Troll Or Derby, A Fairy Wicked Tale (33 page)

“It’s like a regular
Price is Right
down there,” Jag’s voice boomed. “I might as well come on down, myself.” The crowd surged with approval. “Should I? Shouldn’t I?” he asked, one foot perched on the top rail of his balcony perch. They jumped in response, jumping and flying, wings lifting them to hover at his feet.

Trolls climbed atop other trolls, like a moving mountain, and then, though I’m sure he’d have withstood the fall just fine, Jag fell backward over the balcony, arms extended, crowd-surfing the shoulders of fairies mid-air, as they passed him reverently to the trolls, then with the kind of stupidity only trolls can muster, they tossed him into the mosh pit.

It was the break we needed. While the old man struggled against the pit of rage, I’d be able to rally the troops. Before I could open my mouth to do so, Deb beat me to the punch—this time, I mean that figuratively.

“Hey, you band people,” she said. “And you, Pops,” she called my father, jerking her head to indicate he should join the huddle, as she put her hands on my shoulders from behind, to steady herself. She shrunk back to her normal size, in what looked like an involuntary jerk. She exhaled, wiping sweat from her brow as everyone gathered, straining to hear what she’d say. “Okay, gang, when Jag gets up here, we’re going to move quick.”

She paused, looking over her shoulder. The Rhinomen had rushed to Jag’s aid in the pit, and Gennifer’s mother was chewing through the restraints to get her daughter down off the pole. Or, off the stake, I should say. The Pole was the name of a club where Gennifer’s mom made a name for herself in her youth, from what I’d heard.

“Look, Jag expects me to spill some blood, and I’m going to grant him his wish. You hear me down there?” she shouted down into the grate below us.

“We hear you, Deb.” Derek. Whatever that kid had done to deserve being thrown in the dungeon, God only knew. Probably just locked up to make sure he didn’t help Deb escape. Maybe luck was on our side, after all.

There was a bounce of movement on the perimeter. Jag was clambering out of the pit, cursing and kicking all the way. He’d probably have made it out of there faster, but it was hard to find a fairy with two wings left to fly him out, I’m sure.

“We don’t have much time,” she said. “I don’t know exactly what I’m going to do, but I’ve got to do it fast. And when you lot down there smell blood, that’s your cue.”

The rolling herd of prisoners beneath Derek looked anything but fierce, but they’d have the element of surprise working in their favor, not to mention the glee of chaos as they spilled up and out of the bowels of Jag’s complex, the first prison break in the history of the realm. Even the Rhinomen would be hard-pressed to not stop and admire the melee that would ensue.
May the gods help them
, I thought, as they mustered enthusiasm despite the odds.

“Deb, he’s coming,” I said. I wish I’d had time for words of wisdom, or to pump my Dad for strategy—anything would have been better than flying blind, the motley crew of us against my legendary uncle and his cave full of drugged trolls. As Jag climbed onto the stage, looking more than ever like a skeleton dipped in tar (before being rolled in hair and raw meat), the band gathered behind me and my dad.

Moments later, regret would wash away entirely. There are legends, and then there are
legends
. There was a reason the name “Wheeler” had become associated with the title “Protector” for generations—to the point most fae folk assumed they meant one and the same.

Little Debra Wheeler was about to demonstrate why.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Showdown

Deb

What would happen next? Would I live?

As Harlow spoke his warning, I took one last long look into his eyes, drinking in the friendship I’d come to know. I took in his face, his dreads, the bits of sunshine that leaked from his aura. Come what may, I’d rather his were the last face I saw—not Jag’s.

“How’s it hanging, bro?” Jag boomed behind me, scrambling up out of the pit like it hadn’t hurt his dignity at all. Othello’s face tightened. Impossible to imagine he and McJagger were brothers. They barely looked the same species.

Slowly, so as to not alarm Jag, I turned and faced him, planting my feet and all my energy into what I imagined was a great wall—a boundary of magic separating him and his pitiful complement of three Rhinomen from me and my friends.

