“Re-Sprite” part 2

Rolf Jørgensson, a/k/a G-Raff, fought through the fog of his drug induced sleep. He rolled his eyes around under his lids. Felt like they were being dragged against sandpaper. He had to think them open. He was in a room. His room. Well, his and Hanna’s. Hanna? Where was Hanna? He sat up, adrenalin rushing through him. His Fed training was kicking in: Move first, deal with pain later. He felt light-headed and dizzy. He took a deep breath, fought the sharp pain, and swallowed hard, his dry throat screaming in protest.

“Da-yum, what the hell?” came out “Dur-dum-ewl” followed by more pains and a coughing fit.

Everything hurt. That was good and bad. Pain meant he was alive, that was good. Each breath hurt his ribs. Every joint, nerve and muscle screamed at him. That was bad.

“What the hell is up with the itchy arm?” he thought through his cotton-filled brain. It was driving him nuts.

The haze cleared. The pounding between his pointed ears slowed. He heard some melodic humming, pans banging together and singing from the other side of the door. Opera? Showtunes?

Nope. “Frozen”. It was her latest favorite and he’d watched it with her a hundred times. But it was her. Hanna. Safe. Sounding happy. That was good.

He turned his head and looked at the source of the itchy irritation. A cast on his well-inked right arm.

“First chance I get, I’ma cut you off,” he said through a blurry eye, talking to the cast. It looked back at him. Signe, the other occupant of their burrow, must have drawn eyes on it. “Yo, that arm lookin’ back at me kinda mean! Whatcha think, Fuzzy? Three’s a crowd, right?”

Fuzzy Monkey sat on the chair next to his bed, staring back with its remaining eye. Rolf knew that his longtime, inanimate companion agreed. He and the simian-themed were simpatico. Monkey didn’t look any worse for wear, considering he’d been used by a werewolf as a chew toy.

The earthy smell of the room helped Rolf ground his thoughts and clear his head. Gnomes were burrowers. He’d dug his burrow, and its numerous rooms and tunnels, with the help of Hanna and Signe. Granted, at the beginning, the mud and red clay of Alabama didn’t want to cooperate. But his people had an instinctual connection with tunneling. The three gnomes made it yield, shoring up the walls with hand cut wooden planks and supports. Old world craftsmanship. The O.G. vibe worked on his home, his tats, and his attitude.

Rolf didn’t reach for the bedside LED lamp. The room was outlined in a soft violet glow emanating from the various sigils and symbols along the wooden walls. Protection. No magic tracking spells or unexpected guests would be popping into his hood. Not on his watch.

Rolf fought dark memories as he thought about his old thug life and the gnomes that had first betrayed, and then hunted, him. A smile returned when he thought about how they now avoided him. He had a rep and it was growing.

“If you’re well enough to sit up, you’re well enough to wash the stink off,” his lady love’s voice observed through the rounded bedroom door. Hanna spoke in Gnimen, his native Gnome tongue, her voice carrying from the kitchen, accompanied sounds of cooking.

For thirty years gremlins had forced her to speak German and beaten her whenever she’d spoken Gnimen. They’d done other things to her as well. They were no longer a threat and she knew it. She’d stopped speaking German entirely. Refused to utter even a word. She was working on her English by watching every animated piece of crap she could stream over the mobile phones, and tablet, that served as their TV’s. She’d also picked up quite a bit of Orcish.

“I know you hear me, Rolf,” she said in English. “That is not just your usual Gnome stink, it smells like burnt Jagwoulen.”

Jagwoulen. Gnimen for werewolf.

Rolf lifted his non-cast arm and smelled it. Burnt werewolf and B.O. His mind wandered. That last job was supposed to be a milk-run. Locate and tag the vampire lair, count them up, relay their positions, create some chaos as subterfuge, and then let the heavy hitters come through the door. And he would chase any wigglers that tried to slip out. Collect a big fat stinking bounty check. That was the plan. Nobody had planned on the Voodoo necromancer, with a werewolf on a chain, running the show. And they knew his name. He hadn’t mentioned that part to Hanna.

“Use the good soap, G-Reeking,” Hanna said from the other room, in a teasing tone. “And the Orc salve on the bruises and under the cast.”

