“Hold your horses, Leeroy Jenkins,” Hubble muttered. “We’re not ready for that yet.”
Tinker could only assume that “we” referred to Hubble and his newly-formed legion of bloodthirsty orcs.
“Well, hurry up so I can roll for an orc-kebab.” Natalie rubbed her hands together. “I’m still annoyed you cancelled our rehearsal for this, but I’m feeling lucky. And speaking of lucky”—she leaned over to Tinker and stage-whispered—“did you ask her?”
Sam picked his head back up to stare at his sister. “Subtle, Nat. Real subtle.”
Natalie put a hand to her ear. “What’s that, narcoleptic?” she said loudly. “I can’t hear you. I think you’re sleep-talking again.”
“Jeez, Nat.” Sam rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands. “I am exhausted, though. Maybe I’ll get a coffee.” He nodded to Tinker’s drink. “That looks good. What’s that?”
“It’s a—”
“—something you won’t be having, bro,” Natalie finished. “The last time you drank coffee before the full moon, you were incapacitated for a week.”
Sam stuck his tongue out at his little sister, but only because what she said was absolutely true. Sam was a were-sloth. On top of being constantly tired, during the full moon—and after caffeine crashes—Sam turned into a sweet, furry, immovable lump.
Sam and Natalie’s family had recently moved to the Falls from some small town in northern Virginia where, in December of 2012, everyone had shifted into a were-being of their totem animal. Everyone, that is, except a select few…including Natalie. Since she’d missed the magical boat, Natalie had become the one in charge of wrangling her wild were-family when they couldn’t manage themselves. Which also qualified her to be one of the rare plain-old-human students at Harmswood.
Well, as plain-old as any girl could be in four-inch, knee-high platform pleather boots and black lipstick. She’d immediately teamed up with Hubble and his theatre troupe, and it felt like she’d always been part of the school. In only a few months, Natalie fit in better among the paranormals at Harmswood than Tinker had the entire time he’d been there.
“Go on,” Tinker said to Sam. “I’m sure Bellamy would be happy to hook you up with a decaf.”
“‘Southern Bell’ is always happy,” said Natalie. She glanced at Hubble, his silver-gray head still bent over his dice as he scribbled calculations. She asked Tinker her question again, this time in an actual whisper. “So did you invite her to the masquerade or not?”
“Sort of,” he said.
“Well, did she say yes?”
“Sort of,” he said again.
Natalie sighed. “Tink, sweets, I’m dying over here. You’re going to have to give me a little more to go on.”
Tinker pinched the bridge of his nose and summoned all the patience he could muster. Natalie could be abrasive, but she was usually right. Especially when it came to Tinker and his complete lack of confidence around girls.
Scratch that, girl. One girl. Bellamy.
It had always been Bellamy.
He remembered the moment he’d first laid eyes on her, like a photograph frozen in his mind forever. She sat illuminated by the window of his fourth grade classroom. She’d been wearing a pink sundress, with those gigantic wings and that head full of bouncy golden ringlets. When she turned to him she’d given him that thousand-watt smile that shone like the sun, and the rest of the horrible world just melted away.
When most people laid eyes on Tinker—even back when he was a plump little greenling—they wrinkled their noses in confusion or disgust, as if he wore a sign that labeled him a slimy, sickly, bumpy, unwanted street rat. Paranormals and humans alike judged him and found him wanting before he ever spoke a word. Despite his scholarship, he’d had to work extra hard in every class and excel at every course of study before most of the teachers at Harmswood had taken him seriously.
But not Bellamy.
Bellamy believed the best of everyone until they proved her wrong, and even then she gave them a second chance. Years ago, that fairy girl had smiled at that goblin boy like she’d been waiting for him all morning and couldn’t believe he’d finally arrived. It didn’t matter that goblins were allergic to fairies. It didn’t matter that goblins and fairies shouldn’t be friends. Bellamy Larousse could have been a golem made out of napalm and cyanide and Tinker wouldn’t have cared. He’d lost his heart that day. Lost and gone forever.
Snap.
Tinker focused on Natalie’s fingers, mere inches from his face. “Earth to Tink. You still with us?”