“Very nice, Roller Deb,” he said, reaching forward and rubbing his hand against the field. His voice changed, and he was caressing it now. “
So nice
.” Did everything he touched turn to sleaze? I felt the field wavering, and concentrated harder, until it solidified. “Oh, yeah, girl. Get it hard for me,” he taunted.

I dug my nails into my hands to keep from losing my grip on the field. I could feel the puncture wounds, but that was better than letting him win.

“You know, I’m starting to realize I wasted you on that slut Katharina’s girl,” he said. “I should have kept you as my own Protector, but I had no idea you’d grow up to be so powerful. I mean, you had absolutely zero training from your parents, and they weren’t so hard to kill, in the end. You’re worth so much more than a blackmail payoff, Roller Deb.”

Mom was cursing Jag out with a worse intensity than I’d ever seen her unleash on the denizens of Bedrock. More than one checkout girl at the Buy-Lo had sprouted grey hairs while Mom recounted the inaccuracies of their coupon-counting. Once, when the mail carrier had delivered one of Mom’s QVC collectibles to the wrong doorstep, she’d given him such an earful that he’d pulled out his emergency dog spray and held it to her face, before backing off and running away.

But she didn’t move from her hiding place behind the rest of us, and Jag only laughed at her shrieking.

“Oh, Kat,” he said. “Loved that feisty streak in the sack, girl. Hard to believe you’ve only got a little troll in ya. Want a little more?”

As she screamed her response in the soul-splitting shriek only a mother can produce, I wanted to turn and look at her so badly, see if she had tusks. See if Gennifer did, too. Jag must have known I would—must have been toying with me, trying to distract me. What a sick fucker. I refused to give in.

The crowd applauded, and at first I thought it was just for Jag. He thought so, too, and he turned and took a bow before them.

“Hey, dickweed,” I said, and took pleasure when he stopped his bow in mid-air. “If you’re done with the ‘Yo Mama’ jokes, let’s call it a night. I got a lot of stops on the way home.” As he spun, glaring at me, I hooked a thumb over my shoulder, indicating my gang. “Lots of kids to drop off, if you know what I mean,” I said.

Behind him, April and Dave were making their way through the crowd—if you can call it that. Dave attempted to crowd surf like his dad had done, only to be dropped about midway between the balcony and the ground. And April? Something told me that if April actually had feelings, she’d be emotionally scarred by the time the crowd finished groping her. Jag was oblivious, as his little prince and princess disappeared into the depths of the manic ravers.

“And what makes you think I’m letting you leave this place alive?” he said. “I am McJagger, the greatest leader the troll realm has ever known! No enemy has ever stood before me and lived to tell the tale!” The crowd was
oohing
now, and Jag took that for confirmation of his greatness.

As he opened his mouth to continue espousing his own immortality, the true cause of the crowd’s stir leapt onto the stage, all four silver hooves tinkling like the sound of fragile icicles crackling under the boot of a child. As Jag spread his arms, babbling at full volume about how he’d never be defeated, the black unicorn quietly lowered his head and gored the Rhinoman to Jag’s right. The crowd, enchanted by this turn of events and finally seeing some blood, erupted into applause. Again, Jag thought it was for himself, and he turned to bow before his adoring subjects.

April slid up the opposite side of the stage like a spider, patches of her blonde hair missing and her fishnet stockings torn, the flesh of her legs bursting through, a ripped open sausage of cellulite and derby bruises. How heavy must her glamour have been, before the crowd got its hands on her? I thought her true inner nature had repelled me, but now that I saw her physical form, she truly disgusted me.

“And no one can ever stop me …” Jag trailed, as we all watched the second Rhinoman swing his battle-axe at the unicorn.

And that was when Dave made it to the stage. He grabbed the unicorn by the mane, pulling its head down and away from Jag’s guard, to give the Rhinoman a better shot.

I didn’t think—didn’t have time to think. As Jag wheeled to take in the action on either side of him, I rolled across the stage and popped up beneath the unicorn, planting my hands on the stage and kicking Dave full in the face with both feet. The unicorn shrieked as Dave fell off the side of the stage and hovered over the mosh pit, his fingers buried deep in the uni’s mane. Before he could pull the creature off balance, my fangs were at work. The unicorn’s mane was tough, like biting through piano wire, but I was furious, and when it comes to magic, I think that helps.

