CHAPTER NINETEEN

MORGAN

“Come along, Alex. Don’t dawdle.” O’Toole pushed Alexander along.

 “It’s a long way from home,” the boy whispered. Surprisingly, he missed his parents. Even more surprising, he missed his brother and sister too.

O’Toole pointed to the west. “This way.” Abby and Alexander trotted after him, with Malley close behind, peering over his shoulder without slowing his pace. “Of course the safety of the whole valley hinges on our success. So a little less chatting and a lot more walking,” O’Toole said.

“And try not to die,” Malley added. “At least not a permanent death.”

Alexander became silent. His head drooped as his eyes focused on the ground. For the first time, he realized, without a doubt, that he’d signed up for a dangerous journey.

                                                                 

The group crossed one street and then another without incident. The buildings abruptly changed from homes to businesses.

Alexander marveled at a two-story building, painted black and purple, on the other side of the street. “What gives with the guards?” he asked.

“That’s the King’s bank,” Malley answered, spitting on the sidewalk to show his disgust. “The guards aren’t there for security. Nobody would be crazy enough to steal from the King.”

“That is the prison. The guards are there to prevent those unfortunate enough to anger the King from leaving the building.” O’Toole had answered before Alexander asked the question.

“Is the King evil?”

O’Toole looked at Abby and shrugged his shoulders. “Do you want to respond that question, Abby?”

Abby bowed her, head but remained silent.

If the security guards noticed the strange group of travelers staring at them from across the street, they didn’t show it. They stood stoic as the group passed them and rounded the corner at Main Street.

Alexander paused. The castle towers hid behind skyscrapers, but in the distance he could see the flash of brightness cast by the floodlights.

O’Toole crowded behind Alexander. “Are you ready, lad?”

“Nope,” Alexander sighed. A lump formed in his throat, making it hard for him to breathe.

“Relax, everything will be all right,” Abby soothed, looking up the street.

“You really think it will be okay?” Alex shoved his hands in his pockets and sighed.

“Sure, why not,” she lied.

“Chin up, Alex.” Malley handed Alexander a burrito from his pocket. “We’re staying with you tonight.”

Alexander refused the burrito with a flick of his wrist. “Why?”

“Because you look famished,” Malley his mouth full of pocket-burrito said.

“No, why aren’t you leaving before sunrise?”

“We’re staying. Now hush up,” O’Toole interrupted.

They walked the sleepy sidewalk in silence. Nothing stirred in the buildings to their left or right. Alexander’s muscles ached. Even his fingertips hurt.

Alexander noticed the change in Abby’s mood. It became more pensive and withdrawn with every step.

After what seemed like zillion miles, they finally reached a granite statue of the King. His back faced away from the castle, with his left hand stretched out toward his people. Alex wanted to leave. The gray stone castle frightened him.

Abby shook her head in disgust without saying a word.

“The statue would be touching,” Malley whispered, “if you didn’t know the outstretched hand was demanding taxes.”

They all walked away from the statue in silence. Alexander couldn’t believe how much Abby resembled the statue—albeit a shorter, more female version.

                                                                 

A well-manicured, lush, green, tree-lined square sat next to the east castle’s wall. O’Toole chose the empty park for the group’s final stop of the night. In the morning, they would meet with the King. “This is a good spot to spend the night.” He pointed to a tree next to a recently used fire-pit. “Remember we’re technically resting in enemy territory. Talk quietly if you must talk.”

Alexander collapsed, exhausted. Abby drifted down like a feather and landed next to him.

“Malley, my friend,” O’Toole wrapped his arm around his friend’s shoulders. “Do you have anything handy for dinner? Something simple.”

Malley dipped both hands deep into his pocket and withdrew a chicken, Provolone cheese, Ranch dressing with a couple of strips of bacon on top. “Will this do?”

O’Toole raised an eyebrow. “We’re not uncivilized pirates.”

Malley juggled the food in one hand and delved into his pocket with the other. Purple paper plates with matching silverware flew out of his pocket, followed by a red and white checkered tablecloth, which floated effortlessly onto the lawn. “Satisfied?” he asked.