“Yo, sweet baby, whatcha bustin’ on me fo’? This broke wing is slowin’ my game, aight? Give a break to the homie on the mend,” Rolf replied.

The door opened smoothly and effortlessly, which was a testament to the craftsmanship involved considering the amount of armor sandwiched between the wood finishes. Rolf took his burrow safety seriously.

“So, now you feeling better, so the G-Raff is back among us?” Hanna replied, giggling, and repeating her observation. “Original gangster or not, you stink.”

“-Sta. Gangsta. Not -er. Hang-on, that ain’t right. Question an O.G. in his own home’ bout the way he speak and smell? Homie don’t play that. And that Orc goop smells worse than the werewolf.”

“The Orc healer will come by later today to check progress. I make you burgant fungus tea to help mend the bone,” Hanna said softly. “You need to heal and the salve is best. Take your bath and put it on. And maybe I help rub it on the places you cannot reach, my tall man.”

Rolf looked at Hanna and smiled. Some of it toward her remark and promise of aid, but mostly at her. She had come so far since her days held by the gremlins. Her hair had grown out, covering most of the gremlin tribal head tattoos. It was still short, but silver-blonde. The body paints they had used to stunt her natural growth had messed her up. She couldn’t grow a beard and she remained small for a gnome her age. The resident Orc healers were able to do a lot but couldn’t fix everything. Her teeth were normal, her bone density was up. She was still thin, but filling in. Her skin color was back. And she was also developing a bump in her midsection. His bump.

Rolf held up his non-cast covered arm and waved Hanna over. She came with a smile and she hugged him as he wrapped his good arm around her. She smelled like wildflowers and dirt. Natural. Beautiful. Rolf sighed. Then he scowled.

“Ain’t no punk-ass mutha’s gonna hurt her again. Ever,” he thought, holding her closer, and feeling the burning anger in his chest.

The sigils along the wall flared bright violet. The hair on his arms tingled.

Somebody had tried to “pop” into their burrow.

Hanna was already moving towards the Galaxy tablet velcroed to the wall. She bit her lip as she tapped in the security code on the 8” touchscreen.

Rolf moved with purpose, slipping past her, spinning, pulling his custom M9 knife from its scabbard and stepping through the doorway into their underground lodge’s main room. His ribs were killing him, and he would have preferred to use his .45 Warthog, but that required the tight grip strap that had been fitted to his now broken right arm.

He faced the burrow’s main door in a relaxed fighting stance as Hanna stared intently at the glowing screen normally used for entertainment. It was also tied to their wireless security system. She methodically swiped her hand across the screen to see new views. First, the six cameras that covered the area above their burrow, then the two in the shed. Next, the one pointing up the burrow entry tunnel and finally one outside the lower level burrow door. She smiled as she removed the tablet from the wall with a tearing sound, tilting it for Rolf to see. It was a video feed from the other side of their burrow door, just outside the enlarged entry tunnel that led up to the old wooden shed above.

On the ground in front of the door was Signe, out cold. The younger female gnome had been part of his new family since he rescued her from the gremlins, along with Hanna. The only life she’d known was being a gremlin slave. Now that she was free, she was acclimating to that freedom and going through the stages of emotional maturity in rapid succession.

Currently, she was in her rebellious teenager phase and trying to dance on every nerve Rolf had.

“Check them other vid feeds, see what chased her, and I’ll get her,” Rolf said as he headed for the front door. He placed the knife on a magnetic holder built into the back of the door and pulled it open. Signe lay still. Her chest moving up and down as she breathed.

“Nothing followed her down the tunnel,” Hanna said as she moved her hand across the tablet’s screen. “Nothing at the shed, in the woods, or the Orc Trail.”

Rolf left the knife on the door and walked out to grab Signe by her multi-colored suspenders, using one hand. She’d taken to wearing a tube top, and tiny cut-off blue jeans Hanna had sewn for her. She had dyed her hair different colors…after she had shaved it into a mohawk. She also started coloring in and altering the gremlin tattoos on her scalp, her way of pronouncing “Screw you, you don’t own me no more” to her long-gone captors.

“Yo’ girl, you so weird,” Rolf said as he lifted her unconscious body and took her inside. She had some of the same issues as Hanna from the gremlin concoctions. She was feather light, and that worried Rolf.  He knew the Orc healers were good at what they did, and the fact they were right up the trail in the Compound made them the first choice. He really wanted to talk to a gnome healer about both women.

