Under the Bridge (2 page)

Billy set her drink down the railing and
hopped up on it. “So you’re going to kill him off?” she asked
politely, knowing full well what was coming. Maura didn’t have the
power.

Maura stared at her.

“I don’t want to be asked,” Billy said
firmly. “I have too much to do as it is.” Between work and school,
she barely had time to breathe. Troll hunting was out of the
question.

Maura’s eyes tightened. “Mother is gone. You
are the strongest of us. It’s your duty to take care of this.” The
hatred in her voice advertised how much she regretted it. Maura was
neither strongest nor eldest, and if it had been in her power,
she’d have murdered Billy and gleefully stolen her birthright. She
craved power like a junkie craves her next hit.

Billy laughed grimly. “You want to head the
clan—be my guest. Best the troll, and take it off my hands. You and
Carrie can be a clan of two.” Because Billy would be dead before
Maura ruled over her.

Despite her words, the troll was not a
problem to be ignored. Billy’s mother had trained her in fae lore
since she was a toddler, carefully teaching her the power order of
the fae world. Pixies weren’t lightweights, but they ranked waaay
under trolls. A full-blooded pixie could do some serious damage,
and she had king’s blood. That did not make her a sure bet against
a troll, however. What was she supposed to do, challenge the troll
to a duel? He’d have her for lunch—literally. Human bones were the
equivalent of Wonder Bread to a troll.

She’d seen pictures of trolls. Hulking,
dirty, smelly, matted, in dire need of dental work. They reminded
her of several of the freshman on campus, in fact.

“If you won’t do it for your family, consider
the humans. How do you think they’ll fare with a troll on the
loose?”

Billy blew out a breath. She’d been trying
not to think about that. “If they catch him, he’d be vulnerable to
bullets.” Maybe. Trolls had horrendously thick hides. A rocket
launcher should really screw him up…or piss him off.

“
If
they catch him. They won’t know
what to look for. You do.”

Grr. Guilt sucked.

“Besides, you could always ask for help,”
Maura pushed, as if sensing victory.

Billy looked at her askance.

“I meant from your friends,” Maura said,
offended.

Of course. Even though she was asking Billy
to risk her life, Maura wasn’t about to offer help. Not only would
it make her useful, it might imply she actually cared.

“Fine.” Billy hopped off the rail. “I’ll keep
my eyes open. If the troll tries to eat Carrie, I might do
something about it.” She looked pointedly at Maura’s car.

Taking the hint, Maura rose and smiled
politely. “You’re a credit to your clan.”

Uh huh. If she were the head of said clan,
then that made Carrie a pustule on her bum. Unlike Maura, who was
too powerful to be a pustule. A cancer, maybe. She’d have to think
about it.

She watched until Maura’s car was out of
sight and sighed. She really was going to have to kill that woman
some day.

Pondering the scandal of the day, Billy
headed for the house. Not for the first time, she was dreading
school.

3. Ugly things come in pretty packages.

Billy leaned against the wall the next day
and contemplated the bottom of her travel mug as she listened to
Nickleback do their thing. She wasn’t worried about missing
Carrie’s arrival; her shiny red mustang had been known to make
grown men quiver like pointers on a scent. If that wasn’t enough,
Carrie’s micro miniskirts had a way of making them stand at
attention. When the natives got restless, she’d know Carrie was
here.

The troll was another problem. She hoped
she’d smell him. He should have a unique scent, even in human
glamour. If she found a good candidate, she could always risk the
drain and try to see beneath his disguise. Since that would be a
waste of energy that she might need in a fight, however, she
figured she’d just watch Carrie. If any new guys started orbiting
her, it would make them a good suspect for the troll.

Though given Carrie’s usual taste in men, a
stalking troll might not be that obvious. Her circle of friends
included several guys Billy wouldn’t like to be in a locked car
with.

Once she knew who he was, it didn’t matter
what he truly looked like. She’d still have to deal with his
supernatural strength, and she hadn’t decided on the best way to
kill him.

