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“I don’t know,” Jinky said, tugging on her eyebrow ring; the effect looked like a caterpillar inching across her face. A skewered caterpillar, that is. “I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s an interesting aura about you.”

I knew I had to slash the tires on this runaway conversation. After Jinky read
my
runes, I ended up slapping on a selkie suit and facing down the Snow Queen and her Frost Giant henchmen.

“You want me to pick you up for the school-board meeting?” I asked Penny in a deliberate subject-changing ploy.

“Sure,” she said.

“What time should I be ready?” Jinky asked.

I pursed my lips, exhaling through my nose.

“We need to get there early,” Penny said. “I want seats up front and I want Jinky getting arrival shots of the crowd. You guys pick me up at six-thirty.”

“I’ll be ready,” Jinky said. She moved to leave, but then pivoted. “Your runes or mine, Katla?”

“Neither,” I said. “We’ll be too busy tonight.”

“Another time, then,” she said, hitching her bag over her shoulder.

Not if I can help it,
I thought.

“Do you think Marik would want to come?” Penny asked, catching up with me as I headed out the classroom door.

“I wouldn’t think so,” I said. “He’s an exchange student. Local politics are hardly his business.” Besides, until I figured out what Frigg had to do with it all, what that shriek was, and how to get out of my pact with Safira before Brigid enlisted her, I was trying to keep Marik at bay, not worming into every little facet of my world.

“You’re probably right,” Penny said, her eyes focusing on the ground. “I just thought it might be something interesting for him to see, you know, from a visitor’s perspective. It wouldn’t hurt to ask him, would it?”

I didn’t answer, hoping she’d drop it. I’d be busy enough coming up with my own angle on the developing story and keeping Jinky’s runes in her pocket without having to worry about Marik.

When Marik scrambled into my car with Jinky, I knew, somehow, that the evening was going to be about more than school consolidations.

Penny swallowed a smile as she gladly hopped out of the front seat and squeezed into the back with the titanic-size merman. She scooched back in the seat, pulling the seat belt across her white sweater, which made her boobs look big, bigger than I ever remembered them being.

On the short drive to the high school — Norse Falls wasn’t large enough to support a separate administration building — Penny passed out index cards. “I did some research and put together a few questions for the board.”

“Very impressive,” Marik said. “You’re quite the go-getter.”

In the rearview mirror, I could see Penny squirm with pleasure.

“I’m to ask if they were aware that one study shows that post-merge stress levels among both teachers and students approached PTSD levels,” Marik said. I could hear the flick of his finger against the card. “What’s PTSD?”

“Post-traumatic stress disorder,” Penny said. “It’s the clinical name for anxiety following a highly stressful event.”

“What an amazing concept,” Marik said. “Does that really happen? Are people truly so overcome with emotion that it has a lasting effect?”

“Uh. Of course,” Penny said.

“Incredible,” Marik replied.

I took another peek in my rearview mirror. I expected to find Penny eyeing Marik like he was nuts. As usual, she — like everyone else — accepted his unabashed novelty for what should be both routine and obvious as a kind of Marikism.

At a red light, I picked up my card from the center console. I was to ask about the impact longer commute times would have on farm families, given that many of these students had obligations before and after school. Of course she had picked a farm question for me, and I felt a stab of panic. Having worked two after-school hours at the store and whipped off a Spanish assignment, I’d neglected to return Jack’s text message from earlier.

We were indeed early for the meeting. While Penny got us seats up front, I tried to call Jack. No luck. It wasn’t like we had plans for tonight; our weekday schedules were too busy for that kind of couples’ glue. We did, generally, return messages, however. I dropped into a folding metal chair next to Penny. Marik took the seat next to me, leaving Jinky the seat on the other side of Penny.

I had the school board figured out the minute the meeting began. Their tactic of defusing the larger-than-normal, ready-to-grumble crowd was to numb us to death. Talk about agony. And never again would I proclaim Mr. Harper, the guidance counselor at Norse Falls High, the world’s most tiresome orator. The president of the school board spoke with the kind of thrumming drone that the CIA should clearly consider using as a torture device. The budget reports were all doom and gloom and hardly helped with the overall heavy atmosphere.

Finally, the meeting got around to the topic of consolidation. Things got under way with a to-date summary of events: after the initial approval by both school boards to go forward with the merger consideration, a joint committee had been formed. A consulting firm was then hired, and their newly released report did indeed find in favor of retaining Pinewood’s building. This news triggered a wave of murmurs and grumbles rippling over the crowd.

The board finally opened things up for questions and comments. Penny was the first to approach the freestanding microphone set up in the center aisle. Looking around, I was surprised to see Jack leaning against a sidewall with other latecomers. I took advantage of the short break to join him.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” I said.

“I texted you.”

“Just to call you, not to tell me you were coming here. I figured you’d be busy.”

“Never too busy when it comes to the future of our town.”

Penny was given the go-ahead to address the board, and the room fell silent.

“I better get in line,” I whispered. “Penny has assigned me a question.”

Jack held me back with his arm.

“What?” I asked.

“Humor me. I’m just enjoying the moment.”

“Huh?”

“You’re on our side now. All in.” He let me go with a small squeeze. My arm buzzed where he’d touched me.

