Chapter Thirteen #2
Henrietta glances around the chamber, lifts one of the floating grapes, and inspects it as if it offended her.
Sir Sweeps-A-Lot floats into the vision, drifting in through the curtains like a noble guardian of cleanliness.
“Why is he in your lamp?” I ask. “I thought you kept him elsewhere?”
Genie scowls. “Because someone,” he glares at the broom in his arms, “maintains that he saw a speck of dust.”
In the vision, Sir Sweeps-A-Lot makes a dramatic sweeping motion across the floor. A clean, sparkling floor.
Henrietta blinks.
Sir Sweeps-A-Lot sweeps again, catching the edge of her silk sash, and the fabric slides. Just a little.
Henrietta gasps and grabs it. “Excuse you.”
Sir Sweeps-A-Lot freezes for half a tempo, and I wince as I sense the chaos gathering like a storm.
He launches into action, sweeping around her ankles. Her hem lifts. She spins. He sweeps again, aggression and determination in every movement. His bristles catch more silk, and the layers of shimmering fabric are whisked away like fall leaves in a strong breeze.
“Stop. This is a rare Midas fabric,” Henrietta shrieks.
Sir Sweeps-A-Lot spins, a length of her sash wrapped around his handle like a trophy.
I cover my eyes, then peek through my fingers to watch the disaster. Genie lunges for the broom. “Release the lady!”
Sir Sweeps-A-Lot dodges, and in a moment of bratty behavior, sweeps the fabric once more. Another layer of fabric vanishes into a neat little pile on the floor.
Henrietta now stands in far less clothing, her face a picture of fury. She grabs a cushion and hurls it at the genie. “I was promised a romantic evening, not an enchanted stick with an attitude.”
Back at the lakeside, I clap a hand over my mouth to stifle my laughter.
In the vision, Sir Sweeps-A-Lot continues his crusade and sweeps the last bit of trailing silk clean off her shoulders.
She shrieks. The genie yelps. The lake vision flickers and blurs out her genie bits.
The orchestra of teacups hits a dramatic note and then stops.
Silence.
Henrietta points at the broom. “It touched my hems.”
“He is very dedicated to hygiene,” the genie whispers.
She glares at him. “Call me when your cleaning implements learn manners.” With a dramatic swirl, she vanishes.
The vision fades, and the lake goes still again.
I burst into laughter. “He stripped your date.”
“He decluttered her,” the genie corrects.
Sir Sweeps-A-Lot shivers in his arms like he’s proud of his work.
Malachi snorts. “He was just trying to help.”
“Help?” the genie snaps. “He turned a romantic evening into a textile massacre.”
I grin at the broom. “At least he has initiative.”
Sir Sweeps-A-Lot wiggles.
Genie sighs and releases the broom. “He is banned from the lamp until further notice.”
“Don’t be mean,” I say. “He’s an expert judge of character, and he decided she wasn’t worth your time.”
Sir Sweeps-A-Lot perks up again and sweeps a little circle in the dirt, as if proving my point.
Nash places a hand on my shoulder. “I think you corrupted him.”
I beam. “Chaos likes company.”
Sir Sweeps-A-Lot spins in agreement.
I rise and start undoing the ribbons across my breasts.
Genie narrows his gaze. “What are you doing?”
I yank my arms out and let the dress fall to the ground. “Going for a swim. I can’t do that in a dress. I’ll sink, and we don’t want to repeat that anytime soon. Or ever.”
Sir Sweeps-A-Lot floats past me and dips his bristles into the water. He shivers, spraying the cool liquid into the air and splattering on my legs.
“He likes it.”
Malachi snorts. “He’s a broom, Daphne. He likes water the way a cat likes baths.” Sir Sweeps-A-Lot spins and smacks him on the shoulder. “Rude,” he mutters, rubbing the spot.
I try to coax Sir Sweeps-A-Lot back with a wiggle of my fingers. “Come on, it’s just water. It can’t hurt you.”
The broom hides behind Nash, who is unsaddling the horses.
Hart sets up camp with efficient movements while Malachi drags a pack toward a patch of grass.
“Where’s the tent?” I ask.
Malachi opens the bag and pulls out… one. One tent. One tiny tent.
I’d offer to help, but we all know that comes with Daphne’s deadly disaster attached. I know my limits.
“One bed and now one tent?” the genie drawls. “Could you be any more cliché?”
I tilt my head. “Is the other one invisible?”
“Nope,” Malachi says. “We need to take turns keeping guard, anyway. The forest is not our friend.”
I lower my voice and dart my gaze around. “Don’t insult it.”
Hart grabs the end of the fabric and helps his twin spread it out. “There was another tent,” he admits.
I blink. “So this is a strategic choice.”
