“Uh-huh,” I say.
“He takes after his natural parents,” says Tits. “They’re from New Hampshire.”
I nod, fighting hard to keep my expression neutral. So Hanry was honest about being human—that’s a relief. Since he was adopted, that makes him a—what’s the term? Changeling? No wonder the apple fell far from the tree. I consult my imaginary notes. “Is his bride human too?”
“Goodness, no!” Mab says. “She has lovely straight black hair. Unlike yours.”
That was uncalled for. I mutter, “I dye it, anyway. I’m a natural blond.” Seeing as this doesn’t win me any points, I move on. “Would there be time tonight I can speak to him?”
“He’s all tied up,” says Tits. “No visitors allowed!”
Alltied up? “I understand that, but we have a list of questions—”
“I have them here!” Mandy pulls the relationship survey from our planning folder. “Here’s number one! ‘How would you describe the groom and bride’s relationship, and how do you know they’re in love?’?”
I glare at my employee, who doesn’t have a single situationally aware bone in her pixie body. Unaware of the pain this conversation is causing me, or possibly just cruel, Mab waves her chalice-free hand in the air like a confused bird.
“Oh, you know how it is. Their relationship’s tumultuous! But Hanry has to marrysomeone.”
“And Princess May only likes humans,” Tits adds. “It was the easiest match!”
Something goesthunkinside my chest. At the same time, another feeling uncrinkles, like a ball of foil being opened back up. This wasn’t—isn’t—a love match. Hanry hasn’t fallen hard for May, the Japanese fairy princess. His parents arranged the marriage. This isn’t his choice. She isn’t who he wants.
Maybe—underneath all of it, I feel a whisper of hope—he still wantsme.
Mab continues, “It’s true; she does have a penchant for the antlerless. I see her wisdom, of course. Humans grow much better beards. Don’t you think, Sam-a-bantha?”
“Hanry has a great shot at a beard,” I hear myself answer. “He should go for it.”
“PrinceHanry,” Mandy corrects me quietly. “You have to call him His Highness.”
Thankfully, Mab doesn’t notice my error. And Tits is busily rubbing his chin and looking at the floor as if embarrassed by his follicular scarcity.
This whole thing is almost impossible to wrap my head around. I’m overwhelmed with questions. Like, how long has Hanry been set up to marry this fairy princess? Was he cheating on her? On me? And how does he feel about it, really? He sure didn’t look happy running up the stairwell butt naked. Call me a bad person, but the idea that he might be fighting for his life makes me feelslightlybetter about him keeping his engagement under wraps.
As much as it sucks, all these questions and hurt feelings have got to temporarily take a back seat. I’ve got a job to do. Turning on my internal autopilot, I demand Rochester find the clipboard I’m just realizing I must have dropped in the hall. Then I turn our conversation to a discussion of logistics. I confirm the vendors’ names, the new timelines Mandy came up with, the locations where prep will be taking place, and the support staff the castle will provide. I even jot down the castle’s Wi-Fi password. Beneath it all, I can only think one thing:
That I’ve got to save Hanry. After I kill him.
I’ve got until morning to figure this out.
Considering that it’s Hanry’s wedding, it’s beyond frustrating that I have no idea where he is or what he’s doing. But for the moment, I need to center my concerns somewhere else.
Having introduced us to our clients, Rochester’s next task is to lead Mandy, Jurgis, Gustavo, and me back to the servants’ quarters. He shuttles us down a tight, winding staircase into a natural cavern with soaring ceilings, stalagmite-covered floors, and three dozen fairy servants dressed in velvet overalls. Only after eyeing a window at the end of the room do I realize this is a warehouse, not a cave. And those aren’t stalagmites. They’re Chiavari chairs thrown atop carpets of moss, surrounded by buckets of white anemones, boxes of candlesticks, and folded linens. I get it now: this must be the basement where wedding décor goes to die.
“What do I do with all this junk?” I ask Rochester.
“Is that not your job?” He smirks. “The servants have been commanded by Mab to work to your instruction.”
“Really?” I ask, mollified somewhat. “I’ve got the power?”
“Yes. You’ve got the power.”
“You look giddy,” says Mandy.
“Of course I am! I have both a zombie and an Oompa-Loompa army, Mandy. This is my childhood dream.” Before I swore off the paranormal world, I had a minor obsession with Roald Dahl books. So what? It doesn’tmeananything, except that I’m power-hungry. Clapping my hands together, I draw the attention of my fairy hordes. “Listen up, team! I’m in charge now, while Rochester escorts Mandy to Princess May’s room. They’re going to discuss the princess’s last-minute requests.”
Though he seems suspicious, Rochester doesn’t argue. I wave Mandy goodbye—she gives me a big wink that would blow our cover if she weren’t soMandy. Once she’s gone, I set the Fairy-Loompas to reorganizing the room and determining what décor can be salvaged. I single one out, instructing: “Bring me your three most responsible fairies. Each of them will need to lead a team of… uh, six, to transfer our décor into the Throne Room for staging. And get my door-fairy to bring me the fishing tackle box in Mandy’s luggage, would you?”
