I had gone to exactly four social parties in my life. One was an obligatory slumber party that every girl in the first grade class had been invited to. Rachel, the birthday girl, had gotten my name wrong. She called me Lacey all night, and until we moved a few months later, that was my name at school. The teacher even began referring to me by the name that was not mine. Two had been parties that Linus had been invited to through sports teams, and the last was one that Tonya took me to for a friend of hers that thought I was trying to steal her boyfriend, who I’m still not sure I ever met.
This was different.
The underground tunnel led to a massive dirt grand hall, bigger than two football fields and with grass ceilings so high, I was shocked that we’d gone so far underground. The notion of being spontaneously buried alive if an earthquake happened occurred to me, further impeding on the calm Foss tried to scare into me. In the four corners of the grand room sat four golden boar statues the size of a rhinoceros. They gave off a golden glow, illuminating the room along with the hanging lamps that had those lit-up bugs inside. They were the same as the golden boar I’d seen in the painting at the palace in Elvage, only these were motionless statues.
Foss held my hand that was wrapped around his arm and led me all the way up to a raised platform.
Tor bowed and introduced me, quieting the room of thousands to hushed whispers. “Mighty King Dane and Queen Lovisa, allow me ta intraduce ya ta Queen Lucy of the Other Side.”
There was a grand table where two red-haired and red-faced dwarves with crowns greeted me with a skeptical eye. “Aye, human female,” the king said by way of a hello. He was a whole inch taller than Tor, and I wondered if that was some sort of sign of being elite. He had a big bulbous nose with a giant mole on the side that I tried not to address directly when I spoke to him.
I dropped Foss’s arm, raised my chin and stared him down with a cool calm covering over the fear that was coursing through my veins. “My friends call me Queen Lucy, not ‘human female’.”
The king’s eyes widened at being corrected. “And yer enemies?”
I summoned every childhood movie I’d ever seen with a wicked stepmother or an evil queen and said, “Dead men can call me whatever they like.”
Suck on that.
The King of the Nightdwarves gave me an appraising look and then belted out an enormous belly laugh that made spittle fly out of his mouth and catch on his beard. His wife grinned with her freckled chubby cheeks and handed me a shot glass of… something. She also wore a cleavage-bearing flannel-patterned gown, and it looked super cool on someone even shorter than me.
King Dane raised his hand, and in an instant the thousands of dwarves in attendance scattered about the grand ballroom grew silent. He raised his shot glass in the air, and the crowd mimicked his motion. I followed suit, earning a nod of approval from Foss.
“Tonight we welcome Queen Lucy, friend of Torsten the Mighty. Our honored guest will know the real hospitality of the Nightdwarves.” Then he raised his glass higher, and the crowd mirrored him.
In unison, the room proclaimed, “Tomorrow we fight, but tonight we drink!”
Glasses everywhere clinked, and the amber liquid was downed. The king turned to me, bashed his shot glass to mine and met my eye in a challenge.
Foss and Tor nodded, so I put all my focus into drinking whatever was in the glass. I’d seen enough westerns and 007 movies. The real men took their alcohol without a breath. They didn’t grimace afterwards, and they didn’t leave the glass half-empty. This was a rite of passage for these people, and I would treat it as such.
I tipped the glass to my lips and muscled through every instinct to gag or barf or wince. I kept my gaze steely as the fire ran through me, lighting my insides with what tasted like salad dressing mixed with jet fuel. I drank with thousands of beady eyes on me, judging my every move. I swallowed with vigor and slammed my shot glass to the table twice, hoping the international symbol of “another round, barkeep” was understood here.
It was vinegar. Gar was some homebrewed version of apple cider vinegar. My parents used to drink it, and I never understood why. I fought the urge to vomit. Luckily, my stomach was pretty empty.
The king gave me a rousing “hey-oh!” which the entire ballroom echoed with vast amounts of cheers and applause. “Join us at my table, Queen Lucy, and her friend, Torsten the Mighty. Foss, the four powers are always welcome in the mines.”
Tor slapped me on the shoulder, relief plain on his face. As much as they all told me I’d be fine, I could tell he had been as anxious as I was to see how the masses accepted my performance. “Yer a golden one, Queen Lucy.”
