“What…what do you mean?” Tina asked. “You can’t just step back.”
“Why the hell not?” Christine said. “I’ve been waiting for you to get better so that you could join the Great War.”
Tina held herself stiffly, as if she’d never even considered that before.
“What about your Destiny?” she asked quietly.
Behind Tina, the silver waters were taking over.
“What about my Destiny?” Christine asked. “According to the oracles, I was supposed to play a large part in the Great War. But so were you. Who the fuck cares if I’m leading the charge or if you are? Just as long as someone does it and puts Lars back in his place. In a prison in Hell.”
At the mention of Lars, Tina’s head rose up abruptly. “Lars,” she hissed, drawing the name out.
“He’s the enemy. Not me,” Christine said. Again. Why the hell did she have to keep reminding Tina of this simple fact?
Tina gave a great shudder, as if she’d just had a bucket of ice water dumped over her head.
“Lars,” she said quietly.
The silver was quickly overtaking the black now.
Tina started floating back toward the ground. “He’s been haunting my dreams,” she said. She sounded astonished at this.
“Bastard,” Christine said. “How?”
Tina gave a great sigh. She carved a space out from next to her.
Christine stiffened and readied her spells. What new tricks would Tina pull on her?
Tina pulled her old wand out of the space.
A wand that, even from a distance, Christine could tell was tainted.
At least Tina didn’t immediately wrap her hand around it, though Christine could tell she was tempted.
“Through this,” Tina admitted. “I didn’t want to give up my old wand. I didn’t, couldn’t, see just how badly it had been tainted.”
“And now?” Christine asked, still ready to destroy that thing if necessary. She called a small, sharp rock from the ground, floating it up to a ready hand, just in case.
“It’s ruined, isn’t it?” Tina said.
“It is,” Christine told her. “What do you see?”
To Christine, the wand, which looked too much like a prop from one of those popular movies about wizards, had been originally made out of brown wood. Now, the wood looked blackened and brittle, as if it had been burned. She bet that it would splinter at the slightest provocation. Possibly just to be spiteful.
“Black,” Tina said. “I can feel it. It’s trying to worm its way back into my heart.”
“Get rid of it!” Christine said. Her fire element assured her that it could do the job, immolate everything in front of her, if she’d just give it the chance.
Christine didn’t want to have to kill Tina. But if her human sister couldn’t fight her way free of the demonic influence, Christine might not have a choice.
Tina appeared to be studying Christine from across the way. She nodded, as if she’d finally seen proof of what she was looking for.
She held the wand with her thumb and forefinger, her arm out straight in front of her body.
As she released the wand, it burst into flame. A black, oily smoke rose up from it.
The last of the black waters behind Tina suddenly cleared.
Tina took a deep gulping breath. Then another. And another. She sank down to her knees suddenly, wailing. “I hate being influenced by demons!” she cried.
Christine moved forward cautiously, though she hated herself for not rushing forward to comfort her friend. She couldn’t help it, though. She couldn’t trust that this wasn’t yet another demon trick.
Finally, though, Christine reached Tina’s side. She knelt down beside her human sister, wrapping one arm across Tina’s back.
Then Christine cried too, for all the lost men, all the lost time, for how much this war had cost everyone.
When they both finished, Christine looked back over the waters.
The silver was still there, though it still appeared to be split in half, part of it pure white, the other tinted royal troll green.
The darkness as still there as well. That was part of being alive in these times. There would always be black places in both of their souls.
Just as long as they didn’t let it get the better of them, they’d be okay.
“I have a plan,” Tina said slowly. “I know how we can beat him.”
For the first time in a very long time, Christine felt the winds of hope stir her own deep waters.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Are you sure?” Ty asked. He rocked back on his heels, stunned.
“Got the orders right here,” his contact Mandrake said, pulling them out of the tattered leather pouch he had slung over his shoulder and across his chest.
They had met in an alley near Ty’s apartment on Capitol Hill. It was one of the neighborhood alleys, not one of the commercial ones, so it had garbage cans neatly lined up next to the garages, not huge industrial dumpsters. The rank smell came from Mandrake, not the surrounding area.
The hot summer sun beat down on their heads, making Ty sweat uncomfortably under his hat. He wore the lightest pants he had—yuppy hiking pants that he’d found at Goodwill, along with a T-shirt and his usual boots.
Mandrake had been playing the part of a homeless man for the last several weeks. He’d carefully ground dirt into his arms and legs before he’d started, to give his skin that “lived in” look. He stank of piss and sweat. Only his eyes were clear, the whites and blue irises startling in his darkened face.
Scraggly hair stuck out from all around Mandrake’s head like a mane. He wore a stained and torn muscle-shirt that hung loosely from his skeletal frame, loose brown pants that he held up with a piece of rope, and filthy formerly red sneakers that had no shoelaces.
“Thanks,” Ty said, taking the folded paper from Mandrake and looking at it.
Just then, a young white man popped out from between two houses. He looked around carefully, seeing Ty and Mandrake standing just a few feet away. He tried to look casual as he entered the alley, and not as if he’d just been checking everything out. Brown hair flopped over his forehead, covering brown eyes.
