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T ess

Sunday: Wedding minus 6 days

I spent most of the day stress cleaning and stress baking, so my house was immaculately clean and my counters were covered with banana bread, wheat bread, apple pie, pecan pie, pineapple upside-down cake, three different varieties of cookies, and—just for variety—a Battenberg cake I’d seen on The Great British Baking Show.

When Braumsh showed up around eight from wherever he’d spent the day, I gave him a tray filled with roast beef, potatoes, and carrots and a second tray with some of each and every thing I’d baked.

“She stress bakes,” Jack said in response to the troll’s bewildered expression.

“I … commend your skill,” Braumsh told me, and then he bowed.

“Thank you. If you want anything else, let me know,” I told him.

When Jack and I went inside, I gestured to him to follow me to the front room. Then I stood on tiptoes to whisper. “Did you notice he doesn’t like to say thank you? Are trolls Fae?”

Jack took advantage of my nearness and kissed me, which I admit I appreciated, so it was a little while before he answered. “I’m not sure. Trolls are secretive. There’s some speculation that they’re Unseelie Fae, which just means the less pretty version of Seelie Fae like Viviette and Rhys. Does it really matter?”

I wasn’t sure if it mattered or not. Braumsh had shown up so close to when the Fae started playing their charter-renewal games with us. But he hadn’t shown much interest in the trials.

I just didn’t know.

The past year and a half had been so filled with murder and mysteries that I found myself looking for suspicious activities even where there weren’t any.

“Only three hours until we go back downtown.”

Jack sank down on the couch and pulled me onto his lap. “I wonder what we could do in all that time?”

“Jack! I can’t even think about romance when Uncle Mike’s facing the chess game of his life, and there’s a guest in our backyard, and … and …”

But Jack was very persuasive, so I did think about romance.

Just a little.

T hirty minutes till midnight

We stood in a row of solidarity with friends, including Susan, Andy, and Lizzie, Eleanor, Bill, Dave, and Zane, Carlos, Rooster Jenkins, Mr. and Mrs. Frost (they’d had a nap), the Peterson twins, Granny Josephine, Mellie, Lauren, Beau, and even Nigel the ogre and his wife Erin, the fresh-water nymph. So many other Dead Enders stood behind us and ringed the square.

They’d come to support Jack and Carlos, and especially little Shelley.

But this was Uncle Mike. He’d been one of Dead End’s own for more than half a century. For him, everybody came.

My uncle sat calmly on one side of the ornate chessboard, waiting for the Fae to arrive. I’d asked him if he’d take the white pieces or the black, and he’d said he’d offer the choice to his opponent.

Always the gentleman.

I concentrated as hard as I could on sending him “win, win, win,” thoughts, because I knew it would devastate him if he lost and had to carry the burden of thinking it was his fault we lost the Dead End charter.

I suddenly hated the Fae queen passionately, and was finding it very difficult to hold forgiveness in my heart.

When she appeared, with her retinue of coldly beautiful Fae attendants and guards, she must have felt something of what I was thinking, because her gaze snapped to me.

“Do you have something to say, Tess of the Callahans?” Her voice was icy but held a hint of curiosity.

It suddenly occurred to me I must be a novelty to her. Probably nobody ever challenged her or disagreed with her.

Great.

Somehow, I didn’t think becoming interesting to a Fae queen was a good idea.

“No, Your Majesty,” I said with all the politeness I could manage.

Uncle Mike, who’d stood and bowed the second the queen appeared, waited silently.

“My Champion, Acton, shall play your Champion,” Queen Viviette proclaimed.

A slender male Fae dismounted from his horse and walked over to the chess table. He bowed to Uncle Mike and gestured to the board.

“Your choice, sir.”

Mike returned the bow. For the match, he’d ditched his blue jeans for one of his best church suits. The torch light shone on his white hair and made his blue eyes sparkle. He stood tall and straight, and I loved him so much my chest hurt.

Please, don’t let him be humiliated.

“Your choice, Acton,” Uncle Mike said. “Please.”

“Ah, but it is your town charter at stake. Your choice. As always, white has the first move.”

Uncle Mike nodded his agreement, and then he sat down with the black pieces. I could see this startled Acton. Uncle Mike had told me once that the players who move first consistently win more than the players with the black pieces, who move second.

The Fae took his seat, produced a small, silver hourglass from a pocket, sat it down on the table next to the middle of the chessboard, and moved his first piece.

For those unfamiliar with the “game of queens,” or, as we call it, the game of kings, let me tell you something about watching a chess game.

It’s boring.

So boring.

Incredibly boring.

“It’s as bad as watching golf,” Jack murmured, after the first hour.

