Troll Or Derby, A Fairy Wicked Tale (5 page)

“No time to sit around waiting to heal,” I said to my jagged reflection. I didn’t feel like laughing, but my reflection smirked in agreement. “What the hell?” I asked the mirror. The very same thing had happened at the hospital, before I stole the hat. “I’m losing it,” I said to myself. I couldn’t bear to look in the mirror any longer.

My backpack leaned against my bed, my skates strewn on the floor beside it.

“I don’t know what else to do,” I said, and started shoving clothes and shoes into my backpack. I opened the back of the framed Joan Weston photo by my bed, and pulled out the cash I’d saved from the past several Christmases. After I’d dressed, I shoved it deep into my front pocket, hoping it would be enough. Enough for what, I didn’t know.

I put my skates on from the front steps, and then, because I didn’t know what to do, I did what I always do. I skated away.

Chapter 4.5

Heard It From A Friend Who Heard It From A Friend

Harlow

The scent was weak, but I followed it to the local high school. A crowd was dispersing from the gymnasium—mostly adults. Loud music inside. The homecoming dance.
Wonderful
.

In the old days, whenever townspeople got together to celebrate a seasonal solstice or experience a rite of passage, they inevitably ended up toting pitchforks and torches, routing out whatever local trolls that were unlucky enough to be spotted. I’d learned this from my parents, who explained that only the oldest, weakest, and those who were ready to die ever let themselves be shown.

Things had changed, for sure. Not only were trolls walking among the English, but they’d learned how to use glamour from the fae, and they were virtually indistinguishable from humans—at least to other humans. There were teenaged trolls and fairies in this high school, right now, shimmying to the music. I could hear their laughter, could smell their sweat and bloodlust mixed with the palpable passion of prurient teens. I didn’t smell the girl, but I knew she’d been there.

There was no way I was going to enter that gym, and risk blowing my cover after all these years on the fringe of both worlds. I hunkered down behind a copse of trees on the edge of the property and glamoured myself to look like a boulder. I waited.

I was there only a few minutes before the wind changed directions, and I caught her scent—along with another, more familiar one. She’d been with The Coach earlier, before she’d gone to the hospital. I knew he would never hurt her, but he hadn’t come here with her, either. How did he know her? What was the connection?

I set off for The Coach’s den—a cavernous, musty roller skating rink on the edge of town. He had a rolling mansa, glamoured to look like an old ‘70s conversion van. When I was a kid, it had been custom-glamoured to look like a gypsy wagon.

We hadn’t kept in touch, but there was a time when I’d thought of Coach as something of an uncle. There was a time when I had something more than this life, and he was part of that. He’d been a part of Jag’s life, too. I just hoped he was still the man I thought he was.

Chapter Five

The Wind Beneath My Wings

Deb

I knew he’d be at the rink, but the familiar sight of Coach’s 1970s Stalker Van lifted my spirits from the moment I saw it in the parking lot, front row center. A two-tone number in light brown and shimmering wheat, it bore a fantastical mural of bodacious topless mermaids, mating unicorns, and dancing leprechauns frolicking on roller skates through a rainbow-and-cloud landscape that looked like something from the back of a cereal box, or a low budget Saturday morning cartoon. I’d seen it open—once and only once, and only for a few moments—and knew that the interior was all teal shag carpet and black leather. I had a feeling Coach had lived in the van—maybe he still did.

Coach was in the skate room, replacing the trucks on a pair of speed skates, when I rolled in.

“Well, look what the cat drug in. What’s new, furball? You here about the job, finally?” He gestured at the Help Wanted flier posted next to the skate rental window. The edges were torn—he’d had it posted forever.

“You know I can’t do it, Coach. Too much to look after at home.”

“You’re here all the time, anyway,” he said. He flipped the skate right-side up and test-rolled it on the counter, squatting down to eye the stability of his handiwork. “Care to try this on for me? Give it a test-drive?”

“Yeah, here’s the thing, Coach,” I said. “Gennifer’s missing, Mom’s thrown me out of the house, there was a fire …”

But it was like my words were muted by the siren song of those new skates. Coach smiled at me and rolled them to me across the skate rental counter.

Skating was my addiction and he’d handed me a fresh hit of my drug of choice.

“No problem, Coach.” I took a seat on the sticky floor and slid my foot into the boot, shocked by how comfortable it was—like it was tailor-made for me. “This feels incredible—hand me the other one.”

I had the skates on in about thirty seconds flat, and was barreling around the rink in a low crouch in less than a minute.

“Keep your knees bent—like you’re sitting in a chair!” barked the Coach. “Lean into the turns, don’t square up—this isn’t speed skating!”

“It’s not roller derby, either, Coach!” I called.

“Never hurts to start training early,” he sighed, his meaty man-hands clutching the metal bar guarding the edge of the rink. “As soon as you’ve got a car, I expect you to join those girls in Bloomington—be part of a real team.”

I rolled up to him, seamlessly gliding over the edge of the rink, and performed a quick 180, raising up on my toe stops to slow down completely—the tricky Mohawk turn I’d seen so many rollergirls do. He didn’t even jump as I approached.

“They feel good, Coach. Really stable, too—not too loose, trucks aren’t too tight. Are these somebody’s special order?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Mine. For you.”

I didn’t know what to say. I stared at him, completely thrown. I mean, the Coach was nice and all, and I’ll admit it—I trusted him more than any other adult in town—but this was a really expensive gift, and we weren’t really in the habit of buying each other stuff.

