Aja wiggled one of the limp tentacles and said, “Oh yes, it is very lively! Well, was very lively. Until I kicked it.”

  “Ha-ha-ha! Don’t worry about it!” crowed Steve. “It didn’t take long to make anyway!”

  Eli glowered jealously and said, “Steve, we need to get going. Now.”

  “No, we don’t, Pepperjoke,” said Steve, his eyes still on Aja.

  “Yes, we do,” Eli insisted. “It was supposed to be a surprise, but I got us these.”

  He pulled out two crisp all-access Arcadia-Con passes. Steve’s jaw dropped as he took one of the passes and read the fine print.

  “No way! These’ll get us backstage at the Earth Invaders panel!” Steve exclaimed.

  “Earth Invaders?” exclaimed Aja, suddenly looking very self-conscious.

  “We’re gonna meet Superagent Muldoon!” Steve went on obliviously.

  “Yes. Barring any other distractions,” said Eli with a pointed look at Aja.

  Steve looked from the passes to Aja and back again, wavering.

  Aja smiled and said, “I should probably find my brother and geezer. I hope you and the Jack of Peppers enjoy the stage on your backs!”

  Eli furrowed his brow in confusion at Aja. But Steve just winked, suavely pointed a finger, and made a clicking sound with his mouth.

  “Catch ya around the Con!” said Steve as Eli dragged him and their costume away.

  The metal detectors went wild as Foo-Foo passed under them, followed by his three cloaked Gumm-Gumms and drone. Normally, the bounty hunter preferred to avoid enclosed spaces. But his sensors had tracked the unique energy signatures of three and a half Akiridion life-cores to this very location.

  The same security guard at the entrance hiked up his belt and said, “You’ll have to surrender your props and submit to a full costume inspection, little fella.”

  “Foo-Foo the Destroyer submits to no man,” said Foo-Foo in his monotone.

  He flipped high over the guard, then kicked him in the back. The move sent the guard stumbling into the disguised Gumm-Gumms, who promptly tossed him outside. Nearby attendees clapped and snapped photos, mistaking the tossed guard for some live-action role-playing performance. Ignoring them, Foo-Foo pressed his wrist guard. The numerous traps he had previously planted around all the exits now activated. Impenetrable metal barriers fanned out of each device, blocking every single door and air vent into and out of the Convention Center.

  “Lockdown initiated,” said the bounty hunter. “The Tarron children hide somewhere among the rest of the riffraff.”

  Foo-Foo consulted his scanner once again, only to see the signal’s reception fade in and out. He slapped the side of the scanner to little avail.

  “It would appear this edifice’s thick walls and primitive plumbing are generating interference,” Foo-Foo said, then pointed to his drone. “Scan the area from above and neutralize any alien life-forms you encounter. The Zerons may have followed the royals here, as well.”

  The drone bowed in midair, and Foo-Foo then said to the Gumm-Gumms, “We know from last night’s recording that the local protectors are also present. Locate and destroy these ‘Trollhunters’ while I find the renegade royals and the only being in the universe who could possibly understand me—Varvatos Vex!”

  The Gumm-Gumms grunted in assent and marched off in one direction. The drone flew away in another. And Foo-Foo set off on a third. He hopped past the designated service animals center. Foo-Foo’s sensors chimed, registering half an Akiridion energy signature again. But Luug backed into one of the metal kennel cages, and the sensors went blank once more.

  “Blasted interference,” muttered Foo-Foo before resuming his hunt.

  Luug emerged from the cage. He paced back and forth, and growled at the armored rabbitlike creature, sensing the danger posed by Foo-Foo, but unable to do anything about it. . . .

  CHAPTER 10

  HASHTAG MURDER

  Shrieks of terror reverberated throughout Arcadia-Con. Attendees ran screaming out of the Murder House maze erected in the middle of the convention—and right past Team Trollhunters. AAARRRGGHH!!! winced at the loud, giddy noise, and Blinky said, “Choosing to become frightened on purpose. . . . What an odd human custom!”

  “I know it seems strange, Blinky,” Claire said. “But seeing a scary movie can sometimes help people take their minds off everyday problems.”

  “Belaya!” roared an old man’s voice from far away.

  “Whoa,” said Toby. “Someone’s a bigger Mistrial & Error fan than we are!”