But that wasn’t an option. Yet. He was working on it.

Signe stirred, her eyes fluttered, and she groaned.

“What da’ hell is wrong with you little homie? Forget how ta walk? Why you trippin’ and trying to pop in ta the crib like that? Those are quality fey spells keepin’ shit out. Yo punk-ass ain’t gonna bust through, no way, no how,” Rolf declared, shaking his head.

“I was in a hurry,” Signe replied in English, with a slight accent. “I can now confirm that there ain’t a gnome out there that can see the damn barrier before they hit it. ‘Sides, I just popped a little further in than I wanted to.”

She raised her hand to cover her eyes. “Fuck. My head is killing me. I wasn’t even running when I hit the spell wall and it knocked the living shit out of me.”

“G-Raff don’t lie,” Rolf shot back. “I said they is quality Fey spells. And the way to avoid that shit is ta’ pop just inside the upper tunnel and walk yo narrow-ass down here like a normal gnome with some sense.”

“Rolf, we’re about to have the company,” Hanna said as she continuously flipped through the phone screens.

There was a pounding from above. The tool shed door, also reinforced, was taking a beating.

“Who that?” Rolf asked Hanna.

“The red-bearded human. He looks very upset.”

“What did you do?” Rolf asked, turning to Signe.

“Nothin’. Not really,” she replied, putting on her most innocent face. Rolf continued to stare as the door thumping grew more insistent.

“Okay, I might have been in his workshop looking for a wrench to adjust my roller blades, and I saw this shooty-thingy he was working on. I could see the defect and it looked like it might break with very little effort. And I was right.”

Rolf had warned her to stay out of the workshop, but she was hard-headed. She also had a wicked curiosity and knack for tinkering with mechanical things. And then breaking them. Then fixing them until they couldn’t be broken.

All of that would have been a lot more praiseworthy if there wasn’t a man, an important team member, pounding on their door. Rolf walked to Hanna and looked at the camera feed.

“She has got that ginger worked up!” Rolf said to Hanna. “I ain’t never seen him like this. Aight, let me talk to him.”

She held the tablet as he tapped the intercom icon with his non-cast arm’s hand. The speaker mounted in the tool shed doorframe showed connection.

“Who dat? Who bangin’ on my dom-i-cile?” Rolf asked.

“It’s me, M-“ the man started to say, but Rolf interrupted.

“I’m tryin’ ta get a little shut-eye. Recuperatin’. Whatcha want? We don’ need no cookies. You too big to be sellin’ little girl cookies.”

“I’m not here to—,” the man tried to continue.

“The old ball and chain said no mo’ sweets, so I don’t want nunya cookies. But I could go for some beef jerky. You got beef jerky?”

“No. Er. I—um–,” the man responded as Rolf watched him reflexively pat his pockets. Then he stopped.

“Hang on a darn minute, Mr. Jørgensson, I’m here on serious business. That young lady has set me back a good 40 hours on a priority project and…,” the man said, more irritation showing in his voice.

The man rambled on for another five minutes before losing steam. Rolf counted to ten before speaking.

“Holmes, I understand. We’re on the same wave here. I’ll take care of this. Sorry for her violatin’ yo’ space.”

“Well, see that you do, Mr. Jørgensson. I understand she’s gone through a lot, and I’d hate to have to get the other team members and management involved,” the red-bearded man replied. “But she is costing me time, and the company money. I hope this is the last time we have this conversation.”

“It will be, dawg. I’ll make sure o’ that,” Rolf said as he hit the end icon.

“You, cut that shit out. Last warning, no more foolishness,” he said, turning to Signe, raising his voice more than he intended. Signe shrank away immediately, her eyes wide. She wasn’t feigning or play acting. That was how she reacted to directed anger and rage. She’d been conditioned for twenty years by gremlins with tempers.

Rolf felt bad. He knew better, and he checked his temper.

“Easy, homegirl, you gotz ta fix this,” he continued in a calm voice. “You ask Hanna, real nice like, ta make that man some of her zucchini bread. You take it and you go apologize to him. No poppin’ in. You knock on his door. And ya offer to sweep his shop or clean his tools or a somethin’. And you promise him you won’t touch nothin’ else of his unless ya ask and he says it’s okay. We in this hood at they convenience. They tolerate us ‘cause we useful and I got this—.”

