Mercedes Lackey - Reserved for the Cat

A jolt of fear passed through her. Thomas was definitely in trouble. There was no time to lose.

She snatched up her keys and ran.

“You are a curious creature,” said the Troll.

Thomas knew it was a Troll, because he could tell, by scent, that it was not human the moment he had surreptitiously entered the house. Here in proximity to it, inside barriers and shielding, things were very clear. The damp-soil scent of Earth power was everywhere, overlaid with the corruption that was the hallmark of the Dark Element. And the unmistakable signs of something very large and very powerful, besides the lesser boggles and simulacra, meant that the powerful one must be a Troll. The first thing that had occurred to him, and with a jolt, was that he had, all unaware, been the one to find their elusive Earth Master, for only an Earth Master would have an Earth Elemental in thrall. There could not be two such in the city.

The second thing that occurred to him was to run.

Unfortunately, he discovered that he could not.

The whole house was bespelled. Things could get in easily, but once inside, the only way to get out was to be let out. He had slipped blithely inside, following his quarry, only to discover that he was trapped.

All right, put a good face on it. Since he could not go back, he decided to go forward. He followed the man, who whimpered a little as he stumbled along the passageway and up the stairs, heading for the next floor. The entire scene was surreal; outwardly, this was the entry, hall, and staircase of a very well-appointed, moderately luxurious, and utterly respectable home. It had all the right touches, from the scenic photographs and paintings on the walls, to the Turkey carpet on the floor, from the elaborately carved balustrade to the latest in electrical lighting. But the aura of dark corruption that hung over everything, and the tortured face of the man climbing the stairs as if he was ascending the Matterhorn, made it feel more like something out of a nightmare.

Thomas followed, knowing that there was no way he could have escaped detection, even if the master of this place hadn’t done anything about him yet. So he acted as if he had intended to be in this position all along. When all else fails, try a bluff. Mind, that particular philosophy had not worked all that well for him in the past.

Then again, that could mean the odds were good for it finally working. Right?

The man paused at an open doorway. Then Thomas got a second shock, when the voice that called out to them was female.

“Come in,” said the voice, and paused. “Both of you.”

The man shambled in. Thomas followed.

And got the third shock, although part of his mind was saying, smugly, This should have occurred to you, you know. He knew the woman lounging like an odalisque on her sumptuous chaise.

It was the real Nina Tchereslavsky.

Or rather, a Troll wearing her shape.

The Troll made a contemptuous gesture at him, and he found himself frozen in place. Which was not quite as bad as it could have been, however, because the Troll’s primary attention was on the man.

“You have failed me,” the Troll said, looking down her pert nose at the man. “You stupid ass. What sort of an idiot attacks someone in broad daylight? With witnesses? Within reach of help?”

The man’s mouth worked, but no sound came out. The Troll’s words, curiously enough, were in good English, with a slightly upper-class accent. Thomas wondered how that came about, if she was supposed to be Russian.

Then again, she was a Troll, and magic was a part of them. He supposed . . .

But wait. There was something else wrong here. Where, exactly, was this creature’s Master?

“Never mind that, I will tell you,” the woman continued with contempt. “A brainless, over-educated, under-schooled fool, who has been certain all of his life that he is entitled to the finer things, yet has never worked to achieve them.”

This did not sound like any Troll that Thomas had ever heard of. Most of them could scarcely manage more than a grunt.

“So, given that you are a brainless, over-educated, under-schooled fool who has just ruined any chance he had of getting near that imposter, what do you think I should do with you?” she continued.

The man stared at her dumbly, and tried to mouth words, but nothing came out.

“Fortunately for all of us, your dear mother does not know you are here. In fact, she does not even know you have left the house. No one knows you are here—” she looked down at Thomas “—except this cat. And I doubt he will be able to go running to the police, or anyone else. So, really, there is nothing to prevent me from doing exactly as I please with you.” She smiled. It was a smile that made Thomas’s tail brush out again.

That was when she changed into her normal form. Yes, she was, indeed, a Troll . . .

Her head brushed the ceiling; she looked now like a crude doll made of gray clay, and she smelled like a combination of sour earth and rotting flesh. She reached forward and embraced the man. It would have been funny, if his face had not been contorted into a silent scream of anguish.

Then came the horrible part. When he had been human and a magician, Thomas had read about Trolls doing this, but he had never thought he was going to see the absorption process up close. Certainly not this close.

With the victim paralyzed and able to move only his eyes, the Troll pressed him into her chest. Into it. Little by little, he sank into the clay, and in a way it was a relief that his face went in first, because at least Thomas didn’t have to look at his expression anymore.

And this could have been still worse, really; in some accounts, a Troll would dismember and partly eat a victim, rather than merely absorbing him. It was said that they grew to like the taste.

But where was the Troll’s master?

Thomas curled his tail tightly around his feet, and pretended to watch with interest, all the while trying to detect a human, any human, anywhere in this house. Well other than the victim.

Nothing.

No, he thought, aghast. But the conclusion was inescapable.

There was no Elemental Master here. There was only—this thing. A horror, a blasphemy, something that should never have been. An Elemental that had been given form and substance on the Material Plane and gotten loose. A creature that did not belong here, turned loose and left to work its will on humans. Any humans.

He thought he knew now where it had gotten its relatively high intelligence and cunning. It must have begun absorbing humans right away, and with that had come more wit, more ability to think. With that, too, had come enough memory to tell her of the dangers of living among humans. So now there was a Troll that could think, plan, and carry out those plans. A Troll that could keep its identity hidden. A Troll with patience.

That last might have been the worst.

Thomas thought quickly, because in a few more moments, the Troll was going to finish absorbing her prey, and then she was going to turn her attention to him.

He cleared his throat as the last of her victim vanished, with a little dry cough of the sort that sometimes preceded a hairball. Very good, he said gravely. He couldn’t manage approval, but at least he could sound serious. No point in wasting him, but no point in allowing him to continue wasting air either.

The Troll reverted to the form of the dancer. Had there even been a real Nina Tchereslavsky? Probably, but judging by the Troll’s looks, she hadn’t been very old when she fell afoul of the creature.