by Erin Johnson
I glanced up toward the bleachers and saw the same king and queen and four princes and their wives. “Hmm, that’s right.”
Maple leaned closer. “The Conch, the Bijou Mer paper, is speculating that he’s dating one of the contestants and doesn’t want to appear for fear of showing favoritism.”
I grinned. “But he could’ve come today, right? I mean, Lillian was eliminated yesterday.”
Behind me, Hank coughed, then coughed again and again. I looked over at his flushed red face and desperately blinking eyes.
“He’s choking!” Maple pointed at him.
“Oh!” Bern looked up. “What’s the spell for choking?” He fumbled with his spell book.
“It’s, uh— It’s uh—?” Maple grimaced and shook her hands, bouncing on her feet. “I can’t remember!”
I didn’t know magic, but I did know the Heimlich maneuver. I dashed over, grabbed Hank around his surprisingly firm middle, and leaned back, lifting my fists in and up with all I had. A piece of dough flew out of his mouth and landed several feet away at Nate’s feet.
The medic raised his brows. “Nice, Imogen. I was right behind you if that didn’t work.”
I nodded, panting. Hank slumped over, one hand on his table, and I slid my arms from around his waist. I came to his side.
“You all right?”
He kept his dark eyes down on the ground, but nodded. I waited a couple of moments. “You sure?”
He gulped, his throat bobbing, then turned to me. “How’d you do that?”
I blinked in surprise. “The Heimlich maneuver? Kind of standard first aid.”
He frowned. “Is that a human thing? Heimlich?”
I grinned. “Yeah, Heimlich’s a human thing.”
He nodded and after another moment I turned to go. I stopped in surprise when he caught my arm. I turned, looking at his giant, warm hand.
“Thank you,” he said gruffly, then turned back to his table, slowly sliding his hand away from mine.
I felt…. I wasn’t sure what I felt. Light, and fluttery and confused. I returned to Maple. “That was… something.”
“That was amazing! You saved him—and without magic.” She grinned. “See, you can teach us a thing or two also.”
I returned to my station to check on my tarts. And of course, Iggy decided to be a tart and burn half of them.
I stood in tears before my scorched pastries, hoping the judges would consider the half of them that weren’t turned to soot, when a scream sounded out from the bleachers, followed by another and another. Spectators pointed into the tent, and I whirled.
A tornado of flying tools whipped around Bern’s station. He cowered on the ground behind his table, hands thrown over his head, as magically animated scissors snipped through the air erratically, knives flew, and a wooden rolling pin hammered all over his table. I dropped to a crouch and waved Bern over to my station.
As he army-crawled over on his stomach, a rogue pan flew at his head, and I leaped forward, smacking it away with a pan of my own. Screams and the pounding of fleeing feet on the wooden bleachers filled the air.
“What happened?”
Bern pulled himself up to sit against the side of my station, adjusting his glasses. He blinked, face flushed and eyes wild. “I cast a sort of marionette spell, to get the tools working on their own, but they got out of hand, and now I can’t get them to stop.”
I peeked over the edge of the table. Rhonda and Francis stood in front of the fleeing crowd, beating off utensils with the magic they flung from their hands. I looked behind me to check on Maple, in time to see her scream as a knife flew at her.
A scream stuck in my throat, but Hank leapt in front of her, freezing the knife in place as he threw out his hands, sparks flying from them. My chest heaved with relief.
“Get out, everyone! Get out!” Amelia waved us toward the garden.
“What about the utensils?” Hank barked.
“The Royal Guard have been called. Get out, they’ll contain it.”
Hank frowned for a moment, then waved at me to follow. He and Wool stood beside the tent’s flaps sending the rest of us contestants through. I turned and saw them dash through themselves, magically sealing the tent, as a knife and a potato peeler embedded themselves through the fabric where they’d just been standing.
I stumbled backward across the lawn, keeping my eyes on the tent, until I tripped and stumbled. A pair of strong arms broke my fall. I looked up to see Nate smiling down at me. He lifted me upright and turned me around. I could have stared up at that chiseled face with his scruffy beard forever, except that a harsh cough startled me.