Rolf pulled on the titanium neck-chain he always wore and withdrew the attached medallion. A silver coin that the Feds had given him. The symbol that he had completed his service to his country, was exempt from being hunted, and wasn’t to be messed with. It allowed him to remain a free gnome. It could also breakdown concealment and protection magic like nobody’s business.

“Now, go help Hanna with the grub and then you go feed Runt. He’s yours to take care of. Then pick up his crap. That pooch drops serious loads.”

Signe hadn’t looked up. “First, come here,” Rolf said, holding his good arm out. Signe shuffled over, and he gave her a firm hug and kissed her lightly on top of the head. “Girl, we only want you to be safe and happy. Hanna and I love ya. We want you ta do big things. Great things. Okay?”

Rolf felt Signe nod her head against his chest.

“Good enough. Now get to it.”

Signe looked up and smiled, then walked over toward Hanna, who had moved back into the kitchen area.

The phone rang. Rolf looked at the wall where Hanna had hung it next to the Pad. The call was from the Boss’s mobile. Rolf tapped the “answer” icon.

“You got G-Ra..”

“Front gate. Now.”

The line disconnected. Rolf stared at the “Last call from” screen and turned to Hanna, shrugging his shoulders. Hanna looked from Rolf to Signe.

“Do you think he heard about her…?”

“No idea. I’ll figure it out. Don’ matter none. I got dis’ Signe, get Fuzzy Monkey and bring Runt’s treats. You need to play with him, feed him, and then ya clean up the yard.”

Signe looked like she was about to shoot off a snappy answer, thought better of it and saluted instead. As she dropped her salute, she clapped her hands together and popped out of site She reappeared with Fuzzy Monkey. She grabbed the bag of meat treats out of the cupboard.

“Poppin that close ta them fey sigils is what nailed yo ass a few minutes ago,” Rolf chided.

“Yeah, yeah…but we know how to move around in here,” Signe replied, winking at Hanna. They both kissed Hanna on the cheek and headed out the front door.

It was a short incline walk up the tunnel that opened taller and wider at the burrow’s outer door. Once they reached it, Rolf punched in his code and the half-size armored door released, opening slightly on a spring. They walked through into the old tool shed, as Signe reached for the hanging strap and pulled the half-door closed behind them. An electronic latch sounded, and Rolf nodded.

Where there had once been a dilapidated shed with a dirt floor packed full of old lawn tools, there was now a brick and tile floor, and fireplace. Even a well-stocked refrigerator and a big screen TV.  The walls were re-enforced concrete painted and patterned to simulate a wood finish. New tools hung from hooks along the outer walls. Sometimes they had full size guests, and this was where they met and entertained. A small door was in the side wall and Rolf headed for it.

“Go play with Runt,” he said to Signe as he grabbed Fuzzy Monkey out of her hand. He pushed through the little door and was greeted by his transportation. A 12-volt “Sally Pees-a-lot” electric Jeep totally pimped out.

He tossed Fuzzy in the passenger seat and walked around the plastic car to unplug the charging adapter. The red-bearded man had helped replace the tiny drive motor and installed a voltage control system, solar panel as a roof, and replaced the original plastic tires with real rubber. In stock form the jeep did four mph. Now it cruised at ten mph and would do twenty-five mph if he floored it. It got a little scary at that speed, as the handling was just a rod and lever setup. All twenty inches of Rolf’s frame slid into the jeep. It was made to cart around two four-year-old humans, so it was roomy for a man of his stature.

Rolf hit the garage door opener velcroed to the plastic dash. In the front wall, a tiny door flipped open. Using his good hand, he slid the gear leaver to “F” and stepped on the accelerator. The engine whined and hummed as he pulled out into the Alabama daylight.

And directly into a wall of swampy southern air.

“Damn, Fuzzy, is dis’ humidity ridic’ or what?” he said, knowing his one-eyed friend agreed but would not comment on the subject.

His arm hair tingled, and he looked across his “yard”. Anywhere else, a tool shed with a white picket fence around it might seem strange, but it was damn near “Rockwell-esque” at a place like the Compound. He focused on the source of the energy he had detected and smiled.

