Dead Heat, Part 10

Sobbing fairies spread out on the short grass in front of Rose, the translucent, clinging net binding them more tightly with each movement. The colorful glow of each fairy flickered dangerously, like a light bulb in a dodgy socket. She didn’t have much time.

What did she know about troll nets? They were sticky. Caused despair on its victims. Slowed them down, kept them from escaping as the trolls waited for the sun to go down. Trolls, as a rule, did not like the sunlight. They didn’t turn into stone like some stories said, but their huge eyes and too-pale skin didn’t fare well in brightness.

She knew more about trolls than she wanted to.

That sickly, rotted cotton candy smell rose again and she couldn’t quite fight the memory. First grade, her friend Janie. She’d been gone from school for a few days and nobody had seen her.

She’d known something was wrong, even if the adults didn’t tell her. They were afraid.

Rose didn’t actually remember finding the shoe. She just remembered sitting in a patch of afternoon sun, holding Janie’s shiny black shoe (she’d been so proud of them!) and wondering why it smelled like cotton candy.

That night, Grampa taught Rose about bridge trolls. About tributes and bridges. They’re territorial, he said. Vicious, crafty, jealous of the prettier fae. Avoid them if you can but never ever disrespect them.

That night, mom taught her brother how to defeat a troll in battle, and the lesson held an edge of desperation to it that made Rose glad she hadn’t displayed any aptitude for swordwork.

Rose fought a wave of helplessness. Her brother would have been able to dispatch the troll. He didn’t need to know about proper gifts and politics or any of that stuff.

The voices of the fairies swelled and Rose thrust away memories and wishful thinking. She didn’t need to fight the troll. She wasn’t here to fight anything. She was saving some fairies from a net, and she needed vinegar.

Rose dug into her bag and pulled out a palm-sized bottle of clean white vinegar, pure as she could find it. She kept it to neutralize odors — on the chance something came out too cloying, she could dab a bit of vinegar to dissolve the oil and kill the smell. Sure, then she smelled like vinegar for a short while, but it beat having an overwhelming cloud of tea rose flaring out and assaulting nearby strangers.

Vinegar was a good start. That would help with the sticky, but she needed something uplifting to go with it. Something to counteract the emotional effects of the net. A thin tendril of molasses hit her nose and without thinking, she grabbed the lime oil and dumped half of the little vial into the vinegar container.

A brief pause, and she added orange oil and a bit of lemon as well. Just in case the lime wasn’t strong enough to cut through.

A tonic, she thought. Her hands moved toward the lavender, then paused. No, not lavender. Something else, something bracing rather than soothing.

Cinnamon. That would play nicely against the citrus and keep it from getting too acidic. And a hint of basil to combat the depression.

Her fingers flew, obeying the recipe she concocted in her mind.

She reached forward with vial to use it, then paused and drew back. It wasn’t done. She didn’t know how she knew, but she did. It needed something else, something cleansing. Something to help her apply the oil without getting stuck.

She snapped her fingers. “Burdock! Poppy! I need your help!”

The weeping fairy wailed at her, though he had been smart enough to avoid getting snagged by the net when Pansy had flown forward. “Doomed! Failure! My Queen, I have failed you! I shall prostrate myself upon–”

“POPPY!” Rose shouted.

The fairy’s weeping cut off in surprise and she snapped her fingers at him. “Mourn later. Find me some burdock leaves! I’ll need one leaf per fairy, so hurry up. It should be around here somewhere. Fields, woods. It’ll grow with wide leaves and thick stems near the ground.”

“I know what Burdock looks like!” Poppy sniffed, clearly offended that she’d felt the need to describe it.

“Then get me some.” Poppy looked to Pansy and his queen.

“Go!” whispered the Queen.

By the time she looked back, Poppy was gone. Rose gently swirled the vinegar concoction, closing her eyes and willing it to work. It had to work.

Poppy was back within seconds, two leaves larger than himself trailing heavily behind him and causing his flight pattern to spin erratically.

He dropped the leaves without comment and went off for more.

Rose picked up a leaf and doused it with the … well, by now, it was more of a vinaigrette than a potion, but it’d have to do.

She leaned forward and very delicately wrapped the leaf around the fairy Queen, careful both to avoid the letting the sticky net tendrils touch her own skin, and to not hurt the tiny fae.

The moment the oil touched the net, the tendrils hissed and sprang backward, its movements oddly alive in a way that Rose tried not to think about too much.

The tiny fae queen blinked up at her. Rose spoke quickly and quietly. “Try to spread it out on yourself as much as you can. The leaf is a little serrated, it should help to sort of scrub off anything left behind.”

The Queen’s arms lifted and wrapped the leaf more tightly around herself, as if it were an awkward bath towel. Rose nodded, then applied the oil to the other leaf Poppy had brought, wrapping it around Pansy.

“Try to get it over as much of the net as poss–” she started.

“I’m no idiot, Big!” he shouted at her. His natural floral scent burst over the molasses, and she couldn’t help but feel more relief than ire.

Poppy must have returned while her back was turned, and the next moments were a blur of leaves and oil and fae. Rescued fae dotted the grass around her knees. Pansy refused to rest, taking anointed leaves from her without a word to help the fairies outside of her reach.

Finally, the net lay inert and empty on the manicured lawn of the clearing. Rose sat back, careful not to squash anyone, and took a deep breath. The molasses scent was completely gone, though the sickly cotton candy odor remained. Her heart thumped in her chest, and it wasn’t until that moment that she realized just how afraid she’d been.

They could have died, all of them. Would have, if she hadn’t come.

She closed her eyes, feeling the barest brush of a cool breeze from beneath the nearby bridge chill the lines of sweat running down her nose.

“What right has this human to steal the prisoners?” The voice growled low and full of menace.

She opened her eyes and stared into the shadows beneath the bridge. A pair of eyes, yellow as a Fool’s moon and big as dinner plates gleamed from the darkness.

She’d been right, but felt no joy in the knowldge. Of course the troll was awake. Nothing else would do today of all days.

“The bugs must be punished.” A second pair of eyes opened. Smaller than the first, but with slitted pupils like a cat.

Two trolls. Fantastic. Rose felt a hysterical laugh bubble up in her chest, but she fought it down. Never, ever laugh at the fae. That was one of the rules her Grampa had been very serious about.

Pansy rose a few feet off the ground, pointed his sword at them, and began to laugh mockingly.