Scowling, Hank stalked past. “We need to get to safety, away from here.”
I followed him and the group back to the house, regretfully leaving Nate behind. We spent the next few hours tensely waiting for news. Hank stalked back and forth across the lawn so many times, he actually started to wear a rut in it. Bern sat crumpled in a chair. No matter how many times we told him no one blamed him, he only shook his head. “If anyone’s been hurt….”
Finally, Amelia appeared after dinner. She stood with hands clasped, and we gathered around her, expectant. “Good news first. No one was injured, beyond a couple of sprained ankles from tripping while running, and a fractured wrist.”
Bern moaned and Wool shook his shoulder. “It’s all right, man. Could’ve been worse.”
Amelia nodded. “Everyone injured has already been fixed up and is good as new.” She exhaled heavily. “Bad news. Bern, this probably doesn’t come as a surprise, but you’re out.”
“It’s the least punishment I deserve.” Bern removed his glasses and rubbed the tears from his eyes. My heart went out to him.
“No one blames you, Bern, accidents happen.” Amelia sighed. “Truly. If Rhonda were here, she’d threaten to beat you up if you didn’t stop beating yourself up.”
That got a chuckle out of him, but his eyes stayed fixed on the ground, his head hanging.
“Oh!” Amelia gasped, eyes round, and pressed a hand to her mouth. With the other she pointed at the sky behind us. I whirled and followed her gaze. More gasps, and Maple screamed. Somewhere, down the mountain in town, a siren began to wail.
Up among the stars and the drifting wisps of gray clouds, a shifting, noxious yellow symbol hovered. A twisting, writhing eel, with a gaping maw and leering expression wrapping around the globe of the Earth, about to swallow it whole.
“What is it?” I whispered.
“Everyone inside,” Hank barked.
“Bern, come with me. Everyone else, stay inside till I tell you otherwise.” Amelia and Bern dashed across the field, and we all ran toward the house.
Once inside, I gazed out the windows at the swirling spectacle. My heart pounded with fear. “What is it?”
Maple turned her pale face toward me. “The symbol of the Badlands Army. It always appears before they attack… and kill.” Tears welled in her eyes. “I hope my family’s all right.”
I put an arm around her shoulders and hugged her close. With heavy hearts we retired to bed, unsure of what the next morning would hold.
17
Extinguished
We gathered on the lawn the next morning. Amelia announced, “First of all, everyone’s all right. We’ve had no known attacks.”
“Known attacks.” Glenn raised a finger. He sounded way too cheerful as he said, “But we may discover a body in one of the canals or up a chimney, or half the sewer might still be blown away, or—”
Amelia cut him off. “Because our city appears safe, the competition will continue today. But we will have no spectators, making the competition less of a target for attack. This will also prevent someone from the BA from sneaking in as a member of the audience.”
My stomach relaxed slightly, and I glanced at Maple. Neither of us had enjoyed the scrutiny of the crowd. That, at least, would be a relief. I also found comfort when I passed through the magic field around the tent, the cool tingle bl
owing over my skin. That lent us some safety.
Once behind our stations, aprons donned, Amelia announced, “It’s bread day. You’ll have three hours to bake an artisanal loaf. Sweet or savory, it must be impressive. Begin!”
I grinned, enjoying the noises of magic and baking, clanking pots and the thunks of glass jars on butcher block. Today, without hundreds of eyes trained on me, might be my day. I yawned, my jaw aching as I stretched my mouth wide. Well, might be my day, if I could wake up. I’d tossed and turned all night.
As I considered what type of bread to make, a trilling little song from an orange and gold bird sounded from a tree outside the tent. It reminded me of a bread I’d seen once, braided, with colored eggs woven in. I could wrap the braid to form a round nest and weave in some exotic eggs like I’d seen in Maple’s bakery. I hoped Rhonda and Francis would find that impressive enough.
I passed Maple on my way to the pantry for ingredients. She looked more at home in the tent than I’d ever seen her.
