I suppose I could have turned and tried to outrun the troll; I might even have managed it. But I was horribly aware of the humans behind me who had no defense against a fae like the troll. Maybe it would continue to follow me as I ran past them—assuming I did manage to outrun it.

But what if it stopped and attacked the humans instead? I knew some of those police officers. If they saw it chasing me, they would shoot at it. If they hurt it, it would go after them. And then there were all those people stuck in traffic. Easy targets.

I was not going to lead it off the bridge, where I might gain my life at someone else’s expense. I didn’t know why I’d decided it was my job to keep them safe, but, like Zack standing between the van and the troll, I’d accepted it and would do my best.

The troll moved into my best target range. I took a step toward them, aimed, and shot the magazine of my gun empty as fast as I could pull the trigger. I didn’t hit Adam.

I was sure that most if not all of the shots had hit the troll. I’ve always been a good shot, and this past year, I’d gotten serious about practicing. But the only shot that was important was the one that hit his left eye. I’d been aiming at his eye with all of my shots, but it was small, and he’d been moving.

It brought him to a staggering halt. He brought one hand up to his face—and hit Adam with the other, knocking him out of the air and into the cement barricade. I’d hit the troll and hurt him, but not enough to matter.

I holstered the gun, and my foot landed awkwardly on the walking stick that should have been on my chest of drawers at home instead of the pavement in front of me.

The walking stick had been made by Lugh the Longarm, the warrior fae who’d been a combination of Superman and Hercules in the old songs and stories of the Celtic people. There were no stories I’d ever read about Lugh—and I’d been reading as much about him as I could find since the walking stick had come back into my keeping—that had him fighting a troll. Lugh was a Celtic deity, and trolls were more populous in continental Europe. Maybe the walking stick had come here to fight for the troll. It, at least, was fae, and I was not, though it had defended me against the fae before.