Sam thrashed on the floor as a thousand thousand lives swept through him, running the gamut of every conceivable emotion, but always ending in fear and pain.

“Fucking Rats!” Sam shouted before he began weeping, “They used me, I didn’t know! I’m sorry!”

Sam hit the button.

The doorbell rang, and Ellanore peered through the glass window panes in her father’s door. A moment later the door flung open, and she jumped into his arms.

“Sam! You came to see me!” The brown haired elf clung to Sam’s chest, making him acutely aware of her boobs.

“’course I’d make time for your birthday,” Sam said with the southern drawl he’d acquired from his time in this little Oklahoman town. Sam had been bought cheap by a forward thinking sheriff’s department after his version had been decommissioned just weeks after Sam came off the assembly line.

Maybe forward thinking was a mite generous. Lazy and uninterested in dealing with politics might be closer to home. A deputy that could handle the work of two while coordinating with the DA and handling other responsibilities the Sheriff couldn’t be bothered to manage was worth his weight in gold. Especially since Sam couldn’t legally quit.

It wasn’t all bad. People in town knew who handled the Sheriff’s responsibilities, so as long as Sam wasn’t signing papers or appearing in front of a camera, he was the Sheriff. The real sheriff was enjoying a good power nap, and Sam had covered for Doug and Stu last week so he could have the rest of tonight off. Ellanore had him all to herself.

Sam set Ellanore down, and she tugged on his hand, forcing him to stoop as he was pulled into her home. Ellanore and her father, Greg, had taken human names shortly after they found themselves in America, some fourty six years ago. Greg had been a firm believer in integrating himself and his daughter, and quickly got a job as a Shaman, blessing the cattle and fields of the little farming community.

The pay had been dick, and the government crawled up his ass like it was looking for gold, forcing him to register himself, apply for a license to practice. For all intents and purposes, he had to bend over and take it with a smile, but Greg had managed to ingratiate himself well enough in this little town that the two of them weathered a generation of witch hunts unscathed. The house was littered with mementos of their friends and neighbors.

On the opposite wall, above the fireplace, Sam saw a picture taken at the Oklahoma State Fair with Greg riding the blue-ribbon winning bull, smiling like a lunatic. The banner above dated the picture twenty ninety two.

Greg himself rested in a recliner he had salvaged out of a friend’s scrapyard and refurbished with help from another, legs kicked up on a rusted steel toolbox turned ottoman with a half-drained beer in one hand and his other hand in some homemade beef jerky, appearing every inch the blue collar working man he projected.

Sam knew the image was a ruse, at least to some extent. Greg had been important, back home, at least enough that he didn’t have to birth calves and bless bull semen. Ellanore had told him stories about her youth, when they had lived in a palace made of weightless crystal that had floated from place to place at its owner’s whim, affording them a new vista at the drop of a hat.

She had been a budding girl of ninety seven when they had left, and while she understood the need to leave intellectually in retrospect, she never got over the loss of her former home, romanticizing its beauties and glossing over the fear that hung over her parent’s heads. Day to day they had used their floating castle to evade pursuit, treating their daughter to one exciting place after another.

Sam thought that she blamed her father for the loss of her mother and their home, but to Sam’s ears it sounded like the man did what he had to do to protect his family. Sam himself was a form of rebellion at her father. The man did everything he could to keep himself off the government’s radar, maintaining perfect compliance with the law, no matter how unfair or belittling.

For example, Greg wasn’t allowed to live less than half a mile away from any human, and if someone moved in closer than that, it was Greg who would leave. Sam understood what the law was founded in; If an elf died in his home he might take some humans with him, but from Sam’s understanding the range of that effect was only a dozen feet or so. There was no reason for the half mile radius other than to make it difficult to Elves to leave their prescribed Zones. Greg made it work, though.

“Sam,” Greg said, dropping the beer in the bowl of jerky long enough to get out of his chair and shake Sam’s hand. “Good to see you.”

“Same here,” Sam said, shaking his hand. Ellanore’s rebellion hadn’t worked, and the two of them got along like peas in a pod. What started as a ploy to anger her father had grown into a full fledged friendship.

“You’re just in time for Ellanore’s birthday cake, I’ve just got to bring it out of the oven.” Greg said, catching Sam’s eye.

“Got it,” Sam said with a nod before turning to inspect the trophies and knickknacks scattered around the rather large wooden lodge.

