No Saving Throw

by Kristin McFarland

  “Still,” the detective said. She smiled at me, but the expression didn’t reach her eyes. “It’ll be thanks to you if they do go to prison.”

  “Good,” I said. “I’m glad.”

  This humble merchant had leveled up.

  24

  “STOP HOARDING THE JELLIES, Hector!” Bay cried. “You’re keeping like half of them back for yourself.”

  “Am not.” Hector ostentatiously licked powdered sugar off his fingers. “Autumn only got six.”

  “And there are only two out!”

  “Don’t blame me!” He pointed at me. “Autumn ate two.”

  “Did not!” I tried to wipe the jelly off my mouth.

  “She totally did,” Jordan said. She looked smug over her bowl of yogurt and fruit.

  “Shut up, Jordan, geez!”

  Bay reached across the table and took my plate. “No more for you.”

  “Hey, I paid for those donuts!” I reached for the remaining jelly on my paper plate, but Bay snagged it before I could. “You should respect your employer.”

  “Uh-huh. I’ll respect you when you stop being such a jelly hoarder.”

  Right. Hector had eaten at least as many as I had. He grinned beatifically at me, his own hoard now safe. I stuck my tongue out at him, and he took a big bite of his donut, flaunting his successful diversion. I kicked his chair with my foot. He choked on his bite, and I smiled, satisfied.

  “Shouldn’t we open the doors soon?” Bay asked.

  Beside me, Paige shook her head. “No. We still have twenty minutes before the draft is supposed to start.” She patted Nick’s head. He sat at her feet between us, a plate of fruit like Jordan’s before him. They’d had to shave his head to stitch up the wound Craig had given him, and he looked like a tame Hell’s Angel sitting at the feet of his mistress. He didn’t speak but gnawed wordlessly at a piece of apple.

  Today was the official grand reopening of Ten Again, and I’d invited my employees, Jordan, and a few friends over for a little pre-party party. We had breakfast for a dozen scattered across the cash wrap counter, and we’d set up the gaming tables for the Spellcasters draft we were hosting to take the place of the one that had been canceled. There would be a weekend-long tournament and a series of parties to honor Wes.

  They’d set up the memorial on the front step again as soon as the building had opened after the fumigation and cleaning. I’d heard a rumor that Craig had left bloody handprints in the elevator, but I’d never tried to confirm it. I’d had enough murder-mystery for one lifetime, and I was willing to settle for stage blood for the rest of my theatrical needs.

  Actually, I thought I’d stop carrying the stuff. Craig hadn’t bought his stash from my store, but I saw no need to keep any more of it on hand after what had happened to poor Princess Leia on my doorstep. Meghan had been right about Craig’s can of paint—it was actually fake blood. He’d been the one tormenting us. Max had been the one to actually set up the creepy tableaux and take the stalker-photos of me, and now that he was locked up, the police assured me that I should expect no more vandalism. For now, anyway.

  But things were going back to normal. Independence Square Mall had reopened a few days earlier, though with a few changes: we now had a guard from a real security company, and cameras were being installed on every floor in spite of Donald’s financial woes. Meghan’s inventory had been destroyed by the smoke and the sprinklers, so she had yet to reopen Chic, but her plans to open a banquet hall on the fifth floor of the mall were in full swing. The last time I’d seen her, she was talking about starting an event planning business, as well.

  The grant committee had been forced to call foul on the contest. If they were even able to keep the money, they would have to start over from scratch, and we would all have to reapply. Donald had been ousted from the committee, and I’d heard a rumor that he was being booted from the Chamber of Commerce, too. My stepmom said he was working hard to get his finances on track, though, so I suspected he would rapidly claw his way back to petty authority.

  I was thinking of joining in on Meghan’s remodeling efforts. We could jointly apply for the loan and work on the building together. It would mean a financial stake in the mall, though I felt surprisingly okay with it. I’d fought for this place, and I had a strange new territorial feeling about the space.

  Ten Again was my home, and these people were my family. My feelings, I thought, were justified.

  “Autumn?” Nick said.

  I blinked. He’d obviously said my name at least once before. “I’m sorry. What?”

  The others were still bickering about the donuts, and Paige was laughing along. Nick was serious, though, as he gazed up at me. “I have to tell you something.”

  I tilted my head. “What’s up?”

  “I need to apologize.”

  “For what? I’m the one who couldn’t help you guys before you got hurt.”

  “Don’t,” he said. He looked so ashamed, I started to feel alarmed. Paige tuned back in. She put a hand on Nick’s shoulder, and he reached up to squeeze it.

  “We owe you our lives,” Paige said.

  “Come on.” I ducked my head, embarrassed.

  “We do,” Nick said. “And after what we did . . .” He shook his head. “We don’t deserve any of this.”

  “What?” I said. “Donuts?” I tried to laugh, but it fell flat. “What did you do?”

