"If anybody can knock a troll on his butt, it's Shamas," Menolly said. "I'd still like to know how he grew so powerful. He never studied much magic when he was a child, but he might as well sign up for duty as an arsonist by proxy."
As the park came into view on our left, I thanked the gods the trolls hadn't discovered the arboretum yet. I could just imagine them crashing through the glass-plated greenhouses. The resulting destruction would be heart wrenching.
"We've got to stop them before they get anywhere near the conservatory," I said. "Before they cross the divide into the park."
Menolly pulled into one of the parking spaces. "We'll go on foot from here."
We tumbled out of the car and took off at a run. The night was chilly, and I was glad I'd stopped to grab my capelet. Menolly ran on ahead, clad in tight, skinny jeans, high-heeled boots, and a turtleneck. But she wouldn't have noticed the cold even if she ran buck naked through the street at midnight. Trillian wore black pants, a silver crew neck sweater, his scabbard and short sword, and over it all he'd tossed a midcalf duster to act as both heat source and to hide his weapon from any unwelcome authorities who might object.
The cemetery came into view as we crossed the rise leading to the gates. Lit by an updated version of old-fashioned lampposts, the winding dirt paths that led through the maze of tombstones and markers were compacted, with a light cobblestone overlay. The cobblestones were slick, but the dirt acted as grout, keeping them from being too dangerous.
Technically, the Wedgewood Cemetery was open till dusk, but the trolls had bent the wrought-iron gates, and now the twisted metal bars curled to the side, their hinges bent and useless. We cautiously picked our way through, avoiding the metal. It would sting Menolly if she touched it, but Trillian and I were still alive. We could be seriously burnt by cast iron—Trillian even more so than me since he was full-blood Svartan.
We saw Smoky, Delilah, and Chase up ahead, talking to our cousin Shamas and three FBH cops. The cops looked worried, and Chase was arguing with one of the officers.
"You can't shoot them," we heard him say. "The bullets are just going to bounce off. Where the hell are the stun guns I told you to get? With those, we might have a fighting chance."
As we drew near, Shamas turned to us, and his eyes lit up. "Hey, Coz," he said. Shamas had acclimated to human culture surprisingly well, in both speech and actions. He was dark in hair with violet eyes, like my father and me, and he stood barely five nine. Sturdily built, he had the perfect physique for physical activity, and it never failed to amaze me that he'd favored cerebral pursuits. "Ready to take on the trolls?"
"Dubba-trolls, no less," I muttered.
Chase was talking to a blond officer. He let out an exasperated sigh and jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. "Deitrich, until you can listen to orders, I want you on desk duty. This is the third time this week you've ignored direct orders from a superior officer. You're sidelined. Call for backup, and then get the hell out of here. I want to see you tomorrow morning, first thing. My office. Be there, or I'll kick you out of the FH-CSI and bust you down so far you'll be handing out parking tickets."
The cop shot Chase a look of pure venom, but he muttered a "Yes, sir" and turned to stalk away. Chase watched him go, then turned to the other man. "You have any problems with me, Lindt?"
"No, sir!" Officer Lindt shook his head. "I was on my way to get the stun guns like you ordered when Deitrich ordered me to stop. He outranks me."
"Yes, well I outrank him. Never mind. You move your butt back to the cruiser and grab those stun guns. Get back here as soon as you can." Chase waited until the uniformed man raced off to let out a string of oaths. "Damn it, Devins is behind this. He's been on my back the past couple of weeks about the Crypto issue, and he's goading the malcontents."
As Delilah murmured a soft "I know"—when he was on duty, she was careful to maintain a professional stance with him—I scanned the cemetery, looking for the trolls.
"Over there," Shamas said, pointing in a northeasterly direction. "Near the fountain."
And there they were. Two dubba-trolls, four heads, no waiting. I shivered. The damned things were a good eleven feet tall. As I'd told Chase, they were the worst of the troll family, and they loved takeout. Fresh meat on the hoof, no cooking required.
I groaned. "Cripes. You know we're just a platter of appetizers in their eyes. Except, perhaps, for Smoky."
