The Troll-Demon War

by Leah R. Cutter

  Tina wasn’t wearing any makeup that day—she generally only put on “full war paint” when she was going out at night. Besides, she was aware that she really didn’t need it. She had a beautiful peaches and cream complexion with small pores, her lips were naturally pink, her cheeks always had color in them, and her eyes were a searing blue.

  A thought came to her. She’d had a fight with Nicky, her girlfriend, the night before. That must be what was distracting Tina today, why her magic was being flaky.

  Not because she was inexplicably growing weaker magically.

  Tina sat cross legged on the floor of her magical practice room. The room was only about ten feet by ten feet, cozy enough for her to feel warm there, yet also spacious enough so that she didn’t feel cramped. The room didn’t exist on the human plane. Tina and her mentor at the time had carved it out of a space between the worlds.

  She’d colored the walls a pale, restful, green, then applied a beautiful swirling white pattern across them, like tendrils of wind blowing across a field of grass. She frequently brought in the smell of summer, of freshly mowed lawns with a trace of cool mountain air.

  Soft mats covered the floor, so it was always comfortable enough to either stand or sit for hours. Nothing lined the walls. Tina had created many small pockets of space where she stashed her magical implements. It was one of the spells that came naturally to her.

  According to her parents, or rather, the people who’d adopted and raised her, she’d started creating those pockets before she could talk, hiding her stuffed animals to keep them safe.

  The Zimmermans had never liked the idea of Tina practicing so far away. They’d been worried that she’d blow herself up.

  Okay, so that had only happened the one time.

  However, Tina had put a set of protection spells on a timer. If she didn’t return to the human plane after a specific amount of time, the practice room would turn itself inside out and dump her back in the room that she’d grown up in.

  It meant that her adoptive parents could never sell their house. Or she’d just show up in a stranger’s house. She could redo the spells, and she would someday when she bought her own house. For now, she lived in a shared townhouse. It kept the cost of rent down and gave her some necessary freedom from her adoptive parents, though she still made sure to have dinner with them once a week.

  That had been something else her adoptive parents hadn’t liked. They’d hidden her away for most of her life in an effort to keep her safe. The oracles had proclaimed that Tina had a Destiny and was supposed to lead armies in the Great War.

  So the Zimmermans had adopted Christine when she’d been a troll baby. They’d turned her into a changeling, an exact human replica of Tina. Then they’d stolen Tina from her biological parents, replacing her with Christine, and raised Tina as their own daughter, so that she could achieve her full magical potential.

  The old witch who’d cast the changeling spell claimed that she’d been visited by a being of light who’d somehow twined or joined Tina’s Destiny with Christine’s.

  Now, the Oracles saw no clear future for Tina. They couldn’t even say if Tina still had a Destiny or not.

  It had taken Tina a lot of time and effort (and some costly therapy) to get over the fact that she might not be the most special human magician of all time, that her adoptive parent’s expectations—and her teachers’ and everyone else’s—might no longer be valid.

  Tina was still an incredibly strong human magician. No lack of prophecy could take that away from her. Despite how wonky her magic had grown the last few weeks.

  She just might no longer have a major place in the grand scheme of things.

  And she was okay with that. Now. Most days.

  Today had just been a bad day. She felt, well, magically constipated might be a good term. She couldn’t seem to get even the simplest of spells right. Everything felt difficult, as if her arms were weighed down with rocks and her mouth jammed up with gum.

  It should have been easy to scry on one of her old tutors, Malcom. He had always been so friendly and kind, reminding her of Mr. Rogers, though he didn’t physically resemble the man at all. Malcom was African American, tall and stately, with an easy smile and closely cropped hair that had just started going gray along the temples.

  Malcom had taught Tina the fundamentals of magic. All magic was like learning music. While there was a lot that she could discover on her own, if she really wanted to learn how to play the piano, she needed to learn from someone else who could play and who could teach her proper technique.

