Keegan slid a wool coat over my shoulders even though the shop was warm. “You sure about bringing half the town?”
“I’m sure about not going without them,” I said.
He kissed the top of my head like a yes.
Twobble appeared at my elbow in earmuffs and gloves so thick his fingers looked like sausages. “I’ve packed snacks, emergency snacks, post-emergency snacks, and a backup snack plan,” he reported. “Also this.” He produced a bundle of cinnamon sticks from under his vest.
“Did you pay for that?” Stella asked without looking up.
He blinked. “Define pay.”
Stella’s tone went silk-smooth, which with her meant danger. “Leave four copper in the dish.”
Twobble dropped in five, very loudly, and then looked proud of himself.
Skonk peered out the front window, nose smushed to the glass. “Tourists are thinning. Karvey’s shadow is moving. Pigeons are in formation. We can do this without causing a scene bundled in winterwear if we—”
Something green and floral and terrible thudded into the window with a squeak.
Everyone jumped. Twobble yelped. Skonk flailed, smacked his own face, and then, peering harder, squealed with an unholy glee. “Oh no.”
“Don’t say it,” Keegan muttered.
“Bramble mule,” Twobble breathed, eyes like saucers. “He followed me here!”
“No,” I said on reflex, because there are only so many sentences a headmistress wants to hear in a lifetime, and that one was not on my list.
The bramble mule pressed its emerald muzzle to the glass with a kissy fog of breath, garlands of tiny flowers sprouting anew along its neck. Hooves sparked against cobble. Its eyes, sweet, ridiculous, and full of opinions, landed on Twobble and went soft as jelly.
“You,” Keegan told the goblin, “are not bringing a Wilds bramble mule into a neutral ground between realms.”
“It’s athreshold,” Twobble said, insulted. “Not a courtroom. He wants to help.”
“Define help,” Skonk said, scooting behind me.
The mule brayed, which in mule meant behold me, I am a miracle with hooves. Two tourists cooed from across the lane. A third pointed his phone and said, “Animatronic?” which earned him a visible wince from a gargoyle on the roof.
“Twobble,” I said, patient teacher voice firmly on. “Do you keep feeding him?”
“No,” Twobble corrected. “Possibly. Sometimes, if he’s hungry.”
“We can use him,” Opal said suddenly, assessing the mule with a craftswoman’s eye. “Pack frame, low profile. If the world folds, four-legged things find the seam better than two.”
Keegan looked personally betrayed by this logic.
Nova tilted her head, listening to something only she could hear.
“He is fond,” she murmured, amused.
“Of what?” Keegan asked warily.
“Of Twobble,” Nova said, smiling with almost all her teeth. “And of mint.”
Twobble produced a fistful of mint leaves from a pocket so quickly I began to suspect he might be part plant. Twobble opened the door, and the mule sniffed and sneezed confetti, actual confetti, pastel paper fluttering, and then delicately accepted the mint.
“Fine,” Keegan said, resigned. “But if he kicks a treaty stone, I’m sending you to apologize, Twobble.”
“I’m very good at apologies,” Twobble said, climbing onto the mule’s back like a prince of questionable kingdoms. “I bring desserts.”
