Even as my family and our guests relax in the dessert lounge, my head spins. I barely hear any of the conversations going on at the low tables and leather-cloth couches around me.

Mimi’s hunch was right. And now, I’m going to learn to sing magic!

At the table next to mine, Mom discusses the scope and extent of my impending lessons with my new tutor. Maryl, as she insisted to be called during dinner, nods slightly and says something. She rarely shows more movement than that when she speaks.

I always thought I’d have been happy to be rid of Mrs. Archer as a teacher; if Maryl’s demeanor is any sign of her strictness, I’m not so sure anymore.

All the same, she’s going to teach me magic through music! Maybe that’ll be worth putting up with such a grim attitude?

“Klóe, did you hear me?”

I blink twice and turn to Maisey. She’s leaning from her cushion next to me onto the table so that we’re almost at eye level with each other. I don’t realize her hand is on my wrist until she pulls it away and sits back.

“I, well… no.”

Maisey raises an eyebrow and one corner of her mouth. The sleeves to her shirt are still rolled up to her elbows from dinner, but she’s tied her broad, forest green ribbon around her neck again. Maisey takes a deep breath.

“I know you’re about to have a lot going on, with the wedding and the new magic tutor and all your history studies, and that your dad is super protective of you going places anyways, but Mama and Uncle Branson want you to come and spend Exodus with us because they really want to share our gnomish history with you and they like you a lot and we want you to sing with us.”

I heard no second breath through any of that statement.

“Oh, Maisey, I’d love to spend a couple of nights with your family!”

She claps twice and laces her fingers. “Great! You have a month to talk to your dad about it. My folks have a lot of setup to do at the house.” Maisey starts counting on her fingers, “Between cleaning and decorating and arranging parts – you’re a soprano, right?”

“Yes. Should I bring my mandolin?”

“Absolutely! And I’ll try to make it so you have your own room, but you may have to share with a couple of my cousins.”

I touch Maisey’s wrist. “Can you also make sure to save the room next to mine for my bodyguards?”

The excitement drains from Maisey’s face. She opens her mouth, stops herself, and finally asks, “Wha—who?”

I nod sideways. “If Daddy does let me go, he would probably assign Mr. Markus and Mr. Veratog to watch me. I don’t think he’d assign a third guard, since you don’t live too deep into the Riviera…”

I look back at Maisey. Her forehead is scrunched. Her lips are pursed to one side. Either she’s recounting the guest list, or she’s rethinking inviting me to her holiday celebration.

I forget that most people don’t have a security team of tough-looking boys to follow them around any time they step off of their own property.

I look behind me. Mr. Veratog stands by the dessert lounge's closed doors. He’s bigger than the average orc, almost as tall as the door frame. His biceps are as big as my head. His beige casual-duty suit complements his pale, light-yellow-striped skin.

Somehow, even in this summer-themed lounge, Mr. Veratog still blended with the wallpaper. Like most of Daddy’s security team, I see him around too often to pay special attention to him.

I sigh and smile weakly at Maisey. “Thank you for the invitation, but banish the thought. Your house will already have a large number of guests. I don’t want to bother you with my extra needs.”

Her jaw drops open. “No, it’s no great bother. We Bettengales are well-equipped to host the taller folk.”

I wring my hands. “I don’t know. Mr. Markus doesn’t sing, and Mr. Veratog isn’t a very social person… I just—”

Maisey nearly hops off of the couch when she stretches her hand.

“Yoyo!” she calls past my shoulder. “Tell Klóe she’s being wishy-washy and she should come over to my place for a fun holiday weekend, if Mr. DiRossi lets her. Please?”

I turn to the table to my right, where Mimi talks quite enthusiastically with Max and Hanna on the curved couch next to them. I shift around again to find Yoyo entering from the lounge doors.

The elfom grins and alters her course to my table. She leans toward me, and a few curls of hair fall over her shoulder.

“What worries you, Klóe?”

My throat clenches and dries up. I drink my half-full glass of water and try to think of an answer. I lower the glass to my lap with both hands.

“You invited me, Maisey. That really is wonderful, and I thank you. But it’s not fair that my bodyguards need to be there, too, for them or for your family.” I trace circles on the empty cup with my thumb. “They’ll probably not want to be there, so your family would actually have a pair of boarders rather than guests, and I…”

I look into my empty glass. The rest of my sentence comes out as a whisper.

“I don’t want to put anyone out.”

Yoyo sits and puts a hand on my shoulder. “I wouldn’t have had such consideration if I had workers like yours to fulfill my whims.”