  Tina had grown past Malcom rather quickly, staying with him for barely a year. However, he’d continued to check in on her, always making himself available for questions or just a shoulder to cry on.

  Malcom had adequate protections to keep his home safe from demons. But he’d never barred her from entry before.

  Was it just her? Or had he decided he didn’t want anyone peeking in?

  Tina picked up her wand and tried casting the scrying spell again. She didn’t need any ingredients for the spell. It should have been simple enough.

  But it just…fizzled. She couldn’t think of any other term for it.

  Tina felt the power build up, focused and certain. It was like holding a bubbling pot, getting ready to aim the accumulated steam. She had the right location in mind, Malcom’s living room. (She wouldn’t observe him in his study. That was a private place for all magicians, and she respected that.) However, when she tried to tunnel out of her practice room and into the human plane, all her power and focus dissipated. It was like she was shooting a tiny flame into a powerful wall of water.

  Was it just Malcom? Or was it her scrying powers? Could she scry on someone else?

  Tina didn’t try looking in on Christine. Her troll defenses had grown stronger over the years. Plus, Christine wouldn’t have liked Tina spying on her.

  How about Dennis, Christine’s brother? He was strictly mundane, no magical powers whatsoever. Tina hadn’t been able to teach him the simplest spells, and neither had Nik.

  It was a shame, as Tina would have liked to have a student someday. She wasn’t likely to ever have any kids, particularly not with Nicky. Though maybe if they got married, they could adopt…

  That was part of the problem, however.

  Nicky was out, loud and proud.

  Tina…wasn’t.

  She’d told her bio parents, the Tuckermans. They’d been perfectly fine with their biological daughter being gay. Then again, they’d had to accept that the daughter who they’d thought was theirs had actually turned out to be a troll.

  Her adoptive parents, the Zimmermans, had been more difficult. Tina had come out to them and told them that she was a lesbian. However, they’d blamed the changeling spell for her preference.

  While Tina found their logic convoluted, she hadn’t been able to get them to change their minds.

  Christine only liked trolls. She didn’t find humans attractive in the least. While that was a tendency for most trolls, Tina had heard of at least one human-troll couple who’d made it work for at least a few decades.

  Therefore, at least according to her adoptive parents, if Christine only liked “the same,” that is, trolls, then Tina liking “the same,” that is, girls, must be the result of the spell, not Tina’s actual orientation.

  Nicky understood that Tina’s adoptive parents had issues with her coming out, and so had never pushed to go over there and meet them.

  However, she didn’t understand why Tina hadn’t bothered coming out to anyone else.

  For Tina, it struck her that it was nobody’s goddamned business who or what she slept with, as long as it was all consensual.

  It also meant that Tina had told Nicky that she wasn’t going to accompany Nicky to the Seattle Pride parade later that month.

  Tina didn’t like loud parties or large groups of people. Going to the Pride Party up on Capitol Hill with ten thousand of her “closest friends” sounded like Hell, qui
te frankly.

  Nicky had claimed that it was important, particularly given the current social and government climate. That Tina needed to show her support.

  Tina wanted to do that in other ways, not by spending a day being hemmed in on all sides by drunken party-goers.

  It was why she’d wanted to look in on Malcom, to breathe in some of his calm. But obviously, that wasn’t happening today.

  Tina thought back to Dennis Tuckerman. She’d been to his house a few times, as well as ridden in his car. He was a regular human though, and probably wasn’t home. It was Monday, and he’d probably be at his office downtown, a place she’d never been before.

  However, Tina had frequently been to the Tuckermans’ house. And she knew that just this last month, Mr. Tuckerman—Vern—had changed to part-time employment, only working three days a week at the insurance firm. He would be home today.

  Maybe she should look in on him instead.

  It took Tina a few seconds to focus in on the Tuckermans’ house. She loved the open floor plan of the main room and kitchen. The front windows overlooked Lake Washington, and got a lot of glorious sunshine in the mornings.

