Page 13 of A Dead End Wedding

I wasn’t going to ask how he knew this. It was all part of the many and varied experiences he’d had as a rebel soldier in the vampire wars.

“Well, I hate to take my turn at being Captain Obvious, but how about you just don’t play cards with him?”

Jack shook his head, and he had a pained expression on his face. “You’ll see. Even as sunny as you are, you’re not going to like a troll.”

Lorraine saw us coming and pushed through the crowd to rush over to us, and I could all but see the fire coming out of her ears.

“Oh, boy,” I muttered. “This could be bad.”

Lorraine Packard had been manager/drill sergeant at Beau’s Diner for over fifty years. She stood around five two in her yellow orthopedic shoes, had short silver hair, a yellow starched uniform today, and she was smart as a whip. She was great friends with my Aunt Ruby and Eleanor, and family to me and now, by extension, to Jack.

You annoyed Lorraine only if you wanted to risk grave peril or public humiliation.

“It’s about time,” she said, planting herself in front of us. “Everybody came to look at the troll, but nobody wants to sit down with him. He’s feeling ostracized, and you know what happens when a troll feels ostracized.”

Jack nodded.

“No, I have no idea,” I said. “What happens when?—”

“They bash things,” she said darkly. “Windows, cars, tables, and even people. Nobody wants a rampaging troll bashing things at Beau’s.”

“Or anywhere in Dead End,” Jack said, grinning at her. “We’ll take care of it.”

“About time.” She whirled around, planted her hands on her hips, and cleared her throat. “Everybody who isn’t planning to sit their butts down and order food can move along.”

Feet shuffled, but nobody moved.

“Now!” Lorraine shouted.

Everybody moved.

Everybody except the troll.

He looked straight at me.

I had a second or two to realize swamp trolls were every bit as scary looking as I’d read and heard, but then a breeze floated at us. And it originated behind the troll.

So, then I had to focus on not throwing up or running away.

This wasn’t a “bad smell.”

This wasn’t even a stench.

This was an aroma like all the nastiest smells in the world got together and threw a party.

“That poor troll,” I said, when I could open my mouth without fear of retching. “I bet nobody wants to be around him.”

“Tess. Now’s not the time to?—”

I ignored Jack and walked over to the troll, careful to take shallow breaths through my mouth. It wasn’t enough to mask the smell, but this was a Dead Ender. We stood together in my town. “Hi! I’m Tess. Welcome to Beau’s! Would you mind company for lunch?”

The troll looked me up and down, apparently considering, so I looked back. There was a lot to look at. He was maybe six feet tall and very wide, with shoulders like a pro football player and an immense chest to match, clad in a white T-shirt that saidDrink More Ovaltine.He wore cutoff denim shorts over massive legs, and he was barefoot. His forehead was low, and his orange eyes were widely spaced. When he finally opened his mouth to answer me, I saw squarish teeth that were surprisingly white.

I wouldn’t have expected somebody who lived in a swamp to have great toothbrushing habits.

“Why?” he rumbled. “The other humans don’t want to come near me.”

“I love that movie,” I said, gesturing at his shirt. “Poor Ralphie!”

---