Page 77 of The Troll’s Summer Flame

“You are in the right place,” I croak, guilt stabbing me all over. I should have taken him with me. I should have returned for him. I should, I should, I should...

Andrea’s voice is in my head. You can save him now. Help him. Bring him home. We’ll love him and take care of him—even if he’s what? Twenty-five or something?

“Do you like cats?” I ask suddenly.

Hugo cowers back with an apologetic wince. “I don’t eat them, Gordon. I know, I know, Mother says I am such a weak little... Well, I won’t say what she said I am, but I don’t eat cats or dogs. I don’t like to eat rabbits, either, but sometimes they’re what I have.”

“No, no. A pet cat.”

“I have never had a cat.”

“No one has a pet until they do. Or a wife, or a child, or a job.” I pull out my phone, but keep it in my hand, waiting for his response to be sure.

“You have a wife? And a pet?” Hugo gasps, and he gives a giddy little hop, promptly teetering with weakness when he lands.

“I have a bride and a pet. A job, and a house.”

“I knew about the job.” Hugo reaches into his pocket and pulls out a torn, crinkled paper that’s carefully preserved in a tattered plastic bag. It’s an old page of The Pine Ridge Gazette.

Last July’s paper. I’m there with Captain Sunderland, and we’re on the high school grounds. I look like I swallowed vinegar, even in the midst of laughing, smiling crowds of people I protect. “Where’d you get this?”

“A man at a homeless shelter was a veteran. He had once been homeless and out of work. He had addictions and was missing a leg from a war wound.” Hugo’s eyes are wide. “He came to the hospital in Pine Ridge with the veterans’ program, and he was given a new leg and, as he said, ‘a new lease on life.’ Now he volunteers with the homeless to inspire others.” Hugo turns the paper over to show an article about Dr. Jack Ellsworth and his work with the veterans.

“Why do you have the paper?” I ask.

Hugo looks at me with a shamefaced expression. “After a year of wandering, sometimes I believed Pine Ridge was a fairytale that Father made up. I didn’t know if you had ever reached it. Then I saw your picture, and it said you were a firefighter! You had a job, and a friend, and people were celebrating a holiday together, with you.” Hugo gives another giddy hop, this time crashing into me.

I pick him up and keep my arm around his waist, flinging his other arm over my shoulder. “You stole that man’s clipping?”

“I told him it was you, my brother, in the paper. I told the man about how I was going to go to the fire station and try to find you after being separated for years. He gave me the paper. There’s something called a ‘copy machine,’ and he just made a copy of it.”

“So, last night, you were heading to the fire station?”

“Yes. Only I was so tired I must have fallen asleep in the little clearing in the woods and woken up with that monster on top of me.”

“You were literally outside my back yard. Another mile and a half, and you could have been in this picture.” I whip out my phone and show him the campfire selfie of Andrea and me. “That is your future sister-in-law.”

Hugo looks at me, the screen, and back, mouth dropping open farther with every pass. “You have a human bride?”

“I do. But I could have had a troll bride, an Orc bride, or any other sort of bride, if her heart was right. Andrea. This is Andrea. She is my sunlight—and she is waiting to meet you at home.”

“Home.” Hugo tries out the word. “I know that you have your own life now, but if you could just help me get started—”

“You are going to get wonderful pancakes and terrible coffee, a hot bath, and new clothes that actually fit. And then, we’ll worry about a job.”

“You would do that for me?”

“Yes.” I start walking towards the truck. “But after daylight. I... My Andrea needs her rest, and we can drive around the town in my truck so you can see the place properly.”

Hugo’s arm tightens on my shoulder, and his muscles shake with weakness. “Thank you. I’ve missed you so much, Gordon.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t take you with me. I should have.”

“I was too scared to go. I was angry at myself later, for not being brave enough to run. I used to be angry that you didn’t just pick me up and carry me. You could have.”

“Are you still?”

Hugo shrugs. “I’m too grateful to be mad right now. Besides, forcing me might have made you seem like the others, Gordon, and you were always different. Even when you were gone, I tried to be like you,” my brother says softly.