  This time, Tina’s scrying spell went straight through to the house of the Tuckermans. She found she had a ceiling view of the living room. Mr. Tuckerman sat at his desk against the far wall, putting together one of his remote-control airplanes. He built them from scratch out of balsa wood. He had a pattern that he followed, and he cut out each piece by hand. It took incredible patience. Then he had to assemble the plane, attach the struts to the main wings, create the hollowed-out fuselage, run all the important wires.

  Sunlight came streaming through the windows to the right of his desk. Mrs. Tuckerman wasn’t in the room—she was either out someplace (as she was much more social than he was) or she was just out of view in the kitchen. Or maybe she was at her work.

  Before Tina could move her focus and find out, Mr. Tuckerman straightened up in his seat, seeming wary, as if he’d heard an unfamiliar noise.

  Slowly, he turned and stared straight at the spot on the wall from which Tina was viewing the room.

  Could he see her? That wasn’t possible, was it? He didn’t have any magic.

  Yet, he stared right at her. Hard.

  He rose from his seat, walking directly toward her. What was he doing? What did he think he saw?

  Up close, Tina saw the tiredness that was creeping in around Mr. Tuckerman’s handsome face. He looked older this close up. He had the blue eyes of the rest of the family and sandy blond hair. He had a long face with a large nose, something that Tina had thankfully not inherited. She looked more like her biological mother, with softer features.

  Mr. Tuckerman raised his hand, then with his thumb, pressed firmly against the exact spot that Tina was looking out from, like he was killing a bug on the wall.

  With a soft pop, Tina’s spell was broken.

  That wasn’t supposed to happen at all.

  Either Tina’s magic really was growing weak, or someone in Tina’s biological family did have magic.

  Her bio dad.

  Chapter Five

  The current incarnation of Beelzebub (known as Buddy to his friends) sat on his throne and listened to the plans Lars Sorgenfreys was so excited about. The throne room held just the pair of them, as Lars had requested a private audience. And his family had been willing to pay the “fee” that Buddy had asked for, guaranteeing his undivided attention.

  Buddy scratched his bare belly and belched as Lars went on and on and on. A trail of smoke rose up from Buddy’s fanged mouth. Too many chilies in the salsa that Buddy had had with his burrito that morning.

  The throne room really could use some spiffing up. The glowing red rock and fire motif was kind of done, you know? Maybe Buddy should go really retro and do a whole steel/industrial dungeon look. The room was big enough to hold two dozen horse-sized demons, with the ceilings tall enough for them to all stand up and not have to bow their heads.

  Demons tended to be against any sort of bowing. Which Buddy understood. One of his first incarnations had been insistent about that, particularly with the whole human-Morningstar mess.

  Lars’ enthusiasm appeared to be running down.

  “So what do you need from me?” Buddy asked. May as well get to the chase. Lars wasn’t there to spend the morning chatting about the (awful) state of the worlds.

  Lars looked with disdain down the long ridge of his nose. Sure, his wings were kind of impressive, made out of boney struts with what looked like ripped black leather hanging in tatters from them. His eyes had that flayed flesh look that had become so popular a few years back. Black poison dripped from his tongue—part of the reason why all the rooms in Buddy’s palace had magically-reinforced stone floors, though they still needed regular maintenance.

  “I need four armies,” Lars said. “As I explained. I need them sent to various worlds of the kith and kin. They won’t really be in danger, not until the war actually starts. They’re the primary distraction.”

  “And why should I help you and not just send your ass back to prison?” Buddy asked reasonably. He stood up from the throne made of iron casts of the skulls of his enemies and stretched.

  Sure, Buddy didn’t usually appear very threatening. He had a large floppy nose, flabby lips, as much hair sprouting from the moles on his face and chest as on his skull. His potbelly rumbled and the gas that escaped was truly noxious. (Seriously. He’d done the experiments. It could kill a human in the right conditions.)

