Page 71 of The Troll’s Summer Flame

“We’ll be there next weekend. What is the seafood like there? Should we bring our own? Is there a good butcher?”

“Uh—”

“Never mind, you’ll tell me tomorrow. Tita Marisol is calling.”

The phone call ends abruptly, and my text notifications immediately start. The phone rings.

Please, please, please not Tita Carla, I think to myself.

It’s Gordon.

“Thank God! I just had a family encounter that dropped me in it. Don’t worry, everything is fine, but our cute campfire selfie is now the talking point of the entire family chat,” I exclaim by way of a greeting.

Gordon makes a noise that I don’t know how to interpret.

“I shouldn’t have said that. I bragged about you to my mom. She’s coming up, not this weekend, but the next, if that’s okay with your schedule. Is it?”

“Yes.”

“Gordon? You okay?”

“No.”

“No. More fires? An accident?”

“No.”

I wait. I understand that sometimes my boyfriend’s mind needs time to sort out what’s okay to say, what needs to be said.

“Ardy couldn’t find a match for the blood, and he asked everyone on the FD volunteer list and the Night Watch if they could give a sample for typing. So I did.”

“And?”

“It’s troll blood. It’s also some kind of a match for mine.”

I blink. I was asleep when whatever happened last night happened, and my first memory is Gordon rushing and carrying me to his truck, my head bouncing all over his shoulder.

My boyfriend had a rotten childhood. This damn dream sex demon better not have touched him. “But... You weren’t bleeding. How did she get you?”

“No. Sorry, not an exact match of mine. A different kind of match. Ardy says it means it’s a relative. A close relative. A brother.”

“What?” I sit down hard on the piano bench, my elbow creating a jangle of loud sounds on the keys. “Your brother was here?”

“Yes,” Gordon’s voice sounds vague and dreamy, but not in a good way.

“Babe, did you eat?”

“Hm?”

“Did you eat? You sound lightheaded. Is that the shock talking, or are you going to pass out?”

Gordon starts to speak in a low, quick voice, like he’s disconnected from whatever is happening, just spitting back information. “Big cities and big companies can do DNA assessments in seven hours to three days. Big departments with tons of crimes to investigate are backlogged. Pine Ridge has a small budget, but we don’t use most of it, Ardy says. Have you ever been in their interrogation room?”

“No, Gordon.” I shake my head, getting up. “Where are you at? I’m coming to you.”

“I’m almost to your apartment. We are having dinner there.”

I don’t mention the piano lesson. “Okay, honey. Chopin and I are waiting. What were you saying?”