Death and Relaxation (Ordinary Magic #1)(67)

I strolled to the front of the room, and several people stopped me to shake my hand or offer up a little idle chat. Jimmy waved his blue ribbon over his head at me like he’d just stolen the flag from the top of the world, and I gave him a thumbs-up and a nod.

Trillium from the newspaper was walking his way, her phone cupped in her palm as she spoke into it. Looked like Jimmy was going to get a picture in the paper.

I gathered with the other judges and assistants who hadn’t just ducked out on their duties, at one side of the stage.

The judges and assistants were all in a good mood. Gazes flicked over the crowd and lingered a little longer on Jimmy. He hadn’t won the prize because of his age, but there was something wonderful in rewarding someone who was practically vibrating with excitement over a blue ribbon.

It gave the entire event a buoyant sort of lift, and my mood couldn’t help but rise right along with it.

Frigg cracked her knuckles one at a time and frowned. “Where’s Ryder?”

“Deserted me.”

“Couldn’t hack it, huh?”

“Phone call.”

“Will he be back?”

“I have no idea.”

I took a little more time studying the faces in the room. Chris and Herri were still in the back. They’d found two chairs and had placed them near the quilts, about midway across the hall. Close enough they could hear and see what was going on, but still be separate from the audience.

I thought they must have done that out of deference to Chris, who was still reeling from the death of his friend.

The rest of the crowd were already in their seats, about forty people scattered across the chairs, most of them staring at their phones or sending messages. In this modern day, the newspaper would not be the first place to break the news on the winners. Probably half of Ordinary already knew how the savory round had gone down.

I noted the newlyweds Hallie and Joe Wolfe were there. Joe was full werewolf, whereas Hallie was a shifter who took feline form. Funny how the two of them, cat and dog, were more easily accepted in the Wolfe family than Ben and Jame.

But then, the Rossi and Wolfe truce was an uneasy one.

Other creatures in the audience included the linebacker Nash, who was big for a man, but small for an ispolin, and the three black-clad, perpetually moody Dryads: Basil, Coleson, and Delta.

Dan Perkin perched once again in the front row. Two empty seats were open beside him. Since the only person I could think of who spoke moderately kindly of Dan was his neighbor Pearl, and she spoke kindly of everyone, I wasn’t surprised that he was sitting there in his own little bubble.

He was fidgety and angry. So: normal.

Ryder was still nowhere to be seen.

Bertie took up the microphone again, introduced us as judges, and we all took our previous places.

After a smattering of applause, the handlers stepped up with small, clear plastic cups and placed one in front of each of us.

A stack of new white scoring cards were positioned in front of Ryder’s noticeably empty chair. If he didn’t show up soon, I’d have to do this solo.

I pulled one card and the pen closer just as a figure folded down into the empty chair next to me.

“Delaney Reed,” a soft baritone drawled. “What have you done to your assistant?”

I turned to my companion.

Old Rossi, patriarch, ruler, lord of the vampires in Ordinary, looked to be about fifty years of age, with a short shock of black hair that tended to curl above ears that stuck out just a bit. One curl over his right eye was a thick streak of silver and a salting of silver touched both temples. His face was long, lips very full beneath a thin black mustache and goatee that only drew attention to his hard cheekbones and the crook in his strong nose.

But it was his eyes, a shocking ice blue, that seemed to have the power to peel their observer right down to the bone and, once caught, refuse to release.

Luckily, those eyes were bright with humor. A lazy smile without any teeth pulled at his full lips.

I knew he had a good body—everyone in town knew he had a good body, since he also had a streaking habit.

“I didn’t do anything to my assistant. Why are you here?”

“Replacing him.” He picked up the pen and tapped it on the edge of the table while he slouched back and stared at the ceiling. I noticed he was wearing a string of beads centered with a peace symbol over his tie-dyed T-shirt and another string of what looked like crystals of various sizes and colors wrapped in hemp circling his wrist three times. This close, I could smell the slight sour-sweet of marijuana on his clothes.

Was he stoned?

“I am here to assist with the judging. That”—he tapped the table with the pen—“is tea. Rhubarb raspberry.”

I picked up the plastic cup and took a tentative sniff.

“What did you do to Ryder?” I lifted the cup. Held my breath.

He rolled his head sideways, still tapping the pen, blue eyes bright beneath his close, dark eyebrows. “I haven’t done a thing to our new reserve officer. Bertie asked for volunteers. When I realized he was gone, I volunteered. For karma. Balance. Peace.” His voice slipped into a sonorous drone. “You will drink the tea…”

“Oh, please. I’m immune.”

He smiled again—still no teeth, but plenty of glee. “Reeds have always been particularly resistant to such things. I find it…refreshing. Have I ever told you of the time your great-great-aunt begged me to have my way with her?”