“Caedmon!” Claire was nothing if not persistent. “Borrow what?”
He looked back at her, blinking, while holding Aiden up again so that he could pick a fruit. “Oh, nothing much, my dear. Just a few dozen dragons.”
Chapter Nine
I was saved by the bell—the one on the fro
nt door, to be exact, which took that moment to start clamoring for attention. I gladly gave it some, because the decibel level in the kitchen was mounting. And because I was hoping it was the Girl Scouts, since it didn’t look like I was going to be getting dinner anytime soon.
It wasn’t the Girl Scouts.
It took me a second, because it looked like I had a bunch of clean-cut Mormons on the stoop, who’d decided that they needed extra support for the crazy house, so had brought the whole congregation. But then I noticed that the smiling faces were a little too fixed, the eyes were a little too blank, and the air above their heads was shimmering a little too much. And, suddenly, it was like those dot paintings when you finally see the real picture hidden by the pattern.
Or when you see the large creatures hidden by glamouries that didn’t fit, because Mormons are not twelve feet tall.
I’d have been worried, despite still being inside the house’s formidable wards, because we’d gotten some less-than-friendly visitors in the past and some of them had been tricky. But I had Stinky on my hip, who had a sixth sense for trouble yet was just calmly gnawing on his bear. And then I noticed a familiar pink satin clutch tucked under one burly guy’s arm.
And felt my spine relax.
“You wouldn’t happen to have any muffins?” I asked hopefully.
“Not today.”
“Worth a shot.”
I got out of the way.
The missionaries shoved their way in, and despite the fact that the front door was a double one, it was a tight fit for a few. At least, that was judging by the scraping sounds and the paint flaking off on either side. And by the heaviness of the feet causing the glass in the transom to chime as they passed underneath it.
And, okay, that was weird. Because I knew Olga’s boys, and they weren’t that big. Most of them were family, various relations she and her late husband had helped come over and who she was sponsoring until they started to figure things out.
These didn’t strike me that way, and not just because of the size. The adolescent trolls I’d met had a cheerful innocence about them, like Ymsi with his flowers or Sven with his sword practice, which had caused even the jaded royal guards to crack a few grins, although they usually stifled them when they saw anybody watching. But the point was, the twins were endearing.
These guys . . . I wasn’t sure what vibe I was getting, but I didn’t think “endearing” fit.
I led them to the dining room, because it had the only furniture likely to support them, a sturdy old hardwood dining set built back when craftsmen took their jobs seriously. And because I wanted to check them out before I let them loose on the rest of the house. Not that I didn’t trust Olga, but she didn’t usually have an entourage.
I was glad I’d made that call when I suddenly found myself confronted with a strange group of large, scary-looking fey.
And one small one.
“What’s with him?” I asked Olga, as the little guy was deposited in a chair by the troll who’d been carrying him.
I guessed he was a troll, too, although it was hard to tell. He was smaller than me and scrawny, like a deflated balloon. Where there should have been bulging muscles, there was just loose skin. Where there should have been bright, round eyes, there was only a pair of slits, cloudy and vague looking. And where there should have been a nice greeny brown skin tone, there was a dull ashen color, with patches that looked almost black.
Bruises, I realized.
I hadn’t known trolls could get those.
“Escaped from slavers,” Olga said, taking Stinky from me. She used to babysit him, and had a soft spot for the little guy. But today she looked like she just needed someone to hug.
“Be back in a sec,” I told her, and ran off to find Claire.
She was where I’d left her, yelling something at Caedmon that I didn’t bother to listen to, because I was afraid we were about to have a corpse on our hands. “Got your kit?”
She stopped, mouth still open, and blinked at me. “What?”
“Troll, half-dead. Or maybe more than half. Olga just brought him in.”