Heroic Hearts

TROLL LIFE by Kerrie L. Hughes

“Mommy, it’s an ogre!” a child said loudly.

“Alex, mind your manners,” the woman beside him admonished gently.

Harzl barely glanced up at the human child as he restocked the vending machines on the platform of the Northwest Transfer Station. He knew what he looked like to the offspring of those who dwelled outside the Liminal Subway System. He was used to being gawked at, mistaken for an ogre, or worse, an orc. Never mind that ogres were never less than ten feet tall, and orcs were mythical cannibals.

On the other hand, he was five feet, eight inches tall and thick-limbed, with a shock of purple hair. His skin wavered somewhere between greenish gray and grayish purple, depending on his mood. Currently his mood was bothered, and his skin flushed a bit more purple.

The child ran over to Harzl. “Are you a troll?”

“Good guess, kid,” Harzl replied as he guessed the child to be about seven and unafraid of asking questions. He surmised it would be best to give short answers and make no eye contact.

“Do you live here?” the child asked.

“I do not,” he replied in a careful, even tone cultivated by a decade of customer service. Harzl didn’t stop what he was doing; he had two boxes of snacks to restock and only fifteen minutes until the train arrived with the new station inspector. He wasn’t supposed to know about the surprise inspection, but the trains were sentient and they liked Harzl, so they kept him updated on the gossip.

The Eastern Line train had told the Chicago Line, and the Chicago Line had relayed the information to the Northern Line, which had let him know ten minutes ago when it had dropped off its passengers. Harzl had gotten busy, stashing his mini-TV—which he wasn’t supposed to have—sweeping the platform, and restocking the vending machines.

Normally, when humans or snobby wizards were on the platform, he would stay in the shadows of his service counter by the bulletin boards to avoid these annoying encounters. But he needed to make sure everything was perfect before the “surprise” inspection so he could have this temporary posting made permanent and be one step closer to becoming a station manager. Then he and his pet barghest, Snori, could move out of his cramped subway-level apartment and into a place that actually allowed a beast as large as him on the premises. Snori wasn’t even the largest of his kind, he was no bigger than a St. Bernard, and didn’t drool as much.

The vending machines wouldn’t have been a big deal, but Harzl had a keen craving for chocolate, especially the Cheshire Chocolate Chews. He allowed himself one per day, but sometimes, when the stress of dealing with the public got to be too much, he had two or three, and then he owed money from his check to cover the difference. He’d been written up in the past for complaints about a lack of vending items in this section of the Liminal Subway, and the last inspector knew Harzl had a sweet tooth. He needed to make a good impression on the new one.

Snori, whom he also wasn’t supposed to have at the station while on duty, loved the Carnivore Jerky Treats. It was hard bringing enough food down to keep his pup full and happy, harder still to afford the kind of food a beast like him deserved. Most barghests would hunt rats, rabbits, and the like, but Snori had already eaten all the vermin in the station.

Harzl hadn’t planned on having a pet, but Snori had been left behind in a cage on one of the trains about six months ago. He’d been half the size he was now, with scratches and bites all over him. The poor thing was in sore need of a friend, so the trains had taken pity on him and brought the barghest to Harzl. A high honor considering the trains weren’t just sentient, they were a sacred form of elemental shifter that his clans took care of in exchange for knowledge and cooperation.

“When does the Chicago Line come in?” the woman asked as she came up behind him.

Harzl finished the candy machine, locked it, and saw that the child was staring into the darkness of a seldom-used side tunnel where Snori was hiding. Kids always seemed to know where the dogs were.

The woman was young, with short, choppy dark hair, but she had the look of someone who might complain if he just told her to look at the posted schedule right next to the information desk.

“It should be about ten minutes, ma’am,” he answered with a pleasant smile.

“And where are the bathrooms, please?”

Harzl pointed beyond the vending machines. “Over there, ma’am, right under the bathroom signs.”

“Thank you. I wouldn’t ask, but my glasses were broken yesterday. I can only see about five feet in front of me.”

Harzl felt a tiny pang of guilt, and was glad he had been pleasant. “Sorry to hear that, ma’am, do you need me to walk you over? The platform is uneven in places.”

“No, no, Alex will help me.”

The little boy earnestly took the woman’s hand, and Harzl noticed she had bruises on her neck. The child had a cut on his forehead peeking out from a bomber hat, the kind with ear flaps, but wasn’t wearing a warm enough coat. Instead, he had on an oversized flannel shirt with a T-shirt underneath, and jeans with ripped knees. The thin woman wasn’t any better dressed in a long skirt and a jean jacket. They didn’t look related, but they were familiar.

Harzl inwardly cursed himself for not noticing earlier. They looked like a pair he’d gotten a notice about in the morning updates. Something about a missing child and his nanny.

With a whine, Snori crept out of the tunnel. He was dark gray with big green eyes and a crooked smile with one bottom fang that stuck out a bit. He was a well-muscled beast, but he was also a big baby and didn’t like to be left alone, which was why Harzl brought him to work every day. If he left him at home, Snori just whined and scratched until the neighbors complained. And his neighbors were a witch on one side and a writer on the other—not people to disturb lightly.

“What’s the matter, buddy?”

The barghest snuffed and huffed and shook his butt. He really did look like an oversized bulldog crossed with an undersized bear.

“I can’t play right now, and you need to stay out of sight.”

Snori whined even more at that.

“You have your blanket and teddy. Stay out of sight, Snori,” Harzl said firmly.

The barghest whined a protest one last time, turned around, put his head down, and padded back to the tunnel.

