The LEP station doors were crammed with protesters. The goblin/dwarf turf war had flared up again, and every morning hordes of angry parents showed up demanding the release of their innocent offspring. Holly snorted. If there actually was an innocent goblin, Holly Short had yet to meet him. They were clogging up the cells now, howling gang chants and hurling fireballs at each other.

Holly shouldered her way into the throng. 'Coming through,' she grunted. 'Police business.'

They were on her like flies on a stink-worm.

'My Grumpo is innocent!'

'Police brutality!'

'Officer, could you take my baby in his blanky? He can't sleep without it.'

Holly set her visor to reflect and ignored them all. Once upon a time the uniform would have earned you some respect. Not any more.

Now you were a target. 'Excuse me, Officer, but I seem to have misplaced my jar of warts.' 'Pardon me, young elf, but my cat's climbed a stalactite.' Or, 'If you have a minute, Captain, could you tell me how to get to the Fountain of Youth?' Holly shuddered. Tourists.

She had troubles of her own. More than she knew, as she was about to find out.

In the station lobby, a kleptomaniac dwarf was busy picking the pockets of everyone else in the booking line, including the officer he was handcuffed to. Holly gave him a swipe in the backside with her buzz baton. The electric charge singed the seat of his leather trousers.

'Whatcha doing there, Mulch?'

Mulch started, contraband dropping from his sleeves.

'Officer Short,' he whined, his face a mask of regret, 'I can't help myself. It's my nature.'

'I know that, Mulch. And it's our nature to throw you in a cell for a couple of centuries.'