Across the yard, Signe and Runt were playing their favorite game in the bright southern sunlight. She would pop a tunnel and disappear. He had to scramble to meet, and catch, her as she left it. They stayed within the confines of the yard. One of the rules they had come up with. Runt was getting good at it, catching her more than 70% of the time and giving her a slobbery lick or nip as she exited. She’d laugh and scream, he’d howl and yip. Even when she exited four feet above ground and he caught her gently in his toothy jaws. Four feet was about head height for Runt.

Gnomes loved having a big ol’ fanged beast to guard their burrow entrances. The larger gnome communities, or donsey, that formed in the hood, would layout cash and favors to get a three-headed dog. Rolf had the scratch to buy a cerberus, but the Boss had absolutely refused to even consider it.

But, a normal dog just wouldn’t do, so Rolf cut a deal with the neighboring Orcs. One of the warg bitches had a large litter and there was a runt. Orcs normally released the souls of these smaller pups, as they wouldn’t survive the rigors of the pack and can’t be ridden. Rolf and Signe saved Runt. Having a warg guarding your front door, even one that only stood four feet at the shoulder, was good enough to stop the average intruder. Runt could smell when someone meant to harm his adopted pack and was getting better at sensing magical energies. Rolf felt better going out on missions with Runt at the front door.

Rolf continued, steering along the packed dirt trail toward the front of the Compound. As he passed another path that led to the firing range, he saw Big Ugly Guy and his pregnant wife. Rolf smiled. It’s funny how a couple of overgrown gorilla-mug sporting bruisers, like him and Big Ugly Guy, landed such pretty women willing to put up with their crap.

The lady waved at Rolf as he turned toward the main gate. He waved back. She was nice to him and the girls, but a busy lady. She’d even sent Hanna some tiny baby clothes she’d had made special.

Rolf was still waving when he saw Big Ugly Guy point at his own eyes with his index and middle finger, then sweep his hand around to point at Rolf. The universal “I got eyes on you”. Rolf would have replied in kind, except he needed a hand to steer and his other hand was still in the Orc cast. Rolf’s frustration must have shown. Big Ugly Guy smiled and laughed.

Rolf’s burrow, his home, was inside the fence of a compound filled with 100% badass characters. The best of the best at what they did. Armed and dangerous didn’t begin to describe the humans, and non-humans, that lived and worked there.

He was glad to be there. Accepted. But his accommodations weren’t out of some form of charity. Rolf “G-Raff” Jørgensson was an asset. While not attached to any specific team, he floated between them seamlessly. When they needed stealth, recon, or just someone with a penchant for sanctioning vamps, he got the call. And part of the rewards. Big rewards. Directly deposited to his account.

It was more money than he, Hanna, and Signe could ever possibly spend. Although, with online ordering, his credit card number, and front gate delivery, Hanna was trying her damnedest to prove that wrong. One of the best things to happen to him since leaving his thug gnome life behind was the advice from an old friend to come to Alabama and start his life over.

The bright pink jeep hummed along the well-worn paths. A slight breeze rustled through the willow trees and giant oaks sprinkled around the property. Old growth with an old soul. Home.  Rolf relaxed and enjoyed the rest of his battery powered journey to the main gate. The Boss was already there waiting. Scary dude, the Boss.

“Nice ride,” the Boss said. “The pink really brings out your eyes. And those flower stickers. Man, that is a bold statement.”

“Word up, Bossman, dis’ homie  ain’t complainin’. I gotz a bitchin’ ride,” Rolf replied. Signe had added the stickers. And he’d removed them. And she’d put more on with superglue. “Last nerve” he thought to himself.

The Boss reached into the pocket of his unique leather jacket and pulled out a pack of smokes. He lit a cigarette and took a long drag before looking at Rolf and saying, “You smell like burnt werewolf.”

“Yeah?” Rolf replied, looking his cigarette smoking employer up and down. “Right back at ya. Whassup, Boss?”

“Company coming. Got a call. Feds requested a private chat.”

“With us?”

“No. Just you. I’m here to make sure they understand it’s just you and it’s strictly a courtesy.”

Rolf looked down the road through the compound gate as a four-door sedan came to a stop. The driver got out and Rolf spit.

“Barnes,” he said through gritted teeth. “That dickless mofo needs to get slapped so hard his Momma’s tits go sour and his Daddy’s balls fall off.”

