Page 200 of Sigils & Spells

I nodded my head at her, not sure what else to do. I turned back to the table. I had to focus. I had to win. I met Maeve’s eyes. There was no way for her to cheat, I’d run it over and over in my head, but she was so certain that she could win she’d invited this crowd. I wondered if she still felt so certain. There seemed to be a waiver in her eyes, but I couldn’t be sure.

I took a deep, steadying breath, and threw the first ball. Just like it had before, it plopped straight into Maeve’s first drink without bouncing. Hushed murmurs stirred in the crowd as Maeve fished the ball from her cup and drank it.

She made a face of pure disgust and handed the empty cup to Edward who still stood by her side. “Human beer tastes of piss.”

“Yeah it does.” I said and grabbed another ball. This one bounced once, and landed in the cup directly in the middle. A frown grew on Maeve’s face as she drank the second one. I shot again, but this time it bounced twice and fell to the floor.

The crowd shifted.

Maeve’s turn. She held the ping pong ball in green fingers and squinted at my cups. She tossed it. It bounced once and fell off the side of the table.

More noises, and I watched the light in Maeve’s chest flare with frustration.

Feeling good about myself, I bragged, saying cheerily, “That’s ok, it was your first try.”

Maeve seethed at that, but it was my turn fair and square. I got too cocky, and the ball bounced off the side of a cup. My heart skipped a little in my chest. Giving up any ground at all was bad. Bad bad bad. But it was ok, we were still in the beginning. It was going to be fine.

Maeve’s turn. She tossed, and this time her ball bounced once and landed in the leftmost cup. She straightened triumphantly as I took out the ball and drank the beer. It went down warm into my chest. I fought the urge to grimace.

My turn. Stomach warm and nervous, I grabbed another ping pong ball. I took a deep breath, and tossed. It went right in again with a plop. She drank, I threw. I missed the next one.

Maeve’s turn. She missed. She flared again, the leaves on her antlers shaking like they were caught in a storm.

I made two, and then missed.

Maeve did the same, made two in a row, and missed.

Sweat beaded on my neck. I’d played intense games of beer pong before, when frat bros were so certain they could beat me if we played just one more time. But never like this. Never literally life or death. Or, I guess life or eternal servitude.

Maeve was down to five cups. She rearranged them, and I could see in her stiff movements that she was seething with rage. She was losing. She wasn’t used to losing.

I tried to hide my smile. Maybe I could really do this. Could I win? Part of me was sure I couldn’t, but I was winning.

But then I missed.

Maeve made her next ball and I drank.

And then I missed again. Two seconds ago I’d been on top of the world, now I was resisting the urge to cry.

Maeve missed the next shot.

Then I made two, and Maeve had to rearrange her cups again to the triangle. Three left.

She made one more, and I drank. I was starting to feel it. Maeve didn’t seem affected, but I was used to playing while drunk so it wasn’t like I was at a disadvantage.

I took a deep breath. I was so close. I tossed. My ping pong ball bounced once on the table, and then dropped into the first cup. Maeve drank, and I prepped to throw again. This time, no bounce, straight in.

She had one cup left.

I felt like I was vibrating. The ground felt like it was buzzing underneath me. I’d gotten so involved I forgot we were surrounded by a crowd. They watched in near silence, bated breath. Even Titania had her hands pressed to her heart, both sets of wings fluttering as she watched.

One cup.

I took another breath and looked at the ball in my hand. If I’d been at a party, I’d have asked a pretty girl to kiss it for good luck, but the idea of kissing it myself felt embarrassing. So instead I thought at the ball in my hand as loudly as I could PLEASE MAKE IT INTO THE CUP.

Another breath, and I threw. It felt like slow motion, like the ball had errands to run before it could get there, like it had to slice through the fabric of space time before it could get to the damn cup.

Bounce.

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