An hour later, they were once again proceeding north. Along with ten crisp hundred-dollar bills. Jack's pockets clinked with a half-dozen antique coins. His insurance policy.
At five o'clock that afternoon, they arrived at the proper address. The house was located in an old Polish neighborhood of small bungalows and well-kept front yards. Unfortunately, all that remained of the structure was a blackened, burnt shell.
"Dis da right spot?" asked the cabbie. "Looks like dey had a fire here recently."
"It's the right house," said Simon, his face ashen. "Pay the man, Jack. I need to ask the neighbors a few questions."
After dismissing the taxi, Jack carefully inspected the ruined home. A series of police barricades connected by rope cordoned off the site from the street. There wasn't much left to investigate. A few charred timbers pointing skyward gave mute testimony to the fury of the fire.
Simon wandered over, his hands clenched into fists. "The blaze broke out two nights ago. Around midnight, according to the folks across the street. It swept through the entire house in minutes. From the neighbor's description, I suspect von Bern used a salamander. It's been the firebug of choice the past decade for supernatural arsonists."
"Any news of your cousins?"
"Mrs. Studzinski claims nobody escaped," said Simon. "But faeries don't die easy. Hopefully, they'll turn up okay."
Jack rubbed his fingers against his forehead. "Two nights ago was before Merlin hired me," he said slowly.
"Tell me something I don't know," said Simon. "The forces of good and evil live in a precarious truce in the city, my friend. Occasionally, it erupts into battle. They attack a few of our centers. We retaliate and level a few of theirs. That could be what happened here."
"Of course," said Jack, "though stretching coincidence to the breaking point and beyond."
He frowned. "Damn, damn, damn. Those mysterious kidnappings started a week ago. Plug this fire and who knows how many other attacks into the equation, and there's only one possible solution. Merlin stumbled on the Old Ones' plot—but not when it was first starting. Von Bern's scheme is nearly finished. The novel's almost over and I still don't know the plot."
"Oh, shit," said Simon.
"Agreed," said Jack.
"Same expression," said Simon, "but different reason, Jack. We've got company—unwelcome company. Over there."
Four massive figures were headed in their direction. Each one stood well over six feet tall and had incredibly broad shoulders. Big, powerfully built men dressed in tight white muscle tees and faded black corduroy jeans, they shared a common hair style. Or lack of one. Their heads were shaved clean.
Less than a block away, they shuffled forward slowly, ungainly, their huge arms swinging apelike from side to side as they moved. Red, green and black tattoos of snakes covered their exposed flesh—dozens and dozens of snakes with gaping jaws and fangs dripping venom. Etched on their shirts were the words, "Born to Raise Hell." None of the quartet possessed an aura.
"Skinheads," said Jack, backing up a few steps in the other direction.
"Worse," replied Simon. 'Trolls."
Anxiously, Jack tried to remember everything he read about the mythical creatures. His subconscious drew a blank, other than the story of the three billy goats and a bridge.
"They're not neutral?" he asked Simon, both of them walking backwards now.
"Far from it," said the changeling. "They serve the dark. Willingly and completely. They hate the sunlight and become stronger as the night increases. Mistletoe destroys them, but all woods hurt them. Creatures of hatred, they are ugly in form and in spirit."
Ugly, Jack decided, barely described the approaching monsters. With sloping foreheads, piglike red eyes nearly buried beneath heavy brows, flat noses, and chalky white cheeks, their faces defined the term "Neanderthal" perfectly.
The lead skinhead grinned, revealing a mouthful of broad, yellow teeth. In one shovel-sized hand, he held a crumpled flyer. The creature studied Jack's features, then consulted the paper. Up and down, up and down the troll's head bobbed before a glimmer of recognition flashed in its beady eyes.
"It's him," the creature growled in a voice so deep Jack's ears hurt. "The one in von Bern's flyer. His head is worth ten thousand in gold."
"Ten thousand," repeated a second troll, unwrapping a length of chain from around its waist.
"In gold," added a third monster, sliding a pair of brass knuckles on each hand.
"For his head," declared the fourth, pulling an immense switchblade knife from one boot.