Alexander’s nose perked up at the aromas wafting past him. He sat with his legs crossed and pushed a humongous chunk of chicken between two crackers into his mouth. Sighing with joy as the last morsel hit his taste buds, he licked his fingers clean.

“You obviously forgot napkins,” Abby observed.

Malley retrieved napkins out of his pocket and handed them over. Abby tossed several to Alex.

O’Toole looked at Abby as she chewed on a slice of cheese. “I think it’s time for you to go see your father.”

She looked at the castle. “I think I’ll stay with you guys tonight.

Abby and the King’s relationship were rocky for as long as she could remember. The King blamed her for the death of his wife, and the truth was Abby blamed herself too. But, she was unaware of the true cause of her mother’s demise, which started with an argument between her parents after her birth.

The King wanted to name his daughter Nola after his evil aunt. Her mother thought Abigail sounded musical. King Boyce’s servants poisoned his wife, with his instructions, so that he could have his way. He named his daughter Nola Abby to prove he harbored no hard feelings. Of course, Abby, being a white witch who consistently undid his carefully plotted evil plans, didn’t help too much.

“Are you sure that’s a wise decision?” O’Toole spread a generous dab of jelly on a cracker and popped the delicacy into his mouth. “I’m sure he knows you’re here.”

Alexander looked at Abby, but was too busy making another cracker, ham, and cheese sandwich to care where she was sleeping tonight.

“I’m sure,” Abby laid her head on Alexander’s shoulder.

O’Toole stifled laughing at Alexander’s pained expression. “Suit yourself. I suggest we all get some sleep. The sunrise isn’t far off.”

                                                                 

Alexander waited until he heard soft, shallow breathing coming from Abby before he freed himself from the girl’s grip. Stretching, he crawled over to O’Toole, who sat a few feet away.

Malley gazed into the moonless horizon. “You should get some rest. You’ve got a busy day ahead of you.” He never even looked back, lost in thought.

“It’ll be hard to survive the day with a decent night’s sleep, impossible if you’re too tired,” O’Toole agreed.

Alexander arched his back. “You can’t sleep either?” He shielded his eyes from the glare. “I’m surprised anyone can sleep.”

O’Toole didn’t budge. “It’s not the lights. They don’t bother me.”

“Are you worried about our meeting with the king in the morning?” Alex asked, sitting next to the old leprechaun.

“The King will do whatever the King does. It’s no longer under our control.” O’Toole picked up a dirt clod and tossed it toward the castle.

“What is it then?” Alexander followed O’Toole’s pointing finger to a flicker of light.

“Maybe it’s nothing. Morgan is awake.”

                                                                       

Morgan came from a broken home. It never mattered to her that she was the one responsible for breaking the home.

Her delusional childhood memories placed the blame for her dysfunctional family firmly on her mom and dad. She’d turned her parents into mice because of their limited parenting skills. Then to prove that she loved and forgave them, she placed the family cat, Spot, in the other room, to prove her love with all of her black heart.

There was a slight incident at her school, the Which Witch Preparatory School, when she purposely turned the entire teaching staff into toads. Morgan claimed she accidentally cast the spell. The school was not the least bit impressed. To Principle Grimm, there was little choice but to expel his star pupil when she refused to retract the spell. Not to be deterred, Morgan decided immediately to become the best witch in the history of witches. With hard work, firm determination, and a natural sense of maliciousness, she became pure evil.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

GHOULS

O’Toole and Malley stepped out from the darkness, using their Shillelaghs as a lantern. Abby rushed to Alexander’s side. O’Toole sidestepped gooey troll guts as they plopped from a branch. He picked up Alexander by the ear without as much as a how-do-you-do.

“You’ve wasted enough of our night with your shenanigans,” O’Toole scolded the boy. “We were worried about you. Luckily, Abby found us near the pond. She’s already filled us in on the details about the dead body and the pond squirrel.” His eyes narrowed. “The fact that a messenger rat dispersed the rodents causes me great concern.” He sighed and looked Alexander over from head to foot. “It doesn’t look like anything is broken. The bruises will heal over time. Do they hurt? That cut on your elbow could prove to be catastrophic if not taken care of immediately.”

