After they set the bar down in the grass, Ian stood up to look around the fairgrounds, his gaze meeting mine. With a smile, he raised his hand and nodded. It was then that I realized I’d been staring. I tore my eyes away and focused on my musket, finding a tiny flaw in the wooden butt to fixate on.
Ever since we’d rescued Blythe from her murderous date back in August, he’d been friendlier than usual. Seeking me out at the Jazz Club, stopping by my paint shop, waving from across the fairgrounds. Nothing he said to me was suspect, but it always made me feel a little uncomfortable.
I couldn’t be sure what he was thinking after that messy case. Maybe he did suspect we were witches and was hanging around for more proof. Or, maybe he just thought he needed to keep an eye on the whole family of Brunick trouble-makers. Either way, I didn’t like it.
“Alright, folks,” Butch called from the sidelines. He pushed himself up into a director’s chair, something he told us weeks ago he’d purchased online especially for this occasion. “One last time. Let’s get it right.”
I sighed and shouldered the musket. This time I’d behave. Bury the witchy and ornery side of my personality. I could do it, just this once.
Butch whistled and we swept out onto the field, rebel against soldier. The scent of gunpowder still lingered in the air. A row of rebels headed right for me, their mouths tight with concentration.
“Light cannon!” Butch shouted.
A match struck behind me, pretending to light the fuse. I was pretty sure the citizens of Uriville hadn’t been toting a huge cannon across the prairies of Nebraska way back in those days, but Butch wouldn’t listen. He wanted a little more firepower in his display, as if he were a version of Michael Bay or something.
“Draw guns,” he directed. We pulled the muskets from our shoulders to our armpits.
Magic tingled in my fingers as I held the weapon. Raven had been trying to teach me how to throw magical energy fields, but so far I couldn’t lift so much as a feather. Still, the surreal feeling of the battlefield had my witchy senses spiking and the desire to try again was more than a little tempting. I was pretty sure Butch would’ve tie me to that pyre himself if he saw me doing my magic, so I let it die to a simmer.
“Ready!”
I stopped and drew my gun. This was it. Last take, and then lunch time. I could already taste the rice and beans Grammy Jo was making. She made the best Mexican food.
Bang!
This time, it wasn’t my gun going off next to my ear. The sound had come from behind me. A round black hunk of metal sailed only feet above my head and toward the stage where Blythe was still perched with her ukulele.
The remaining magic fizzled in my fingertips and all I could do was watch as the cannon hurdled for my cousin like some asteroid on a destructive mission.
Chapter 2
Blythe screeched and fled just in time before the massive hunk of metal crashed into her stool and sunk a huge hole in the wooden stage, throwing up splinters and saw dust.
“What the…?” Butch jumped off his director’s chair and marched toward Kevin, the cannon operator. “What was that, Kevin? Was that a real cannon?”
“You said to light it up,” he mumbled. The poor guy took off his hat and scratched his balding head.
Butch’s eyes nearly popped out of his head and he jumped in place. “It’s supposed to make a noise. A freaking loud noise, that’s all! Not destroy my stage. What are you doing?”
As the two of them began to argue, I spotted my mom cutting across the field. Momma Tulla was dressed in a pretty floral summer dress with big pink roses. She strolled toward me with a big smile across her glossy pink lips and freckled cheeks. Her hair had been swept up into a braided crown, a hairstyle that I could never manage to do in my own head. It warmed my heart to see her out and about today. She'd been managing to get out of the house a little bit every day now that she was seeing her new therapist.
"How's my beautiful girl today?" she asked as she got near.
I gave her the best smile I could muster, under the circumstances. Today must’ve been a good day for her. There was no reason to ruin it with my tired old complaints.
“Wonderful. And how was your therapy session?”
She threw her chin up and gazed adoringly at the sky. “Amazing. Melissa Underwood knows how to unlock my soul. I swear, that woman is breaking me down and building me back up again, stronger than ever.”
She couldn’t have delivered any better news.
“Perfect.” I threw my soldier’s cap on the ground, loosening my sweaty copper curls from their woolen prison. “Now, I’m starving and in desperate need for a shower. What do you say we go home and eat?”
“I’d say that’s a very good idea,” Momma Tula began, “But there’s a young man standing just over there and I think he wants your attention.”
I wrinkled my brow in confusion and turned to look where she was pointing. It took me a full minute to understand what I was looking at. A young man stood about thirty feet away. He wore dark jeans, a plain gray t-shirt, and brown hiking boots that laced up. A shadow of a beard darkened his strong chin and the hint of a dark tattoo played peek-a-boo at the collar of his shirt. The last time I’d seen him, his wavy brown hair had fallen past his ears, but now it was cut much shorter and styled with some sort of product.
“Drake?” My voice broke and I had to clear my throat. “What are you doing here?”