The Boss snorted but remained composed.

Agent Barnes looked almost the same as the last time Rolf had seen him.

Same worn out cheap suit, same beer belly on a skinny frame. Same cheap haircut, though a little greyer hair at the temples. Same stupid look on his stupid face. The agent walked around to the rear passenger door and opened it. A beautiful woman stepped out. Rolf smiled. The Boss man tensed up. Rolf could feel his mood change.

“Yo, Doc, whassup girl? Look at yo’ bad ol’ self! Yo is lookin’ fine!” Rolf yelled, waving to the woman in the gray calf-length skirt and matching jacket. She also wore a deep purple silk blouse. Professional, but sexy. She wore her black hair in a bun, a gold pin holding it in place

Dr. Forrester shook her head as she gave a broad smile back, and waved, saying something to Agent Barnes over her shoulder. He walked around the car and opened the trunk, withdrew a small package and handed it to Dr. Forrester. After releasing it, he stood perfectly still.

“She doesn’t come inside,” the Boss said. “And she doesn’t talk to anyone but you. Got it?”

“Yeah, sure, Boss, but she ain’t gonna…”

“I said nobody,” the Boss took a step back and fished a pair of tactical earplugs out of his front pocket. He put a plug in each ear. He took another long draw on his cigarette. He flicked his hand and the gates electric drive kicked in, opening it just enough for Rolf to walk through.

Rolf knew the Boss had been in the hunting game a long time. During his incoming briefing, Rolf had seen him flipping a silver coin, like the one Rolf had turned into a medallion. He may have sniffed out that even though the Doc was a Fed she was also part Fey High Elf and part Siren. The Siren part would have him worried. A spoken word could push a man to do anything she said.

Rolf went through the opening and headed for the Doc. She stood a good twenty feet from the gate. As Rolf looked up he saw Dr. Forrester tilt her head toward the Boss, smile knowingly and nodded. Then she knelt in the Alabama clay, arms open.

When Rolf reached her, they hugged. She frowned as she ran a finger along his cast.

“I can see you’ve been up to your old tricks. So, other than the obvious,” she said, tapping the cast, “how are you Rolf? And the girls?”

“We fine, Doc,” Rolf replied. “G-Raff in da House, so shit be fit, and my posse livin’ well.”

“And that?” she asked looking at his cast.

“Oh, G-Raff and an old Voodoo necromancer had a disagreement about his goals in life o’ raising zombies and harboring vamps,” Rolf said. “So I went in to adjust his ‘tude and he sicked a big ol’ werewolf on me. They is tough sumbitches. I’d call this one a draw. I lived, the vamps got staked and chopped. The necro and his dog got away.”

“Yes, werewolves are tough to kill,” she said, glancing at the boss.

“Want to stand up there in the shade?” Rolf said, indicating a large willow tree just off the road by the main gate.

“This is close enough,” she said, extending her hand. “I can already sense some constructs around the facility.”

“Yeah, ancient stuff. An artifact or something. Keeps the big baddies at bay,” Rolf said absently. “Really effective against vamps. Even the older ones.”

She looked along the fence line and her face showed she appreciated, and approved of, the precaution.

“Yo, Doc, what can I do ya for?” Rolf asked, to get her attention back on him.

“Chatter,” she said. Rolf felt queasy for a second and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he was in a violet-lit room. He shot Dr. Forester his “Really?” look and glanced skyward. Above him stood the Doc, and his, doppelgangers having a politely animated conversation, standing on the “ceiling”, which was the clay covered ground above their Fey magically generated room.

“Needed some privacy,” Dr. Forrester said.

“What’evs, your highness,” Rolf replied, smirking.

“Technically a High-Peer of the Fey realm, but with special standing,” she replied.

“My bad. What’s so ‘portant for this private meet?”

“Like I said, chatter. Enough to raise concerns. We know the private hunter groups are talking about a big cooperative effort. Europe and the Arctic.”

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere,” Rolf said, pointing to his cast. “So they’z didn’t tell me shit. Snitches are bitches.”

“I’m not here to get information from you, Rolf. I won’t put you in that position. That’s not the chatter I’m worried about. That’s for pay grades well above mine to sort out. I mean the G-Raff specific chatter.”

