Blood on the Elven Seas

By Justina Luther

It's all fun and games when you're out on a lark—wait, you said LARP?

Yolanda Folletto is a waitress by day and investigative blogger by night with dreams of being a "real" reporter. Her days are filled with slinging pancakes and looking for the story to ignite her career. She never expected it to begin with a café regular, but when Desmond Chandler walks in, his handsome frame clad in shining armor, Yolanda has to ask a question or two. With a smile to rival the sun, he invites her into the world of costume play and live action role play; a universe of imagination as close to magic as the real world will ever see. Thinking she'll give her readers a laugh if nothing else, Yolanda accepts his invitation to an upcoming LARP event, but quickly finds even the most charming of games can be deadly.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Crazy Ink
• Release date: Sep 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201774233

Book preview

Dedication

I dedicate this book to God who gave me the words, and to those who are brave enough to try something new.

Chapter One

7:55 a.m. June 6, Freedom, Ohio

Yolanda Folletto winces , her attention snapping away from the clock on the wall and to the hot coffee overrunning the sides of the coffee mug in her hand.

Are you going to serve that to the customer or clean the floor with it? Patty says, her brows pulled down into a scowl.

Sorry, boss, Yolanda says, plastering her smile back into place. She sets the white porcelain mug onto the tray with the scrambled eggs and pancakes, picking it up and making her way out from behind the counter to the far booth in the back corner.

Here you go, sir.

She sets coffee and plates onto the table in front of an elderly customer. He doesn’t even look up at her. Sir, is there anything else I can get for you? When he doesn’t respond, she clears her throat, and still, he stares straight ahead. Sir? She bends a bit, touching his shoulder.

He jolts. Why did you sneak up on me?

She winces. My apologies, sir. Is there anything else I can get you?

What did you say?

Oh my gosh, you have to be kidding me. She digs her pinky nail into her palm and raises her voice a bit. Is there anything else I can get you?

Why is the music so loud? He waves an arm to the speakers overhead, blaring classic rock.

Because people lose their minds if they have to listen to others chew all day. She taps her index finger to her lips. Let me see if I can get the owner to turn it down a hair for you. Would that be good?

Fine. He waves her off.

Spinning on her heels, she heads back behind the counter and makes her way through the swinging metal doors to the kitchen where Patty sits at a table in the corner, going over the schedule. Hey, boss, is there any way we can turn down the music a little?

Patty snorts. Ernie complains about the music every single day, and you come back in here and ask me to turn it down. Have I ever once done so?

No. And I don’t want you to but asking gets me a bigger tip.

You know, you could come back here, wait for a couple of beats, and then go back and tell him you tried.

She lifts a shoulder. I guess I just like telling the truth.

When she shifts to head back out into the dining area, her boss gives a low whistle. Hey, you’re forgetting something.

When her attention shifts back to her, Patty points to the top of her head, and Yolanda rolls her eyes. Fair enough.

Going to the shelf against the wall, she grabs a red and white striped paper cap and slips it on.

You know, Patty says. You’ll thank me one day.

Oh, and why is that?

With hair as light as yours, it can take on anything, including the smoke that hangs out back here. She chuckles.

Have you ever thought of turning down the grill?

Patty wags her head. Why would I do that? It’s what gives the burgers their flavor.

Yeah, that’s called burnt.

The woman snorts. Are you going to stand here, or are you going to go out and feed the hungry masses?

On it, boss, she gives a two-fingered salute.

Adjusting her apron, she shoulders through the door and back out to the area behind the counter.

Hey, Yolanda, Larissa’s low whisper draws her attention, and she finds the woman watching her while a sly smile curls the corner of her lips.

What?

Check out who just walked in.

Heat creeps up the back of her neck while she shifts her attention toward the front door where Desmond Chandler squeezes his broad-shouldered, six-foot-three frame through the narrow doorway, the bell dinging overhead as he ducks.

Larissa fans herself with the menu. Do you think, if I wrote my number on the back of his receipt, he’d call me?

