Finch relaxed her grip on Keelie, but when she attempted to pull away, the faire director tugged her back. She was stuck here, and whatever happened, she was going to be in the thick of it.
“So, that’s two shop owners who are against you. Just one more”-Finch held up her index finger-“and you and your metal beast, and your fire, and your swords, are outta here.”
“I know he has something against me,” the blacksmith said, motioning with his chin at Hob, “But who else has lodged a complaint against me?”
Finch pushed Keelie in front of her. “Heartwood has.”
Sacrifice the elf. Keelie stared at Finch, mouth open, though she shouldn’t have been surprised.
“Hey, back off.” Dad pushed through the crowd, his eyes blazing.
The blacksmith ignored him, squinted at Keelie, and shouldered his hammer. He lowered his face until his broken nose was inches from hers. “You have a problem with my forge, kid?”
Behind him, an oak tree shivered nervously as the hammer swung close. No one but Keelie noticed the tree raise its lower branches out of harm’s way.
“No.” Keelie forced the word out. “I only saw your shop last night.”
Finch erupted angrily. “You do too.”
Dad was suddenly there, glaring at Finch. “Do not use my child as a pawn in your game.”
To Keelie’s surprise, Finch was unable to meet Dad’s gaze. “Maybe I was mistaken.”
A familiar loud purring motored at Keelie’s feet. Knot rubbed his head up and down her leg. Thank goodness he was here. He’d get her out of this. He’d claw the mean blacksmith.
Instead, Knot walked away and hopped onto the motorcycle. She cut her eyes over to him as he sat on the wide leather seat and began to wash his tail.
The jousters and elves had arrived and were gathered on the left edge of the crowd. Elianard frowned disapprovingly when his eyes made contact with hers.
Vangar noticed Knot on his bike. “Hey, there’s my drinking buddy. You. Me. Down to the pub. I need a mead.”
Knot meowed.
Vangar gave him a thumbs-up in agreement and turned back to Keelie. “So, kid, why are you and Hobknock in league with the administration?”
Hob scowled.
The blacksmith hefted his hammer and smacked it against his giant, callused palm. “At some of the faires I attend, when a shop owner sides with management, it’s like turning against their kind-the other merchants.”
Grumbles came from the crowd.
Keelie’s cheeks burned red and she was beginning to understand how the French aristocrats felt during the revolution. “I didn’t side with anyone.”
Finch stepped on Keelie’s foot. “Quit trying to incite the vendors against me. It won’t work.” Finch’s voice had gone low and dangerous.
From the corner of her eye, Keelie saw Cricket crawling toward the elves. They frowned in disgust. A bit of paper stuck out of its mouth, probably a discarded napkin. The little goblin turned and made its way to Keelie.
Hob bowed his head. “G’day to all. I must tend to my business.” And he wove his way back through the crowd. Some of the belly dancers squealed and jingled with delight.
Finch forced a smile. “Vangar, get your motorcycle out of the faire, and if you dare ride inside the premises again, I’ll kick your ass through the front gate.” She had a delighted gleam in her eyes. Keelie knew that despite her complaints, Finch thrived on conflict.
“I like a challenge,” Vangar retorted. He leaned against a beech tree. Keelie saw the tree push its face out of the bark. It sniffed Vangar and then crinkled its barky face, as if it couldn’t quite place what it was smelling.
“Me too,” Finch raised her chin in answer to Vangar’s declaration. She turned to the crowd. “If anyone else has a complaint about the blacksmith, then I will personally file it and you in the privies. I’ve had enough whining for one day.” Everyone stared open-mouthed at Finch. She placed her hands on her hips. “Don’t you people have things to do?” The crowd dispersed silently, hurrying back through the woods, back to their jobs, back to their shops.
Vangar walked over to Keelie. “You kept your cool. I like that. When you work with fire, it’s an important attribute. If you need a job, I could use some help in the forge. I could train you.”
“This is the last person that needs to be working with fire,” Finch said with a panicked look. “She doesn’t follow orders, and disaster follows her.”
Although she felt insulted, Keelie didn’t want to pass the insult on to Vangar. It would be better to take a lets-be-nice-to-the-neighbor approach. “Thanks! But I have a job with my Dad.” She held out her hand. “I’m Keelie Heartwood, and Knot is my cat.” She motioned toward the big orange furball who needed a lesson in loyalty.
“If you belong to Knot, then you’re good people.” A big grin broke out on Vangar’s face, transforming him from scary giant to friendly troll.
“Meow.” Knot hopped onto the motorcycle.
“Sorry, buddy, I can’t take you for a ride like I promised.”
Knot shot a baleful glare at Keelie as her goblin scuttled out into the open with a plastic bottle hanging from its mouth like a huge cigar. Keelie motioned for Cricket to come to her, but it seemed to be checking out Finch. It crawled toward her, shiny eyes fixed on the woman’s boot buckles. Not good. Keelie bit her fist.
“Take the motorcycle and the cat to the performers’ campground and leave them both there,” Finch suggested, cutting her eyes over to the goblin, who offered her the plastic bottle.
Keelie wasn’t surprised that Finch could see Cricket, unlike the humans here. Finch was a dragon, after all.
The goblin climbed up Finch’s legs and moved his arms back and forth as if saying “hi.”
“If you don’t get this thing off of me, I’m going to roast it,” Finch snapped, although she’d let Cricket climb up without complaint.
Keelie gently removed the little goblin and sat it on the ground, where it proceeded to munch on the plastic bottle, chewing busily.
“He eats plastic. Huh.” Finch studied the goblin. “He can have a job in clean-up. Walk with me, Heartwood. We have things to discuss.” She turned to Vangar. “You get this machine monstrosity out of here.”
Vangar winked at Finch. “If that is your desire, I shall surely comply. But babe, I’m going to need to drive my motorcycle out of here. You gonna have a cow if I do?”
“If I have a cow, then I roast it and eat it,” Finch said under her breath. She glanced at Keelie. So the faire admin knew Keelie was onto her secret.
Finch straightened. “You can drive it out,” she said to Vangar, “but if I see it by the forge again, then it’s going to be impounded for the duration of the faire.”
“Well, I’ll be. I’m growing on you.” He flashed her a debonair smile.
Finch’s face flushed red.
If Keelie didn’t know any better, she’d think there was a thing going on between these two. She thought of her bruised arm. All that squeezing-maybe it was excitement, not anger, that Finch was feeling. She wondered what other ghastly and dangerous surprises awaited her in dragon courtship.
Vangar was looking at Finch through hooded eyes. “You’re no longer threatening to kick me out. You’re falling for my charm. Before this faire is over, you’ll be wanting to date me.”
Finch laughed, then wiped the tears that had squeezed from the corners of her eyes.
Vangar didn’t seem insulted. “You’ll see. No one can resist me.”
“Always a first time.” Finch grabbed Keelie by the arm and tugged her away.
“What was that about? I didn’t say anything about protesting against the forge,” Keelie hissed at her.
“You’re with me, and when you’re with me, you agree with me,” Finch said matter-of-factly.
“This is the United States of America,” Keelie said, rubbing the circulation back into her bruised arm. “You can’t make me agree with you.”
Finch looked over at her. “For the humans it is, but not for us.”