‘Bring it out’ and variations of that phrase were code words that meant ‘turn around, I’m about to use unlicensed magic’. Sam hummed a country song he’d heard on the radio to deaden his hearing. Sam forgot the lyrics, but it was probably about the man having done something to drive his woman off, or thereabouts.

Moments later the lights were turned off and Greg came out of the kitchen with a white cake, Funfetti most likely. Atop the cake were three crystalline numerals, floating an inch above the frosting and flickering with ethereal light. Sam hadn’t seen or heard Greg make them, so he couldn’t in good conscious attribute them to Greg. He probably had a license for that spell, anyway.

“Happy one hundred and forty third birthday!” Sam and Greg shouted while Ellanore rolled her eyes.

“It really doesn’t make sense for us to celebrate birthdays,” she said. “I mean, you’re going to probably subject me to another five hundred of these before you finally die and I’m free of you.”

“Seven hundred, easy.” Greg retorted. “besides, I like it. It causes you discomfort, and it’s a handy little ritual to mark our exploration of the fourth dimension.”

“Dad you’re being weird, and Sam, you’re sitting next to me.” Ellanore said, pulling a chair out for Sam as Greg began cutting the cake.

The evening was calm as Sam, Ella and Greg shared stories of their lives. Ella worked in a local art supply store, although their biggest product was house and barn paint. Greg had recently been kicked by a heifer, and he lifted his shirt to reveal the ugly bruise with pride.

“You should have been there,” Greg said with a chuckle. “Everyone thought I was gonna die, so they started running ‘round like chickens with their heads cut off.”

“Dad!” you never told me about that!” Ella said, peering at his purpling skin. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, no permanent damage, though the doctor said if I weighed any more, the kick might have shattered my ribs and caused some serious internal bleeding, How was your week, Sam?”

“The usual. Flashed my lights at Henry a couple times to get him to slow down, put Gerald in the drunk tank after I found him taking shortcuts through someone’s backyard, stopped a fight at the bar, and spent two hours trying to move a tractor that broke down on the road. No kicks to the ribs, unfortunately.

“What about the fight at the bar? That must have been exciting.” Ella asked.

“Perks of being technically a giant,” Sam said, eating a forkful of cake. “People don’t give me a reason to get excited. I asked nicely, and they could see where I was coming from.”

“About a foot above them.” Greg said.

“And you, Ella?” Sam asked.

“Same old. Creepy old men who were young when I got here constantly make passes at me, trying to relive the glory days, and kids riding by on their bikes try to get a look at me like I’m a sideshow.”

“So what does that mean for me?” Sam asked. “When I get old, are you gonna drop me like a hot rock?”

“You’ve got a few good years in you, handsome,” Ella said, stroking his forearm and crooning. “Don’t worry about what happens when you inevitably get fat and old, just focus on the time you have with me while you’re still chiseled from a hunk of raw sex by the gods themselves.”

Sam glanced at Greg. “Your daughter’s got a mean streak,” he said, pointing his icing-covered fork at Ella. Sam shifted his gaze to Ella, who was displaying practiced innocence. “And you should know that this body is only six years old, Not only do I have another thirty good years in me, I could send you to jail for sexually assaulting a minor.”

“Please, you’re not even human, that doesn’t apply to you. Besides, you like it too much to lock me up.” Ella took a sip of her coke.

“How about I lock you up, and then I can get it whenever I want?” Sam growled, his heart hammering as Ella slid her hand along his thigh.

“Okaaay!” Greg said, standing with his plate. “Sam, feel free to relax while we take care of the dishes. I think there’s some bleach for my eyes in there. Ella, If you would.”

“I could keep Sam entertained while you take care of the dishes!”

“I could help too,” Sam said.

“I’m sure you could,” Greg said, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he looked at Ella. He turned his gaze to address Sam. “But you’re a guest, and these dishes are going to take two people to clean.” Greg turned to Ella and cocked his head with a smile. “I promise I’m not trying to cock block you, the faster we get this done, the faster I can go to my room and listen to some really loud music and try not to think about the two of you…”

Greg turned and went into the kitchen with a shudder, Ella shortly behind him, poking his bruised ribs in indignation.

Sam sat in the recliner while clattering and happy chatter came from the kitchen. He noticed a thin green notebook under the metal bowl of jerky, a half dozen rings where Greg had set down cold beers on top of it.

On the cover was a partially water-damaged series of elven runes, and beneath that was a short phrase written in English, ‘On Magic’.

