Page 89 of With a Little Luck

I clear my throat, and they both look up, seemingly startled.

And … guilty?

“Everyone ready? César, you have your dice?”

“Oh, crap!” he says, springing to his feet. He forgets them in his car pretty much every other week.

As he heads back up the stairs, I shuffle my papers absently. My stomach is in knots, but no one seems to notice how nervous I am. It strikes me how it’s taken hardly any time for Maya to become an integral part of our group. They’re all talking about what happened last in the campaign, and Kyle is complimenting Maya on her quick thinking when they all came across those mean little sprites, and Maya looks genuinely flattered by the praise.

I realize it then. Of all the unexpected twists of the universe—Maya Livingstone is one of us now. And that isbizarre.

“All good there, DM?” asks César.226

“Huh?” I hadn’t realized he’d come back already.

Everyone is staring at me.

“What’s up?” says César, taking his seat and setting his dice on the table. “You look freaked out about something.”

“I’m just seeing what we’ve got coming up,” I say, swallowing. “I, uh … got some last-minute inspiration and made a few small changes to the campaign. Nothing you all need to worry about. I just … you know. Want to make sure I didn’t miss anything.”

“What are we waiting for?” says Russell, who has a low tolerance for small talk.

“I’m almost ready.” I take in a breath and look around at the group, my gaze alighting on Maya last. She’s fidgeting with a tiny tiefling figurine, the one Noah lent to her to represent her character way back on day one.

I absently grab my twenty-sided dice.

My completely normal, nothing special, entirely unmagical dice.

Anything more than a ten, and I do this.

My thumb caresses the soft planes and angles of the dice.

No—anything more than a five.

I roll the dice, hidden safely behind the screen. It tumbles across my notes.

Comes to a standstill.

And it’s …

A one.

Critical fail.

I stare at it. That single digit laughing at me.

I close my eyes, discouraged.

But … am I really going to let a dice make my choices for me? One that doesn’t even have mystical powers?

No. No, I am not.

I am the Dungeon Master, and I am in charge here. Not luck. Not magic. Not the Temple of Lundyn Toune.

“All right,” I say, snatching the dice back into my palm. “The quest had been long and treacherous …”227

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