. He motioned for her to follow.

Right. Sylthia. Elven city of mystery. Or is that elfish? She followed alongside and attempted to keep in step.

Elven, and the mystery we have does not have to do with the city. At least, not directly.

Her ears perked up. She slowed. Mystery? What mystery?

He glanced at her and adjusted his stride. You must concentrate on your own problems.

She scratched her nose, which had begun to itch again. Such as?

The murder trial.

Oh, right, that. She’d killed a bunny. Correction, an elf. Tivat. She wondered what he’d been like and why he’d chosen that moment to dive under her tires.

You hadn’t forgotten it?

In one of my many moments of elf-induced comas? She sneezed and shook her head, sober. Not hardly. But I have complete confidence in you, Charlie-defender-of-mortals. You’ve probably memorized every law volume in Elfdom, excuse me, Lowth. You do have books, don’t you?

Of course we do. He looked at her, his gaze steady. She bet he never got in a fight with anyone. An odd profession he’d picked, then. A thought crossed her mind, chilling her.

Charlie, what kind of lawyer are you?

He looked uncomfortable and did not meet her eyes. After a moment, he replied, Trade agreements. Some family practice.

Shock ran through her. She stopped in her tracks, one hand on her hip. You’re not a criminal lawyer?

Charlie shook his head. We don’t have much crime on Lowth. Petty burglaries, an occasional break-in.

Jane couldn’t believe her ears. Are you saying, she asked, trying to keep her panic in check, That you’ve never defended anyone in a murder trial?

He looked over her left shoulder, avoiding her eyes. The last murder happened two years ago.

Great, just great. She threw up her hands in exasperation and paced the trail. You might as well lock me up in Elfcatraz now. I have no hope of getting free, let alone back to the real world. I knock over an elf in full view of six witnesses, the judicial system is rusted through with holes, and my defense attorney was in high school when they tried the last murderer.

I was twenty-five, Charlie admitted. I remember it well.

I’m doomed, she said, finally buying into his story. A cool breeze ruffled her hair and continued downward to blast her heart. He meant what he said. Even scarier, she’d started to believe him. Murder? Her?

Jane took a step forward and caught her slacks on one of the ferns that littered the path. Jerking free, the pungent smell of pine hit her again and made her sneeze.

What is this stuff? she asked when she recovered. The delicate lace plant had taken on the characteristics of a Steven King creation.

Charlie touched one of the leaves. "Bellefern. A rogue weed. It’s taken over