Cautiously, Mélange, worked her way to the edge of the tire, and peered around it.

  Nothing.

  She hurriedly crossed the gap between the set of tires she was hiding in, and the next, trying to ignore the sounds the troll and its prisoner were making as she did so. How could the humans even think of dealing with these creatures? It was sick. It was depraved. It was… movement caught her eye, and she slid back to the centre of the two wheels.

  Footsteps crossed the warehouse.

  “You want me to move the truck, boss?”

  Inge, thought Mélange.

  “No. We’ll leave it where it is. Maybe auction it off, too.”

  Well, things were going from bad to worse.

  “Fey don’t like iron and steel, boss.”

  “Doesn’t mean they don’t use it, and it wouldn’t be traced so easily if it was on the other side.”

  He had a good point, and any hope Mélange had of the truck being moved somewhere useful, faded—although, the other side would make her escape easier. Fairies weren’t so uncommon there; and there was a good chance she could just slip out of the vehicle and anyone who saw her would just think she’d been curious enough to dare flitting inside.

  Here, now. Well, if they saw her here, they were just as likely to think she was a member of the Paranormal Operations Squad, and take steps to make sure she didn’t live another day.

  The footsteps stopped, moved away a couple of strides.

  “Set up the seats for our guests,” Mélange heard the boss order.

  “Sure thing, boss,” and the fairy relaxed as she heard Inge move further from her hiding place.

  Using the man’s movements as cover, Mélange made her way back to the cab. The door was still open, as though no-one cared who had access to the keys still dangling from the ignition. With a quick look around to make sure the coast was clear, Mélange flitted up and in through the driver’s side.

  For a moment, she toyed with the idea of turning the key, herself, but she couldn’t work out what she would do next. For one thing, the steering wheel was so large, it would take all her strength to turn it, even when the truck was moving, and, for another, she was pretty sure driving the big beast had something to do with the other buttons and levers she could see around her.

  No, she wasn’t going to be able to move the truck on her own. Deciding the sooner she moved into the back of the truck, the better, Mélange took a quick peek through the driver’s door, and then flitted to the top of the seat.

  From there, she could see Inge moving cheap, wooden seats into rows, and Marion and the boss guiding the last of the prisoners through the doors to where they would be kept until the auction. She glanced quickly towards the troll, but only to make sure it was still where she’d last seen it, and not to see what it was doing. The sounds were bad enough.

  When she was sure she couldn’t be seen on her perch, she decided, she would sit and observe what was going on for a while longer. Not a lot, as it turned out. The troll finished with the prisoner, shortly after the others had been led away.

  Exhibitionist! Mélange thought, curling her lip.

  When the troll was done, Inge took him back through the other door.

  The boss and Marion returned, as he did so, and went about setting up the chairs and a small podium, where the auction would be held. When Inge returned, wiping newly washed hands on his trousers, they left by the third door, switching off the warehouse lights as they went.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Alone, in the dark, Mélange waited. They’d left the door to the cab open, and she wondered if they were always this careless, or if the warehouse was considered secure. She tried very hard not to think of some other reason for it being left the way it was. There were other ways of monitoring for intruders, even ones as small as she.

  She studied the cab, while she waited, staying still for as long as a fairy could possibly remain still—maybe a whole half hour.

  Toward the end of her enforced wait, she realized she was looking at a communications device. It looked exactly like the device in the police officer’s van, the one he’d used to call for back-up when she’d shown him the cattle smugglers, as they stole a herd from a paddock beside the highway.

  “I wonder if it works like that one did,” she murmured, pushing buttons until she realized the police car had been running, which meant the key in the truck’s ignition probably had to be turned, and that might bring the truck to life, which might bring everyone back to the warehouse from wherever they’d gone.

  Mélange hesitates, and she decided to think about it a little while longer. Her gaze shifted from the radio to the key, as she tried to think of another way to alert the Paranormal Operations Squad, and considered ways of leaving the building, instead.

  Unfortunately, the windows were still sealed, and the doors leading out of the building, appeared to be securely locked, and fitting too flush to their frames to allow her to squeeze under or around them. In the end, when she still hadn’t found another way out, Mélange flitted to the key, and worked it back and forth until she made it move, one click, to the right.

  At the sound of it, she let go and flew, in a panic, to the back of the cabin. To her surprise, nothing happened. No rumble vibrated its way through the rest of the truck. No deafening roar echoed around the warehouse. Nothing.

  After a couple of moments listening to the blood pounding in her ears, Mélange realized she was safe.

  Just to be sure, she peered out the window of the cab. She saw nothing moving in the warehouse shadows, just the dim glow of the dash panel. Mélange stared at that for a long moment. And then she hit the switch to turn the radio on.

  The radio crackled.

  Mélange remembered the policeman explaining channels. The police had a channel, the stockmen had channels, and the truckers had channels. She just had to remember which channel was the right channel to get help on.

  In the end, she tried them all, calling for help across the city, and a large portion of the country, but it did no good. Each person who said they would come, asked for the warehouse’s address, and that was something she had no way of knowing.

  If it hadn’t been for a particularly alert despatcher who was looking for a missing lorry and a load of electrical goods, the Paranormal Operations Squad might not have found her in time.

  The despatcher telephoned the police operator he’d spoken to about the truck, and the operator updated the report. After that, he explained that the truck still hadn’t turned up.

  “It’s probably the first delivery,” the despatcher said. “He didn’t make the second. We just didn’t realize how late he was until he didn’t pull into the yard in time for loading.”

  “Loading?”

  “Yeah, we keep the truck’s running, but switch out the drivers. They’ve got a little fudge-time in their schedules, but they have to be on time for changeover. He didn’t make it, and he’s never missed.”

  “And that was when you called us? Not when the other deliveries weren’t made?”

  “Well, none of the clients have complained. I’m pretty sure they’ll be on the phone first thing tomorrow, when their loads aren’t there, but not before.”

  The police operator sighed.

  “Fine. Give me the address.” He was just about to hang up, when he thought of one more question. “What made you call me back?”

  “We had a contact on the radio,” the despatcher said. “I was all ready to chew the guy out, when this little girl’s voice came on the line. Said she’s trapped in a warehouse and the trolls are coming.”

  And, just like that, the operator wasn’t bored any more

  “What was that address again?”

  He was almost rude once the despatcher had repeated the details, nearly forgot to say goodbye after reading it back. He definitely forgot to tell the man they’d be looking into it.

  Trolls!

  “Get me the P.O.S.,” he said, and didn’t feel the usual urge to laugh at the acronym.

  “You got a little girl trapped at this address. Says the trolls are coming. We think she’s hiding out in the cab of a missing truck, registration number…”

  They were rolling even as he talked to them. The voice on the other end of the line sounded breathless as it relayed the information. Strange commands drifted in from the background. Phrases like ‘silver nitrate,’ ‘make sure the sunlamps are on full charge,’ ‘grab some iron shot just in case.’

  When he was sure he had all the details, the P.O.S. operative hung up without saying goodbye, leaving the operator to monitor the channels for any further information. Damned if he wasn’t thinking a stint with the spook squad was looking like a good idea.

  Spook squad…little girl…trucker…trolls. He called the squad back.

  “I think you’re looking for a fairy!” he blurted out, when the P.O.S. operative picked up, and there was sudden silence in the call centre around him.