She wasn’t sure what approach she should use,
either. A direct challenge didn’t seem too bright. Maybe she could
just watch him, see what he did. He wouldn’t do anything obvious in
a crowd—fae weren’t big on exposing themselves to humans. Even
something as powerful as a troll would probably have difficulty
with a stomach full of bullets. Cops and guns and searchlights did
not a party make.

Better yet, he might get shot in the eye. Now
that had possibilities. She lost a few moments in a happy daydream
about a posse taking care of her problem before reluctantly
acknowledging reality. Like cleaning the bathroom, this was a dirty
job that nobody was going to do for her.

She’d taken precautions that morning; donning
a suit of pixie armor her mother had given her on her nineteenth
birthday, just before they’d gone Underhill. Woven of ironweed,
bindweed and the morning dew of a white rose, it sheathed her body
like a silver body stocking, invisible to mortal eyes. It should
provide some protection if the troll took a swing at her.

Of course, if he were that close, he might
choose to simply bite off her head. In that case, she was screwed,
dew or no dew.

A gleam like freshly washed cherries caught
Billy’s eye. She looked up as Carrie slid out of her car, one
Barbie doll perfect leg at a time. She wasn’t tall, but Carrie was
perfectly proportioned. She also knew how to use her enormous
self-confidence to wrap herself in rock star glamour. Today there
was an air of dark tragedy about her, and her friends flocked to
her, cooing soothingly. They’d been waiting for her, far more
interested in the local drama than they were in getting to class on
time.

The official story was that Lance had been
drunk, tumbled on the rocks, and fallen in the river. Carrie had
run to get help, but of course no one could see much of the river
in the dark. His parents were hoping his body would wash up so they
could give it a decent burial. Only Carrie and her family knew that
the body would never be found.

Billy narrowed her eyes as she assessed her
cousin. Carrie might be upset at the loss of her boyfriend, but it
didn’t go very deep. She’d give it two weeks before Carrie got
tired of the tragedy and found herself a new football player—unless
the basketball team caught her eye first.

“Sorry to hear about your boyfriend,” Billy
called when Carrie got close. Judging by the annoyance in Carrie’s
eyes, the recent heartbreak was still no excuse for talking to each
other.

Carrie slowed and carefully swept her
straight black hair from her eyes, probably trying not to scratch
her cheeks with her newly manicured nails. She was sporting a new
asymmetrical bob, which she’d somehow managed to make gleam like
strands of pure onyx. That’s how she’d spent the weekend—drowning
her grief in the salon. Her mother had paid for a full day of
massage, mud wrap, the whole bit. Apparently there was nothing like
flashing Daddy’s credit card to soothe a wounded soul.

Carrie narrowed her eyes. They were brown
with greenish bits (like swamp water, Billy always thought). “It’s
too bad you weren’t at the party, Bill. You might have been able to
help.”

“Bill” raised a brow. Help how? As bait? She
stifled a laugh at the image of her throwing herself in the troll’s
path for
Lance.
She had to admire Carrie’s attempt to make
her feel guilty, too. Now it was her fault that Carrie’s boyfriend
had become an entree?

“That
is
tragic. But somehow, I don’t
think you would have invited me when you slipped off to make out.
Third wheel, and all that.” Besides, she hadn’t been invited. Not
that she cared, but Carrie would make a point of rubbing it in.

Carrie patted her arm. “Don’t worry, Bill.
You won’t always be a third wheel. I’m sure you’ll find
someone…someday.” Her tone said there wasn’t a chance of that,
ever. She continued into the school, wearing a satisfied little
smirk.

Billy smiled, too, as she eyed Carrie’s
no-doubt expensive new shoes. It was juvenile…and irresistible.
Murmuring softly in the Old Tongue, she told the shoes,
“You’re
slippery. No one can stand in you.”

