Troll Tunnels Read online

  “Very well,” she said at length. “You can put it off until next year — earlier is better than later, though. He’s not as young as he used to be.”

  Which could mean a whole host of things in the magical community. Which he was indeed part of.

  “All right, all right. I’ll enter a reminder in my phone now.” I suited actions to words, setting up a reminder for the first Wednesday of January. I made work schedules for the following week on Wednesdays, and this would ensure that I could schedule the time off from work.

  While I was at it, I entered a note into my reminder app, headed “In case of Carole’s death.” I wasn’t wild about the blunt nature of the title, but it got the point across, and if she was right, I was probably going to need something that blunt to remind me what I was supposed to do. I wasn’t ready to lose my mentor and friend, probably never would be. “Just for the record, I’d still prefer a hard pass on all of this.”

  “No, you wouldn’t. You have an excessive sense of responsibility, which is probably why you try to avoid it so much. Once you commit to a course of action, you will not turn aside. Anyway, I should let you get back to work. I just wanted to make sure you knew to come here.”

  “When the darkness comes. Got it.” I put my cellphone away, but her words continued to trouble me. It wasn’t responsibility I avoided — it was ambition. She was right about my commitment, though. And I didn’t even want to think about what sort of darkness might be coming, although with both a goddess of chaos and a dark muse intent on revenge, I had a couple of candidates.

  The afternoon passed with the usual comings and goings of customers, and I started looking forward to the end of my shift. I’d only been attending for a few weeks, but I’d come to enjoy the weekly get-together of witches at Maggie’s house on Monday evenings.

  The business phone rang just as three customers walked in. The two women wore skinny jeans, while the guy had on a kilt, which struck me as a bit cool in this weather. All perfectly normal for Boston, though. I held up a finger to indicate I’d be right with them, then grabbed the phone. “Wicked Whatever—”

  “It’s me.” Rich, calling five minutes before he was due on shift. Second time in less than a month that he’d pulled this crap, too. Before I could say anything, though, he said, “I quit,” and hung up.

  I stared at the phone for a couple seconds, wishing Rich was here so I could throw it at him. My temper fired off my magic, making the espresso machine behind me vent steam. As responses from me go, that was pretty mild. My magic had two spontaneous outlets — electrical and revenge. If I let it escape unchecked, machinery around me often showed my displeasure. If I controlled it, I could literally hex someone with my phone. I would not, however, use my hand-crafted revenge app Bitter to strike at him. I reserved that for people who hurt those I cared about, and even then, I used the mildest hex I could.

  Rich hadn’t hurt anyone but me — and I’d been expecting this for a while, wondered if he’d been working two jobs, which might be why my reaction had been so mild. I plastered a smile to my face and looked at the customers. “What can I get you today?”

  Their drinks didn’t take long to prepare — a mug with a teabag and steaming hot water, another mug with peaberry, and a glass of milk were hardly the work of a couple of minutes. I set the tray down on their table. “If you need refills, there’s coffee and hot water over there. Did you need anything else?”

  At their murmured reassurances, I headed toward the office to make some phone calls. I had to find someone to cover for Rich today, then rejigger the schedule to cover until I could hire someone new. And I’d forgotten to tell Rich to turn in his key and do an exit interview, so I needed to text him about that. Odds were, he would ignore the text.

  Ximena answered on the second ring. “Hello, Pepper. What do you need?”

  “Be still my heart,” I said dryly. “Such a warm greeting.”

  “I’m expecting a phone call. Please tell me you don’t want me to come in.”

  “If you can’t make it today, I understand, but Rich just quit, so I’m going to need you to pick up a couple extra shifts this week.” I flicked open the spreadsheet program on the computer that I used to track requested slots and time off.

  She groaned. “He would. What did he do, fling his key at you in front of the customers?”

  “No, he didn’t even bother coming in.” I saved the spreadsheet with a new version number, then deleted Rich. Ouch — tomorrow was the only day this week he wasn’t supposed to be in. Probably why he’d done it this week, too, to make maximum trouble. “I’m going to have a locksmith in to change the locks, then e-mail Kendall to let her know what’s going on.”

  “Is that really necessary?” Before I could answer, she said, “Hang on,” then I heard her muffled voice and her wife responding in the background. No doubt she was telling Missy what had happened and asking which days worked best for her to take. After a moment, she said, “Okay, I’m back. Do you really think you have to have a locksmith in?”

  “Maybe not. With most people, I might not even think about it. But he’s been rather vindictive since I got promoted over him, and the last-minute quitting is setting off all kinds of alarm bells. He might not do anything, but better safe than sorry.”

  “If you say so. I don’t think Kendall’s going to be wild about the expense, though.”

  No, she wouldn’t, but the coffee shop was more profitable now than it had been when I’d been promoted to manager, so she’d probably accept my judgement. And I simply didn’t trust Rich. Even if he’d turned in his key, I would have the locks changed on the off-chance he’d made a copy.

  “Okay, I can come in today, although not for another hour. And I can pick up two shifts later in the week, but that’s it.”

