Binx cursed suddenly and the Jeep screeched sideways into a stop, drowning out Slate's answer. I braced for an impact that didn't come, but that was the only piece of good luck we got. A bellow drew my gaze left; to the reason Binx had stopped.
A Troll.
Trolls adore Zones. Living underground, surrounded by the stone they love nearly as much as Gargoyles do, makes them feel safe and comfortable. Every zone has a Troll population but they are generally the most well-behaved of their kind. Each zone lord has complete autonomy to pick and choose his residents, and only the most civilized trolls are allowed to live inside zones. It was a testament to how much they adored these living conditions that Trolls were willing to domesticate themselves to do so.
This particular Troll had lost all semblance of civility.
The sidewalks were quickly clearing around the Troll; residents fleeing as he swung his fists through empty air like a maniac. Although the Zone lights had been lowered to give the feel of night, streetlamps clearly illuminated the furious expression on the Troll's craggy face. He lifted his arms, bellowed again, and brought his fists down on the road like a child throwing a temper tantrum. A crack appeared in the asphalt and Beneathers started to scream.
Slate and his brothers jumped out of the Jeep, Slate with his radio out.
“Everyone who can hear this get to the west end of Linari Street now!” Slate shouted into his radio then tossed it into the Jeep.
Slate's jacket went next but he didn't have time for more than that. With a grimace, he shifted, ruining his suit and shoes. Fabric tore and drifted away as a massive gargoyle stepped out of the debris; muscles bulging everywhere. Slate spread his wings, curled his claws, and roared at the Troll.
The Troll bellowed back.
Binx and Aaro—also shifted—dove for the Troll's legs, taking him down in a tumble that vibrated beneath my feet. A parked car crunched under the impact. Slate pounced onto the Troll's chest, landing on his feet. Claws lifted then came down in deadly arcs. I gasped and pulled back in my seat, shocked by the violence. I'd had a brief thought of singing before I'd seen how easily Aaro and Binx had downed the Troll. It was apparent that he was infected and should be subdued. But Slate wasn't subduing him; he was going for the kill.
“Slate!” I shouted as I left the Jeep. “You'll kill him! Slate! He's just infected. It's not his fault!”
The Troll rolled, taking all three of the Devon brothers with him, and ending with Slate on the bottom of the pile. I flinched as the Troll punched Slate in the gut with the force of a battering ram. Okay, maybe Slate hadn't been trying to kill the Troll. They were rather hard to kill, with skin nearly as resilient as a Gargoyle's.
Another bellow came from further down the street. I lifted my gaze toward the sound. A female Troll barreled toward us, spittle flying from her open mouth, hair streaming in a tangle behind her, and fists lifted like sledgehammers. She batted cars out of her way like toys as drivers abandoned their vehicles.
Fuck a duck! At first, I thought I'd said it; it had been my voice after all. But it wasn't me; it was RS.
The exclamation jolted me out of my daze and drove two thoughts into my mind. One; I needed to sing. Two; RS had been conspicuously silent during my meeting with the seer.
Another bellow joined the female's and the road started to tremble with the pound of Troll feet. Before I could panic, help swept in from above. Slate's Gargoyles had arrived.
But that didn't mean I couldn't help them.
The happy strings of Sheryl Crow's “Soak Up the Sun” seemed an inappropriate soundtrack for the battle before me but I let the music fill me along with the magic. I needed this; something uplifting. Something light. And if it stopped a Troll battle, even better.
I sang about looking on the bright side no matter what horrors you're faced with. About letting go of headaches and heartaches and all other aches because they're only yours if you claim them. I sang about a type of freedom, perhaps the best kind; the freedom to allow yourself to be happy. But what I truly needed from the song wasn't its upbeat ambiance—upbeat even with an underlying sadness—it was the sunlight the lyrics referenced.
There's a misconception about Trolls. Humans myths say that they turn into stone in sunlight. That's not quite true. They don't like the sun—it's one of the reasons Trolls prefer to live underground—but it doesn't kill them or even turn them briefly to stone. It's more like that lazy feeling you get when you're lying in summer sunshine. It seeps into their bodies and relaxes them until they can't resist having a nice lie-down. Their systems slow into a state of hibernation that paralyzes them. It's a weakness, most definitely, and if it happened to them, say, in the middle of a fight, it could be a fatal flaw. But I was trusting the Gargoyles to not abuse the advantage I gave then and do their duty as guardians of the Zone.
With the first words of the chorus, the faux moonlight of the Zone brightened into the strength of day. Although the full-spectrum bulbs Slate used could provide nourishment to plants, it couldn't affect Trolls. It wasn't real sunshine. But my magic changed that. The light warmed and sharpened; its rays transmitted the true power of the Sun. The Trolls stopped bellowing. Their hands lowered and their steps slowed. Just as a crag of them—that would be the term for a whole fucking lot of Trolls—rounded a corner, every one of them fell to their knees then back on their butts in a daze. Troll faces relaxed into smiles as they laid back on the sun-warmed
