Two hours later, Troop replaced Grimm’s Fairy Tales back on the shelf and left the bakery.
A hand slammed into his windpipe, shoving Troop against a wall. Troop kicked his attacker in the gut and slithered out from the chokehold.
Red-shirt-person had trapped Troop alone and unaware while walking home. The attacker swung a punch at Troop, forcing him to skitter backwards.
There was a hood drawn over the face of the stalker, but the way the person moved about reminded Troop of someone from school. Bruno, he thought.
Person-that-might-be-Bruno aimed another punch at Troop’s jaw, but Troop ducked beneath the meaty fist and stepped close enough to whip back the red hoodie. The figure turned and landed a kick to his shins, distracting Troop for a moment. Person-that-might-be-Bruno jammed his hoodie back on.
“What’s wrong with you?” Troop demanded.
His attacker didn’t reply. Instead, he aimed another punch at Troop’s face. Troop sidestepped the brunt of the punch; the knuckles of person-that-might-be-Bruno grazed his ears. Troop returned the punch with a low kick beneath the knees. Cheap move—but it worked.
The attacker let out a groan and collapsed onto his knees. Troop took this chance to yank back the hood once more, this time revealing a recognizable face. It was Mason.
“What the hell?” Troop exclaimed.
He sidestepped a poor attempt made by Mason to grab him. Mason growled.
“Why do you always mess everything up?” Mason, having recovered from Troop’s kick, sprung onto his feet. “Don’t answer that. That was a rhetorical question.”
“Did Bruno send you to follow me?”
“No.” Mason wrinkled his nose in disgust, as if the idea of doing Bruno’s bidding offended him.
Troop couldn’t think of any other reason why Mason would try to corner him if Bruno hadn’t ordered him to do so. Mason never caused any trouble in his gang, so why would he start now?
They circled each other, neither willing to retaliate.
“You looking for trouble or what?” demanded Troop.
“No. I’m trying to stop trouble from happening.”
Mason faked a blow to Troop’s face and swept his leg out, hitting Troop behind the knees. Troop lurched forwards, the backs of his legs throbbing. There’s no way I can outfight Mason—he outweighs me by at least fifty pounds.
Troop ignored his pains and pushed himself up. He spun around and backhanded Mason hard enough to send him backwards a few feet. However, he barely had the time to blink before Mason knocked him onto his back. Troop rolled over, popped up and then landed a square punch into Mason’s gut. Mason elbowed Troop hard and the two of them landed on the ground with enough force to knock over a solar-car.
Clump. Clump. Clump.
They hastily detangled themselves when a patrol of three law enforcers peered into the alley. Mason pierced Troop with a look that could have skewered steel. Nevertheless, he remained at a distance away from Troop.
“Fighting is a public crime,” said a uniformed officer.
“Any idiot knows that,” Mason muttered.
The officer shot Mason a dark look. “I am issuing both of you a warning and a fifty point fine. Names?”
When neither Troop nor Mason offered their names, the officer rumbled impatiently then said, “I will increase your fine to a hundred points each if you don’t hurry up and tell me your names. I have better things to do than waste my time on this.”
“Troop Mendax.”
An officer typed something into his electro-slate and said, “ID.”
Troop passed his ID card to the closest officer. The officer entered more information into his electro-slate, and then returned the card back to Troop.
“Fifty points has been deducted from your account. A warning has been added to your records as well. If you are caught fighting again, there will be harsher consequences than a fine and warning. Am I clear?”
Troop nodded.
The officer turned to Mason expectantly.
“Mason Fusran.” He passed his ID card to the officer.
The officer entered Mason’s information to his slate. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He pulled another law enforcer to his side and pointed to something on the electro-slate.
Troop craved to know what was so interesting about Mason’s ID.
The officer holding the electro-slate stammered, “Ah, Mason, we’re terribly sorry about this misunderstanding. We didn’t know—”
Mason seized the man by the throat and hissed, “Are you stupid? Don’t. Say. Anything.”
Then he released his grip. The officer slumped down, rubbing his throat. Mason stalked out of the alley.
An officer motioned for Troop to get out of there. So he did.
chapter twenty-one
Kristi woke to a dull pain blossoming in the center of her chest. She hadn’t gotten much sleep last night because the solar lamp’s brightness never permitted her to fully sink into sleep’s embrace. If anything, Kristi felt more exhausted than before.
Jaiden and Chelsa were still fast asleep, so she took great care not to wake them up when she crawled outside.
The storm had left an additional foot of snow on top of the three feet from previous days. Kristi stood up in the knee-deep snow and accidently bumped her head against the branches of the willow tree, causing the snow that had accumulated on the branches to plop onto the tent.
“What the heck!” came a muffled shout from inside the tent.
So much for trying not to wake Chelsa and Jaiden up.
A red-cheeked Chelsa poked her head out of the snow-flattened tent to see what had happened, then re-emerged when she got her boots on.
“What’s going on?” Jaiden asked, still inside the tent.
Chelsa, who was outside, answered, “Kristi tried to squash us beneath a ton of snow.”
“Hm,” said Jaiden. “Murder by Snow. That would make a great murder mystery.”
Ghost crept into the camp, carrying a dead bird in his mouth. He dropped the bird by Chelsa’s feet, giving Kristi a clear view of the prey. It was a flashy, colorful creature with bright green plumages and a striking blue head. Ghost finished washing his paws and picked apart his meal.
Kristi looked away, not wanting to see the beautiful animal become a bloody mess of bones and entrails.
“Can you pass me the tent bag?” Jaiden asked.
Kristi stooped down, picked up the canvas sack and passed it off to Jaiden. He and Chelsa efficiently packed away the tent and they were ready to set off. Kristi grabbed the front of Mist’s saddle and stuck her left foot into the stirrup.
“Ow!” she gasped. She lifted her foot out of the stirrup and stood still, massaging her aching ribs.
“I forgot you got hurt last night,” Chelsa said. “Why didn’t you remind me? I could’ve rebound your wrist if only you had asked.”
“The cold partially numbs the pain snd my wrist should be fine; it’s just my ribs that hurt really bad when I tried to mount Mist.”
“Do you need a leg up?” Jaiden asked.
“That’ll be great.” She accepted Jaiden’s boost into the saddle, gritting her teeth. Once she was remotely comfortable in the saddle, the pain lessened and she relaxed.
Chelsa navigated her horse onto the road and determined the direction where New Amsterdam lay. Kristi bit her tongue every time Mist took a step; her upper ribcage complained at the jarring movement. She made sure Jaiden and Chelsa were in front of her, so they wouldn’t notice her grimacing every time Mist took an extra bumpy stride; both of them had enough to worry about without Kristi adding to their list.
After an hour, her tongue was a bloody mess.