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Back Trollhunters Save as PDF
Chapters (51)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright
  4. Dedication
  5. Epigraph
  6. Prologue
  7. Part I
  8. 1.
  9. 2.
  10. 3.
  11. 4.
  12. 5.
  13. 6.
  14. 7.
  15. 8.
  16. 9.
  17. 10.
  18. Part II
  19. 11.
  20. 12.
  21. 13.
  22. 14.
  23. 15.
  24. 16.
  25. 17.
  26. 18.
  27. Part III
  28. 19.
  29. 20.
  30. 21.
  31. 22.
  32. 23.
  33. 24.
  34. 25.
  35. 26.
  36. 27.
  37. 28.
  38. 29.
  39. 30.
  40. 31.
  41. 32.
  42. Part IV
  43. 33.
  44. 34.
  45. 35.
  46. 36.
  47. 37.
  48. 38.
  49. 39.
  50. 40.
  51. About the Author

Together we stood in the living room watching a peach glow paint the walls and ceilings. It was Monday morning. That meant work for Dad, school for me. School—how could I face those bland hallways and ignorant faces knowing what I knew now? It seemed a century ago when Tub and I had been trash-compacted in lockers, fallen from gymnasium ropes, and rolled around in a parking lot to evade the bouncing ball of Steve Jorgensen-Warner.

“There’s an attic,” I said. “Dad hardly ever uses it. You could hide there.”

“No.”

“Or maybe the garage? We’d just have to cover you up with—”

Dad yawned from his room.

Jack looked at Dad’s door with more fear than he showed when facing a troll battalion.

“I’ll be back at midnight,” he said.

“You can’t go back to your cave. The rust trolls—”

“I’m a boy.” He said it like he was trying to convince himself of the fact. “I’m not going to turn to stone. Just give me some of your clothes and I’ll wander around town. Sit on a park bench. Like a kid. Just like a regular kid.”

“Fine,” I said. “But this isn’t 1969. Adults see a thirteen-year-old kid by himself, they may ask questions or call the—”

“I can take care of myself.” He snapped his gloved fingers. “Clothes. Now.”

28.

Pinkton was all over me about neglecting my homework. Homework? I tried to recall the meaning of the word as she stood at my desk and ranted while the rest of the class crunched the numbers on the board. She warned me again about the big test on Friday and how my fate hung in the balance. I looked penitent but it was an act my body remembered from past conflicts. My eyes were looking past Pinkton at the rest of the classroom.

There were two empty desks.

It meant nothing. I knew that. A bug was going around. Wasn’t there always a bug? Between classes I focused on the festival decorations to avoid noticing banks of lockers that may or may not have the right number of students opening them. There was a single empty desk in biology. Nothing strange about that. Two people were absent from American lit. Hardly unusual. I considered talking to Tub before gym class to get a second opinion, but he dressed with atypical speed. He didn’t just look angry, he looked exhausted. That stiff black hair he pulled from his braces and brushed off his clothes was familiar.