Troll Or Derby, A Fairy Wicked Tale (27 page)

And then there were hands on me, pulling me away.

John Robbins, my old guitarist. “No way, John,” I said, and the tears rained down even harder.

“It’s okay, man,” he said, in a hoarse whisper. He patted my shoulder.

“It’ll be okay, Harlow,” my dad said.

More shapes leaked out of the walls.

Harry Bour, our old drummer. He shrugged and scratched his head. I wasn’t sure he recognized me. We never were very close.

Holly Kingsgaim, the bassist. I remembered how she used to kick unruly concert-goers in the face, her long scratchy hair billowing around her in a trollfro. Now she looked like she was the one with the crap kicked out of her.

She grimaced when she met my gaze. “Look like shit, don’t I?” she said. “It’s the spells. And this place.” She gestured to the room around us, but then she dropped her hands and smiled. “But it’s better now, Harlow. If you’re here, then we’re getting out.”

She reached out behind her without looking, and pulled Max Standersonmanhoff out of the wall. Our keyboardist.

“You shouldn’t have come here, Harlow,” my dad said.

“Well, the band’s all here now, huh?” Max said.

My dad climbed to his feet, a mere shadow of the troll he’d once been. “Time to hit the road, fellas.”

“Shut up!” I said. “Just shut it! I want some answers. What the hell are all of you doing here, and what makes you think we’re just walking out of here?”

“No walking, Harlow,” my dad said.

“No, we’re not walking,” Holly agreed.

“Oh, no,” said John. “We’re going to fight our way out of here, bro. Just like the witch lady promised.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

Water

Deb

I skated to the point of exhaustion and beyond. My fairy nature allowed me to coast around the track on pure force of will, even when my body was drained. I was addicted to derby—if I’d been avidly interested in it before, now I was a lost cause, every bit as removed from my old life as Peter Pan’s lost boys were removed from theirs, in Neverland. Only in this scenario, I wasn’t just a lost boy. I was Captain Hook, Tinkerbell, and Peter Pan all rolled into one.

My every waking thought was of derby, and April. We trained for bouts and I obsessed about my wheels, the rules, my hitting, strategy … and April kept me constantly wanting more.

At night I crashed in whatever bed would have me, sometimes my own, sometimes April’s. I didn’t pay much attention to the scenery, or the food, or the news. Why would I care? This was living. I had only been a hollow shell of a person before—once I’d found my place on the team, I’d found a purpose. My life began here. I hoped that if it had to end, it would end here.

Sometimes I had a vague memory that I’d come to Jag’s Bingo Hall for something important, but he was so kind to me, and April was so captivating, and roller derby was my life. It wasn’t long before I forgot completely why I was there.

The Godsmackers were the family I’d never had. They approved of me, accepted me, and their praise fed me better than any food I’d ever tasted. They cheered me on as I learned to hit and sneak through a pack of blockers. I was proud when April and I became a force together on the track, after so much practice. Our bodies moved in sync, our skates close enough to lock, but never quite. I was her Derby Wife, for better or for worse.

We had a ceremony one night, and all the girls on the team were invited, as well as a few lucky Godsmacker fans, friends, and family. I vaguely remember that the vows were amusing—something about helping one another through hangovers and holding each other’s hair while we puked. I don’t remember what I wore, I don’t remember much about it at all, except the way April glowed as she held my hands, and the way my jaw ached, where I thought I’d once had a few teeth pulled.

Was it a serious ceremony? Probably not, but in my heart, it meant something.

For the first time in my life, I felt pure bliss. I might have been under a spell, but I didn’t want it to end.

One day we climbed into a tour bus and hit the road. It was time for my first bout.

The bus didn’t have to roll far. McJagger’s casino complex was somewhere in South Central Indiana, but I wasn’t sure where, exactly. Much of it was underground, and it stretched for miles, filling caverns with hidden city after hidden city.

I’d known where it was at one time, I thought. Known how to find my way home. Wow. I snorted at the thought. As if I’d had a home before they’d let me into the Hall.

We’d only settled into our seats on the bus, before we arrived in Bloomington.

Bloomington’s only a few miles from Bedrock. I could check in on Mom.

“Find Gennifer, or your life is mine.” The words hurt. They couldn’t touch my feelings anymore, but the memory did hurt my mind. It’d probably been a long time since I’d tried to remember anything. Anyway, Mom wouldn’t want to see me, not without Gennifer by my side. I pushed the thought away with ease.

The bus pulled into an unevenly paved lot, and we bounced in our seats. The girls were excited, laughing. Wings and sparks and tails whipped through the air. Behind tinted windows, no one could tell what we were really about.

Betsy stood up at the back of the bus and yelled. “Shut up, bitches! Listen!” She was team captain for this bout.

“Here’s how it’s going to be. This is a mortal team—lots of English. There’s no point in getting crazy with the hits. It’s a given that we’re faster and stronger than them, so be extremely gentle. This is an hour-long bout in two thirty-minute periods, and I need you to watch the clock—we need to keep it close, keep the crowd fully engaged until the very end. Jag and the boys will be circulating, so don’t think no one’s watching you! Keep it clean, play it right, and we’ll all get our rewards after the bout.”

One-by-one, the girls put on their glamours—tough glamours, not easily detected. Only someone with fae blood or The Sight would know they weren’t typical rollergirls.

