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The Shaktra

Tom Doherty Associates

When thirteen-year-old Ali Warner answered the knock on her door, a policeman was standing on her porch. She was not surprised. Officer Mike Garten had stopped by two weeks earlier to ask about the disappearance of Karl Tanner. Although it was partially a lie, she had told him she had no idea where her classmate was. Apparently her answers had not satisfied the cop. He was back and he was not smiling.

"Ali Warner, you remember me, don't you?" he asked. He was on the young side for a policeman, in his mid-twenties, and his dark mustache looked so out of place on his pale face that she thought it might wash off in the rain. Tall, too thin for his neat uniform, he nevertheless carried a gun and a badge — two items she could not ignore, even if she wanted to.

"Of course, Officer Garten," she said. "What can I do for you?"

Garten tried to peer past her. "Is your father home?"

"No."

"Will he be home soon?"

"No."

"I have a few questions I wanted to ask about Karl Tanner. You know we still haven't located him?"

"That's a shame. What do you want to ask?"

He took a step forward. "Mind if I come in?"

She did not move out of his way. "Sorry, my father doesn't let me have strangers in the house while he's gone." She could not let the policeman inside because she feared he might see the leprechaun sitting at her kitchen table, and hear the troll that was pacing her basement. Just before answering the door, she had told Paddy and Farble to be quiet, something neither was very good at.

Garten appeared annoyed, but quickly hid it. He took out a pen and notepad. "When I was here before, you said the last time you saw Karl was Tuesday, June fifth. You said he came over to your house in the evening to talk. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"May I ask what you two talked about?"

"Stuff."

"What kind of stuff?"

"Music. TV shows. The weather."

"He didn't say anything about going away?"

"No."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

Garten was unconvinced. "Because that same night, according to his parents, he began to pull out his backpacking equipment. They said he did so minutes after getting home from your house."

"He didn't say a word to me about going camping," Ali lied.

"Had you been up on the mountain that day? And the day before that?"

Ali hesitated. Several people in town knew she had tried to stop the loggers from cutting down the trees. It was possible Garten had spoken to some of them.

"I often hike in the woods," she said evasively. "I can't remember if I went those days or not."

"You didn't see anything in the woods that you might have shared with Karl? Something that might have inspired him to go hiking?"

Nothing except a few trolls, she thought. "No," she said.

Garten sighed and put away his notepad. "You're not being straight with me. I've already spoken to your friends, Steve Fender and Cindy Franken. They both admitted that they went hiking with you in the woods a month ago — on June sixth and seventh."

"Really?" Ali began to feel uneasy. She had a lot on her mind, important things to do. She did not have time to get arrested, although she doubted there was a jail on Earth that could hold her. She added, "Did they say Karl was with us?"

"No. But I think he was. I think the three of you are hiding something."

"I haven't a clue what you're talking about," Ali said.

The cop remained stern. "I warn you that I have shared my suspicions with Karl's parents. They're pressuring local law enforcement — and the district attorney's office — to take legal action against you three."

He was exaggerating, Ali could tell. He was being pressured by Karl's parents, and since the Tanners were the richest family in town, he was probably going out of his way to impress them. Tiny-town deputy was trying to get himself promoted to tiny-town sheriff. Ali let a faint smile show on her lips, but hardened her voice.

"I seriously doubt that," she said. "Why would the district attorney be interested in us? You're just fishing. You don't have a shred of proof that we did anything wrong — with Karl, or anyone else for that matter."

There was a power in her voice that caught him by surprise, a strength of will that came from deep inside, and he took a step back. But right then a loud sound, of breaking glass, came from her kitchen. The cop frowned and once more tried to peer past her.

"What was that?" he demanded.

"A friend."

"I thought you said you were alone?"

"I never said that." She started to close the door. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have things to do."

"Ali ..."

"Thanks for stopping by, Officer Garten," she said as she closed the door on his face. She hated to be rude but knew it was dangerous to keep talking to him. He was not dumb. The more she spoke, the more inconsistencies he would notice in her story. Best to keep it simple and vague, as she had done. She did not step away from the door until she heard him climb off her porch. A minute later his patrol car started, and he drove off. Only then did she turn toward the kitchen.

She found Paddy bent over the floor, trying to clean up the glass. He had broken a coffee mug that belonged to her father, but apparently he knew nothing about brooms and dustpans. He was trying to gather the shattered pieces together with his hands and an old newspaper. Glancing up as she entered the kitchen, the gold streaks in his big green eyes dimmed. He probably thought she was going to yell at him. They had known each other only a month, and he was incredibly sensitive to even a frown from her.

Of course, as queen of the fairies, he saw her as someone worthy of worship. He hastily straightened as she approached — nevertheless, she still towered above him. He couldn't have been three feet tall.

