This was all that mattered for now. In this moment, I did not care about anything else, and it was wondrous. I did not care, did not care, did not care. There was only the scent of him, the tender glide of his lips, and the gentle press of his tongue.
I never would have suspected my gloomy neighbor kissed like he belonged on the front of a romance novel. I never would have imagined someone so prickly had such impossibly soft lips. I never would have thought a man who hated happiness was adorably sensitive, vulnerable, and sweet in his own broken kind of way. It made my heart ache, knowing all this time, he’d been just as lonely as me.
“There you two are.”
Bryce and I peeled apart. I nearly fell, the floor tilting up with my sudden movement, my head still sloshing with champagne. Amy, the biggest cockblock ever, stood in the doorway. Outside there was darkness, the room now eerily quiet.
“What do you want?” I snapped.
“I am saddened to report the undead are not dead as you supposed,” Amy said, and my stomach lurched. “That is to say, the reanimated have not been rendered re-un-animated.” His frown deepened. “That is to say, you did not kill the dead—oh, heavens. The undead are still alive. You did not defeat them as you thought.”
“We didn’t?” I repeated, trying to act surprised. “Are you sure they’re not dead—re-un-animated—fuck—defeated?”
Nodding, Amy stepped farther inside. “I am afraid so. They must have simply run away of their own accord, not because of your magic, and certainly not back to their graves. It seems their attack was not in earnest, but rather a diversion.”
“A diversion.” I gulped.
“In all the chaos, the king’s hand has gone missing,” said Amy.
Bryce squinted. “Oh, damn, the skeletons chopped it off? We’d better find it quick if we have any hope of reattaching it.”
Amy gave Bryce an odd look. “The hand of the king, Marty.”
“Does the king name all his appendages?” Bryce asked with interest.
“The king’s right-hand man, Bryce,” I hissed with forced patience.
If the skeletons were a diversion for the kidnapping, then that meant the skeletons were working with the kidnapper. How was that possible? Weknewwho had resurrected the army, and it certainly wasn’t the kidnapper. Maybe the kidnapper had found the army and somehow coerced them into working for them? My thoughts were too muffled from champagne to make sense.
“This is obviously all the work of the Evil One,” said Amy. “They took General Thimblepop, and now the hand. We should gather the council and discuss matters, perhaps over a nice bottle of mulberry ale. It seems the Evil One is targeting those in command.”
“Except for Winston.” I pointed out the perplexing exception to the kidnapper’s pattern.
“Indeed,” said Amy, but his voice faded as he finally took in the scene around him. The shattered display cases, splintered wood, dented gold, and scattered jewels.
“It was like this when we got here,” Bryce said unconvincingly, nudging a fist-sized diamond under a rug with his toe.
Amy shook his head sadly. “The two of you may very well be the worst heroes in the history of all Chosen Ones.”
A touch of guilt nagged at my stomach, the same sort of guilt you get when you refuse to participate in an interactive magic show you never wanted to go to in the first place. Like you’re somehow a bad person for letting a total stranger down, and it’s your fault a grown man’s magic career is crumbling.
“It was his fault.” I pointed a finger at Bryce, only to find him already pointing a finger at me.
Amy’s eyes narrowed shrewdly as he looked between us. “Perhaps you two aren’t even the heroes we supposed you to be,” he said slowly.
“Of course we are,” I blurted. This was bad. Now that I’d had Bryce’s lips on mine, I wasn’t exactly ready to turn myself in. I wanted to get home safewithhim.
Bryce stepped forward, wobbling a little. “Relaaaaax, Amy.” He spread his palms, expression mellow, dulled by alcohol. “We’re definitely legit. Courtney is my not-evil sidekick, and I’m the Chosen One. I can prove it. For one thing, I won the tournament. For another…” Gingerly, he plucked the sword off the ground, letting it dangle between his thumb and pointer finger. “I have the sacred sword… ssssSusan?”
Amy shook his head. “Its name is—”
“We call her Susan,” Bryce said, sticking to his guns.
“Sue, for short.” I linked my hands behind my back, nodding wisely.
Bryce spun on me, stumbling over his own feet. “Sue?Come on, Courtney.”
“LikeSusanis better?” I hissed back. “Why is this the hill you chose to die on?”