  If they told me, after everything we’d been through, that they’d actually killed Wes, I would scream. And then I would find a pencil, since that seemed to be my weapon of choice, and I would stab them both.

  “Remember how mad Cody was? About the RPG we kicked him out of?”

  “Yeah,” Hector said. He was watching us intently. Everyone was, in fact. The jellies were forgotten.

  Paige blushed when she realized we had an audience. “Well, the night Wes died, Cody heard us arguing with him. After Wes died, Cody threatened to tell the cops about it unless we let him back into the game. We told him it wasn’t just our call, so he made us start threatening you. He wanted to scare you into letting him back into the game. So we left the Spellcasters cards around for you and Hector. To scare you.”

  “I knew that creep was doing something!” Hector cried. “I knew it!”

  “How on earth would that have gotten us to let him back into the game?” I asked.

  Nick shrugged. “It might not have. But if he had something on us, and you were scared, we might have been able to talk you into it. I think that was his plan.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “That’s because Cody is nuts,” Hector said. “Now we can kick him out for good.”

  “He was mad,” Paige said. “I think that was the real reason. He was using us to get revenge on you, by scaring you. Especially when we all knew there was a murderer around, and Craig was threatening you.”

  “What a complete and utter jackass,” I said. Hector opened his mouth to protest my language, but I held up a hand. “No way. You know I’m just saying it like it is.”

  He shrugged. “Fair enough.”

  “Anyway,” Nick said. “We’re sorry. We never should have done it. We should have told you, but the cops were after us, and we were scared.”

  “Well, I forgive you. Cody, not so much. But you, definitely.”

  Paige beamed at me, and Nick relaxed visibly. One more mystery solved, I leaned back in my chair. I now knew what they’d been hiding, and as an added bonus, we had good reason to keep Cody from ever joining our games again. It had sucked to receive the threats, and I was sorry he’d drawn my friends into his sad little revenge scheme, but it felt good to have a legitimate reason to hate him. Sometimes a girl needs a grudge.

  Bay stood and stretched. “We’d better get ready.” She sauntered back to the register and began moving the platters of pastries from the cash wrap to the counter behind it. Hector joined her, and she slapped his hand away from one of the plates
of muffins. “Save some for the customers!”

  I grinned. Things really were getting back to normal.

  Jordan scooted her chair closer to mine. “You look happy.”

  “I am. Everyone is safe, and we can mourn Wes now, knowing the guy who killed him is going to prison. The store is open again. Donald is off my back. Meghan and I have made a truce. Craig is out of my life for good. We’re going to play Spellcasters for two days straight.”

  “And you have the best friends in the world.” She grinned sideways at me.

  “And I have the best friends in the world,” I agreed. I nudged her with my elbow. “Especially when they join in the tournament.”

  “Do I have to?”

  “You most certainly do.”

  Jordan groaned, and I laughed. She started to protest, but Bay shouted for me from the front of the store. “Autumn, someone’s knocking on the street door! We still have five minutes!”

  “No rest for the wicked,” I sighed, but I smiled as I said it. I got to my feet and trotted to the door. There was a little crowd on the sidewalk, a sight to make my heart glow. José and Olivia stood together, and Wes’s parents hovered nearby, looking out of place. Behind the familiar faces, though, were kids I hadn’t seen since the night of Wes’s death, parents in tow, and even some people I didn’t recognize. Our customers hadn’t abandoned us. My heart glowed.

  I grinned at the crowd and held the door open. The parents hesitated a moment, the way adults do, but the kids pulled them forward, unabashed. I jerked my head to the door.

  “Come on in, guys. Ten Again is open for business.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  From start to finish, this book took the proverbial village.

  I owe a huge thank you to my agent Lisa Rodgers and to Joshua Bilmes of JABberwocky Literary Agency for helping me transform No Saving Throw from a manuscript into a book. To Mallory Soto and my editor at Diversion Books, Lia Ottaviano, thank you for taking a chance on a quirky book and then helping me make it shine. Thanks also to Jes Negrón, friend and former agent, who inspired this book and gave me great feedback on an early draft.

  I have amazing friends and readers, and I’m eternally indebted to Shauna Granger, Brian O’Conor, and Evan Matyas for holding my hand, helping me polish, and supplying me with tons of great geeky references.

  My dad, Bran McFarland, knows what a rough journey this has been, especially toward the end. Thank you for helping me through it.

  And finally, my husband, Drew Buschhorn, has served as my unwitting muse and helped me level up in so many ways over the years. This book wouldn’t exist without your support and encouragement. Thanks for everything, hon.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  KRISTIN MCFARLAND has a Master of Arts in Journalism from Indiana University, which launched a short-lived but very exciting career as a reporter. She worked for various newspapers around the country, writing on topics that ranged from politics to prostitution to parades. Today, she lives in southern Indiana, where she spends most of her free time playing video games, scheming up trouble for her D&D group, and arguing with her very sassy pony.