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Claire groaned. “Ugh. It’s his birthday in like two more days. What do seven-year-olds like?”“Junk food!” NotEnrique looked up from the recycling bin. “Packet of gym socks, and yer done and dusted.”“Not helping,” said Claire, looking up from her laptop. “Try again?”“You’re in a mood today, sis. It’s all these tinned beans you’ve been eating.”The little troll held up a can as an example, then chomped down on it. There was a grating crunch as his fangs tore through the metal.“Yeah,” said Claire. “It probably is. But arroz con frijoles is cheap, and you know what isn’t? Rent in Jersey City and a nice present for mi hermanito on his birthday. Which I’m not going to make it home for this year. Again.”She slumped back on the bed, wishing again that she had room for a proper easy chair. Her little studio was conveniently located— a short ride from NYU in one direction, and only a ten-minute walk from the new Heartstone in the other. Sadly, the location was the only convenient thing about it. She’d thought it was tough cramming Aaarrrgghh!!! into Toby’s little bedroom back in Arcadia, but at least he fit.“Well, you can’t get him the fancy kind. That’s what I’m getting him! Two pairs, one with superheroes and one with dragons.”Claire sighed. “He’s a human, NotEnrique. He doesn’t eat socks.”“No, but he wears them! My little brother is going to be the best-dressed first-grader in Arcadia, thanks to my online shopping skills.”“That’s—” Goddammit. That was actually a pretty great idea. “I hate it when you’re right.”She shook her head. The internet was full of gift suggestions: nerf guns! Robots! Robots with nerf guns! But paying for any of that would tank her monthly budget, and unlike the trolls, she couldn’t live on empty cans and used kitty litter. She closed her laptop and sighed: she’d gone hand-to-hand with Angor Rot, defeated Morgana and stared down a full-grown Jersey Devil on her way to an organic chemistry midterm last year. Which she’d passed. Yet somehow, she was going to disappoint her baby brother. It was depressing, that’s what. Especially given that the competition was a muppet with a bad Michael Caine impression for an accent, and he’d still managed to come up with a better gift than her.I am Gun Robot… I— she grabbed for her phone. “Jim!”“Is this a good time?”“Oh god yes. Please, please take my mind off this miserable afternoon.”“Great! Grab your stuff and head over, I need help dealing with a— whoa! Ack!”Well, her mind was officially off her problems. She scooped up her bag and ran for the door. Another good thing about Jersey City, she supposed: you could tear down the street in broad daylight with a sack full of magical reagents and an axe, and most people would just assume you were some sort of busker.It was one in the morning by the time she got home, and she felt the kind of tired that made every step on the staircase toward her apartment into a personal insult. When had gnomes figured out how to build catapults anyway? And why in the name of Deya the Deliverer had they decided to test them in Bagdwella’s kitchen? Her skin reeked of bathtub liquor and industrial effluent; the trolls talked about the Gowanus Canal like hipsters evangelizing for a new craft brew. (Exactly like. She’d never realized the word ‘dank’ could be a compliment before.) Also, there was a dull thud echoing down the stairwell and pounding in her temples.Oh, Gronka-Morka. It was coming from her apartment, wasn’t it?She let herself in. The room was empty, but the noise was coming from the bathroom. I’ll give you ‘better acoustics’, you little—“Hermano?” She pounded at the door, the sound of her fist blending in with the roar of the subwoofers.“Check this out! DJ Krel dropped a new mix!”“Let me in! And shut that off before someone calls the cops!”“Aww, sis,” the little troll protested. The door wasn’t opening. She reached into her bag for her axe.“You get one more chance before I—”The door opened a crack.“Sis?” NotEnrique stared up at the axe, looking from the business end to Claire’s face. From the way his ears drooped, she figured she must look around as mad as she felt. He pressed a button and the pounding beat fell silent.“Out,” she said. “I need to shower, I need to sleep, I need a present for my baby brother by approximately right now, and I need to dispose of a six-inch-high catapult somewhere the stupid gnomes can’t get their verminous little—” The things she was saying rearranged themselves in her head, two problems turning neatly into one solution. “Oh. Well, I feel a little stupid now. Okay, I need to shower and sleep.”NotEnrique grinned, which was equal parts endearing and disconcerting; there were a lot of teeth in there. “You’re gonna send him that? Mom and Dad are gonna go nuts! I’m gonna be the good sibling, and you’re gonna be in the doghouse for once.”“I’m going to be the cool big sister, mi hermano. And you’re going to leave so I can shower.”She advanced on the little troll, hands outstretched.“Not me scruff!” said NotEnrique, which helped around as much as it ever did. After all the trollhunter training she’d been through, she was strong enough to hurl him like a little green basketball.“Love you too, bro!” She slammed the door and turned the shower to high, drowning whatever snarky response he was thinking up in the sound of splashing water.