The second, or the first floor as known in Britain, had a big bathroom and three big rooms which were furnished using a completely random mismatch of furniture.

I plopped down into the armchair in one of the rooms that had the air of an improvised office and pulled out my phone. A quick search across a few search engines and my social network profiles showed that my disappearance had not been noticed. And my body had not gotten into any trouble, which was actually somewhat disturbing - the last thing I knew, my soulless body was left standing near the warehouses out in the night. And it did not get into news as mysterious coma at all.

Definitely suspicious, but I could not find anything else. Even my mailboxes and profiles had tons of spam and last log-ins were around the time the accident had happened. But there were no messages from my family either. Of course I was independent and my family let me be as free as I wanted, but to disappear for half a year should have definitely had to be enough to get my dad all worked up. But apparently it did not.

By the way, the fact that I called father as “dad”, mother as “mother” and that the one I expected to be the worried one would be father, explained a lot about the power balance in my family.

There were only few options I could choose from, so I decided to go with the simplest method. For a fleeting moment I recalled how I used to have really bad memory for numbers, going as far as forgetting my family members’ birthdays, not to mention constantly-changing phone numbers. Now, however, I quickly dialled my mother’s number without any issues. Another triumph for acquired eidetic memory.

---

After ten or so seconds of listening to dial tone I got a familiar response: “Hallo?”. It was mangled by distortions as if caused by bad signal, but it was still unmistakably my mother.

Ugh, apparently my mother had come to Denmark. Out of old habit, I quickly shook my head to switch languages and changed over to Danish: “Hey… mom?”

For a few seconds I heard nothing and began to worry that the signal had been lost. Then I got the guarded response: “Victor?”

“Yes.” - I confirmed.

“Full name?” - I got a strict order over the line.

Unconsciously, I sat straight: “Victor Lione, aged ...twenty-six, erm...”.

“Favourite bedtime book?”

“Err, I don’t think I had many options, mostly reading Eddas and such.” - then I shook off the reflex and surprisingly easily slipped back into our routine: “Mooom, you must be kidding. What has happened in last months? I was...um, busy. Sorry I did not call.”. Hundreds of years spent of self-reflection, control and careful tuning went out of the window when facing family.

“Only you can turn from obedient to whiny in a second, son.” - my mother, Britt Lione, softened her voice: “Where are you calling from, I did not recognize the number.”

“London.” - I admitted, urgently thinking how I was going to explain that: “Umm, I had a few things to happen to me…”

“LONDON?! England?!” - I almost upended the armchair I was sitting on - I could hardly remember my mother shouting, even with my memory. “You need to be here but nothing can cross the sea now. We keep your body here, but how are you planning to get to Norway?”

“Wait-wait-wait.” - I interrupted her: “My body? You are not finding it weird? And why Norway?”

“Well,” - I could visualise a crisp shrug shaking her bright golden locks across sculpted shoulder muscles, a sharp contrast her inborn looks created when compared to her hobbies and work: “I guess you managed to find out some stuff you liked to read and play and whatever may actually be a tad too real. So when we found you, it had some signs your grandmother recognized. Your grand-aunt possessed a stone for twenty years as far as I know. You dealing with something similar, I suppose?”. But really, a stone? Fuck this screwed up family history, I wanted to curse.

“...” - for a moment, I lost any words I planned to say. The direction of our talk was completely different from expected: “Um, no. I have a pretty neat body of my own. Might even have quite cool specs, if I dare say so myself.”

“No strings attached, I hope?” - my mother asked with a tone that she used to use when enquiring about the birthday parties with sleepovers I used to visit back in school. I forced out a light chuckle: “Don’t think so. It was a mess. But still, Norway?”

“You know about the things with long-distance travel stopped due to the alleged volcanic activity?”

“M-m, aye.”

“Well, we know that really, volcanoes are busy, true. But the fact is, Earth is growing like a damn balloon, and mostly across the seas and oceans. Some people here can feel it clearly.”

“M-m, ay.. WHAT?!”

