The brothers squealed in glee, thumping their feet on the tile floor.
Looked as though Vern was going to see the Potichen fight after all.
It amazed Vern how quickly Christine was able to organize the Potichen into squads. She knew exactly the right questions to ask about their attacks and defenses, splitting the groups up so there were both strong fighters and strong defenders in each.
When she was finished, they ended up with four squads with about ten fighters in each.
The plan was pretty basic. The brothers knew exactly where the warehouse of the Mosetti brothers was located. Since Christine and Vern couldn’t just go and ask for a tour (“them Mosetti brothers are secretive that way”) they’d just have to strike the warehouse itself.
Vern and Christine would sneak in from the back of the warehouse with two of the squads. For a diversion, the other two squads would strike the front of the warehouse, making it look more like a normal raid.
Once they found Vern’s vase, they could “skedaddle out of town with the goods” before anyone was the wiser.
They would have to be outside the warehouse for Christine’s portal magic to work, though. Seemed that the Mosetti warehouse, like the warehouses of all the clans, had special spells set into the walls that prevented any creature from just popping in or out.
As Christine was separating the fighters, Ty showed up. Seemed he’d been the rescue plan if Christine and Vern hadn’t come back on their own accord after a couple of hours.
He agreed to sit this one out, as the Potichen all seemed deeply offended at him even being on their world.
Was that because he was part wolf? Was it their natural aversion to such a creature? But the brothers assured Christine that if Ty went with them, all their plans would be for nadda because everyone would be able to smell him and would come running to attack.
Finally, everyone was in place. Christine and Vern waited in an underground tunnel that rose up through the main floor of the Mosetti warren. It was just a few feet away from the warehouse itself. Kanuli was with them, waiting for word from his brother that the raid on the front had started.
The air was humid here, evidently closer to one of the rivers, or they’d altered one of the rivers to run through the warren, Vern wasn’t quite sure. He put his hand on his daughter’s shoulder, making her turn her head slowly, as if anticipating a threat.
“Just wanted you to know how proud I am of you,” Vern said quietly. “The way you handled those fighters, getting everyone organized…You’re really a marvel.”
The smile on his daughter’s face was startling. It made Vern realize just how infrequent those smiles had become.
“Thanks, Dad,” she said. “I’m honestly looking forward to seeing you do your thing, too.”
“Quiet!” Kanuli barked. He held his hand up to one ear, cupping it. Then he nodded.
“Show time!”
The rush up the tunnel was easy, as was the run to the warehouse. Christine easily brushed aside the guards standing there, knocking them out using just the side of her ax. Two of the fighters came forward. They carried a third fighter between them who was tightly rolled up, head tucked between the two hind legs, ears flat.
Then they flung the fighter at the door. He hit it hard, like a cannonball. As soon as he struck the wood, he discharged an electrical attack. The door splintered into a million pieces.
“Cool,” Vern said appreciatively. Though he’d volunteered to blast the door himself, the brothers had quickly rejected his help—it needs to look like the usual setup, ya know?
Christine moved quickly through the gaping hole, using her ax to sheer off the remaining bits of wood clinging to the edges. She growled as she moved—well, waddled, really. The spell she’d used to compress herself had left her with short, stubby legs.
Vern wasn’t much better himself. He’d always thought of himself as long and lean. It had taken a little time to get used to a body that was, quite frankly, pudgy. He carried his wand like a sword in front of him, ready to defend himself.
However, Christine quickly punched out the guards just inside the door.
Vern could tell that she’d almost used her ax on them. However, the brothers weren’t actually looking for bloodshed. They didn’t want this to escalate into an all-out feud. This was just a little payback.
All they really wanted was to help Vern acquire his vase.
Vern quickly raised his wand into the air and lit a magelight. It was a groovy glowing golden ball that followed him wherever he went.
If he’d been his normal size, the shelves probably wouldn’t have come up to his waist. As it was, they reached almost to the ceiling, which was now far above his head. The shelves appeared to be made out of red-stained wood. Pottery lined every shelf. In the section they stood in, none of the pots, vases, or plates had been fired yet. They all held the same dull red color.
Vern realized that Christine, as well as everyone else, appeared to be staring at him.
“Which way?” Christine finally asked him, indicating the maze of shelves in front of them.
Vern gulped. He had no idea. He closed his eyes and waved his wand in front of him.
Nothing. Nada. No idea of where to go.
“This way,” Vern said after a moment, leading them up an aisle to the right of center.
The only light came from Vern’s magelight floating overhead. He heard curses and the muffled sound of breaking clay behind him.
As they neared what appeared to be the front of the warehouse, the pots grew more colorful. These were the ones that had been painted, and finally, the front area held the pots that had been glazed as well as fired.
Vern wanted to stop and admire the fine handiwork. The dishes, for the most part, were colorfully painted, the primary colors being reds and yellows, though some beautiful blues and greens were used as well. The plates held pictures of vegetables around the edges, while the vases were covered with flowers and vines.