Yolanda rolls her eyes. Or report you to the boss. Not worth the risk.

When he makes his way to a booth in her section, she snatches the menu from Larissa and hurries over. Good morning, sir. Welcome to Flapjacks. She sets the menu on the table. Can I get you a drink while you look over the menu?

His deep brown eyes sparkle as he grins at her. He runs his hands through his wavy chocolate hair. Black coffee, please.

You got it. She tucks her pen behind her ear and slips her order pad into the pocket of her apron. Making her way behind the counter, she grabs another porcelain cup from the coffee bar and pulls a full coffee pot from the warmer.

Larissa leans with her back against the metal table, her elbows resting on it. She watches him.

Don’t you feel bad at all for ogling a customer? Yolanda says.

The woman clicks her tongue.

"If it was anyone other than Desmond Chandler, maybe. But he covers tall, dark, handsome, and mysterious. I mean, a girl’s gotta do something with her day." She bites her lip and Yolanda rolls her eyes.

He’s been coming in here for a couple of years. What’s so mysterious about that?

Larissa arches a brow. You’re right. He has been coming in here for a while, and yet none of us know a thing about him. Usually, we can get some information out of our regulars, but him? Not a peep.

She hums. True enough.

What do you think he’s like? Larissa busies herself, filling the empty napkin holders.

Yolanda taps her chin. I don’t know, and I don’t plan to think about it.

Oh, come on. You wouldn’t put a story about him in your little blog?

She glances at her from the corner of her eye. Little blog? I don’t know what you’re talking about. No, I wouldn’t.

Picking up the full mug of coffee, she makes her way back to his table and sets it in front of him. Do you have any idea what you’d like, or do you need another minute?

His attention doesn’t leave the menu. Another moment, please.

After a quick check on her other tables, she makes her way back behind the counter, wiping it down and taking a pile of dirty dishes to the kitchen to stack in the sink. She peers through the window to find him staring off into space. I wonder what he does for a living.

She takes in his dark business suit and the bright blue tie that makes his eyes look even darker. As if sensing her eyes on him, he reaches and loosens the knot at his throat. Is he a CEO? Door-to-door salesman. Maybe even a young college professor that all the girls swoon over.

Now, who’s ogling the customers?

She jolts at the sound of Larissa’s voice by her ear and glares at her. I was waiting to see when he was ready to order.

Then I guess you’re not human like the rest of us. Larissa rolls her eyes.

Hey, hun. Her attention cuts to Patty. Have you looked at the clock lately?

When she does, her eyes widen. It’s eight a.m.! It’s half an hour past my lunch break.

Patty winks. Right you are. Here, Patty pushes away from the table, grab yourself your burger. I’ll go grab his order.

A yawn cracks her jaw, and she stretches her arms above her head. Three a.m. was a long time ago. She shuffles toward Taylor who grins at her and pulls a sizzling burger patty off the griddle, slapping it onto a bun with lettuce and tomato before handing it over.

You earned it, kid, he says pouring a few steaming home fries from the fryer basket onto her plate. He lowers his voice, And if you want more, just come back. I won’t tell the boss. The old man winks with a chuckle, and she gives a slow wag of her head.

You’re incorrigible. You know that?

He waves her off. You and your ten-dollar words.

Setting her plate on the other side of Patty’s table, she goes to her locker, spinning the dial and pulling her laptop from inside. Making her way back, she plucks a fry from the pile and pops it into her mouth.

Opening her laptop and pulling up her e-mail, her eyes widen at the top line.

There’s something rotten in Shady Acres. My apartment building.

She hums and chooses another fry. The richness of fat and salt spread across her tongue. I’ll bite. She clicks the e-mail, her eyes widening at the three lines it contains.

You want a story? Mr. Jeffries isn’t as clean-cut Southern Baptist as he wants everyone to believe. If you have any doubts, check APT 103.

She quirks a brow and tilts her head. I always want a story?

8:40 a.m. June 6, Freedom, Ohio

SLAMMING HIS CAR DOOR, Desmond Chandler breaks into a jog. The warm sun overhead beating down on him.

