My Impossible Option: Trollmageddon, #3

By Darcy Callan

It's time for Trollmageddon.

 

The Scythe has finally done it: they've destroyed everything that made me Ozelle Bandercock. My family is AWOL. My friends are lost to me. I don't trust myself around Varian. I'm no longer the kind, caring human I used to be, and now I'm too unpredictable to Shift into a troll. The Scythe has turned me into the monster they always thought I was.

 

The Scythe may have started this war, but now, I'm going to end it.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Somerwynd Services
• Release date: Nov 8, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201947286

Book preview

It’s time for Trollmageddon.

The Scythe has finally done it: they’ve destroyed everything that made me Ozelle Bandercock. My family is AWOL. My friends are lost to me. I don’t trust myself around Varian. I’m no longer the kind, caring human I used to be, and now I’m too unpredictable to Shift into a troll. The Scythe has turned me into the monster they always thought I was.

The Scythe may have started this war, but now, I’m going to end it.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

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About the Author

Chapter 1

Prison, I’ve learned , erases any and all sense of time. I sit on the floor, naked, hugging my shins, with my rat-tail tucked between my thighs for warmth. I’m stuck in a concrete cell about the size of a walk-in dog kennel with no food, no water, and no toilet.

Not that I need the last item, since they’ve been starving us for days.

The cell is rather apropos, since The Scythe’s magic has me trapped as half girl/half troll, which in my case means I look like a mutant white werewolf. The cinder blocks around me are warm during the day and cold at night, so I think we’re still in Arizona or thereabouts. The electric buzz of the magical collar they put on me either keeps me awake or lulls me to sleep, and I’ve learned to tune out its blue glow.

I haven’t tuned out my hunger pangs.

I see all my clothes folded neatly in a pile by the door. My phone is actually charging on a tiny shelf directly above them. I see the green obsidian necklace Varian gave me glinting beside my phone.

If I make a move toward them, the collar will knock me flat.

I’m ashamed to admit how many times I’ve tried to muscle my way through the pain, only to collapse, screaming, as the volts rocket through me.

Hope. It’s elusive. Promising.

Condemning.

I stare at my mutated body for the millionth time. I have white furry arms, but my hands are mostly normal. My thumbs have claws, but my other nails are human. I have most of my face, but my nose has extended into a short snout. My ears are half-human, since they now have fur and are pointed, and my teeny tiny pronghorn horns poke painfully out of my human skull.

I am no longer Demi.

I no longer look human.

I am a monster.

Var? My throat is so dry that it hurts to even whisper his name.

Yeah?

I heave a sigh of relief that he’s still alive. I want to cry, but there’s no juice left in my body for tears. One thing I’ve learned since we got captured is...

I love him.

I drove all the way across country with him and learned more about him in the two days we spent with the Latroya pack of coyote Shifters than I had since I met him in August. I never asked about his life. His likes, his dislikes. His family, education, travels. I was so wrapped up in myself and my friends’ situations that I overlooked the incredible man who dropped everything to help me in my time of need.

And now, having spent days listening to him get tortured, shocked, punched... I feel sick inside. Never once did he blame me. Never once did he turn the focus to me.

Despite the personal pain, he still protected me. Threatened to kill them for hurting me. Told them he’d rather die protecting me than tell these human psychopaths anything that might help their agenda.

I never needed a protector before. Halite, I’m usually the one breaking up fights at school and taking all the risk. So having someone put their safety on the line for me is, well, amazing.

Special.

Humbling.

I miss our banter. I miss teasing Varian about being a smarty pants. I miss having him hold me after a nightmare, which is nothing like what we’re dealing with now.

My throat tightens like sandstone crystallizing. I feel its glassy shards poking into my airway. I’m so sorry I got you into this.

You didn’t, sweetheart. This is all Scythe, not you.