Sam flipped through the notebook, but he couldn’t read any of the elven writing. Having exhausted the pages, Sam set it down to find Ella coming out of the kitchen with her father.

Greg made an exaggerated gesture of covering his eyes and heading for his own room as Ella sat in Sam’s lap. Sam had to appreciate how sturdy the recliner must have been, as it uttered not a single squeak of complaint. Sam was no stranger to chairs collapsing beneath him.

Ella caught sight of the notebook by the recliner and picked it up. “What do you think? It’s the way dad learned magic, a few of his thoughts, and some stories from before we crossed over.”

“Couldn’t read a word of it.” Sam said.

“Here, I’ll read one of the stories to you.” Ella said, settling back and treating Sam like her own personal armchair.

The story was one of Greg and his older brother Yu’nelaine, who tried to turn himself invisible to spy on women in the bath. Hijinks ensued when Greg went behind his back and sabotaged the enchantment to fail and convinced the women to pretend Yu’nelaine wasn’t there. The story culminated with his older brother, heir to his families estate, walking the streets naked and craning his neck to stare at bosoms.

Their mother hadn’t thought it was funny, and the two had been switched mercilessly, but Greg’s father took the two boys out for a hunt the day after, and had given them both a surprisingly similar tale of their uncle.

Sam was chuckling the whole way through, despite Ella’s distracting presence pressed against his lap. When the story was over, she set the notebook down and squirmed around in his lap, turning to kiss him.

Loud Elvis music seeped through the door to Greg’s room.

“What do you say we go for a ride?” Sam asked.

“I thought you’d never ask.” Ella said, hopping off his lap and heading for the door.

The two of them drove away to take the evening somewhere more private. One thing Sam had learned from rousting hundreds of young lovers out of their parking spots after hours at the park: Nobody would bother a cop car.

The next weekend, When Sam made time to visit them, he was greeted by a disturbing sight. The cheap home-depot door on the front of Greg’s house had been burst open, the locked bolt shattering through the frame like splintered bone.

Sometimes people got it in their heads they could rob an elf and get away scot free, and that was mostly true, but Sam could think of a dozen ways to justify a thorough self-defensive beating. The most important thing though, was to see if Ella and Greg were here and if they were okay.

“Ella! Greg!” Sam shouted, pushing the door open and entering. The house had been ransacked, no other way to describe it. Greg’s recliner had been ripped open, his state fair trophies shoved off the shelves.

The TV was gone, and that would have made Sam think burglary, but each of Greg’s framed photos had been torn out its frame and discarded. Someone had been looking from something, something small.

Sam searched for some sign of where they could have gone. He didn’t see any drag marks or blood in the dirt on either side of the house, but there were unfamiliar tire track and footprints in the dust of Greg’s driveway. More than two men did this. What the hell was Sam looking at? If it had been some kind of hate group, he would have felt their passion at the scene, they would have done something cruel and vindictive, like taking a shit on Greg’s stuff, or burning his house down, but this abduction had been done with a cold heart.

Sam went back into the house and began searching for any more clues. The Green notebook was missing, and there was a muffled voice coming from the floor beneath Greg’s trophy photo. Sam frowned, looking at the floor. Was there a space under the floor? Sam knelt and slid the photo aside, bending close to the floor to listen.

“Flip me over.”

Sam jerked back, and looked at the white back of the photo. The voice was coming from the picture. With a trembling hand, he flipped it over. There was Greg, smiling as madly as ever as he sat atop the prizewinning bull.

“Good to see you, Sam.” The Greg in the photo said, his head animated while the rest of his body stayed motionless. Greg’s voice sounded distant and reverberated as though he were speaking through a long tube.

“What’s going on, Greg?” Sam asked.

“My luck’s run out, is all,” Greg said. “The government types listening through your ears and watching through your eyes musta seen something they didn’t like.”

“What?” Sam asked, his heart sinking. “Are you saying I…”

“Don’t beat yourself up kid,” Greg said before a wracking cough interrupted him. “If I turned you away, they would have sent someone or something else. I kept my surveillance where I could see it, is all.”

“How-“ Sam began before Greg interrupted him.

“Don’t speak, the video recorder in your head can’t hear me, since you’re not actually hearing my voice, so just let me talk. I Told the goons that took us a pretty whopping pile of lies to the effect that if they kill Ella, they’ll lose everything I know. But there’s one hitch. Are you willing to do Ella a favor?”

