Page 11 of A Dead End Wedding

“Hello, Mrs. Frost. Are you okay?”

She gave me an impatient look. “Of course I’m not okay. I’m rushing to the sheriff’s office, aren’t I?”

Susan sighed. “What’s wrong? How can I help? Did Mr. Frost lose his car keys again? Did you look behind the chest of drawers in the hallway?”

Mrs. Frost drew herself up to her full, not-quite-five feet and lifted her chin. “No, but thank you. I put one of those electronic things on his key ring, so we just have to clap, and it beeps. Now, I just have to worry about him losing his hearing aids and not being able to find the … never mind! I’m here because somehow, I knew I needed to come here.”

Tess gave her a doubtful look. “Mrs. Frost, it’s a little early to be into the plum wine.”

The nonagenarian gave her a stern look. “Don’t you sass me, young lady. I haven’t had a drop. I just got a feeling that I was needed.”

“You’re always needed, Mrs. Frost,” I told her, because I adored her. Also, she made the best cookies in town and liked to share them with me.

“It’s that box,” she said, pointing. “I … this is going to sound weird, but the feeling is centered on that box.”

“That’s one of the least weird things that has happened today,” Tess said honestly. “We’re trying to figure out how to open it.”

Mrs. Frost pointed at the box. “Well, why don’t you just push on that latch?”

“What latch?” I asked her, but when I looked at where she was pointing, I saw a latch.

A latch that hadn’t been there before.

“Fae magic,” Susan said grimly, and Tess nodded.

We filled Mrs. Frost in on the card that came with the box, and she preened. “Idohave great courage, if I say so myself.”

“Nobody would dispute that,” I said sincerely. She’d certainly proven it many times over the eighteen months I’d been back in Dead End.

“Let’s open the thing!” She started toward the box, but I gently put a hand on her arm.

“Ma’am, please let me do this. Just in case the Fae have booby-trapped the thing.”

She narrowed her eyes, but then nodded agreement. So, I walked over to the box, threw the latch open, and then shoved the lid—which was heavier than it looked—upright.

Susan, meanwhile, had drawn her gun and stood holding it, pointing down but ready.

Just in case.

“Just in case” was always a good philosophy in Dead End.

Nothing exploded, though. No armed warriors leaped out and attacked. No poisonous gas, no magical doom.

Nothing at all.

I leaned over to glance into the box and saw a bulging bag at the bottom with another notecard on top of it.

“Okay. Looks like more games.” I sighed and reached in to get the note.

“Read it, Jack,” Susan said, coming forward to peer into the box.

I read it out to them:

Courage is a Trial with three parts. Three tasks shall you complete before you can move on to the next Trial.

First, your Champion shall compete with ours in an archery competition. The winner wins the prize of a golden arrow and, should the Dead End Champion win, the privilege of moving on to the second part.

Second, your Champion shall compete with ours in a magic competition. The winner wins a crystal chalice and, should the Dead End Champion win, the privilege of moving on to the third part.

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