by Red Tash
Dolly laughed. “Never gets old. Enjoy, kids.”
Harlow took a big swig of his, but I wasn’t so sure. Madame Zelda told me to be careful what I drank, and besides, if this was going to taste the way it sounded, why would I want it?
“It’s safe,” he said. “Doesn’t taste like frog at all, really. Just a little hint of licorice, maybe—but other than that, it’s basically cola.”
I took a sniff—the bubbles tickled my nose just like a regular Coke. I shrugged and took a drink.
“A little trivia,” he said. “You know how the real Coke has this big secret formula?”
“Yeah,” I said. “You going to tell me it’s magic?”
“No,” he said. “Well, it might be, I don’t know. But I will tell you that the drink as you know it now didn’t exist until after some mortal English guy brought home a Croak from the Troll Market, at the turn of the century.” He nodded.
“Well, you’re just a regular historian, aren’t you?” I said.
He shook his head. “Don’t I wish.”
As I was lifting the bottle to my lips, someone hurtled into me. “Deb, no!” A hand slapped my face, hard, and the bottle slipped through my fingers, crashing into the cobblestones.
“Deb! Deb! Don’t trust him!” It was Derek.
“What the hell?” I said. “What are you doing here?”
“Saving you!” he said. And then he jerked me hard by the wrist, away from Harlow.
I heard a growl behind me, felt the hot warm breath of the troll, and turned my head to look. I was so confused. What was my neighbor from the trailer park doing in the Troll Market? Why would he think he could save me? How in the world could he stand up to a troll, if he couldn’t even whup me at basketball? And did I really want to be rescued?
It took Harlow all of about three seconds to stop Derek. His beefy hands held the boy by the back of his shirt. Looping a finger down beneath the yoke of his tee shirt, he pulled out a tiny silver chain.
“Slave,” Harlow said. “Who’s your master?”
Derek was defiant. “I came to help Deb. Dave told me if I did some work for him, he’d tell me where she was.”
“Why would you do that?” I screamed. “You trusted Dave? Are you stupid?” All my anger and frustration poured out. “You’ve never been smart! You’ve always been a pest! Who asked for your help? Now you’ve gone and fucked yourself, Derek! Dave kills people!”
He looked as if I’d physically struck him, and much harder than Harlow could have.
“I—I’m sorry, Deb. I wanted to help you.” He stared at his feet. “Coach told me to stay out of it—”
“And you should have listened to him!” I said. “Look around you. Do you feel comfortable here?”
Derek winced. I don’t know what he expected me to say or do when he found me—but I was guessing not this.
“What exactly was your plan, anyway? You’d just waltz into … wherever we are … and we’d walk out together hand-in-hand?” His face turned bright red. That was exactly what he’d thought. What an idiot.
“Deb,” said Harlow. “Go easy on the kid. C’mon,” he said, turning and gesturing for us to follow him.
He led us further down the aisle of the market, until we came to a kind of cafe. The stall was extra-large, and draped in brown and black cloth, but beneath its canopy, vines and trees twisted, and flickering lights buzzed in the trees. Pixies.
“In here,” Harlow said. We had the place to ourselves.
“When’s the last time you ate, Derek?” Harlow asked.
Derek shook his head. “I don’t even know how long I’ve been here,” he said.
“Time flies when you’re sold into slavery for an evil troll overlord,” I said.
Harlow smirked, but pinched me on the thigh to signal that I should shut my trap.
Harlow ordered some kind of appetizer plate full of spicy dips and colorful foods of various textures. Derek dug in, greedily. I picked at some salty pretzelish cookies that glowed when you bit into them. I was afraid to ask what they were made of.
“Is Dave at the market?” Harlow asked.
Derek nodded. “On the other side—he sent me to spy on Zelda’s tent—told me to return to him if you went in.”
“But you only arrived as we were leaving?” Harlow asked, looking thoughtful.
“Right,” said Derek.
“Mmmm. Good,” said Harlow. “We can use this.”
“Use what?” I asked.
He didn’t answer. A shadow darkened the doorway to the cafe. The buzzing pixies began to flicker faster, faster. A tall figure approached our table. I recognized his smell before I saw his face.