"Didn't mean to break it, Missy. Just fell from Paddy's hands," he said.

"It's fine, I drop things all the time."

"So sorry." He asked nervously, "Did the constable hear me?"

"He heard you, but he didn't see you. That's all that matters." Opening the closet door, she reached for the broom and dustpan. "Here, let me clean it up."

He shook his heavy green head, or rather, his green face. Paddy had dark curly hair; although thick stranded, and completely uncombable, it looked almost normal. But his face, especially when he was not wearing five coats of makeup, was hard to mistake for a human face, although she had done just that when they had first met. Ali supposed her initial blindness had come from the fact that — prior to that memorable day — she had only met humans in her lifetime....

At least when it came to creatures who talked.

Paddy's untouched skin was not only green, it was coarse, as if it had been woven from the bark of trees and the salt of the earth. Yet there was a tenderness in his eyes, a desire to please, that she found endearing. For example, at present, he could not bear the thought of her bending down to clean up his mess.

"No, Missy, you should not be tending to the floors," he said, trying to take the broom from her hand. She held it out of reach.

"Remember, I'm not a queen in this world, and I don't want you treating me like one. I'm a thirteen-year-old girl, nothing more, nothing less. Now sit and relax. When I have cleaned up this mess, I'll cook you something. What would you like?"

Her mention of food did wonders for his mood. Rubbing his palms together with relish, he hiked himself into a chair. "Could I have four hard-boiled eggs like you made me last week? Some toast and tea, and maybe a side of bacon and a few sausages? And butter if you have it, lots of butter, and sugar for the tea."

Ali smiled. "Anything else?"

He considered, then his face lit up. "Perhaps some cookies, Missy?"

"I don't know if I have any. I think you ate them all."

"No problem then, Paddy will make due. No need for Missy to bake more."

Ali laughed. "If that isn't a hint! Sure, I'll bake you some if you want."

"No need to bother for Paddy." He added, "But if you do, then those raisin ones, made out of oatmeal, are very nice with tea. And if you are baking some, then it is better to make lots, so Missy doesn't have to bake more at a later time."

"Sound leprechaun advice," she said, nodding.

Before Ali started cooking, she let Farble out of the basement, and the troll came up and sat on the kitchen floor — since he was too tall, and heavy, to sit at the table. The arrival of the troll dampened Paddy's mood, but the leprechaun was good at blocking out the parts of his mind that made him uncomfortable — a quality that made him an excellent liar.

Farble consumed a tremendous amount of food. He was destroying her bank account. Her babysitting savings were limited. She did not know how much longer she could go on feeding him without borrowing money from her father's account, something she was reluctant to do. Yet she feared to cut back on his portions. He was a troll, he was always hungry. Food was the center of his universe. Who knew what he might eat if she did not keep him happy? Many times Paddy had warned her of the dangers of having a hungry troll in the house.

However, in one way Farble was easier to feed than Paddy. She just had to toss him raw steaks several times a day, and let him drink out of the sink, and he was content. He would eat hamburger as well, uncooked, two pounds at a time, although he did not appear to like chicken or turkey. Paddy said — with a hint of fear in his voice — that it was because trolls craved red meat.

Unfortunately, she had only one steak left to give Farble, and no hamburger, and the troll ate the beef so quickly, with such relish, and then stared at her with such longing, that it stirred her worries. A month before she had decided to keep the two elementals in the human realm so that she might study them and thereby learn more about the elemental kingdom, and because she had made promises to help them. But in the last week, the reality of keeping them fed and hidden and — worst of all — happy, had begun to wear on her.

They were not pets. They had feelings, hopes, desires — perhaps none of which could be fulfilled in a human world. Why, Paddy couldn't even get a date for a Saturday night with a female dwarf from an insane asylum! She sensed his loneliness, and Farble's as well. Both looked up to her, they revered her, but try as she might, she could not be close friends with them.

They were elementals, they belonged with other elementals.

It was true but it was a hard truth.

They were difficult, and weird, but she loved them.

Ali had a sudden thought about Farble and his unique appetites, and turned to the ten-foot-tall troll. As usual, he had a smudge of green spit dripping from his wide toothy mouth, and his huge yellow eyes were bright and glowing. He looked less like a lovable teddy bear than a moving statue.

Farble had a square head that somehow appeared unfinished, and his hide was gray, and hard to the touch. He had hair but it was scant, and it could be as stiff as wire, particularly if he forgot to bathe, which he was prone to do unless she reminded him.

When they had first met, in battle, he had scared the heck out of her, but now she could not stare at him without smiling. Farble's many strange and oversized parts should have added up to a monster, but there was an innocence to his gaze that broke her heart.