Rolf took a deep breath and a crease appeared above his scowling eyebrows. His lips tightened, and he moved his head from side to side. His neck made cracking sounds.

“Chatter about me, then? Who I gotz ta hurt?”

“Not sure. We’ll see who shows up. You’ve been a busy boy since leaving the program. Somehow you have managed to piss off Chinese and New Orleans covens, stir up Gremlins, expose the bad behavior of leaders in the two largest gnome gangs in the country, and that’s the short list. No pun intended.”

“My shorty ex-homies ain’t no issue. Don’ fuck with me or I chew them up,” Rolf said, tilting his head back to the compound. “Boss man sent the word through Chi-Town. Any gnome shows up lookin’ for trouble, or tries ta take me out, they got a bunch of hunters chasing them and collecting on their dead-ass bodies. Blood feud level apocalypse shit.”

“What if they’re doing it because they’re less scared of your boss than something else?”

“That would be stupid. And kinda’ impossible,” Rolf said, but the look on her face gave him pause. “Right? Who could—?”

Dr. Forrester, her eyes glowing as she maintained the Fey null-room, shrugged her shoulders.

“Rolf, we don’t have a name, but it’s a big player,” she said. “Some of our sources started asking us if we knew about a gnome working for humans. Where he might be. They got very quiet when we asked who was asking. They did say the interested party was pissed and sparing no expense.”

“A big player in a bad mood? Got ta be the King. That’s a nasty dude with a long reach and longer memory,” Rolf said. “I never meant ta get on his bad side, but I couldn’t let his asshole boy-toy get away with killin’ all them…well, ya know.”

“I do. But again, not sure it’s him, Rolf,” she replied. “We know another group of Gremlins landed in the belly of a Lufthansa cargo plane in Ft. Myers, Florida, and they headed North before we could grab them. Not doing any jobs or damage. Just high-tailed it. I had an asset try a locator, but gremlins are as hard to spot as gnomes.”

“Yeah, we both know why,” Rolf replied, thinking of the two girls in his burrow and how they’d been used.

“You might want to lay low. Maybe take a vacation. You could take this back for a proper send-off,” she said, handing him the box.

Rolf took the box and cracked the lid. The smell hit him, and he snapped the lid shut. “Where the hell did you get this? I thought it burnt up,” he barked, spittle spraying from his mouth.

“At the crash site. During hazmat cleanup. Found it wrapped around a headless Gremlin. Thought I recognized your handy work. We analyzed it. At least sixty individual gnome beards. Male and female.” Dr. Forrester said, sadness and concern in her voice.

“Ain’t nobody to take that home to. I think the gremlin that wore it wiped out everyone in them burrows. ’Cept the ones he took as slaves.”

“We thought as much,” Dr. Forrester said, more sadness in her voice. “But there are probably relatives in other burrows, maybe in the same general area. They might like to know what happened to those others. It’s gruesome, but we mapped the beards of the coat and I made notes about diet, age, chemical make-up, and DNA for each one. They’re in the box as well. Standing offer to do more comparisons if you want.”

“Yeah. Maybe. Sure. After I heal up, I might spring for a flight to the homeland. Take Hanna and Signe,” Rolf said, his gaze looking far away. “If we go, what about getting them back in ta the USA afta’ ? I don’t want them on the Fed radar. Nobody gonna force them into being slaves again. Not even the gub’ment.”

“I don’t think anyone is looking for them. Just like we ignore most of the burrows. You’re the only gnome we ever recruited. And believe me, you’re missed.”

“Anything else? My arm is achin’ and I want to get back to the girls.”

“I’ll stay in touch,” she replied, tilting her head slightly. “If we find the gremlins, or what they’re up to, can I tell my team leader that you’re up to consulting? You’ve got more experience with them than anybody in the Bureau.”

“Yeah, sure. I’m down with that. Consulting. Hey, what’s that pay?”

“Same as always. Civil servant rates,” she replied, pointing at his chest. Rolf pulled out the coin hanging from his chain. “And a standing offer to the girls if they ever want to earn one of those.”

“I don’t think so. They is safe with…” Rolf felt woozy and blinked away the sunlight. He was standing on the road again, across from the Doc and she was handing him the box he already held.

“See you later, Rolf Jorgensen. I’ll call if I hear anything.”

