“Yes. His interest in our town enters us into a contest for a prize Ordinary desperately needs. It’s not money,” she said, even though I wasn’t thinking it would be. “It’s having our town registered as a Road Bomb. His social media has the ability to bring a lot of people to a town. Some who will want to sit at the same bench he sat at, or eat the same meal he ate.”
“And those tourists will bring money to the town without it having to be part of a community event,” I said. “Passive advertising. Are you wanting to slow down a little? You know we appreciate everything you do, but if you wanted to ease off on the events, we’d be okay with that.”
“Of course I don’t want to slow down. Do I look like the retiring type? Really,” she grouched.
“This will give Ordinary a wider reach into the world. More people will see us and know our town is filled with more festivals and artistic events and natural beauty than any other small town in Oregon.”
Such as Boring. I hated to admit it, but for the first time I wondered if Bertie’s drive to prove she was better than her sister, Robyn, might mean she wasn’t making the best decisions for Ordinary.
“Do we really want to draw that much attention?” I asked. “This is supposed to be a small town, a vacation town for gods, a place where humans and supernaturals can live quiet lives. Bringing so much more attention could be a problem.”
“Are you questioning me, Delaney?”
“I’m questioning why you want to put Ordinary on the map in this way. What you do for us is above and beyond. You keep the heart of this place pumping, keep it fun and make wonderful memories for all of us.”
She colored just slightly. “It’s my job,” she said, “to keep Ordinary vital and up-to-date with the world. Having a larger social presence is keeping Ordinary up-to-date.”
“Sure,” I said. “I understand that. If we get too far behind, we’ll draw attention we don’t want. But having an influencer trumpet all our secrets to the world?”
She lifted her chin and dropped her shoulders. If she’d had a sword at her hip, I’d probably have the tip of it at my throat right about now.
“He won’t trumpet our secrets. Do you think I haven’t assessed the dangers of inviting someone with his number of followers into our town?”
“He said he’s looking for places with real old-fashioned magic. And when you accused him of using glamour, that act he pulled to convince me he was non-supernatural was bull.”
“Yes, I know,” she said, “and no, I am not certain what kind of supernatural he is, but I do know he’s not a demon who would need to sign a contract to be here.”
“Social influencers like to discover things other people haven’t,” I said. “He’s smarter than that boy-next-door routine he’s selling. I don’t like the idea of him walking around town without oversight.”
Bertie gave me a look that I was going to interpret as tolerance. “I’m not going to set him loose on the town and expect him not to get into trouble. Someone from my office will follow him at all times.”
“Your office.”
Bertie didn’t have permanent staff. She was too hands-on. Oh, who was I kidding? She was too controlling to let other people handle important things.
“Who?” Then it hit me.
Tish.
“Tish will follow him.” Bertie nodded toward her ghoul protégé with a sparkle of pride in her eyes. “They can be very inconspicuous when they want to be. They will follow Mr. Baum at a discreet distance and report to me in regular intervals. We’ll make sure we have measures in place to lead him away from anything of a sensitive nature we don’t want him to stumble upon.”
“You’ve already planned for this, and I shouldn’t have doubted you, right?”
“Of course. I’ve gathered a team of volunteers who are willing to be distractions or interference, if needed. Non-violent, of course. We will keep a close eye on Mr. Baum for the remainder of his time here.”
“How long is he planning to be here?”
“Three weeks in Boring, Delaney.Three.”
I raised my eyebrows. “But we don’t really want him here for three weeks do we, Bertie? We have…um…some things coming up that we don’t really want splashed across social media.”
“You’re talking about your wedding,” she clarified. “I would expect a grown woman such as yourself to be able to at least say the word.”
“Yes, Bertie. I’m talking about my wedding. I don’t want a social influencer filming it to share with a bunch of random people worldwide. I want it to be a private event.”
“Nonsense. You understand that at least half of the entire town will be attending.”
“We’re whittling down the guest list.”
