I waited until the car turned left out of the car park, then quickly started my car and followed. For several horrible seconds I actually thought I’d lost them, but I finally spotted the Merc heading towards Hoddle Street. They turned right, changing lanes several times, as if they suspected they were being followed. I kept to the left, keeping them in sight but not obviously so. Ceri, I thought with a smile, would have been proud of me.
They crossed the Yarra River and headed into the very prestigious section of South Yarra. I continued to follow them and—surprise, surprise—they eventually turned into Rocklea Road. Which just happened to be where my father lived.
I parked in Toorak Road then grabbed my camera and jogged down. The big Mercedes had stopped up ahead, its rear brake lights glowing like demon eyes in the darkness of the night. Waiting for the gates to open, I thought.
I stepped off the footpath and kept to the deeper shadows of the treed nature strip that lined either side of the road. The Mercedes drove forward, and the gates began to close again. I snuck up, aimed the camera, and started taking shots as the car came to a halt and two men climbed out. They were little more than blobs of white through the lens, but with a little bit of processing, I might just be able to sort out some facial details.
They disappeared inside. I stepped back and studied the house I’d seen online but never in person. It was a big, two-story gothic-like structure, all turrets, gables and soaring windows. Concrete gargoyles poked their tongues out from the corners of the roofline, as if to frighten bad spirits away. They obviously didn’t work—Gilroy managed to come and go without trouble.
Light shone from a window on the top floor—my father’s study, if I remembered the layout of the place correctly. I toyed briefly with the idea of pressing the intercom and demanding a meeting here and now, but I’d promised Ceri to be careful. Meeting my father in the dead of night when nobody knew where I was certainly wasn’t that.
Besides, once he’d figured out neither of his forays had been a success, he’d more than likely ring for a meeting himself.
Sighing, I spun on my heel and headed back to home and bed.
I woke with a start some hours later. For several minutes I did nothing more than lay there listening, my heart thundering and throat dry.
There was nothing to be heard other than the usual noises made by an old weatherboard house, and there was little sound coming from the office upstairs. Ceri had gone home rather than come back here.
So what the hell had woken me?
I glanced at the clock and saw it was nearly five. No where near time to get up, let alone eat, but my stomach rumbled its opposition to that particular thought. I untangled the blankets from my legs, grabbed the glass of water from the bedside table, and gulped it down. It helped with the dry throat, but not the belly rumbling. Given I hadn’t actually eaten all that much over the last twenty-four hours, I guess it wasn’t really surprising.
I tossed off the bed sheets, pulled my sleeping-shirt over my hips and butt, and headed downstairs. The moon filtered in through the side windows, casting its silvery brilliance across the shadows and revealing cupboards in a serious state of disarray. Delilah, I though grimly, really needed to keep out of my place when I wasn’t home. I picked my way through the mess across and opened the fridge up, inspecting the contents for something edible and eventually deciding on the left-over vegetarian lasagna from the other night.
As I closed the door, a gentle breeze stirred around my ankles. I looked up and realized the back door was open. Which was odd, because Delilah had a key, and it was unlike her to leave a door open like that; she tended to be a bit of a stickler when it came to security.
Frowning, I put the lasagna on the counter and walked down to close it. As I did, more air stirred and the back of my neck crawled with the sensation of danger.
I wasn’t alone in the house.
Heart suddenly racing, I ducked and swung around. The length of two-be-four that had been aimed at my head sliced through the air several inches above it and thudded into the wall with enough force to send plaster and dust flying.
If it had hit me, it would have killed me.
At the other end of the bit of wood was the biggest damn troll I’ve ever seen. He made Xavier and Winifred look like gnats by comparison.
He pulled the wood from the wall and prepared to swing again. I surged upright, took two steps, and launched myself feet first at him, hitting him hard enough to knock him several strides backwards. Waves of flesh rolled away from the impact point, but he certainly wasn’t winded, as I’d intended. I hit the ground, flipped back to my feet, then turned and ran. There was bravery, and then there was foolishness. Fighting this troll would definitely fall into the latter category.
I didn’t get far. Fingers grabbed my hair and yanked me backwards. I flew back through the kitchen and crashed into the pantry door with enough force to shatter it. Wood and cans of food rained down around me as I landed in a heap on the floor.
The troll laughed. It was a guttural, raw sound that sent shivers down my spine. This was one troll, I sensed, who didn’t have any boundaries.
