Page 22

Chapter

Thirteen

It feels a little like flying.

My curls whip around my face as the world slides past us in a blur.

I’ve tucked my glasses into my bag for safety, and all I can see are the halos of car headlights, the back of Noah’s neck, and the brief golden twinkles of fireflies in the grass.

I’ve wrapped my arms around Noah’s middle like a vise, with my cheek and nose pressed hard against his shoulder— there it is again, sandalwood and pine —and the strap of his helmet digging uncomfortably into my chin.

He’d had only the one, and he’d given it to me.

Even though Noah’s pedaling slowly, the hardest part is keeping my wobbly legs straight as I brace them atop the back pegs of his bike.

“You doing okay back there?” Noah asks, and god, I can feel the rumble of his voice against my chest.

“I’m fine,” I call. No, I’m more than fine. I’m great. I’m doing wonderfully. I’m flying. I’m tempted to straighten and throw my arms out Titanic -style as Noah sails down the road.

But I can’t bear to let go even for a second. I’m dizzy on more than one level, the sweetness of the moment directly at odds with the way the alcohol in my stomach flips and spins every time we take a sharp curve.

The wind almost carries his voice away completely. “It looked like you had a lot of fun tonight.”

“I love them.” It’s out of my mouth before I have a chance to think it through. “They’re so great, Noah. Everyone in our group is just the best.” At the last word, I give him a squeeze.

There’s a small, persistent voice in the back of my head, a sober voice that certainly hasn’t had four beers, but I don’t pause long enough to listen to what she has to say.

His laugh vibrates through my whole body. His smile is so loud. “I think so, too.”

Too soon, he’s slowing down, though I don’t realize we’re back at Liam’s house until we’ve stopped next to the mailbox. The deck’s outdoor lights are still on, casting a soft bubble of warmth over the porch and front yard.

Noah helps me off the bike with a steadying hand between my shoulder blades then props it up next to the curb.

As we walk to the door, he keeps his hand where it is, and the weight of it is all I can focus on until we’re standing on the doormat.

I can’t get the damned helmet off. There’s a button-type latch, but it’s stuck, and I can’t figure out which part of the plastic to press—

“Oh, Sadie,” Noah says, in the most endearing and gently pitying tone I’ve ever heard.

“Let me help you. It’s a little tricky.” I’m sure it’s not—he’s just being sweet.

He bends forward until his eyes are aligned with mine.

His knuckles drag along my jawline as he tucks his fingers underneath the helmet’s straps and then— click! —it’s off.

Everything goes still. The leaves in the trees hush their rustling, and the fireflies are suspended in midair. Our mingling breaths freeze in the narrow space between us. Words unspoken catch in the back of my throat, and I don’t know what to say next.

Thanks for the ride.

I’ll see you tomorrow.

Is what Jules said about you true?

Do you want to come in?

Or, I could say nothing at all. I could simply lean forward and close the distance.

I wouldn’t even have to go up on tiptoes to reach him, not with his face so close.

His hair is a messy red cloud around his face, tousled by the wind.

His eyes are wide and awake, and his dark brows are slanted upward.

His head is canted slightly to the side, and his lips are curled in a questioning, tentative half smile.

He rocks slowly forward, or maybe I do, and his lips—

The front door creaks open, and the spell is broken. The world starts to spin again. My head starts to spin again, and Noah straightens suddenly and steadies me with a hand on my arm.

“Liam,” Noah says in greeting as my best friend—and worst enemy, in this moment—suspiciously peeks his head through the door.

“Noah was just giving me a ride back,” I say.

Liam gives me a good once-over, taking in my flushed cheeks and slight wobble. He exhales a short laugh through his nose. “Good thing he did, huh?”

“A very good thing,” I agree.

“Happy to chariot you home anytime,” Noah says. My attention darts back to him as his hand slides down my arm; he squeezes my fingertips twice before letting go and then fastens the helmet to his own head. “I’ll see you two bright and early tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

I float my way inside and up the stairs, out of my clothes, and into bed. The next morning, I’m only slightly hungover. In truth, I still feel a little drunk—drunk on the magic of last night, on all the possibilities that hung in that moment on the front porch.