The station was mostly safe, and looked like some of the older subway stations, with the smooth tile and clean architecture of the ’50s. A large tunnel that could accommodate two trains going in opposite directions was off to the east side.

The old tunnel on the west side, where Snori was hiding in an unused alcove, was from the early 1900s. It was in use about a dozen times per month by the old trolleys that serviced some of the more rural stations. The trolleys were also sentient, but they were older and kept to themselves.

In between the tunnels, southward, was the service counter and bulletin boards. Northward was the vending machines and bathrooms. The two sides were divided by four long benches for waiting passengers. If someone missed a train they could catch the next one, but they couldn’t stay the night. This station didn’t have a night guard, and there were things deep in the tunnels that would kill a person if they weren’t careful.

Harzl usually put the errant traveler on the last train before he closed up, and the train would take them to the nearest approved subway motel if they were humanoid, his apartment if they were a troll or aligned with the trolls. He didn’t like it, but that was what was expected in his clan. Trolls helped trolls, and woe be the trollkin that was a poor guest or bad host.

Even though the city of Milwaukee above was busy, the station below was not. The schedule had a mere three stops per day per each of the four main trains, so Harzl saw less than fifty people on an average day. Many were regulars who commuted to work and back. A few were on vacation, or students. Occasionally you’d get the odd runaway or criminal either seeking or running away from crime.

Most people who rode the Liminal system knew the trains were sentient enough to communicate with the station managers, but they didn’t seem to realize that the trains had a mind of their own. Only paranormal beings with proper authorization could use the subway stations, and even then they could only go as far as the trains allowed. The trains knew how far each person could go, and weren’t shy about stopping someone trying to cross the dimensions into the outer protected realms. They didn’t say much, they just dropped interlopers off at the major stations and informed the being on duty that the passenger was in violation.

All of the station managers were trolls, but the busiest stations were manned by witches and half humans who worked for the station manager. Harzl’s oldest sister was in charge of the Denver station; his youngest brother was assistant to the one in Portland. His other two brothers were rangers that patrolled the rural stations on this side of the realms. It was their job to check in with the old trolleys, oversee repairs, and handle numerous problems that could come up when paranormal dimensional travel goes wonky.

His father, an elder of the Hellirverja clan, was a ranger on the other side of the realm and made sure no one crossed that was not allowed. His word was law, and he was disappointed that Harzl had yet to become a station manager or a ranger, and was considering calling him back home to work with him. Harzl didn’t want to go back where he would be expected to get married, have children, and someday become an elder. He hadn’t even gone home for the last few holidays. He just wanted to stay on this side, unburdened by family responsibility, watching television shows, eating junk food, and hanging out with his barghest.

Harzl took the refill box to his counter, put his mini-TV inside, and locked it in the cupboard. He hoped the inspector would just think it was extra vending products and make this a quick inspection. He was going to miss the next episode of British Bakery as it was.

Next, he took off his extra thick black hoodie and put on the itchy station master coat he was supposed to wear every day. It was the coat from the previous station master and too small across the shoulders, but he couldn’t afford a new one and didn’t like wearing it anyway. It was just too uncomfortable.

Then he went to the old fax machine and looked at the BOLO or “be on the lookout” list. Yes, there it was, a flyer of the pair, except she had long hair and the boy was more odd-looking without his hat. He had angles to his face that human children didn’t normally have. He looked like . . . a gargoyle? As in, one of the lost clan gargoyles? Why would the flyer state they were human when they were not?

As Harzl stared at the flyer, the boy in question walked up to the counter without the young woman. Yes, he had a slight forehead ridge, his ears were a bit high, his cap covering most of the telltale signs. But the child had the pale skin of one of the French gargoyles, and his eyes were a startling blue from the side but looked normal straight on. The boy—if he was a boy, many gargoyles were sexless until puberty—was a child aligned with the trolls. Worse, he was probably being trafficked for the extra stone of his as-yet-undeveloped wings. They had magical properties prized by wizards who made dark artifacts. The oversized flannel was trying to cover that particular asset. Harzl folded the paper and stuck it in his back pocket.

“Nan . . . I mean, Mom fainted in the bathroom,” the boy said with urgency.

“Arriving track one, Chicago Line,” the Chicago train projected into Harzl’s head. Which was his cue to announce it over the speakers and clear the tracks. “The station inspector is on board with three other beings; two are wizards, and the other a shifter. I don’t like them. One has the odor of vampire.”

Chicago Line, along with most of the other trains, despised vampires. They wouldn’t say why, which was in keeping with the habits of the gossipy yet personally private trains.

The child ran to the bathroom as the sound of the approaching train filled the station. Could he hear the thoughts of the train? Trolls and gargoyles were of the same magick.

Snori peeked around the corner at Harzl from the other tunnel. This could cost him his job, but he had to do something. Harzl grabbed the “Bathroom Closed” sign from his counter and crossed to them while calling out, “Snori to me!”

Snori came running out with a grin. Harzl opened the women’s room and saw the child over the woman. She was out on the ground. The child bent over her, trying to shake her awake.

“Kid, don’t be scared. I’m Harzl Hellirverja, of the Cavern Clan. This is my . . . dog, Snori, he won’t hurt you.”

Snori stayed next to Harzl until the child looked reassured. Then he snuffled over and butted his head on the boy’s leg. The kid tentatively petted Snori’s head.

Harzl quickly walked to the woman and bent down. She was breathing, but pale and shivering. The bruise on her neck appeared to be more serious, like a vampire bite.

“Who’s after you?” Harzl asked the boy as he took off his station master coat and placed it over the woman.