"Easy money," said their leader. Though he carried no weapon, he appeared quite capable of ripping Jack's head off his shoulders without any mechanical assistance. "Good fun, too."
Jack's gaze swept the area. The cab was long gone. Except for him, Simon, and the trolls, the street was empty of life. "Think the nice people in these bungalows will come to our aid if those monsters start ripping us apart?" he asked Simon softly.
"Are we discussing modern city dwellers?" retorted the changeling. "They might call the police—after the trolls finish the job and leave. Maybe then. Maybe not.
"I think we better retreat," continued Simon. "Those hulks are strong and mean. But they're also dumb and slow."
"South," said Jack, and he started running.
Simon hesitated for an instant, gestured obscenely with one finger at the trolls, then dashed after Jack. Bellowing in rage, the four monsters followed. They ran with the grace of participants in a sack race.
Mathematics majors rarely spent very many hours on the athletic field. Jack was no exception. His track experience consisted primarily of running after a missed bus or subway train. However, his life had never before depended on his speed. He surprised himself by soon outdistancing his demonic pursuers. After five blocks, he slowed down to a fast walk.
Huffing and puffing, he glared at Simon. The changeling seemed hardly winded by the sprint. "Was that necessary?" Jack asked, laboring to suck air into his lungs.
"I warned you," said Simon. "I can't help myself. Mischief is my business. At least, we escaped from those lugs pretty..."
Simon swallowed the rest of the sentence. Jack swore. Dead ahead of them, less than fifty feet away, at the next intersection, waited the same four trolls.
"You gave me the finger," rumbled the lead monster. "That wasn't nice. I'm gonna bite your hand off for that."
"Back the way we came," Jack shouted and set off as fast as he was able.
Running hurt, but he managed decent speed for three blocks. Again, there was no sign of any pursuit. Simon, features grim, caught up with him right past the intersection of two streets.
"How did they do that?" Jack gasped, bending over and trying to regain his breath.
"I'm not sure," said Simon. "Nobody knows what powers trolls possess. Unfortunately, that's because..."
"...nobody survives to tell the tale," said Jack. "Any idea what hurts them other than mistletoe?"
"Cold iron?" suggested the changeling.
"I doubt it," answered Jack, "seeing that they carried chains and knives."
"They're back," said Simon.
Jack shook his head in despair. The trolls stood less than twenty feet behind them. They were close enough for him to see the nasty glint in their tiny eyes.
"We know shortcuts," said the troll wearing the brass knuckles. "Lotsa shortcuts. You can't escape us."
"Nobody escapes trolls," added the troll with the chain. "Nobody."
"There's always a first time," said Simon. "Climb on my back and grab hold of my neck, Jack. No arguments. I'm stronger than I look. And you're in no condition to run."
Incredibly, Simon ran for nearly eight blocks carrying Jack piggyback before finally collapsing to the pavement. Lying side by side in the street, man and changeling waited for the inevitable arrival of the trolls.
"One trick left," said Simon, pushing himself up on one elbow. His features wavered and changed. Jack gasped as he stared at his own fa
ce for the second time in twenty-four hours. He would never be comfortable with Simon's talent.
"Two Jack Collinses," said Simon. "They won't know which one is real. Seeing double might confuse them long enough for us to escape."
"More likely they'd merely rip both our heads off," replied Jack.
"Good point," said the changeling, letting his features return to normal. "Now that you mention it, I think I'll stick with my own handsome visage."
The air in the intersection ahead of them rippled and twisted as four trolls emerged out of nothingness. Wearily, Jack struggled to his feet, pulling Simon with him.
"That's the secret," Jack declared, astonished. "They cross space through four-dimensional crossroads. Somehow, they mix quantum mechanics and magic. Incredible."
"I get the message," said Simon. "If they use intersections, we won't. Head for that alley."
Narrow alleyways cut through many of Chicago's older neighborhoods. Continuing in straight lines for miles, they provided rear access and limited parking for homes stacked one against another. And served as garbage routes for the city's sanitation department.
