Sean Cullen - The Prince of Neither Here Nor There

“A Troll? A Troll. Of course you’re a Troll. Why not?” Brendan felt he was about to lose his mind. “Okay. Last question: where are we?”

“This is my home. I live here. Under the Air Canada Centre, home of beloved Maple Leafs!” He placed a vast blue hand over his heart and cast his eyes upward in adoration. “So handy! I have easy access to new souvenirs for collection. Borje loves the beautiful frozen game!”

Brendan’s stomach suddenly rumbled, and Borje’s smile vanished. “But Borje is bad host. Enough talking for now. You must be hungry.”

Borje reached over and scooped Brendan up in one shovel-like hand. In three strides, Borje crossed the stone floor and deposited Brendan in one of the large wooden chairs at the table. With one arm he swept the pucks onto the floor. As he did so, Brendan managed to catch a glimpse of the signatures on the pucks of many famous players. The Troll picked the remote off the small table and pointed it at the TV. A hockey game suddenly filled the vast screen.

“Borje PVR’d it last night. She’s gonna be a good one.” He pulled aside a tapestry to reveal a tidy kitchen with a stove and fridge. “Borje make you some food!” The Troll snapped his huge fingers. The sound was like a gunshot. “Borje make nachos! Ha!” With an ear-splitting clap of his massive hands he disappeared into the kitchen and let the tapestry fall to cover the door.

Brendan sat in the giant chair. It was the first time he hadn’t been running, screaming, and being chased in what seemed like a very long time. He looked at his watch. It wasn’t working. He couldn’t tell what time it was.

“Crap! I’ve got to call home. Mum’ll be freaking out.” He hauled his knapsack off his back. Although one of the straps had broken, he hadn’t managed to lose it along the way. He fished around in the bag and found his cellphone. He flipped open the screen and his heart fell. He looked at the small screen and saw something he’d never seen before. Usually, if the phone was getting no reception, the normal home screen would show but there would be no bars in the corner. Now, however, his phone didn’t even show the home screen, just a miniature blizzard of electronic snow.

As he held the phone, it began to burn his hand with a prickling heat that grew in intensity. In seconds, he was forced to drop the handset. He clutched his hand in pain, red welts standing out where the phone had touched his fingers and palm. Then he remembered what Kim had said.

“Metal and plastic don’t mix well with us.”

Brendan refused to accept it. He reached for the phone on the floor and grabbed it. He instantly cried out and dropped the phone again. As he watched, stunned, sparks fountained from the cell and the entire handset melted into a puddle of plastic slag. He looked at the blob that had been his cellphone.

Part of his mind was asking, “Is that covered under my insurance plan?” while another was asking, “Where can I find another phone?”

He scanned the room but didn’t see anything resembling a phone. He wasn’t surprised. “Why would a Troll need to phone anyway?” He hopped down from the chair and went to the door. He was almost afraid to touch it after the phone incident, but he had to get out of there. Borje didn’t seem threatening but… he was a Troll! That couldn’t be good! Trolls hid under bridges and ate people. He didn’t want to push his luck. Brendan couldn’t even remember the route he’d come by. He’d read in a book once that if you kept turning left, you would eventually escape a labyrinth. This was the closest to a labyrinth he’d ever encountered so hopefully that logic would work.

He tentatively pushed on the door. There was no handle. He’d thought the door was made of metal but he realized now that it wasn’t. It was warm to the touch and had a glassy texture like nothing he’d ever felt before. The door didn’t yield to a gentle shove. He pushed harder. Nothing.

He almost jumped out of his skin when the Troll called from the kitchen, “Do you like anchovies?”

Anchovies? On nachos? “Yeah. Love them!” He pushed with all his might on the door but it wouldn’t budge. He backed up and prepared to throw himself against the door when he was interrupted by a loud banging on it.

“Open up!” Kim’s voice was muffled but still recognizable. “Come on, Borje! Open up!”

Borje came bustling out of the kitchen holding a vast platter of nachos and wearing an apron that read HAIL TO THE CHEF with a version of the U.S. presidential seal that pictured the American eagle holding a spatula and a wooden spoon. “Coming!” He slammed the platter down on the table, sending a few stray tortilla chips scattering on the tabletop. Wiping his vast hands on the apron, he hurried to the door. Brendan stood back as he pulled the steel key from his pocket and tapped it on the door. Again, the door glowed faintly with a silver light and swung open to reveal Kim, her school uniform slightly torn and smudged with soot. Her face was similarly smeared. In her right hand she was carrying her field hockey stick. In her left, she held a set of scooter handlebars.

“So there you are,” she said. “I thought I’d be scraping you off the front of a southbound train, but thanks to Borje here, you’re all in one piece.”

She tossed the handlebars onto the floor with a clatter. “Too bad I can’t say the same for my scooter. Og and the Artificers are going to kill me.”

Borje beamed. “I’ve made some nachos. Are you hungry, Ki-Mata?”

“Starved,” Kim announced. Without a second glance at Brendan, she marched to the table and vaulted into one of the high chairs. She wrinkled her nose when she saw the mound of chips loaded with cheese and toppings. “Anchovies?”

“He said he whanted them!” Borje pointed a knobby finger at Brendan, who simply stared.

Kim sneered at Brendan. “Figures.” She began to pick the salty fish fillets off the chips with her fingers.

“So I like anchovies,” Brendan said defensively. “Sue me. I’ve had it. Tell me what’s going on!”

Kim shook her head, licking her fingers. “It’s not for me to say. I was told to Ward you and that’s what I’ve done. Now I have to deliver you to the Swan. So why don’t you just have some nachos and try to get some rest. We’re safe for the moment.”

Brendan wasn’t satisfied. “Why should I go anywhere with you? You aren’t the person I thought you were. And you say things like ‘your human family’! Like I’m not human.”

Kim just stared at him thoughtfully, chewing a mouthful of chips.

“If I’m not human, what am I?” Brendan shouted. “What am I?”

Kim shrugged and said simply, “I told you. You’re a Faerie.”

“You said that before,” Brendan said, annoyed, “but what does it mean?”

“A Faerie. A Faerie with a capital F-a-e-r-i-e! An old-school Faerie. One of the Fair Folk, an ancient race of magical beings.”

Brendan stared at her in disbelief, then burst out laughing.

57 The Toronto Maple Leafs are the Toronto professional hockey franchise. They are one of the most famous and most enduring hockey teams in the world. Their fans are fanatical despite the fact that, as of this publication, they hadn’t won a championship in over forty years. Their fans are both fanatical and masochistic.

58 Lord Stanley, Governor General of Canada, donated the Silver Cup in 1892 to be presented to the best amateur hockey team in Canada. It later became the ultimate professional hockey prize, going to the winner of the National Hockey League playoffs. The cup has been accidentally left on buses, streetcars, trains; dropped in swimming pools; been lost, found, lost, and found again a number of times. Borje’s claim to have purloined the original cup is not so hard to credit, considering how many times it has gone missing in the past.