“Our master,” he stated meekly, like one who was used to being meek. Then he straightened and said more defiantly, “We won’t go back.”

“What is the name of your master?”

“I won’t say it, the spell might call him to us,” the boy stated.

Harzl was proud of the child. Gargoyles had been enslaved for centuries. Most had gone into hiding until paranormal laws had been changed. It was now forbidden for one being to own another, but vampires and wizards were still under the impression they could do what they wanted to whomever they wanted.

“Can I know your names without harm?” Harzl asked in a fashion common among the Fae.

“You can call me Alex, she’s Nancy.”

Harzl was sure the names were fake, but it didn’t matter. “Call me Harzl. Snori will watch over you until everyone is gone. I’m locking this door for your protection. I’m going to call for help. Stay quiet and keep her from panicking if she wakes up.”

Harzl patted Snori on the head and walked out of the bathroom, locking the door from the outside with a master key and posting the closed sign on the door.

The Chicago Line train was parked and waiting for Harzl to give the “all clear” order. Three beings waited on the platform, and two of them, a man and a woman, looked his way. The man had the haughty look of a wizard. Overdressed, an imperious look on the face, eyes set in a manner that made regular beings feel like they were being judged. Rude.

The woman looked away. She was smaller, with curly brown hair, and wore a trench coat, dark pants, and loafers. It seemed she didn’t want to be looked at directly. Probably the shifter. But what kind? Harzl guessed she was wolfen. They had to strip to shift, and often wore loose clothing.

The third person appeared to be the other wizard, a younger one, but she didn’t seem to be with the two. She was dressed in tight jeans and a puffy purple coat. She was using a glamour spell to hide who she really was; Harzl could tell by the slight blurring around her. Why? And where was the station inspector?

Harzl smiled his practiced smile and considered his next move. Pretend he was a passenger waiting for the next train, or reveal himself as the acting station manager? Which ploy would help him control the situation better?

“You there,” called the male wizard, “have you seen the station manager?”

The younger female wizard was beginning to look behind the counter.

“He’s fixing a pipe in the access tunnel, I’m the assistant. What can I help you with?”

Harzl noticed that the younger female wizard moved back from the counter and over to the bulletin board. She probably knew that trolls could see through glamour spells, but maybe not. She was acting suspiciously, and it was hard for him to track what all three were doing at the same time.

The male wizard crossed to him. The shifter stayed by the train with her back to him. Very close to the edge of the tunnel. She was looking out into the darkness.

“Have you seen these two runaways?” the man asked as he held out the flyer without introducing himself or asking Harzl his name. Very rude.

Harzl glanced at it and looked the wizard in the eyes. “No.”

The wizard cocked his head for a split second. “Are you sure? You didn’t even look at it.”

“I saw that this morning when it was faxed to all the stations. If they came through, I would have seen them.”

“Indeed. Well, there’s a reward if they are found.”

The flyer made no mention of a reward. Which meant the wizard thought Harzl was lying and would sell out for money. It also didn’t say that the two were runaways. The wizard was lying about something.

“Try the Madison station,” Harzl replied as he noticed the shifter was now on the other side of the train looking into the dark. She had to be wolfen to see well into the dimly lit tunnel without shifting.

“Why, have you heard something?” the wizard asked as he put the flyer into his outside coat pocket.

“Kids like Madison, most runaways from around here head there,” Harzl replied as he went to his counter and reached for the phone he needed to call for an emergency team. Someone had cut the line, and cell phones didn’t work in the Liminal. The glamoured wizard was clearly avoiding his dark stare now.

The man continued, “I see. Well these two aren’t children and they aren’t from ‘around here.’ ” He was making fun of Harzl’s vernacular. “In fact, I heard from the Chicago station manager that they had been seen on the train that arrived before ours did.”

The female wizard glared at the male wizard, then stuck her tongue out at him. It was a strange gesture. She knew Harzl could see her, but the other two couldn’t. She was communicating something to him. Was she here to help the two in the bathroom? Or did she know who the man was? And why would she damage the phone?

The man saw where Harzl was looking and turned to see what was happening behind him. The female wizard ignored him and pretended to read a bulletin.

The shifter was now by the vending machines. She was sniffing for the pair.

“If you need change I can provide it,” Harzl offered.

She barely stopped what she was doing and glanced at the wizard, who gave her a slight nod. She went back to sniffing.

The female wizard walked between the man and Harzl, then stopped in front of the bathroom, blocking the shifter from her progress.

“I need to use the bathroom . . . please,” she called out to Harzl.

Harzl took a few steps away from the man and toward the bathrooms. Was it his imagination, or did the female wizard resemble Nancy? “The women’s room is closed. I can stand guard if you wish to use the men’s room?”

There was a closet space in between the men’s and women’s rooms with a locked access door on each side. An accomplished wizard could unlock it with magick. If she was here to help, she could tend to Nancy, and if she wasn’t, Snori would stop her.

“Is it gross in there?” she asked with feigned disgust.

“No more so than the women’s room,” Harzl replied with humor.

She laughed and went into the men’s room.

The shifter was now over by the alcove where Snori hid when passengers came through. She looked back at him in surprise. No doubt recognizing the smell of a mutual predator.

“Can I help you with something, ma’am?”

The shifter narrowed her eyes.

“Pay no attention to Jana, she works for me,” the man said.

“You said no names, Spencer,” Jana snapped.

Jana clearly didn’t like Spencer.

Harzl turned back toward the wizard to see that he had a wand out and pointed at him.

Stupidly rude.