“Oh, sure,” Maisey insists. “I’d probably be much more dreadful to my servants, if I had servants, than I am to my brothers and sisters. And they are to me.” She gasps. “Maybe I ought to warn them not to…”

Yoyo smiles as Maisey chases her thoughts down a new set of tracks. “From what I’ve seen and known of your father, he chooses the folks who protect and serve your family with the utmost diligence. Do you honestly think he would assign someone to watch over you who would not enjoy a weekend of merriment and celebration?”

I shrug. “Daddy’s smart, but he’s no oracle.”

Yoyo chuckles. “Your father hires people to protect you, not to stop you from having fun, or from living your life. I think you should accept Maisey’s invitation.”

“Okay." I nod and sigh. "Okay, I’ll ask Daddy when he gets back from his meeting tonight.” Maisey cheers, and my appreciative giggle turns into a yawn. “Or tomorrow.”

Yoyo gives my wrist a gentle squeeze. “Good. So…” She leans toward me and whispers, “What do you think of your new tutor?”

The doors to the dessert lounge slam open. Mr. Veratog's empty hand is already leaving his coat's inner pocket as Bastien marches in, rubbing his dense, chin-strap beard with his good hand. He's wearing a suit much like the one Daddy wore when he left.

He greets no one, not even Maryl, as he goes straight to Mom’s table. He leans over and whispers into Mom’s ear. Maybe it’s the way his eyes flit from table to table, or his open collar – he always buttons up full when he goes to Daddy’s meetings – but something's deeply upset my next-to-oldest brother.

The room has gone silent from all of us trying to listen. Even Maryl, still sitting straight and serene, has one ear to the pair.

Mom's spoon clatters onto her dish of half-eaten berry sponge cake.

Max and Mimi reach Mom before I do. Mom tries to act natural while Bastien stretches out his black-gloved hands to keep us all back. His voice has its usual bedrock steadiness, but the stuffed ring and little fingers in his left glove shake with poorly contained… fear? Anger?

“Dimitri, please entertain our guests while Mom, Max, and I tend to some emergent business. Mr. Veratog will arrange the horses and drivers to deliver our guests to their homes.”

Max nods and turns toward the door. Mimi frowns at Bastien and Mom.

“What's happened?”

Bastien wrinkles his brow and helps Mom rise out of her seat. “Mrs. Brickover's prize Sapphire long-hair has fallen rather ill."

Mimi crosses his arms. “That's r--" He glances at our guests and abandons his favorite curse. "Ridiculous."

Mom doesn’t seem to be looking at anything when she walks away from the table, adjusting her shawl. Mimi's right; Mom wouldn't act like this over a sickly show cat.

Bastien leans toward Mimi and glances sideways at me. “Mrs. Brickover hailed us from her carriage on her own way here. We can talk about it tomorrow.”

Bastien turns to follow Mom, but Mimi grabs his elbow and spins him back around.

“Considering she lives in the opposite direction from the town's center, we can talk about it now.”

Bastien yanks his arm from our brother’s grip and steps back with a clenched jaw. “Do not forget yourself. You’ll need to control your temper if you expect to make a proper inspector, apprentice. Max!”

Max talks to Mom and Mr. Veratog in the open doorway. When he hears his name, he pats her hand and returns. Bastien backs up to meet him halfway.

“Help our brother with the guests. I’ll handle this.”

Max looks up at the ceiling and sighs. “Yeah. Sure.”

Mimi takes a step after Bastien. “Handle what?”

Max puts his hands on Mimi's shoulders and whispers, “We can talk about it when our guests are gone, okay?”

My brothers begin to argue. I don’t want to get in the middle of that fight, so I return to my seat between Maisey and Yoyo. The elfom turns to me with a deep frown.

“What’s happening, Klóe?”

I shake my head. I cross my arms on the tabletop and lay my head sideways so I can watch the doorway. Maisey starts running her small fingers through my hair. Tears well up in my eyes.

If Bastien and Max don’t want to tell Mimi what’s going on at his age, there’s no way they would tell me. They don't think I can understand hard things, but they won’t hardly try half the time. Even Mr. Veratog gets to go and find out about what—

My tears stay back. I squint at the doors. The walls on both sides of the entrance are empty, except for the lime-colored paint.

Mr. Veratog has abandoned his post. He isn't even in the room anymore.

I sit upright and look around. Maryl sips tea and watches Hanna join my brothers. Yoyo squeezes my shoulder, stands, and joins the intensifying argument, as well.

What news could Bastien have possibly brought that would make the night turn so rotten?