Chapter 36
Beady-Eyed Troll
TEDDY
“Are you sure this is the right address?” I glance over at Catbeam Spellman, who’s furiously chewing on her bottom lip.
She’s dressed like a mad magician, in purple coattails, baggy red pantaloons, orange shirt with a ruffled front, and a green top hat she’s holding in her lap.
Apparently Catbeam has been hired to entertain eighteen second graders this afternoon at a birthday party.
We’re parked in a small clearing inside the dense forest that forms the southern boundary of Riddle Hill, staring at a dingy, one-room hut.
The woods are so thick and close here that tree branches scraped against the sides of Miss Dragonfly’s Cadillac as I drove down the private road; I’ll have to buff out those scratches later with a polishing cloth and plenty of elbow grease.
“Of course I’m sure,” Catbeam grumps. “But before we enter, there are a few rules you need to know when dealing with trolls.”
“O-okay.”
She holds up her fist, counting off the rules on her fingers.
“One. Never, ever accept their initial offer, or their second or third. Trolls love to haggle.
“Two. Trolls will always try to entice you with sparkly trinkets, which they sell at exorbitant prices. Don’t fall for it. The good stuff is always out back or down below.”
“But that’s a one-room cabin,” I point out.
Catbeam waves away my objection with a spotty, wrinkled hand.
“The quality merch could be in that shed back there behind the bungalow, which is protected with so many charms no one is breaking into it. Or the beady-eyed troll could be hiding the good stuff underneath a cabinet or beneath a loose floorboard.”
Catbeam gives me a curt nod and continues. “Three. Even if you find the perfect ring for Sophie, you need to walk away.”
“What?” I cry. “That’s the whole purpose of this trip! I want to surprise Sophie with an engagement ring for her birthday, and you told me the only place to go for unique, high quality jewelry at reasonable prices is Talo’s Pawnshop.”
“I know what I said, sonny, and that’s true. However, the only way to get what you want at a price we both can afford is if you follow those three simple rules.”
“What do you mean, at a price we both can afford? I’ll be buying my fiancée’s ring.”
Catbeam glances upward as if seeking inspiration from the old Caddy’s velour-upholstered ceiling. “Talo doesn’t deal in something as mundane as currency.”
“Then why are we here? I’m a werewolf; I can’t offer this troll any magic tricks… er, no offense.”
“None taken.” Catbeam nods.
“All I have to offer him is a razor-thin wallet and my werewolf strength.”
“And your superior sense of smell and your pleasant customer-service demeanor.”
“Why would a troll need any of that?” I’m becoming increasingly suspicious of my future grandmother-in-law.
“Talo doesn’t need any of those attributes, but I do.”
Giving Catbeam a sidelong glance, I remind myself of the very first rule Miss Dragonfly taught me about bargaining with faeries; don’t even try, because you’ll never win.
Huffing out a long sigh, I say, “What do you want from me, Miss Catbeam?”
Catbeam gives me a broad grin. “First of all, call me Granny. Secondly, I merely need a strong werewolf like you to help me organize Catbeam’s Comics ’N Games; you know, sort through boxes, move some shelves around, restack the merch, and general cleaning.
And if a customer comes in while you’re at it, I’d expect you to help them find what they’re looking for. ”
“What about my superior sense of smell; where does that come in?”
“Ah, well.” Catbeam grimaces. “A two-headed rat has taken up residence in the woods behind my shop; he sneaks inside whenever it rains, and I need your nose to help me sniff out his hidey-hole.”
“What are you going to do with him when you find him?” I’m not a fan of rats, but I don’t want to help Catbeam track down and decapitate any creature, however many heads it has.
“I’m going to trap him and sell him to the faerie circus; two-headed rats are extremely rare,” says Catbeam. I didn’t even know there was such a thing as a faerie circus, but I let that slide.
“I’m already working at the café and the bakery,” I remind her. “Plus I mow Rob’s lawn and clip his hedges once a week. And I’m still taking classes at night for the firefighter’s certification exam. I don’t have much spare time.”
“I just need four hours a week from you until the job is done.”
Hmm… if Catbeam is even half as disorganized as my lovely bride-to-be, I fear the job will never be done.
Recalling Miss Dragonfly’s warning about making deals with faeries, I realize I’m stuck between a boulder and a tree bole; I need Catbeam’s help if I’m going to find the perfect ring for Sophie.
“I’ll donate four hours of my time every week for the next twelve consecutive weeks, at which point we will declare the job is done.
In exchange, you will barter with the troll to purchase Sophie’s engagement ring. No ring, no deal.”
Catbeam tents her silver eyebrows at me. “I can see my sister taught you well. Fine,” she huffs, “four hours weekly for twelve weeks.”
“For the next twelve consecutive weeks,” I remind her.
She shrugs. “As you wish.”
“Let’s shake on it, shall we?” I extend my hand to her, which makes the transaction binding on both sides.
Catbeam shakes my hand with a small scowl. “Wow. Dragonfly really overshared, didn’t she?”
I smile. “Miss Dragonfly took pity on a na?ve, half-dead werewolf. I can never repay her for all her kindnesses to me.”
“Well you could always repay her kindnesses by helping her kid sister.”
“Uh-huh,” I murmur, and we both chortle as we exit the car.
Catbeam pops her ridiculous green top hat on top of her wiry gray curls and leads the way through a weedy non-path to the front door, which cracks open as we approach.
“Catty,” rumbles a low, hoarse voice, “yer lookin’ lovely as usual.”
“Talo,” murmurs Catbeam, “don’t think you can sweettalk me into one of your stingy deals.”
