I felt like someone had kicked me in the stomach, and immediately, my eyes began to water. “No, no, no.” I wagged my head, sniffling, barely noticing Parker’s arm as it slid behind my back, steadying me.
“We just talked to him—Vlad and I—yesterday, in the hall. He was fine. He’s fine. How could he be dead?” In an instant, I thought of Vlad, last night, thought of Nina warning him about indulging in human victims, the way he looked so disdainfully on humankind. There was a sharp pain in my stomach. “What happened to him?” I whispered, terrified.
“Mr. Howard called in a disturbance—the break-in—at your place. When the police arrived, there was no one in your apartment and they found Mr. Howard on the back stairs. His neck was broken. It looks like he fell.”
“We think he may have been trailing the intruder, perhaps lost his footing and fell.”
“He fell?” My voice was small, and for the first time I noticed the cold night air as it washed over me. “And he died?” I caught Parker’s eye and he nodded. I swallowed. “You’re sure?” I whispered.
“Yeah, they’re sure. There were no other”—Parker cleared his throat, lowered his voice—“circumstances.”
A small prickle of relief rushed through me, until I thought again of Mr. Howard, of his toothy smile and him snuggling up to all his women. Parker moved his arm to my shoulder, and I instinctively snuggled into him. “Oh, that poor man. That’s awful.”
Parker led me away when the ambulance pulled up, and he settled me back on the front seat of his car. “Wait here. The other officers just need to finish up a few things. We should be able to go up to your place shortly.”
I nodded, still sniffling, and when Parker came back and gathered me and the pizza together, I didn’t protest, handing him my keys and letting him lead me to my cracked-open front door.
He rubbed his hand over the splintered door frame and looked at me sympathetically. “We’ll fix this door and get you a new lock tonight.”
I nodded and shrugged out of my jacket, pulling open the coat closet. “I just can’t shake the heebie-jeebie feeling,” I muttered. I reached into the closet for a hanger when a pair of yellow-green eyes blinked at me from the depths of the darkness and I screamed, my own voice sounding tinny and sharp.
“What the—?” In an instant Parker was crouched beside me, gun drawn.
“Don’t shoot Steve, don’t shoot Steve!” Steve jumped off a stack of board games, dropping a golf club and raising his small troll hands, palms up.
I put my hand on Parker’s and slowly pressed the gun down to his side. “It’s okay, Parker. Don’t shoot. Yet.”
Parker furrowed his brow and leaned into me, lowering his voice. “Who’s the dwarf?”
I slapped my forehead with the palm of my hand. “Oh, Parker. Now you’ve done it.”
Parker’s eyes widened as he stared from me to Steve. “Uh, little person, sorry. Do you know him?”
I could see the lichen on Steve’s thick arms tremble as his eyes darkened, his lips going thin and taut over his yellow, snaggled teeth. His fingers curled into tight little fists.
“Steve is a troll. Steve is not a dwarf,” he spat angrily, his eyes glaring fire.
“I’m really sorry—Steve, is it?”
Steve nodded slowly, his little troll body coiled in anger. I pulled Parker by the elbow and hissed into his ear. “Trolls are especially sensitive to being called dwarves. There has always been a vicious rivalry between the two. Trolls do intellectual work, dwarves do menial labor.”
Parker raised an eyebrow. “Intellectual work?” he whispered, looking from Steve to myself.
“They live under bridges and allow passage to travelers who can answer trivia questions. Haven’t you ever left the Bay Area?”
Parker’s brow furrowed and he shrugged. “I am so not getting this.”
“The only thing worse than calling a troll a dwarf is calling him an elf.”
Steve’s nostrils flared and the stench of blue cheese and old gym socks intensified. “Steve is not an elf! Steve does not even like Christmas! Steve is all troll.”
“I know, Steve—I was just illustrating a point. What the hell are you doing in my closet anyway? You scared the crap out of me!” I clutched my chest, my heart still beating furiously against my palm.
Parker looked incredulously from me to Steve. “You know this … guy … well?”
Steve dropped the golf club and inched himself between Parker and me. “Steve was protecting Sophie.” He looked over his shoulder, eyeing Parker disdainfully. “Steve and Sophie are an item.”
I stood back, edging away from Steve. “No, we are not an item. Steve stalks me at the UDA.”
“Steve works at the UDA,” Steve corrected.
“Steve, how long have you been hiding in my coat closet?”
“Not hiding. Protecting.”
Parker wrinkled his nose and stepped back. “It kind of smells like you were rotting in there.”
Steve glared up at him. “Steve’s scent is distinct.”
“I’ll say.”
“How long, Steve?” I wanted to know.