Page 32 of A Dead End Wedding

Fae = 0

Viviette shouted something in a language I didn’t understand, and the Fae all disappeared, even Rosen. Jacksauntered over to me, not bothering to shift back to his human shape, and the crowd went wild, yelling and cheering.

“She’s very unhappy,” the troll rumbled thoughtfully. He looked at Carlos. “You know what that means for you?”

Carlos’s face was grim. “Yes. I know. She’s going to throw everything she’s got at me.”

“But I thought she wanted us to renew our charter,” I said. “Why is she making it so hard?”

“It’s not about the charter anymore, lovely Tess,” Braumsh said. “Now it’s a matter of pride.”

Jack deliberately shoved the troll aside with one enormous shoulder when Braumsh said “lovely Tess,” and it made me smile a little, as I knew he’d intended.

But the troll was right.

Carlos was in trouble.

13

Tess

Saturday: Wedding minus 7 days

Since I hadn’t the slightest idea of what I could do to help my friend, the vampire, win a sword fight, I spent the day at work. Eleanor was enjoying a much-deserved day off, but my sister was helping today. Shelley, still on a high from her magical win, grumbled a bit when I asked her to sweep the floor—with a broom, not magic; visions ofFantasiain my mind. But then she got to work, humming as she swept.

She was a great kid.

“Tess! I need a Dead End Pawn shirt for my new Fae friend!”

I had my doubts about the advisability of this friendship, considering the magic the girl had whipped around, but it felt hypocritical, given Shelley’s talent. “Sure. What’s her name, by the way?”

“She said Fae don’t give their true names, but we’d find a friend name for her when she came to visit.”

“Does Aunt Ruby know about this?”

Shelley, in the grand tradition of kids everywhere, rolled her eyes. “Yes, Tess. She and Uncle Mike said it would be fine. We’re going to have pizza and ice cream when she comes!”

“Oh. Did you set a date already?”

“No. She said everything was on hold until the charter was resolved. But then we’ll set a date for sure! Also, do you have any Dead End Pawn shirts small enough for Pickles?”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “Is that something you want?”

“Yes! And I bet a bunch of people would want pet stuff with our logo. At lunchtime, I’ll hop on your computer and design something.”

Since she was far more adept at managing the design software than I was, I gladly agreed. “That’s work, even though you enjoy doing it. Be sure to mark the time you spend, so I can add it to your paycheck.”

“Really?” She bounced up and down. “That’s awesome!”

I smiled at her, remembering something Uncle Mike had told me when I was a kid, about enjoying what you do, so it never feels like work. He’d certainly felt that way about engineering and farming, and I loved everything about my shop. I’d always loved working here, interacting with people and learning about the history of ordinary objects—and some not so ordinary—but there was something special about owning my own business.

All morning long, people had flooded into the shop to congratulate Jack and rehash the fight. He’d been as gracious as he could manage before his deep-seated dislike of being in the spotlight took over and he made his escape.

“Going to do some work at the house,” he’d called out before he left, but after he got into his truck, he’d texted me he’d bring lunch an hour after everybody left. Now, we were waiting for Jack and, more importantly, for sandwiches, and tackling some of the daily cleaning chores.

When the chimes over the door rang, I looked over to see a man and woman I didn’t recognize. They were both of average height and fairly nondescript. Light brown hair and medium brown eyes on her, dark brown hair and medium brown eyes on him. Both of them had the pasty white skin that screams, “I avoid stepping outside at all costs!”

And both of them stared directly at me instead of looking around at the shop, as most customers do.

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