Genie narrows his gaze. “What are you doing?”
I yank my arms out and let the dress fall to the ground. “Going for a swim. I can’t do that in a dress. I’ll sink, and we don’t want to repeat that anytime soon. Or ever.”
Sir Sweeps-A-Lot floats past me and dips his bristles into the water. He shivers, spraying the cool liquid into the air and splattering on my legs.
“He likes it.”
Malachi snorts. “He’s a broom, Daphne. He likes water the way a cat likes baths.” Sir Sweeps-A-Lot spins and smacks him on the shoulder. “Rude,” he mutters, rubbing the spot.
I try to coax Sir Sweeps-A-Lot back with a wiggle of my fingers. “Come on, it’s just water. It can’t hurt you.”
The broom hides behind Nash, who is unsaddling the horses.
Hart sets up camp with efficient movements while Malachi drags a pack toward a patch of grass.
“Where’s the tent?” I ask.
Malachi opens the bag and pulls out… one. One tent. One tiny tent.
I’d offer to help, but we all know that comes with Daphne’s deadly disaster attached. I know my limits.
“One bed and now one tent?” the genie drawls. “Could you be any more cliché?”
I tilt my head. “Is the other one invisible?”
“Nope,” Malachi says. “We need to take turns keeping guard, anyway. The forest is not our friend.”
I lower my voice and dart my gaze around. “Don’t insult it.”
Hart grabs the end of the fabric and helps his twin spread it out. “There was another tent,” he admits.
I blink. “So this is a strategic choice.”
Nash’s lips twitch. “Very strategic.”
I fold my arms. “Just to be clear, this is a one-tent, four-people, possibly one broom on rotation situation?”
Sir Sweeps-A-Lot spins proudly.
“Five,” I correct.
Hart grunts. “He sleeps outside.” Sir Sweeps-A-Lot smacks him in the back of the knee, but he doesn’t even flinch. “He can guard the perimeter.”
The broom sulks and drifts toward the lake like a rejected suitor.
I watch him go. “You hurt his feelings.”
“He’s a broom. He doesn’t have feelings,” Hart argues.
Sir Sweeps-A-Lot flops onto the grass.
Malachi chuckles. “Pretty sure he does.”
Before anyone can argue, purple glitter explodes over the lake. The genie appears mid-air, arms flailing. “Do not drink the water!”
We all freeze.
“Why?” Nash asks.
