“Gotcha!” and the line went dead.

  Nobody laughed.

  * * *

  “Gotcha!” came a voice from the other side of the cab, and Mélange let go of the button she was bracing against.

  She shot straight up to the roof, barely dodging the hand that swept towards her. Resisting the urge to stick out her tongue, she dived for the back of the passenger’s seat, scurrying past the jacket and under the seat, itself.

  “Get back here!”

  Well, nuh uh, no way. Mélange backed away from the rear of the cab, and was nearly caught a second time when the passenger’s side door opened, and another hand reached in under the seat. She dodged quickly around it, and dived behind the collar of the discarded jacket.

  Maybe they wouldn’t find her in there! She was barely in time. Mélange watched as the hand groped around under the seat, trying to find her. She backed away, as it came closer to the jacket, and then a beam of light shone down behind the seat.

  Mélange stayed just under the edge, away from the light, and hopefully out of sight of whoever was peering down from above. She pivoted so that she could see both the behind the seat, and the hand groping around from the front. Sooner, or later, it was going to get close enough to grab her—or it was going to force her out from under the seat and into whatever attack was waiting from above. She decided to take her chances with the jacket.

  If she was lucky, they’d be so focused on finding a fairy, they’d ignore the jacket. Glancing from the light to the nearing hand, Mélange slipped inside the jacket, worming her way into the pocket she’d found earlier. This time, she tucked herself deep, and took a good grip on the cloth, hoping she didn’t form too much of a bulge in the cloth. They’d find it soon, and then she’d discover if her gamble had paid off.

  They found it sooner than she thought, and she had to grit her teeth together to stop herself from shouting out in surprise. The jacket gave a sudden lurch, and then another as it was pulled out from beneath the seat.

  “Whatcha got?” Marion called.

  “Looks like a jacket.”

  “No fairy attached?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then toss it and quit wasting time!”

  Mélange got a sense of being spun through the air, and then she hit concrete and the world exploded around her. She shook her head. Sure, the landing had hurt, but not enough to create the thunderous explosion that had her ears ringing, and definitely not enough to be accompanied by the smell of concrete dust and heat—her nose just wasn’t that imaginative.

  She let go of the jacket, suddenly desperate to be out of the pocket where she could see what was going on, suddenly desperate to be off the floor. The sound of more, smaller explosions had her hurrying to pull herself free. A scream of pain, shouted orders, the roar of the troll.

  The troll!

  Oh, crow’s poop, this was not going to end well.

  Mélange pulled herself free of the pocket, and worked her way through the heavy leather folds surrounding her, aware of the chaos beyond the jacket’s protection, and equally aware of just how thin that protection was. The troll would smell her, even through the mixed scents of leather, cigarette smoke and grease. He would smell her, and…

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  She kicked herself free of the jacket, and looked around. The air was full of swirling dust motes and smoke. Large figures moved in the smoke. A cluster stood around the truck.

  “Come out with your hands up.”

  They ignored the crumpled figure at the truck’s side, until it moved, and then they stood on it.

  Inge groaned.

  The troll roared again, and a booted foot came down beside her. Mélange didn’t quite manage to stop a squeak of surprise, as she flicked her wings and dived out of the way. The pain that shot through her shoulder and into her side made her cry out again, and what was meant to be a glide that carried her closer to the edge of the warehouse, ended a foot from where she’d started.

  I’m hurt? Mélange wanted to stop and see how badly, but she had to get under cover before the next boot came down on her head, or the troll found her.

  She’d heard plenty of stories about how fairies were like candy for trolls. She tried tucking her wings close to her back, but this only caused her to gasp with pain, as the injured wing wouldn’t tuck, so she looked to see if there was any shelter closer than the wall.

  No, but there were plenty of figures moving through the warehouse, miniature searchlights strapped to the front of their guns. Guns? For a moment, Mélange felt her heart lift with hope, and then she remembered she wasn’t in the cab of the truck anymore, and they wouldn’t know where she was, and that there was a very, real chance of being trampled in the dark and the confusion. She started to run, felt another jolt of pain that nearly dropped her to her knees, and dropped into a walk.

  I’ll never make it to the wall at this rate, she thought, but she kept moving, looking right and left and up, hoping she wouldn’t see the troll, but wanting to know where it was.

  It roared again, closer, and Mélange tried to move faster.

  Typical troll! Only thinking of its stomach. Why couldn’t it pick on one of the humans shooting at it?

  And that was when she remembered that fairies were supposed to be more than just candy for trolls; fairies were like healing tablets, speeding a troll’s regeneration, and giving it a sudden boost of power. No wonder the troll was trying to reach her. It was hurt, and outnumbered, and it could smell her in the dark.

  In a panic, she flicked her wings out. She had to fly. She had to get to a point the troll couldn’t reach. She had to—

  Her wing failed her, the burning tear of pain ripping through it making her scream, as she dropped out of the air, the pain disorienting her until the world shifted out of focus and then back in, again. The troll laughed, and Mélange heard the smack and grunt of pain, as it struck someone smaller.

  “Mother of fairies,” Mélange whispered, pushing herself off the floor with her good arm. “Mother of fey. Mother of fairies…”

  She stumbled towards where the shadows were deepest, was trying to see if there was a crevice to hide in, when a boot came down in front of her. Mélange stopped, and looked up. It was a big boot. She looked for the other one, not sure if she should run around the front or back of the one in front of her. She was still trying to decide, when she was pinned in the centre of a searchlight.

  “Gotcha!” came an unfamiliar voice, and a hand swooped down and scooped her up, and out of the light. “Now, to get you out of here.”

  The troll roared again, and the hand briefly tightened. Mélange used her legs and her one good arm to stop it closing too tight, as the human registered the danger she was in.

  “Oh, crap!”

  Mélange decided the human could run faster than she could, so maybe she’d stay. She just hoped he didn’t crush her in the process.

  “Over here, Clements! Over here!”

  Clements, Mélange thought. Weird name.

  But the staccato roar of guns being fired close by rolled around her, drowning out the sound of the troll hunting, hurting, dying…behind them. Mélange was bounced and jolted as Clement ran. She wished there was something to hold on to, but there wasn’t, and she couldn’t brace in case Clement thought he was holding her too tightly again, and dropped her.

  “Mother of fairies,” she whispered, and hoped for the best.

  The jolting stopped shortly afterwards, outside, in an area lit up brighter than midday. Mélange caught sight of the lights through gaps between the fingers, and blinked.

  “You got her?” The voice made her worry for what came next.

  “I got her,” Clements said, gasping for breath. “The troll…”

  “We got it. Pretty sure there’s not enough of it left to grow back. Put her down here.”

  The grip around her loosened, and Mélange tumbled out onto a soft pile of folded cloth. The jolt of pain that ran down her wing was too much, and she fell further than intended—right into an abyss of darkness from which she didn’t surface for some time.

  She woke in an open box on someone’s desk.

  “Are you sure she’ll be all right in there?”

  “Quite sure, sergeant.”

  “But it seems so undignified. What about the hospital?”

  “She’s safer here, and she’ll remember you. It’ll give you a chance to explain.”

  “Explain?”