“You don’t know much about trolls, do you?” Harzl said.

The wizard responded with a knitted brow. The shifter laughed as she crossed behind Harzl and looked behind the counter. “Trolls are not affected by magick, Spencer, your wand is useless against him.”

It was true. Trolls were immune to most forms of magick involving witches and wizards. They could only be compelled by certain kinds of shifter magick, and even then it was minimal. A being could use a human weapon, but guns did not fire in the Liminal; it was a permanent spell installed long ago. Someone could use a bladed weapon, but trolls had thick skin and were strong enough to beat down most attackers. Any kind of fight in the Liminal system wasn’t smart, as the trains did not take kindly to violence.

Harzl crossed his muscled arms across his chest and stared hard at the wizard. “Why are you here?” he asked with a rumble in his voice.

The wizard looked momentarily embarrassed, then cleared his throat. “That pair are runaways who need to be returned to their parents. I’ve been asked to find and return them. Safely, of course.”

“The flyer says the boy is a child and the female his nanny.”

“It is . . . incorrect.”

Harzl turned to the shifter named Jana as she stepped back from the counter and narrowed her eyes at the men’s room. The scent trail probably told her that the girl with the glamour had cut the phone wire. Which was curious because a glamour spell had a scent a shifter could detect, and the young woman had been on the train with them.

“Why is he here? And why are you, a shifter, helping a wizard?”

“Say nothing, Jana,” the wizard snapped. “I’ll handle this.”

The shifter glanced at Harzl as she walked back toward the train. “The two belong to a very powerful man who employs him. I’m here because I owe Spencer a favor . . . but I’m considering walking away.”

The train door slid open as though offering her a way out. Jana stepped back in surprise, which was odd if she knew about trolls, but not trains.

Harzl realized the train should have already left the station and was waiting for him to give the “all clear” signal, but where was the inspector? Had he misheard the train?

Spencer crossed to Jana and put his hand on her arm. “You can’t afford to walk away. Now please fetch those kids out of the bathroom where they are clearly hiding,” he said in a surprisingly tender voice.

“No being owns another. Get on the train and leave,” Harzl demanded.

“We can’t,” Jana said.

“The train will not leave unless I clear it to leave,” Harzl stated.

“I will have you fired,” the arrogant wizard stated.

“You can complain to my manager, after you leave.”

“Oh, I will,” the wizard said, and gave Jana a small push.

She locked eyes with Harzl, smiled slyly, and spoke a few words of Gothic as she began to take off her trench coat.

Her eyes were brown and gold, the pupils large, and they held his gaze as she disrobed. She was beautiful. What had she said? Something about enchantment? He should have paid more attention when his grand-auntie was teaching the old languages. Why couldn’t he take his eyes off her? Why couldn’t he move? Was she something more than wolfen?

Suddenly, she sprayed something into his face, and his eyes burned! Harzl pulled back, twisting away. He heard more words in Gothic, and his arms felt like lead. He fell to the ground and called out, “I unravel your wretched words!” It was a spell the witch next door had taught him. He didn’t know if it would work.

A door slammed open. Snori barked and growled. A woman screamed. The boy yelled and threatened. A thick white fog of something soothing formed around his head. His arms felt less heavy. He could hear a low hum of music. Something his grand-auntie used to sing. Was it Scottish? A woman’s face formed in the cloud and reached a hand down to him, wiping his face. Was he dreaming?

Snori was giving someone a very hard time.

Harzl struggled up, his eyes mostly cleared; it had to have been bear spray. The mist was so thick he couldn’t see more than two feet in front of him.

“Harzl? Should I go for help?” the train called into his head.

Alex screamed and cried.

“Stand by, Chicago Line!” Harzl roared his frustration and willed himself forward. He nearly tripped over the girl in the purple coat as she flew backward, out of the bathroom, as though she had been thrown.

The mist swirled around her on the ground; she was bleeding from the nose, but was alive.

“Snori!” Harzl called out.

The barghest responded with a mighty “Aroooo ro ro ro!” that shook the walls. The mist retreated, and Harzl advanced toward the bathroom.

The stupid wizard came out, wand drawn, the boy struggling as Spencer held him by the neck. Growling rose up from deeper within, Jana, and was met by Snori’s deep warning. The shifter didn’t know what she was getting into.

“Let us leave!” Spencer demanded.

“Let them go, and get on the train,” Harzl responded, knowing the train would lock them inside.

Spencer aimed his wand at the boy’s head. Harzl took two steps forward, pulled his arm back, and punched the wizard in the collarbone. The wizard screamed as he fell to the ground, releasing the boy and dropping his wand.

The wolfen charged out and leaped onto Harzl, knocking him backward, showing teeth and desperation. She launched off him and ran off.

Snori gave chase, nearly knocking Harzl the rest of the way to the ground. “Snori, stop!” he called out as the barghest chased the shifter into the tunnel that led north to Green Bay.

Snori didn’t stop.

“Snori, come back!” he called out.

Alex was pulling at the girl in the purple coat on the ground. “Get up, Cortney, we have to go!”

The girl steadied herself and made eye contact with Spencer. They both scrambled to get the wizard’s wand. She got it first and pointed it at the man. “You killed my sister, Spencer Beaumont.”

“She committed suicide when she became a bloodbag,” Spencer snapped back as he winced through the pain of his shattered collarbone.

Bloodbag was the derogatory word for anyone who allowed vampires to feed from them in exchange for money, protection, and prestige, or what the newer generation called the blood life.

Cortney aimed the wand at Spencer.

“Cortney, you know what will happen if you kill me. They’ll hunt you down.”