“Worse than golf,” I said, after the second hour.

“I’m going for donuts,” Susan said, after the third hour.

By the end of the fourth hour, most of the Dead Enders who remained at the square were sound asleep on blankets they’d brought with them.

I kept dozing off, despite the high stakes, because:

I didn’t sleep a lot this week, and,

See above re: boring.

Finally, finally, at a quarter after five in the morning, an act of unbelievable excitement occurred.

Acton tipped his king over on the board.

Then he stood up and gave my uncle a very low bow.

Uncle Mike stood up, a bit more slowly, since his knees were probably stiff, and returned the bow.

“I have not had such a game in more than a thousand years,” Acton said, but he sounded delighted, not resentful. “We must play again in the future.”

“I’d be honored,” Uncle Mike said, grinning. “You nearly had me more than once.”

Queen Viviette, who’d popped back into the square from wherever she’d disappeared to at two in the morning, narrowed her eyes at Acton and then did a very sarcastic slow clap. “How lovely for you that you found a new chess opponent, my Champion.”

Ouch.

Acton looked nervous, and I didn’t blame him.

“We shall meet again in this square three nights from now for your Trial of Alliance,” the queen said. “Until then, farewell.”

I stepped forward and held out an invitation. “For you, Your Majesty.”

She tilted her head in curiosity, but said nothing.

One of her guards took it from me and then leaned toward her and whispered something.

“Ah, yes,” Viviette said. “The terms were unclear as to the prize, so the three Battle winners shall each receive a chest of jewels.”

When she disappeared, three small wooden and silver chests sat on the table where the chessboard had been.

Uncle Mike opened the lid of the one nearest him and whistled.

We all rushed over to look.

She hadn’t been kidding about “chest of jewels.” Each of the small boxes contained what had to be a fortune in gems.

Jack looked into the other two boxes, and he whistled, too. “That’s a queen’s ransom right there.”

He looked at me, flipped the lid shut on one box, and grinned. “Let’s donate our box to Dead End, Tess. What do you say?”

“I say absolutely,” I said immediately, even though faint thoughts of a new roof at the house danced through my mind.

“Same here,” Uncle Mike said, closing the lid of his box.

Carlos, who’d been flirting with a few of his many admirers, strolled over and looked into the open box. “Well. I did suffer injuries in my battle.”

He paused, no doubt enjoying the way everybody was leaning forward to listen to him, holding their breath.

“But I’ll donate mine, too.”

The cheering and applause would have lifted the roof if we’d been indoors. No matter what happened next, we’d be okay. Even if we had to move in the end, we had the means to start over now.

“Lorraine, why don’t you take these into your possession until the bank opens, and you can put them in the Dead End town account safe deposit box? I reckon there’s some kind of conflict of interest if I take them home and give them to the mayor.” Uncle Mike grinned, letting the entire town know they were in on the joke, and a dozen Dead Enders escorted Lorraine home, helping her carry the chests.

“Shelley will be happy to give up the chalice,” I told Jack. “She’s so worried she’ll break it. But I bet we’ll never get Mrs. Frost to give up that arrow.”

“She shouldn’t,” Jack said. “She started us all off, and she earned that prize. I’ll fight anybody who tries to take it away from her.”

I laughed and hugged him. “I think we’ve had enough fighting this week. Let’s go home and at least get a nap. I’m opening the shop late today. Maybe not till noon. All this drama takes a lot out of a person.”

“At least we have until Wednesday for whatever ‘alliance’ may be,” Eleanor said, in between yawns. “I’ll try to come in this afternoon, Tess.”

“No, please don’t worry about it. Take the day off and get some sleep. I doubt the shop will be busy. Everybody in town will be home taking a nap.”

Just before we headed for the truck, Susan caught up with us.

“I ran those license plates. Twyla Tharsin rented that car. She’s not a reporter, either. Well, she was. But now she heads up a rabid anti-Fae society, and she tries to attack Fae royalty whenever she can find them. She’s a scary person, Tess. The guns and bombs kind of scary. I put the entire team on notice to keep her out of Dead End. Be careful.”

I yawned. “Sorry. I’m exhausted. Okay. I doubt she’ll stop by again after Jack scared them. But I’ll keep a lookout.”

When Jack and I got home, I spent some time cuddling my cat, Lou. Then I walked outside and left a wedding invitation on the table next to Braumsh’s tent.

When I came back inside, Jack gave me a disbelieving look.

“He does smell better these days,” I whispered. “Anyway, there are going to be lots of flowers in the church.”

“But—”

“He’s a Dead Ender.”

“Are you sure we can’t elope?”

I threw a pillow at him.