“Trouble’s coming now.” I released Michael’s hand, foisted my keys into his grip, and pushed him toward the Jeep. “Get in the car and stay down. Hurry.”
Michael hesitated, but only for a second. He knew me well enough not to question me about trouble, and he rushed in the direction I’d pointed.
Meanwhile, I sprang onto steps in an alcove that led up to double doors leading into a brick apartment building.
I thought about running inside, but the trolls were only seconds from rounding the corner, and I didn’t want them to mistakenly go after Michael. Or intentionally.
After tapping my camouflage charm, I drew Fezzik and leaned far enough out of the alcove to take aim. The trolls slowed down before they came into view. The whispers of a conversation in their language reached my ears, and I activated my translation charm.
“…disappeared.”
“She’s got magic that hides her. She’s still there.”
“Shh, she’s listening.”
Yes, I was. Listening and waiting.
I eyed the alcove, suspecting I would end up fighting from it. There wasn’t much besides a couple of bicycles chained in a rack beside the stairs. The sign for the building dangled from two chains above my head. Maybe I could use it to climb up the wall and to the roof, then cut diagonally across the top of the building and jump down behind the trolls.
Before I could turn consideration to action, my enemies rushed around the corner. The two huge blue-skinned trolls wore trench coats and hats and carried automatic firearms, huge belts of ammunition dangling from them.
Since I knew they were after me, I didn’t hesitate to shoot. The cracks of my pistol rang out, and bullets slammed into their chests. But the rounds thudded against armor instead of piercing flesh.
The trolls opened fire, and I ducked back into the alcove. Bullets tore into the entryway, chips of brick and mortar pelting my cheek.
Their gunfire came as rapid as drumbeats in a heavy-metal song, and I sensed the trolls advancing to my position behind the fire. They couldn’t see me, couldn’t know if I was trying to flee the alcove, but they were spraying the cement and the air above it to cut down on any chance of escape. Rounds hammered into cars parked along the street, and I hoped Michael had found cover.
I ran up the stairs and sprang from the top one into the air, leaping five feet to catch the iron sign dangling above the steps. It wanted to sway riotously under my weight, but I twisted and adjusted, stilling it—not that the trolls would hear the chains creaking over all the noise they were making. Then I leaned out, dangling from one arm while I aimed Fezzik with the other.
The trolls didn’t anticipate me at that height and were focusing their fire at ground level. I fired twice. Their faces weren’t in view from that height, but I had no trouble targeting their heads. My bullets slammed into their skulls, and I fired several more rounds. It was unlikely they wore armor under their hats, but troll skulls were thick.
One dropped his rifle and toppled to the sidewalk. Though hit, the other didn’t fall immediately. He jerked his rifle up toward me.
An instant before he fired, I leaned back and dropped down to the bottom step. His bullets tore into the sign as he reached the alcove. Landing soundlessly, I fired from a crouch. This time, I took him in the eye.
He slumped, joining his buddy on the ground. All shots ceased, replaced by the wail of a police siren heading this way.
I left the trolls for them to deal with and didn’t deactivate my stealth charm until I reached the Jeep. Even though other cars had been parked between it and the trolls, it had still taken bullets to the back corner. But I was more worried about Michael.
He stepped out from where he’d been crouched between the front bumper of the Jeep and the back of the next car. That car had lost its rear window to bullets, the glass shattered in twin spiderwebs.
“That was noisy trouble.” Michael smiled, and I rushed forward to hug him, but his eyes were tight with tension—or pain?—and he was gripping his side through his jacket.
“Did you get shot?”
“Just a little. That all happened faster than I expected.” He opened his jacket, and there was just enough light to see blood staining his side under his ribs. “And I admit I may have been looking out because I was worried for you and wanted to find a way to help. I should have known you could handle it.”
I hugged him, careful not to touch him close to the wound. “Let’s get you to the hospital.”
“My first gunshot wound, and it wasn’t even for finding a priceless treasure. Disappointing.”
I guided him toward the passenger seat. “Let’s hope it’s your last gunshot wound.”
I was too amped up from the fight to cry, but I knew I would later. Exactly what I’d feared would happen had happened. I tried to tell myself that it could have been worse—he was still smiling and making jokes—but it didn’t help.