I wonder if I can re-create it or if the moment’s already passed.

I head downstairs and into the day’s session with only one goal in mind: roll for initiative.

After three more days of traveling— three dull days kindly summarized and skipped over by a benevolent DM —Morgana spots something in the distance and points.

Half a day’s journey away, rolling green-and-yellow hills give way to the only man-made building for miles: Shira’s tower.

It’s built with white brick and covered in curling vines, capped with a purple roof sporting a black flag flapping merrily at the top.

Jaylie did not expect it to look so friendly.

She’s of half a mind to walk right up to the front door and ask nicely for the safe return of Alora when a loud, guttural croak shocks her into stillness.

Morgana puts her hand on her dagger defensively just as Kain bares his fangs in an intimidating snarl. Everyone tenses, ready for another attack.

But when Jaylie catches sight of the figure approaching on the trail ahead, she has to press her fingers to her lips to cover her smile.

The stranger grumbles under his breath, head hung low as he angrily kicks at pebbles in his path.

His glittering attire clearly marks him as a wizard—but he’s got to be the cutest little wizard Jaylie has ever seen.

He’s also a frog.

About the size and height of an average halfling and dressed in brilliant purple robes, the little wizard waddles up on webbed feet.

Between his bulging eyes sits a conical hat embroidered with silver and white moons and stars.

The entire party dissolves into ooh s and aah s of admiration until he opens his wide mouth.

“You lot ought to fuck right off in the other direction.”

Loren lets out a surprised guffaw.

The frog’s eyes narrow to slits. “Let me guess—you’re on your way to pay Shira Soros a visit, aren’t you?” He throws his arms up in exasperation. “Not like there’s anywhere else to visit in this blasted forest.”

“We’re here for the witch,” Kain confirms, his low voice gravelly and irritated. “Not for you.”

“Aye, and I’ll be the first to tell you that you don’t stand a chance against her,” the frog sneers.

Morgana huffs. “What are you, her guard frog ? Don’t you dare tell me what I can and can’t handle—”

Jaylie steps forward, hands held out helplessly before her. “We really don’t have much of a choice, sir. We don’t need to kill her or anything gruesome like that. We just need her to release her captive.”

“Is that right? And are any one of you talented in the arcane arts? In wizardry?”

Loren splays his palm out in front of him and shakes it in a so-so motion while Jaylie self-consciously fingers her holy symbol.

“I’m going to take that as a no, ” the wizard snaps harshly.

“Why the bad attitude?” Loren asks. “Are you here to defend her against us?”

The frog folds his hands atop the curve of his large belly.

“Hells, no. I’m here to warn you that if I, Alastair Darkthorn, can’t handle her, then you haven’t got any hope at all.

” He pauses, but when no one reacts to his name, he deflates slightly.

He wrings his webbed fingers in agitation, and Jaylie can’t help but notice just how slimy they are.

“This morning, I arrived at Lady Shira’s tower to challenge her to a duel. ”

“Did she wrong you in some way, too?” Morgana asks.

Alastair narrows his glassy black eyes, anger causing his throat to bulge with a sudden and surprising ribbit. After an embarrassed moment of silence, he says, “…No. See now, when one wizard challenges another to a duel, the winner receives their defeated opponent’s spellbook—”

“What’s the spellbook do?” Loren interrupts.

Alastair exhales a long-suffering sigh. “Why, a spellbook is what every wizard needs to cast spells. Without their spellbook, they’re useless—they can’t do much more than light a candle. The book guides every spell they cast, every day.”

Jaylie shares a smug look with Loren; their magic has no such limitations.

All Jaylie has to do to be granted a wealth of spells to cast is send up a little prayer to Marlana, and Loren seemingly just bursts into song and his spells follow after.

It occurs to Jaylie then: “Well, why would any wizard willingly enter into a duel, then? A spellbook seems too precious to risk.”

“But the reward is just as great,” Alastair insists.

