The pilot bit back a laugh, and his co-pilot chuckled. Mitch ignored them. Aftershock was about to set in, and he wondered if the elves had heard of it.

  It seemed the male elf had, for he turned to the two men and guided them to where a granite boulder protruded from the earth.

  “Sit,” he said. “We’ll be with you shortly. I have people bringing food and water.”

  From the look on the pilots’ faces this was good news, even if they were wondering where it was coming from. They sat, and turned their eyes to their grounded aircraft.

  “We should have put the landing gear down,” the co-pilot said, as Vestrian walked away.

  Mitch heard the pilot’s murmur of agreement, and ignored them in order to focus on the elven woman.

  “Forgive me, commander,” he said. “We do not know the correct forms. We know there will be compensation required for the damage to your lands, but were any of your people harmed?”

  She frowned.

  “No. We saved the grove.”

  Mitch felt himself grow pale.

  “Dryads?” he asked, weakly. “There were dryads?”

  “Are you sure you don’t need to sit down, too?” the male elf asked, but Mitch shook his head.

  “No,” he said, “I mean yes, I’m sure, and I am very glad the dryads are okay.”

  Vestrian smirked at him.

  “You’d better be,” he said. “Compensation would have been much higher if the grove had been harmed.”

  “But it wasn’t, was it?” Schaeffer asked.

  Vestrian looked at her.

  “Not a single leaf,” he said, and then looked over at the seated passengers, and up at the westering sun. “Now we have the problem of what we’re going to do with them.”

  He hadn’t addressed her directly, but they all looked to the she-elf for answers. Sereila looked around at the gathered passengers, and at the sky.

  “They will not reach the rest stop before dusk,” she said, “and it would be best if they didn’t go too far, tonight. The forest is in turmoil.”

  “I can radio emergency services,” Vestrian piped up. “They could heli in a couple of portable toilets, and drop some tarps and sleeping bags.”

  Sereila looked at him. She might not know exactly what he meant, but she trusted him to know what was needed. He would not joke at a time like this.

  “Do it,” she said, and he headed for the motorbike Schaeffer had noticed standing under one of the gum trees.

  While she watched the male elf, she heard Mitch say, “There is one more thing, we need your help with.”

  Schaeffer turned back to her boss, and caught the sudden wariness on the she-elf’s face.

  “What?” And there was an eon of hostility in her words.

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  “We were escorting a prisoner,” Mitch explained, ignoring the she-elf’s anger.

  “And what is he to me?”

  “She was in charge of a dust-running gang,” Mitch told her. “You’ve heard of them?”

  “Tell me.”

  “Dust-runners capture pixies and burn them until only their dust remains.”

  The she-elf paled.

  “This prisoner. Where is she?”

  “We don’t know. She escaped while we were putting out the fires.”

  “We will find her. Is she dangerous?”

  “Apart from the fact she really hated pixies, and isn’t too good with elves? Nah…” Schaeffer put in. “Winsome is just fine.”

  Mitch didn’t have time for sarcasm.

  “Yes, and she will become irrational around pixies, elves and unicorns.”

  “Unicorns?” Vestrian had returned, and there was real fear in his voice.

  Crap.

  “We need to capture her,” Mitch said. “She was due to stand trial in Sydney, tomorrow.”

  “And is she responsible for this…” The she-elf gestured toward the downed aircraft.

  “Airplane,” the male elf filled in.

  “Yes. Is she?”

  Schaeffer saw the denial forming on Mitch’s face, and then saw him grow still.

  “I don’t think so,” he said.

  “But?” the she-elf pressed.

  “Someone else might have crashed the plane in order to kill her.”

  Sereila’s eyes widened, and she glanced at the gathered passengers, her gaze resting on the children nestled among them. Vestrian laid a hand on her shoulder, but when Sereila returned her gaze to the officer, fury was etched in every feature.

  “We will find her,” she said, and forestalled Mitch’s thanks with an upraised hand, “but if she commits a crime against our people, while on our land, she will face our justice, and your trial will no longer be necessary.”

  “Now…” Mitch started to protest, but Vestrian shook his head, and the officer subsided.

  “It will be quick,” Sereila offered, her lips curving into a mirthless smile. “I know where there’s a troll bridge.”

  Schaeffer watched her superior’s mouth open, and then close, and then open again. She reached across and laid a hand on his shoulder, and Mitch managed to close his mouth without letting a single word escape. Instead, he took a deep breath, and gave the only acceptable answer.

  “Fine,” he said, although they all knew it wasn’t, and then swiveled slowly on the spot. “What do you suggest?”

  “I said we would look for her,” Sereila said. “You and your second-in-command will ensure the good behavior of our other guests.

  Schaeffer glanced over at the passengers, and then the pilots. As she did so, her gaze passed across the plane, and she walked over to the pilot.

  “Is that safe to go inside?” she asked, and the man shrugged.

  “Apart from the fact we have no way of getting up to the doors?” he asked. “I don’t think it’s going to explode.”

  “Good. We’ll need supplies from inside.”

  “I’ll speak with the…” Schaeffer hunted for the right word with which to describe the she-elf, and settled for, “…the lady in charge.”

  She left them, hearing Mitch’s assurance that the elves were bringing food, as she made her way back to Sereila. The she-elf was standing close to the trunk of a gum tree, her head canted forward and lips moving as though she was deep in conversation with someone Schaeffer couldn’t see.

  Schaeffer let herself be momentarily distracted by the elf’s curves, before focusing on the task at hand. When she was a couple of meters away, she stopped, but the elf kept speaking.

  “Which way?” she demanded, and Schaeffer wondered if the woman was talking about their missing prisoner.

  She strained to hear the reply, but the speaker was talking too softly for the officer to hear. Without realizing it, Schaeffer took a step forward, and the elf shifted, partly turning toward her.

  “How long?” she asked, and, again, she was not addressing the Paranormal Squad officer.

  Schaeffer held her breath, but she still could not hear the reply. She was close enough, however, to watch the play of emotion over the elf’s face. It ran from steady concentration, through hastily concealed alarm, to something that Schaeffer could only describe as ‘bleak.’

  Instead of asking Schaeffer what she wanted, Sereila turned to her and said, “She’s heading for the grove.”

  “Can I come?”

  “You know the dryads have a preference for men.”

  “All the more reason for Mitch…er, Sergeant Harrison, to remain behind.”

  The she-elf regarded her for a long moment, and Schaeffer returned her stare without blinking. Finally, Sereila’s lips twitched.

  “I take it you do not,” she said, and Schaeffer felt her face heat.

  “No,” she said, quietly, “but I doubt the dryads will care.”

  Sereila looked on the verge of saying something else, but then she jerked her chin toward a small group of elves that had emerged from one side of the crash site. They waited patiently in the shelter of some snow gums, watching the gathering of humans with caution.

  “My people,” Sereila said. “We tend to avoid humans.”