Page 8

8

J ack

Wednesday: Wedding minus 10 days

Fifteen minutes till midnight

D ead End town square at midnight is not usually a hotbed of activity. Except during the many—and I’m not kidding about many—festivals, the town rolled up the sidewalks after dinner. Sure, the nightlife had been more exciting since Connor opened his pub, but it was Wednesday night, not a weekend.

“Hey, there’s Connor,” Tess said, waving. She had an uncanny ability to home in on what I was thinking, but I still wasn’t sure if it was a supernatural ability related to her gift or just one of the glorious mysteries of Tess.

“This is not the Dead End I know,” Sheriff Susan said, walking over to us. She was wearing her dress uniform and stood stiffly correct. The Fae appreciated ceremony, and Susan knew it.

“You’re not kidding,” I muttered.

The town square was transformed. Lit torches burned on all sides, providing plenty of light. The gazebo was gone, hopefully not permanently, because Ruby would have a fit. Fae warriors on horses lined up in parade formation, ten on each side of the square. They were keeping the Dead Enders out, but I didn’t know if that was their intention or people were simply wary of moving past them.

“We stopped by to pick up Mrs. Frost, but she was already gone,” Tess told Susan.

“She asked Andy to pick her up,” Susan said, scanning the crowd.

Any crowd this size could turn into a riot, as she and I both knew. Especially if the results weren’t what we were all hoping for.

“Okay. Game time,” I said, feeling that inimitable tingle of Fae queen magic. “She’s going to appear dramatically right in the middle of the square in three, two, one.”

And there she was.

Queen Viviette in all her glory, astride a gorgeous bronze-colored horse.

She was beautiful, of course, but it was a forbidding beauty that said, “Touch me and die.” She wore a golden crown on her long brown hair, and a coppery gown the exact shade of her skin. Viviette was an autumn queen, so she looked a little out of season in June, but arrogance always finds a place for itself, and her self-confidence was off the charts.

Five guards surrounded her, all packing an armory’s worth of weapons. They looked like death walking, and I hoped one of them wasn’t the archery champion, because I didn’t want them to scare Mrs. Frost.

Suddenly, I knew what I had to do. “Tess, Susan, we need to serve as our champion’s honor guard.”

Tess nodded. “Darn right. The queen has one. You could say that Mrs. Frost is a queen of Dead End.”

“Let’s do it,” Susan said, pointing at where Andy and the Frosts, Mrs. and Mr., were approaching on our right.

We marched past the Fae on their horses and intercepted the Frosts, and then we fell into place on either side of them—me and Tess on their right, and Susan and Andy on their left.

“You’re going to rock this,” I whispered to Mrs. Frost, who winked at me.

“You bet your buttocks, young man.”

Mr. Frost grinned, his dentures shining in the torchlight. “Hush with that talk, dear. We don’t want to frighten the poor Fae.”

“Wait for me! Wait for me!”

We all turned to see Bubba McKee running toward us, pulling a child-sized red wagon behind him. The wagon clattered and clanked with the sound of glass rattling.

“What is that?”

Mrs. Frost smiled. “Just you wait.”

Queen Viviette, who’d watched all this with a mix of amusement and impatience, raised a hand. “We are here for the first part of the first Trial, which will determine if Dead End can continue on toward the renewal of the town charter. We will first?—”

“Just a minute, Missy,” Mrs. Frost interrupted.

To my dying day, I will be happy I was there to see the look on an immortal, powerful Fae queen’s face when she was interrupted by a tiny ninety-year-old lady who called her Missy.

“I beg your pardon?” It may have been June, but ice dripped off Viviette’s words.

“I have welcome gifts for you and your people, and a special one for my competitor,” Mrs. Frost said, gesturing to Bubba.

He rolled up with his wagon and handed Mrs. Frost a beautifully wrapped jar, which she held out toward the queen.

“I don’t know the etiquette here, Your Majesty, but I’d like to present a batch of my famous walnut-chocolate-chip cookies. People have tried to get my recipe for years, so, even though it’s a modest offering, it’s my humble attempt to bring a gift fit for a queen.”

When I looked around, my mouth wasn’t the only one hanging open.

Mr. Frost elbowed me. “What? You think we’re too old to Google how not to offend Fae royalty?”

Queen Viviette shocked me. She dismounted and approached Mrs. Frost, and then she inclined her head, a mark of respect equal to a deep bow from a human.

“I am honored to receive such a gift,” the queen said, in a voice like bells. She made a tiny gesture and one of her female guards bowed deeply to Mrs. Frost and accepted the jar on the queen’s behalf.

“You’re welcome. I hope I brought enough for all your people. And I have a jar of my mixed berry jam for my opponent.”

The queen smiled. “It is also a much-desired recipe?”

“It’s so good it will make your tongue shout hallelujah,” I said, grinning at the queen, even though I knew better than to weigh in.

Viviette decided not to take offense at the interruption and smiled at me. “I think Espelle’s tongue will not shout such a word, as it comes from those who brought cold iron to our lands. However, we appreciate the sentiment.”

A female warrior dismounted one of the horses lining the square and crossed toward us. She didn’t carry any visible weapons except for a long, curved wooden bow and a quiver of silver-tipped arrows.

When she reached Mrs. Frost, she bowed, but her eyes were cold. “Your gift was unnecessary and will not affect my plan to trounce you in this match.”

“Well, she’s fun,” Tess murmured, and Espelle’s hard gaze shot to my fiancée.

“Let us commence,” the queen said. She waved a hand, and two archery targets appeared at one end of the square, about a hundred and fifty feet from where we stood. “Will you use our bow, Champion of Dead End?”

Mrs. Frost shook her head. Bubba grabbed her bow and quiver of arrows from the wagon and handed them to her.

“This is the first part of the First Trial, named Courage. Your Champion will try to match or exceed our Champion’s skill. Should she succeed, we will announce the second part of the First Trial.”

The Fae really, really liked to talk in Capital Letters.

“Let us begin!”

I’d like to report that it was close. I mean, it was ridiculous—a little old lady, human, competing against an immortal Fae warrior who carried the bow like she was born to use it. Every Dead Ender there was hoping so hard you could almost feel a massive weight of encouragement in the air.

So, I’d like to say it was at least close.

But it wasn’t.