“What about Nancy? What justice does she get? Or do her precious vampires only care about what they want?”

Harzl didn’t want to listen to this drama, and he didn’t care why the wizards were working with vampires. He just wanted to fetch Snori before the barghest got hurt.

The mist re-formed and swirled around the three in front of him. “Calm yourselves,” said a melodic female voice.

The wizards stopped what they were doing in shock. The mist flowed into the bathroom and Harzl followed. He cursed himself for not realizing that this was the inspector—and she was a banshee.

The banshee pulled together into its floating female form and reached down to Nancy. “She is alive, but fading; we need to get her to help, we cannot wait for it to arrive,” she said in a lovely, haunting voice.

“I can get her on the train,” Harzl said.

The banshee floated away from Nancy as Harzl bent down to scoop her up. She was as light as a wee child but did not smell of death yet, just vampires, blood, subway, and magick.

Cortney followed as Harzl placed her carefully on the longest seat in the back of the train. The banshee was now a fully formed being and sat beside Nancy. She was a mature, wispy woman with long white hair, very pale skin, and gray eyes. She wore a long dress of light gray under a matching uniform coat with an inspector patch and a name tag: Gwyn Ivershae.

“I am pleased to meet you, Madam Ivershae.” Harzl greeted her in the manner of his clan, with a slight bow and his eyes on her eyes.

She returned the greeting. “I am pleased to meet you, Harzl Hellirverja.”

The train door closed. Harzl, Cortney, and Gwyn turned to look as Spencer banged on it with his good hand. “Let me on, you stupid train!”

“He is very rude,” the Chicago Line projected into Harzl’s and Gwyn’s heads.

“Very rude indeed,” Gwyn agreed.

“I will hold him here until you send back help. I need to find the shifter and fetch back . . . that is . . . I need to get Sn—the child . . .” Harzl stammered. He’d nearly said Snori’s name, and he wasn’t sure if the inspector had seen him. For all she knew, two shifters had run down the tracks.

Gwyn held up her hand. “Do not worry, you have your obligations. I see one of them has just run away,” she said, her gaze out the window.

Harzl looked out; the gargoyle boy was gone.

The wizard cursed, cradled his bad arm, and headed off toward the trolley tunnel.

Cortney started for the door behind Harzl. “We have to save him. The vampires will tear him apart for helping Nancy escape.”

“Your sister needs a transfusion,” Gwyn said. “I can do a magickal one on the way to the next station.”

Cortney looked down at her sister, and then to Gwyn, and finally to Harzl. “Please save him. We owe him everything.”

Harzl dipped his head. “Of course,” he said, and left the train in pursuit. The sooner he saved the child, the sooner he could save Snori.

The wizard picked his wand up from the ground to see that it was broken in half. Harzl grabbed him by the good arm and pushed him into the men’s room.

“Take your hands off me!” he protested as Harzl slammed the door shut and locked him inside. Then he went into the women’s room and locked the closet on that side, effectively jailing the wizard until help arrived.

“Northern Line will be here in twenty minutes,” the Chicago Line said as it slowly left the station.

“Great, that gives me fifty minutes to get the child, find my barghest, and disappear,” Harzl said to himself. It had been a great job while it lasted, but he knew he would need to get both beings to the outer lands for safety. He didn’t trust the paranormal or human governments to do the right thing.

Harzl grabbed three things from behind the counter: his hoodie, his knapsack, and a security flashlight. If there had been any of the chocolate left outside the vending machines he would have taken one for the road. He would miss this job.

The trolley tunnel was barely lit at the entrance, and would get darker as they went. The kid would be terrified somewhere between the end of the platform and the beginning of the older part. That was where a crossway turnaround would force him to make a choice: wander into the dark unknown, or come back.

Harzl heard crying from nearby; he shined his light along the ground but found nothing, then searched above. There he was, sitting on top of a brick ledge behind some of the power grid; it was a bad place to be.

“Alex, stay put. I’ll come to you and help you down.”

“No! I’m not going back!”

“Alex . . .”

“My name isn’t Alex, it’s Alazavier Marcelle duFrancdeparis, they just call me Alex because they don’t want to learn my name. They don’t want me to have a name.”

“Hello, Alazavier Marcelle duFrancdeparis, I am Harzl Hellirverja of the Cavern Clan, and I will help you.”

“You . . . said my name correctly?”

“Names are important.”

“Do you know what I am?”

“I know you are a gargoyle, and from your name you are from the Paris clan.”

“My mother was from the Paris clan. I am from nowhere.”

“How old are you, Alazavier?”

“I’m seven in gargoyle years.”

Harzl knew gargoyles counted time by the Gregorian calendar, but they didn’t count the time they spent as stone. “What are you in human years?”

“As far as I know, thirteen. They keep me in stone as punishment. Now they want to sell me to that wizard’s people so they can take my wings.”

“Who claims to own you?”

“That vampire clan in Chicago, I can’t say their name or they can track me.”

Harzl knew who he was talking about, the Vertasoturi Clan. They claimed to be an example of modern vampire cooperation, but many of the paranormals knew it was just another trade-off. They had to join an unjust clan to escape violent human justice.

“Alazavier Marcelle duFrancdeparis, you are no longer a slave. The laws that allowed gargoyles to be enslaved were abolished before you were born. I am honor bound to take you to safety.”

The kid looked hopeful. “How do I know you aren’t lying?”

“I am a troll. I swear on my clan that I am telling you the truth.”

It was a long few seconds of listening to beetles and rats crawling along the walls. Finally, the squeak of a bat seemed to prompt the kid. “Okay, I’m coming down.”