“We should use a secure line for that to be honest, but I guess this is urgent and you really need to know if you are so far. Anyway, we only got some sort of communication and Internet only because some people had arranged satellites that take into account the expanding Earth, and…”

“Wha-”

“so, according to some estimations, something will happen. Soon. We are at your great-grandfather’s place in Norway now. As secure place as possible. Argento is also here, but his side must be safe in Italy.”

“So father is with you, as usual, haha. I thought you will remain in Brussels. But, grandfather?” “You know, my grandfather. I think you should remember the story how your great-grandmother from Denmark went to Norway to help the Resistance during the Second World War?”

“Yes, I think so. Didn’t great-granddad die long ago, like during some air raid or something?”

“Oh, I think here our family history is a little bit different from what you were told.”

“Except for possessing a stone we got something else?” - I commented dryly.

“Well, he is a troll.”

With a loud crack, the armrest of my armchair came off.

---

I tried to think quickly: “So, you are saying, my great-grandfather is a troll? Are you trolling me?”. “No, this is true. By the way, he says he wants to see you, as he only held you when you were way too small.” - came the response.

“How cute. Are monsters, cryptids, myths and so on hidden around everywhere? Dad also got vampire relatives or something? Better warn me early.” - I grumbled to no-one particular, not really expecting an answer.

“Well, no. But as they say here, blood calls and all that. You met something already?” - apparently, my mother’s hearing was good enough.

“Asanbosam.” - I decided to keep Eala out of communication that could be insecure.

“Oh, I have heard about them. Nasty ones from West Africa, if i remember right. Beat one up, did you?” - came a way too relaxed answer.

“Not exactly,” - I had to admit: “Jumped at me with some gang, but now I got a room and some cash. But, what’s with our troll bloodline?”

“Well, YOU don’t have any. Three generations has passed, but apparently something still managed to rub off. But anyway, we are near Myrdal, so when everything quiets down, get here. Better over the continent, I bet sea will be a real bad news soon.”

“Eeh, alright.” - I agreed, as I tried to think where Myrdal might be. Memory turned up blank on that matter.

“I know you have a lot of things to ask, but you know that you can’t prepare for everything.” - my mother reminded me.

“How is my gear?” - I remembered all my swords and other gear I had left in my flat: “Is it possible to send over?”

“How? Even tunnel to the island you are on is closed off. We brought it here with us, though” - was the reply.

“Mm. thanks. If something happens, make use of that. I have a reason to suspect that there may be different worlds bursting into ours. If this will happen, it won’t be nice” - was my turn to pile up warnings.

That earned a moment of silence from the other end of the line before she replied: “Oh. That sounds fun.”

“Fun?”

“Argento has always dreamed about antique business. He will have an opportunity to sell vodka to Asgard or something.”

“Mom, he is a counsellor. A diplomat. What business can you imagine him doing?”

“Yes, but he has worked for international affairs for twenty years now. And he got a knack for it too, he now organized collective mail orders for locals. Great-grandfather’s side is really happy about that too.”

I facepalmed, imagining my rather frail-looking glasses-wearing father doing business with trolls: “Right. Just stop him if he decides to create charity fund for utburd or something.”

I felt some people approaching the back door, carrying a few boxes. Bob was with them, so apparently that was an intended visit.

I spoke into the phone: “Seems I have to go and deal with local stuff. I hope I will be able to call you later.”

“Ethvert kart må stå på sin egen bund, Victor. Do not rely on Internet and phones. I hope the mess will be over soon.”

“Every bird must hatch its own eggs? I will do my best. Goodbye, say hi to dad. Um, and to great-granddad?”. And she dropped the call. Typical for my mom, that.

---

I pocketed the phone and stood up just as careful knocking came from downstairs. I kept repeating our conversation in my mind, thinking about the crazy family I got. I slapped the wall as I remembered a small detail from my teenage years: “Quarter troll eh? And she forced me to spar for training! No wonder I always lost, fuck this messed up shit.”.

I looked at the palmprint in the plaster and sighed. At least my family was secure enough. A quarter-troll housewife mom who used to work as professional bodyguard and a diplomat father who managed to squeeze out benefits everywhere. People like to say that in Scandinavia people are closer to their roots and nature, and I sincerely hoped that would help them with what is to come.

Oh, did they pay my rent while I was gone? Crap, I hope nobody had checked my hard drive.