Obediently, the shoes began to skid and
slide. With a gasp, Carrie grabbed onto the nearest person, a
pimply young freshman. Astonished, he caught her just before she
fell on her tush, and gamely held on as Carrie continued to slip
and slide. Billy let the comedy continue for almost a minute,
allowing the boy to get in several good gropes before she murmured,
“
Be shoes. Anyone can stand in you
.” Immediately the drama
stopped.

Gasping, Carrie thrust the boy away and
straightened her clothes. Those who had witnessed the scene laughed
and hurried on to class, leaving her friends to fuss over her.

Carrie was too flustered to look around for
the culprit, and hurried inside. However, it wouldn’t be long
before she figured it out.

Smiling cheerfully, Billy made her way to
class. She was going to have to spend the week watching out for
retaliation, but it was worth it. She hummed softly as she sat in
the back of English Lit, smiling broadly when Carrie turned to give
her a death stare. Still smiling, she pulled out her battered
textbook and flipped it open to the current chapter.

Tormenting Carrie made life worth living.

It was a shame that she’d ended up in some of
the same core classes as Carrie. If she hadn’t been held back when
she was younger, if time hadn’t slipped away while she was
Underhill…well, that was life. What mattered was that she was
getting by with a solid C+. She figured if she could just maintain
the status quo, she’d be fine.

Carrie, of course, was charming her way
through the course—literally. Not that it made her a favorite of
Mr. Duncan—he frowned suspiciously every time he was forced to hand
back a nearly perfect paper, but since he couldn’t catch her
cheating, there was nothing he could do. For her part, Carrie spent
most of her time texting, ignoring him.

There was a new student in class today. He
sat up front, farthest from the door, and quietly looked around.
Billy couldn’t see his face, but his ashy blond hair looked…oh,
off,
as if it wanted to be something else.

Frowning, Billy paid more attention, watching
the idle way his left hand tapped his desk. A ring flashed on his
forefinger, mesmerizing as it winked in the light. She blinked and
averted her eyes, then fixed them to the back of his head in sudden
suspicion. She was not close enough to smell him, but that didn’t
mean he wasn’t a troll.

Mr. Duncan rolled his short, pudgy self up to
the podium, hiding his overflowing waistline behind the stout wood.
“Good morning, class. We have a new student today.” He looked at
the newcomer patronizingly. “I hope you know your Edgar Allan Poe,
Mr. Bergtagen.”

“Ja. I know him,” the student said. Though
his German accent was distinct, his English was perfectly
understandable. “Mr. Poe and I are good friends.”

The class laughed, and Mr. Duncan raised a
doubting brow. “Really? Perhaps you’d like to quote something from
him, then? What about a few lines from
The Raven
?”

“Should I stand?” the young man asked,
sounding amused.

“Oh, why not?” Mr. Duncan folded his arms,
looking bored. “Amaze us.”

Bergtagen stood. He wasn’t that tall, but
when he stood, the eye kept traveling up and up. His moves were
lazy, but purposeful; the coiled readiness of a predator. Spooky
green eyes with yellow bits betrayed a confidence beyond his years,
and he was unconcerned with the inspection of so many strangers. He
gazed at the ceiling at the back of the class as if gathering his
thoughts, then looked right at Carrie. He smiled like a serial
killer, and quote,

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I
pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a
tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—
Only this and nothing more.”
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
and each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the
floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt
before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood
repeating
“’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;
This it is and nothing more.”

His German accent flowed in hypnotic cadence,
lending an interest to the poem that Billy had never felt before.
Her short hairs pricked, and her chin came down, a natural
protection for her vulnerable throat. She could feel the menace of
his voice, and it was all she could do not to stand up and answer
it. Her instincts were crying for her to empty the class and deal
with the menace before her.

Poor Carrie must be terrified.

Mr. Duncan was grudgingly
respectful as he said, “Very good, Mr.
Bergtagen. It seems
you do have a passing acquaintance with Mr. Poe. You may have a
seat.