“No,” Alexander lied.

O’Toole blinked. “That surprises me. You’re lucky. Troll injuries usually hurt to high heaven.” To Alexander’s horror, O’Toole picked a leaf oozing with troll goo and applied it to his elbow. “There’s no need to go to a hospital. An ointment from the remains of the troll that bit you is always the best medicine.”

Alexander gagged and nearly passed out as O’Toole applied the troll innards. It helped the pain dissipate and then made the wounds disappear altogether.

“Are you hungry?” Malley asked with his hands fumbling around in his pocket.

Alex rubbed his empty stomach. “A little. But I’m more tired than hungry.”

Malley gave Alex a ham and cheese sandwich and a bag of chips from his pocket, “I can help with the hunger, but the tired is out of my realm of expertise.”

“You can eat while we walk, there’s little hours left. As usual, we need to be at our destination before sunrise,” O’Toole instructed. “There is plenty of time for sleep if you should die.” He smiled, but Alexander knew he wasn’t joking.

“Where are we going this time?” Alex’s mouth was full of ham, and a sliver of lettuce hung from one corner of his lips.

O’Toole ignored the question. “There’s something evil in the park. I can feel it.” He sniffed the surrounding air. “We need a little less talking, and a lot more walking.”

                                                                 

A bone-chilling wail came from inside the park, followed by an arctic wind.

“I suggest we leave at once,” Malley said hastily, shoving chocolate malt back into his pocket.

The air grew colder. They could see their breath. It felt as if the dead of winter arrived recharged and dead-set on another round of “freeze-the-human” game.

Abby didn’t need any more coaxing. She sprinted to the nearest exit as fast as her freezing, shivering, bare knees would carry her. O’Toole, Malley, and Alex watched her run away, instead of following her.

The apparitions didn’t budge. They just shimmered and wailed.

“What was that? I don’t want to stand around long enough to find out,” Malley whispered, sprinting after Abby as fast as his stubby legs would allow.

O’Toole drummed his fingers on his belly. “I suddenly remembered we are late for an appointment.” He was several feet away when he turned towards Alexander. “Are you coming? You’ve already caused us a considerable amount of delay.”

Alexander found his friends huddled together waiting for him on the sidewalk, warming themselves over a tiny ball of fire coming from Abby’s hands.

 “Do you have a warm coat hiding in your pocket?” Abby asked.

Malley shoved his hand deep into his magical pocket, but it came back empty. “Sorry.”

 “We should be on our way,” O’Toole ordered, a tuft of steam flowing from his mouth. The surrounding air grew frigid again. “It seems as if our woes followed the boy.” He faced Abby and placed his arms around her. “And, my dear, I believe your coldness could be the least of our worries if we stay here much longer.”

Alexander, who until recently never forgot to follow the rules, could wait no longer. He darted across the street without looking both ways. O’Toole and Malley followed Alex’s lead, leaving Abby alone on the corner.

                                                                 

 Abby waited for the light to change; she didn’t want to explain to her father why they arrested her for crossing against the light.

The apparitions halted at the edge of the grass. It was as if an unseen barrier stopped them from crossing over to the sidewalk. The obstacle, however, didn’t prevent them from taunting Abby or throwing snowballs at her. The snowballs hurt, unseen or not.

Abby was fed up when the ghouls targeted her legs with the ice-cold projectiles. The first one sent shivers up her spine. She glared at the ghosts after the second snowball hit her knees.

“Go away.” She used every magical spell she could muster, but no spell worked. The ghosts kept throwing snowballs at her.

“Dad can bail me out of jail,” Abby whispered and ran across the street, reaching her friends on the other side.

 “Don’t get caught up in the boy’s bad examples and choices.” O’Toole scolded.

Abby bit her tongue. She knew arguing with leprechauns seldom, if ever, came to a real end.