“Sure thing, Doc. Drive safe,” Rolf said to her retreating back. He took a deep breath and yelled,  “And have a nice day Agent Barnes!”

He followed that under his breath with “Asshole.”

Rolf turned and walked through the open gate, stopping next to the Boss, turning to watch the car drive away.

“Where’d you go?” the Boss asked.

“Where? Right there. You saw…”

Rolf looked up and the Boss was tapping his nose. “You were gone. I saw you but didn’t smell you. Her either…or that box, which I think is some badly tanned gnome skin. And no, I don’t want to know.”

The Boss turned and stalked away. Rolf returned to his jeep, carefully placing the box in the seat next to him, letting Fuzzy Monkey keep it safe. Rolf didn’t remember much about the ride back to the toolshed, or even walking by Signe as she hooked up the small wagon to the jeep, shovel at the ready, and began driving around the yard to pick up after Runt.

“What’s the matter, my tall man?” Hanna asked as Rolf flopped on their specially made leather sofa.

“Nothing. Hey, you ever think of goin’ back home. Maybe look up family?”

“My home is here. With you. And Signe,” Hanna said. “My only memories of the old burrow are from the area around it. The farm. I wouldn’t even know where to begin to look.”

“What about for Signe? A trip to the old country, maybe talk to some burrow-folk,” Rolf said. “Would help her get a grasp of her roots. Her Gnimen is lacking. We could fly over, all private like. Maybe even hook-up with a healer to check both of you out.”

“Maybe. I don’t know,” Hanna said, worrying at her bottom lip and rubbing her belly. “What is bringing this about?”

“That was Doc at the gate. Just some shit that may be going down. Suggested we might take a trip to lay low. Go back to the old country.”

“And the box?”

“Just the past comin’ back to haunt us,” Rolf said, switching to English and throwing on a smile when he saw doubt creep into her eyes. “We’ll look at it later and talk some more, okay?”

“Yes. Now we eat and then you read from your book to me and Signe. Yes?”

“Sure, whateva’ ya’ want.”

The after-meal activity came as a relief. He wasn’t in the mood for another viewing of the singing princess that spewed ice as she dealt with teen angst. Hanna knew how to sooth his moods. It was a smooth out G-Raff kinda’ night. Quiet. Comfortable and warm.

Hanna pulled down the tablet and set it on the stand in the middle of their low table in the main room. She opened the reader app and chose the book Rolf had been reading, the latest in his favorite series. She read the title aloud “Crytpo Team Alpha: The Last Temple, by Jerry Corinthian”. Hanna tapped the “jump to last page read” icon and the page opened.

“Signe, you flip the page,” Hanna said, as she moved in under Rolf’s free arm and snuggled in. “And Rolf, you do the voices, yes?”

“Yeah. Sure,” he answered as he looked over the page. He hadn’t ever been much of a reader, but there had been little else to do during downtime between missions when he worked with the Feds. He’d workout, sleep, or read. He’d read a lot of non-fiction reference books on magical history, especially anything to do with Fey. The Feds had digitized a lot of material, so he became a fan of the e-reader format. He also found out he liked a few fiction authors.

For escape, he’d read books that had lots of gun porn, and weird premises. The more magic, monsters, and wild action, the better. On a trip to the facility’s “real book” library, he’d found a well-worn paperback, with a haunting cover, buried in a bin. He read it on a lark. He got hooked on the Urban Fantasy genre, and Jerry Corinthian was his literary drug of choice. Rolf even thought that Jerry may have been “read in” on monsters and the agencies that dealt with them. Some of the man’s books were laid out like mission briefs and hit close to home. Rolf wasn’t with the feds anymore, but his love of the genre continued.

He sat back, getting comfortable on his furniture, in his burrow, with his girls, and read aloud, “Crypto Team Alpha had been fighting through the Ecuadorian jungle for three days. Sometimes battling monsters, sometimes human zealots, but always the heat and bugs. When they finally reached the base of a vine-covered Mayan temple, their team leader, Johnny Hammer, pulled up and silently signaled to halt by raising his fist. He smelled blood. Lots of blood.”

Rolf paused and saw that he had Signe and Hanna’s undivided attentions. They waited for him to speak again. He smiled and looked back to the screen. He read well into the night.

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