Chapter 6 #2
Lorrie’s broad shoulder lifted in a shrug. “Probably.”
“Stop, you two!” When the fighters didn’t react, Gwen cupped her hands around her mouth and tried again. “Physical violence is never the answer, except in extremely select circumstances! And these are not the aforementioned extremely select circumstances!”
Hugh gave her a subtle shake of his head—did he want her to stay out of it, or was he merely commenting on her lackluster advice?—then turned his attention back to the troll he was ostensibly battling.
Giving up, she plunked herself down beside Lorrie, who offered the bowl of popcorn. Gwen took a buttery handful with a murmured thank-you and began munching anxiously.
Most of the helicopters’ troops were now swarming across the makeshift bridge and through the hole in Wall One, streaming into the compound with weapons drawn. The half dozen or so officials, however, headed for the brawl occurring near the tree line.
No one had arrested or shot Gwen and her companions yet. That was a good sign, right?
“Holy fuck.” Tanielle Beech, the first and only fae who’d ever served as SERC’s chair, gaped at the spectacle as she halted beside Gwen and Lorrie’s quilt. The slight unearthly glow of her skin surrounded her like a pale halo. “What the hells is Blacke, of all creatures, doing here?”
Was she part of the conspiracy? Or simply a councilor doing her job?
“Excellent question, Beech.” A slickly handsome white-haired demon—Josiah Goodling, another SERC rep—arrived ringside next, a frown creasing his patrician features, his horn tips sharp as blades. “And why is Hugh fighting a godsforsaken troll?”
Hugh would never live this moment down—assuming the gathered officials even believed the story currently being staged for their benefit.
After all, why in the world would an extremely good-looking troll and Councilor Hugh Blacke, Esquire, physically fight over a thirtysomething dud of an oracle in lumpy knitwear?
“Should we break it up?” the demon inquired after a pause. “Or begin interviewing”—he tipped his head toward Lorrie and Gwen without looking directly at them—“those two?”
The fae shook her head. “They aren’t going anywhere, and I’m interested to see what happens. Let the brawl play out.”
The councilors spoke as if Gwen and Lorrie were either unable to hear them, too dim to understand the conversation, or so completely unimportant that their presence didn’t necessitate direct acknowledgment.
“Very well.” The demon didn’t sound happy about the decision. “From what we saw in the helicopter, the acute zombie-related danger seems to have passed anyway.”
Gwen cringed and swallowed her popcorn over a dust-dry throat.
She and her compatriots had assumed the authorities would break up the unconvincing fight right away, not settle in to observe it.
If the battle seemed staged, they’d begin to wonder why.
And if they thought about that a little, they might reach a correct, utterly disastrous conclusion, and then where would Gwen and her friends be?
Either in jail or dead. Sooner rather than later.
Kip clearly understood that too. Gwen could actually spot the exact moment he decided to amp up the theatrics and evoke a more convincing performance from his scene partner.
The troll yanked his sweater over his head, baring his broad chest, and spread his brawny arms, as if inviting Hugh to come at him. When he spoke again, he’d raised his voice to a bellow.
“You think she wants your tiny ass?” Kip’s scornful laugh rang across the small clearing. “She probably can’t even find it, despite those tight pants of yours.”
The urge to hide her face again nearly overwhelmed Gwen. Instead of cowering, though, she shot a reproving frown toward one of the common human officials nearby. The one who’d chuckled at the insult to Hugh, the sound low and mean.
The tall woman wore a highly decorated military uniform—was she a general?—and had her thick, graying hair cut into a conservative jaw-length bob. She was watching the proceedings with every sign of enjoyment, a dark-clad assistant lingering just behind her, near her elbow.
She paid Gwen zero attention. Probably for the best.
“Our little oracle’s not settling for a puny twig of a demon, bro.” Kip wasn’t done yet. “Not when she could have a big, strong troll in her bed.”
More laughter bubbled from the gathered crowd of officials. They leaned in closer, rapt.
Faint color now burnished Hugh’s angular cheekbones too, and his harsh exhalation created far more vapor than before. It surrounded his mouth like smoke, lingering in the air.
His voice had turned gravelly. “Don’t speak about her like that.”
A faint, fresh waft of sulfur permeated the air at his words, and both Gwen and Lorrie exhaled quietly in relief.
Still seated on the frozen brown grass, Kip flattened his hand over his eyes as he scanned their surroundings and the ring of onlookers. “Who’s going to stop me?”
The reek of sulfur intensified, and Hugh’s jaw worked. The lean muscles of his upper arms flexed and released, then flexed again.
“You might as well admit it, bro. You can’t hurt me. Not even when I’m here, within easy reach.” Kip spread his arms, the very picture of unconcern. “You’re too much of a coward, with too big a stick up your minuscule, unimpressive butt. No wonder she doesn’t want you.”
Hugh made a weird growly sound and sort of…pawed the ground. Like a pompadoured bull in a crop top.
“Bawk-bawk-bawk,” Kip taunted Hugh, flapping his massive arms like wings.
With a guttural shout, Hugh reared back and punched Kip using the full force of his whip-tight body.
Embers floated through the air and sputtered to black atop the grass and the nearby bodies of the poor guards, while the suffocating stench of brimstone drenched the site. Hugh’s breath steamed in great dragon-like puffs, and his body faintly smoked.
The troll laughed and wiped his bloody nose with the back of his wrist before standing.
“Kick that demon’s minuscule but remarkably tight ass!” Catching Gwen’s incredulous stare, Lorrie shrugged. “I have eyes too, bro.”
Then the two males flew at each other, and the fight was truly on.