  “A bigger glork, is more like it!” cracked NotEnrique from Claire’s back.

  Blinky considered the attraction’s entrance, which resembled a dilapidated old house, and said, “What horrors can we expect to encounter in this labyrinth of lurking abominations?”

  “Whatever it is, it can’t be as bad as Toby’s puns!” Jim joked.

  He and Toby playfully elbowed each other while their group entered the maze. They were soon greeted by paid actors in undead-construction-worker makeup, who jumped from the shadows. The Trollhunters merely stared at the zombie builders, unfazed by their theatrics.

  The group rounded a corner in the maze, then another, quickly getting lost in the turns and film-accurate details. Claire pointed in excitement at all the sentient drills, table saws, and belt sanders whirring on their own and said, “Look! It’s the possessed power tools from Murder House 6: Renovated for Evil!”

  “And the psychic interior decorator from part nine, Twilight Zoning Permits!” said Jim.

  Blinky then saw three bodies draped in white sheets and said, “What manner of spectral beings are these supposed to be?”

  “I dunno,” said Toby as he inspected the trio up close. “Bedsheet ghosts aren’t part of the established Murder House lore. So, either the production company cheaped out on this part of the maze or this is the laziest cosplay costume I’ve ever seen!”

  Dry-ice smoke blew into the corridor, and AAARRRGGHH!!!’s keen Krubera nose detected a new scent in the breeze. He snarled and yanked the fabric off the figures, revealing three Gumm-Gumms. Claire noticed their circuitry-laced bodies and said, “Anyone else think they look a little high-tech for Trolls?”

  Jim reached for his Amulet, just as Toby and Claire reached for their collapsed weapons. But before they could activate them, three new bodies intruded on the scene. Mary, Darci, and Shannon all huddled together in mock fear as they tiptoed through the maze. Team Trollhunters hastily hid their gear.

  “Oh, uh, hey, Darci!” Toby said. “I thought you said you weren’t into comic-cons!”

  “I wasn’t, Toby-Pie!” said Darci. “But Shannon won these tickets on a radio giveaway!”

  The mindless Gumm-Gumms appeared equally unsure of their next move. Foo-Foo’s orders played in a loop in their heads—Locate and destroy these ‘Trollhunters.’ . . . Locate and destroy these ‘Trollhunters’—but he had given no instructions about innocent bystanders.

  Mary flashed a peace sign and took a selfie in front of the startled Gumm-Gumms. Mary then posted the picture to her social media, reading aloud what she was typing. “Hashtag Arcadia-Con, hashtag Murder House, hashtag lame monster suits!”

  The hardwired Gumm-Gumms shambled forward. Mary, Darci, and Shannon tittered in delight. But Jim and the others sprang into action, knowing this was no game.

  “We need to get Mary, Darci, and Shannon clear of these Gumm-Gumms,” whispered Claire.

  “But without the use of any special abilities, lest you expose Trollkind’s existence to your gossip-spewing peers!” whispered Blinky.

  “I know!” Jim whispered back. “So what’s the plan, Jimbo?” whispered Toby.

  “I DON’T KNOW!” Jim yelped as he dodged a Parlok spear.

  CHAPTER 11

  COSPLAYERZ

  “ ‘Goblins and ghoulies and things that go boo, we will pound into goo, we are coming for you’—take it away, Steve!”

  Eli waited for Steve to sing the next verse. But Steve merely gazed out at Arcadia-Con with a dreamy, faraway look. Annoyed, Eli dropped their Octopoid cosplay costume in front of the Earth Invaders VIP lounge. To prompt Steve, he then added, “ ‘Friendship forever will stop all the Creepers. We know all the secrets, for we are the keepers of—’ ”

  “Aja,” Steve said absentmindedly.

  “Ste-eve!” Eli whined. “That isn’t part of our Creepslayerz theme song!”

  He hauled their rubber squid alien cosplay costume up to a bodyguard stationed at the VIP entrance and flashed the two backstage passes. The bodyguard unhooked the velvet rope. Steve snapped out of his reverie long enough to see Eli stomp into the lounge.

  “Whoa, wait!” Steve yelped.

  He caught up with Eli inside the exclusive area and took in their swanky surroundings. Various film and TV industry types snacked on delicious hors d’oeuvres, relaxed in plush couches, and networked with free Wi-Fi. Eli screwed up his face in disgust and said, “Typical. Hollywood comes to a comic convention and makes it all about them!”