He wore the typical uniform of a college kid—oversized purple Huskies T-shirt, long shorts, and sandals. He obviously spent a lot of time in the gym. His shoulders looked oversized compared to his smallish head, and his legs were all muscle. After looking around again, he strolled over to where Ty and Mandrake were standing.
Before the young man could say anything, Ty greeted him. “Hello, officer. What can we do for you?”
Though the disguise was pretty good, Ty could smell the cop on him.
That seemed to startle the kid. Hadn’t been undercover for long. “You got any juice?” he still asked.
Ty snorted. “We’re not conducting a drug deal here, officer. I’m a private investigator. This is one of my contacts. I am reaching for my wallet now.” Ty palmed the paper that Mandrake had given to him and slowly reached into his back pocket, drawing out his wallet. Then he flipped it open to the fake ID he had there, showing that Ty was, in fact, a private investigator.
The guy blew air through his lips loudly. “Pppppppft,” he said. “I thought I had something.” He looked up eagerly at Ty. “You wouldn’t happen to know where they are selling the juice, would you?”
“By juice, I’m assuming you mean the steroids that are being provided to the gym rats up the street?” Ty said, wanting to clarify.
The officer nodded.
“You need to go across the street and the next alley up,” Ty said as he put his wallet away. “Ask for Jo. Tall, ginger-haired woman with an attitude problem.”
“Ah, thanks,” the officer said, nodding at them, then casually strolling on.
“Jo?” Mandrake asked, one eyebrow raised.
Ty grinned at him. “She is, actually, selling drugs. Not so much juice, but speed and cocaine to the stupid jocks around here.”
“You wouldn’t b
e naming her just because she’s part demon, would you?” Mandrake said with a grin.
“Possibly,” Ty said, shrugging. He pulled out the piece of paper that Mandrake had handed to him and unfolded it.
The script was spindly and difficult to read. Of course. Demons had lousy handwriting. And they didn’t trust computers, wouldn’t use a printer.
The orders were clear, however. All possible troops were being called to a staging area, a pocket world that had been carved out right next to the home of the Risilodan, also known as the rowdy boys.
It appeared that they were going to be the next target of the demons.
“Thank you,” Ty said, refolding the paper and handing it back to Mandrake. “I’ll let Christine know.” He paused, then asked, “You about ready for that bath?”
As part of Mandrake’s terms for going this deeply undercover, Ty had agreed to pay for three nights at one of the fancier hotels downtown. The suite Mandrake had picked out had a huge jacuzzi tub that Mandrake had sworn he’d live in for the entire time, or at least until he’d soaked all the dirt and crap out of his skin.
“Not until the war’s over, boss,” Mandrake told Ty. His blue eyes grew steely. “Not until they’re done.”
Ty nodded. Mandrake’s son had been killed by demons as the result of a party prank gone wrong. Though Mandrake was human and had no magical powers, he still hunted demons whenever he could. Ty had saved his ass when he’d gone after a target who was just too big. After an initial investigation, when Ty had discovered Mandrake’s real name and full history, Mandrake had been working for Ty ever since, able to infiltrate places where Ty couldn’t go, as Mandrake was fully human.
“Good luck, soldier,” Ty said.
“Thanks, boss,” Mandrake said.
The older man shook himself. His spine sagged and his posture melted. His expression changed to a leer. Ty would have sworn that the stench from the other man just increased as well. “Got any change?” Mandrake asked, his voice cracking.
Ty snorted at him.
Mandrake gave him a cackling laugh before he turned and shuffled away.
Ty quickly hurried on his way as well. Christine had to know what the demons were planning.
Even if it the note he’d just read was obviously a trap.
Christine looked exhausted. She’d evidently gone straight from her treasure hunt with Tina into a battle. Ty didn’t look too closely to see what wounds her human disguise hid.
That she hadn’t bothered to hide her tiredness worried him. She was a better illusionist than that.
They sat in the comfortable chairs at the back of one of their favorite spots—a local wine bar. The place had a few good beers on tap—Ty was currently sipping a lovely chocolatey porter—while Christine had opted for a coffee drink that had more alcohol than coffee, at least as far as Ty could smell.
He didn’t bother to ask how the war was going. He had a good idea that they were still losing it.
The lights in the bar were low and quiet jazz played on the speakers overhead. As it was a Tuesday night, the place was mostly empty, just a couple of crazy writers in the corner banging away on their keyboards like they were composing angry music, and another woman with an electronic book, reading and sipping wine.
“What news do you have?” Christine asked after a moment.
Even her voice sounded tired.
“Nothing good, I’m afraid,” Ty said. “One of my informants was able to steal some orders from a demon. It appears that the next place of attack is going to be the home of the rowdy boys.”
“Damn,” Christine said. She took another drink of her beverage. “What are the chances that this is a trap?”
Ty smiled grimly. The Christine that he’d first met, who knew nothing about the kith and kin or even much about her own trollish nature, would never have come up with such a question.