“Here!” Kanuli said, calling them over to a different section.
Shelf upon shelf of vases confronted Vern. He quickly started walking between them, running his fingers along the edges, trying to get a feeling from one of the vases. Hell, he’d settle for a mere inkling at this point.
Nothing spoke to him.
Sure, the vases were pretty. Beautiful, even.
None of them struck Vern as being just the right level of groovy.
“Hurry!” Christine whispered urgently to him.
He heard the fighting now, just outside the door to his right.
“It’s not here,” he said after a moment.
“You sure?” Christine asked, fixing him with a hard stare.
Vern considered.
“Give me another couple minutes,” he said. There might be something. Back in that far corner…
“You got it,” Christine said. She took a fighting stance, her ax comfortably held in her hands. “I’ll buy you as much time as you need.”
“Thanks,” Vern said, though he didn’t like the look in his daughter’s eyes. That was the troll, looking out at him. The one who didn’t mind—might even enjoy—all the fighting and the killing.
Vern quickly went behind the shelf with all the vases, continuing his perusal. The vase had to be here. Somewhere. If only he had more time to think!
That had always been his concern. That there just wouldn’t be time. If he just grabbed any vase and declared it as his, would that work? Possibly. Probably not, though.
He kept looking.
He heard the door to the warehouse splinter. He resisted the urge to go look, to join the fight.
He had a job to do. Find that vase.
Back Vern went, through the stacks. The sound of broken pottery followed him.
Along with the screams the Potichen evidently made when they were dying.
Just like rabbits.
Vern went around the last stack. There was a table up against the wall, also full of pottery.
These were not the fancy, professionally made items that he’d seen earlier. No, it all looked like children’s work. Maybe they were the product of a pottery class. The plates weren’t symmetrical, the cups had lopsided handles, and the vases looked as though they’d fall over in a stiff breeze.
The glazing, also, was child’s work. He recognized it from the finger paintings that his own children had brought home from school. All of the colors were as bright and brash as the sky, instead of the more subtle pairings of the adults.
Sitting on the corner of the table was a little blue lopsided vase. It had a raised swirl circling it, with dots here and there. Maybe they were supposed to be flowers on a vine?
Vern picked it up, studying it. It was about a foot tall and about as wide as his palm, not round but more oval in shape. The skin of the vase wasn’t smooth. Like the blue glaze covering it, it felt blotchy. He could see the impression of the fingerprints of a little hand as it had tried to smooth out the clay.
The bottom of it appeared to have been signed—it had what looked like a C with a T tucked inside it, carved into the clay.
CT.
Christine Tuckerman.
His daughter, though he doubted that was the actual name that someone else was using.
However, someone’s son or daughter had made this vase. It was important to some other father.
Vern was going to claim it as his own. For his own daughter.
And just pray that he’d chosen correctly.
Vern shuddered at the sight just beyond the shelves. He held the little blue vase with one hand, pressed tightly against his chest. Christine had told him not to put it into a pocket world, on the off chance they wouldn’t be able to get it out again.
Seemed as though the demons had ways around the pocket worlds that neither the humans or the kith and kin understood, so Christine wasn’t taking any chances.
She wasn’t taking any chances letting the Potichen through to him, either. He watched her swing her mighty ax like a baseball bat, taking off the head of her nearest attacker while flinging the body far.
The screams. He’d never forget the screams. Or the smell, either, worse than the sour bodies of the homeless or the rotting marshes next to Lake Washington.
Or how his daughter appeared to growl with delight when another creature dared to attack her.
She’d been right, the Potichen were fearsome fighters.
However, they were up against someone who was much, much more deadly.
The electrical attacks they threw at her bounced off a magical shield she maintained. The Potichen who got too close were frequently swept away by her winds. The ones that got through, she slaughtered.
“I have it!” Vern loudly declared, just to get Christine to stop killing the little yellow rabbits.
Though Christine didn’t turn to look at Vern, she did nod once to indicate that she’d heard him.
From the side, one of the initial squads of fighters that Christine had assembled suddenly formed up and came rushing out into the melee.
The fighters defending their warehouse were caught off guard. They turned away from Christine toward the other, more accessible, fight.
“This way!” Kanuli shouted.
Using both her hands, Christine shot out a hard wind, bowling over friend and foe alike, giving them a few moment’s breathing room. Then she turned and raced toward Kanuli.
Vern followed, trying not to be too squeamish about stepping in bright red puddles of blood or over fallen plush toys.
They quickly made their way out the back of the warehouse. The squad of fighters there still stood just inside the door, ready and able to get them out.
As soon as they pressed through the broken door, Christine stopped, slapped her ax onto her back, then sketched a doorway in the air with both her hands. A blue, shimmering light sprang up, outlining the portal.
“Thank you,” Vern said to Kanuli bowing his head.
“You get the goods?” Kanuli asked.
Vern held out the pot he’d acquired, showing it off proudly.