  “Thanks. You’re a lifesaver!” I made a note in her folder about how much of a team player she was, detailing the circumstances, and added that she deserved a pay raise if at all possible.

  Nothing to do now but call the locksmith to make sure Rich couldn’t come in. And maybe create a little extra insurance that he wouldn’t enter on his own.

  I peeked out to the main room. The trio sat casually talking, and all looked well. The regulars tapped at keyboards or drew in their sketchpads. No one seemed to need attention right now. Good! I sat back down at my desk, touched one hand to my computer’s power cord, and closed my eyes to concentrate. Around me, I could feel the wards of the shop, double-layered to keep out inimical spirits and germs, silver-blue and twining green. Time to add a third layer.

  What I wanted was an extension of the two that were already there, not so much keeping out malevolent creatures as preventing them from acting on the shop itself — something facing outward, reflecting intent on the users and barring them entry, a layer that prevented the harmful act in the first place. The green, growing layer had some of that inherent in its nature, which was why the dark muse had found the coffee shop so unwelcoming to visit, but I needed it stronger — a barrier that would take both great will and power to cross. That should keep Rich out. He was an ass, but he wasn’t much of one for fortitude.

  And this was the essence of my technowitchery, revenge and turning people’s actions against them. Not actively wishing them harm, but letting them choose. Almost unbidden, power rushed from me, flowing in flickering reds and oranges to barricade the building, crafting a sheath around the wards already present, a blunt layer prepared to reflect the simplest attacks. In almost as little time as it takes to describe it, the layer was complete.

  The sudden outflow left me light-headed, and I raised my hand to my forehead and took a couple quick breaths. It was as though my true nature relished being unleashed, tired of the constraints I put upon it with all these other magics I studied. That shook me a little; I would not be that person, driven by maniacal revenge. In fact, at the moment, I couldn’t be that person, as I felt barely able to stand. I needed some revivifying tea to perk me up. Carole had given me a recipe
that increased magic recovery — I’d brew some when I was done in here.

  First, though, the spreadsheet needed work. I put Ximena in for the closing shift for the day, then printed a list of the other shifts that needed to be filled. I’d post it in the break room so she could pick the ones she wanted — and so the other employees could add some time if they wanted as well. Then I posted a couple quick ads online including adding a crawler to our website about an opening — the job description was easy, as nine out of ten coffee shops in Boston used variations on the same language, and I still had the text I’d used when we hired Freddy and Trish. And as tempting as it might be to try to use magic to make sure the right people saw the ad, so I didn’t wind up with someone else like Rich, that felt unethical to me, if it would even work, which I wasn’t sure of. I played it straight. After that, I called the locksmith to set up an appointment for the next morning. I’d have to trust to the ward to keep Rich out overnight.

  Managerial work done, I went back up front to wait for Ximena’s arrival so I could make good my escape.

  Chapter 3

  Outside, I felt the nip of the wind as I headed home. People pushed by in both directions, no more eager to be outside than I was. The forecast said we might get a bit of snow late this week — which could be anything from an imaginary flake to the predicted half a foot — followed by temperatures in the seventies this weekend and maybe more snow next week. I wasn’t convinced about the weekend, although I didn’t want to bet against Harvey Leonard, but the snow seemed likely.

  As I neared the Chinatown T stop, my steps felt a touch heavier, life more rock solid. The trolls were out, or at least one of them was. I looked around and spotted the one I called Russet just inside the stairs leading down. Taller than the humans around him, he was primarily noticeable for his shaggy and curly red hair. Most people didn’t seem to notice he was there, although foot traffic flowed around him as if he were a solid pillar. He was obviously looking for me, so I entered the T and headed for a place away from the passengers waiting for the next train, just beyond the system map.

  “I would have spoken to you out there,” he said as soon as I stopped moving.

  “I’m sure you would have, but some of us prefer not to be chilled if we can help it.”

  “You will be more chilled soon.”

  “I saw the weather forecast. Maybe it won’t be that bad.”

  His rumble of disagreement vibrated up through my soles. “Not that. It is time to do repairs. I know Iárn has spoken of this to you.”

  Iárn was, as best as I could tell, the leader of the trolls who lived here in the Boston T. Everyone else took their signals from him — whether to help me, whether to watch me, whether to make me do their dirty work.

  I sighed. “Where and when?”

  “We are going north and west. To Canada.”

  “I don’t have a passport.” I was pretty sure that the days of crossing with a driver’s license or a birth certificate were long past, though my parents had told me of weekend trips to Montréal when they were dating.

  “You don’t need one. Do you not remember our travels?”

  I did. When I was trying to move quickly to save my friend Beth, Russet and one of his friends had helped me, opening a tunnel in the wall behind me and whisking me off to the suburbs faster than the T could have. I couldn’t see anything, only knew I was moving because my inner ear went crazy, and was too stunned to say anything about it when we reached the other end. Now he wanted to take me much farther.

  “Where in Canada?”

  “To the chasm.”

  That cleared things up nicely.

  I couldn’t tell whether he was deliberately being difficult or not. He obviously understood geography and countries, so I would be surprised if he didn’t also know major regions like provinces or major cities. On the other hand, I suppose he didn’t have to know ahead of time where the chasm was — he might feel its presence the same way I sensed magical creatures, and just navigate to it by instinct.

