Her Troll Defender (Beastly Falls)

Chapter 1

Jasmine

“W hat is that?” No one answers me as I stare at the slimy thing on the tree trunk in front of me. No one answers because there is no one here. Just me, the trees, and this…slug? I guess it’s a slug.

Shaking the can of orange spray paint, I ponder if painting the creature will be bad for its pores. Duh, of course it will. But there is no way I’m touching it. I’m not getting paid enough to touch things. Especially slimy things.

My watch says I’ve been out here for two hours. Long enough to be itchy from mosquito bites, rashy from something my leg rubbed up against, and far enough from where I started that I feel lost, regardless of my company issued map and compass. Mud covers my Converses, my pride and joy. This is awful.

I pick up a stick, hoping it won’t also make me break out in a rash, and swipe the slug thing off the trunk. There. Pop the lid off the can, I spray a big orange X on the trunk, covering the slime residue. Then I march on to the next giant tree trunk.

When I took this job for the Grimm Axe Lumber Company, I thought a nice forest walk might be a pleasant change from depressing hospital rooms and the dingy diner next to the hospital where I work. The promise of more pay than my waitressing definitely sweetened the idea. The loan sharks I used for Mom’s experimental treatment…failed treatment…are waiting for their payout. And if Mom dying wasn’t enough, spiraling me into a grief so deep I feel like I’m stuck in a bog, knowing that her legacy is nothing but ramen noodles and the threat of violence if I don’t pay back the sharks has me wading through quicksand. I’m barely keeping my head above water.

But now that I’m out here, taking deep breaths of pine-scented air in the middle of this God-forsaken forest in the middle for nowhere New England, itchy, thirsty, and dirty, I’m positive this is not the cake walk I thought I was signing up for.

My boss, Earl, told me that only the biggest trees get marked, gave me a backpack containing a couple granola bars (gone), a bottle of water (also gone), two cans of spray paint, a map, and a compass. Promised me cash when I returned at the end of the day. Daily cash is a promise to which I practically purred. Two weeks of tramping through the woods will make a significant dent in the debt I owe the loan sharks.

But am I going to survive?

The map says I should follow this path away from the river. But when I look up from the path, which is overgrown with ferns, there’s a giant rock wall in front of me. Giant. Sheer gray stone rises out of the ground. A monument that says, “Jasmine, you can’t go this way.”

It’s not on the map. Now what?

I swallow hard and make up my mind. I’ll follow the river. Maybe fill my bottle there and hope I don’t die from unfiltered water. From there, maybe I can find a way south, around this cliff, to my designated pickup point. I ignore the pounding of my heart as I think of missing my pickup point. If I’m late or lost, I’m screwed.

Six miles. I’m supposed to make it six miles down this path and get picked up by the crew in six hours. Pretty sure I’ve only gone one mile, though I have no way to measure. Judging by how sweaty I am, I’ve gone ten miles already. And now my path is blocked. I swallow down the panic rising in my chest. What did Mom always say? “Jasmine, your heart and your bull-headed strength will take you far.”

Well, Mom, I’m glad you’re not here to see me now. My heart is shattered. And my bull-headed strength has led me to this forest, where I’m lost.

∞∞∞

Hours later, I can’t tell if I’m closer to my pickup point. My spray painting of the trees has become haphazard at best, as I try to orient myself under the shady canopy of the forest. I don’t know how anything grows with the lack of sunlight that permeates through the branches.

Up ahead, I see a bridge crossing the river. Bridge equals road, right? I pick up my pace and make a beeline for the bridge, or as much of a beeline as I can make through the thick ferns that cover the ground. The map doesn’t show a bridge, either, but I’ve given up on the flimsy piece of paper. It might as well be a map of Norway, for all the good it’s done me.

Closer, I see the bridge is old, made of stones that make a decorative arch over the river, like something out of a fairy tale. There’s a structure on the far side under the bridge. Maybe a building? Climbing my way up to the road, my heart deflates.

It isn’t a road. At least, not a paved road. It’s stone pavers—larger than cobblestones. The same stone as the bridge itself. Standing at the edge of the bridge, feeling lightheaded, I look behind me to see the stones fade to a dirt path, which rounds a corner into the trees. Following the path away from the bridge, I walk the curve and find myself face to face with an X worthy tree. The path has literally disappeared. What kind of joke is this?

Taking my anger out on the tree, I shake up the spray paint can, pop the lid, and draw a gigantic orange X across it. Then I do the same on the other side of it, just to be sure it’s seen.

Once I’ve stomped back the bridge, my feet feel tingly, like they really want to walk across the bridge. It’s the same kind of tingly sensation that I felt telling me not to sign the contract for the loan sharks. I ignored it then, but I’m not sure I can now.

A gust whips around me, bringing the sharp scent of cedar and lemon, and pushes me forward. Onto the bridge.

The stones under my feet seem to hum with something electrical. But that doesn’t make any sense. These stones wouldn’t conduct electricity. Still, with every step, my heart feels lighter, and the electrical pulse beneath my feet pushes me forward, knowing that something good is on the other side.

Another whirlwind catches me on the other side, whipping my hair around in its ponytail, almost stealing my Grimm Axe issued ball cap. Not that I would care if I lost it.

And then, as my feet touch more dirt—another path that leads to nowhere—all those feelings, the sensations of hope and something good, are gone. All that’s left is hungry me, deflated, lost, a little bit scared, and a lot angry.