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Chapter Seven
The thing to remember about dubba-trolls is that they're big, stupid, and their hide is pretty much the consistency of magically enhanced leather armor. Bullets bounce off, daggers have to be magical or silver to pierce them, and swords better be serrated, or they don't stand a chance in hell of slicing through that nasty, stinking flesh. But a good hammer or mace, now one of those babies can make a dent, especially on the head. And dubba-trolls are susceptible to fire magic. Ergo, while my magic was bound to the moon and weather, I could call in lightning which, in its own way, was akin to flame.
We asked Feddrah-Dahns to stay home with Iris and Maggie—the logistics of getting him in and out of Chase's SUV were difficult at best, as we'd already found out—and Smoky, Chase, Trillian, Delilah, Menolly, and I headed out. Chase took his SUV; Delilah took her Jeep. For once, Smoky rode with her and didn't make a scene. Trillian and I jumped in Menolly's Jag.
On the way, we discussed various ideas on how to dispatch the trolls with the least amount of collateral damage.
"I wish to hell I had a couple of Roz's fire bombs," I said.
Rozurial, an incubus, had helped us track and destroy my sister's sire. The man, or minor demon to be precise, was a walking arsenal, complete with everything from a miniature Uzi to silver chains to garlic bombs for disabling vampires, all hiding in the folds of his duster, which he was fond of yanking open like some weapons-crazy flasher. He was a menace to anything alive. Or dead.
"Fuck the fire bombs. I just wish we had Roz with us," Menolly said. "But he's caught up with Queen Asteria at the moment. I talked to him via the Whispering Mirror the other night. He told me that he's on some mission for her right now and can't get over Earthside for a week or two."
"What park are these trolls supposed to be in?" Riding shotgun, I stared through the window. It was a Tuesday night, going on eight P.M., and traffic had thinned enough to be called sparse. Seattle did have its nightlife, but the parties and gatherings were found in the clubs rather than out on the streets. New York City we weren't, and I was grateful for that.
"They're near the Salish Ranch Park, somewhere between the cemetery and the arboretum."
The Salish Ranch Park was located on the boundary between the Belles-Faire district and Seattle proper. It buttressed up against the Wedgewood Cemetery. The two were separated by a side street. Menolly made a sharp left off of Aurora Boulevard onto Borneo, which would take us to the park.
"Great, just what we need. Cemeteries aren't exactly the most delightful place to wander around," I said. "I wonder if they're there, scaring up dates. Maybe they have a few ghoul friends hanging around?"
Trillian snorted. "Bad, bad, bad woman." He reached over the seat and traced one finger along my neck. I shuddered.
"Don't start what you can't finish," I warned him.
"Oh, we'll finish it all right… but later."
"Get a room," Menolly said, but she grinned at me, the tips of her fangs exposed. I wondered if our play had stirred her up a bit.
"Yeah, well, I wish I knew where Morio was. He was supposed to drop by tonight, and he's never late. I hope he's okay." Together, Morio and I were proving to be a far greater force than I was by myself. My Moon magic could be devastating, or I could lay one hell of a dodo egg with it. But Morio… he was teaching me something else, altogether.
He'd been teaching me the death magic he'd learned at his grandfather's knee, and it seemed I had a knack for it. Maybe because it wasn't Fae magic, or maybe I just had a bent for the deadly, but whatever the case, I was proving adept so far. And when we joined forces, we packed quite a punch, although sometimes I wondered how working within the Shadowlands of the astral would affect me on a long-term basis. With what we were facing, though, I pushed those thoughts to the side. If the magic didn't kill me, Shadow Wing's cronies probably would. I'd take death by magic over death by demon any day.
"He probably just got stuck in traffic. Iris will tell him where we are when he arrives at the house." Trillian let out a loud sigh. "At least you have magic. About the only thing I can try on them is charm, and you can bet I'm not about to kiss their ugly mugs in order to subdue them."
"You're a lot better in a fistfight than me."
He snorted. "Right. Like my fist—or my sword—is likely to do any more than give them a nasty scratch. And I don't do blunt instruments, unfortunately."
"You have a point." I glanced out the window as Menolly turned left onto Fireweed, the street that divided the park from the cemetery.
The fifty-acre park's main attraction was an incredible arboretum. A huge series of glass buildings stretching across at least an acre of land were filled with rare flowers and cacti and delicate ferns, all kept within temperatures designed for them to flourish. Morio and I had strolled through the conservatory more than once, whiling away the evening hours.
My phone rang, and I answered. Delilah was on the other line. "Camille? Shamas just called Chase. The trolls are definitely in the cemetery."
"We're almost there. Give us five minutes," I said, hanging up. "Trolls are in the cemetery. Shamas is there, so at least we've got one other mage on hand.">I stopped. Did I dare say that I wanted to go? That, as much as I loved Trillian and Morio, I couldn't help but linger over images and daydreams of what delights a dragon might offer? I'd spent more than one night mentally undressing that tall spire of ice in my mind. I was pledged to the Moon Mother, and she ran like silver fire in my blood, sensual and full and ripe. Her followers weren't satisfied with life on the vanilla side.
Trillian circled me, like a thief might orbit the object of his desire. "You want him, don't you? I can smell you—you're aroused. You really want the dragon?" He moved in, looping his arm around my waist as he buried his face in my hair. His lips on my flesh were like wine, heady and rich.
I gasped, my lower lip trembling. How could I tell him? And yet, Trillian knew me. We weren't children here. We weren't human—well, not fully—and we weren't married. In our world, there was no promise of you're my only to one another. Trillian could handle the truth, but he wouldn't put up with bullshit. "I… I…"
"Tell me," he said, his other hand gently caressing my breast, his fingers tripping lightly over the bustier, setting me ablaze beneath my clothes. My nipples stiffened, and my breath came hard. I'd been through the sexual wringer so much today that I was about ready to scream. He pressed against me. "I saw it in your eyes out there when he grabbed you. You want him, don't you?"
"Yes," I said, both scared and relieved. It had been hard to pretend that I was only going along because of the debt I owed Smoky. "Yes, I want him. He scares me, but he… he…"
"My beautiful goddess," Trillian said, trailing a circlet of kisses around the back of my neck. "You like to play with fire, don't you? You like the scent of danger on your men."
I shivered. He was right. I liked my men dangerous and dark. Or dangerous and white as the fallen snow. Sweet, light, gentle… they had their place, but I lived under the moon. I ran with the Hunt. My passion flowed in jewel tones, not pastels.