  “Yeah, but aren’t they also helping?” asked Steve. “By turning weird stories that dorks like you love into big-budget movies and stuff?”

  “I see they’ve gotten to you, too,” Eli said drily.

  “But you’re the one who wanted to come here in the first place!” snapped Steve.

  “That’s right!” Eli snapped back. “I pulled a lot of strings to get us in here! Just like I always do nice things for us! But do you ever reciprocate? No! You just take credit for my work before shoving me into a locker and talking to someone cooler! And making fun of my name!”

  “No, I don’t, Pepperjer—” Steve started, before catching himself. “I mean, no, I don’t.”

  Everyone in the lounge had heard Eli’s raised voice and were staring at the arguing high schoolers. Feeling self-conscious, Steve jabbed his finger into Eli’s chest and said, “Why don’t you back off, Eli?”

  Eli pushed away Steve’s hand, then rubbed the sore spot where Steve had poked him. His eyes looked hurt behind his glasses, and he felt heat radiating from the back of his neck.

  “I used to have a life of my own before the Creepslayerz were even a thing, y’know!” Steve went on. “I had interests! Sports, my Vespa, sports, some acting—sports! But now, you’re trying to, like, latch on to everything I do! It feels like we’re always together!”

  “Oh really?” Eli yelled back.

  By way of answer, Steve indicated the two broken halves of their shared cosplay costume and said, “Really. The Palchuk needs his space, Eli.”

  “Fine!” Eli said. “If it’s space you want, Steve, then it’s space you’ll get!”

  “Did someone say ‘space’?” someone else asked behind them.

  The Creepslayerz both froze in place. They knew that voice. They’d heard it season after season on their favorite program. Steve and Eli slowly turned around and saw the manly, chiseled face of the lead actor on Earth Invaders.

  “Superagent Muldoon!” Steve and Eli said in unison.

  “I see you guys are fans of the show. Thanks for watching!” said the actor, who then noticed their costume on the floor. “Hey! That looks just like the Octopoid I fought in season three!”

  “I . . . we . . . you . . . costume . . . ,” Steve blathered.

  “We’re cosplayerz,” Eli filled in for his incoherent friend. “With a z.”

  The actor threw back his blond head and gave a hearty laugh, then pulled out a marker from his blazer pocket. He signed the latex suit—“To the Cosplayerz! Keep reaching for the stars!”—then bumped fists with Eli and the still-stunned Steve.

  “Actually, sir, may I ask you a question about a season two storyline?” asked Eli.

  “Sure thing! But first, I gotta ask this guy about his workout regimen!” the actor said to Steve. “It’s almost like we use the same personal trainer! How much do you bench?”

  “Is that before or after my daily workout of five hundred burpees?” Steve smirked.

  “Didn’t even know you could count that high . . . ,” Eli muttered under his breath.

  Steve flexed his biceps, inadvertently stepping in between Eli and their favorite TV star. But even with his blocked view, Eli saw just how much the other two had in common. Steve could have been a younger version of the actor. Both were tall, blond, muscular—pretty much the exact opposite of Eli, who felt more like a fifth wheel than ever. He pulled the top half of the Octopoid outfit over his pouting face and slumped toward the exit . . . just as Foo-Foo’s drone descended into the lounge.

  Its sensors scanned every living being in the VIP area, as they had done in the lost-and-found booth and long bathroom lines before that. Not detecting anything out of the ordinary, the drone was about to hover away—until it spied Eli in the Octopoid suit. Its camera zoomed in on the tentacle-covered shape, and a new entry of data scrolled across its view screen.

  Extraterrestrial life-form: detected

  Classification: cephaloplasmus, Zorkian

  Additional information: wanted in several solar systems/open bounty of eight million crestons for immediate capture/LETHAL FORCE PERMITTED

  Primary directive: Per Foo-Foo the Destroyer, survey area from above/neutralize any encountered extraterrestrials/NEUTRALIZE—NEUTRALIZE—NEUTRALIZE

  Crosshairs appeared on its screen. Two miniature blasters swiveled into place. And without any warning, the drone opened fire on an unsuspecting Elijah Leslie Pepperjack.

