Free Troll Or Derby, A Fairy Wicked Tale by Red Tash

chasing women through the woods at night isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Neither is being pursued by a homicidal drug lord.
    I could hear Dave cursing over the strains of “Dreamweaver,” and I knew he was catching up with me. That didn’t bother me a bit, but I wanted Deb to have a head start to safety. I knew it was an old-fashioned trick, but I gathered some dust from my mojo and threw lightning straight back at the car. The silver streaks ran a jagged line through the air, connected with his tacky hood ornament, and sizzled up the frame of the car.
    The car stopped, and Dave climbed out, lunging awkwardly through the undergrowth. His headlights shone into what was left of the woods, and into the grassy strip of land between the highway and the road.
    I don’t know how long we were fighting, but Dave must have given Deb up for lost, because he went at me like he needed to end me. We traded blows, mostly because I couldn’t take the time to get to any of my magic.
    When the police car pulled up on the shoulder, I hesitated, then kicked Dave hard in the chin, knocking him off his feet. I was prepared to glamour anyone heading our way to nose around. Even if the cops wouldn’t arrest me, Dave’s cops could sure make my life more difficult. Jag’s cops, anyway.
    I roared, and that took the attention away from Deb, as the cop spun his spotlight down the embankment to where Dave and I were tussling.
    A young State Trooper stumbled down the embankment toward us. The look on his face when he saw Dave sprawled over the hood of the Caddy told me as much about his character as the dark stain growing on the front of his trousers. Sure, these state cops are tough—but two brawling trolls in the middle of the night is a little much for even the Indiana State Police to deal with.
    Dave groaned and sat up, rubbing his head and his ass simultaneously. His tusks protruding, gruesome and obvious, he glowered at the officer. To the trooper’s credit, he only went white—he didn’t pass out. While Dave enjoyed looming large over the man, I glanced in the direction of the highway. About a mile away, Deb was cresting a hill. I could barely see her, even with my enchanted vision. Bikers. Lots of them.
    “We’ll have to glamour him,” I said to Dave.
    “Or eat him,” he replied. He grunted, then added, “Asshole.”
    I shrugged. “Maybe so,” I said. “But I’m your asshole.”
    Dave laughed. We’d never been close, but it didn’t hurt to mess with him.
    “You admit you’re an asshole, though?” he said, chuckling.
    “Would you two assholes like to tell me what the hell you two are doing driving through these woods in the middle of the night?” the Statie interjected.
    Dave reached out, put his massive pot roast of a hand around the Statie’s neck, and squeezed, laughing. “Sex, drugs, and rock & roll, man,” he said. The Statie fell to his knees first seemingly in pain, then unmistakably glamoured. Dave unzipped his fly. “Sex, drugs, and rock and roll.”
    Rock and roll. Yeah, that was going to be the ticket.
    I knew I shouldn’t have left the trooper in Dave’s clutches, but I needed to catch up to Deb—and finally, I saw my opportunity to maybe get ahead of her.
    Before Dave could stop me, I summoned a thunderbird who owed me a favor, and I was off to the west, to the land of the Fog.

Chapter Ten
    The Rustic Fog
    Deb

    We rode for a few hours before Moe and his gang stopped for a break. I checked Dave’s phone—he’d lied about Gennifer’s call. According to the history, she hadn’t called him for days. Not from her own cell, anyway.
    I tried to call her, but all I got was her voice mail. When we were stopped, I was surprised the phone even had service—I wasn’t sure we were in Indiana, anymore, truth be told. We’d pulled off a highway into a gas station in the middle of nowhere, best I could tell—and the highway numbers meant nothing to me.
    I’d never left Laurents County before.
    As we