“Back here then.” He steps into the fourth row and takes the seat on the end, directly behind me. I give him a nod of thanks, but he doesn’t look happy.
I’m about to lower myself into my seat when two burly arms sweep me into the aisle and against a chest that might as well be a concrete wall.
“River!” I smile up at my friend and satyr, trying my best to breathe through the crushing hug.
“Congratulations! Graduation day. You did it!” His smile is bright enough to make my heart leap.
“I think Arden had something to do with her success,” I tell him.
“Don’t underestimate the importance of a doting parent.” River is the type of person who has never met a stranger and has to touch everyone he greets. He keeps his hand on my shoulder as he speaks to me, and I can practically feel Seven’s gaze burning into the side of my head as he seethes with jealousy.
“Thanks, River. Do you have a seat yet? There’s one open next to Dad.” I gesture with my chin down the row. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the annoyed twitch of a muscle in Seven’s jaw.
“Can’t. I’m catering the after-party. I just wanted to drop this off for our Arden.” He hands me a box about the size of a small book wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. “Tell her congratulations for me. I expect a full play-by-play the next time she comes into the restaurant.”
I take the box and slide it into my purse. Lifting on my toes, I place a kiss on River’s cheek. “Thank you. Sweet of you to remember her.”
He says his goodbyes and then gives Seven a nod before striding toward the restaurant. I do a double take when I see Seven’s face. Shit, he looks like he wants to kill someone. His foot taps.
I lift an eyebrow.
He lifts one right back.
I wave a hand in the air dismissively and take my seat.
Around us, beyond a red velvet rope, humans are lined up to watch the festivities. A family near the front is eating a bowl of green, gray, and white plaid ice cream—Bailiwick’s plaid—a Twinkleberries graduation-day exclusive. Magic gives the dessert its characteristic pattern, but the flavors are common enough—a combination of mint, vanilla, and lavender. One of the humans catches me staring and waves. I look away like I didn’t see him. This is a ticketed event that makes loads of money for Dragonfly, but damn if it’s not like being in a fishbowl.
“Ice cream looks good,” Grandma mumbles. “So does Seven.”
“Grandma, shhh.”
She giggles.
The steady tone of a bow being drawn against the string of a cello meets our ears, and I squeeze Grandma’s hand. “They’re starting.”
A band of satyrs seated on the corner of the stage starts to play. The music is nothing like human music. Although I remember this tune from when I was young, it never fails to move me. Along with the cello, one of them plays a gold violin, another a piccolo, and another something like a xylophone made of bones. The music is bright but somehow haunting, like a child’s music box in an empty room.
I dig a Kleenex from my purse and dab at my eyes as everyone stands and turns toward the head of the aisle. A collective gasp rises from the crowd when they see Godmother leading two rows of robe-clad students. The students stop at the head of the aisle, but Godmother proceeds forward.
Everything about her is larger than life. She’s tall and curvy, her larger size packed with luck and magic. Today she’s wearing a deep purple dress with a black corset and a skirt that looks as if it were built from stringing together thousands of cicada wings. It’s dark and delicate and flutters as if it’s alive when she walks. Peacock feathers fan behind her head and perfectly complement the rest of the dress and her deep mahogany complexion. Pixies garbed entirely in silver manage the train of her gown.
Once she reaches the top of the dais, she raises a jeweled scepter. “It is my pleasure as Godmother and queen regent of Devashire to give you this year’s graduating class!”
Two by two, the students parade toward the stage to the sound of thundering applause. Dressed in deep green robes and crowned with laurel, the pairs diverge at the end of the aisle and ascend staircases at either side of the stage. When I see Arden, I whistle and Grandma whoops like she’s a frat boy at a football game. Arden’s smile warms me. I worried this event wouldn’t mean as much to her what with her having only attended Bailiwick’s for a few months, but she seems genuinely happy and proud. She catches my eye and places her hand over her heart.
Once the students have all filed onto the stage and to their assigned seats, the music stops. Godmother nods her head, and they all sit down at once. She steps to the podium. There’s no microphone, but her voice projects over us, laced with magic.
“Each year, I stand before the graduating class and am called on to speak about the future, the world these young people are graduating into, and their prospects for a better tomorrow. Each year I say something about opportunity and hard work. I wax poetic about how with the right attitude and enough courage, anything these students want can be theirs.”
The crowd has gone silent, and I can’t tell if it’s because they are riveted by what Godmother is saying or appalled at the lie. A satyr will never run Dragonfly Casino. Most pixies won’t own their own home until they are over one hundred years old. She might say it every year, but it’s all drivel.
“Each year, I say those things,” she continues. “But not this year. This year I want to focus on today. Because every day we wake up in Devashire is a good day.”
Grandma coughs into her hand, and I swear it comes out “Bullshit!”
Godmother spreads her hands. “We live in a world of magic and love. We are a community of fae with the honor of sharing our gifts with the world.” She gestures toward the humans watching the event. “What you do from today forward isn’t half as important as who you are. Being fae means being part of something larger than yourself, whether you’re sweeping the streets of Dragonfly Hollow or teaching in the education center. Every position is important and equally valued.”
“But rewarded at completely different levels,” Grandma murmurs. “Gods, this woman.”