Nash’s lips twitch. “Very strategic.”
I fold my arms. “Just to be clear, this is a one-tent, four-people, possibly one broom on rotation situation?”
Sir Sweeps-A-Lot spins proudly.
“Five,” I correct.
Hart grunts. “He sleeps outside.” Sir Sweeps-A-Lot smacks him in the back of the knee, but he doesn’t even flinch. “He can guard the perimeter.”
The broom sulks and drifts toward the lake like a rejected suitor.
I watch him go. “You hurt his feelings.”
“He’s a broom. He doesn’t have feelings,” Hart argues.
Sir Sweeps-A-Lot flops onto the grass.
Malachi chuckles. “Pretty sure he does.”
Before anyone can argue, purple glitter explodes over the lake. The genie appears mid-air, arms flailing. “Do not drink the water!”
We all freeze.
“Why?” Nash asks.
Genie clears his throat and adjusts his spectacles. “It’s a reflection pool.”
I squint at the lake. “Reflection of what?”
“Your true selves.”
Hart grunts. “We don’t have time for riddles.”
Genie snaps his fingers. The lake ripples, and the surface fills with moving images. A crowned Hart sitting on a throne of black iron. Malachi kneeling before a battlefield littered with bodies. Nash, wrapped in shadow, eyes glowing red as the world burns around him.
My stomach twists.
“Stop,” I whisper. A dragon swoops across the entire scene and lights it up in a blaze of fire. I swear I can feel the heat.
Genie snaps again, and the water goes still. Silence falls over the camp like a dropped curtain.
“Well,” I say, “that was horrifying. Does anyone fancy a swim?”
Nash stares at me. “You cannot be serious.”
“I am. I refuse to let a puddle bully me. I don’t intend to drink it, merely bathe away the day’s ride.” Before anyone can stop me, I run toward the water.
“Daphne—” Hart snaps.
Too late. I dive into the water, my breath catching as the cold steals the air from my lungs. The moment I surface, I burst into laughter. “It’s fine!” I shout. “No murder visions down here. Just my toes.”
Malachi groans. “She’s going to drown.”
“I will not,” I call. “I’m immortal until you stop loving me, remember?”
Nash mutters something under his breath.
“I have seen enough nakedness for today,” the genie grumbles before disappearing.
“Guard the camp,” Malachi demands, and Sir Sweeps-A-Lot stands to attention, glad to be of service.
I dip my head back to stare at the stars and the moon. A moment later, three splashes follow. I lift in time to see Hart wading in, shirtless, like an angry sea god. Malachi dives in with a wicked grin. Nash’s eyes flicker with crimson before he slips beneath the surface like a living shadow.
I push backward, moving deeper into the lake.
Malachi reaches me first. He grabs my waist and launches me into the sky. I hit the water laughing and surface sputtering. “Traitor,” I growl, flipping my hair back.
Hart smirks. “You started it.”
Nash’s hand closes around my wrist, pulling me closer. “You never think, do you?”
“I think all the time. It’s exhausting. Right now, I want to be the mindless, possibly murderous maiden who gets kissed in lakes under the moonlight by her dark knights.”
He stares at me for a long tempo, then leans down and captures my mouth. The water laps around us, the moon trembling across the surface. My heart stutters, caught somewhere between laughter and heat.
Malachi presses in behind me, while Hart’s hand slides along my back.
For a moment, the world goes soft and quiet, and I bask in the attention they lavish on me, glad to find this is heading in a direction where I don’t fall to sleep, because unlike the creepy horses I cannot sleep standing up with my eyes open.
Or can I? I should try it. Who knows, maybe they are on to something?
A loud splash breaks us apart, and we stare at the shore as Sir Sweeps-A-Lot launches himself into the lake and sinks below the surface. I wait for a few heartbeats with a frown. Bubbles rise to the surface. “Tell me Sir Sweeps-A-Lot didn’t drown,” I whisper.
The water churns, and then he rockets out of the water, spinning wildly, spraying everywhere like a possessed fountain. He smacks Hart in the face with a soaked bristle, and Malachi bursts out laughing.
Nash wipes water from his face. “We’re being assaulted by an enchanted cleaning implement.”
Sir Sweeps-A-Lot spins in proud circles.
I clap. “He’s overcome his fear. I’m so proud.”
“I guess this means a fondle in the lake is out of the question,” Malachi mutters.
“Not in front of the kids,” I agree as I push away from them and swim back to shore. “The first one back to camp decides who gets to take first watch with me.”
“Not happening,” Nash grumbles.
“A reminder that person also gets to sleep with me,” I shout.
Their movements make the water shift, and I smile up at the stars.
One more night, Theo, then I’m putting our little family back together. Hold on.