“Nothing,” Christine said. “Leave it. Someone that your parents have hired will come in and clean.”
“What if I don’t want them touching my stuff?” Tina huffed.
“They won’t hurt anything,” Christine assured her. “They’ll just straighten it all up. So it will be nice when you return.”
Tina nodded, acknowledging that Christine had just played the exact right card, by giving her the hope that she might be able to come back to her townhouse.
“I just—I need my wand,” Tina said.
Christine shook her head. “Not until we make sure that it hasn’t been corrupted.”
“What do you mean?” Tina asked. “I haven’t corrupted my wand! I don’t do dark magic!”
“I know,” Christine said patiently. “We’ve talked about this before, remember?”
Tina shook her head warily. “You’re just trying to make me weaker,” she accused Christine.
“Look, your parents are going to get you a new wand,” Christine said. “So that you’ll be able to start practicing magic again as soon as possible.”
“Really?” Tina asked. “I miss being able to do magic,” she confessed.
“I know,” Christine said. “So let’s go and see if we can get you practicing again.”
“All right,” Tina said. She took another step toward the door. “You’ll be there, right?”
“When I can,” Christine said.
“But—”
“I’ve got a war to fight,” Christine growled. “A war that you’re supposed to help me win. Remember?”
Tina remembered now, how she’d once had a Destiny.
Until Christine had stolen it.
“Fine,” Tina said. She marched right through the portal without another word.
She was going to get her magic back. Somehow.
Then she was going after Christine, and getting her Destiny back.
Chapter Four
Nikolai was waiting on a group of ogres when Christine came through the portal into the shop.
He hadn’t seen her in a few weeks. Before the war, Christine worked in the shop once a week. Never waiting on customers, of course. She was a troll. Customer service wasn’t natural to her. Instead, she inventoried the items in his huge collection of boxes that he’d bought at various estate sales over the decades.
Christine stood for a moment and took a deep breath, visibly relaxing.
Nik could understand. All Christine had been doing was fighting. He was glad that she’d come to see him as a little bit of normalcy would do her good, as well remind her of what exactly she was fighting for.
Not that Nik’s Emporium and Trade Goods was necessarily “normal.”
The nature of the posters covering the upper portion of the eighteen-foot tall walls had changed over the past few weeks. Instead of advertising vitality ointments and hair growth incantations, now they showed ads for healing potions and invisibility charms, as well as formulas for protecting food so that it would last for years.
All indications of the war and how badly it was going.
Wooden shelves lined the wide open floor. He’d built many of them, enchanting them over the centuries so that the wood wouldn’t age.
He used the same spells on himself, his own wooden body. He couldn’t replace a part that wore out, or he would have gradually replaced all of himself, grown into a taller version.
He’d come to accept that he’d spend an eternity being just three feet tall. That was all the bigger of a wooden body that he’d been able to create given the technology of the time, over two thousand years before, when he’d had an angel transfer his consciousness from his human body into the wooden one.
Strange. Since the start of the Great War, he’d come to miss his soul a lot more. He wasn’t sure why.
Christine carefully avoided looking at the ogres as she slipped behind the counter and into the backroom. They were one of the groups of the kith and kin who had originally aligned with the demons in the war.
But Nik was committed to staying neutral during this war, as he had been during the last Great War, which had occurred over two thousand years before. It was part of his pledge, a promise that he’d made to the angel in exchange for helping him slide into his wooden body.
The promise had never chaffed so much before, either.
Then again, Nik had never had an assistant like Christine before. Someone who was important to the war effort, on the side that he privately wanted to win.
He could work with demons, with humans, with the Host as well as the kith and kin. His preference was still the humans, though.
When the ogres had finished their business, buying simple components for portal and healing spells, Nik was able to slip into the backroom.
Industrial metal shelves lined the walls of the small room, though only a quarter of them held boxes. An open box sat on the low table that Nik had brought in. He wasn’t as thorough as Christine when it came to creating an inventory. She’d been a librarian before she’d broken the changeling spell, and was all about taxonomies and information systems.
But she’d set up a good system for him, and he tried to follow it when he could.
“Hey, Nik,” Christine said as he came through the curtain. Her attention was on one of the items on the table.
The box had come from yet another demon estate. The item in question looked like a pink, hollow ball.
“What is that thing?” Christine asked. “It looks like a hamster ball.”
“It is,” Nik said. “Sort of. Sometimes a demon child will keep pet rats or something similar.”
“Huh,” Christine said. “Is that why it has so much magical residue?”
“Yeah,” Nik said. He wasn’t about to explain that the estate had been from a particularly nasty demon who had a habit of shrinking down his enemies. The ball may have been used by his children for rats. Or it may have been used for tiny versions of enchanted demons.
There was a reason why Nik had been the only bidder on the estate’s goods, as no one had really wanted to go through the mementoes from this particular demon.
“What can I help you with?” Nik asked after a moment. “I doubt you’re here just to spend an afternoon doing inventory.”