"Farble, do you like eggs?" she asked.

"Eggs?" he said to himself, thinking — a slow process.

She held one up. "These are chicken eggs. Lots of people like them."

"Chickens?" he said, doubtful.

"They taste different than chickens. I like them better. Here, try one." She handed it over. "You have to break it carefully and ..."

He put the whole thing in his mouth, the white shell crunching under his moldy teeth. Paddy watched in disgust as Farble slowly smiled. She assumed it was a smile, although most small children would have run screaming from the expression.

"Eggs. More," Farble said.

"I've eleven here," she said. "I promised Paddy four. But you can have the rest. Would seven be enough?"

Not bothering to stand, he held out both his four-fingered palms, and she gave him two at a time. She could have been tossing M&M's to a chocolate freak. The eggs were gone in a minute and he still looked hungry. Paddy broke in.

"Don't be giving away me breakfast, Missy," he said. "Can't fill a rock like him. Best to give him a drink of water and send him back to the basement."

Farble cast Paddy a dull look, that might have been a frown, and Ali worried that the troll was thinking that if he could just eat the leprechaun, and shut him up once and for all, he could return to the basement content. The two barely tolerated each other, probably because in their world they were natural enemies.

"Green food," Farble mumbled.

"You don't want to be eating anything that's green," Ali interrupted. "I'll go to the store as soon as I'm done here, and buy plenty of steaks, juicy red steaks. You won't go to sleep hungry, Farble, I promise."

Farble grunted, which she hoped meant that he was willing to wait.

Because all trolls were allergic to sunlight, Farble preferred to sleep away most of the day. The troll's supper was often the leprechaun's breakfast. It was only when it was dark or extremely cloudy that Farble went outside — and only in her company — to stretch in the woods behind her house, or else wash in a stream a mile farther up the mountain. If Farble did not bathe several times a day, he quickly began to smell.

Paddy, on the other hand, when his face was plastered with cheap makeup, and he was wearing clothes that did not identify him as a creature out of a folktale, could go to a movie or even a mall by himself. He knew how to ride a bus and carry exact change. He was smart when it came to money. There were few things he liked more than the sound of coins in his pocket.

Unfortunately, he had a bad habit of stealing. What made it worse was that he was good at it, with his quick eyes and hands. The other day he had brought home a CD player, along with an Irish folk tune CD, and had been dismayed when she demanded that he take it back — carefully.

Heaven help them if the leprechaun was ever arrested, she thought. Officer Garten would probably be the one to catch him. Then the policeman's questions would get real interesting.

After Paddy had finished the bulk of his breakfast, and Farble had drunk a few gallons of sink water, Ali sat down and told them they needed to have a serious talk. They both stared at her with worried expressions, and she wondered how to start.

She decided it would be best to come straight to the point.

"What do you think about going back to the elemental realm?" she asked.

They looked at her as if they had been slapped.

"You want to send us away, Missy?" Paddy asked.

"No. I mean, you know, you're not from around here. I was just thinking maybe you both wanted to go home." She paused. "Does that sound like a good idea?"

Farble shook his head. So did Paddy.

"I've not got me pot of gold yet, Missy," the leprechaun said. "You told me you would help me find it. Paddy cannot go back without it."

Ali nodded. "True, I told you I would help you get your gold. But it was wrong of me to make such a promise. The reality is, you're going to have more success finding gold in the elemental world than here."

Paddy was unconvinced. He spoke in a wounded tone. "If Missy would use her fairy powers to help Paddy, he would have all the gold he needed in a single day. Then he would not mind being sent away."

"I'm not sending either of you away," she said. "We're discussing the idea. And I can't use my fairy powers to get you gold."

"Why not?" Paddy asked.

"Because ... that would be unethical."

"What does that mean?"

"Ethics ... they're something most leprechauns probably don't worry about. Look, this last month has been great. We've had a lot of fun together. But this world is not your world, it's not your home." She paused. "Don't you want to go home?"

Again, they both shook their heads. This time Farble spoke.

"Love Geea," he mumbled.

Geea. The name she was known by in the elemental kingdom.

None of them knew her as Alosha, except for Nemi.

Alosha was her secret fairy name — a name, she had discovered, that possessed a power all its own. But who, or what, Nemi was continued to be a mystery. She had spoken to him only twice: once he had appeared as a tree, another time as a crystal-clear pond. Both times the communication had been telepathic. Although invisible to her eyes, his love had been unmistakable, and she trusted him more deeply than she could explain to herself. She missed him as well ...

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Excerpted from The Shaktra by Christopher Pike. Copyright © 2005 Christopher Pike. Excerpted by permission of Tom Doherty Associates.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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