“Sorry.” He shook his head. “What?”
“What. Did. She. Say. Exactly?” Natalie said in her best William Shatner imitation.
“She’s on the decorating committee with Kai,” he answered. “She doesn’t need anyone to escort her to the masquerade because she’ll already be there when the doors open.”
Natalie crossed her very long legs and folded her very long arms. Natalie didn’t quite have Tinker’s height, but she was definitely taller than Sam. Especially in those shoes. “Yeah. Well, I can believe she said the first part, but I’m pretty sure you inferred the last bit.”
“How in the world could you know that?”
“Because I’m way smarter than you or my brother will ever give me credit for. Now…what did Bellamy say, exactly?”
Tinker bowed his head and mumbled. “She asked if I would save her a dance, and I said I would.”
Natalie pursed her lips. She stared at Tinker, then over at the counter where Bellamy was finishing up Sam’s drink, and then back at Tinker. “I don’t even know where to start. It’s like you’re both clueless.”
Tinker sighed. “I know.”
“Why don’t you just…I don’t know…walk up to her and tell her you love her?”
“Because he’s already done that.” Hubble peeked over the DM screen, squinting his piercing cobalt blue eyes. All the mine-dwelling kobolds possessed eyes that same bright color—it was only a little unnerving.
Glancing from Tinker to Natalie, Hubble went on. “Sixth grade. In which it was established that he loves her and she loves him.” He recited the tidbit as if it were a historical fact from the textbook of Tinker’s life.
Natalie raised an eyebrow. “So he should…ask her to marry him?”
“Eighth grade…” started Hubble.
Tinker groaned.
“…in which Tinker and Bellamy vowed that they would grow old together. And then there was this past summer…”
Tinker hung his head.
“…during which Tinker finally confessed to his goblin mentor that he was in love with a fairy.”
“What did your mentor say?” Natalie asked incredulously. “Were you flogged or something for consorting with the enemy?”
“He didn’t say anything,” Tinker said. “He just changed the subject. So I didn’t bring it up again.”
“Oh, wow, that’s harsh. But I guess it could have been worse.” Natalie shook her head. “So…let me get this straight. Bellamy loves you and plans on spending the rest of her life with you, and you love her and have thought about pretty much nothing but her for years, but you guys aren’t girlfriend and boyfriend?”
“Goblins and fairies can’t be friends,” said Tinker. “Never mind girlfriends or boyfriends.”
“Star-crossed lovers,” Hubble murmured over his dice.
Tinker scowled at his roommate and so-called best friend. Kobolds were similar to goblins in many ways; both races had reputations for being scavengers and hoarders. But if Hubble wanted to kiss a fae woman’s hand, he could do so without breaking into swollen lips and hives.
Natalie wasn’t buying any of it. “But you managed to be friends with her anyway, despite that stupid rule.”
Tinker could feel his cheeks burning. Thankfully, green-skinned goblins didn’t blush. Much. “Yes. We’re just friends. Really good friends. Even though we shouldn’t be.”
“More precisely,” said Hubble, “the ‘gir
lfriend’ thing is the one question he’s too chicken to ask her.”
Natalie reached out and smacked Tinker on the back of the head. He saw it coming, but he knew he deserved it.
“Look, I’m just no good with this stuff.”
“No good with girls?” Hubble huffed. “Yeah. It’s obvious.”
“No good with feelings,” muttered Tinker. “It’s not like I grew up with a family or anything. I was an orphan, abandoned as a baby on the streets, picked up and adopted by goblins. I have no clue how to express emotions like this.”
“Oh, sweetie, I’ve got news for you,” said Natalie. “People all over the world have no idea how to express themselves. Even ones who did grow up in regular families. Isn’t that right, Sam?”
Sam had returned to the table with not only a frosty beverage for himself but also ones for Natalie and Hubble as well. “Whatever she said, she’s absolutely correct.”
Tinker had to hand it to Sam. He was a good brother.
Natalie took a sip of the frozen chocolate and closed her eyes for a moment in bliss. “I was telling Tink that he’s not the only kid without the ability to properly communicate his feelings.”