He pulled out a chair and sat, grinning widely at me and winking. He patted Derek on the shoulder like he was an old friend. Then he leaned in and stared hard at Harlow, almost towering over him, before relaxing backward into his own chair.
“Well, well, Cousin,” said Dave. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Chapter 18.5
Smoky
Harlow
The last thing I needed was someone else to save. Trolls are supposed to eat people, not save people, right?
This Derek was adding to a list I hadn’t intended to start in the first place. I was minding my own business—well, minding Dave’s business—when I got sucked into this whole mess. If I’d known I’d end up with a to-do list of humans to rescue from a dark lord’s evil clutches, I probably wouldn’t have bothered leaving the mansa.
I sighed, and watched my cousin in silence. He prattled on with what was supposed to amount to some impressive story, I was sure. I’d never been one to fall for that crap.
We were probably about twelve years old, and I was visiting his family’s summer lair on Patoka Lake when I caught him tampering with an English girl. She was young—no more than ten, at the oldest—and he’d obviously glamoured her, because the look on her face as she followed him down to the fishing docks was one of pure rapture.
“Like shooting fish in a barrel, isn’t it?” I’d asked.
He’d laughed, making a gun with his finger and thumb, and firing it at the girl’s face. “Bang,” he said. She smiled in bliss.
“You want a turn with her when I’m done?” he’d asked. I wasn’t exactly sure what he’d meant, but I definitely didn’t want a turn.
“Where are your buddies?” I’d said. It was rare for Dave to not be surrounded by some passel of wannabe troll courtesans, or fairy fiends, always ready for no good.
“Eh, family time,” he said. “Jag didn’t want anyone here this weekend but relatives. You’re the only one my age.” He stroked the girl’s hair like a pet. “Said he wanted us all to bond, or something. Next, he’ll want me to call him ‘Dad.’” He stuck out his tongue in disgust.
There were tree trunks sticking out of the water, all around the dock. “Great place for fish to nest,” I said, pointing to them. “C’mon, let her go, and we’ll swim down there and bring up some eggs.”
I walked to the end of the dock and kicked off my shoes. That was back when I still wore them—when shoes my size were easier to pilfer from the garbage. Nowadays, no way.
I heard laughing behind me, and turned to see Dave undressing the girl like she was a doll. “C’mon!” he called. “Let’s hold her down and fart in her face!”
I was a coward. I didn’t know what to do. All I could think to say was, “Too easy, Dave.”
And then I ran. Well, swam. I peeled off the rest of my clothes and dove into the cold, fishy water of Patoka. I didn’t want to think about what he was doing to the girl. She wouldn’t remember, but that didn’t make it right. I wanted to drag Dave under the water and choke him. I wished my parents were here to ask for help. I wished I were stronger.
The tangled roots of the underwater trunks were teeming with life, and I looked at them blurrily through the water. All I wanted was to take a nice swim, just relax, but Dave was making it impossible. A bluegill swam by, and I grabbed it, without thin
king. It struggled in my hand, flipping hard. I let go, and it swam into a hidey hole in the tree roots.
And that was it. I knew I had to try and save the girl. Everyone has fight in them—everyone wants to survive, even something with a teeny brain like a fish. It wasn’t fair, what Dave had done to her.
I broke the surface and came barreling out of the lake like an amphibious submarine on turbo. The girl was nude, and rolling in the mud on the banks of the lake. And Dave had an audience, now. A tiny blonde babe with enormous butterfly wings shimmering in a rainbow monarch pattern. April.
“Stop!” I said. I lifted the English kid over my shoulder and ran. April giggled with glee. The spitting image of her evil mother with the bloodlust of her troll father, that kid was some kind of monster, for sure. And her laugh was infectious. Even Dave couldn’t help but bust up, even with me in the middle of stealing his quarry.
We were about 100 yards from my cousins, and into the woods, when the girl’s glamour broke, hard. Her giggles and sighs turned instantly to high-pitched screaming.