“You’re right,” Christine said with a sad, wistful smile. “Though being able to take an afternoon off does sound heavenly.” She sighed. “No, I wanted to ask you about that magical book holder. It had held a collection of demon books, accounts of their battles. Do you still have it? Could I buy it from you?”
Nik immediately lied. “Nope. It sold fast,” he said.
He was going to have to put it up for auction now, and then change the date of sale to be in the past.
“Okay,” Christine said, seeming deflated. “I just thought…I’m looking for anything to help. You know?”
Nik nodded. “But I have to stay neutral,” he told her gently.
“I know. That was why I offered to buy it, so that you would feel better about being neutral,” Christine said. She gave him a crooked grin. “Unless there’s something else that you think you should sell me instead?”
Nik wasn’t sure of the expression on his face. His eyes and mouth were merely painted onto his wooden face. Magic gave him the ability to emote and express himself.
Given the puzzled look that Christine gave him, he was really going to have to redo those spells.
“I can’t,” Nik said. “I have to be more careful around you, so that there isn’t any hint of impropriety. I’m sorry. That’s just the way it has to be.”
Christine nodded. “Okay. I understand,” she said, though she clearly didn’t. “Thanks anyway.”
Nik didn’t have a soul that could ache. However, Christine had become a good friend over the years. And she looked so dejected.
It wouldn’t ruffle his neutrality to make a suggestion to a friend, would it? Particularly a suggestion that came with strong warnings?
“Have you asked the oracles?�
�� Nik asked.
Christine stopped and turned her head over her shoulder to look at him. “The oracles?”
Nik shrugged. “I don’t know about troll oracles, if there are any. But you might go ask the human oracles what can be done to stop the war. Since it does concern humanity.”
“Huh,” Christine said. “I’d never thought about that. Where would I find them?”
Nik couldn’t help but grin. “They’ve moved, actually. They used to be outside the city, at one of the hot springs. But when the place became overrun with tourists, locals would no longer go there for prophesy. So they moved to Ballard, to Bergen Place.”
“Where?” Christine asked, obviously never having heard of this before, though she’d been born and raised in Seattle.
Then again, the changeling spell had kept her at home, afraid to go out and leave the house.
“It’s at the intersection of Market Street and Leary, up in Ballard. You’ll know it when you see it. Collection of artistic trees on top of tall wooden poles.”
“Thanks,” Christine said. She straightened up, putting a determined look on her face. “I just need something. Anything. To help me stop this war.”
“Good luck,” Nik said. “One more thing. You’ll need to be sure to take a human with you. The oracles won’t address a troll alone.”
Christine rolled her eyes. “Of course they won’t,” she said. “I’ll bring Dennis or someone.”
He didn’t envy any oracle who denied Christine their wisdom. If she could win the war through sheer fierce determination, it would have already been won.
“And you need to be careful, too,” Nik added. “They aren’t dangerous,” he assured her when she looked as if she’d start to growl at him. He would never have said anything about them to her if they were that bad. Particularly since she’d suggested taking her brother. “The oracles can play tricks with your mind. Your memory.”
Before Christine could ask more, a subtle chine rang through the back room, letting Nik know that the next customer had arrived.
Nik opened up the backdoor to the emporium, located just past the shelves on the right-hand wall. He was the only one who could open or close that location. Christine gave him a sad smile and then walked out of the shop, back to the International District.
He put his own brave smile on when the smell of sulfur came rolling through the air. Though the demons had their own magic shops, they had seemed to have decided to all come to his.
Maybe they were hoping to run into Christine at some point.
They didn’t realize just how fast starting anything in his shop would land them in deep trouble. Probably dead.
Nik and his emporium were neutral. No fighting was allowed in his shop. Period.
Or at least, Nik was trying to stay neutral. He had to. If he didn’t, it would cost him his eternal life.
Chapter Five
King Garethen sighed as Phikathera, the royal treasurer, went on and on about how the king needed to release more funds. He shifted on his chair behind his great desk, carved out of a large boulder of granite. Though it was the perfect height for him in his chair, he still felt uncomfortable that afternoon.
The king met with the treasurer in his private study, a much more suitable location to talk about gold than the throne room. The room itself was tastefully done, with thin slits for windows on one wall overlooking the back gardens and a huge, beautiful purple geode hanging on the wall behind the king. The other walls held cases for scrolls and unusual stones.
Instead of sitting in one of the iron and leather chairs in front of the desk, Phikathera paced impatiently. The king was growing tired just watching her.
“Those are our trolls out there, fighting the demons, under the command of your heir,” Phikathera pointed out. “They need the best equipment.”
She was a pretty troll, with clear olive skin, a fire in her dark brown eyes, and gleaming white tusks. She followed the latest trend of the court and had gold rings piercing the upper parts of her tall pointed ears: three on the right side and two on the left. She wore a colorful black-and-red striped sleeveless tunic over a white blouse, and cropped black pants. Though the outfit itself was modest, it was made from the finest material money could buy, showing her wealth while not being ostentatious about it.