Sweet, comforting words that neither soothe nor comfort. If I hadn’t offered to help my best friend—hadn’t been willing to move mountains for Nila—we wouldn’t be here, rotting away in cells, our only crime being a different species than humans. Not that I blame Nila for our predicament; I’d do anything for her, anytime, anywhere. We’re never getting out of here, are we.

Someone will come looking for us, Varian assures me.

I keep my head up as I listen to the undercurrent of doubt lacing his words. I’m curious as to the roots of his optimism but I’m no longer hopeful. Nobody knows we’re here, wherever here is. Catori’s Latroya pack of coyotes is all dead. My family is on the run. Hiram has been radicalized into a Demi hater, and Nila’s probably moved into the dragon’s mansion in Hilton Head for her schooling. No one’s coming for us.

The silence thickens between us. I recognize the slow, scratching amble of a Gila monster beyond my wall but can’t be bothered to even turn my head to it.

I’m not giving up, Zellie, so don’t you. I’ll get us out of here if it’s the last thing I do.

I don’t want to give up. I want to be like a normal teenager looking forward to graduating, getting a job, a house, falling in love. Halite, I’d even consider getting married off and having little troll babies if it meant putting this torturous trauma behind me.

A clump of fur sticks up on my arm. I tug it and see it’s glued to a fresh scab. I don’t bother it again. My body is a patchwork quilt of human skin, white fur, dirty brown areas and matted bloody wounds. I blink what would normally be tears and realize even my eyelashes hurt.

I need to hear his voice again and ask, What do you want to do if we ever get out of here?

He makes a sound like a laugh.

What’s so funny?

You don’t want to know.

Normally I’d be curious and harangue him for an answer. I’m guessing it’s violent. I always warned him my father was strong enough to yank someone’s arms out of their sockets. Maybe he’ll do that to our captors, namely Shaggy Sumo Wrestler, who’s been overseeing our daily torture.

No complaint here.

"What do you want?" he asks me.

Well, no way I’m admitting I want him to hold me again. We’re not dating; I’m the butthead who made that abundantly clear to him innumerable times over the last three months. So I couch the truth and say, I just want to hug everyone I love again.

He’s silent for a while as he digests my words. I hope someday you’ll hug me.

It’s neutral enough for me to say, If we get out of here, I’ll hug you. My voice bobbles like a toy boat in a toddler’s bathtub but I say no more. I’ll let him connect the dots.

I hope....

When Varian says no more, I look up. What?

I hear him let out a painful breath. That you don’t blame me for this.

My eyes prickle, but I’m unable to cry. I don’t. I won’t.

I had one job, and it was to protect you. I’m doing my best, Zellie. And I’ll keep doing it, up to my dying breath.

I want to argue, but his words pack a worse punch than Shaggy Sumo Wrestler’s sledgehammer. There’s no hope for us, no future. I’ve failed my friends, my family, my destined mate, my mission. I drop my forehead to my knees and close my eyes. I’ve no tears left, but I cry myself to sleep.

Chapter 2

Nila checked her cell for the millionth time and tossed it on her bed between the open suitcases and piles of folded clothes. Where the heck was Z? She replayed their last conversation and double-checked their texts. Nothing strange. Nothing inflammatory. Zero reason why Z wouldn’t reply to the numerous messages over the last two plus weeks.

Nila sensed in her heart that her best friend was alive, but ghosting was not like Z. Not at all. Which could only mean one thing: her friend was in major, deep trouble. The fact that Jed and his folks were in hiding did nothing to reassure Nila about that family’s safety. If Mr. Bandercock, who was downright scary when he was angry, was frightened enough that he disappeared with his family in the middle of the night, how much danger were they in?

And did that danger extend to newly-created reapers who were friends with the entire family?

She grabbed her cell and texted Jed, but after a minute, she received an error message. Did he trash his phone? Take out the battery so no one could trace him? She’d watched enough movies to wonder... could bad guys really triangulate someone’s position?

Her mom came in and stopped short at seeing the mess in Nila’s room. Pride and pain both filled her eyes. My baby girl, growing up and moving out.

