We reached the Sinclair tent and stepped through the opening. Chairs had been set up inside, along with tables full of food and drinks and several oscillating fans to combat the day’s growing heat. Reginald stood in the center of the tent, wearing another one of his black tweed suits and directing the pixies, who were passing out bottles of water. Claudia was sitting by herself along one of the walls, checking her phone.
Angelo, Mo, and Felix split off to see if Reginald needed any help, but Devon and I didn’t get five steps into the tent before people started coming up to us and talking about the tournament. For once, I didn’t mind the attention. The mood was light and happy, and everyone was back-slapping, high-fiving, and wishing all the competitors good luck.
“Ready to choke, Lila?” a snide voice murmured in my ear. “Because that’s exactly what you’re going to do today.”
Well, not everyone.
Vance stepped up beside me, a smug grin stretching across his handsome face. He made a slow slashing gesture with his finger across his throat, then raised his hands to his neck and started making fake choking sounds.
I gave him a sweet smile in return. “If you don’t move along, I’m going to shove my fist into your throat and make you choke for real.”
Vance dropped his hands and glared at me, and I glared right back at him.
Devon stepped in between us. “Good luck, Vance,” he said in a pointed tone.
Vance rolled his eyes. “I don’t need luck. That’s for all the other losers here.”
Devon’s face hardened at the insult. “Well, I guess we’ll see who the real losers are at the end of the tournament.”
“Whatever, dude.” Vance rolled his eyes again and moved over to his friends, who were clustered around one of the drink tables.
“What a jackass,” Devon muttered.
“No argument here.”
We moved deeper into the tent, both of us giving and receiving more well-wishes. I might be supercynical, but even I had to admit that the camaraderie was . . . nice. It made me feel like I truly was a member of the Family and part of something bigger and more important than just myself.
It made me proud to be a Sinclair.
“Isn’t this great!” Oscar said, zooming over to me, his violet eyes bright with excitement.
I eyed the caramel apple in his hand, which was about twice the size of his entire body. “I think that you’ve had too much sugar already. You’re worse than a little kid when you get all hopped up on it.”
“Too much sugar?” Oscar said, his voice high and twangy. “Too much sugar? There is no such thing!”
He took another bite of his apple, and his wings started twitching even faster than before, making the black cape flutter around his shoulders. Oscar gave me a manic grin, then zoomed off to chatter to another pixie.
Devon was talking to a couple of the other competitors, so I wandered over to where Mo was standing along one of the tent walls, scribbling on a notepad. Several pens were stuck through the brim of his white straw hat, while still more pens bristled in the pocket of his Hawaiian shirt, which was black and patterned with white orchids.
“What are you doing?”
Mo’s eyes never left his notepad. “Overseeing some friendly wagers about the tournament—for the good of the Family, of course.”
“You mean you’ve gone from pawnbroker to bookie.”
The corner of his mouth lifted up in a sly smile. “Can’t get anything past you, kid.”
“Just be sure I get my cut.”
Mo arched an eyebrow. “Would I try to cheat you out of money that I’ve made betting on you?”
“Absolutely.”
He grinned. “You know me too well, Lila.”
I laughed.
The cheery conversation went on for several more minutes, until Claudia put her phone away, rose to her feet, and strolled to the center of the tent. Devon handed his sword to her, and she twirled the Sinclair Family black blade around in her hand. Everyone stopped what they were doing, quieted down, and faced her. She straightened to her full height, her green gaze sweeping back and forth over everyone gathered here. Beyond the fabric walls, the murmur of the crowd continued, but everything was still and silent in here.
“No matter what happens in the tournament, who wins and who loses, I want you all to know how very proud I am that you are members of my Family,” Claudia said, looking at each one of us in turn.
My eyes locked with hers, and her warm pride filled my chest. She really was happy to call us her Family, in more ways than one, and it wasn’t just some pep talk to get us excited for the tournament.
“That being said,” Claudia continued, a wry smile curving her lips, “if we manage to show the other Families how strong we are by excelling in the tournament, well, I wouldn’t be opposed to that either. Would any of you?”
We all grinned back at her.
Claudia raised her black blade, her hand holding the sword high, mimicking her Family crest. “To the Sinclairs!”
“To the Sinclairs!” we all roared back to her.