Hinges squeal as the door swings open, revealing a stocky, silver-haired troll with black eyes, pointy ears each sprouting a tuft of hair, an oversized nose, and a pale gray-blue complexion. “Ach, ye can’t mean it, Catty. Ye know I’d never steer ye wrong.”
Catbeam cackles and sways her skinny hips as she enters the shop. Sweet moonglow, I think she’s flirting with the beady-eyed troll! “What about that pair of earrings you sold me in ’69? They were brass, Talo, not gold. They turned my earlobes green.”
“’Twas a terrible mistake, and I’ve made it up to ye ever since, since ye never cease to remind me of those earrings.”
Catbeam sniffs. “You’d best not be trying any of your tiresome troll tricks today; this is my granddaughter’s fiancé, and he would like to look at some rings. But I should warn you, next to my grandson Jake, he’s the most fearsome werewolf in Door County.”
A low gargle of surprise escapes from my throat, and Catbeam gives my arm a warning pinch. I straighten my spine and stare at the troll, who squints up at me. “Well now, I’m sure we’ll get along just fine, Mister… er, what’s yer name?”
“Mr. L.T. Barker,” supplies Catbeam quickly; there’s probably a rule about not giving a troll your full name, which she neglected to tell me.
“How can I help you, Mr. Barker?” asks the troll, welcoming us into a tiny, cramped shop with exposed wood walls and shelves upon shelves of shiny, sparkly objects—jewelry, pen knives, compasses, small clocks, handheld mirrors, tea cups, candlesticks, paperweights, marbles, and so forth.
“I’m looking for a unique engagement ring for a beautiful faerie whose favorite color is green.”
“And this is for Catty’s granddaughter?” Talo scratches one of his hairy ears. “Is she the baker or the wedding planner?”
“The baker,” I reply.
Talo approaches the wall of shelves containing mostly jewelry and begins to pick pieces off the shelf.
When he turns back to me, he’s holding a square, velvet-lined tray containing six gold rings that glimmer in the shop’s dim overhead light; hmm…
that fact alone tells me these rings are enchanted to look nicer than they are.
Granny Catbeam crosses her arms. “Nope. Just put them right back on the shelf, Talo.”
“But—”
“We’re not interested.”
With a heavy sigh, Talo replaces his first set of rings and proceeds to make another selection, but Catbeam rejects them too, and the set after that.
Talo finally shifts his bare feet on the wooden floorboards.
“Please wait here while I step outside to gather the finest collection of rings ye will find anywhere in the known world.”
Catbeam crosses her arms. “Don’t keep us waiting too long. We haven’t got all day.”
When the troll exits through a small, narrow opening in the rear of his shop, I turn to Sophie’s grandmother and hiss, “This feels like a waste of time.”
“Have a little patience. That was all preamble… now we’ll start getting to the good stuff.”
“And when I find the perfect ring for Sophie, you still want me to walk away?” I ask.
“Of course!” replies Catbeam with all the confidence of a chess player plotting her next five moves.
Talo makes several more trips out back, each time returning with a ring or three in his tray; the jewelry is getting more upscale, and so is my anxiety.
For one thing, no prices are posted, so even if I wanted to pay in US dollars rather than in faerie bargains, I can’t.
And Catbeam is pursing her lips a bit more with each new ring Talo presents, as if she, too, is trying to gauge the cost.
Finally, Talo presents me with a single golden ring inside a black velvet box.
“My pièce de résistance,” he says with a surprisingly good French accent.
Delicate curlicues encircle the band, forming a basket of feathered wings on top.
The wings encase a two-carat solitaire emerald, which is surrounded by a circlet of tiny, sparkling diamonds.
It’s superb, and I have no doubt Sophie would love it.
Talo is staring at my face, which I guess is super transparent, because he’s smiling broadly and probably already doubling whatever price he had in mind.
Catbeam pinches me again, and I cough. “If that’s your pièce de résistance,” I tell him.
“Then I’m afraid I must be going. It simply won’t do. ”
I turn on my heels and march toward the door, hoping the troll doesn’t ban us from ever setting foot in his nonsensical shop again.
But Catbeam’s scratchy voice calls after me.
“Are you absolutely certain there isn’t anything here that would please Sophie?
Perhaps that rose gold band Talo showed us earlier? That was rather pretty.”
That’s my cue to turn back reluctantly and take another pass through a couple of the earlier choices. Talo and Catbeam begin haggling over the rose gold ring I’m not even interested in, until Catbeam huffs in disgust at the price and hustles me outside.
“Now what?” I find these faerie-troll negotiation tactics thoroughly draining, but Catbeam is practically bouncing on her toes.
“Now it’s time for us to go. We’ll come back of course, once Talo comes to his senses about his asking price.”
“Seriously?” I grumble. “Sophie’s birthday is the day after tomorrow! And frankly, I’d rather get my butt kicked by my entire pack then go through that stress-inducing shopping experience again.”
Catbeam chuckles as I accelerate down the not-a-driveway, tree branches thwacking against the sides of the car. “You want the gold ring with the emerald, right?”
“It’s perfect.” I nod. “You don’t think anyone else is going to snap it up while we’re dilly-dallying, do you?”
“Of course not; Talo wants another incantation, and since I’m the second-most powerful faerie in Wisconsin, he wants one of mine.”
“What if the most powerful faerie in Wisconsin shows up?”
Catbeam grins. “Phoebe isn’t in the market for jewelry, sonny. You’ll be giving Sophie that ring for her birthday or my name isn’t Catbeam Gladiolus Magnificat Spellman.”
I have to bite my bottom lip to keep from laughing out loud at her ridiculous faerie name.