  CHAPTER 12

  WANTED DEAD OR ALIVELY

  “I have the news that is bad and the news that is less bad,” Krel said to Aja. “Which would you like to receive first?”

  The siblings had just found each other in the food court, where Aja drank directly from the nacho cheese dispenser, trying to fill her stomach—if not the emptiness she felt in her core. A vague sense of failure had followed Aja from the fashion exhibit. The more she thought about those warrior queens on display, the more she felt she didn’t match their level of posterior-kicking-ness. Wiping the molten cheese off her face, Aja said, “The news that is bad, I suppose.”

  “I have located Varvatos Vex at a human gaming tournament,” answered Krel.

  “How is that bad?” asked Aja.

  “Because he’s acting just like Varvatos Vex at a human gaming tournament!” said Krel.

  “BELAYA!” they heard Vex shout again from afar. “Destiny has rolled a hard six and comes to deplete you of your health points! So swears Varvatos Vex of the Taylon Phalanx—and now the Guild of the Wizard Knights! Huzzah!”

  “Huzzah!” echoed a nasal, nerdy chorus.

  “And the less-bad news?” Aja asked.

  Krel pointed at the fine print on his Arcadia-Con badge and said, “These passes admit us into the Gun Robot premiere. We do not even have to sleep in that shantytown outside!”

  “I see,” Aja said glumly. “And you want us to go into the theater and make fun of the movie.”

  “Er, I suppose,” Krel said. “Although I am now more interested in the movie’s story than in its faulty logic. This Gun Robot fellow intrigues me. . . .”

  Krel surprised himself, even as he said the words. True, he had gone into Arcadia-Con expecting the very worst humanity had to offer. And in many cases, he’d seen it.

  Then again, in thinking back to his undisputed reign at the Go-Go Sushi dance floor, Krel discovered that his stance had softened. Somewhat. For once, people on this planet complimented him instead of questioned him. Krel had identified several of them from school earlier—and identified with them. No matter their age, gender, or ethnicity, it seemed to the displaced princeling that these teens all had one thing in common: They felt uncomfortable in their own skins. Just like Krel did on Earth.

  “No, thank you, little brother,” said Aja. “I am not feeling up it right this mekron.”

  “Is it the mass quantities of processed-cheese product you consumed?” asked Krel.

  “No—urp!” Aja belched. “Although that probably isn’t helping.”

  She took a few steps forward, her high-top sneakers sticking to the syrupy, soda-coated floors. Thousands of people enjoyed themselves all around Aja, their grinning faces beaming at the various diversions that competed for their attention. Mother had landed in Arcadia Oaks not long ago, yet Aja was hard-pressed to recall a time when she saw so many humans so happy.

  “It’s all just so . . . overwhelming,” Aja said to Krel. “Why is it that so many of these humans appear more cheerful in their pretend costumes than in their normal lives? All the characters they seek to emulate are just that: characters. Fiction. Figments of imagination that they will never match, no matter how hard they might try. Are humans so disappointed, so lost, that they must turn to make-believe stories to find solace—to truly feel alive?”

  “Well, when you put it that way . . . ,” Krel said, trying to reconcile Aja’s feelings about Arcadia-Con with his own. “Perhaps it is for the best that the humans are distracted by their silly legends. Perhaps that makes it easier for us to complete our Daxial Array and return to . . .”

  Krel trailed off when an ominous shadow fell over them. Foo-Foo stood atop a nearby food court table and said in his flat, affectless voice, “Aja and Krel Tarron, by order of General Val Morando, you are wanted war criminals. I am Foo-Foo the Destroyer and I’ll destroy—”

  “Ooh, bunny!” Aja cooed as she ran over and picked up Foo-Foo.

  The bounty hunter wriggled and squirmed while Aja buried her face in his belly. She came up for air and said in a baby talk, “Who’s a lively little bunny? You are! Yes, you!”

  “I must cuddle him,” Krel said as he scratched behind Foo-Foo’s ear.

  “Put me down!” Foo-Foo protested, trying to maintain some dignity as they petted him.

  He broke free of their affectionate grasps, unsheathed the hard-light dagger, and said, “At first, I was apprehensive about hunting you across this enclosed, populated space. But the local life-forms here are so desensitized to sights beyond their understanding, they will do nothing to come between me and my bounty!”

 

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