Page 78 of War on Christmas

She jumps back into her monologue, all business. “You have heard, I’m sure, of the half-elf Roxy Noteleaf, one of the great bards of our time. She’s known not only for her ability to weave an entrancing story, but for her cunning as well.” I nod, keeping my face solemn. “Noteleaf was supposed to arrive in Palribe yesterday to provide holiday entertainment for the townsfolk, but she never arrived. A Druid who passed through the tavern heard rumors she was being followed by a band of orcs. Do you, Ulrik Lightborne, accept the quest to locate and protect the bard? She was supposed to bring a magical tale to Palribe—a tale of romantic love that would make other love stories pale in comparison—and the townspeople have been highly anticipating her visit. Will you save her, dwarf?”

I know I should be staying in character, and Ulrik would be deadly serious in this moment. But I can’t keep the grin from my lips as I lay my fist on my heart.

“I accept this quest. I will give everything—sacrifice anything—to bring Roxy Noteleaf safely to Palribe.”

To my surprise, there’s a smattering of applause from the people surrounding us. My face must be fifty shades of embarrassed, but I nod my head magnanimously in acknowledgment. Just like Ulrik would.

“Thank you,” Mrs. Davis-Green says, then reaches into the quilted purse hanging at her hip and draws out a small velvet bag, handing it to me. I know without having to look inside that it contains Thad’s dark-green dice with faded gold numbers that we’ve been playing C&C with since fifth grade. “Best of luck to you, Ulrik. The Druid who saw Noteleaf on his way to Palribe said her last known whereabouts were at Roosevelt Park. Best to begin your search there.”

***

“Come on, Sam,” I wheedle from the back seat. “You know you want to tell me what the hell is going on.”

She twists around to glare at me over her shoulder from the passenger seat.

“I told you, dwarf, my name is Luliana.”

From the moment I threw myself into Thad’s car, nerves dancing with anticipation, Thad and Sam have refused to break character.

“Come on, Luliana,” I try again, giving her my most charming smile. “Not even a hint?”

“You’re usually known for your patience, Ulrik,” Thad scolds. “Let the adventure play out as it will.”

When we arrive at the parking lot of the Roosevelt Park pool, there’s a lone car waiting. I squint into the darkness. It’s Bethany’s black SUV. As soon as Thad pulls to a stop next to it, I fling open my door and jump out, half-sprinting to where I can see Bethany’s willowy shadow standing against the pool fence.

“Welcome, Ulrik,” she says with a wide smile, holding a small stack of index cards in front of her. My chest tightens around something warm and hopeful.

Thad and Sam, Mrs. Davis-Green, and now Bethany? How many people has my notoriously independent Freya asked for help?

“This is the local swimming hole,” Bethany explains, sweeping her arm toward the empty cement pool behind her, “and the bard Roxy Noteleaf’s last known location. As a youngling, Noteleaf spent much time here in the fair summer months. It’s here that Noteleaf first noticed her most trusted companion, the young dwarf Paladin Ulrik Lightborne”—she pauses to raise an eyebrow at me—“looking at her a bit…differently than he used to. Was his gaze…lingering? Was he taking a little bit longer to rub that sunscreen into her shoulders?”

I reach up to rub at the back of my neck, which is growing hotter by the second. My middle-school self would be mortified to be called out like this by Bethany, of all people, but it’s impossible to feel judged by her happy, delighted giggle.

“My gaze was definitely lingering,” I admit with a wince.

Bethany nods and steals a quick glance at the cards she’s holding. “The young Roxy Noteleaf certainlyhopedUlrik was taking notice of her becauseshewas taking notice ofhim. And because Noteleaf is brave and bold of heart, she decided to push things just a bit further. She decided to test Ulrik’s true feelings using the”—she pauses dramatically—“Polka Dot Bikini attack.”

I throw my head back and laugh—Iknewshe wore that bikini to torture me—and I’m still chuckling as I follow Bethany’s instructions to roll the twenty-sided die to see if Roxy Noteleaf’s attack was a hit. Spoiler alert: It was. My roll with the ten-sided die to determine the damage of her attack is equally devastating. A nine out of ten.

“From here, Ulrik, you must go on an expedition to the District of Flowers, where Noteleaf’s family keeps a small shop. The cleric Stromm Godsan and his companion, Luliana Nimblefingers, will take you.”

***

Thad and Sam—excuse me,StrommandLuliana—spend the next hour driving me hither and yon across Northview. It’s not, by any means, a real game of Caves & Conquerors. It’s more scripted, and rolling the dice is for show rather than function. Which is good, because I’m pretty sure that, given the effectiveness ofmostof the attacks, Freya and I would both be goners.

At the flower shop, Mrs. Nilsen tells how, in eighth grade, Freya called me to rescue a giant spider she found in a flower shipment. She was terrified of it but didn’t want it to get killed. So, I rode my bike to the shop, gently captured the spider, which we named Aragog after Harry Potter, and released it outdoors. It was the Flower Power attack, Mrs. Nilsen explains, and according to Roxy Noteleaf, it was a direct hit, regardless of how the dice fall.

Drew and the three boys are at the high school, and Andy giggles his way through some stories about Freya’s and my trips to the principal’s office. Best of all, he’s wearing a familiar Dave Matthews Band T-shirt over his winter coat. (I knew she nabbed it.) Not surprisingly, the Annoy-Her-Into-Liking-You attack is an epic fail, and I roll a measly two.

At Freya’s bedroom window, Abi waits for me, reminding me of the nights I spent next to Freya’s bed, soothed by her quiet, steady presence. The Best Friend attack, it turns out, is a doozy, and combined with First Kiss, it’s a knockout blow.

As I pick up the dice from the windowsill and return them carefully to their bag, she points over my shoulder at my house.

“That way, Ulrik McHottie.”

I snort—like mother like daughter—as I turn on my heel and tromp through the snow toward home, where my mom is waiting for me on the front porch. She’s changed from the dress she wore for Christmas Eve dinner into jeans and a thick green cardigan, which she’s holding wrapped around her thin frame. Without thinking about it, I step close and wrap her in a hug, and she hugs me back without hesitation.

“So, you were in on this all along?” I ask, stepping back and holding her shoulders. “Dinner at 4:30 and all that?”

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