Brave the Tempest (Cassie Palme) - Karen Chance Page 0,79

staring at the barely diminished treasure trove on the tables—because when Fred put out a spread, he did it right—to the indulgent faces of my guards. Which was why I wasn’t too surprised when Rico plopped down on one of the straight-backed chairs being dragged into a line for the game.

And so did Saffy, who ended up being paired with Roy. And then another witch joined in, who went by Vi—probably because her given name was Violet and I’d never seen anyone who looked less like a Violet. I was starting to wonder if witches deliberately chose baby names that played against type, or if kids saddled with girlie monikers just tended to rebel. But Vi was . . . not exactly a shrinking violet.

Covered in tats and piercings, she was taller than some of the guys and looked like she ate nails for breakfast. Of course, she also had beautiful olive skin, big, warm brown eyes, and a booming laugh that tended to be infectious. But it usually took people a while to notice the latter, considering that, like most witches I’d met, she also had an in-your-face attitude on first acquaintance.

And second acquaintance.

And very often third.

She was paired with Reggie. He was a skinny, jug-eared, sandy blond with a buzz cut who looked perpetually startled and unsure of himself. But he’d nonetheless ended up the lone Circle mage assigned to my court, since the others had been dicks.

He was currently looking less than enthusiastic about all this, maybe because Vi had just grabbed his shirt in a fist and jerked him up from the chair. “We’re gonna win. Right, war mage?”

He nodded, his prominent Adam’s apple bobbing worriedly. “S-sure.”

“You don’t sound sure.”

“I’m positive!”

“Make me believe it.”

“We’re going to win, sir! I mean, ma’am. I mean Vi!”

She grinned, showing a lot of large, healthy teeth, and let him go.

Then Pritkin sat down next to Fred, who’d claimed the fourth seat, prompting me to do a double take. And to wonder if he was feeling all right after all. Joining in wasn’t really his thing. He gave me inscrutable-war-mage face back. And then me, Rhea, and Tami were volunteered to be the remaining chefs.

“Okay, okay. This is sudden death, all right? You guess wrong, you’re out,” Fred said, tying on a flimsy blindfold. It looked like he’d borrowed a scarf from one of the girls—a suspiciously see-through one.

“Oh, I don’t think so.” Marco, who was somehow still mobile after eating maybe fifty marshmallows, draped a thick woolen number over top of that one, and handed me a second. I guessed for Pritkin, since he was closest.

I got behind him and wrapped it around his eyes. “Never knew you were a foodie,” I said softly into his ear.

He tilted his head back, exposing a strong, tanned throat. “I’m not.”

“You’re going to lose, then. Fred’s practically an Iron Chef.”

He gave me a strange, slow smile. “We’ll see.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I went over to the chef’s table, where the guys were laying out a cornucopia of ingredients. I laughed suddenly, I didn’t know why, maybe at the sheer abundance, and Tami shot me a look. “That’s better.”

“What is?”

She lowered her voice. “You go away to that damned court, and you always come back the same way: exhausted, pale-faced, and traumatized.”

“We had a . . . problem . . . today,” I said, because I didn’t want to discuss it in front of the kids. Or at all. But she just frowned.

“There’s always a problem. This damned world’s full of them, and they don’t stop coming.”

“I noticed.” I’d spent all summer climbing one mountain after the other, only to find a vista of bigger peaks waiting on the other side. “It never ends.”

“Which is why you can’t let it get to you. That way lies the men in the white coats, you hear me?”

“I hear you.”

A hand with a sparkly pink manicure—the girls had been at her again—suddenly grasped my arm. “Do you?”

I looked at her in surprise. The dark eyes were reflecting the flames from the nearby firepit, and her cheeks were flushed and rosy. But it was the concern on the familiar face that truly warmed it. “Yes. But I can’t stop shi—stuff—from happening.”

“No, you can’t. None of us can.” She put a glass of beer in my hand. “So here’s to the times in between.”

I clinked glasses with her, and stupidly felt myself tearing up. “To the times in between.”

“Are we going to start or