The aunts wave from where they sit with friends, while I hurry to the refreshment table in the front, where Hannah’s spreading oatmeal chocolate chip cookies across a serving plate.
“Need any help?”
“I’m good.” She smiles. “Now that I get cookies from Cake My Day and coffee from Grounds for Celebration, setup is easy peasy.”
“Is it ready yet?” a grouchy voice says from behind us, announcing that Harold has arrived. The wrinkles on his light face have settled into a permanent scowl, but his eyes are avid as he peers around us at the cookies—Pepperpot’s baking is so good even the town grump can’t find anything to complain about.
“All ready.” Hannah keeps her smile firmly in place, proving exactly how diplomatic she can be. I’m really fudging nice, and even I have trouble with Harold.
Sliding away before he can complainagainthat his fishing magazines are digital instead of print, I glance around the room.
Armored in a dark-pink velour tracksuit, Mrs. Greely sits on the front row, her fingers tapping at the overstuffed binder on her lap. As head of the Ferndale Falls Events Committee, there’s only one thing on her mind: theupcoming Valentine’s Day Dance.
A group of pixies perches all over one of the chairs, with Blue chatting to the human woman beside her. As always, I wonder what the town’s protection spell makes non-magical humans see when they look at the pixies—it probably combines the flock into a single “person.”
Pepperpot enters, and people across the room call hellos to the brownie baker. Bumbleboots trots along behind her, looking shy but determined as he slides into the chair beside hers.
I smile at the lovestruck look on his face—it seems his admiration extends beyond her baking abilities.
A troupe of gnomes cartwheels down the aisle. About the same height as brownies, they have light-green skin and bright-white hair topped with little caps of moss or mushrooms. They also refuse to walk anywhere, always tumbling about with all the energy of sugar-amped toddlers.
No, scratch that—they’ll walk for a good reason. Such as Ruby walking hand in hand down the aisle with Elowen, her wood nymph girlfriend. Their height difference is one of the biggest I’ve ever seen—one two feet tall, the other six feet—but they’re so in love, they clearly make it work.
I sigh. It seems the inside of my romance book isn’t the only place full of happy couples.
I make my way over to where the Witch Bitches have claimed what I’m beginning to think of as “our seats.”
I take the chair beside Autumn, Rune on her other side. Kayla sits down beside me, then grimaces and starts to rise. “Sorry, did you want this one for Luke?”
“No, stay.” I set a handon her forearm. “I don’t even know if he’s coming.” And if he does, would he even want to sit with me? I crane my neck to try to find him.
More people hurry in, groups of humans intermixed with orcs from the pub and several shadow fae, all tall and angular and gorgeous like a group of models escaped a high-fashion show in NYC. Their king strides into the room, all cheekbones and smoke tattoos and black leather. Severin heads straight for Hannah, his knowing smirk softening into a real smile as she beams at him.
Shadow saunters in, his green eyes gleaming when he spots Kayla.
She whips her head around to face the front and slouches in her chair as if to disappear, but it’s impossible given her height, her purple hair, and her neon-green T-shirt with a video game controller floating above:I paused my game to be here. You’re welcome.
He slides into the seat behind her and leans forward to murmur, “Hello, Kayla. It’s lovely to see you this evening.” The words might be innocent, but his tone is laced with enough innuendo to melt panties.
Kayla’s only response is to shift the tiniest bit on the hard wooden seat.
The werepanther’s nostrils flare. He sits back in his chair, grinning like the cat who got the cream, which has got to be the most apt simile-metaphorever.
Right as Hannah calls for the meeting to start, Luke stalks inside, his golden eyes intense as they scan the room. The second he spots me, his wings lower a bit as if in relief. A tiny firework goes off in the middle of my chest. That has to be a good sign, right? I give him a little wave, half-hello,half-invitation. But he doesn’t join me, just crosses his arms and leans a shoulder against the side wall at the back. The firework sputters out, a sparkler hit by a blast of rain. I’m as confused as ever.
I don’t get to wallow for long. As soon as Hannah finishes with the regular announcements, Harold yells, “Someone needs to do something about the hedgehogs! It’s not right!”
Kayla leans over to mutter, “Hedgehogs?”
“That’s what the rolling pumpkins look like to anyone non-magical,” I whisper.
“Oh, right.”
“What’s wrong with the hedgehogs?” Hannah asks.
“They’re not native to North America. They’re an invasive species!” He throws an arm wide and flaps it up and down, almost smacking Thorvinn in the face. The orc growls, but Harold soldiers on, oblivious to anything but his own outrage. “They’re going to disrupt the entire ecosystem.”
I pull out my new phone and start searching. I’m certain I’ve read something that means Harold’s wrong, but I can’t remember exactly what.