“We’re close to completing the first part of our journey,” O’Toole continued as if Abby didn’t exist.

“What would that be?” Malley quizzed O’Toole.

“You know very well,” O’Toole snapped, without missing a step. “I’ll be surprised if any of us survive the night. But the journey is young. All things are possible.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

ALBERT THE TROLL

Alexander tripped over a gnarled tree root in the darkness, bruising his shin and cutting his elbow. A hand darted out from the blackness as he lay sprawled on the ground, and it snatched him up. The ring on the hand wasn’t one he recognized. Neither leprechaun wore a ring.

A hearty laugh echoed. “Don’t worry, young one, I mean you no harm.” The voice was not the one he heard before.

“You’re not O’Toole.”

 “No, I’m not. They told me you were observant.”

 “Abby, RUN! It’s an ambush!”

“Bring me the girl, Herb,” the voice called out. “Oh, don’t worry. As I said, we mean you no harm.”

 Herb, the ugliest creature Alexander ever saw, emerged from trees holding a torch. It illuminated his horrendous green face. His left cheek sported a giant hairy mole, and deep pockmarks ran the length of his right cheek. The flicker of the torch made the mark appear much larger, and the blemishes seemed to crater. He slung Abby, who was kicking and screaming, over his shoulder.

Another grotesque thing stepped from the shadows into the faint light. He was an exact double of the abomination holding the torch. They both wore bib overalls, two sizes too small, and a red plaid shirt with the sleeves missing. Worse, both smelled as if they lived in the sewer.

Herb dropped Abby onto the ground next to Alexander.

“As I said,” not-Herb smiled at Abby, sending freaky cringes up her spine, “we won’t harm either of you. All you need to do is answer a few simple questions.”

“Gold-hunter fairies,” Abby whispered in Alexander’s ear.

The troll motioned something to Herb. Abby screamed with pain as Herb kicked her in the side.

“Do I have your attention now?” the troll asked. “You need to control your girlfriend, boy.”

Alexander fought the urge to tell the troll the girl was not his girlfriend, but played along.

“Good,” the troll smiled. “My name is Albert, and it is evident the girl knows who we are.”

Alexander looked at Abby. “Remember the diner?”

“I’m not hungry. You say stupid things,” Abby retorted.

Albert growled, “You can eat after you answer my questions. Or we eat you, and you won’t have to worry about eating again.”

“Stupid? I say stupid things?” Alexander argued. “What about the idiotic stuff you told Shelley at lunch?”

Abby fumed, “Let me tell you something, brat… oh.”

Herb hefted the torch above his head, ready to swing it if needed.

“That’s okay, Herbie, let them fight. We have plenty of time.” Albert stopped his brother from bashing their prisoners with the lit torch.

Abby risked standing up, and an off-white radiance shone around her. Her face glowed bright, making her even more beautiful, if it were possible. Without warning, she melted into the tree behind her.

                                                                 

Herb and Albert stood motionless, shocked that their prisoner left so abruptly. Herb kicked a tree stump viciously, and Albert scowled at his remaining prisoner. “Bring her back,” he seethed.

“I can’t do that.” Alexander was afraid of Herb kicking him. “She just poofs away whenever I mention dinner. She’s annoying that way.”

Albert’s muscles rippled. Steam oozed from his ears. His eyes turned red just before he tore the nearest tree from its roots and threatened Alexander with it. Alexander scurried for protection behind Herb. That was not the best decision. Then again, the day was becoming full of his foolishness.

“Make your girlfriend come back, or Herb here will eat you,” Albert bellowed, tossing the tree aside as if it were a toothpick.

“I ain’t eatin’ no scrawny boy.” Herb appeared confused. “You know my wife has me on a strict diet. I’m only allowed fruits and nuts.”

Albert slapped his forehead. “Do I have to do all the mayhem and injuring all by myself?” He walked over to Herb and jabbed his finger in his face. “If I say you’re going to eat a boy, then by your mammy’s grave, you’re going to eat the kid.”