I raised my eyebrow. “Not ‘human female’? Well, now it’s out. You’re in love with me. I should’ve guessed as much.”
Tor grumbled in his usual way that I was beginning to find adorable. He took a seat next to the Nightdwarf Queen and began chatting animatedly with her. I could tell he was doing his best not to stare at her obvious breasts.
Foss pulled out an ornately carved wooden chair for me with garden gnomes etched into the legs. I tried to trust he would not pull it out from under me, but I braced myself just in case.
He sat in a larger chair built for esteemed Foss-sized guests next to me. He leaned down and whispered, sending a chill of fear up my spine. “Sit tight and try not to let anyone know you’re about to be sloshed.”
“I’m fine,” I argued quietly, my temples pounding. Everything was so loud.
“When was the last time you ate?” he inquired.
“Don’t pretend you care about me. You don’t get to pick and choose when you’re nice.”
I looked around the grand hall and saw a table of tall outsiders toward the back of the room. I waved to Uncle Rick, Nik, Britta, Charles and Henry Mancini, who raised their glasses in toast to me. I turned to Foss, who was still sitting too close to me, making me jumpy. “Go sit with them.”
He leaned over and spoke in my ear. I fought the urge to shove him. “I’m Jens for now. The Fossegrimens are sworn allies of the Nightdwarves. It looks good for me to be at your side. It’s just fortunate timing that Jens decided to childishly ditch his responsibilities tonight. You may not have earned your throne here, but I have.”
I frowned. “But when will you eat? I told the kitchen to poison your food so the female population can sleep at night. I’m kinda anxious to see which poison they use.”
He had the nerve to chuckle. “Be grateful you get to eat dinner up here with me. You could be listening to stories about Nik’s magic hair or his heroic fingernails.”
“That’s the weapon I plan on using next time I kill a Were.”
Oo, too soon. I tried to make a joke of my horrible act, but I wasn’t ready to laugh about it yet.
Foss rested his hand on my naked shoulder and squeezed.
My skin crawled as I shrugged away from his touch. “Is your headache going to be a problem?” he asked.
“How did you know?” I was grateful that the party was in full swing, and no one seemed to pay me much mind, now that I was declared a friend.
“You’re laplanded. You’re still in transition. It’s normal.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Is that the dwarf word for getting drunk? Because I’m not.”
Foss chuckled. “Give it five minutes, featherweight.” His tone switched to concern. “Didn’t Jens explain to you the phases of the lapland transition?”
“I really have no idea what laplanding means. People keep saying it, but it’s not a term humans know.” My stomach growled. “Food is a word we’re quite familiar with. Stab-you-in-your-sleep-if-you-touch-me-again is another.”
Foss’s lax hand on my shoulder gripped hard. “Please tell me this is one of your jokes no one understands but Jens. Did anyone explain to you what laplanding is?”
“What? What is it? I’m sure my headache will go away soon. And get the smack off me.”
Foss swore and released my shoulder, looking toward the entrance for Jens, I assume. My international translator and personal aggravator.
I forgot about my confusion, though, when platters of food came out of the kitchen and landed on my table. I waited until Tor took his first bite, and then I tore into mine. I mean, obliterated it. A whole plate of meat, root vegetables, hard rolls and corn, gone in five minutes. I even beat Tor, who looked on my appetite with appreciation.
“You’ll want ta go easy on yer second plate, yer majesty.” Tor rolled his eyes at the formal address. “T’won’t do ta have ya horking it back up in front of tha entire kingdom.”
“That’s cool. I’ll just aim my chunks your way. You look real pretty, by the way.” He’d greased his dreadlocks so they were a little more manageable. “I kinda want to Barbie your hair in some fancy do.”
Tor murmured something surly, but I couldn’t decipher it. My headache decided to take a turn for the worse and crank up a decibel. I winced and drank a mug of water, hoping it would do something to alleviate the tension in my temples.
Tor was busy chatting up the queen. I’d never seen him be so charming. He was grinning and laughing at every little quip she made. It was cute to watch him suck up to the royals. I made a mental note to tease him about it later.