“Close to one hundred percent,” he said. “The message wasn’t encrypted in one of the more obscure demon tongues. It was a general call for troops, not something specific. The information was obviously meant to fall into our hands.”
Christine nodded. “We haven’t lost the war yet, but it’s close. Lars knows that I hold the rowdy boys dear. It wouldn’t surprise me if Lars also knows that the rowdy boys will turn after a while, ally themselves with the demons. So of course, they are the perfect pressure point for me. To get me to show up with my troops to defend them.”
“But why?” Ty asked. “Lars isn’t going to be so stupid as to call you out for individual combat, is he?”
After giving him an impressive snort, Christine continued. “He possibly is that egotistical. Thinking that he could beat me in a one-on-one fight.”
“Couldn’t he?” Ty asked, curious. He knew that Christine was an awesome fighter. Still, Lars was a demon. He was possibly better.
“I could win, if he didn’t cheat,” Christine said. “And you know demons. They aren’t about to play fair. So yes, he would be able to take me because he’d have a trick planned.”
“That makes sense,” Ty said. “But why focus on you? You have other generals who could take over.”
“The kith and kin alliance wouldn’t hold past my death,” Christine said. “They’d fracture. A lot of my allies would turn to the demons.”
“How do you win?” Ty asked.
For the first time that evening, Ty saw Christine with a smile. A true smile, not one tainted by exhaustions and haunted by killing.
“With a trick of our own.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Lars didn’t chortle or dance around his office. He was the Supreme General. He had more dignity than that. Honest.
That didn’t mean he didn’t do a little chair dance wiggle when he got the news. After he made sure that he was all alone, no spying eyes peering through the portal on the far wall or tiny spiders from their webs broadcasting Lars’ every move. As far as he could tell, it was just him and his parents in the house. The maid was searing something lovely and bloody in the kitchen—Lars had heard the abruptly ended screams of something meaty earlier.
The maps covering the walls of his office had so much more glorious red now. Worlds either taken or destroyed, or enemies who had come crawling back, kith and kin who had realigned themselves with their true masters.
And soon…he looked up at the one hole directly behind him. That location where her head would be located.
He glanced at the report again. Seemed that a low-level demon had actually taken some initiative and allowed a copy of the plans to be stolen by a simple human, then returned.
Lars had put a lot of A/B testing into the plan language, trying to make sure that it was obscure enough that the enemy would believe the plan, while at the same time not dense enough that the stupid troll wouldn’t understand the implications.
Of course, if Christine actually bothered to go to the location where Lars was supposedly gathering his troops, she’d be in for a rude surprise.
As in “hot lava in the old town tonight” sort of surprise.
While Lars knew that the enemy was nowhere near as clever as him and his demon generals, he did know that Christine wasn’t actually stupid.
Underestimating the enemy was what had gotten him into trouble more than once. Along with most of the demons he knew.
So he had his contingency plans ranked, depending on if the enemy was dumb, smart, or even smarter.
Christine was sure to take the bait. She’d show up in the world of the rowdy boys with an army for certain.
He also knew that she probably would be smart enough to understand that this was a trap.
She’d never be able to guess what he’d had planned for her…
The question was merely a matter of time. Would she send her armies ahead of her? Mass them in another pocket and come pouring in to the rescue? Or would she wait until the battle was well underway before she showed up?
Lars was prepared for every contingency.
As for that damned obe
lisk of truth that she was supposedly assembling—no one had any idea of what exactly that was. Or what it was supposed to do. The humans had the best oracles of all the races. Lars was a big enough demon to admit that seeing the future was really not a strong suit of demons.
Plus, he had no idea what the hell she’d do with it once she did assemble it. Would it allow her some great magical boon? Something she could fight him with? Allow her to see through every trap he set? That might get sticky.
Still, even without his tricks and traps, Lars knew that he could kill her. He had more than one recording of her fighting, now, and had studied her every move.
She was good. He could admit that. She’d gotten much better over the last five years.
He was still better. Particularly now that he knew his enemy so well.
Soon, he’d have her head on his wall. The Great War would be won a few weeks after that, when the last of her pathetic resistance had died.
Then Lars would be crowned one of the princes of Hell. He had plans for how to survive both until then, as well as after that.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Vern gratefully slid into his car. He folded forward, reaching his arms over his steering wheel and stretching out his back. He wasn’t used to standing for hours. Then he took the time to stretch out his cramped hands.
Goodness! Trying to gather signatures for the upcoming vote on funding the kith and kin and the war had taken a lot out of him. More than he’d expected.
Though part of his exhaustion came from standing there with a clipboard unable to even catch the eye of most people. They wouldn’t even say hello! As if he was some sort of pariah. It made him resolve to say hello to everyone from now on.
At least he had gathered quite a few signatures. He didn’t know if it was enough.
How could they think about cutting off all support for Christine and the war? He just didn’t get it. It was so short sighted on their part. He’d had an ugly feeling that part of it was the “human first” movement, which had to be influenced by demons, he swore.
The Troll-Human War Page 17