Alexander knew an opportunity when he saw one. He crawled away as the trolls argued. Inch by inch, he made his way across the cold, damp ground. His knee ached. His elbow bled. An enormous calloused hand grabbed him from behind and dragged him back.

“You were not excused.” Albert held him by the back of his shirt as if he were a rag-doll. He tossed Alexander over to Herb, “Prepare something to roast him.” He wiped his meaty hands on the front of his overalls.

“No, wait. I know how to make Abby come back.” Alex crossed his fingers behind his back.

“Hold on there, Herb. Maybe the young boy has seen his error and is now ready to cooperate.” Albert smiled a crooked, creepy smile.

Herb dropped the boy onto the ground three feet below.

“Sure,” Alexander agreed, rubbing his butt. “I still don’t know how to make Abby reappear.”

“Forget the girl. She is inconsequential. You should be enough bait to do the job.”

Forget the girl? I wish it were that easy.

“We have nothing but time. We can wait here all night, if that’s what it takes,” Albert stated. “Make it easy on yourself. Tell us what we want to know, and we will be on our way, and you can continue your lovely night with your girlfriend.”

“She isn’t my girlfriend. I’m only thirteen,” Alexander protested.

Albert picked a glob of earwax from his ear and shoved it into his mouth before he cut Alexander off with a dismissive flick of his massive wrist. “Enough. I’m running out of patience. Where are your accomplices? Where are the leprechauns?”

                                                                 

A figure popped up behind the troll.

“I know where the girl is,” said Alex.

“I told you to forget about the girl. But, I’ll play your silly game,” Albert sighed. “Where’s the girl?”

“Behind you, the girl is behind you. And O’Toole and Malley are with her.” Alexander smiled and stuck his tongue out.

“I will not fall for…” Albert, the Gold-hunting Troll’s, last words cut short when the deadly shillelagh touched the small of his back, causing him to explode on the spot. Poor Herb didn’t see his demise coming either, and all that remained of him were bits of troll guts hanging loosely from tree branches.

“Honestly, young man, I believe my last instructions were for you to stay out of trouble.” A familiar voice came from behind a tree. “You can’t always count on Abby rescuing you.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

RETURN OF OWEN

Abby found Alexander kneeling over a body and holding a limp hand. Shallow breaths came from the severely injured man. His clothes were tattered, and scratches oozed blood on his stomach, legs, and arms. Alexander whispered into his ear, but Abby couldn’t hear him. Sweat rolled down her face because she knew the injured man… and he could tell Alexander who she was.

“I told him I forgave him,” Alexander announced, but didn’t look up.

Abby was afraid to ask why the man needed to be forgiven. Fortunately, Alexander continued talking.

“He told me he was supposed to arrest us and the leprechauns.” He finally looked up at Abby, who was now standing over his shoulder. “He mentioned you.”

“He’s probably just delusional,” said Abby, kneeling and peering at the victim. “He doesn’t look well. Did he say what happened to him?”

Alexander shook his head. “That’s what makes little sense. He was camping outside the castle a few days ago, on his way to arrest me. Then he fell asleep, and that was the last thing he remembers before waking up, surrounded by squirrels. He said the squirrels did this to him. There must have been a million of ‘em.”

Abby decided this wouldn’t be the best time to tell Alex about giant pond squirrels. “Are they still in the park?” she asked innocently, not wanting to frighten him.

“That’s the weird part. He told me a rat came by and squeaked something to them, and the squirrels got all agitated and ran off with the rat. And the only talking rats I know of were at the café—”

“The rodent might be a different rat,” Abby interjected, and placed her hand on Alexander’s shoulder. “It’s most likely a coincidence.”

“Do you think so?” Alexander asked, doubtful.

“Sure, why not? Shelley’s rats aren’t the only ones in town.” She sounded almost convinced, but the look in her powdery blue eyes proved she knew better.

“Tell the truth,” said Alex.

“Yah, I don’t think so either. We’re just doomed,” she confessed.

Blood dripped from the injured man’s nose. His eyes popped open, but focused on nothing. His hand feebly reached for Abby. “Nola, tell your father I tried.” His hand fell to his side, and his breathing became shallow, and then stopped.