I ran, naked, carrying that parcel of pure terror on my shoulder, for about a mile, I think. It’s been years and I can’t say for sure how long I ran, I just know I did so until I thought we were safely away from Dave and his fairy princess nightmare of a sister. I dropped the girl as gently as I could, with her arms and legs kicking and punching.
She landed on her backside in a pile of wet, decaying leaves. A pile of droppings caught my eye few feet away. Bobcat. Shit. I couldn’t just leave her.
I wasn’t as good at glamouring the English as Dave was. Hadn’t had much reason to learn, but I was gonna by-God try.
“You’re okay,” I said. I waved my hand in front of her like Obi-wan Kenobi. “You just went for a swim. I’m a forest ranger. I saved you from … a wild catfish or something.”
She nodded.
As long as we locked eyes, she was fine. She blinked, and started screaming again. Above the din, footsteps crashed through the woods. If Dave caught up to us, all this glamour was going to be for nothing.
“Shit! Shut up!” I yelled. I concentrated harder, giving it one last shot. I imagined myself in a forest ranger’s outfit, and not being exactly sure what that was, I pretty much just imagined I was Smoky the Bear.
She smiled, enchanted. “Smoky!” she sighed.
I lifted her onto my shoulder and ran, again, until I could see an actual human encampment. A woman sat at a picnic table with two young children, while her husband strung a hammock next to a tent. They looked reasonably safe to me.
“Go and tell those people you were lost in the woods, and you need help,” I said. “If they ask where your clothes are, you tell them you were skinny-dipping.” I pointed to the campsite, and for a moment I could even see the glamour myself—one big, furry paw, like a walking teddy bear, showing her the way.
“Thank you for saving me, Smoky,” she said, wiping a tear from her eye.
I didn’t know what to say. I shrugged. “Only you can prevent forest fires.”
After that, I sure didn’t want to go back to base camp, but I didn’t see as I had much choice.
When I returned, April was curled up next to the fireplace, inside the cabin, with a squirming pile of bobcat kittens. Dave was on the back porch, laughing as he described my rescue to Jag. Jag’s face was dark and unreadable, as usual. I spied on them through the kitchen window. I could see my clothes in a pile at Dave’s feet—wet and muddy and shredded to bits. They were all I’d brought to wear.
“He’ll come around, don’t worry,” Jag said. “A Protector protects—it’s all they know how to do.”
I didn’t understand what he meant at the time—but it was starting to come together now.
Chapter Nineteen
Iron Man
Deb
“Join us, Dave,” Harlow said. He didn’t smile, but he didn’t look upset, either. For a second, I wondered if all of this was some elaborate ruse. Was he going to turn me over to Dave, after all?
Dave eyed me. “I’m ready to eat,” he said. I shuddered, and he licked his lips suggestively, winking.
A waiter with pale green skin and curling ram-horns approached the table. “Sir,” he said to Dave. “Your usual?”
A few moments later, we were pushing aside our food to make way for Dave’s leg of goat. Still hooved and with the pelt intact, Dave picked up the bloody limb and tore off a huge bite with his tusks. “Not baaaaaaaad,” he said.
“So, what brings you to Market, Cousin?” Dave said.
Harlow gestured casually toward the vendors outside. “Oh, blacksmith, curiosities, you know—the usual. How about yourself?”
Dave looked pointedly at me. “Collecting new talent. McJagger’s got room for a couple more on his team.”
“Yeah, but what does McJagger have to offer his girls?” Harlow said.
Dave shrugged. “Sometimes winning is its own reward.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” Harlow said. “And Deb’s not playing roller derby with McJagger’s Fairy Godsmackers.”
“Roller derby?” I said. I couldn’t help myself. I was riveted. “McJagger wants me—to play roller derby?”
Dave laughed. “Yeah, kid. What did you think? He wanted to pimp you out or something?”
“Is that where Gennifer is? She’s on a roller derby team?” The words couldn’t leave my mouth fast enough. Was I panting? My heart beat so rapidly, I wanted to spring up out of my chair and run blindly to my sister.
“I’ll take you to her,” Dave said.
