Troll-y Yours (8 page)

Ten

E
ven wearing men’s clothes ten sizes too large, Eli recognized Ella’s petite form when she appeared across the river on the trailhead… she wasn’t alone. Next to his sister, with larger-than-life presence, stood Kempor Aleksander.

And didn’t that just rock his world?

From his vantage point on the hillside above the family nest, Eli propped a heel behind him and leaned back. The rock digging into his butt was hard and unforgiving; it matched the disposition of the older female Troll beside him.

Her slender white neck curved as she used the glowing cherry of her herbal smoke to draw tracers in the dark around the Centaur guard in the distance. “Who’s that with Kempor Aleksander?”

“My sister, Ella.”

“Why is she with him?”

“Good question.” Eli stared with gritted teeth through the cover of trees at the embracing couple. “She’s making a huge mistake.”

“How long have they been dating?” Elegant fingers brought the cigarette to her lips, and she pulled a slow drag. Multiple bracelets slid down her arm and jangled softly together.

“I think they just met. Ella opened the new speed-dating service, and the Kempor was in it tonight—like he of all mythics would need it.”

“Hmm, interesting.” Smoke blew in an easy stream from her pursed lips, catching the cool night breeze that, in turn, drifted across his face.

Protected under the trees from the drizzle, they watched the playboy hit on his sister. Ella didn’t seem to mind.

Upwind, the entwined couple had no idea their actions were observed.

“Is it true he avoids relationships like he would the trots?” Eli asked.

Two fingers held the hand rolled cigarette, as her lips tightened around it. She drew on the end, let the smoke linger in her mouth a moment, then inhaled. Air currents caressed the cigarette’s tip and caused the ember to glow between drags.

“In all the years I’ve known him, he only had one serious affair. And that one dumped him for something better.”

Eli pushed away from the boulder, away from scents of burning clove, and peered down at his family’s rock. His mother stood out front, shouting for Ella.
Gods, how embarrassing.
Glancing up the opposite hillside, he saw Kempor Aleksander drop his cupped hands from Ella’s face.

Soft footsteps drew next to Eli. His companion’s fingernails lightly scratched his back, bangles dancing musically. “Don’t worry about her. If there’s one thing I know, Aleksander won’t stick around for long.” The hair at his collar received the same massage treatment. “Come over here, Eli. I want to talk business before I leave.”

He followed his contact back to the rock and watched her fluff out the skirt beneath a belt that defined her small waist. He crossed his arms, widened his stance, then waited for her to continue.

“There’s chatter in Boronda of rebel movement. Heard any of it?”

“The Minotaur I befriended hinted a few things tonight. He would’ve said more if things hadn’t gone south.”

Bracelets sliding in a musical clatter, she clamped the short smoke between her lips. Her hands became busy, pulling a small silver case from the voluminous folds of her skirt, and she spoke around the cigarette, “What happened?”

“Phranq took an interest in Ella at the café. When we left, he bull-handled her and the Kempor took exception to that. We had to leave before they got into it.”

“Damn.”

Her pointed Troll ears twitched with the sounds of the night. Nobody knew how old his contact was, but Eli guessed at least three centuries. If she were older than that, she held her age well.

He waited while she removed a fresh cigarette.

She lit the end with the red tip of the old, and tossed the used butt into a puddle. Taking a drag, she turned to him and asked, “Carryyn couldn’t distract Alek?”

“No. He didn’t want anything to do with her.” Hell, Eli couldn’t blame the man. Even hard up, few would get it on with a Minotaur—not to say he hadn’t before.

Movement in the shadows across the stream caught his sharp Troll eyes. The Kempor watched Ella make her way down the foot trail until she dissolved beneath their granite rock. What in the hell did she have in those bags she carried everywhere?

Between the trees in the dim moonlight, the guard weaved his way along the trail, headed toward the palace. His huge muscular torso twisted between the towering elms, making room for the breadth of his shoulders to pass, before his hind end disappeared from view.

Standing next to Eli, his underground contact stared at the black space where the Kempor had stood moments before. The cigarette between her fingers, seemingly forgotten, the dangling ash long. Wisps of reddish hair framed her oval face. Her inscrutable expression was unnerving.

Eli touched her shoulder. “Are you alright?”

A melancholy frown flitted across her features. Then, she smiled, smoothly betraying nothing of her inner thoughts. “I’ll meet you again, in two days at the regular appointed time.”