You have to be kidding me. I can’t be late for work on my first day.

The towering building that houses Silverton Corporation looms ahead, the sun shining off each polished window to catch him in the face. He stumbles and winces in the blinding light. Looking both ways, he makes his way across the street. From his pocket, he pulls his freshly printed ID badge and flashes it to the security guard when he jogs up to the front doors.

The man inclines his head. You new here? I always recognize the faces, and yours I haven’t seen.

Yes, sir. The first day on the job. He swallows past the lump in his throat while his attention slips through the lobby that shines like professionally polished marble.  Unnaturally green plants adorn each corner.

Can you tell me how to get to the IT department?

The man chuckles and points beyond him. Take those elevators to the basement. There will be a long hallway to your left. You want the final door.

He inclines his head.  Thank you, sir. And what did you say your name was?

The man extends a calloused hand. I didn’t.  It’s Percy.

He gives it a firm shake. Well, Percy, it’s nice to meet you. We’ll have to do lunch sometime, that is, if I survive today.

The older man chuckles, and Desmond spins on his heels, heading for the elevators. When he presses the button, the doors take a moment to slide open. I’m going to sweat through my shirt before the elevator even makes it to this floor. The moment they begin to open, he slips inside, elevator music calming his nerves as he descends. When the door slides open, he slips into a hallway of polished cement. The flickering fluorescent light overhead makes him shudder. For such a well-known financial group, you’d think they’d have less of a horror movie vibe. He wags his head, to lose the thought, each step echoing off the cement brick walls as he makes his way to the door at the end of the hallway. He places a palm on the cold metal knob and takes a slow, deep breath. All right, come on, you’ve got this. You’ve been in tech all your life. You built your first computer when you were 10. How hard can it be to run a roomful of nerds? You are them. They are you. He clears his throat. You’ve got this. When the door swings open, he clears his throat plastering on a grin. He makes eye contact with a group of five men standing around the water cooler as another six stand to peer over the wall of their cubicles. Good morning, gentlemen. From the corner of his eye, he catches sight of a placard with his name on it mounted to a pine door. That must be the office Amber told me about. He shifts toward it for a moment only to clear his throat and clap. Can I get everybody’s attention for a moment?

Who are you? One of the men by the cooler says.

He chuckles. I was just about to get to that. You’re one step ahead of me. I’m sure over the weekend you all received the e-mail stating that your new boss would be in on Monday. He throws his arms open wide. Well, it’s Monday and my name is Desmond Chandler. Pleased to meet you, gentlemen. My door is always open. If you have any questions, I’ll be around.

The man from the water cooler elbows another beside him. Yeah, I have a question. What are we supposed to be doing today?

He clears his throat. I’m sure your inboxes are full of submitted requests. Start working through them. He shoots a few finger guns and spins on his heels, heading into his office. When he shuts the door, he closes his eyes and jams his thumbs into his eye sockets. Did I just do finger guns? Why in the world did I just do finger guns?

He puffs out his cheeks and shuffles to the other side of his desk, taking a seat, and bending to switch on his computer tower. He puffs out his cheeks. Desktops, we’re the tech department and we have desktops. He rolls his eyes. This is going to be an interesting job. He bites the inside of his cheek. Be grateful. Without this job, you’d be out of your apartment.

The computer whirs to life, and he wiggles his mouse, finding the cursor and clicking his e-mail box. A pit opens in his stomach as the screen slowly loads one message after the next,  requesting tech help from various floors. This is going to be a long day.

A knock on his door draws his attention. He sits a bit straighter. Come in.

The man from the water cooler slips inside followed by two more. The flickering fluorescent gives his pale blue eyes an unearthly glow.

Desmond steeples his fingers and rests his elbows on his desk. What can I do for you gentlemen?

The man from the water cooler gives him a bright smile and extends his hand, which he shakes. My name is Albert. This is Joe. He inclines his head to the man on the right. And this is Floyd. He gestures to the other man.

