Page 12 of Cruel Moon
I shake each of their hands after Alice and give them a friendly nod. “Good to have you.”
“They’re here to help with everything, not just protection,” Lawrence explains. “That way you can take breaks, maybe not have to be here all day if you don’t need to be. You can take shifts.”
I blink, touched by the thoughtfulness of the gesture. “That’s…thank you, Lawrence. That’s very kind.”
He shrugs. “We’re all in this together, after all.”
As I look at the four hybrids, each offering friendly smiles, I feel a mix of emotions. Curiosity about their unique nature, gratitude for the help, and a spark of hope. Maybe this is a sign of something new, something good coming out of all the tragedy we’ve faced.
“Welcome to the dueling arena. Let’s get you up to speed on how things work around here.”
They move with a grace that speaks of both human and wolf, their eyes alert and intelligent. I’m itching to ask them a million questions, but I rein in my curiosity. There’ll be time for that later.
“So,” I say, addressing the group, “have any of you ever worked at a Renaissance Faire before?”
Lyra, the taller of the women, shakes her head. “Can’t say that we have. But we’re quick learners.”
I grin. “Good, because things can get pretty chaotic once the crowds start pouring in. First rule of the dueling arena: safety first. We’ve got padding and protective gear for all the participants, and the swords are wooden, but we still need to keep a close eye on things.”
As I walk them through the basics—how to referee a match, where to store the equipment, how to handle overzealous participants—I find myself relaxing. It feels good. I love this Faire as much as Jackson did.
“What about the scoring system?” Caden asks, examining the large chalkboard we use to keep track of the day’s champions.
“Ah, that’s where the real fun begins,” I say, unable to keep the excitement out of my voice. “We run tournaments throughout the day. Best two out of three matches advances to the next round. The daily champion gets a special prize and their name engraved on our Wall of Heroes.”
I gesture to a wooden plaque hanging nearby, covered in small metal plates bearing names.
Alice waves them over. “Let’s get you all into costume. You’ve already kinda got theAssassin’s Creedlook working for you, but for the kids, we need to be a little morefun.”
Time passes in a whirlwind of laughter and good-natured teasing as we get everyone outfitted in proper medieval attire. Caden nearly strangles himself trying to figure out the laces on his doublet, while Lyra twirls in her flowing skirts.
As the sun climbs higher in the sky, I find myself genuinely enjoying the moment. The hybrids prove to be quick studies, seamlessly blending into the faire atmosphere. Caden has a knack for storytelling that keeps the crowd quite engaged, while Nora’s gentle patience makes her a hit with the younger kids.
“Bast,” Alice calls out, waving me over to our costume tent. “It’s almost time for Captain Jack to make his grand entrance!”
I grin. This has always been my favorite part of the Faire. “Aye, lass,” I call back in my best pirate drawl. “The captain’s on his way!”
In the privacy of the tent, I begin the transformation. The striped trousers go on first, followed by the worn leather boots and loose white shirt. The long coat, adorned with brass buttons and intricate embroidery, settles on my shoulders like an old friend.
As I fasten the various belts and sashes, each laden with prop pistols, a compass, and other pirate paraphernalia, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. For a moment, I see Jackson standing beside me, his eyes shining with excitement as he adjusts his own costume. The memory brings a pang of sadness, but it’s softer now, tinged with fondness.
“I got you, little brother,” I murmur, running a hand through my hair before donning the iconic tricorn hat.
The finishing touches come last—the red bandana, the kohl around my eyes, and of course, the wig complete with beads and trinkets. As I apply the mustache and soul patch, I feel the last vestiges of Bast O’Connor, grieving werewolf, slip away. In his place stands Captain Jack Sparrow, scourge of the seven seas and beloved Faire attraction.
I step out of the tent with a flourish, immediately drawing excited gasps and cheers from nearby fairgoers. Kids point and adults grin, many already lining up for pictures.
It’s during this moment, as I pose for a photo with a starstruck family, that I feel something—a subtle shift in the air, a prickle at the back of my neck. My wolf stirs, suddenly alert. I scan the crowd, my enhanced senses on high alert, searching for any sign of trouble.
But there’s nothing. Just the usual Faire crowd, laughing, eating, enjoying the day. Still, I have a feeling that someone is watching me. But I can’t let it ruin the moment or the day, so I plaster on my best Jack Sparrow grin, swagger into the center of the arena, and call out to the crowd gathering for the show later, “Who’s ready to become a legend of the high seas? I need some volunteers before the big show starts.”
The answering cheer is deafening. And as I wade into the crowd of kids, surrounded by laughter and excitement, I feel something I haven’t felt in a long time—hope.
And now, I have some swashbuckling to do.
Chapter Six
Bridget Winslow