Ducking around a large red Dumpster, Jack and Simon wheezed their way past locked garages and high wood fences. After a few minutes, they came to where the alley crossed the next street. No trolls appeared as they darted over the pavement and back into the passage.
"I hear them behind us," Simon declared cheerfully, "moving with the grace of a herd of elephants. It appears that alley openings must not qualify as proper intersections. Twenty minutes and they'll be hopelessly behind us. I can't imagine that crossroad trick works if they have no idea where we are."
Jack nodded in agreement. Their near brush with death had badly shaken his nerves. He wasn't in the mood for small talk.
With darkness falling, they didn't discover their deadly mistake until it was too late. Concentrating on the trolls behind them, they paid little attention to the alleyway ahead of them. Until it abruptly ended in a makeshift barbed-wire fence that stretched from one side of the passage to the other. Invisible from the street, the barrier effectively barred them from continued retreat.
"Hey," said Simon. "Don't these people know it's illegal to block an alley?"
"We'll report them later," said Jack. "If we don't move fast, those trolls will trap us here."
Hurriedly, they backtracked to the mouth of the alley. And found their pursuers waiting for them.
"No more running," said the troll leader, pounding one huge hand into the other. "We kill you now."
"It's against the law to murder people," said Jack. His head turned desperately from side to side, searching for help. "Besides, violence never solves anything. Can't we talk?"
He pulled the Universal Charge Card from his pocket. "I'll pay you double what von Bern offered if you leave us alone. Think of that—double the price for not working."
"Pay in gold?" asked the troll wearing brass knuckles.
"Not exactly," said Jack. "ATMs don't deal in precious metals. But cold cash will buy all the gold you want."
"Nah," said the troll with the chain. "It don't matter what you offer. I like killing."
"Me too," said the leader. He spread open his gigantic arms. An evil grin spread across his face. "I'm gonna twist your head right off your shoulders."
Jack clenched his hands into fists. If he was going to die, he planned to the fighting, useless as that might be.
"Is this a private party?" someone asked calmly from the darkness behind the trolls. "Or can anybody join in?"
Chapter 20
PONDEROUSLY, THE TROLLS turned. The leader of the monsters grunted in surprise when he spotted the speaker. A tall, attractive black woman, she leaned casually against a solitary streetlight. Both of her hands loosely gripped a thick wooden walking staff. Capped with silver on each end, the stick was covered with unusual glyphs faintly visible in the moonlight. The woman smiled and nodded in a friendly fashion at Jack and Simon. She possessed no aura.
"Don't bother me, girlie," growled the troll leader, flexing his sausage-sized fingers threateningly. "This fight ain't any concern of yours. Make trouble and you'll be next."
"Oh, my, my, my," replied the mysterious woman, her voice tinged with sarcasm. "I do believe you intend to commit acts of violence towards my friends. Sorry, but I can't permit that."
"Friends?" whispered Jack to Simon. "You know this woman?"
Simon sighed deeply and smiled. "Indeed I do. She's Cassandra Cole. At least, that's the name she's used for the past few hundred years. Deliverance is at hand, Jack. Think of her as the cavalry, Captain America, Hulk Hogan, and the Force combined into one. Cassandra makes Wonder Woman look like a Twinkie."
Evidently, the trolls were not aware of Cassandra's reputation. And they were too stupid to wonder why one woman risked taunting four of them. Their original quarry forgotten, the quartet spread out in a line facing their new enemy.
"You can't permit it?" repeated the troll with the chain. He swung the metal links in an ever-widening circle over his head. The steel whistled with each rotation.
"She thinks she's tough," said the troll with the switchblade. With the click of a button, the knife opened, revealing an eight-inch blade.
"Real tough," agreed the third troll, smashing together its brass-knuckled fists. Sparks flew as metal hit metal.
"She needs to be taught a lesson," declared the leader of the monsters. "I hate uppity broads."
"Should we try to help her?" Jack whispered urgently to Simon. "There's four of them."
"Relax," said Simon. "Cassandra appear worried?"
"No, but..."
"Stop fretting and watch. The odds are unfair." Simon chuckled. "But not the way you think."