Nice to meet you, gentlemen. How can I help you?

Albert lifts a shoulder. We were wondering if you could settle some workplace gossip for us.

He rolls his eyes. If it’s gossip, is it worth talking about?

Albert chuckles and rubs the back of his neck. Fair enough, but you’ll help me win a bet if I’m right.

Desmond leans back and folds his arms. Alright, fellas, shoot. What can I do for you?

When Albert smiles, it doesn’t reach his eyes, revealing a few too many teeth. Oh, my buddies and I have a bet going about how you got the job.

Desmond cocks his head. How I got the job? What do you mean?

Exactly what I said. You see, I’ve been here for five years. I know this department inside out. Your job should have been mine. So, tell me, why did they hire from outside of the company, let alone someone who I can’t find the name of anywhere. He grits his teeth and forces a smile. They looked at my resume, they liked it, I got the job.

Albert chuckles and folds his arms. Oh, is that so? Funny, I heard you’re a friend of Amber, the boss’s little girl. Is that how you got the job? A friend of the family?

No, I got this job because I deserve it. Heat creeps up the back of his neck. "Gentlemen, this isn’t appropriate. I’m sure you all have work to do.

Albert inches forward to take a seat in the chair across the desk from him. Oh, there’s time. We want to get to know our new boss.

9:10 a.m. June 6, Freedom, Ohio

AMBER SHIELDS SLIPS out of her BMW, shutting the door behind her and hitting the lock button. Bending, she grins into the side view mirror and tucks her freshly dyed lavender hair behind her ear. She beams at the way it makes her jade eyes pop. I knew this was a good choice. Straightening, she smooths the red pencil skirt at her hip and tightens the belt at her waist. Taking in her reflection, she turns to survey her curves. This will do nicely. She winks at her reflection and rolls her eyes. Okay, that might have been a bit much. She grabs her purse and picks her way across the asphalt of Silverton Corporation’s parking lot.

Making her way into the lobby, she grins at Percy.

Good afternoon, ma’am. He tips his hat.

Hello, Percy. She winks. How are your wife and daughter doing?

Wife just got out of the hospital. Daughter is home with her and taking care of her.

Well, good. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.

Thank you, ma’am. That’s very kind of you.

Warmth fills the pit of her belly. Oh, you know me. I love to be sweet to people.

Her heels click on the tile as she makes her way to the elevators, slipping inside when the doors open. She goes to reach for the top button, only to drop her hand to the basement level at the last moment and punch the button. Daddy can wait for a few minutes. I wonder how Desmond is settling in. She grins as his dark eyes cross her mind. She taps her foot while the elevator lowers until it spits her out into the basement, Desmond doesn’t belong down here. Why on earth wouldn’t Daddy put his office on a higher level?

She pulls herself to her full height, tucking her purse beneath her arm and doing her best not to let her six-inch heels slip on the cement. This place is a walking OSHA violation.

When she makes it to the door at the end of the hall, she stands a bit straighter. Don’t make eye contact. Go straight to his office. Slipping inside, a smile tugs at her lips as all eyes shift to her. That’s right. I’m the boss’s daughter fellas, be all about your business. She rolls her eyes and strides toward Desmond’s office, tapping twice before she opens the door. His head snaps toward her, and she grins as the others look in her direction as well. Oh, did I interrupt something?

Albert snorts and rolls his eyes. No, ma'am, you didn't. You're just proving a point.

Proving a point about what? She puts a hand on her hip. Desmond, what’s going on?

Rising, he comes around his desk taking a gentle hold of her elbow.

She gives him a half-smile. I’m going to lunch with Daddy. Do you want to come with me?

He clears his throat. No, Amber, lunch has to wait. I’ve got a lot of work to do.

See! Floyd lowers his voice turning his attention to Joe. Albert was right. This guy just got a job because he’s buddy, buddy with the boss’s daughter.

Joe snorts. Yeah, I bet they’re more than buddy, buddy.

She watches a tide of crimson sweep up Desmond’s