Page 37 of The Troll’s Summer Flame

A statue, tipped over like it was standing, arm up to cover his eyes. Flat on the ground, surrounded by rolling smoke and flames. I can’t see it clearly, but I can make out enough.

Gordon. “Gordon,” I choke out.

This can’t be. Is he covered in ash?

Or is he ash? Petrified? Like one of those Pompeii artifacts?

Water suddenly mists over me, and I scramble back towards my car to avoid being hit by Mean Janine and Screaming Steve. Trucks are here. Bodies are swarming in.

Flying down.

I’m dreaming. Or passing out. Lack of oxygen.

“Duncan, grab that hose off of Big Red.”

“Alban, water right here!”

“My boyfriend is in there!” I gag out.

“Lady, move this car back. We’ll get him out!”

“Did he turn in time?” the one called Alban yells—making jets of water fire all over the blaze—just by holding his hands in the air?

I sit in my car, sobbing. Staring. Trying to breathe.

“Move the car!”

I screech softly and throw the car into reverse, following the directions—from the man... with wings. The man with wings and a tail, hovering above my car. The flying figure hauling a hose. There are two of them now.

I guess the gasoline fumes are doing things to my head. My eyes might be scared from the heat.

It doesn’t matter if I’m hallucinating. Gordon is an ashen statue. Or a body covered with ash.

When the car is backed away past the firetrucks, I throw open the door and topple out. I feel so useless. I want to scream that they need to get Gordon out, that an ambulance should be here, that I want to help.

Instead, I witness the fire being extinguished in a matter of seconds, and the metal frame of the shed still stands although it’s black and dripping, and the insides look like the black mess at the bottom of a barbecue.

Except for a huge, gray mass.

Gordon.

“I’ve never seen this happen. How long does he take to get out of this form?”

“It’s not like gargoyles. I don’t know.”

“Gordon. Is Gordon... Is he gone?” I call in a quivering voice, clutching my car door. It feels like it’s been baking in the sun after being close to the fire. My blue dress is blackened, too. I look down at my feet, blinking through the smoke, and realize that my sandals are in place, but there are burns and blisters on the bare skin that peeks through the straps.

It was that hot. That deadly. That fast.

There’s no way he’s alive.

“Just in his stone form. We’ll try to get him to come to, but we’re not sure how long it takes,” Alban informs me, slumping back against the front of Mean Janine.

“Stone form? What?” I shake my head to clear it, but it doesn’t want to cooperate. Through the haze of smoke and water, I see two giant beasts with wings and tails, one with horns. They’re carrying a smoking statue, stopping every few seconds to blow on their hands.

The statue is Gordon. Gordon, with his hand up to guard his eyes, face squished up as if he’s tensing for a blow. “My boyfriend is a statue?” I whisper.

“Och, no, lass. He’s just a troll.” One of the winged beasts explains.