On went the pink and black uniforms, on went the fishnets, on with the knee socks, the cutesy hairdos in low ponytails. Scales and bite marks and talismans turned to tattoos before my eyes. Ragged earlobes and broken teeth mended, or were decorated with jewelry. One she-troll glamoured a grill to hide her pointed tusks.

I considered what kind of glamour to use for myself. They weren’t the prettiest girls you’d ever seen—some of them were trolls, after all—but they were rollergirls nonetheless. I fit in perfectly. At least, I had before my transformation. Now I wasn’t sure how far to go to cover up the changes in me. I focused on hiding my wings, and other than that, I visualized how I’d looked that night at the homecoming dance.

I looked down, and saw my slender, thin wrists. Leaning over April’s shoulder to see my reflection in her hand-mirror, I was satisfied that I still looked like myself, with the dirty blonde raggedy hair, even if there was something a little different about my eyes. There wasn’t much time to consider it, honestly. We had warm-ups to do.

The Bloomington Sportsplex, a place I’d always found so enthralling before, now seemed so human, so mundane. I was accustomed to playing in an underground rink, complete with sparkling stalactites and loud, thrumming music. This gymnasium was like a big box filled with cheap, pitiful lives. Were these humans? Had I really believed I was one of them?

The hometown Bloomington crowd was good and riled, and I could smell their excitement in a way I’d never experienced. The scent of colors, the sounds of auras—the effect was dizzying. I felt like a starving man at a gourmet buffet. I spotted several trolls in the crowd, too, some glamoured and some not even bothering to hide. They were as obvious to me as if they were standing in spotlights, calling out to be noticed. How had I never realized, growing up, how common trolls were? Before I could stop myself, I was scanning the crowd for Harlow.

Harlow. That’s what I’d forgotten.

What happened to him? Was he here? Would he try to take me away? All I cared about was skating, and April. Neither Harlow nor anybody else would stand in my way.

An announcer’s voice called out the names of the opposing team, and I watched blearily from our bench on the sidelines. I couldn’t remember getting ready, didn’t know if I was even wearing my skates. Did it matter? I was a live wire of unadulterated magic. With so much energy pumping through me, I could do anything.

“Remember,” April said, “keep it tight. Keep yourself as near to human size and strength as you can—we need this to be close, and we can’t have those wings of yours flapping anyone in the face.”

The words registered, and I hoped I could do as she asked. I hadn’t had any notion of self control for … weeks? Months? Skating and drinking and screwing were my only ambitions.

April patted my knee pad. “It’ll be okay, Baby,” she said. Every bit of me tingled.

“I’ll do my best,” I said.

The scent of patchouli and blood wafted through the gymnasium, and the crowd went wild. The Bloomington team was on the floor. A big girl with dreadlocks paced the track and waved to her adoring fans. Maggie McSnarky, team captain.

Jag sat at the top of bleachers near turn one, eyeing Maggie as if he’d like to take a big bite of her ample booty. Something about the way he looked at the human girls made me sick to my stomach. (Later, he would complain that she “tasted of weed.”)

“Focus on the game,” Betsy said, leaning in from the other side. She seemed so sharp and intensely focused. So did April. I wondered why I was in such a fog, and they were so illuminated.

April held a water bottle to my lips. “Drink this,” she said. “It’ll help. I need you to stay awake out there, covering my rear,” she said with a wink.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, a warning went off, again.
Don’t drink it.
But, of course I did.

Chapter 32.5

Break Out!

Harlow

“What prophecy?” I said. “Another one of Zelda’s lies?” I was beginning to hate the woman. “And I want answers
now
, Dad. What the hell are you doing here, and where is Mom? I thought you were dead.”

The band looked uneasy, and although there wasn’t anything discernible to do inside the cell, they backed away and gave us a little space to talk.

“Harlow, son, I regret that I haven’t been able to be with you. And I know you want answers, but that’s going to have to wait until we’ve—”

“The hell it is!” I said. “I am not going anywhere, following anyone blindly, not ever again. So start talking, old man, or it’s going to be one hell of a long prison sentence.” Flames shot out of my nostrils with the second utterance of the word, and I felt a little badass, I’ll admit.

He took a deep breath, and sighed. “Fine. Fine,” he said. “Just sit.”

I did, and he began.

“I don’t know how much you remember, about what happened.” He looked at me, as if he expected
me
to fill him in.

“No dice, old man,” I said. “Talk. Now.”

“From the beginning?” he asked.

“Best place to start,” I said.

He shrugged. “Okay, okay. You were little—do you remember the Wheelers?”

I nodded.

“They were your godparents, and our best friends. When I’d left the court, walked away from the crown to marry your mother, they were the only fairies in the court to come with us, and even though I’d released them from their service, they were true friends, and true Protectors. They died trying to save us, Harlow.”

“Back up to the court part,” I said. I felt vague memories crystalizing.

“My father was king of the troll realm here in the Midwest, once upon a time,” he said. “I was a prince. My little brother, Jag, was a prince. My father got old, mean, like trolls will do. I’d met Natalia on a trip to Europe and fallen in love with her, but when I brought her home to meet my father on his deathbed, he banished us both. I’m pretty sure that he was under the influence of some of Jag’s drugs, but that was back before Jag even started this operation. I just thought—well, I was young, I didn’t really know what to think, did I?”