“Careful, don’t touch those cables,” Harzl said as he reached up to catch him if he slipped.

Harzl waited until the kid brushed himself off. “Alazavier, before we leave, I need your help with something.”

“What?”

“I need your help finding Snori. He went down the other tunnel chasing that shifter, and I have to rescue him and get him to safety too.”

“What about the shifter? Will you kill her?”

“No, it is a part of the troll code. We do not kill unless we have to, and we only have to if it is to save ourselves or another being.”

“What if they threaten someone? What if you know they will kill someone if you let them go?”

“That is a difficult choice, one that rarely comes up. It is a big thing to kill another being because you think they might do harm. Trolls believe we must persuade and protect without killing. Death should be a last resort.”

“That’s not what vampires think.”

“I don’t know much about them; perhaps you can tell me as we walk.”

“I’d like that.”

They didn’t get ten feet down the tunnel before they heard Snori bellow, “Arooo ro ro!”

They both stopped and looked behind them.

“Did that come from behind us?” Alazavier asked.

Then Snori let out a high-pitched squeal: “Hiiiyipe!”

Harzl’s heart felt like it leaped into his throat. “The tunnel intersects back that way; it’s a dangerous section but shorter to the new tunnels.”

“Then we have to go,” the kid said, and led the way back to the intersection.

“Wait, I will take the lead; you watch my back and listen for anything that sounds suspicious,” Harzl insisted.

“What would be a suspicious sound in here?”

Harzl wasn’t sure he should list the many things that lived in subway tunnels, but decided to give the kid a chance. “Rats can grow large and a few hunt in packs; they make a scurry sound and smell like vermin.”

“I’m used to that, mice crawl around in the basements of the Vertasoturi buildings. If you hold still long enough, you can kick them across the room.”

The tunnel crossover was full of debris. Harzl could see that the old wooden rails had been stacked off to the left side in piles. He stopped and cast his light around. Water dripped from the ceiling ahead. Some of the ceiling tiles were in a suspiciously neat pile, as though someone was sorting them. The last time he’d been down here, they were scattered. And was that blood he smelled? It was hard to tell when both he and the kid had blood on their clothes.

“I wasn’t torturing them; they would bite me when I slept,” the kid said, possibly thinking Harzl was silent because he disapproved.

Harzl spoke quietly, “I was not judging you. I am suspicious of what’s ahead. Stay close and be prepared for me to pick you up in case we—”

“There we go, and here you are, tarry not, you won’t get far.” A singsong voice with the inflection of a madman echoed down the tunnel. It seemed to come from farther ahead.

Something moved ahead, and then something else dragged.

Harzl crouched down and shut off the flashlight. Only the ambient light of the tunnel on the other side of the crossover helped them to see.

“What is happening?” Alazavier whispered. “Who’s down there?”

“Tunnel ghoul,” Harzl replied. “He is like a vampire, but not a vampire.”

“What should we do?” the kid whispered.

“We wait.”

Alazavier got closer to Harzl, and Harzl put his arm around him. “Courage.”

“You cannot leave, you are now mine, be my lovely Valentine,” the tunnel ghoul sang from farther ahead.

“Stop . . . please,” said a very faint female voice.

It had to be the shifter. She sounded hurt. But where was Snori?

Harzl started to move ahead, but the kid held him back. “Shouldn’t we go back?”

“No, he has someone, and Snori might be hurt. You can take the flashlight and go back.”

“No, I won’t leave you . . . alone,” the kid said. Harzl was sure he was too afraid to go back by himself.

“You are brave, Alazavier. You helped your friends escape, and now you are helping me.”

Harzl couldn’t see the kid’s face, but he was sure he would try to live up to the compliment. They both started creeping forward, the kid holding tightly onto the strap on Harzl’s knapsack. It was tricky picking steps around the debris without the light. The kid stubbed his toe and almost cried out.

Harzl got an idea. He stopped and opened his knapsack, then took out his apartment keys and took off a small keychain light. “Here, take this, it doesn’t give off much light, but you’ll be able to see where you’re stepping.”

The kid took it and turned it on; it was an oval disc of neon green and the button had to be pressed constantly to work. “Thanks,” he said as he shined it at the ground, making a one-foot circle of weak light.

They picked their way over the tiles and bricks until they came to the newer tunnel. Harzl held Alazavier back and handed him the flashlight. “This can be used like a bat; it has a flashing setting to alert incoming trains, but can be used to shine in the ghoul’s eyes if he comes near you.”

The kid took it silently and gave Harzl the smaller flashlight. Harzl put it in his pocket and peeked around the corner to the north. Snori was lying on the tracks.

“I shall hang you with the twine, sweet and pretty, wolfen mine,” the ghoul sang again.

It was coming from the crossover near where Snori lay. It sounded closer because that crossover used to be a turnaround when this was the end of the line. It formed a circle with an old office in the middle where winter supplies used to be kept.

“Alazavier, Snori is ahead, I don’t know if . . . I don’t know how he is. Take my knapsack. There is a water bottle and his favorite snack inside. I must go to the next crossover and see what can be done. You stay with Snori if he’s alive and keep the Northern train from hitting him by flashing the light when you hear it coming. If I don’t come back, or the ghoul comes for you, you run to the station and wait for the Northern Line, tell him what has happened.”

The kid nodded and they moved out into the tunnel. The light was dim along the active tunnels, but it was better than the light in the crossover.