Smoky shook his head. "I'm not about to shift into dragon form here. I've kept my profile carefully guarded for many years, and I want to ensure it stays that way. I'll have to help out the old-fashioned way."
"Too bad. That breath of fire you spout out could be quite handy with these fellows," Delilah said.
"Okay, what's our plan? We can't just rush them and hope for the best." I glanced around the graveyard, unhappily calculating our chances. If we dove in without some sort of strategy, we'd probably come out alive, but chances were somebody was going to get hurt.
Chase narrowed his eyes. "What do you think? Will stun guns do any damage?"
"They might, they're electricity, and that's a lot like fire," I said. "I'll prep a spell to call down the lightning."
Delilah frowned. "I usually use a knife, but I can rush in and do some damage with my fists, I'm betting. I've been working out a lot more lately, and if I can jump on the back of one of those creatures, I can start pounding his skull."
"Uh-huh… great," I said, my enthusiasm about as limp as a wet noodle. "Trillian? Smoky? What do you boys have for us?" I still was rooting for Smoky to turn dragon dude and fry them both with one big, fiery breath.
"That I'm a dragon does wonders for my strength in human form. I'll take one of them on," he said. I glanced at him, ever hopeful, but he shook his head. "I told you, woman, I'm not going to change form here. Do you know what that would do to the gravestones and markers? Have some respect for the dead."
Trillian actually smiled but quickly coughed to cover it up. "As I said in the car, my sword's not going to do much unless I can skewer one of them in the eye. I'll give it a try, though."
"Great. That ought to do it, all right." I snickered. "Why don't we just escort them over to the arboretum. Shamas, you got anything to help?"
"I was going to give my Fire Spray spell a workout, but you have to let me go in first, or you'll all be caught in the storm." He looked at us expectantly, and we all quickly eased back a step or two. Chase the first to move. He was learning, yes, he was.
"Be our guest," I muttered, wondering just where Shamas had picked up a spell like that. I knew for a fact he hadn't trained with any elemental wizards, and spells like Fire Spray didn't lie around free on street corners.
Shamas marched forward, muttering something under his breath, an anticipatory look on his face. His hair was braided back, a lot like Father's, and a sudden twinge of homesickness hit me. This would be so much more fun if we were back in Otherworld.
"I'm ready to rock," he said, and I got the impression he was actually enjoying himself. The trolls stopped tearing up the tree they were standing next to and stared at him, bewildered looks on their faces. No doubt, no one back home was stupid enough to challenge them.
Raising his hands, Shamas looked oddly out of place in his OIA officer's uniform. He called out in a loud voice. "Shellen, Morastes, Sparlatium…"
There was a loud crackle in the air around him, and a sudden swarm of sparks and darting flames burst from his fingertips, racing toward the dubba-trolls, who suddenly realized they were under attack.
The one on the left—the larger one—gave a loud roar and tried to fight off the fiery volley, while the one on the right stared dumbly at the approaching spark shower. The minute the arrows of flame hit, he roared to life and stumbled forward, followed by his larger friend.
"Holy shit, they're on the move!" Shamas whirled and raced back to us, the dubba-trolls hot in pursuit, all four heads rumbling obscenities in Calouk. If I hadn't been so concerned about being trampled, I would have shot back a few choice expletives. As it was, I whirled, taking off at full speed to the right, Delilah keeping pace beside me. Trillian darted along behind us. Smoky, Chase, and Menolly dodged to the left.
"What now?" Chase shouted from the tombstone he was dodging behind. He reminded me of the mouse Delilah constantly chased. Only she played with the creature. She'd given up trying to eat it. The trolls wouldn't accord us any such niceties.
Leaving Smoky and Menolly to guide Chase, I ignored him. Once I was out of the trolls' direct trajectory, I planted my feet on the ground and raised my arms heavenward. "Moon Mother, give me your power, give me your force as I call down the lightning!"
My fingers tingled as a low rumble from the clouds echoed through the graveyard. The Moon Mother was listening. I could feel her energy cloaking me, moving within me, circling me in a cone of power, a tornado of invisible waves that buffeted me so hard I almost broke my stance and stumbled. Hastily, I caught myself and reinforced my position. If I moved suddenly, it could break the spell or send it astray.
