Chapter Thirty-Eight
THIRTY-EIGHT
“—A nd that’s why the Glimmer Falls chapter of Mages Without Borders is proud to support Gigi Rosewood for mayor!”
Ben clapped along with the rest of the onlookers as the man onstage bowed. A huge crowd had shown up for Gigi’s final rally at the village green, and so many of them wore her campaign swag that the gathering resembled a sea of pink. The sun had finally broken through the clouds after a morning of rain, and the atmosphere was that of a carnival, complete with face painters, a catering table, and a hot chocolate vendor.
Ben couldn’t appreciate the carnival atmosphere. According to his calculations, Eleonore should be arriving in town in a few hours, and he was beyond nervous. As soon as his speech was over, he’d be running home to pace anxiously and decide how best to present Isobel to her.
Should he buy a card to go with the offering? Hallmark had an extended line of cards for magical towns, but he suspected this situation was too niche even for them.
He rubbed his arms, grateful for his long-sleeved white shirt and wine-red sweater vest. Not only did they hide his nervous sweat, but they also provided some protection against the November chill.
No one else seemed to mind the cold. The makeshift stage on the north end of the green had already seen an hour of speeches, countless chants and cheers, and a performance from Dr. Salmerón and the Cartographers that was about as raucous as folk music could get. Thankfully, only one tree had been accidentally torched by dragon fire during the show, and Mariel had promptly healed it. Gigi was in the middle of it all, introducing speakers and circulating among the crowd. Her own speech would be last, right before the performance by The Pixies (No Not Those Ones).
Ben looked at his watch, wishing he could time travel thirty minutes into the future so his speech would already be over. He might have abducted an evil immortal witch who was currently locked in Calladia’s truck with the window cracked—he wasn’t about to leave Isobel alone in his house—but his stomach felt worse now than it had during that confrontation.
Werewolf of action, maybe. Werewolf of public speaking? Never.
Rani and Mariel stood near him at the side of the stage, chatting animatedly. Both of them would be speaking as well—Rani on behalf of the Glimmer Falls Resiliency Project and Mariel on behalf of the Glimmer Falls Environmental Club. Though Mariel had admitted public speaking wasn’t her favorite thing either, she seemed surprisingly calm about the whole thing.
It probably helped that Oz was lurking at the back of the crowd, ready to wave a bright pink sign that had go mariel! painted on it. Themmie had shaken her wings over the paint to give the letters a glittery sheen. The pixie herself was hovering cross-legged fifteen feet above the crowd, wings a blur as she livestreamed the proceedings. Her Get Out the Vote efforts had resulted in a huge leap in the number of young registered voters. “Local elections matter as much as federal ones,” she’d reiterated in multiple posts, and the message seemed to have actually sunk in.
Ben’s parents were at the front of the gathering, bedecked in the brightest pink of all. His father had brought bouquets of pink tulips that he flung at anyone whose speech he liked, and Ben’s nervousness intensified when he imagined having to dodge floral projectiles.
Lycaon, he didn’t want to do this. But Eleonore wasn’t back yet, so what else was there to do but support his little sister while he waited?
“Where’s Astaroth?” Mariel asked.
Ben winced. Calladia was in the crowd waving a howling for change sign, but Astaroth was posted at the truck, guarding Isobel. Lilith had told him what was happening, and the British demon had been delighted. He’d insisted on helping “facilitate Ben’s descent into criminality,” though Ben suspected Astaroth’s own personal grudge against Isobel was more of a motivating factor. Calladia knew what was going on, since Astaroth hid nothing from her, but she’d agreed to keep quiet for now.
“I, ah, gave Astaroth a task to do,” Ben said, rubbing the back of his neck.
Mariel eyed him curiously. “What task? The logistics are already taken care of.”
Ben wasn’t about to admit in public that he’d kidnapped someone. “Oh, look, Gigi’s about to talk.”
Ben ignored Mariel’s and Rani’s suspicious looks as Gigi took the stage to introduce the next speaker. She wore a sparkling blue dress with her pink shoes, and her hair hung loose and curling. “Isn’t this great?” she asked into the microphone. The crowd cheered in response. “So many smiling faces and so many people agitating for change. Why, it’s—”
A loud voice boomed through the air, making Ben jump in alarm. “Welcome to my final campaign rally, Glimmer Falls!”
What the—
“Oh, no,” Mariel said, wincing. “It’s Cynthia.”
Ben was tall enough to see over the crowd toward the south end of the green, where another stage had manifested out of thin air. Cynthia Cunnington stood atop it, nearly blinding to the eye in a white pantsuit with diamonds glittering at every conceivable place they could glitter. Her golden hair was tied back ruthlessly, smooth as a helmet, and the sharp shoulders of her coat were reminiscent of armor.
She needed no microphone, since magic could amplify her voice. “In two days’ time,” she said, “the werewolf interloper will be defeated and our community restored to its ideal state of justice, order, and magical traditionalism.”
A small crowd was gathering in front of her stage, maybe a tenth the size of Gigi’s audience. They waved small Glimmer Falls flags and wore matching white hats that had mayor cunnington! spelled out in rhinestones.