“You mean about Bellamy?” Sam shrugged as he slid languidly down into his chair. “I told him to just kiss her.”
Natalie raised her glass to Sam. “Brother, that may be the most intelligent thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
“Granted, that might kill him. Or send him into anaphylactic shock.” Hubble rolled the dice again. “The school nurse has a file on him thicker than the D&D Player’s Handbook.”
Tinker had fantasized about kissing Bellamy a million times, not that he’d ever admit it to his friends. Every time, he had died a happy man. She would leave flowers on his grave regularly, and pine over the loss of him for the rest of her days. But he would never take that risk in real life. Never. He could never do that to Bellamy.
Sam shrugged. “Take a Benadryl.”
After another sip of her drink, Natalie reconsidered. “It’s possible that she doesn’t want your relationship to go beyond friendship. In which case, you should respect that…”
Tinker pointed at Natalie. “Exactly! Well said.”
“…after you ask her the girlfriend question,” Natalie finished.
“Or just kiss her,” Sam said around his straw.
Tinker smirked. “I am not going to assault one of my best friends and ruin the rare and beautiful relationship we have.”
This time, Sam, Natalie, and Hubble all threw up their hands in unison. Hubble’s DM screen flopped back down to the table.
“I’m seriously considering assaulting one of my best friends,” Hubble said to Tinker as he repositioned the screen. “Right after I crush his tiny little band of misfit adventurers with this horde of zombie orcs.”
“Can my half-elf roll to fire an arrow at them through the secret door because they’re taking so long to get ready?” asked Tinker.
“Dude.” Sam snorted. “They’re teenage girl zombie orcs.”
Natalie kicked her brother’s chair. “Check yourself, fuzzbutt. I know where you sleep.”
“Got it!” Hubble clapped his hands together and rubbed them sinisterly. “Gird your loins, gamers. You are so not ready for this.” Adopting his most dramatic Dungeon Master voice, Hubble spoke. “Seemingly out of nowhere, a legion of orcs begins to pour through the secret doorway…”
The electronic werewolf howled as the front door opened.
Tinker and his tiny band of misfit adventurers all burst out laughing.
“Ranulf Tinkerton!” a raspy voice called out.
Tinker froze mid-laugh. He recognized that voice, though he hadn’t expected to see its owner again until winter break. Slowly, he turned in his chair. “Retcher?”
Yes, his goblin mentor was really there inside the coffee shop. Three more of the Lost Boys stood with him: Snot and the twins, Fork and Willie. How had they found him here, in the Bean? And what on earth were they doing in Nocturne Falls in the first place? Goblins weren’t allowed to leave Goblin City, unless they had special dispensation from the Goblin King. Like the one Tinker had for his schooling, or the one Retcher possessed for gathering other Lost Boys and adding them to the tribe.
Retcher had rescued baby Tinker from the streets of Nowhere Special and welcomed him into the goblin fold. He had been the one to urge Tinker to go away to Harmswood. What on earth was he doing here?
After a few heartbeats, Tinker focused on what tiny, wide-eyed Snot carried in his oversized green hands.
No.
No, no, no, no, no.
No way.
This was not happening. Not today. Not ever. Not here. Not in front of…
“What is that thing?” he heard Natalie whisper.
“That thing” was an enormous, gaudy, borderline-lethal construction of tin garbage, an eyesore reserved for only one honor.
“It’s a ceremonial headdress, given to the heir to the throne of the Goblin King,” Tinker said softly. But that’s not me, he screamed inside his brain. This is not supposed to happen to me.
“Holy—” Hubble clamped his own hand over his mouth before a curse escaped his lips. Sam let out a low whistle. Natalie pulled her phone out of her pocket and hit record.
Tinker scanned the coffee shop. Everyone was staring at him now. Including Bellamy.
Retcher stood as tall as his crooked frame allowed. His stringy black hair fell into his eyes, covering almost all of his face except his bulbous, warty nose. The twins flanked him proudly. Snot, predictably, sniffled. Unable to move his hands without dropping the headdress, he casually wiped his nose on the pillow where it sat.