Those loving words smacked Nila hard in the solar plexus. It’s just school, Mom. And it’s only two hours away.

Her mom stepped up and crunched her in a hug. Nila returned it, hoping her mom’s arms would shatter some of Nila’s guilt about lying to her regarding this alleged prep school. No way would Nila betray her friends and reveal the prep school was really run by dragon Shifters, and that she was only allowed to attend since Jed turned her into a reaper— collecting energy from people’s souls as they vacated their body— all because the Reaper Council refused to train her.

Her mom, a Haitian, might believe in magic, but the truth sounded far too fantastical.

You’re going to knock them dead, I just know it.

Nila tried not to react to the literal meaning, but rather what her mom knew of the situation. Let’s hope.

I can’t believe we’ll have a doctor in the family! Your father and I are so incredibly proud of you.

Tears filled Nila’s eyes. I get my healing powers from you, you know.

And your brains from your father.

Nila smiled. Somewhere, she’d bet, the Reaper Council had jokes about lawyers stealing souls, but she made no comment. Instead, she smiled at her mother and said, The defense rests.

Her mom laughed, and Nila felt a pang of homesickness wash over her. How long would it be between visits? When would she next hear her mom’s laughter? Her dad’s quiet council? Her brother’s annoying teases?

Instead of laboring over the what-ifs, Nila returned to packing, scrutinizing her pile. Laptop, printer, cables, paper, pens, pencils, chargers... I hope I’m not forgetting anything.

If you are, let me know. I’ll just be a day late on shipping my orders, but I’ll get them to you.

And make your customers survive without their soaps? Cruel, Mom. Wicked cruel.

Her mom laughed and gave her another squeeze. Wrap up. We’re having Cajun catfish for dinner.

With grits?

Her mom shook her head. Collard greens.

Nila shrugged, indifferent.

And Jollof rice.

Nila beamed at that. Now you’re talking. I’ll be down in a minute.

Her mom kissed her temple and then cupped her cheek, holding her gaze for a long moment. So, so proud of you.

Nila spun her mom around and aimed her for the door. Go before you make me cry. And then her eyeliner would run, which would be what Z would call a makeup tragedy.

Her mom laughed and headed downstairs. Nila watched her go, taking the scent of the baking fish deep into her lungs. Her brother in the next bedroom ranted at his video game, screaming, "Will you die already?" Sounds of terror, gunshots, and zombie moans filled the upstairs. She rolled her eyes, wondering what Renard enjoyed about shoot-to-kill games when Nila had reaperhood thrust upon her and dreaded the next time a life ended because of her.

But no one in her family knew that.

Her cell rang, and even though she didn’t recognize the number, she answered it. Hello?

Nila.

She recognized Skalimen’s voice, mostly because he was so cute that her heart raced whenever he called. Or maybe it was sheer panic? He was a dragon Shifter after all, and the most powerful of their kind. Yes.

Are you packed?

Almost.

"Good. Our driver will be there tomorrow morning at 9 AM."

Her heart lurched so hard she physically moved. What? Why? The year’s not over. January third was their agreed upon date, granting her the end of the year with her family.

You’re needed now.

But it’s almost Christmas! I can’t leave my family now. In case he didn’t understand the importance of the holiday, she added, My entire family is coming up from New Orleans.

You must come now. You will.

She crossed her arms and took a defiant stance. She’d seen Z draw a line in the sand with Skalimen, and though he was powerful, he seemed reasonable. Nila might be tossing away her best chance at a doctorate, as well as learning how to control her newfound reaper powers, but her family was everything to her. Not without a fantastic reason. She remained silent, waiting to see what he’d say. It would have to be phenomenal for her to leave now.

Your friends, Ozelle Bandercock and Varian Alexander, have been captured by The Scythe. We need you here to help rescue them.

Everything inside her shattered.