“Well,” Gigi said into the microphone. “This is an interesting development. We specifically booked the entire space from the city.”
“I am the city,” Cynthia declared in response.
Ben winced. “This is the loudest argument I’ve ever heard.” Their amplified voices ricocheted off the surrounding buildings.
“Hey, Cynthia,” Gigi said. “Want to have a debate somewhere else so the party can keep going? This is harshing the vibe, to put it mildly.” Most of the crowd shouted their agreement at the suggestion.
“I don’t debate my lessers,” Cynthia announced to a smattering of cheers from her supporters.
Calladia showed up at Mariel’s side, having pushed her way through the crowd. She grimaced in the way only an estranged child of a publicly misbehaving parent could. “This is so embarrassing,” she said, tugging on her ponytail agitatedly. “I don’t know how my mom thinks she’s going to win votes doing this.”
“To be honest, I don’t think she understands that anything might not go her way,” Mariel said. “She just wants to crush the competition.”
“I always say life got better after cutting contact,” Calladia said. “And it is better and easier now, don’t get me wrong. But then she shows up and does something cruel or obnoxious and I feel hurt and humiliated all over again. Like I need to apologize for her.”
It was rare to see Calladia’s shoulders slump, but some hurts weren’t resolved easily. Ben didn’t know what it was like to cut off a family member, but he knew from his own struggles with mental health that growth of any sort wasn’t a straight line—there were ups and downs. Sometimes more downs than ups, even if a person was on the right track.
“Oh, honey.” Mariel stood on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around Calladia in a fierce hug. “You don’t need to apologize for her.”
“You’re your own person,” Ben agreed. “I promise, no one assumes you’re involved in her choices.”
Despite the slumped shoulders, Calladia’s eyes were dry as she gave a pained smile. She had always been a fighter in more ways than one. “Thanks,” she said. “I’ll be fine. I’m just pissed on Gigi’s behalf.”
Gigi looked plenty pissed on her own. Her chin was jutting in a determined way Ben recognized from times she’d been mad at him over the years. One of those times had resulted in Gigi punching him in the testicles with her four-year-old fist, so Ben thought Cynthia should be a bit more concerned. Gigi was a nice person, but all bets were off at a certain point.
“You’re not the city,” Gigi said, “and I’m not lesser than you. You’re a nasty, self-important rich bitch who can’t stand being out of the spotlight for a single second.”
“Ooh, shit,” a nearby pixie said, whipping out his phone.
“We’re here in the name of democracy, progress, and opportunity for all members of our community, not just the elite few,” Gigi continued. “Not to mention a good fucking time—am I right, everyone?”
Though cheers followed the words, Ben groaned at the obscenity. He wasn’t a political strategist, but surely cursing out the existing mayor was a bad move?
“So please take your snooty self somewhere else,” Gigi said. “Or book your own space for a rally.” She shrugged. “I can’t imagine it’ll be thrilling, but maybe you can order a few of us peasants around for fun.”
The gloves were off, and the crowd was lapping it up. The pink shirt brigade seemed thrilled by Gigi’s abandonment of social niceties, shouting their own insults that Cynthia’s followers returned. Ben covered his face with his hands, peeking through his fingers at the escalating disaster.
Cynthia looked taken aback at Gigi’s hostility. “How vulgar,” she said, hand brushing the pearls at her neck. “And no, I will not leave. I’m here to celebrate my imminent victory.”
“Okay,” Gigi said. She turned to face the green to the left of the stage, where Dr. Salmerón and the Cartographers had been relaxing and eating snacks. “How do you feel about an impromptu second set, Gabriel?”
Gabriel lumbered to his feet, shaking out his green wings. The dragon was sleek, with shimmering crimson scales. “Absolutely,” he puffed in a smoky voice, following the pronouncement with a burst of flame that nearly took out the PA system. Gabriel was small as dragons went, but even a small dragon had an outsized presence. “Cooper, the electric mandolin!”
His bandmate grabbed the instrument and started jogging toward the stage. The rest of the band followed, and soon Cynthia’s voice was drowned out by the wail of an electric mandolin, some aggressive drumwork from a Norwegian selkie, and the unusual vocal stylizations of a dragon whose roots in Mexican folk music had been flavored by Icelandic death metal. The crowd went wild, dancing and flailing their arms as flames rocketed into the sky.
Ben covered his ears, wincing. He’d never been the type to attend concerts, and that was before he’d hit his thirties and discovered many of the things that had been theoretically fun in his twenties were actually noisy and exhausting, including live music and social gatherings that began after eight p.m. On the plus side, there was no way anyone would hear Cynthia.
Then Ben noticed Gigi marching through the crowd toward Cynthia’s camp, fist clenched. Cynthia smirked and caressed the pearls at her neck.
“Oh, no,” Ben said. That was a disaster waiting to happen. He started after Gigi, but Mariel grabbed his sleeve. “Ben, wait,” she said, pointing toward the street.
He turned…
And saw Eleonore standing at the edge of the park.