Page 23 of Kiss of Wrath

The three boys made a rude gesture at her that involved sticking out their tongues and blowing.

“Aaarrgh!” she screamed with frustration, then put her hands on her narrow hips and tapped a foot impatiently, like she was some mini-adult, or something. “Are you going to help us or not?”

“Let the Darla person help you.”

“I told you. Darla is locked in the bathroom,” she replied, as if he were too thickheaded to understand simple English.

“Unlock her then.”

“We can’t,” the boy in the blue T-shirt said. “The dog ate the key.”

They all turned to look at said dog, a huge mongrel of an animal, who was presently sitting with a big doggie grin on its face.

“Enough! Who is responsible for this . . . this disaster?” he hollered, stepping out onto the stone-flagged patio.

All five children jumped at the volume of his voice.

“Ben did it.” The boy in the blue shirt pointed to his twin in the red shirt.

Red Shirt stuck out his tongue at Blue Shirt.

“Can you jump rope?” the one with a death grip on his thigh asked. Apparently, peeing was no longer of imminent importance. I am a Viking. I cannot believe I am saying—thinking—the word pee. Is this to be my punishment then? No doubt this is Michael’s brand of humor. Warped.

“Don’t be silly. Vikings do not jump rope.”

“Betcha they can.”

“They’re too fat.”

What? Mordr sucked in his flat belly.

“They’re not fat. They’re just big,” Owl Girl said in his defense.

Just then, he felt a wetness on his feet. Damn! Did the little one piss on his shoes? Glancing down, he stepped aside, realizing with relief that it was just a small puddle from the increasing pool in the yard.

“I’m gonna ask Santa for a sword next Christmas.”

“It won’t fit in your stocking, dumbbell.”

“It will fit under the tree, dumbbell.”

“Can you braid my hair like yours?”

Just then, one of the older twins got a bright idea. Dropping the still running hose to the ground, he shouted with glee, “Slip and slide!”

The other boys cheered.

Soon they were covered, head to toe, with mud as they ran fast, then slid face first across the mud. Mordr noted that the pool of slimy mud was getting deeper. Even the dog, chasing the children, did a slide. On its rump. The little girl clinging to him giggled. Only Owl Girl disapproved as she murmured, “Aunt Mir is going to have a fit.”

Enough was enough! The little trolls weren’t his responsibility, but someone had to take control. He walked over to the faucet and shut off the hose. Then he bellowed, “Get out of that damn mud, and come here. At once!”

Five heads shot up, and Owl Girl muttered, “Finally!”

The three boys, dripping mud, came to stand before him.

Using his most menacing voice, he demanded, “Who is responsible for this mess?”

They all spoke at once.