Page 100 of My Trojan Horse Majesty

I don’t tell her I wasn’t kidding, but I can’t help thinking of how great the crown would look in all black, with large onyx stones. I’d want a scepter with daggers and glinting black stones, too. It would besick,especially in the snow.

After another hour and a half of Izzy asking questions, and then being horrified at my answers, I sink into a quiet funk. I decide to go over my meditation techniques in the back.

“Hey, are you melting the snow?” Izzy sounds like some kind of schoolteacher, I swear. “We said no magic!”

“It’s not my fault,” Leonid says. “You wanted to stay longer, and then that blizzard hit.”

Utah weather in the fall is seriously whack.

“It was so pretty, and kind of cozy, being stuck at home with all that snow falling.” Izzy’s looking at him with that disturbingly dreamy look in her eyes.

“Yeah, Dad and Mom thought it wassupercozy,” I say. “I remember them walking past my room about one hundred times that night, making sure Izzy was still in there.”

Leonid’s eyes were burning in a very inappropriate way, and I’m wishing I hadn’t been stuck in that room. Being her chaperone when she’s already engaged was. . .awkward.

“Alright,” I say. “Let’s talk about what decisions you two disgusting lovebirds made.”

“February wedding,” Izzy says. “Valentine’s Day. Pink and red colors that’ll be super vibrant in front of the backdrop of snow.”

Puke.

“And all my bridesmaids will wear the same dress, but the shade will shift just a hair for each.”

“I’m not a bridesmaid though, right?” I ask. “Because I donotwant to wear pink.”

Izzy rolls her eyes. “Of course not. I’ll give you blood red.”

“I’ll accept it.”

All around us I notice the snow that mounded up in big, fluffy piles is melting. Rapidly. “Hey, how hot is it?”

“Freak blizzard,” Izzy says. “And now it’s. . .almost seventy degrees? That’s so weird.”

“I heard there was flooding from something like this in Saratoga Springs last year,” I say. “Snowmelt in big chunks was floating down the mountains.”

“It’s going to be fine,” Leonid says. “I’m here, remember?”

“You’re a normal guy right now,” Izzy says. “And the closer we get to Salt Lake City, the more normal you’re going to be.”

He salutes.

It makes me laugh.

There’s a lot of water running onto the roads, most of it with floating ice chunks, but so far, it’s all good. We’re almost to our exit, where we’ll leave I-80, when a semi truck comes barreling down the steep incline in the road much faster than it should. The Runaway Truck Ramp signs aren’t inspiring confidence, honestly, but clearly this is already a dangerous spot for them.

Leonid’s smart, giving the stupid truck plenty of space, but another driver isn’t. The tiny sports car darts between the semi and us, flying past, spraying snow-melt up and over our windshield. Leonid honks, which is appropriate. Either the honk, or snowmelt, or something else entirely throws the semi truck off, because he slides out of his lane and into ours. Only, with all the melting snow-slush, his swerve turns into a slide, and the truck collides with us, shoving us off the road entirely.

It’s our bad luck that we’re approaching Parley’s Canyon, and other than a small guard rail, there’s nothing to keep us from barreling off to our deaths.

Leonid snaps to attention, bracing our battered old truck with what I assume are bands of air, and then shoving us back onto the road. Up ahead, the semi’s still struggling, knocking another truck and two cars over the edge. He glances at Izzy, who’s paler than an albino snowflake, and she nods. “Just do it.”

He uses his left hand to guide all the cars back into place on the road without a word, and then he melts the snow chunks along the road ahead and flicks the water all off the road in a whoosh.

I don’t think it’s an accident that the rest of our drive’s clear and dry, but that’s an awful lot of magic for someone who’s supposed to be playing it safe. All of us hold our breaths—barely speaking—for the last few miles of our drive. When Leonid drops me off at my new truck and helps me unload all the guns into the tool box, he seems relieved.

“Looks like we didn’t destroy the world yet,” he whispers. “Now, you be safe until you come out for that Valentine’s Day wedding. Got it?”

I nod.

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