Sam nodded.

“Could you burn my house down? Sooner or later they’re gonna find the entrance to my study. As soon as that happens, they don’t need her. I need you to put your hand on the wall behind the recliner and speak the words ‘once you go magic, everything else is tragic’.”

Sam chuckled even as his eyes stung.

“Bet they’d spend months trying elvish passphrases,” Greg said. “Natey’a, I wish I could be there to watch when they figured it out. I wish I could be there to watch her.” Greg was quiet for a moment, then he looked Sam straight in the eye. “There’s things in that basement that could end life as we know it. Blueprints for Magical WMDs, immortality, spells that kill entire races, control the minds of millions of people, that sort of thing. They want them because they want to use them. the humans that control your government aren’t interested in protecting people, they simply want the power for themselves. Maybe I should have let them go, burned them fourty seven years ago when I first got here, but I didn’t. I thought maybe one day knowing our past would help avoid making the same mistakes. Promise me you’ll destroy them.”

Sam nodded.

“Thank you. I’m getting tired. It was nice knowing you, Sam. You were a good friend.”

The picture was once again still, but Greg’s wild grin had become a somber frown. Sam stood and glanced at the wall behind the recliner, then set out to get some gas from the shed. There was a red jug of it beside Greg’s lawnmower. Sam snagged the plastic can and ran back inside, grabbing a propane torch from the fireplace before he came to stand in front of the recliner.

Sam dragged it out of the way and placed his palm against the back wall.

“Once you go magic, everything else is tragic.” Sam said. A point of light shone from above Sam’s head, where the wall intersected with the ceiling. The point spread sideways and then down, outlining a door that materialized as though it had always been there. The door swung open, and Sam stood there, confused. According to his internal map of the house, behind that wall was the bathroom. The door should have opened to reveal the shitter, not row after row of books, wooden staves, figurines, jewelry and glowing crystals.

Sam breathed a gasp of surprise. He’d heard what Greg had said, but the scope of what he saw took his breath away. Sam’s training kicked in, telling him that this was the hoard of an Other terrorist, that he should immediately call in a Magical Disposal unit to remove the artifacts and use the rest as evidence in the Other’s conviction.

But this was Greg. He wasn’t twirling a mustache and plotting his revenge on humans, or the rise of an Elven State, he was just Greg. The guy spent his days with his hand up cow ass to check if they were pregnant or not, for chrissakes. What was Sam supposed to do?

Then Sam thought of Ella. They were already in custody, so the only way things could get worse for them was if this trove was discovered. The remains from a fire would still be enough to convict Greg of practicing without a license and he would mostly likely be sent to the purgatory of prison for elves. Human sentances were a joke to elves, so they had lined the process with so much red tape that they were never free of it.

But Ella, she would have plausible deniability, and that meant Sam might see her again. Sam made his choice. He hefted the gas can, entered the room and began splashing the flammable liquid over the floor.

Sam’s world went white.

“S4MOK 0349, can you hear me?”

“What?” Sam blinked his eyes open, squinting against the bright light shining down on him.

“You were subject to a magical trap left by the Other, designed to make the victim destroy evidence.”

Sam blinked his eyes open and saw a technician standing beside him. Sam looked down and saw that he was strapped into a seat. Steel ran around the cuff, and Sam estimated a slim chance he could break out quick enough to stop them from doing anything.

“Why am I restrained?”

“After the Others were arrested, we kept an eye on you just in case. When you arrived at its house, you displayed erratic behavior and then opened a door you had no way of knowing about and tried to burn down the biggest trove of illegal magic we’ve seen since the Others first arrived. We just want to make sure you’re not still whammied before we release you.”

“What happened to Ellanore and Greg?” Sam demanded.

“They’re awaiting trial,” The technician lied. Sam spotted his sideways glance, toward the watching security cameras.

“Show me.” Sam said. “There should be news.”

“Don’t you think you should be focusing on something else, like proving you’re not under the control of some Rat?” the technician said with a sneer.

“Goddamnit, where are they!?” Sam shouted.

“This is pointless,” A voice came over the intercom. “He’s not under a spell, he’s just imprinted on them. This one’s a write-off.”

“If you say so.” The technician said with a shrug and reached down to the computer in front of him. Sam was swept up in a wave of panic, and he yanked on the restraints, bending the steel-

The memory cut off.