And then, I heard her laugh. The Moon Mother, her voice cascading over a waterfall of crystal, filtering down to soothe my fear like mist cushioning a chill night. The sky crackled, and a bolt of energy raced down to my fingertips, lashing me with a thousand shocks. The lightning recoiled in my body, churning as I focused on giving it form, on working it into a giant beach ball o' fun. My teeth started to chatter, and I knew I had to get it out of my system before it overloaded me and sent me into a coma.
"Eat this, boys!" I stretched my hands out toward the nearest dubba-troll. The stupid, shorter one, of course. I always got the stupid ones. He blinked—all four eyes—and was about to scratch his heads when the lightning shot forth from my hands, a round ball of brilliant light, to zing across the space between us. It hit with a loud blast, and his bewilderment turned to anger, then to the realization that he was going down.
I anxiously watched for any signs that my spell might ricochet—which had happened before—but the bolt merely encased him in a neon web of sparks. Within seconds, he keeled over with a tremendous thud, snaking the ground as he fell. His buddy turned and, seeing his fallen comrade, started in my direction.
Right then, a screaming of sirens slashed through the night, and there was a loud bellowing as a police cruiser screeched to a halt and Devins leapt out of it. "Johnson, what the fuck is going on?"
Though I felt sorry for Chase—his boss was a total prick—I had my own problems to worry about. I took off running. Away. The dead troll's buddy was too close for comfort.
As soon as Dubba-Troll the Bigger moved past his companion, Delilah and Trillian raced in. "He's not dead," she called. Trillian brought his sword to bear and stabbed the prone troll, first through one head, then through the other. He aimed for the eyes, the one place vulnerable to regular blades.
"Now he is," he said, avoiding a nasty spurt of eye juice.
"Very nice, but I've got troll number two on my hands!" I dodged out of the way as the bigger troll took a bead on me and changed direction to match mine. But as I tried to shake him, I glanced over my shoulder one too many times. My foot made direct contact with a low, flat tombstone. Pain rippled through my toes as I went sprawling across the marble edifice.
"Hell and double hell!" I tried to sit up, but the wind had been knocked out of me, and I could barely think.
"I've got her covered!" The voice wasn't Chase's. I glanced up. Oh shit! Devins was headed my way, gun drawn.
"Don't!" I tried to yell.
"Bullets won't work on them, sir!" Chase raced after his boss. "Their hide is too tough—"
"Bullshit! I'll show this SOB not to tear up the graveyards in my town!" Devins leapt over an open grave and landed on the other side. As he did so, the troll who was following me stopped, pivoted, and charged toward the chief of police.
"No! Get out of the way!" I forced myself to my feet, screaming. Menolly was flying in our direction, running faster than I'd ever seen anybody run, but she wasn't fast enough. The troll reached Devins before anybody could help him. With one swipe of the wooden club, the dubba-troll sent Devins flying back into the open grave. There was an awful thud as the chief hit the hole at an awkward angle, then slid into it.
Chase skidded to a halt and made a U-turn. Menolly kept up her charge and leapt on the troll's back. She managed to get her arms around one of the dubba-troll's necks, and squeezed. Hard. Very hard. The head went slack, and she let go, falling to the ground as the troll bellowed and swatted at her.
Smoky moved in. He had grabbed the club from the dead troll and was wielding it like an expert. He hoisted it with one hand, even though it was almost as tall as he was, and swung low, clipping the troll across the shins.
The troll bellowed again from its one still-functioning head. Menolly moved in behind it and again leapt, landing high. She reared back, exposing her fangs, and sank them deep into the troll's skull. He roared once more as Smoky took aim again and this time, hit him square in the groin.
Watching the troll fold was like watching one of those giant balloons at the Macy's parade deflate. Menolly leapt free, and we all stared as the creature keeled over, groaning. Trillian raced in then, sword raised high, and planted it through the troll's eyes in his still moving head. I limped over to Delilah's side, and she offered me her arm to steady me.