The memory faded as I turned off the paved road and onto the muddy, barely discernible Misty Loop Lane. It didn’t surprise me that thoughts of that night had reared up in my mind. Not only was Michael in danger but I was, once again, knowingly heading into trouble with a mundane human being who didn’t have magical blood to help her survive against stronger enemies. She didn’t even have any magical weapons. Being able to shoot Hawkeye at the range only mattered if one’s foe was susceptible to bullets.
The Jeep hit a pond-sized puddle and sprayed muddy water high enough to spatter the windshield. A grunt came from the back seat as we tilted and lurched before powering up the far side of the depression.
I glanced in the rearview mirror. I’d been surprised that Willard had agreed to ride with me—though she and the captain only had one vehicle between them, so she hadn’t had much choice—and even more surprised when she’d agreed to sit in the back because, as I’d told her, “The cub’s been riding shotgun.”
“I feel like it’s been weeks since I’ve seen the sun,” I said, thinking we should try to establish a rapport before walking into battle together.
Aside from that, even if I was more worried about Michael than my next paycheck, it kept crossing my mind that I would have to tighten my belt considerably if I didn’t get any government gigs going forward. Even if Willard only threw me an assignment a few times a year, it would help out. I just had to convince her that I was good enough and reliable enough to hire.
“Tell me about it. My last duty station was in Texas.” That was the first bit of personal information she’d shared.
“This is a slightly different climate.”
“Slightly.”
We plowed through another deep puddle. The road wasn’t any less bumpy and pothole-filled the second time down it. Dawn had come while we’d been in the restaurant, but the fog was so thick that it scarcely mattered.
I searched for something useful to share with a newcomer to the area. “If you decide to grow tomatoes, do the cherry or grape ones. You’ll thank me. Now and then, we get a nice sunny summer, but more often, it’s still rainy through Fourth of July.”
There, that was what normal people talked about besides the weather, right? Never mind that my gardening efforts were sporadic and sad because I traveled so often for work. It was only because of my elven heritage and a fondness for tomatoes that every third or fourth year, I attempted to grow some on my balcony.
“I don’t garden,” Willard said.
“Too busy hurling weights around?”
“Sometimes, I hurl nosy assassins around too.”
I quirked an eyebrow toward her reflection in the mirror. “You could try.”
We went over a bump, and she cursed and flexed her fingers around the oh-shit handle. “Happily.”
I glanced at my phone’s map. Less than two miles to the spot where I’d stuck my tack, but there were a lot of bends and potholes between here and there.
“Fall gives us some pretty good autumn foliage,” I said, taking another stab at rapport-building.
“Is this what you talked about with Colonel Hobbs? Cherry tomatoes and pretty leaves?”
“Yeah, he was a real poetical man.”
“His record says he’s a Green Beret.”
“Are they not allowed to be poetical?”
“It’s not encouraged.”
Willard would probably take it as a compliment if I told her she was more of a hard-ass than Hobbs had been.
She rolled down the back window. “Your car smells, Thorvald.”
“The last time I had a mission that took me out of town, I had to hike off after someone in the mountains, and it took a few days. While I was gone, a raccoon got in and feasted on the food rations I’d left inside. And then he did what raccoons do after he feasted. I’ve cleaned it a few times, but the back is still somewhat fragrant. I’m thinking of getting an air freshener.”
“Fantastic.” She grunted again when I drove through a particularly deep pothole. “Any chance you’d let me drive?”
“No. But I’m surprised you didn’t insist on riding up front.”
“Your fanged buddy is up there.”
“She’s sleeping.”
“She wasn’t in the medical examiner’s office. She was interested in that body.”
“So?”
“She didn’t look scared by whatever she smelled on it.”
I considered that. Would a weaker predator shy away from a body mauled by a stronger predator? I wasn’t sure it worked that way in the animal world. Critters always seemed to give things a good long sniff, no matter what had happened.
“Were you scared?” I asked.
“I have a healthy respect for things with claws longer than my fingers, and whatever did that looked like it might qualify.”
“True.”
I glanced at the map again. “We’re almost there.”
“Good. You going to leave the cat in the car?”
“I think so. She helped me find some ogres with a hidden camp, but she did it by running away from me and into their camp, where things could have turned ugly if they’d managed to catch her. Besides, this is more than sleep.” I leaned over and rested a hand on the cub’s soft furry side, but she didn’t stir. “She’s been getting quieter and quieter. Like I said, I think she needs to go back to her realm, but I don’t know how to send her.”