“What’s there to fear?”
“Oh, I dunno. Maybe having every ounce of blood sucked from your body—or being torn limb from limb and your liver used as paté on a cracker?”
Jon chuckled, the sound deep and rich in her ears. “Bah. They are no worse than Queen Angria and her henchmen. In fact, they are quite likeable in comparison. I rather enjoy their banter.”
This time, she listened to the warning bells. “Queen Angria? Does she have flying monkeys?”
“Flying what?”
“Forget it. I just knew there was an evil queen in here somewhere.”
Jon nodded his head, the smile leaving his eyes. “Evil is a kind word where Queen Angria is concerned. She rules her land with an iron fist.”
Now that she’d processed the day, she was finally able to ask, “Who was that back in the forest? The dragon? Why did she or it offer me a Starbucks?”
“She offered you a ship?”
“A ship?”
“I assumed Starbucks was the name of a ship.”
Toni giggled, clamping her hand over her mouth to keep from waking everyone. “No. Starbucks is a place to get coffee. Like you’d get some ale here at a pub in Shamalot.”
“This coffee you speak so highly of, it troubles you to do without? Three of you have mentioned it more than once on our journey, and the tone you use suggests death is more desirable.”
“Troubles isn’t the word I’d use. It’s more like a craving. You know what that is, right?”
Jon turned to look at her, his sapphire-blue eyes intense. “I do, milady,” he answered gruffly.
Her heart throbbed in her chest, matched by the rhythm of her pulse pounding in her ears. “So who was that back there? She looked just like my boss from the store until she wasn’t.”
“There are many evils in the forest, Toni. I’ve warned you of such not to frighten you, but because the land of Jersey sounds quite different than my Shamalot. What you encountered was one of the queen’s henchmen, a shapeshifter. They will do whatever it takes to tempt you into doing their bidding. Things are not always as they appear.”
Toni barked a laugh, making Carl’s head pop up. “That’s not so different than Jersey.” Or Stas, who was nothing like he’d appeared.
Jon remained silent, letting his elbows settle on his knees as he stared off into the fire, and she tried not to ogle his thick thighs.
“So why was the queen sending in one of her henchmen? Clearly he was tailored to me because he tried to entice me with my favorite coffee. What could she want with me?” Because that would fall right in line with what Nina had said about their prior OOPS clients.
The shoes. She probably wanted the shoes. All the bitches wanted the shoes.
“I don’t know, but I intend to find out as we head toward the bridge tomorrow midday.”
Looking down at her heels, Toni lifted her muddy, wet skirt and pointed to them. “Do you think it’s the king’s shoes she wants? I mean, my feet did tingle just before I attempted a suicide mission.”
“They tingled? Describe, please.”
Toni shrugged her shoulders. “They just got all warm and then my brain and my body were in full-on war. My brain said ‘Don’t do it, dummy’, but my body seemed to know exactly what to do.”
“The shoes…” he muttered as perplexed as she was.
“Yeah. The shoes. Because where I come from, chicks die because of a sweet pair of heels.”
“They kill chickens for shoes in Jersey? This land is hostile, your home, yes?”
Toni giggled into her hand again. “No, chick means girl or woman, and there’s a story about a girl whose name is Dorothy and she falls into a place called Oz and—” She stopped talking when Jon’s face went from concerned to perplexed.
Toni shook her head and patted his arm—his strong, hard, awesome arm. “Never mind, the point is, are these shoes important in some way?”
Jon shook his head, cupping his jaw and rubbing the dark stubble. “In all of Shamalot’s vast history, that I can remember anyway, have the books ever involved a story about a pair of shoes. I have lived here all my life and never heard of their existence. As such, I don’t understand the queen’s ire.”
“Maybe this was just a random drive-by temptation? Henchmen need to let off steam, too. Maybe he was just practicing his henchmen-ness and he chose me as his target for lack of anyone else. I mean, I’m not from Shamalot, so it was easy to catch me off guard and fool me, right?”
She liked that explanation much better than the idea that some rabid queen was looking to kill her.
“I don’t know Angria’s intent. Though, this much I promise, no harm will come to you or yours. Not while I watch over you,” he whispered, the words tight and fierce.