Chess dropped her hands. It can't hurt, she thought. “All right. I'll come with you.” She pitched her voice low and soothing, as if she was talking to Old Glory again. “Just take it easy with that voice, huh? It's a little scary."

He backed out of the door as she stepped forward again, her boots slipping a little on the smooth stone floor. The air smelled leaden and dead down here. The troll's bare four-toed feet spread to grip the stone. She followed cautiously, stepping out into darkness broken only by the gleams of a heavy brass candelabra held by another troll.

Outside the door was a vaulted stone passage, floored with the same fitted-together flagstones. The walls were smooth as glass, she was glad the almost-invisible seams between the stones on the floor gave her some traction or she'd be slipping all over like a cartoon character skating. Both trolls were massive, green, and watched her with disconcertingly mild, wide yellow gazes.

I am not cut out for this. She managed a smile that seemed likely to crack her face. “Okay,” she said, heard her voice fall flat in the close, choking confines of the tunnel. “I guess I'm all yours, guys. Where are we going?"

Chess soon found out she was way underground, deeper than the sewers, and that the second troll-thing seemed unable to speak much English. It held an ancient brass candelabra in one thick, horny hand, and she saw warts marching along the back of its neck, each decked with black hair. The first troll had vanished down another corridor into the darkness, shuffling and making a deep hooming sound that even now reverberated through the air. Every once in a while they would pass arches yawning up to the left or right, some with a faint gleam of golden light far back in them, each resounding with that humming sound. It sounded like there were a whole bunch of singing trolls in this labyrinth, and the sound worked its way through her bones, shaking tension and her headache away.

It shuffled ahead of her through the fluidly-curving stone passage, its back hunched under a frayed black shirt, and she wondered if it was the one from the tavern. Her hiking boots made shushing sounds against the flagstone floor, each rock fitted together with exquisite care. She had to go carefully with one hand on the smooth cold wall or she'd slip. The tunnel began to slope sharply up, no doors on either side, and she was breathing heavily by the time they reached the end and a set of stairs through an arch carved with flowers and beautiful, strange runic lettering she wanted to examine more closely. “Excuse me,” she managed politely. “Excuse me?"

The troll stopped. “Thank you,” she began, unsure of whether that meant it was listening or if she'd just committed a grave breach of etiquette. “Look, can you take me up to Tenth Street and Argyle? That's close to my house. I'd really appreciate it."

The troll made a snorting sound. “Nagàth ilmesto.” Its voice was like rocks dropped into a pool, chill and plonking. “Tang vakr."

Gesundheit, she thought. “I'm sorry, I don't understand you. I apologize.” She deliberately made her voice soft, not almost-yelling like people sometimes did when they spoke to a foreigner.

"Following,” the troll said. “Danger for firebird."

"Firebird?” What the hell does Stravinsky have to do with this? Have I been stuck with a troll that loves classical music? She dragged herself back into the present with an effort. The books also didn't tell you how your mind jagged from place to place when confronted with the absurd, things your life hadn't prepared you for, violations in the reality you grew up into, leaving behind fairy tales and sorcery.

If I wasn't such an avid reader of speculative fiction, I might well be stark raving mad by now.

"Firebird. Knife, gold, soft, smell good.” The troll ruminated on this for a moment, then said, “Yew!"

Yew? You? Oh, my God. “Firebird? You mean I'm the firebird? Someone's following me?” Give Chessie a prize, she catches on quick, don't she? Ryan, you'd be proud. Why am I thinking of him?

"Drak'ul. Follow Firebird. Black smoke too.” It still didn't turn around, but its shoulders slumped. “Take firebird secret way, no follow."

Gee, that's mighty swell of you. “I'd like that.” She cast a nervous glance behind her—nothing but the yawning maw of blackness that was the rest of the tunnel, the candles flickering and failing to dispel the darkness. “Thank you.” Jesus Christ, I'm in a tunnel with a troll. An actual tunnel and an actual troll. I'm getting the idea Jericho City is a lot weirder than even I suspected. I wonder if there are Others living in every city?

It certainly seemed likely. On both counts.

"Up,” the troll grunted, and set off up the steps. She began to see how its odd, awkward legs were actually perfectly suited for tunnels and stairs. He stopped every once in a while to let her catch her breath. I'm in good shape, but damn, these are killer. My ass is never going to be the same. Stairmaster, eat your heart out. He said nothing else, but she began to hear a deep thrumming, a subsonic noise that rattled her bones and made her a little less sanguine about being on a narrow set of stairs with a troll that smelled like leather and sunwarmed stone.

At least he didn't smell like she'd always imagined trolls would smell. Though those warts were something else.

He says the Drakul are following me. Is it Ryan? Why did the lights go out? Was it them? Only it was demons… but he said the Drakul were part demon. She suppressed a shiver as the walls turned from stone to crumbling brick, the candleflames beginning to dance in drafts as other passages opened up on either side, galleries and halls of darkness. The pale candlelight was not at all comforting, even though the humming noise—almost definitely coming from the troll—was pleasant, kind of like a sonic massage. And there on the stairs, with a troll in front of her, Chessie had another deep urge to laugh maniacally.

He heard the sound of the key in the lock and made himself a shadow, unbreathing, almost unthinking, melding with the darkness. It was the long, dead time of early morning, right about half past two, the dark thick and absolute before false dawn began to creep up through the cracks of night. The knife was steady in his hand, and the beginnings of combat-sorcery tingled on his other fingers. Blood dripped into his eyes, warm salt stinging; his shoulders both hurt and his wrists were bracelets of agony. His knee was destroyed too. He'd taken a bad shot, and the shirt she'd given him was going to be a rag, useless, slashed, and bloody. He felt bad about that.

Another lock unlocked, the faint sound loud to his Drakul senses. He heard only one heartbeat, as familiar to him as his own by now.

The door opened, a slice of golden light from the hall outside appearing. “Hi, honey, I'm home,” she whispered, and stepped inside, closing the door and locking it. Two deadbolts, thudding home, then the lock on the knob. The smell of stonekin hung on her, stonekin and Inkani; she still smelled of the demons that had attacked the Shelaugh, the demons he'd thought had taken her.

Rage brought him to his feet, the knife thudded into the wall in the kitchen as he went through the arch into the hall. His fist slammed into the wall over her shoulder, the combat sorcery spending itself uselessly, his body pinning hers. He dropped his head, inhaled deeply, taking in her scent. Yes, there was the taint of the Inkani, but she hadn't been touched. The smell of stonekin was much stronger. Under it, the smell of her shampoo and the taint of demon, his own smell, very strong; another Drakul would recognize it on her. The smell of Inkani was just a faint fading tang under the smell of the night outside. She was safe, they hadn't gotten close to her.