The trolls shuffled forward, growling threats. Cassandra waited patiently, feet planted solidly on the ground, hands spread about twelve inches apart from the center of her walking stick.
"Last chance," she stated, sounding almost apologetic. "You goofballs turn around and depart, and I won't hurt you. By Athena, I swear it."
The troll leader snorted. "Screw Athena. Dumb bitch goddess."
"Bad remark," said Simon, grinning. "A very bad remark. It's not a good idea to make Cassandra mad."
"You dare insult the goddess," said Cassandra, her voice flat and menacing. "For that you will suffer. Suffer dearly."
Moving with blinding speed, Cassandra attacked. Like a serpent's tongue, the bottom end of her walking stick lashed out and caught the lead troll in the crotch. Grunting in shock, he doubled over in pain. The grunt turned into a shriek as the stick's top slammed into his mouth, jarring loose a handful of teeth.
Twirling on her toes like a ballet dancer, Cassandra thrust the walking stick directly into the path of the whirling chain. Jerking the wood staff at precisely the right instant, she yanked the metal links right out of the astonished troll's grasp. Snarling, the monster lunged for its weapon, dangling only inches out of reach. With a snap of her wrists, Cassandra whipped the steel off her post and into the troll's face. Bones crunched and blood spurted in fountains as the creature stumbled back, howling in surprise.
Bellowing in mindless fury, the troll with the knife swung the blade in a deadly arc aimed to slice the black woman in half. Effortlessly, Cassandra leaned out of the weapon's path. Off balance, the slasher stumbled past her. Instantly, the wood staff hammered him across the back, driving him to the ground. As he fell, his arms tangled with the walking stick and wrenched it away from Cassandra. For an instant, she stood defenseless.
"Got you," crowed the fourth troll, wrapping his huge arms around Cassandra's chest. More cautious than his fellows, he had circled the black woman and attacked from the rear. Locking his hands together, he squeezed.
"Hai!" screamed Cassandra and drove her left heel into the troll's left arch. The monster ground its teeth together in pain but refused to let go. Eyes squeezed shut with effort, the creature tightened its grip further.
Wedging her s
kull under the troll's chin, Cassandra jerked her head back sharply. Blood bubbled out of the monster's mouth, but it continued to squeeze.
"Enough of this shit," Cassandra declared angrily. Hooking her own fingers together, she pulled the double fist up towards her breasts. Brute strength battled brute strength. And the troll lost.
The monster's fingers popped apart and Cassandra dropped to the ground. Whirling around, she savagely swung a leg up in a short, lethal arc. Her toes sank deep into the troll's midsection. Coughing blood, the creature collapsed.
The fourth troll's heroics had given its comrades a chance to recover and regroup. Battered and bruised, they rushed Cassandra in a bunch.
Fists flashed faster than Jack could follow. But he had no doubts as to their accuracy. They sounded like jackhammers pounding pavement. The trio of trolls staggered out of the woman's reach, whimpering in fear.
As if by magic, Cassandra once again held her wood walking stick. Her face grim, she advanced on the cowering skinheads.
"Insult the goddess, will you?" she declared angrily. Her staff crunched into the troll leader's side. Ribs cracked. Again, the staff lashed out, catching the monster in the chest. As Cassandra raised her weapon a third time, the troll's courage broke. With a shriek, it turned and ran.
"Don't hurt us," begged the two trolls still standing. "Don't hurt us."
"Get going, and take your buddy with you," said Cassandra, pointing her staff at the unmoving fourth troll. "And if I see any of you goons in this neighborhood again, I won't play so nice."
"Yes, ma'am, yes, ma'am," said the trolls. Gathering up their fallen comrade, they wobbled down the street as fast as they were able. The darkness swallowed them.
"Killing trolls is nearly impossible," Cassandra remarked pleasantly, as if discussing the weather. "But they hate being roughed up. Especially when it's done by a woman. Those four won't be pestering the locals for the next few weeks."
Tucking her walking stick under one arm, Cassandra linked her hands and cracked her knuckles. Brushing traces of dust from her clothing, she walked over to Jack and Simon.
"Well met, Simon Goodfellow," she said with a smile. "Long time, no see."
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