Taking my place at the back of the line for the microphone, I couldn’t help but reflect on my journey on this issue. When newly arrived, I’d taken a progress-minded, bulldoze-the-downtown stance. But now the idea of change scared the panties off me. And there was a lot more at stake than our high school. And you bet I was all in.

With all the mayhem that was my daily grunt, the very notion of the Asking Fire should have triggered apathy in me, at most. It had been nearly two weeks since my vision quest, and, although I was admittedly in denial over the Safira-Brigid conspiracy, I’d dearly hoped for a little more clarity on Frigg’s involvement. Nor was I any closer to a placement on behalf of Jaelle. It was all on my mind constantly. A possible collusion of the first two was still a source of an unsettling chill, and the latter simply wouldn’t come. Surprising even me, I was far from indifferent about the fire. I had been looking forward to it, in fact, and hoping it would be a little letup from the beat down of my looming bargain with Safira.

As Jack and I trekked hand in hand to the remote location, I felt as gooey as marshmallow fluff. It was a postcard-worthy evening. The Indian-summer temps provided a warm — almost charged — quality to the air, to the surrounding clusters of pines, and even to the buzz of the cicadas. The dirt trail was lit by hanging lanterns and cut in and out along the swaying bulk of a dense woods. As we approached the clearing and the already-crackling blaze, I flushed with the memory of last year’s events. Jack and I had arrived as head-butting strangers but had departed as a Homecoming couple. And the fact that someone as grounded as Penny would suspend disbelief for the tradition of a magical fire steeped the evening with even more of a mystical glow.

I spotted Penny standing off to the side of the blaze with the camera-in-hand Jinky; Marik — praise be — was nowhere to be seen. As we approached, I noticed an unusual bulge in Penny’s jacket pocket. I patted it, expecting mittens or a scarf or something else of a bulky nature. With my touch, the pocket crunched.

“What do you have in there?” I asked.

Penny looked quickly at Jack and Jinky, who had struck up a photography-related chat. “Papers for the fire.”

As the full extent of this pronouncement — including its environmental impact — grew, my eyes widened. “How many?”

“A lot,” she said, biting back her lips.

I had only been to the Asking Fire once before, but, as I understood it, girls fed the name of a single guy to the fire. Single as in one piece of paper. It looked like Penny had the equivalent of a shredded phone book in her pocket.

“Not taking any chances, are you?”

“I guess you could say that,” Penny said.

The screech of a microphone filled the air. Abby, as class president, was ready to get things under way. I followed Jack and Penny to a spot near the temporary stage; Jinky took off with her camera.

By now, I had endured a few of Abby’s speeches. She used the upper register of her voice at all times and paused with an “umm” every third or fourth word, but we all got the message: On Monday, Homecoming-dance tickets would go on sale and voting for king and queen would begin. I noticed she looked to a specific spot in the crowd when she trilled the word “king.” Glancing in that direction, I noticed Marik’s shaggy head.

Abby then got down to the business at hand, giggling and sending her already high voice into chipmunk range.

Of course, I’d been through it all before, but it still smacked of high fructose to me.

“So are you going to ask for me again?” Jack said, bumping me with his hip.

“Again?” I said, heading toward the table where the paper and pencils were set out. He followed me, his left thigh jostling against my right. “We both know that was a mix-up; you’re just lucky it all turned out so well.” I chose a pale yellow slip, cupped my hand over my work, and jotted down Jack’s name.

“Let me see,” he said.

I folded the paper and slipped it into my pocket. “Against the rules.” I had no idea if it was, but I liked the pout it produced in him. It made his lips even more irresistible. I gave him a quick kiss and then jogged off for the fire. He followed slowly, affecting a little swagger. OK, so we had our corny moments, too.

I found Penny at the edge of the fire. She was dropping papers by the fistful into the flames. Sparks shot up into the air. I hardly knew what to say. This time last year, she’d asked for Jack; we all knew how well that one turned out for her. I was worried she’d be disappointed again. The rumor mill had Abby and Marik as a predicted matchup. I noticed Abby and Shauna just a few girls down from us releasing their chits of paper. Abby gave hers a kiss before letting it be swept away by the wind. Beyond them, to my surprise, I noticed Jinky. She, too, had thrown something into the fire. Well, well, maybe it
was
magic, after all. Or just a trickster. I’d have given my knee-high suede moccasins to know who she’d requested.

Jack pulled me away from the flames by my waist. “So is it a date?”

“Dude, you’re stuck with me for more than just a date.”

The band’s electric guitarist ran through a few warm-up chords and segued into a first tune. It seemed that the evening was progressing as planned, but then a kid with a picket-style sign jumped onstage. I didn’t know his name, but I recognized him from school.

“Before we move on to the entertainment,” he said in a booming voice, “a few words about the proposed merger.”

The band stopped, the drummer the last to sound a few jarring beats. Judging by their confused looks, this was not a scripted interruption. I noticed that more kids with signs had appeared, crowding the area close to the stage. Obviously, some preparation had been made.

Jack, Penny, and I took a few steps forward. I figured it was a heartfelt display of school spirit.

“We won’t sit back and watch our community get the shaft,” the kid said.