  “I’m not going to Canada today. I have things I need to get done.”

  “Not today,” he agreed. “We will find you when it is time. Do not worry overmuch. You can do this.” He rested his hand on my shoulder, and its heat startled me. “Iárn would not ask you if there was any doubt.”

  “Iárn makes a habit of judging witch potential, does he?”

  “No, but you have shown what you can do already. You stopped those making the holes; you were stronger than them. You must be strong enough to fix what they have done.”

  That wasn’t the way it worked. It always took less work, less knowledge, to destroy things, break them, add entropy to the system. If I stopped one of my kids from disassembling the bathroom plumbing, that didn’t mean I could fix the pipes they’d already taken apart.

  I was about to say as much to Russet, too, but when I met his eyes, they had a glint of humor and a hint of warning in them. He knew what he’d said wasn’t the whole story, but Iárn had told him I must do this, and as far as Russet was concerned, that ended the matter. He wasn’t going to argue with Iárn, and neither was I. I might be many things, but foolish enough to argue with a huge troll that cows other trolls? That wasn’t one of them, not without good cause.

  “I hope he’s right.”

  “As do I. If we fail, it will not go well for me.”

  That wasn’t a response I expected. “What do you mean?”

  “I should not have said anything.”

  “No, really — what won’t go well? If you have something hinging on my performance, I ought to know about it.”

  “Do not concern yourself. There is nothing you can do to change troll life.” The humor resurfaced, muted. “But do try your best not to fail.”

  “I usually do.” My conscience twinged, but I ignored it. I didn’t try to fail. I just didn’t try to exceed expectations. I started to turn away, then glanced back at him. “If we’re going to work together, maybe I should know your name.”

  It wouldn’t do to call him “Russet” and have him take offense at the nickname. Getting stranded in Canada without a passport and no way home wasn’t on my bucket list.

  “Call me Sverth.”

  “Sverth?” There was something off in the way I was pronouncing the final sound, I was sure.

  “Sometime, when we know each other well enough, I will tell you my formal name and lineage. For now, this will do.”

  I blinked. He had taken my question as being about the legitimacy of his name, rather than its pronunciation. Guess that meant I was close enough. “I look forward to it.”

  Now all I had to do was remind myself to call him by the right name.

  On the way out of the T, I spotted Hsien, the Lung dragon, sitting on a folding stool and playing his erhu — one of a family of Chinese violins — on the far side of the stairs. I turned back down the stairs and went to talk to him. Not because anything that was on my mind at the moment was important, but because he was the motivating force behind my children’s birth, as well as being their teacher now for all things musical and magical. I liked to check in with him when the twins weren’t around, in case there was anything he felt I should know, or something I wanted to tell him.

  He played a bar or two of a Greek dance in the middle of his current haunting tune, an acknowledgement that he’d seen me. The discord between the pieces of music should have been shocking, but somehow the segue between the two worked well.

  “You’re looking remarkably cloudy today,” he said when he reached the end of his current tune. Even though his spot was sheltered from the winds coming down the stairs, he didn’t have much of a crowd today. Perhaps there would be more of an audience in a couple of hours, when more people were changing shifts. Or perhaps he was subtly discouraging their attention. He’d done so before, for privacy.

  “Am I?” I shrugged. “I should be used to this by now — darkness coming, trouble at work, demanding trolls … I imagine when I get home, the kids
are going to be annoyed at me because I’m going out this evening.”

  “With the muse?” Not Melanthios, the dark muse I’d been worried about earlier. That one was trouble. Haris, on the other hand, whom I was dating, was the first muse I’d ever met — and one of the reasons I’d initially decided to chance getting to know Haris was because Hsien knew the muse.

  “No, that’s tomorrow. Tonight, it’s the weekly gathering at Maggie’s place in Cambridge.” Did he know Maggie or any of the other witches? He’d certainly heard about her, if for no other reason than because my kids knew her. Still, it seemed rude to assume, so I did my best to pass it off. “You know, just some friends gathering to drink tea and plot world domination.”

  “It would not surprise me if some did just that.” When I looked stricken, he chuckled. “You’re so serious! Go, spend some time with your friends. You could use the break, especially if darkness is coming.”

  I hesitated. “Do you know what’s coming?”

  “In a general sense? There is always trouble on the horizon. Someone always wants more, or wants others to have less. And others will always stand against them. It doesn’t take a visionary to know that much.”

  “Sounds like a fortune cookie,” I said sourly.

  “Fortune cookies, like you, are American.”

  That didn’t lessen my sourness any. “I’ll just take my American self off now and say hello to my kids. Shall I tell them I ran into you?”

  “Tell Gavin to practice more. And Tina, less. They’ll know.”

  That did make me laugh — it was what he always said to them, although truthfully, Gavin had been practicing more. Trying to get Tina to not play around with her magic, however, was fruitless.

  “I’ll do that.”

  “There is a music shop over near Symphony Hall that has an apartment to let over it. You might check that out.”