“Ranulf Tinkerton,” Retcher announced. “We bestow upon you the Mantle of Majesty.”
The monstrosity should have been called the Mantle of Misfortune. Bits had been added to the headdress over the years: a spoon here, a button there, a bottle cap or two, all nestled among dozens of coin-sized pieces of hammered tin. It did not sparkle in the light like dwarven silver might have, nor did the pieces tinkle magically as Retcher moved to place it over Tinker’s head and shoulders. Instead, it clattered.
“Henceforth, you will be known as the Goblin Prince, heir apparent to the throne of the Goblin King.”
Tinker opened his mouth and then closed it again. He wasn’t sure what to say. If anything. It wasn’t like he’d ever rehearsed this ceremony, because it wasn’t supposed to happen to him.
The headdress smelled like iron and old feet. It had knocked Tinker’s glasses off kilter, so he shifted it enough to straighten them. Several bits of tin fell to the floor.
Hubble—dramatic Hubble, go-bold kobold and best friend a guy could ever have—stood on top of his chair, maximizing his height. He threw his gray arms wide and, in his best Dungeon Master voice, announced to the coffee shop, “Welcome to Nocturne Falls, everyone!”
At that, the confused occupants of The Hallowed Bean began to applaud and cheer, Sam and Natalie loudest of all. Thanks to Hubble’s declaration, all the tourists in the Bean would now just write this off as one more impromptu performance, staged for their benefit. Out of the corner of his eye, Tinker saw Bellamy clapping too, her rainbow-streaked curls bouncing cheerfully. The smile plastered to her face was both sweet and mystified.
Tinker closed his eyes and wished with all his might that the earth would open up and swallow him and the Malevolent Mantle right now.
Oh, yeah. It was official.
Worst. Day. Ever.
3
Bellamy was up so early the next morning that she bumped into Asher at the bottom of the stairway on her way to the Harmswood dining hall. Asher was always in a hurry, rushing off to one place or another. Literally running into her older brother was the only way she saw him these days.
He was dressed in his Nocturne Falls tour guide uniform: pumpkin-orange polo and black slacks. Like most fae, Asher didn’t have wings, just long, pointed ears and those trademark multicolor-blue
eyes. Bellamy envied her brother’s ability to purchase a shirt off the rack without having to modify it into a halter top. Wings were wonderful things, except when it came to clothing.
“Heya, Bell.” He sounded in desperate need of a coffee.
“Mornin’, Ash,” she replied brightly.
“I heard your puppy got crowned king last night at the Bean. Is that true?”
Bellamy’s light dimmed a bit, and she took back any pity she’d felt for her brother a moment ago. “Don’t be rude. Tinker is not a dog. Least of all mine.”
“I beg to differ, little sis. That poor goblin boy’s been wrapped around your little finger for years. If you said ‘jump,’ Tinker would ask how high.”
“He would not,” Bellamy said defiantly. Tinker would never ask such a ridiculous question. He’d just jump, because he trusted her. That’s what friends did.
“Right. You keep telling yourself that.”
“Why are you dressed for work? Shouldn’t you be headed to class? I assume you have midterms, just like the rest of us.”
“Got permission from the Head Witch to be excused today,” he said. “She’s calling it ‘independent work-study.’ This warm weather is bringing the tourists in droves. Retailers across town are already running out of inventory. And what with winter break right around the corner… If we don’t hurry up and have a cold snap, Parks and Rec is going to need to hire more guides. Which reminds me—will your cheer squad be needing the pumpkinmobile anytime soon?”
As much as Asher teased Bellamy, her generous older brother did let her drive his official Nocturne Falls Parks and Recreation golf cart whenever she wanted. It looked like an enormous jack o’lantern, complete with lights and themed music, and she adored it. “This festival doesn’t come with a parade. As for the masquerade, Kai and I lined up Ace and his gargoyle buddies to help us with the big stuff. We should manage just fine, thanks.”
“Good. Between work and school, I suspect I won’t be around much. And hey, if I somehow miss the masquerade, give Merri my best, will you?”
She was all ready to scold Asher about missing the ball she’d worked so hard on, and then his words sunk in.