“Point taken.” Tanner laughed, lifting both palms.
This lighter-hearted version of the government agent was good to see after the weightiness of what happened earlier, but what I really wanted was everyone on the same track.
“Who here has connections in the Fae community?” I asked.
Tanner snapped to attention. “When did we conclude the heads belong to the Fae?”
“I believe the pointed ears and elongated noses are consistent with garden trolls, what my aunt used to call the hidden folk.” I had consulted a compendium of magical creatures and seen the resemblance between the frozen faces and those carved into the picture frames. I saw no reason to add the compendium was my childhood coloring book and the consultation occurred while my eyelids were struggling to open.
“I didn’t even know we had a troll community,” Kaz muttered in Tanner’s direction. “I hope those heads weren’t the end of it.”
“The end of dead trolls?”
“Well, yes. Not the end of garden trolls as a species. Those tunnels were rather small. I suppose it does make sense they would be the smaller versions.”
Time to take charge. I turned my back to the map and raised my voice. “Guys. Is there a network of magical beings we can tap into? A registry of sorts, maybe online?” Brilliance flashed on the inside of my forehead. “What about using a dating app to try and connect?”
The men stared.
“Oh, don’t tell me you don’t know about ShiftR. Or MagicalMates?”
All three shook their heads, the looks on their faces varying degrees of the same expression: mild shock.
“Trolling for trolls.” Wes elbowed Kaz, seemingly pleased with his quick wit.
I gave Tanner a silent plea for mercy. What was it with his cohorts?
He stood and took over. “There is a directory. I’ll share it with you, but it’s obviously not up to date, as Calliope’s name isn’t listed. I’ll also arrange to have Kaz or Wes revisit the other two sites where the catatonia spell was active. Calliope, I’ll stay on the island with you. There’s the giant bat to have another look at and…”
Wes did a double take. “Wait, did you say giant bat?” He went from slouching to sitting straight. “When can we see it?”
I had to rein in this circus of tangents.
“Why don’t we all have dinner at my house tonight?” I directed my question at the ringleader. I noticed he hadn’t gotten to the part where he shared that a spurned lover was stalking him.
“Dinner’s a good idea,” Tanner said. “Kaz and Wes are leaders in the mentorship programs too. And I’m not a bad sous chef, so you can put me to work.”
“Did you just make the assumption I’m cooking for all of you?”
Guilty.
“I have a grill,” I informed them. “Stop at one of the grocery stores or farm stands. Pick up whatever you feel like cooking and drinking. Be at my house around six-thirty, seven o’clock.”
Kaz’s hand went up slowly. “Calli, lass. Would you happen to have an extra bed?”
Three-ring circus. “Are all of you in need of housing?”
“It’s the middle of the summer and you know how hard it is to find a place to stay,” Kaz said. “When we came over to help Tanner, we weren’t planning to be here more than one night, let alone two. Or three.”
“My sons have camping equipment. I can bribe them into sleeping in the living room or under a tarp in the yard or… We’ll figure it out.” I turned and faced the map. The afternoon was marching on, and this band of merry men needed to focus. “Tanner, could you please put pins in the locations of the other orchards? Use the red pins. The ones with little flags.”
I left Tanner and company at my office. My car choked at the foot of my driveway. I stuck my head out the window and yelled, “Honey, I’m home,” even though my sons were at work and there were no other vehicles in sight.
An invisible barrier dropped, the front wheels bit into the gravel, and I was delivered to the base of the porch steps. Stepping out, I toed off my shoes, sniffed the air, and pivoted to assess what I could see of my property. Nothing seemed amiss above ground, and when I peeked through the shed window, I found the bat—every bit as oversized and otherworldly as I remembered—hanging upside down, wings enfolding its body and face.
My garden gave a gentle tug on our bond. I tickled back. Instead of prepping for a houseful of hungry males, I threw on a summer dress and laid claim to my favorite chair, with its chipped and faded turquoise paint. My toes quickly found their way under matted stems of low-growing chamomile, the connection to soil easing my exhaustion. Canes laden with raspberries and blackberries arched over my shoulder, tumbling fruit into my upturned palm. I popped the berries one by one into my mouth, tugged my dress high enough to expose my legs, and let the sun on my skin and the juice on my tongue make for a delicious midday treat.
This garden had nurtured me as a child. After I moved back into the house, fixed the fence, shored up the raised beds, and amended the soil, we picked up where we’d left off.
The plants had things to say about the creatures moving through the soil at their roots, starting with their daily vermiculture report. They added vague whispers of larger creatures on their way to my island, creatures that carved through rock, flew through the air, and swam the waters. But given my plants’ loose relationship with the concept of time, I didn’t know if the creatures they spoke of had been here for decades or were more recent arrivals.
I fought the urge to stand and run. Moments from yesterday flashed across my eyelids, from the frozen heads to the oily presence at the marina to the symbols drawn in blood