Harzl bent down and examined Snori. It looked as though the barghest was unconscious. His front leg was most likely broken. Snori moved a bit and sputtered out his soft snore. Harzl was never happier to hear his goofy buddy make his doggy sounds.

Alazavier shined the light on him and looked him over. “I think he’s out cold; I’ll try to wake him and get him out of here.”

Harzl wasn’t sure Snori could walk, but he didn’t want to argue since he might not come back from facing the ghoul, and then the kid would have to leave Snori behind. He thought for a moment; he should just pick up Snori and take him back to the station himself, then come back for the shifter. It was stupid to go in without a plan and a weapon. He could try to at least get him off the tracks, back to the other tunnel.

“No . . . no . . . stop,” he heard Jana say, and then start crying and choking as the ghoul chuckled.

“Try to get him to the tunnel,” Harzl said to the kid as he leaped up onto the narrow platform and headed into the darker tunnel where the sound came from. He didn’t know if ghouls were sexual, but he wasn’t going to let the cursed thing kill her like this.

The platform was littered with bricks, and he picked one up. He knew from the Liminal wanted posters that the thing was the size of a thin human male and wore a tattered Victorian suit and top hat. He also knew it would bleed if you hit it. The Northern Line had said as much when it had thrown the ghoul against the wall after it had jumped on its back stairs and tried to attack passengers. They were still waiting for a ranger to come out and take care of the problem.

“I should have taken care of it myself,” he grumbled as he found himself blocked by a stack of old vending machines.

He pulled the little flashlight out of his pocket and shined it down on the tracks before jumping. It was only a few feet down, but the debris made everything treacherous. He quickly headed to the old office.

A faint light gleamed inside, he didn’t know from what. It was possible the ghoul was using an oil lamp or flashlight from the old supplies. The door had been torn off long ago and there was a large window on each side, but both were boarded up. He looked around for a weapon better than a brick.

Jana was whimpering; he couldn’t be slow about this.

“Hey, asshole!” he yelled so the ghoul would stop whatever he was doing.

Everything was painfully quiet. The light inside went out.

“Whooo goes there?” the ghoul finally said.

“I am Harzl Hellirverja! Come out and play with someone who isn’t hurt!”

“She’s mine, fair and square, I won her from the bear!”

This was annoying, and the train would be here soon. Harzl couldn’t speak with it until it slowed down. It wouldn’t hear him over its own wheels. He needed to get Snori off the tracks.

He put his keychain on the platform and then set the brick on it so the light would stay on. Then he stepped back, moved to the other side of the door, and flattened himself down against the platform wall. “Come out and have a chance to run, or I’ll come in there and beat you down!”

A train rumbled from far away.

Harzl saw the flashing light as the kid tried to stop the train. He hadn’t been able to move Snori.

Jana howled like a wolfen.

Harzl stood up to charge.

The ghoul ran out and scrambled away from the light Harzl had planted, slamming into Harzl’s chest. He heard something metal clatter to the ground. The ghoul tried to run, but Harzl grabbed it by the neck. It fought back, flailing its arms and legs against Harzl’s stranglehold. The foul thing smelled terrible, like a pit of vermin. Harzl couldn’t see him clearly but he didn’t need to in order to break his neck, just like Snori did to the rats that infested the tunnels. He used both hands and twisted as the thing squealed as loudly as one hundred rats. The snap was not satisfying, but the cessation of its voice was.

A flashing light came running down the old tracks to Harzl as the train got closer.

“Harzl!” Alazavier called as the train surged by, air and light whooshing around him as he approached. The train hadn’t stopped.

Harzl dropped the body of the ghoul to the ground and bellowed for the soul of his lost little buddy. “Snori!”

“Arooo ro ro” came back through the tunnel.

“I got Snori to wake up enough to get him to the other tunnel.”

Harzl dropped to his knees and pulled Alazavier to him. “Thank you.”

A whimper came from the office. The kid pointed the flashlight, and Harzl stood ready. Jana limped out in wolfen form.

“Stay back, I’ll get her.” Harzl went up the crumbling stairs and saw her fall to the ground; she shimmered and shifted back to human form.

He took off his extra heavy hoodie and wrapped her in it as he helped her to her feet. The hoodie was long on her, but he could see a deep gash in her left leg.

“Can you walk?”

“I think so,” she said as she put weight on her leg and winced.

“What happened to you?” Alazavier asked.

She looked up, startled; she hadn’t realized the gargoyle boy she was after was holding the light that illuminated her injury.

“That . . . thing, skewered me with a knife to . . . well, to trap me. It told me it was going to eat me. What was it?”

The kid answered before Harzl could, “A tunnel ghoul, it’s like a vampire but not a vampire.”

Harzl looked around his feet and located the bloody knife. It was short but sharp and had a handle carved into an intricate wolf. Jana stepped backward when he picked it up.

“Did you bring this with you? It has a wolf carved on the bone handle and the blade is silver.” Silver would have kept her from shifting.

She didn’t answer. It was clear she was more than wolfen. One of her parents, or grandparents, had to have been a witch. It would explain how she knew the old language and had been able to enchant him.

“I’ll give this back to you once we get Snori to safety,” Harzl said as he descended the stairs and then stopped to wait for her.

She tried not to wince as she came down the steps, holding on to the railing.

Alazavier stepped forward. “You take the flashlight, I’ll help her. You’ll need to carry Snori.”

“A good plan,” Harzl agreed with pride as he took the flashlight and put the knife in his knapsack side pouch.

“Why are you helping me?” Jana asked with suspicion.

Again Alazavier spoke before Harzl could answer. “Because it’s the right thing to do.”