Kanuli looked puzzled, and scratched the back of his neck with a red-stained paw. This time, it was blood that colored his bright yellow fur, and not clay. “Youse sure that’s the one?”
“It’s a piece that would make any father proud,” Vern explained. He stayed where he was instead of leaving through the portal, even though Christine was urgently gesturing for him to go through.
It was important that the Potichen understand what they’d sacrificed so many lives for.
“Oh,” Kanuli said after a moment. “A father’s pride.” He gave a bright smile. “Something that warms the heart. Nice.”
“Come on,” Christine said, her tone starting to sound frantic.
“Thank you,” Vern said before he turned and hurried through the portal.
He stepped directly into the living room of Christine’s underground house. Christine came through behind him.
Vern rolled his head, stretching upward, finding himself back at his normal height and proportions.
Without pause, Christine turned and sketched another portal. Instead of going through herself, she threw what looked like a green rock through the opening. Then she closed the second portal.
“That will let Ty know we made it out safely,” she said.
She turned to study Vern. She still wore her full troll body, with her muscled chest, stout legs, upper and lower tusks. Scratches ran down her arms, and blood stained her hands as well as her outfit. She didn’t seem winded after the fight or even bothered by it.
Chances were, she’d seen, and done, much worse.
“Let me see it,” Christine said after a moment.
He held out the vase to her. It looked like a child’s toy in her large palm.
“You sure that’s the right piece?” she asked Vern, skeptical.
“Look at the bottom,” he directed.
She turned it over and grunted. “CT?” she guessed after a moment.
“A father’s pride and joy,” Vern said simply.
Christine blinked. She shrank down suddenly, flowing into a more human shape and size.
Was she crying?
“Thank you,” she said softly as she handed the vase back. She caught his hand in one of hers and squeezed it.
“Can I get a hug?” she asked, her voice sounding much younger.
“Always, darling,” Vern said, though he appreciated being asked as he now understood his daughter’s reticence when it came to physical touch.
He wrapped his arms around his daughter and pulled her to his chest, sighing.
He knew he couldn’t protect her. He couldn’t wrap her in cotton and keep the world away. He couldn’t take away the sights she’d seen, the blood she’d spilt.
But maybe, just maybe, he could help her live with what she’d done, get past the war and beyond.
She was, after all, still his little girl, whom he was so proud of it made his heart hurt.
Chapter Fifteen
Tina woke up feeling good.
It was amazing how every day seemed to be different. There were mornings, okay, so most mornings, when she woke up and even though she was in her childhood room, it felt like a dungeon that she needed to escape. No matter how bright the sunlight was coming around the edges of the blinds on the window, it still felt like a dark, dank cave.
But that morning, the room looked…normal. Her bed was snug up against the far corner, the walls strong and safe. She’d painted the room a soft peach color over a decade ago, when she’d been eighteen. The color had faded, but it still made her smile. She might have to repaint one of these days.
The white woodwork around the windows and the doors stood out brightly, giving the room a clean look. Surprisingly, the floor didn’t have piles of clothes on it or stacks of dirty dishes. Then she remembered. She’d felt good last night as well, and had cleaned her room. She looked out on the expanse of soft gray carpet. She’d even vacuumed, so it wouldn’t
be crunchy when she walked on it with her bare feet.
Tina took a deep breath. The smell of toast and coffee had snuck in from the kitchen downstairs. It didn’t immediately fill her with distaste, but instead made her think that maybe she could eat something that wasn’t sugary and disgusting.
Gingerly, Tina slid to the side of the bed, touching her toes down on the ground.
Her good mood held even as she pushed herself off the bed and onto her own two feet.
She tugged down the T-shirt she was wearing and looked around. Her eyes rested for a moment on the new wand that her adoptive parents had bought for her, which still sat, waiting for her, in a glass box on top of the wooden desk in the corner.
It didn’t hurt to look at it. That was an improvement. She knew that.
They didn’t have to know that she’d snatched her old wand from the townhouse the first day she’d been sent here, keeping it safe in a pocket space.
She hadn’t been using it. Not yet. The magic still hurt too much.
But today was a good day. She resented how long it had taken her to get to this point. How much work and effort and damned stinky baths she’d had to take to wash away the corruption spells that had been placed on her. How hard it was rid herself of the demonic influence.
It was all Christine’s fault.
If only Christine hadn’t broken the changeling spell! Then Tina would have retained her Destiny. The demons wouldn’t have been able to get to her like they had. Her own Destiny would have protected her.
Sometimes she recognized that she was being illogical. The demons had captured her once, intent on twisting her Destiny.
This morning, and it was a good morning, she knew the truth.
If it hadn’t been for Christine, Tina would still be one of the most powerful human magicians around. It would be her leading the troops against the demons. Not her troll sister.
Tina sighed. Then she took a deep breath, raised her hands, and pushed the air out loudly, while releasing the negative energy.
It was still a good day. She was finally starting to regain her strength. Soon, she’d be able to use magic again. It would come back, or so her teachers assured her every time they met.
The Troll-Human War Page 10