“The hell you will!” Harlow was standing now, and I jumped instinctively out of my chair. Derek was on his feet, as well.
Dave took another bite of his goat, and slowly rose to his full seven feet of height. “Let the girl make up her own mind, Harlow. Or can she? Is she still full of that potion of yours? Do you still mix it with Big Red or Croak to disguise the taste?”
Harlow flew across the table, his arms reaching for Dave’s neck as if he wanted to crush it in like an empty soda can. Dave ducked, skidding sideways, and the smallish cafe tables tottered and fell all around us. Derek and I huddled together beneath the potted tree, and the tiny buzzing pixies above us began to point and squeak as the fight blew into high gear.
The two of them grappled, bumping into the coffee bar near the entrance of the cafe. Bottles of flavored syrup clanged together and fell over—Dave dragged himself to his feet and caught one by the neck. Smashing it against the bar, he held it toward Harlow.
“C’mon,” he said. “Come get a flavor shot, old man.”
Harlow backed away, with Dave striding closer and closer to him. Reaching behind him, he came to our table—with Dave’s dinner still on it. His fingers closed around the goat’s hoof, and then bam—Harlow knocked Dave in the side of the head with his own bleeding goat leg.
Dave’s hand shot out—a bit too close. His fingers grabbed for me, and nearly caught my shirt. Derek swung his arm around me and pulled me into him, away from Dave, while Harlow swung the goat leg at him, again and again.
Dave lunged for us, and caught Derek by the wrist, slinging him into Harlow. Harlow caught the kid and set him aside, as if he’d been thrown a pillow.
Then Dave lunged for me.
Harlow lowered his head and charged at Dave in a move so fast I wasn’t sure I’d seen it, entirely. Although Dave was only a few feet from me, and Harlow twice the distance away, Harlow barreled into Dave head-first, and threw his body into the aisle of the Troll Market—straight into the crowd that had formed to watch, outside.
The only sound other than the gasps of the crowd was the clang of the blacksmith in the booth across the aisle. As Dave scrambled to his feet, Harlow lifted the bastard by his leather jacket, and dragged him backward to the smithy’s barrel of water.
A dunk and a splash, and Dave’s head was underwater. They were too evenly matched, physically. Harlow couldn’t hope to hold him for long.
Dave rose up, spewing w
ater and shaking his head violently, like a dog. The crowd outside the smithy’s booth fell back.
“Tainted!” a girl cried out. Droplets of water shook from her hand, and I could hear her skin sizzle. She held it to her mouth, and sucked it, like you would a burn. When she pulled it away, the burn mark was translucent, and I could see her blood pulsing blue beneath it.
The crowd erupted in noise. A few people—they’re still people even if they have pig’s heads or wings, right?—tried to make their way through on the edge of the aisle. The owner of the destroyed cafe shouted spells and curses, and the pixies buzzed a staccato rhythm that was an awful lot like the “Kick His Ass” chant I heard at least once a week in the high school corridors.
The smithy bellowed, but I couldn’t understand him. (Later, I would learn he only spoke a mixture of Redneck and Gobble D’Gook.) I caught the word “Savages!” and a few choice swear words, and then a piercing shriek. I jumped, trying to see over tall heads and overlapping wings pressing closer and closer together.
Dave held a red-hot poker in the air above him, the handle wrapped in a bloody red rag. The crowd pressed further back in obvious fear, but still couldn’t seem to tear themselves away. Even the girl with the burned hand was grinning like this was the best show on Earth.
“Iron, iron!” the voices muttered. Gasps, whispers, and giggles of delight rose up in equal measure. “Iron!” The glee was unmistakable.
Then, someone yelled, “Blood! Draw blood!”
For some reason, I couldn’t take my eyes off the glowing hot tip of that poker. Dave waved it over his head with a flourish, and drool dripped down from his tusks as he smiled. I didn’t like the looks of that grin. Not. At. All.
Harlow drew a silver dagger from his jacket in the same instant that Dave’s poker came down with a vengeance. Harlow dropped the dagger to the ground, and crumpled.
He groaned, then fixed his eyes on me. “Deb, run!”