He nodded and leaned back on the rock. “May I have your name? Something to call you by?”

She lifted her hand to tousle her damp curls, and another flutter of bouncing bracelets erupted. “Yes, now that I know you’re trustworthy. Call me…Pennelope.”

“Be careful out there, Pennelope.”

She rewarded him with a slow, secret smile.

One, he wouldn’t claim to understand.

“I always am.”

*~*~*

Aleksander jogged his hooves toward the palace, hoping to arrive five minutes early for his meeting with Colonel Petros. Air swirled, the pressure changed. A glance toward the sky revealed a small clearing. Bright stars sparkled in the clean, crisp night.

Above his tail, a tickle grew and crept up his spine. The sensation used his vertebrae like ladder rungs, climbing to reach his withers. A magnetic pull of the moon, combined with the time and season he was born, Alek’s need to change form drew near.

He pressed the button on the side of his watch to blink the light and read the time. Two minutes until shape shift—and he wouldn’t make the meeting on time.
Damn
.

A spot under an aged oak proved fairly dry. Alek knelt onto his front legs, then dropped his rear-end on the ground, taking care to not lie on his tail. It hurt like a kick to the crotch if the long hairs were stuck under his flanks when his tail retracted.

Alek unwrapped the nylon strap from his torso and unzipped the hit and run bag. Reaching back, he scratched his itchy withers. While his spine shrank, dissolving into his lower back, he watched his hindquarters and extra set of legs disappear. Pressure accumulated, as if some unseen force pushed to retract his body. Joints popped like cracking knuckles. Unconcerned, he unfolded the clothing he’d need for his time on duty.

Transformation complete, his two legs grew goose bumps in the dark. Aleksander quickly donned his BDU pants and covered up. Once his socks were on and boots tied, he jogged the remainder of the distance to the grotto’s side entry, nearest his office, where military personnel converged.

Though, first he had to pass through general military housing to reach the corridor where the offices were located.

Late night couples walked with arms around each other. Tails playfully spanked, then teased as the silky strands caressed heightened senses. Mares pushed strollers or carried sleeping foals, ending their evenings with husbands, or Mare’s Night Out. They laughed softly amongst themselves.

A few waved, but he didn’t stop for conversation.

Alek fought to keep his mind from slipping to the inevitable. To the unfulfilled desire of what he could never have—a family of his own. Since Festival of the Trees last year, a celebration of life and a new season, he noticed children more often. Children of all mythic species—running around, lifted high in the air by proud males.

Paper rustling in his vest pocket reminded him that he still carried the Troll-y Yours flier.
What the hell…I could hang out with some ugly guys or flirt with a pretty Troll.
Moreover, he would be doing it for the kingdom, not because he wanted a relationship.

Hell no.
Man, I must be getting desperate.

Didn’t that make his heart sink?

Alek kept walking, kept drumming his boot heels on the cold stone floor. Once upon a time, he could’ve had what he so badly wished for. But that time was long gone. The young, freshly enlisted Centaur chose career over love. He’d broken a lovely Troll’s heart and galloped off to war.

Passing through the common area, he automatically scanned the residents for concealed weapons. SOP, standard operating procedure, a practice he couldn’t stop himself from performing.

Down the rock-sided corridor, second room on the right, Aleksander opened the beige door with his military rank stenciled in black letters and entered the office.

The room sat empty. However, a steaming mug of fresh coffee occupied the outer corner of his desk.

He crossed to the long locker and stashed his bag within, then pulled opened the door of the cold box that sat beside it. Compliments of Queen Savella, a supply of energy drinks chilled inside. He grabbed one.

“Run into trouble?” Colonel Petros stood outside the office door, resting a dual-colored hind leg, his steel grey hair trimmed in the traditional high and tight.

Alek waved him in.

The older Centaur picked up his mug off the desk. Respectfully, he angled his black and white tail into the corner and kept his pinto hide to the side.

“Intruder in my quarters earlier.” Alek popped the top of the aluminum can and took a long sip. “Zotico was on patrol in my residential quad, but didn’t see anyone.”

Petros chuckled, his hazel eyes creasing with merriment. “Yeah, I heard about your scamper through the hall.”

“I saw the intruder. I nearly had him. How Zotico missed him…I don’t know.” He ran a hand over his rough cheek.
Damn, I forgot to shave.

