Page 1 of Becoming Effrijim
DAY 1
Saint George’s Day
“Yo, Garters, how they hangin’?”
The woman, who was bent over a raised flower bed full of lavender, sighed heavily before straightening up to turn and face me. “Ah, it’s you. Effriflem.”
“Effrijim, although I’m thinking of dropping the Effri part.” I struck a pose that I hoped would sway her, even though I had little hope of doing so. In the six hundred years I’d been a sprite and Hildegarde was Sovereign, she’d yet to be impressed by me, although just a few years ago, one of the female sprites told me I looked like a dark-haired Norseman. I assume it was a compliment, since everyone knows how the Norsemen who used to pillage around here ended up winning over all the women, and not just because they bathed more than once a year. “Jim sounds good. Jim sounds solid. Thoughts?”
She slid me a look that would have felled a lesser sprite, and released another of her exaggerated sighs. “What is it you want, Effrijim?”
I took a step back when she added a bit of power to my name, making it sting. I thought about pointing out the head of the Court of Divine Blood wasn’t supposed to hurt her employees, but decided I’d hold on to that bit of advice for a time when she wasn’t looking so particularly cranky.
“I don’t know. You called me. Also, you still miffed about Bingen?” I asked, sitting cross-legged on the grass, since she’d almost shot flames out of her eyes when I sidled toward the only wooden chair available.
She paused in the act of wiping the dirt off her hands. “What about Bingen?”
“The mortals,” I prompted her, but when she just continued to stare at me with a face that could sour honey, I figured it was only right to clue her in. “The ones who filched the idea of the Court for some nebulous dogma they’ve been promoting. I mean, yeah, they are calling it Heaven and not the Court, but still, it’s an obvious rip-off, and that sort of betrayal has to hurt, huh? I don’t blame you for being crabby.”
“Crabby!” She did a snorting thing that made me think of dragons breathing fire. “I am not crabby! I dislike the sea intensely, because shellfish unbalances my humors.”
“I just don’t get that,” I said, shaking my head. “I, myself, love crab. I can eat buckets of it. That sweet, succulent meat dripping with melted butter ... yum. But to each their own, right?”
“Crab,” she said softly, her eyes narrowing on me. It was a pointed look, one that once again stung, and it was on the tip of my tongue to tell her she could absolutely hold her own in Abaddon if she ever wanted to become a demon lord, but the memory rushed back to me of a few centuries before when somehow, during a Court-wide banquet to celebrate the Sovereign’s three hundredth anniversary, some deliciously magnificent crab ended up in what was an otherwise intolerably boring, bland fish soup.
Hildegarde had been stuck in the privy from midday until the following evening. Bowel Unblocking Day (as I’d referred to it, and the name kind of stuck) went down in Court history as a great mystery. No one owned up to slipping the delicious crab into the tasteless soup.
I smiled a big ole “ain’t no crab on me” smile at the boss lady. The same sprite that thought I looked like a dashing Norseman also said I had a nice smile, but did Hildegarde notice? Not her. Truth be told, she was always complaining about me indulging in a few hijinks. Like there’s anything to do at the Court if you don’t get creative and stir things up a bit.
Hildegarde took a deep breath and pinned me back with another of those burn-you-at-the-stake eye-flame looks. “If I exude the barest hint of frustration and regret, it’s because it is needful I must have a discussion with you. Again. And I find myself at the end of my limits with you, Effriflem. I’ve borne your pranks for as long as I could, given the debt the Court has to your mother, but as the centuries pass and your japes and pranks become more and more unbound, you leave me with few choices. It is for that reason that I wish to speak to you about an opportunity which I believe you may well enjoy.”
“I’m all ears,” I said, getting more comfortable on my spot, ignoring her complaining about my active sense of humor. It’s not like I hadn’t heard it hundreds of time before. “Well, not literally, because that would be weird having nothing but a pair of ears running around the Court helping people, but I was thinking that I’d like to try out some different forms. Dogs, for instance. Dogs are nice. Everyone likes dogs, right? I was thinking about a big leggy lurcher. Or maybe a greyhound. Or one of those black-and-white alaunts?”
“I don’t believe—” the Sovereign started to say.
“How about a fancy spaniel? The kind with the curly hair? The ladies love those,” I said, thinking about the local nobility’s dogs.
“I really don’t—”
“Of course, terriers are always fun,” I added with a knowing wink. “Vermin hunts, am I right? Nothing but fun to be had there. Maybe a terrier is the way to go. One with a smirk. Hmm.”
She breathed loudly through her nose a couple of times. “No terriers! No hunts! No dog form. Human form is right and proper for a sprite, and so long as you remain in the Court, you will adhere to my rules.” She checked for a few seconds, then, with another narrow-eyed look flung my way, added, “Although that brings me back to the topic at hand.”
“My human form?” I looked down at myself and made a face as I adjusted the leather codpiece that poked up from my tunic. “I got an upgrade when I made sprite third class, but I have to say it really hasn’t been worth it. Now, a dog’s form—”
“A vision has come to me, and that vision concerns a choice to be made,” Hildegarde said hurriedly, averting her gaze from me. She dusted off the chair and sat, her hands clasped together, while her pale gold hair fluttered gently in the breeze. “Your choice.”
“All right,” I said slowly, feeling a bit rushed, but willing to take the plunge, nonetheless. “I’ll go for a black-and-white alaunt. No, a spotted lurcher! Although they don’t have much mass to them ... alaunt. I choose alaunt.”
I swear she almost rolled her eyes. “The choice you need to make is which path you will take. One path remains here in the Court of Divine Blood, where you will continue to serve those immortal beings as need our help.”
“I’d prefer to help mortals,” I said, wriggling a little to combat the itch on my left shoulder blade. There was nothing behind me I could rub against, and the itch was too high to scratch it myself. Unless I was a dog. Then I would be able to scratch everything that itched. “Mortals are more fun. I like mortals.”
“After the last time you were caught trying to convince mortals to rise up and smite their overlords in a blatant act of rebellion, your sphere of influence will remain within the Court and denizens of the Otherworld,” she said with a tone that was so acid, it could probably etch glass. “As I said, you may remain here at the Court, fulfilling your duties as a sprite, or you may take a much more dangerous path, one filled with adventure and the unknown.”
I sat up straight. “You what?”
A strained smile stretched her lips. Hildegarde didn’t smile much, so it wasn’t the friendliest look ever, but she was clearly doing her best. “I do not often encourage members of the Court to strike out on their own to discover their destinies, let alone the son of our most beloved former Sovereign, but due to my respect and honor for her memory, I will make an exception. Be warned, Effriflem! This is not a choice to make lightly—should you leave the Court to seek renown as you make your way, you will be entirely on your own.”
