Page 11 of Give Me a Shot

Ned must have told her about Jess’s research background. She’d already shared with him that she taught Greek through Renaissance Women’s History. It would be logical for Wendy to think that Jess could contribute to the accuracy of the event. She mindlessly clicked on a new email in her inbox. Historical accuracy wasn’t the most important thing at a Renaissance Faire, though. She’d learned that lesson with Cassie.

Clearing her throat, Jess reached for her mug while opening the attached pdf in the email. Then she glanced into the mug because it didn’t feel right.

Of course, I need to make the tea before I can drink it.

She got up from her desk and went over to the electric kettleshe’d placed with a few boxes of tea on top of a low bookshelf. Electric kettles had become an indispensable part of her life in England, and now she was taking comfort in having one in her new life that was coming together differently than planned.

“A market, a feast day, festive, joyous,”Cassie had once said years ago, looking up from the etymological definition of “faire.”“Not a history lesson with an exam at the end, Ms. Professor.”

And so Jess had relinquished a bit of her need for historical accuracy in all things and gone along with her whimsy-loving sister to the Bristol Renaissance Faire at least two weekends of each summer that she’d been an undergrad. It hadn’t really been a surprise that Cassie came to love Renaissance Faires. She’d always been the “fairy tale” sister, Jess the “feet squarely on the ground” one.

The gurgling kettle caught her attention. Once she had a new cup of tea steeping, Jess returned to her desk, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, trying to expel the new ache in her lower back along with the air. Even though the connection to Cassie might make it strange, she could do a bit of consulting for the Folk School if that would help. She could probably just go to this organizational meeting, give her two cents, and then get out of the way. She picked up her phone and opened her texting app.

Jess:

Hi Wendy. Happy to help. See you at seven—Jess

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While she couldn’t yet say that the Folk School felt like a place that washers,pulling into the much emptier parking area felt right. Certainly much better than it had when she’d arrived for the open house. After finding a safer-feeling spot beside a silver truck, she walked inside briskly. She’d gotten a bit held up at work and again at home and was a few minutes late. Following voices down a side hallway, she knocked on the slightly ajar door of a classroom and pushed it open.

“Jess, wonderful, so glad you’re here,” Wendy said from the head of an oval-shaped table.

“Sorry I’m late,” Jess said.

Wendy waved a hand in the air and shook her head.

“Please, have a seat,” she said, gesturing to the only open spot. Directly across from Mo, the Ax Murderer. Jess sat after a quick gulp, returning the nods of everyone else at the table. Where the others seemed engaged—leaning forward, forearms resting on the table, or flashing bright smiles and open expressions—the vibe she got from Mo was…threatened hedgehog? His back was pressed firmly against his chair, arms crossed tightly, his bearded chin tucked down into his chest. He glanced up at her out of the corner of his eye and his lips pulled lightly to the side as he nodded at her.

Was that a smile?

She gave him a brief smile back. He returned his attention to Wendy, and his face shifted back into its previous expression. Jess realized it was not anger, as she’d initially read, but wariness. Getting settled into her seat, she took another look around at the others. Ned was notably absent.

“Yes,” Wendy said. “While I tried to present this as a fun way to make our name known in the community, during the planning process we need to keep the stakes in mind. If we don’t replace the funding we’ve lost, the School is going to close, plain and simple.”

The clutching sensation she’d felt when Ned introduced her to Mo snapped itself around Jess’s heart again. She’d need to do a whole lot more research in order to be up to the task of consulting if the School was at risk. It was one thing for her to potentially lose a place that she’d just begun to enjoy. But based on the gasps and fearful expressions, the School meant much more to the people around this table. She didn’t feel equipped to manage the pressure of potentially letting them down.

“Let’s not be all doom and gloom,” said a man with an open laptop in front of him in the seat beside Wendy. His face was familiar, a little snarky and self-satisfied-looking. She rememberedthat Ned had steered her away from him the other day. “This is going to be a blast,” he said. “We can create a magical world and draw people in. We have all sorts of skills to dazzle them. I’m sure they’ll be happy to empty their pockets.”

“Thank you for that contribution, Doug,” Wendy said. “But I don’t think it’s wise to come at this from the perspective of getting people toempty their pockets. That sounds…”

“Predatory,” Lana said from the chair beside Jess.

“Exactly,” Wendy said. “You are correct about our skills, however. That’s why I want this team to work together closely to bring this to fruition.” She took a brief moment to make eye contact with everyone. “So that we know who’s doing what, Doug will deal with logistics and organization. And because I’ll also be very busy seeking out alternative sources of funding, he will lead the team.”

Doug sat up straighter, like he was barely containing a preen, then his grin slipped at the sound of smothered groans and sighs coming from around the table. Everyone was shifting in their seats or covering their mouths to suppress coughs. Mo was the only one who stayed perfectly still, his eyes narrowed at Doug.

“The board and I thought it best for Doug to take the lead as he does not have a specific skill to offer at the Faire. Your plates will likely be overloaded with preparing your contributions and maintaining our class schedules,” Wendy said, looking around the table again. “Doug has assured us that he will…keep his enthusiasm in check. Right, Doug?” She made eye contact with him.

“Of course, of course,” he said. “This will be a team effort, for the future of the School.” Jess couldn’t help but notice that he seemed to be bouncing in his seat a little, his fingers flat against the table in front of his laptop.

“Good,” Wendy said. “Lana will manage textiles and headwear to sell. Mo will of course manage blacksmithing, which is quite the draw at Ren Faires according to Theo.” She gestured to a relaxed young man seated at the end of the table. He stood out in more ways than one—his light brown hair was shaved around the sides and back, long on the top and flipped to one side, the endsfalling just below his ear. He was younger than anyone else in the room by far, closer in age to the freshman students Jess would meet the following week.

“Theo’s only been with us a year,” Wendy said. “But he’s worked on Ren Faire circuits, so he’ll be our realism consultant, in addition to impressing our guests with his sword-fighting and knife-throwing skills.”

Jess’s mind shuttered to a halt at “realism consultant.” If this Theo guy was there for realism, what could she contribute?

“Jess,” Wendy said, drawing her attention. “I can’t tell you,wecan’t tell you, how much we appreciate your participation. Like Mo, your skills will be averybig draw for us.”

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