“What’d he look like? We can put out an alert—”

Alek shook his head. “I didn’t get a clear view. I saw black boots disappear around a corner, that’s it.”

“Well, hell.” Colonel Petros hooked a thumb on a pocket of his vest and blew on his steaming coffee.

Yeah, that about sums it up.
Alek took another sip, hoping the caffeine would kick in soon, then set the tart drink aside. His locker door remained opened, exposing the contents. He took a quick DOPE, otherwise known as Data On Personal Equipment, and reached for the throwing stars first. Titanium tipped arrows were running low, and he needed to repair the scope on his crossbow. The timely ritual to check his weaponry kept him stocked, locked, and loaded at all times.

Alek filled the front pouch of his tactical vest with the deadly shurikens. “How’d it go with patrols today? Any new leads?”

“We came up empty at every turn.”

It was while he was sliding daggers and knives into slots and straps that he noticed Petros’s extended pause. Aleksander raised his brows in question, hand hovering over the crossbow.

The colonel’s steely eyes met his. “There’s a new player in town.”

“Which side of the crown does he stand?”

Petros swirled the cooling coffee in his cup, gazing into the inky liquid. His mouth worked a moment before he answered. “That’s the thing. Without further intel, we don’t know. From the data we’ve gathered, the person of interest is female…and a Troll.”

Shit. Fuck. Damn.
“I need Nubbs. Now!”

Eleven

E
lla sat hunched on the commode lid with her hands covering her ears.

“What’s the matter with you? Only Troll-trash stays out so late. Do you want everyone to think my daughter sleeps with more males than a Minotaur cow? Why did you come home so late last night?”

Even with the bathroom door closed, her mother’s shrill voice splintered loud and clear.

“Why in
Tartarus
were you wearing men’s clothes? Were you rolling around in the mud? Why can’t you be more like Eli? He’s a good example for you to follow.”

The water tank’s high mounted flush chain hung to her right. Ella pulled it to bury the sound of her mother’s tirade. Water swirled and muffled the nagging voice. All too soon, the tank refilled, and the irritating words came back.

A pounding fist broke her last twig. Ella stood and shouldered her purse, grabbed her notebook, and yanked open the door.

“Why didn’t you answer me?” Red faced with a mouth pulled into harsh ugly lines, her mother looked every inch the Troll of nightmares.

“There’s nothing wrong with me, though I appreciate your concern. Would you rather I didn’t come home at all?” Hurt that she always played second fiddle to Eli, and angrier than she’d been in decades, Ella squeezed past her mother’s annoyed countenance and kept her eye on the prize…the front door. “I fell in the mud and borrowed some clothes.”

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Out.”

“Oh, no you don’t. You’re staying right here.” To emphasize the location of
here
, her mother pointed at the floor.

Ella sucked a deep breath and planted an image of the landing space outside of their rock firmly in her mind. She took a fleeting glimpse at her mother’s angry face, then spun a fast circle to initiate her dissolve to the surface.

When she emerged topside, the staccato call of a blue jay greeted her, and she swiveled her ears to capture the sweet sound. Sweet—compared to her mother’s screeching, that is.

Under her hand-me-down black t-shirt, Ella’s heart banged in her chest. Fury poured out with every breath. She tried hard not to detest her mother, but she was tired of trying. No matter what she did and how well she did it, Eli always did it better in her parent’s eyes.

Her fingers gripped her notebook tighter.
What’s the use of even trying?

At one hundred and three years old, it was past time to move out and be on her own. Troll-y Yours just
had
to make enough money, so she could find a place to rent. Better yet, buy her own nest.

Last week, her Wood Nymph friend, Serenity, reminded her that she knew of a businessman with both commercial and residential spaces for rent. Mr. Shaun owned unoccupied rocks near the palace, an ideal location for Ella.
And it had nothing to do with how close I would be to Al.

Finally. The first bright spot in days…and an opportunity to move the hell out.

Ella opened her notebook, leaned a jean-covered hip against the boulder, and clicked her pen. On the top line, she wrote, “Talk to Mr. Shaun.
Rocks for rent,” then underlined it three times.

The blue jay squawked noisily and flew to a pine behind her. He cried a few more times and then flapped away. Water rushed the banks and Ella checked to see if Water Nymphs had scared the bird.

Sure enough, in the clear stream, Hope’s wavy image aimed a finger at her. With a submerged hand she motioned, pointing in a direction up the slope.