Chapter 3

The clanking of my cell door has me snapping open my eyes. Everything is blurry, and I try to focus on the round man blocking the entrance. It takes a hot second for me to realize Shaggy Sumo Wrestler himself stands before me. He’s the biggest of the Trio of Terror, with Scorpion Skull the middle weight and Threadbeard the skinniest. I’m so weak and terrified I’ve lost all the rock in my spine to resist, and when he yanks me upright by my arm, it’s all I can do to keep my terror from spilling out of my mouth as well as maintain my footing.

The train is coming. Fear slides thick up my throat, lava hot, choking me. Every time they drag us out here when a train approaches, it’s a new torture. The chugging of boxcars, the bells as the bars come down... those sounds block out the noise of their torture and our resulting screams. That lightning rope torture was the first time, burning and scarring my skin in both forms, since something about it makes Demis Shift unintentionally, revealing our true form in the process. The second time was straight, ongoing pummeling. I learned that the matching collars they stuck on us not only melds our two forms, it weakens us, which leaves me stuck in this mutant mess of a form. Varian’s true form— being half nymph— looks far more human than troll, but his human-y looks haven’t tempered their abuse in the least. Honestly, the last time I got this beat up was the night I’d renounced my troll gene, and I almost died because of it.

The third time they’d tortured us? I shudder at the memory. That was the day they put a gun to Varian’s head, threatening to blow his brains out in front of me if I didn’t tell them where the stones are. Varian had made me promise not to tell them anything, so I told them I don’t know where they are, which is the actual truth. I still don’t know. I gave them to two Latroya Shifters and begged them to get them back to my old Lewis High School. We’d agreed to meet in ten days. I don’t even know how long ago that’s been by now. But they’d pulled the trigger and I’d screamed.

So had Varian.

But nothing happened.

It was an empty gun.

They’d put us back in our cells, traumatized.

The next day, they’d strapped our wrists to our ankles, hung us from a meat hook from the ceiling, and played piñata with our bodies for what felt like five hours, but only lasted as long as the passing train. That’s where my bruises came from.

And Varian’s broken arm.

Today, I catch Varian’s eyes for only a second before they drop black pillowcases over our heads. My arms are cinched behind me, and then we’re shoved back against a brick wall. I hear a slow train rattling across the road and brace for a litany of sucker punches.

Ready? A man asks.

I turn to Varian at my side, though I can’t see him. Are they talking to us?

Aim.

Holy schist, this is where we die. My bladder drops. I’d pee my pants if I had any urine. Or pants. A cry escapes me, but the blaring of the oncoming train blocks it. Varian?

I’m here, he answers.

Fire!

Gunshots explode all around us. Concrete bits sprinkle down on my matted fur. I let out another cry and try to shrink into myself. On and on the bullets come, deafening me as they connect with the wall scant inches away from my body.

My ears ring, that high-pitched sound that blocks out everything else. I think my eardrums are ruptured but I don’t know. I’m still standing, still alive. I don’t smell fresh blood so I think Varian is okay, too.

Relatively speaking.

The train is gone.

The torture is over.

Someone grabs my arm and hauls me away from the wall. I’m weak on so many fronts right now. I can’t handle any more torture, psychological or otherwise. I need to get out of here.

I’ve got one chance.

One last desperate chance.

Hope. It’s so dangerous.

They remove my cuffs and yank off my shroud and I flail my arms with everything I can muster as they shove me into my cell, letting the shock collar finish off the round of today’s torture as I cross the threshold. I stumble in and collapse to the floor, feeling both my knees and the entire length of one forearm get skinned in the process. I tuck into a ball and remain still as Sumo Wrestler lands a few sharp kicks to the back of my thighs.

He slams the door, thinking he’s won.

But he hasn’t.

I glance down into the shelter of my body and slowly uncurl my palms. Hidden inside, snagged during my flailing episode, is my lifeline out of here.

I’ve managed to grab my cell phone.

Chapter 4

Nila