Alexander looked at Abby with a blank stare, “He called you Nola. Who’s your father?”

“He’s delusional. That happens just before you die,” she lied. “My dad is a nobody,” another lie. A tear escaped her eyes. She wanted to tell Alexander that Owen bounced her on his knee when she was a toddler, but was afraid of what he might think.

Owen struggled to raise his head, followed by a chorus of coughing, “The King.”

Alexander’s eyes widened. He thought the man died. “He said your father is the King.”

“He said no such thing,” Abby snapped.

It didn’t help her case when Owen struggled to raise his head once again and pointed his quivering finger at Alexander. “Princess, you must arrest that boy. It’s your duty to your father.” Owen’s eyes crossed, his face contorted, and his tongue fell out of his mouth. His last ghost of breath escaped him, and his head fell to the ground with a thud.

Alexander stood up and walked away without saying a thing. He whirled around as Abby followed and halted her with a wave of his hand.

“Wait,” she pleaded, but Alexander kept walking. “You can’t trust a dying hobo’s last words.” She knew Malley would tell Alexander whatever truth he needed to know when the time was right. This was far too soon.

“Don’t you trust me?” she yelled in desperation.

Alexander stopped in his tracks and clutched his hands into balls by his side. He spun around. “Trust you?” His teeth clenched. “Let’s see. I’ve been threatened by witches, rats, and farmers. I’m hungry and tired. Then some homeless dude calls you princess, so NO, I don’t trust you.”

Abby did what girls young and old have been doing since the dawn of time. She broke down in sobs; slow at first, but up to a full-blown cry within seconds. Alexander reacted as every male who ever drew a breath, his stoic exterior crumbling around him, like all men or boys before him. He didn’t know what to do, and helplessly uttered the universal words, “Please don’t cry.” Then he hugged a girl for the first time in his life, with no need to throw-up.

                                                                 

“Please trust me,” Abby continued to sob on Alexander’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t ever harm you.”

He patted her back as if it were a cactus, but still attempted to comfort Abby. He was in new territory, and to his surprise, it wasn’t as disgusting as he thought. He might even learn to enjoy hugging in thirty or forty years.

“We need to do something with the body. Bury it or something.” Alexander broke away from the hug. The body was gone. “Where did it go?” Alexander dropped to his knees, feeling the damp ground.

Abby shrugged her shoulders.

“It was here. Right?” He dusted off specks of dirt from his hands and shirt. “What do we do now?”

Abby paced in the spot where the body had laid. She wrung her hands together and shot them into the air, alternately. She paused and looked at Alexander with a lost expression before continuing her pacing.

“I’m just a kid.” Alexander’s eyes followed Abby. “You’re the closest one to being an adult, and you’re a princess.”

She whirled to face him. “A what?”

“Nothing.” Alexander pecked at the ground with the toe of his shoe. “You’re the oldest, so you need to be the boss.”

                                                                 

The sound of rustling of the leaves on the trees froze them. There was no place to hide. The park stood shrouded in purple darkness. The scary rustling crept closer. Abby motioned for Alexander to get behind her. He resisted at first, complied when the sounds came from behind a tree. She was a witch, after all, and he was only a boy.

“It’s about time we found the two of you,” a voice bellowed out from the darkness.

“You guys don’t make it easy to rescue you,” another voice followed.

Alexander smiled as he recognized the voices. Abby wasn’t so sure. She knew others would stop at nothing to prevent them from completing their quest. She also knew her father controlled most of “the others” in question.

A small puff of light emulated from Abby’s hand. She knew it wasn’t enough to harm anyone, but it might startle the voices. At least, startle them long enough for an escape. She jumped as Alexander touched her shoulder, sending the puff to explode into the tree.

“It’s O’Toole and Malley.” He rushed from behind Abby into the darkness before Abby could stop him.

“Wait,” she yelled, “There are some creatures known to mimic.” It was too late. Great, I’ve lost the boy for the second time today, she thought. This won’t look good on my resume.