Knowing Jag could seize advantage at any moment, I continued kicking at Dave while I chewed through the mane. The Rhinoman was inches away, trying to hold the unicorn by its head and pull Dave back into the stage at the same time, while Jag and April shouted directions.

I heard the uni scream, and realized the Rhinoman or Dave had blinded the poor beast in one eye. Such fragile flesh.

Then it hit me.
I bet Dave’s fingers are softer than this mane.
So…I bit them off. At least three of them, anyway. Don’t ask me what they tasted like. I’m trying to forget.

The unicorn recovered, and skittered to the back of the stage while Dave fell below. The Rhinoman raised his axe, but before I could step beneath his intended swing and roundhouse him hard in his inviting belly, the uni galloped full speed into him, head down, goring him to the hilt. The crowd cheered, as the uni shook its head, trying to free itself from the dying Rhinoman.

Then April was running at me, her spindly arms and ratty hair making her look like some skinny hag from an old Phalaxis video. She was more “Crypt Keeper” than “fairy princess,” if you know what I mean. I could feel my wings beating involuntarily behind me, as I rose a few feet above the stage for better vantage. Just before I would have dove upon her head, Jag pulled her back by the shoulder, whispering in her ear. It was just as well, because although I’d have defended myself and my friends to the death, I wasn’t sure I was
ready
to kill her. What can I say? Breaking up is hard to do.

“Deb!” I heard Harlow call my name, and there he was, below me. I landed gently on the stage, and thrust my hand into my pocket to throw him his mojo, never taking my eyes off Jag.

Harlow’s rough hand pried my bleeding one open, and in it, he placed a dagger. The weight of its hilt in my hand was like the feeling of coming home. I didn’t even look at it, I just knew—it was pure silver, and it was Harlow’s, and that was what mattered.

“Jarod McJagger!” I roared.

“I name thee! I claim thee!” He turned to face me, horror-stricken. As April cut and ran, all pretense of his own invincibility faded. I finished my chant, his color fading. The third and final Rhinoman backing him seemed a bigger threat in that moment than he did. “A price of blood
you pay me
!”

Over the grate where the dungeoneers would emerge, I grabbed Jag by the hair, dragging the dagger across his throat. I felt it cut through—deep.

The crowd gasped in shock and awe. Jag managed one last wet, greasy laugh as he felt for the damage, both hands wrapped around his throat. Quick as I could, I jumped, as if to do a backflip, and pushed off Jag’s still-standing body, hitting him hard in the ribs with my feet, diving simultaneously into the collection of weapons at the base of what had been Gennifer’s sacrificial stake. A rusty sword burned my hand, but I didn’t care. Didn’t have time to care. Gennifer and Mom scattered, the band and Othello hid behind Harlow’s outstretched arms in the face of my terrible justice.

The unicorn finally shook its horn free from its victim, and now reared, flashing electric hooves at the guard and his giant axe. The Rhinoman turned to face me, just realizing where I’d gone, and who my target was. He glanced furtively at Jag’s body, then blew angry snot out his nostrils and raised his battleaxe over his head, as if he’d split the beast in the chest when he came down to land.

Harder than I’d ever pushed off in my skates, harder than I’d ever strode on the street or in the rink, I dug deep and pushed down off that stage, the rusty sword pointing into the Rhinoman like a torpedo. Before the unicorn could land, I pierced the Rhino, his guts all the way up to my armpit. His axe spiraled through the air into the mosh pit, where it connected with the forehead of a cheering brawler.

The shock wore off the crowd, and now they were making noises the likes of which I’d never heard. There was a good chance some of them were actually dying of ecstasy. The drummer from The Phalaxis woke up from whatever kind of shock he’d been in, and took a bow. While the crowd answered with laughter, I rotated my wrist to flourish the sword, then pulled it back out the way it came, with more effort than I’d expected.