“I know our troops need good swords and axes,” the king said, “but do we have to empty the vault to supply them? What about the axes and swords that they were originally equipped with? What has happened to them?”
“They were damaged during battle,” Phikathera replied. “But—”
“Can they be repaired?” King Garthen asked, stubbornly sticking to the point.
“Some,” Phikathera said slowly. She stopped her pacing and faced the king.
“Then shouldn’t we focus on repairing broken equipment first rather than sending out all new?” the king asked. That sounded very reasonable to him.
Phikathera looked puzzled. “You do understand that most trolls, including your own guard, are very superstitious. If a weapon has already failed its owner once, what is to stop it from failing a second time? They need new swords and axes to give them confidence.”
The king waved Phikathera’s objection away. “Just tell them that the new equipment has been enhanced.”
“Enhanced how?” Phikathera said, sounding stubborn.
“Get one of the priests down there and have them bless every last weapon,” the king said, pleased with his own cleverness.
Phikathera nodded slowly. “That might work. Though I don’t think we should lie to our own trolls.”
“We aren’t lying,” King Garthen said. “We’re just saving the kingdom some expenses. What good is it to defend our home if there’s nothing left when the war is over?”
“I don’t like it,” Phikathera said.
“You don’t have to like it,” the king said. “It’s my decision. Your job is just to carry out my word and my will.”
Phikathera cocked her head to one side, and her eyes took on a dreamy look, as though listening to a distant song, a melody half heard but never forgotten. “I will do as my king commands,” Phikathera said after a few moments of utter stillness.
Then she stood back up straight and pointed to the small notebook on the king’s desk. While a troll’s memory was much better than a human’s, the king had made a habit of noting down important things, just to jog his memory when he needed to. “However, I want you to remember my objections. And my warning that this is going to come back and bite us, later.”
“Oh, I’ll remember,” the king said, reassuring Phikathera.
He always remembered insubordination.
Phikathera narrowed her eyes at him, as if seeking his true intent.
“Good,” she said after a moment. “Then I will divide the equipment budget, redirecting a third of the funds toward rehabilitation of older items.”
“One half,” King Garthen countered.
Again, that long pause, as if Phikathera was weighing the king’s words.
“Fine, one half. Though I think you’re being foolish,” Phikathera warned. She turned abruptly and marched out the door without being dismissed.
King Garthen reached for his notebook, but then stopped, his hand frozen midway.
He didn’t want to document such insubordination. He would remember.
The king sighed again and pushed his chair back from his desk, swinging his legs around and placing his feet on the cool granite desktop.
Then, and only then, did King Garthen allow himself to grin.
Phikathera didn’t know about the other chests of gold that the king had stashed away. The ones that had come from that bargain with the cambion demons, granting them access to the fairy bridge, the one that connected Trollville to the human world. It could also be used to access other worlds, with the right incantations.
It wasn’t that King Garthen was greedy. He’d never been greedy. Look at just how much he was spending on the army that they re
ally didn’t need! How much he spent on taking care of his citizens, maintaining the roads and such.
He was saving that other gold. Not keeping it for himself.
The humans had a funny saying about saving for a rainy day. It had never made sense to the king. Rain was good. Rain watered the earth. Rain brought crops to fruition. Why would you save for a rainy day?
No, the king was saving those chests of gold for the day when the rains didn’t come. Better to save in case of drought.
That way, he could spend more, even most, of the existing gold in the treasury. And still be prepared if something bad happened.
Much better to just keep the other gold hidden, or else Phikathera and the others would think of a way to spend it. Much better to save it for a rain-less day.
Chapter Six
Beelzebub (known as Buddy to his friends) tried to ignore the words coming out of Samantha’s mouth so he could get her back to doing other things with it. Much more important, at least as far as Buddy was concerned.
But the succubus, Sam, kept going on and on and fucking on about the war, how well their troops were doing, how the demons were soon going to be back on top of all the races where they belonged, how good it felt to actually be fighting (and winning).
As well as words of praise for Lars. How smart he was. How well his plans had worked. How handsome he was, though Sam had only seen him from a distance.
That was what finally put Buddy’s back up and sent the front part of him, well, drooping.
“I was the one who gave Lars his troops, you know,” Buddy reminded Sam when he could finally get a word in edgewise.
“You did?” Sam asked. Her wide black eyes blinked up at him. She seemed surprised. “I remember Lars putting out a call, and how the little recruitment office was overrun with volunteers.”
Buddy sighed and lay back on his bed, staring up at the smooth, black-glass ceiling. It took a simple spell to change the properties of it to be completely reflective so Buddy could watch himself in action. He still recalled that one time when he’d had the mirror images take physical shape so he’d had an orgy with himself.
The Troll-Human War Page 3
