Free A Hollow in the Hills by Ruth Frances Long Page B

wishing they’d just go away, and then bowed his head. ‘I’ll check. If you’ll kindly wait in the parlour?’
    They followed him through the door, along the narrow winding passage like a tunnel beneath the Giant’s Causeway, lined and capped with hexagonal columns. They emerged into a room with vastly oversized furniture.
    ‘The giant’s house,’ said Dad after Grim vanished again. ‘Cute, isn’t it?’
    It was kind of cute. Not tacky like she’d thought. But it made her feel like a child, and that vulnerability wasn’t exactly welcome. Dad on the other hand seemed to be in his element, like a kid himself, gleeful as he wandered around chair legs and under the table. He stood in the fireplace and made faces at her.
    So much for a serious situation.
    ‘What is Grim?’ she asked, walking over to the table, trying to see what was on top of it.
    ‘A bodach. A giant.’ He spread his arms wide. ‘Welcome to his house.’
    ‘He was tall, but not that tall.’
    ‘That isn’t his real height.’
    She rolled her eyes to heaven. Sometimes she was certain Dad liked making her feel out of her depth. She was a novice, compared to him, as Gran was so fond of pointing out. Gran wasn’t even a Grigori, but she’d been married to one for fifty years, as she liked to tell them, and ‘bred one too’, like theywere pedigree dogs or something. It made Izzy grind her teeth. Her gran had always been aloof, when she was around, but now Izzy was seeing a whole new side to her, not a particularly charming one. Usually around that point in Gran’s rant, she found some really boring tome and made Izzy read it from start to finish. It wasn’t worth the argument.
    Izzy wasn’t actually sure which was worse, the endless lectures or the punishing drills and fighting techniques. She had danced for years in primary school, ballet training, some gymnastics thrown in because she’d found it easy in comparison. This, at least, gave her a chance to keep up. Flexibility and strength she wasn’t aware she had inside her – because up until the age of thirteen she’d danced just for pleasure - resurged from muscle memory and old instincts. She had loved to dance. And then she’d given up, in that way many her age did. Not because anything happened or she’d wanted something else. She’d just fallen out of love with it. Secondary school made it harder to get to the classes, and ballet required more hours, more than she was able to give.
    If only she’d known. If only Mum and Dad – especially Dad – had told her something to keep her going.
    And now, she had terrible dreams about training, about the endless cycles of positions, blocks, defences and attacks. It infected every corner of her mind, waking and sleeping. But it was easier than the nightmares, where Holly tortured her, where Jinx despised her, where Sorath had won …
    Sometimes she felt that training to fight was all she had left,the only way she could carry on. Sometimes she threw herself into it body and soul because it was the only way to numb her mind.
    Behind Dad, in the fireplace, a door opened. The man standing there was no taller than Izzy, with hair almost as red as hers. His eyes were full of laughter, glittering with mirth, and when Dad turned around, he swept into a low and elegant bow.
    ‘Grigori, you honour us with your presence. We have just a short window, but the Storyteller will see you now.’
    Dad instantly sobered. ‘Thank you. Cudgel, isn’t it?’
    The little man looked surprised and rather delighted to be recognised. ‘Yes, sir. I am Cudgel and I have had the honour to be the Storyteller’s sworn man for forty years now. Honoured that you remember me, sir. Truly honoured. Now if you will just follow me.’
    ‘Of course. Come on, Izzy.’
    But Cudgel didn’t move. ‘Alas, I regret to inform you that the Storyteller will only see you alone. Your daughter may have a separate audience afterwards. You may even leave her instructions, if you