“But,” I started. Thoughts of Gennifer and Mom sputtered into my head, and I knew something was wrong. I just couldn’t recall what it was. My head was swimmy, and yet I felt more alive than I ever had. Skating always made me feel good, but nowhere near as good as these skates had done. It was like they’d taken me to another level. How could I possibly pay the Coach back for these?

“But, nothing,” he said. “You’ve been my most loyal skater at this rink, and I know you’re going to do great things in roller derby, when you get the chance. The truth is, you’re going to need a decent pair of skates to do it. Those raggedy-ass old things you wear out in the street are about shot—I wouldn’t be surprised if the bearings locked and you rolled right out in front of a car one of these days. I’ve tried to get you to work here, thinking maybe you’d be able to save up for a decent set of skates, but …”

“Aw, Coach,” I said. I wiped the tears away as quickly as I could, but I’m pretty sure he saw me crying. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Big girls don’t cry, kid. Thank me later.” He put his huge, solid hand on my head and tousled my hair. “About time somebody believed in you, Deb. It ain’t right what your Mom gets up to, the way she treats you one way and your sister the other. She knows better.”

My sister. Gennifer. Oh, shit.

“Yeah, Coach—that’s why I came here, actually. I need some help.”

“Shoot.”

“It’s going to sound weird, okay? Just try and listen to the whole thing before you call me crazy, alright?”

The Coach smiled and raised his right hand in a mock-vow. “I solemnly swear to listen to all your bullshit before I laugh at whatever mess you’ve gotten yourself into this time,” he said.

“Yeah, thanks,” I said. A cold wave of fear washed over me, radiating from my belly.

The Coach kept his word and listened to the entire tale of the fire, Gennifer’s disappearance, even my mom’s weird confession about my origins and that supposed prophecy. Not once did he look surprised.

“Do you think she was just drunk?” I asked. “Do people make up stuff like that when their brain cells are eaten up, or what?” I was only half-joking. My mother was an alkie, no question. I’d stayed awake long enough in health class to know that if sniffing glue could make you retarded, then the case of Pabst Blue Ribbon she put away every day wasn’t helping her mental state.

The Coach wasn’t laughing. “What I think isn’t important, Deb,” he said. “What do you think about all of this?”

“Are you asking me how I feel about my mother?” I asked. “Should I lie down on a couch or something, Dr. Freud?”

Coach grimaced, but didn’t answer.

I thought about his question for a minute.

“You know,” I said, finally, “how I feel about it is this: maybe it’s the truth. I never really felt like I belonged with my mom, and she really has never taken to me, so maybe the part about me not really being her kid is true.” I waited for Coach to respond, but he just looked at me.

“If that’s the case, though, why did she take me in? I sure as hell can’t see her doing it out of the kindness of her heart.”

“True. In order to make heartfelt decisions, one must first possess a heart,” he said. Then, whispering, he added, “Have you checked her dresser drawers? I hear she keeps the hearts of her ex-boyfriends in there, after she buries the bodies.” We both laughed.

I continued. “As far as prophecies go …that all sounds a little magical-mystical-bullshistical to me, personally—but what do I know? I mean, just because I’ve never seen a rainbow or a leprechaun doesn’t mean they don’t exist, right? Maybe there’s something to this prophecy thing.”

Coach grunted, nodding. I continued.

“The only thing is, I can’t go home and ask her about it. She pretty much threw me out, and whether or not it’s my cosmic destiny to find Gennifer and rescue her from whatever evil has ‘befallen’ her, I don’t think Mom is going to do anything in the meantime. Half the cops in the county are related to Dave, and I’m sure he’s going to get away with whatever he’s planning, unless I can get to her first. I’m not really motivated to do anything for Mom—but I feel like I have no choice. I gotta find Gennifer and bring her home—or bring her somewhere safe, anyway. It’s the only right thing to do. I just wish I had some help, you know? I don’t even know how to get started.”

“You’ll have help,” Coach said.

“You?” I asked.

Coach shuffled his feet, and eyed the sticky floor beneath them, as it made sucking sounds against the soles of his shoes.

“Not going to make eye contact, sir?”

Coach glared at me. He took a deep breath, then his face of stone broke open into a shower of laughter. “Yeah, I’m going to help you, kid. I’m going to help you in my own way. I can’t go with you—and I can’t tell you much more than I already have—but rest assured that Gennifer wasn’t the only one in this town who was given a Protector. I know something you don’t—and I’ve probably already told you more than I should. But, yeah, I’ll do what I can.”

My head was spinning. I wanted to ask him what the hell he was talking about, if he knew about the prophecy, was I having a nervous breakdown or had I been drugged, or had my mother really been for real when she was talking about prophecies and magic and all that crap?

My face must have told him all the questions that were racing inside me, trying to get out. “No, now, don’t!” he said. “Don’t ask me another question.” He lit a cigarette, and sighed as he exhaled. “I never thought I’d take such a shine to you, kid. Not my job, you know? But …” He shrugged his shoulders and took another drag on his cigarette, exhaling huge smoke rings that twisted and snaked through one another in a peculiar way.

He smiled, and I momentarily thought I saw tusks protruding from his lower jaw. “What can I say?” He laughed. “You’re something special. Fuck it all if you’re not.” He took one amazingly long drag on his cig, then put it out on the floor, crushing it with his boot.