  He generally went around barefoot, without a shirt, wearing just a pair of old stained Bermuda shorts that hung down to just over his knees. (Took a closer look to realize it really was blood that Buddy had spilled down the side of the shorts. Or a keen nose.)

  Buddy didn’t need to look like one of the princes of Hell to actually be, well, a prince from Hell. He had the tenure and the guts to do what needed doing.

  Other demons tended to underestimate him, something Buddy used to his advantage. Ruthlessly. They all seemed to forget just how old he actually was, and how their power games were junior varsity compared to the big players.

  Lars’ attitude seemed to be somewhere between exasperated and cautious.

  Good enough.

  Lars seemed to be thinking about the question that Buddy posed to him for a great while.

  “Out with it,” Buddy growled. He’d guaranteed Lars an hour. And that time was almost up, at least as far as Buddy was concerned.

  “Why should you help me? Because I can ensure that we win the war,” Lars said.

  “How?” Buddy asked. That was the meat of issue. It wasn’t that demons were lazy—okay, well, maybe they were—but they really, really hated losing. It was why the Great War kept getting put off. No one could guarantee a win.

  And really, why bother declaring all-out war if there was no guarantee?

  Lars sighed. “I’ll show you. But no one else knows all the details.”

  Buddy made a circling motion for Lars to just get on with it. The youngster certainly liked the sound of his own voice.

  Lars made a scooping motion with his hand off to the side, then turned his palm up to show Buddy.

  Interesting! Storing materials in pockets of space was a human thing. Demons didn’t need such trivial magic. They either carried their own gear with them, or had minions to fetch it for them.

  A pile of what looked like small diamonds glittered in the center of Lars’ palm. Each had its own glow, though together they were quite bright.

  “What are those?” Buddy asked. He didn’t reach for one. Just one damned booby trapped “gift” from Zelinius had cured Buddy of that tendency quickly.

  “Corruptions spells,” Lars said. He couldn’t smile with that snout of his. He still gave off the feeling of smug satisfaction. “Corrupted.”

  “Explain yourself,” Buddy said, sitting back down on his throne. It wasn’t that he wanted to get away from that damaged, cracked set of crystals. He was bot
h attracted to them and repelled by them at the same time.

  “When a demon ingests one of these, their ability to influence humans goes off the charts,” Lars ensured Buddy.

  “Ingests?” Buddy growled. Who the fuck was Lars kidding? Had he not thought this brilliant plan through? Hell, Buddy’s own minions might disobey a direct order about swallowing.

  “Merely carrying one will work too,” Lars said hastily. “Though it’s only by ingesting that you’ll get the full benefit.”

  “For how long?” Buddy asked, bravely reaching for one.

  Lars froze for a moment before he gracefully reached out his hand. As close to graceful as a hand primarily composed of bones and long poisonous talons could move.

  “I estimate up to three years,” Lars said.

  Buddy held the crystal up to his eyes, looking through it. It was, as Lars said, a corruption spell that had been corrupted. A normal corruption spell worked quickly, spreading disease, filth, and a lack of morals in a matter of moments, like a tsunami from Hell.

  Ah, the good old days, when Buddy could command his armies to rape, pillage, and corrupt at will.

  This crystal though, it held what humans would call a time-released capsule of corruption. Instead of the filth piling up in the corners of a cursed house in a matter of weeks, it would take years.

  “So how does this help spread a demon’s influence?” Buddy growled. He was confused, and he didn’t like it.

  “First of all, because the work is so slow, the humans don’t have any counter measures,” Lars said proudly. “My family has been secreting these in key locations for years, now.”

  “Still haven’t explained why I should help you,” Buddy said. His patience was just about at an end. And Buddy considered himself a patient guy.

  “Using one of these, a demon’s influence also increases in the short term,” Lars said hastily. “Imagine, an entire army whose mere presence starts the onslaught of fear, uncertainty, and doubt. Then the generals start the serious spells. Because the corrupted corruption spell has already softened the target, more of the other spells get through. When battle is joined, it’s just a mop up job for the boys.”