Streamfield Shifters: Red Rover

Chapter Eleven

"What do you think makes the trail jump all over the place?" Rachael wondered as we idled at a stop light. "It can't be because the wolf's an elf."

I glanced at my cousin in the backseat. No, it couldn't be like that, because we were able to track Leihalani without interruption a few months ago. "Maybe some elves have a special ability?" I mused. It was my understanding that most elves had innate magic bound to their realm. Summer elves, at least, had been shown to have control over the earth and plants. Unbidden, a memory resurfaced and I rubbed at my forearm. The welts from my fight with the kidnappers had long since faded, but I remembered all too well how they had trapped me with vines.

"Can we ask Kesio and Leihalani, Grandpa?"

Grandpa's eyes flickered from the line of cars ahead of us to the rearview mirror. I could sense him weighing the pros and cons of letting our elven guests in on the matter. "We might have to," he finally said, stepping on the gas as the light turned green. We took a left on Barkley Road and almost immediately hit another red light. This one was brief, thankfully, and we were soon off again.

I chewed on my lower lip and gazed out the window, passively taking in the scenery. By confiding in Kesio and Leihalani, we ran into the risk of revealing their presence to John. Although, I supposed we could always pass it off as things we picked up while in Atlantis.

A cell phone rang: River of Dreams, by Billy Joel. Definitely not mine, which had Space Jam by the Quad City DJs; or Rachael's, which was a revolving door of K-pop tunes.

"Can you see who's calling, Aly?" Grandpa asked, eyes on the road.

I grabbed his phone from the center console and turned it around. A local unknown number showed on the display.

"Put it on speaker."

I didn't question him, as it was basically Grandpa's work phone. I complied, settling it face up on the console.

"Alan Michaels."

"Mr Michaels? This is Emma Patterson from The Republican. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions."

The backseat creaked as Rachael shifted. I looked at Grandpa; his brow furrowed and his fingers flexed on the steering wheel.

"About what, Ms Patterson?"

"Well, we received word in the newsroom that some of your family members were seen with a member of the Streamfield Police Department and a State Trooper at Noble Pond not too long ago."

"Why would they think my clan was involved?"

"Well, Mr Michaels," the woman replied, drawing her "wells" out, "we have it on good authority that your clan was placed on retainer to the police department following your involvement with the Jimmy Grabowski kidnapping case. Would you like to comment on that?"

Grandpa's eyes snapped to the cell's display, then back up to the road. "All questions may be directed to my lawyer at Ketterhorn and Dumais, Ms Patterson. Have a good day." He nodded at me and I quickly terminated the call.

"Ain't that peachy," Rachael muttered.

Not the word I'd be using, but before I could add my own, Grandpa's cell rang again.

"Alan Michaels."

"Mr Michaels? This is Keilianys Ortega from 22News. Do you have a moment?"

"All questions may be directed to my lawyer at Ketterhorn and Dumais, Ms Ortega."

Just as I ended the call, another one came in.

"Alan Michaels," my grandfather growled, eyes flashing as he concentrated on driving.