My head was pounding to the point I could no longer ignore it. When the music started up and thousands of dwarves began dancing and shouting their joy, I bit my knuckle to keep from crying out in pain. There were flutes and big bass instruments being plucked in such rapid syncopated rhythms, that beneath my pain, I was amazed. The dwarves danced with abandon. They were jumping, clogging and twirling, looking like a sea of spinning red kilts.
Please, no. Say it’s something else, Jens. Say it’ll go away! A voice in my head that sounded like Jamie surfaced. My internal monologue normally sounded nothing like him, but I tried not to worry. I shook the crazy out of my head and grinned when I saw Charles making his way toward me.
“Would you care to dance with your old brother?” he asked, a twinkle in his strange eyes.
I rose from my chair. “Of course! Thanks for asking. Tor stopped being charming a while ago.”
“I can imagine.”
Foss stiffened, looking me over as I stood. “Don’t go far. Stay in this area where I can see you.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” I grumbled.
Britta? Where’s Britta?
I winced and moved back when Jamie’s voice bombarded my head again.
Foss gripped my upper arms, pulled my body to bend toward him and spoke loudly in my face over the music. “Have the voices started?”
“What?” My smart reply caught in my throat. No matter what world we were in, I’m pretty sure hearing voices in your head was the international symbol for going crazy. “Of course not! Why would you ask me that?”
“The moment the voices start, you must tell me.”
Fat chance. I won’t be shoved in a loony bin after keeping my head through all this. I tried to use mind over matter to soothe my nerves.
I don’t hear any voices. I’m just tired from that flu. I don’t hear any voices. There is no spoon.
The problem with this is that my mind was apparently being infiltrated by a big batch of crazy. I heard Jamie again, shouting his fears. I have to get to her! She has no idea what’s happening to us!
I put on a smile to cover over the terror and took Charles up on his offer to dance. He led me down the platform out onto the dirt floor where the thousands of Nightdwarves danced with all their might. I tried to mimic them, but it was so jubilant and erratic, it was hard to call it true style. Charles did a sort of tango with me that was done at a jumping trot. I tried not to lose my lunch or get too dizzy from my headache and the Gar that made my guts roil.
Oh! My stomach. How much did I throw up? I feel like I’ve been run over by a horse.
I tried to smile through Jamie’s voice bombing my brain again. I lost my step and fumbled through the rest of the dance, taking my Gar-chugging victory in front of the people down a notch at my clumsiness.
“Are you well, Lucy?” Charles asked, slowing the dancing down a little to accommodate my gross ineptitude.
My hand went to my forehead. “I think I’m a little tired. When am I allowed to go lay down?”
“Anytime you like, kära. Foss and I can sneak you out of here.”
“Thank goodness. Let’s go now.”
“I’m surprised you lasted this long. How’s your headache?”
I gripped his hand as he led us toward the head table. “How does everyone know about my head?”
“It’s normal when you’re laplanded to get a good squeeze on your brain.” He turned to look at me. “You look beautiful, by the way.”
“Oh, thanks. Pretty dress, right? Britta made it.”
“The dress. The woman. Jens is a fool to have missed this.”
“Whatever. I needed a break from him anyway.” I waved Foss over so he didn’t have a conniption and attack me again. He’d been sitting at the edge of his seat and watching me like a sharpshooter. “I’m going to lie down for a minute. This headache’s no joke.” My temples were pounding in a rhythm separate from the banging at the base of my brain, and despite the dozens of lanterns beaming throughout the hall, my vision was starting to tunnel. I leaned on Mace’s arm with too much weight to be casual.
“Hey, are you alright?” Charles wrapped an arm around my shoulders to steady me.
“I need to get out of here, like right now.” My voice was shaking and the pressure in my brain was so intense, I feared moving my neck as we made our way up to the surface. When the next blast of Jamie’s voice bombarded my thoughts, I stumbled backward into Foss.
My head! Ah! What I wouldn’t give for some lavender powder. I know Jens has some. Where would he hide his stash?
I put my hands over my ears to stave off the voice, but it was coming from inside my brain. Clear as day, Jamie was in my head.