Rob Thurman - Nightlife

That was enough, more than enough. Next he'd be suggesting I be neutered for a better temperament. Robin seemed to realize how close to the edge we were and spoke up before I could say anything stupid or inflammatory. And it would have been both—there was not a friggin' doubt in my mind. The relationship between my brain and my mouth tended to be casual at best. "Caliban isn't Auphe," Goodfellow denied hastily. "Not so much anyway. But that is why we came. We were hoping you could tell us about the Auphe. You've been around much longer than I have. Almost as long as the Auphe. If anyone knows them, it would be you."

"Slippery flattery from a slippery tongue." Abbagor's feet hit the ground and despite the thick cushion of mud I still felt the impact. The remaining filaments that had held him up wrapped around his body, wriggling and twisting, until they became part of the whole. It was enough to guarantee I never ate spaghetti again. "Why do you care about the Auphe? They are nearly gone from this world, entertaining though they were."

True. There was nothing quite like rabid homicidal mania. Better than cable, even. "Yeah, them and the dodo. And won't they be missed?" I shifted until I was shoulder to shoulder with Niko. I ignored his narrow-eyed look of disapproval and went on. "That doesn't keep me from wondering why the hell they made me."

Because basically that's what it was. I had been made. I wasn't created out of love and fidelity. I wasn't the result of horny teenagers caught up in the passion of the moment, or even just a busted condom. I was an experiment, the result of some cold calculation. That, I couldn't change, but if I could find out the reason behind it, it might just help to keep Niko and me alive.

The massive head tilted in Robin's direction. "You taught it to speak. Impressive. Does it get a treat now?"

Goodfellow spread his hands placatingly, although I wasn't sure the gesture was aimed at Abbagor or me. "Abbagor, please," he coaxed. "We're somewhat pressed for time. As much as we enjoy being toyed with for your amusement, and it's quite the party, I assure you, could we move on to the subject at hand?"

Only with the puck could pleading come off as a sarcastic demand. Abbagor let it pass, though, surprisingly enough. Either tiring of Robin or of the game of bait-the-doggy, he filled the air with a sound like the last breath escaping a dead man. It took me a moment to realize that was a venomous version of a snake's wistful sigh. "Very well. The Auphe. Since the dawn of time, perhaps before it, they have abided here. As old as the sun in the sky, maybe even the sky itself. They ruled this world long before man infested the globe with his stink." Ebon-rimmed nostrils flared with distaste. Now, there was the pot calling the kettle black. "But as the ages passed, the Auphe's iron hand became a child's feeble grip. They grew complacent… smug… and by the time they woke up to bitter reality it was too late. They were too few. Man was too many. And even the most pure, the most glorious of maniacal violence can be quelled by dullards if their number is large enough."

I aimed a whisper from the corner of my mouth toward Niko. "Score one for the dullards." A nearly inaudible snort was his only reply. Robin's comment was much more to the point. His hand circled my upper arm and squeezed warningly. I began to shake him off when I noticed the moisture on his upper lip and his tightly clenched jaw. He'd already told me Abbagor wasn't one to be messed with, and he didn't appear to have changed his mind. I decided, reluctantly, it might be for the best if I tried to behave… even as Abbagor centered his attention on me.

"And now the last remnants of the world's first dynasty has made you." It was enough to make me wish he had eyes. To be so thoroughly examined, so completely dissected, by a blind gaze was unnerving as hell. As Abbagor continued to ruminate, something stirred on his abdomen. It was just a slight twitching, a minute slithering, but it was almost enough to make me miss his next words. "It is a curiosity."

Almost, but not quite. My best intentions to watch my mouth went flying out the window. " 'Curious' is a good word," I drawled. "If it wasn't so goddamn curious, we wouldn't be standing here smothering in your BO. So if you have anything actually worthwhile to contribute, Abby, now'd be the time."

Behind me Robin gave a low moan of frustrated despair. Abbagor, however, didn't seem to take offense. If anything, his grin, if you could call it that, widened. "Sullen, resentful, full of rage. The apple never falls far from the tree. It makes one nostalgic."

The nest of tendrils on his stomach continued to writhe, revealing flashes of a pale color between strands of gray. "The Auphe were big pals of yours, huh?" I said, eyes riveted to the patches of white. What the hell was that, anyway?

"No, they were not my friends. They were something far more amusing than that." It was a hand. Holy shit , it was a hand. And it was moving, fingers bending and flexing. I felt my stomach do a slow roll.

"More amusing?" Niko questioned. I knew he saw it; there was no way you could miss it. But from his mellow baritone you would never have guessed that he saw anything out of the ordinary. "Then I take it they were your enemy."

"What could be more amusing than that?" The hand began to stroke the slate-colored flesh. Abbagor didn't seem to notice any more than Niko did. "They weren't particularly intelligent, no, but they more than made up for it in sheer ravening fury. I cannot deny I enjoyed our battles. But those days are no more. There are too few now. They avoid me, deprive me of the auld lang syne. Utter selfishness."

I said something then, something smart-ass I'm sure, but whatever it was it didn't even register in my brain, much less my ears. Concentration was just a little beyond me in that particular moment in time, as I noticed the hand had a tattoo. It was just a small one, a miniature red rose on the webbing between the thumb and the forefinger. A red rose and the name "Lucy." It wasn't anything special. But it was enough to let me know it was a human hand, a living, moving human hand. What it was doing in Abbagor I didn't know. Truthfully, I didn't even want to know. If I did want anything, it was to have never seen it, to not have to wonder what kind of existence it was to be buried in the body of a troll. Enslaved in rancid flesh.

As the hand continued its grooming, Abbagor's head bent lower toward me. Whatever I'd blurted out apparently wasn't worth a response because his words were back to the subject at hand. "Whatever the Auphe have in mind, you can rest assured that it can only be a mechanism to regain the domination they once had. That could be their only thought, their only dream. And since they made you, Aupheling, you must be part of that dream." More hands, then arms erupted from his body, muscles bulging, fists clenching. Abbagor's grin widened so far his jaw threatened to dislocate. "I wonder what they would do if I unmade you."

Abby wanted to play with the Grendels again and it looked like I was about to become the engraved invitation to his tea party. RSVP on my entrails. Niko had already prepared his own response by drawing a sword from beneath his long coat. "I would rethink that scenario, troll. Rethink it quite thoroughly." There was the lazy swing of silver metal. "Or some pruning may be in order."

God knew there were enough limbs there to keep a tree surgeon in business for a month. I backed up a step, using the momentum to propel Goodfellow several feet behind us. "Run," I ordered flatly.

He didn't run. Instead he staggered from my push, nearly falling before catching himself to say with desperate determination, "Abbagor, wait. We came to you for help, with respect for your connection to history. This isn't a game."