“Tell me where the cards are.” He thumped the slab of wood into his palm so hard the sound reverberated like a gunshot. “And you might just get out of this with little more than a few bruises.”
My fingers closed around a sharpened remnant of door. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Come, come now.” He shook his fat, ugly head, his expression sorrowful. “We both know that is not true.”
I climbed slowly—unsteadily—to my feet, keeping my body side-on to the troll so he couldn’t see the stake I held. “I’m a photographer. I’ve got tons of memory cards.”
“Then I shall take them all.”
“Like fuck you will.”
I launched myself at him. He laughed again and swung the four-be-two. It was going to be close, I thought, as I lunged forward, stake held like a sword in front of me. It hit blubber and sunk in, but I had no chance to see if it had done any damage. The wood hit my back and sent me flying. This time, I went out the open back door and tumbled down the steps, landing in a heap at the bottom, winded and seeing stars.
The trolled roared, and I swear the earth shook as he thundered toward me.
Get up, get up, something inside me screamed, and somehow, I did. I staggered several feet then tripped over something, almost landing face first in the grass. I regained my balance and looked down. A shovel. It was better than nothing, I guess.
I swept it up and swung around. The troll was in the air, the wood over his head and his belly covered in blood. I flung myself out of the way, then twisted around and fended off a second blow with the shovel. The sound ricochet across the night. If we weren’t very careful, we’d wake...I blinked, then screamed, “Delilah!”
The troll came at me again. I swung the shovel with all my might. The metal end thudded into the troll’s right elbow and he released that hand from the slab of wood with a bellow. I twisted away, but the edge of the plank caught my hip and again sent me flying. I crashed into some roses, tearing shirt and skin, but ignored it all and scrambled out of the way as the troll reached for me.
“Delilah!” I screamed again, running for the rear fence. “Fucking wake up!”
The ground shook under every step—the troll giving chase. I wasn’t going to get near the fence, let alone get the gate open.
I swore and pivoted, once again swinging the shovel as hard as I could. This time it smacked into the side of his head, and with enough force to send him staggering sideways.
“That you making all those noise down there, Harri?” Delilah yelled, her voice high-pitched and grumpy sounding.
Never in my life had I heard a sound so sweet. “Yeah. Call the cops—I have trolls.”
“Fuck girl, what are you doing with-”
“Delilah!” I raised the shovel and ran full bore at the troll. “Just call the fucking cops! Now!”
The troll saw me at the last moment and tried to dodge. But the first blow to the head must have dazed him, because his reaction time was far slower than before. This time the shovel cracked his head open, and he fell like a sack of bricks. The ground shuddered as he hit.
I stepped back, shovel raised, ready to hit him again if he so much as twitched. He didn’t. He was out cold. Not that I got close enough to check. I wasn’t that stupid.
I lowered the shovel and leaned against it heavily. Now that the immediate danger was over, every part of me decided to ache. My night shirt was ripped across my right shoulder and back, and there were numerous cuts and scratches, thanks to both the pantry door and rose bushes. The bruises I’d have tomorrow I didn’t want to think about.
The sudden sound of footsteps filled the silence, and I jumped back, shovel held in front of me like a lance, before I realized it was Delilah rather than the troll. It was a realization that left me shaking.
Delilah bustled through the gateway, wrapped in a hot pink robe that matched the rollers in her hair. “What in the hell is going on, Harri?” Her gaze fell on the troll and she stopped abruptly. “You beat that?”
“Me and my trusty shovel, yeah.”
“Shit girl, you’ve got some grit.” She approached the troll and toed him none to lightly. “Know who he is?”
“No.” My legs suddenly felt like jelly, so I plopped down on the porch steps. At least I couldn’t fall much further from there. “Did you call the cops?”
“Yep. Five minutes, they said.”
I ran a hand through my hair, and it came away bloody. I couldn’t even remember hitting my head. “Could you find his wallet and see if he has a name?”
“Happy to.” She dug chubby little fingers into the troll’s pants pocket then went through his wallet. “He goes by the moniker of Gunner Brown.”
“Address?”
“All it says is Labertouche Caves.”
Labertouche was one of the main Troll enclaves, and though it was about ninety minutes out of Berren, it was the closest of the three. Because of the distance between home and here, most trolls had secondary—and generally communal—living quarters to bunk down in when they were in Berren on a job. But if we wanted to uncover that, we’d have to wait for him to wake—and that wasn’t something I was willing to do.