I called to her, “Why’s the baker the richest man in town?”
She looked up and frowned. “I dunno, why?”
“Because he’s got all the dough.”
She groaned, and I chuckled. What a hoot I am. As I passed Hank, he shook his head.
The deep bags under his eyes and the aggression with which he smashed his flour, eggs, and water between his bare hands made me give him a wider berth. Geez, someone’s not a fan of cheesy jokes.
I puttered around the pantry for a few minutes, gathering eggs from the basket marked “Rainbow Thrush.” The second I saw them, I couldn’t resist. Roughly the size of a chicken egg, the shell twisted with deep grooves, almost like a soft-serve ice cream. Brilliant colors of purple, blue, yellow, red, and green swirled around the egg like, well, a rainbow.
I carried a large armful of ingredients back to my station. Hank had moved on to kneading, slamming the heel of his hand into the wet dough, dragging it forward, lifting the ball of dough, smacking it down, and repeating. I blinked and raised my brows, but took care not to meet his eyes. Someone had had a worse night than me, it seemed.
Maple sang a jaunty little tune as she kneaded. I smiled to myself and listened as I unpacked my ingredients.
“Flour the table
And spread it round,
Mix up your dough,
Plop down the mound,
Shape it and work it till,
It’s loosely bound,
A making bread we go.
Flour your hands,
We’ve mouths to feed,
Punch the dough,
Do the deed,
Fold and rock,
And press and knead,
A making bread we go.
No rest for the wicked,
No rest for the dough,
Not too quickly,
And not too slow,
Knead it in rhythm,
And work it in flow,
A making bread we go.”
I bobbed my head and hummed along with her. My enchanted blue quill scratched notes in my new recipe book as I mixed up my dough.
Oops! I needed to get Iggy preheating the oven.
I crouched down to speak with him, and my stomach clenched with panic. Instead of the usual heat warming my face, only a cold, dark oven opened before me.
“Iggy?” An edge of panic laced my words. “Iggy?” Where was he?
A small flame, like that of a candle, peeked over a charred stick.
“Iggy!” I jumped to my feet, panicked. “Help!” Surprised and worried expressions met mine as I whirled, looking around the tent. I wasn’t sure what I needed, but I felt sure Iggy was moments away from extinguishing for good.
“What’s wrong?”
I jumped at the gruff voice behind me, instantly recognizing it as Hank’s. I turned and looked up at his tall frame. His glassy, bloodshot eyes softened as he looked at me. “How can I help?”
“It’s Iggy, my fire, he’s almost out.” I pointed at the oven and Hank dropped down to look inside. I pressed my trembling lips together as tears rolled down my cheeks.
He rubbed one wrist with his other hand. “Get me some dry firewood and tell Wool to come over here.”
I nodded and dashed off, going to Wool first. When I returned, skidding to a stop in front of my station with arms full of logs, I could tell by the heat on my legs that Iggy was already better.
I dropped the pile and fell to my knees beside Hank and Wool. Wool held his palms to the fire, eyes closed, humming and chanting words I didn’t understand. His palms glowed red and fire danced up and down his arms and shoulders. I looked from him to Hank, who gave me a slow nod. “Iggy’s going to be all right.”
I slumped with relief, letting out the breath I’d been holding. “Really?”
“Yeah.” Hank nodded. His thick brows knitted together. “You can’t forget to feed your fire like that, though. He could’ve died, very nearly did in fact. You left him all night with no firewood and—”
I nodded, my chin trembling, and then buried my face in my hands and sobbed. He was right, of course. I’d been irresponsible, and if I’d had any magical talent at all I could’ve cast an auto-feed spell, or whatever Iggy had called it the other day. I cried harder, my shoulders shaking. I was a talentless failure who didn’t deserve—
My thoughts and my body stilled as Hank wrapped his arms around me, tentatively at first, and then pulled me closer in a gentle embrace. Shock made me freeze. And then, after a few moments, I relaxed, resting my cheek on his shoulder. My tears wet his shirt.