He was a good kid. Harzl committed to getting him to his father for protection.

They made their way to the barghest, and Harzl bent down so he could hug his best friend. Snori held his injured leg close, but wiggled his butt and tail in excitement. He whined and yipped greetings while Harzl looked him over. “What happened to you, buddy?”

Jana supplied the answer from a safe distance; she was leaning on Alazavier’s shoulder. “He chased me down the tracks and tried to corner me; we tussled and I unshifted. He didn’t know what to do when I was naked. Then that ghoul attacked your . . . dog . . . with a shovel and I ran. I’m sorry.”

“How do you carry that knife when you’re, uh, naked?” Alazavier asked.

“An arm strap.”

“How’d the ghoul get you if you ran?”

“He threw a brick at my head.”

Harzl had had enough of the questioning. “Northern Line, can you hear me?”

“Yes, what do you need?” it projected into his head.

“Please come back through the tunnel slowly. Snori has a broken leg, another passenger has a deep wound, and I need to get them help.”

“I will be there momentarily.”

Snori growled.

“Don’t move,” came Spencer’s arrogant voice from the darkness of the crossover tunnel. Then he emerged, a wand in his good hand, aimed at Snori.

Harzl stood up and stepped past Snori, blocking off the rude wizard’s aim. “Your wand was broken, wizard.”

“It’s Nancy’s wand. I assure you it will work as well for me as it did for her.”

“That’s not Nancy’s or Cortney’s wand,” Alazavier stated.

Harzl could see on Spencer’s face that the kid was right. “Did you use the duct tape from my counter?” he asked as he noted that the Northern Line train was edging toward them.

“Shut up, it worked well enough to muffle my footsteps, it will work well enough to blast your pet monster.”

Harzl took a step forward; Spencer stepped back, tripping over his own feet and falling to the ground. He did his best not to cry out at the pain from his broken collarbone, but failed.

“Stop being a dick, Spencer, you’ve lost,” Jana said. “The girls are gone and you can’t take the boy. I won’t let you.”

“Damn it, Jana, you know what will happen if I go back. Those accursed vampires will kill me, and they won’t be quick about it.”

Jana hobbled over to him. “Look at me, Spencer.”

“Oh god . . . what happened to you?”

“A tunnel ghoul got me and these two saved me. Spencer, we have to walk away from this. Let me help you. We’ll find another way to get you out of this mess.” She put out her hand.

Harzl stepped back; they could work out their drama without him. The train waited patiently while he and the kid got Snori inside. Spencer and Jana helped each other get on behind them.

Snori watched the Chicago Line come into the station. It had been one month since Snori had broken his leg.

“Arrival, one passenger, the station inspector,” Chicago Line announced.

“Thank you, Chicago Line,” Harzl answered as he put away his tiny TV. He had been catching up on his shows but didn’t enjoy them very much anymore. He had to leave Snori at home with Alazavier watching over him until his buddy mended. The vet bills were enormous, and he was going to be in debt for a long time. No more Cheshire Chocolate Chews or Carnivore Jerky Treats for either one of them.

Gwyn Ivershae disembarked. He hadn’t seen or spoken to her since everything had happened. All of their communication had been by fax and had concerned fixing the station and cleaning up the mess. She had let him know that both Nancy and Cortney were well and free from the vampires. She hadn’t asked about Snori, and he didn’t say anything about the barghest. He was worried he was about to be fired for keeping Snori at the station.

Jana had stopped by two days ago to return Harzl’s freshly laundered hoodie. She apologized for her role in subduing him, and explained that Spencer Beaumont had been a lawyer working for a powerful wizard family but had run afoul of them and been sold to the vampires. As if they had a right. They had said they would free him if he brought back Nancy and the gargoyle. Jana helped him out because she owed him for something he had done for her last year. They seemed to have a thing for each other, but Harzl didn’t care about that, it wasn’t any of his business. Drama was only fun when it was on the television.

“Harzl Hellirverja, it’s good to see you again,” the banshee greeted him.

Harzl came out from behind the counter. “Pleased to see you as well, Gwyn Ivershae.”

She looked the same as she had that day, long gray dress and coat, long white hair.

“Are you here to inspect the new construction?” Harzl asked when she didn’t say anything more.

“I am, but I’m also here to find out how Snori and the gargoyle child are doing. And don’t worry, you have my word that they have been, and will be, left out of any report I make. I know you have your obligations.”

Harzl relaxed for the first time in a month. “Thank you, Gwyn Ivershae.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t say so earlier; I can see this has weighed heavily on you.”

“Do not worry about me. Snori is resting from his injuries, and the boy is tending to him.”

“He’s staying with you?”

“Yes, his people are aligned with mine.”

“Of course. And what will become of him once Snori is healed?”

“I’ll be taking them both to my father’s clan.”

“Oh? I thought the barghest was your pet?”

“He is, but I can’t let him stay at home all day by himself, and I know I can’t bring him here anymore.”

“Are you coming back?”

“I am, but only until I can pay off Snori’s vet bills, and then I will have to resign.”

“What if I said I would like to offer you the station manager position?”

“I would say thank you, but I have to think about my options.”

“What if I said you could keep Snori with you as the official rat catcher? The trains are fond of both of you.”

“Then I would say yes.”

“Excellent, the trains will be pleased.”

Harzl felt a gladness in his soul. He could have the job he liked and keep his little buddy. His father would take care of the gargoyle boy, and it would give him a good excuse to go home during the holidays. Something he hadn’t done in years, because he’d always felt like the odd sibling. Now he had something to look forward to other than the next season of British Bakery.