Bothersome Nymphs.

Overbearing mothers.

A brother who could do no wrong.

Three items that guaranteed a bad day. 

Ella pulled the strap of her purple purse higher on her shoulder, then effortlessly climbed the uphill trail out of there. At the top of the trailhead, she paused. Thousands of pine needles littered the forest floor and cushioned her sneakered steps. The air was different up here; warmer, scented, breezy.

Serenity mentioned that Mr. Shaun lived outside the Centaur palace, somewhere near the notorious bar, The Three Legged Mare. Ella knew of the bar, but had never ventured inside. Only the worst of Boronda would dare to enter.

Decision made, the rising sun warmed her back and she followed the length of her shadow. The wooded trail on this side of the stream was an easy path to walk. Overhead, changing seasons reflected in the beautiful scenery. Fiery orange and brilliant yellows combined their spectacular colors to give praise to Bacchus, the god who ruled over ecstasy, woodlands, and wine.

While she walked, Ella cast a glance over the serene landscape. White mist in the stream gully lifted, as if invisible fingers plucked chunks of cotton candy. Anger with her mother seeped out of her body and drifted away.

Songbirds trilled morning notes of impossible tunes. The captivating melody drew her attention to seek the radiant blue feathers of the indigo bunting amongst the branches. She searched the trees and lower twigs further away, looking for the little bird.

What she saw instead, caused her heart to leap into her throat. A sight so out of place her mind froze, unable to believe her eyes.

Camouflage baseball cap pulled low and hair tucked behind his ears, a two-legged male palmed a rifle and stopped short. Shock defibrillated her nervous system. Her sharp Troll eyes zeroed in on his round, non-pointed ears and intense stare.

Too short to be Centaur, wrong body for Minotaur or Satyr.

This was no mythological being.

The swirling breeze brought his adrenaline-laced scent, a tangy-citric smell non-native to the Boronda Forest.

Human.

For a fraction of a second, Ella locked eyes with the dark-haired hunter. The Water Nymph had tried to warn her. Every horror story rushed to the fore and lent speed to her feet. She turned, fleeing down the trail, hardly noticing when the wiry shrubs knocked her notebook away.

This wasn’t fight or flight. This was life or death.

Heavy boots pounded close behind. Vibrations raced up her legs, though her feet scarcely touched the ground. Every crack of a broken twig quickened her pulse. Ella opened her mouth to scream, but gasped for air instead. As if in a nightmare, her legs wouldn’t move fast enough. Muscles shivering, she became less coordinated with each running stride.

All the sizeable boulders at the top of the trail had washed into the gulley years ago, leaving nothing to dive under. Ahead lay a clear path. The gods must have heard her silent screams because sunlight marked which direction to run.

Breathing hard, Ella risked a glance behind her. The human had turned his cap to sit backward on his head and continued to stalk at a steady jog. She didn’t know which freaked her out more, how much ground he’d gained or the malicious glint in his eye.

Her escape route laid apparent and wide open.

Behind her, the hunter scrambled, obstructed by low hanging branches, tripping roots, and twigs that reached for his face.

Praise the mythic gods for Wood Nymphs; they were helping her to escape.
Pan, lend me your swift feet.
When she reached Horsetail Cascade, there were dozens of boulders to dive beneath.

Ella slowed her steps to duck under the trunk of an ancient leaning elm. When she straightened, the sting of a thousand bees hit her shoulder. Fire burned, radiating outward, setting her back aflame.

Fear pulsed in her veins. Her legs became cumbersome, uncoordinated. Within a few yards they gave out, useless. The world tilted, the ground rushed to meet her. Ella threw her hands out to protect her face, but lacked the strength to hold up her head. Waves of dizziness crashed over, spinning her brain in a foggy whirlpool.

Woozier than if she’d drunk two cups of strong Centaur
whistle
, Ella fought to keep her eyes open. The burn in her shoulder didn’t hurt quite so much now, but she couldn’t feel the sticks digging into her cheek either.

More sleepy than scared, her breath hitched nonetheless when a pair of black laced boots came to stand in her direct line of vision.

Then…all faded…to black.

*~*~*

Aleksander stood on the far side of his office, unbuttoning his soggy shirt. He regarded the male’s stern face across from him with a mixture of disappointment, apprehension, and disbelief. Could the Centaur operative, who worked covertly for Queen Savella, trust his intelligence reports? “Are you certain of that, Nubbs?”