I felt a warm, tingly wave of energy. A heady rush filled me up, from toes to head. I pulled back, surprised at my own reluctance to let go, and looked at him. My mouth fell open in surprise.
“Your eyes.”
His dark eyes now looked blue, his jaw more square, and his nose straighter and— Before I could finish taking inventory of the many small changes that added up to a different face, he stood, leaving me tottering on my heels. “You’ve got this, Wool?”
It seemed more a command than a question. He strode past his station, where I’d assumed he was headed, to the pantry. I blinked after him. I’d felt something when he hugged me, tingly and warm and fluttery—had that been magic? Was it magic that made his face look different sometimes?
Wool finished chanting and turned to me. “Imogen?”
I nodded. “Yes? How’s Iggy?”
“He’ll be all right. As Hank said, you must be more careful with your flame. You could have lost him.” He stood, his own flame still playing up and down his arms.
“Thank you.” I pressed my hands together, still feeling shaky with worry. “Thank you, so much. How did you get him back?”
Wool’s dark eyes twinkled. “We from the Fire Kingdom have a way with flames. It’s good Hank told you to get me.”
“I can’t even….” I let out a tremulous breath. “I owe you. Big time.”
Wool nodded. “I’ll remember that.” He headed to his station, and I glanced at Maple, who practically drooled as she watched him, slowly dragging the heel of her hand through her dough.
I turned to Iggy, grateful that he blazed much brighter, some heat reaching my cheeks. “Iggy, I am so sorry. I can’t even tell you—”
His eyes narrowed to tiny slits. “You abandoned me.”
My chest tightened with guilt. “I’m so sorry. They told us to evacuate the tent, knives were flying and—”
“And you should have come back for me or asked someone to feed me.”
“You’re absolutely right.” Another tear trickled down my cheek.
“I bet you want me dead, don’t you?”
I recoiled. “N-no.” I blinked frantically.
Iggy flared, sending me stumbling back, then turned his back to me.
“Iggy?”
I got no response. I sighed. I didn’t blame him for being furious. I felt furious with myself.
“I know we don’t always get along, but I would nev
er want to hurt you. I promise. I messed up, really badly. I should have asked someone to check on you. Just, please know, I’m sorry.”
He showed no sign of hearing me, so eventually I stood up and got to making my bread with a heavy heart. Even Maple’s jaunty baking song couldn’t put a spring in my step. I kneaded and worked my bread, then put a towel over it and took it to the pantry to let it rise on the shelves with everyone else’s.
During the downtime that followed, I made half-hearted conversation with Maple and thanked Wool again, profusely. Hank looked like his normal self, and though I tried to catch him, to thank him and try to ferret out some information about the change in appearance I’d seen, he avoided me. Well, that and Glenn cornered him, making the possibility of anyone else getting a word in impossible.
As I half listened to Rhonda’s visions of tomorrow’s weather, I watched Hank and Glenn. I couldn’t hear what Glenn said, but his hands flew in his usual bombastic manner, and Hank’s face grew darker and darker. My stomach tightened with unease. Hank seemed edgy and tired, and Glenn couldn’t be helping.
“And then, a rainbow.” Rhonda spread her hands in an arc through the air, smiling. She grew serious as she pointed at Sam. “Watch how long you stand looking at it though, there’s a certain seagull that’s got a poopy present with your name on it. Left shoulder.”
Sam blinked.
Something about birds pooping on people reminded me that I hadn’t been the butt of any snarky comments or dirty looks for a while.
“Where’s Pritney?” I asked no one in particular.
“I ssssaw her wander into the garden a little while ago.” Sam pushed his glasses up his nose.
A metallic crash sounded, like a clap of thunder, and we all jumped.
“Stop!” Hank’s growl raised the hair on the back of my neck. I froze as Hank jabbed a trembling finger at Glenn, who backed up, palms raised.
Glenn blinked his wide, round eyes. “Okay, Hank, calm down. Didn’t know my detailed comparison of the strengths of the Earth Kingdom’s Guild over the Water Kingdom’s would upset you so much, but if you’re so touchy that—”