A Wish Upon the Stars (Tales From Verania 4)

“Please do.”

Jerome swallowed thickly. “They… told us. That. They were Darks. Right? And that they were blacksmiths hawking their wares? And had designed the armor themselves. And that it was the latest thing in Dark fashion.”

“And you fell for it.”

“I didn’t fall for it,” Jerome said, wiping sweat from his brow.

“You put in an order for four sets,” another Dark said. “Not that you would know anything about Dark fashion, seeing as how you dress like a homeless hooker addicted to mushrooms.”

“I did not order four sets!”

“I was literally standing right there when you said it.”

Another Dark groaned. “Oh, here we go again. I thought we’d gotten over you using that word! Why do you insist upon saying it all the time.”

Godsdammit. Not these fucking assholes again. I wanted make their nipples explode.

“I literally don’t do that. In fact, I resent the implication that—”

“Maybe if you had eaten breakfast today, you could have—”

“You know how I feel about breakfast! Why do you keep trying to change me—”

“Enough,” Caleb snapped.

“Eep,” all the other Darks said.

Caleb took a step toward Brant and Katya. “I am done with this. Your time has come. I thank you for your service. Because in the end, you will be an example for the rest of the Resistance. Morgan of Shadows is gone. Randall is gone. Sam of Wilds is gone. They are nothing but memories of a Veranian past. And soon, even that will fade. I promise you.”

“He’ll stop you,” Katya said, still rebellious. “Maybe not with us, not now, but he’ll stop you. Myrin will fail. I know this. I know this because I believe in Sam of Wilds.”

My magic sang.

I gathered it around me. The greens. The golds.

It felt like coming home.

Caleb grinned. “Let him come. We’ll be waiting.”

He raised the sword.

Brant turned and pulled Katya against him, shielding her. “Close your eyes,” I heard him murmur as my blood began to hum just underneath my skin. “We’ll cross the veil together. It’ll be okay. Just close your eyes.”

She trembled.

It was about that time that I’d had enough.

Because fuck Caleb right in his fat fucking mouth.

I stood up.

And said, “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a real pretty pickle of a situation here, don’t we?”

Everyone turned to me.

“Godsdammit,” I groaned, knowing the hood hid my face. “Okay, look. Can I try that again? I don’t know why I said pickle out of all things. Like, I’ve been sitting here almost this whole time, and I could have come up with something different. Because pickles are disgusting—which is strange, because I like cucumbers. Like, why is that a thing? Regardless, I don’t know why I used it like that. Pretty pickle, even. I’m a little rusty at the whole talking to other people thing, so you’ll have to forgive me.”

Everyone stared at me.