What if she has a panic attack?
I don’t know if I can use my magic at long range, but I have a pound of red powder in my pockets, ready to assist me. But even if I can soothe from a distance, will the anti-cheating enchantments on the competition allow my magic to pass? If they do, Ophelia would certainly be disqualified. So, even though I spy fear on her face, I hold myself back.
We have a signal. If she needs me, she’ll use it.
Until then, I have to trust her.
“Your mate is doing great!” Owen appears at my side, offering a beer, which I turn down.
I need to stay sober until this is all over.
“I am rooting for her. Well, her and the other couple of my employees in the race. I have a bet that someone from Clean Haven will win.”
“You can bet on the Gauntlet?” Seems like that would up the likelihood of sabotage.
“Not officially. It’s just a friendly wager with my brother Seamus. He thinks someone from Ramla will take the trophy. But I think he’s just cocky fromhiswin. I am so looking forward to him losing his title. I cannot stand another day of his champion strut. I would’ve rather had Moira win.”
The selkie keeps chatting about his sibling squabbles. Meanwhile, I watch Ophelia drag herself onto an island with a lone tree in the middle.
The metal fish is one of many circling the small slip of land. Just as I am wondering if the creatures are aggressive, I watch a merman try to dive past one. He’s too slow.
The thing swallows him whole.
“How is that allowed?” I choke.
Owen chuckles and sips from his beer. “I doubt he’s actually hurt. Just wait.”
After a count of three, the fish sprays an aggressive fountain of water from a blowhole. The stream carries the merman, who lets out a terrified yelp as he’s flung into the crowd on the shore.
Out of bounds and out of the competition.
“Love to see a merman go flying!” Owen lets out a celebratory whistle.
“How are they supposed to get past them?” I ask, aghast at the idea of Ophelia getting chomped and rocketed through the air. Though, if she realized she was out of the game, the woman could always release her firebird form and glide to a gentle landing.
“My guess is they have to do something with those apples,” the selkie says.
Then, he reaches into a fanny pack I just now realize he’s wearing. Owen pulls out a fresh beer from the pouch and cracks it open. The guy came prepared.
“Apples?” I mutter to myself, squinting toward the island’s tree, and realize there are colorful fruits hanging from the branches.
“There’s a wood witch in town. Root owns The Fernmore Pumpkin Patch, which includes an apple orchard. He has his own little competition around the autumn equinox. Bet that spell work is his doing.”
Even after I’ve lived here for over half a year, there are still so many people I haven’t met. So much about this place that I don’t know.
But something I do know is that firebirds love apples. If anyone can figure this out, it’s Ophelia.
She stands with Niko and Jack, the three of them staring up at the branches in deep concentration. Meanwhile, a guy I think I’ve seen behind the counter at the bank grabs an apple and bites into it.
Then, he collapses, rolls into the water, and gets the same abrupt exit that the merman did.
The group seems stalled.
That is, until Ophelia plucks an apple of her own. I hold my breath as she chucks the fruit toward one of the metal fish, her throw as good as her cricket bowling. The mechanical beast snaps it out of the air. Then, a second later, it floats, belly up.
A cheer goes up from the crowd, and I explode with pride.
Apples start flying, and fish start floating—but not for long.