“No.”

“Gamóto.”
Alek hung his wet shirt on the corner of an open file drawer. “A red-haired female is our current POI.” If Ella made the Person-Of-Interest roll call, then he’d need to dispatch a tail on her ass—fast. He grabbed a dry t-shirt out of the locker and pulled it on, ignoring his damp hair.

“Another thing…” Nubbs used the marble ashtray to knock the dusty end off his hand rolled smoke.

“Besides her being a redhead?” The question came out sharp, but the report’s incriminating physical description said a helluva lot more. Alek stabbed his shirt into his pants, tucking it in.
Gods, Ella! What have you gotten yourself into—and whose side are you on?

“Look, Alek. I don’t know what’s rotting your piss pump, even though that’s fine with me. I’m not a policy maker. I’m the policy implementer. My orders were to report to you with the latest intel—probably in case my ass gets zapped.” Nubbs shifted in his chair and paused to take a drag off his smoke. “Good SOP, if you ask me. Which you didn’t.”

Am I that transparent?
Aleksander sat in his chair and tilted the seat back, leaning an elbow on the armrest to scratch his goatee.

During the war, they’d fought side by side for more than a century. Nubbs knew him too well.

“Give me the brief and go home,” Alek prompted, not daring to look over at his fellow Centaur.

A manila folder slid across his scarred wooden desk, sounding like sandpaper to his ears. He didn’t bother to open the file; he knew what he’d find.

Nubbs slapped his fingerless left hand on the table and pushed to his feet. “You know who this sounds like, don’t you?”

No way, no how would he bring attention to Ella until he had more facts. He decided to steer another direction. “Yeah, but she’s dead.”

His ex-lover from two centuries prior, and Nubbs’ wife of three years, currently deceased. The redheaded female he and Nubbs had in common was killed last year by a murderous Satyr, bent on political gain. Alek went on a rampage to find Albion Yerdank, the liaison and Protectorate of Domains to Boronda’s mythological creatures. He’d found him, brought him to justice, and now little Albion sat rotting in a crowded damp cell in the bottom grotto.

“Keep in touch, Alek. Stay alive.”

That rankled. The undercover super soldier, handpicked by the queen, sure hadn’t had any trouble taking the gathered intel and handing it over, as if he’d been the one to type up the report.

Aleksander watched Nubbs leave his office, his footsteps sure and efficient. The male oozed with danger.

Maybe it was time to bring Nubbs in from the field. Living a lie, amongst cutthroats and black-market racketeers for seventy-five years had changed the man Alek knew from the battlefield. He’d talk it over with Savella at their next meeting.

After tucking the report folder into the metal filing cabinet, he snapped up his vest and left the palace caverns. It was unimaginable that Ella would be the prime suspect in their ongoing fight against the insurgents. He had suspected—but didn’t want to believe.

At the top of the slope where he’d last left his little Troll, weariness tapped the back of his eyes. He needed sleep. With more than five hours left of duty to pull, getting horizontal would have to wait.

He was rubbing his eyes when a twig poked his back. When he turned, no one was there. In the bark of the elm tree next to him, a pale green light grew from within the wide trunk. The circular motion illuminated, spreading in size, and Alek took a few steps back. After an atmospheric pop that made him blink his eyes, a nondescript female stood before him.

Long mouse-brown hair lay in long wavy strands that fell past her waist, her hands clasped tightly in front. She, too, backed a few steps. “You’re Rhycious’s friend, right?”

“Who...?” How did this scared little Wood Nymph know the Remedy Maker?

“I’m Waverly. We met last year, but you were busy…fighting rebels. I need—”

“Yes, I remember you now. Dendron is your father.” The Wood Nymph spirit guide helped Rhycious find the cure that saved his wife’s life. Rhy and Patience now lived on the outskirts of the Boronda Forest.

“She needs you.”

“Who? Patience?” Rhycious was fully capable of protecting his Nymph. But should they have need of him…Alek rested his hand on the hilt of his sword.

Waverly’s eyes grew large, her gaze falling on the movement of his hand. She backed up, until she damn near stood behind the elm, her palms held in front of her.

“Answer me, damn it.” Alek ran a frustrated hand through his short hair, recalling Rhy’s story of the quaking aspen’s propensity for skittishness.