Undraland by Mary Twomey Page B

retirement early. There are only a handful of guardian gnomes in Johannes’s kingdom, which is where we are. Most are the gardening kind.”
    I kept my face buried in the crook of his neck. “Why do humans need protection? Can’t all be from bears.”
    “Pesta. She’s the last siren.”
    “A siren? Like…”
    “Like in your English Lit classes you hated so much and should’ve paid better attention in? Yeah. Pesta’s the last siren in existence, and she’s chained to the Land of Be.”
    I sighed. “I love that you think any of those words make sense to me.”
    “The Land of Be is a place we can go where there’s no pain. There’s nothing sad, nothing violent, nothing at all, in fact. You go there to check out. Apparently, it’s bliss. You go there to just be.”
    “Alright. That sounds nice. Why are you guarding me from her?”
    His voice took on a serious note, which I did my best to respect. “Because it’s not as simple as nirvana. To get in, you have to give her your dominant arm and the use of your soul.”
    “Come again?”
    “That’s why when you go there, you don’t feel anything bad, or anything at all. She animates the arms and uses them to keep the people there locked inside. Not that they would try to escape.” He stomped through a bunch of chickens, ignoring their clucking as they scattered.
    “Jens! Slay any trolls while you were away?” a passerby called out.
    “Not today. Maybe next time.”
    “Good to have you back. How long do we get you for this time?”
    “Not long. Say hi to your father for me.” We kept moving, and Jens was greeted by a few more farmers in a similar fashion.
    “Is that the human female, Jens? Well, I’ll be. Why’ve you dressed her as a man?”
    The smirk in Jens’s tone seemed to be a fairly common thing. “That’s her, alright. She’s a dangerous one. Caught her with my bare hands.” He pinched my calf again, this time with a hint of flirtation.
    The audience was floored. “Wow!”
    I chuckled into his neck at the sincerity of the stranger’s exclamation. “They’ve really never seen a human before? I don’t look that different from them.” When I breathed in, I could smell his skin. A caress of sugar cookie dough seemed to waft off of him no matter where I pressed my nose. It was the same smell our house always had, and even after my mom died and there was no one to make cookies, the scent followed me. Even Tonya would comment occasionally and ask if I’d been making cookies.
    Now I knew. It was Jens. Sweet as sugar, mean as a bull.
    Jens suppressed a slight shiver any man gets when a woman sniffs the back of his neck. Goose bumps broke out on his skin, which we both tried to ignore. I cringed, hoping he wouldn’t call me out on my nasal indiscretion.
    Jens continued the conversation as if I had not just been a freak who smells strangers. “You’re shorter, paler. You wear street clothes. The women here wear only dresses. You have access to all sorts of magical gadgets like phones, cars and things like that. Now, where were we?”
    “Um, all the things I hate about you?”
    “No, we covered that already.”
    “Trolls, then.”
    He hitched me further up again. “Right. Eighteen to twenty feet tall usually, pure muscle and not given to diplomacy.”
    “Are there actual real live giants around here? I’m trying to be cool, but that’d test my ability to compartmentalize big time.” I let out a short laugh. “Big time? Giants? I’m funny.”
    I could tell he was half-smiling. “You are. Kept me entertained on many a boring stakeout.” He shifted me on his back. “There aren’t any trolls in these parts anymore. Used to be, but you don’t have to worry about that.”
    “You slayed them all with your massive gnome muscles?” I teased.
    “Shut up.” He sniffed. “And, yes, I did. You gonna take back that ‘horse’s backside’ comment?”
    “Nope. Giddy up, horsy.”
    He neighed, which, I admit did entertain me. “But