“As powerful as she is, her spellbook would give me access to a whole host of new spells. I wanted her spellbook, and I thought I was talented enough to get it. But she won, obviously, and turned me into this as punishment.” He gestures to his body, disgusted.

“Typically I’d be able to turn myself back with a snap of my fingers, but without my spellbook…

” Alastair shakes his head. “I’ve got to find one of my apprentices, convince them I’m me, and have them return me to my original form.

At the very least, I must undo this curse. ”

“But you’re so cute in this form.” Jaylie slaps her hand over her mouth as soon as the words are out. Alastair looks like he might explode with indignation. The nerve!

“You know, I heard a tale about this once,” Loren says, rescuing her from the stormy silence. He leans forward slightly, batting his eyelashes and tossing his hair from his eyes. “Might a kiss get rid of this curse? I could try, if you like.”

Alastair cuts him a withering glare. “Imbecile.”

Jaylie stares thoughtfully up into the sky.

It’s a beautiful day, with puffy clouds floating carelessly across the blue expanse.

“If you know her well enough to challenge her to a duel, then you must know something of her tower or her weaknesses, Alastair. If we don’t return to our employer with Shira’s captive, Alora Clare, he won’t be kind to us.

” She lowers her gaze back to the small wizard.

“We’ll go to Shira’s tower with or without your blessing, so why not help us out? Give us some guidance?”

He shoves his webbed hands—feet? Paws?—sullenly into his pockets. “And why should I?”

“Well, you seemed happy enough to warn us away from certain folly, and you didn’t have to do that. You could have let us wander on to our doom,” Morgana says. “Why not help us, if for no other reason than to spite her?”

“We could try to get your spellbook back,” Loren adds. Immediately the party all begin to nod. It’s a good offer. “Should we have even a sliver of success, we might be able to return it to you. Otherwise, it will take you, what…years to collect all the spells that you had before?”

Alastair’s gaze locks onto something just over Jaylie’s shoulder, and his eyes suddenly widen in horror. “No, no, not again, please —”

A ribbon of pink shoots past Jaylie’s cheek with alarming speed.

She yelps in surprise and stumbles backward, tripping over a rock.

Mid-fall, she realizes with disgust that the pink rope was Alastair’s tongue.

Loren dexterously steps to the side and winds an arm around her waist just in time to catch her.

He flashes her a quick wink before setting her back safely on her feet.

Alastair is gagging, having just swallowed the poor bug that his froggish instincts compelled him to catch.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Fuck, every time ! Fine. Fine! I’ll help you.

But I really don’t know how much of a difference it will make.

” Alastair fists his webbed hands on top of his head as if he were tugging at his hair. “Come. Sit. We’ll strategize.”

Alastair leads Jaylie and her companions off the path and through waist-high ferns until they come to a mossy fallen tree trunk, which makes an excellent seat for the party to perch on.

Morgana sits to Jaylie’s side and begins sharpening her daggers while Kain stands behind the group, muscled arms crossed threateningly across his chest.

“Clearly your greatest weakness is that you’re defenseless against her magic.

” Alastair eyes the party. “Her tower is riddled with arcane traps. She’s carved glyphs into the trees surrounding her land—they’ll explode if you come within thirty paces of them.

There are alarm spells woven into the wildflowers, alerting her to any uninvited guests who pass her border.

She can summon barriers over her front door, her windows, and the damn basement on a whim.

Lady Shira herself is a force to behold, and her home is as armed to the teeth as she is.

“You need something that will get your foot in the door—literally. Something that will allow you at least to have a conversation with her. My spellwork allowed me to dispel her defenses, but…” He pretends to wince sympathetically.

His frog mouth forms one big squiggly line.

“You haven’t even got that,” he condescends.

“But I’ve heard a rumor of a great artifact hidden in the corrupted caves to the west, an artifact that—if used correctly—can nullify the effects of even the strongest of magics.

I’ll tell you exactly where to find this legendary orb, and if you can brave the craggy tunnels where it’s hidden to retrieve it, Shira won’t stand a chance against you. ”