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and exit in a rage.

Never speak the name Macbeth

inside a theatre’s walls.

Go out and spin and spit three times

before the curtain calls.

A dress rehearsal gone to ruin

is the finest sign you’ll get.

The worse the night before, my dear,

the better you’ll be set.

FROM THE LITTLE GLASS OWL’S BOOK OF LUCKY CHARMS AND AUSPICIOUS OMENS, COMPILED BY ELECTRA GLASS

TWENTY

DON’T LOOK BACK

Tempest wound her way toward Chicago, thinking about the books she’d been studying as part of her prep for the next competition. Even though her in-house library was vast, she never worried about choosing what to read next. The books did that work for her. She could almost hear them arguing amongst themselves. For the most part they were diplomatic about it, politely stacking themselves single file on her To Be Read shelf. But every once in a while a rogue book flew out from the back of another bookcase, loudly and dramatically launching itself to the front of her queue. Some books were just more desperate to be seen than others, she was learning.

But in the evening of every day, Tempest returned to her favorite book. The one with Dandelion Wilder on the dust jacket.

If anyone had asked Tempest Glass to name her comfort read six months ago, a dog-eared book of interesting trivia from the competition circuit would probably not have been the one to spring to mind. She could still hear the ABCs snickering and making snide comments about “Pestie’s little trivia tic.”

She never would have imagined that this large, sturdy book of trivial facts and tidbits would become the one that took pride of place on her nightstand. Some nights she fell asleep with it beneath her pillow.

It wasn’t just the handsome man on the cover. It was also everything in between. Dan Wilder’s book had become her Rosetta Stone. It connected and unlocked the confusing bits and pieces of knowledge that she’d been holding all along. She found herself reading the same chapters repeatedly and making notes in the margins. When she ran out of space, she added blank sticky notes so she could comment and cross reference some more.

Tempest was feeling extra anxious about the upcoming event in Chicago. Before they’d parted company in Denver, the Hell’s Belles shared that they’d heard a rumor that Dandelion Wilder himself might be making an appearance at the next Lucky Duck trivia night in Chicago.

Why did they have to tell her that? Now all she could think about, when she wasn’t cramming history books, was whether she would see him there and what she would say to him if she did! Would she have to compete against him? That would be awkward. Or would he be there in a more official capacity?

What if she made a fool of herself in front of him?

She almost considered skipping the stop entirely. She asked the atlas to consider rerouting her to another city, another event, but of course it had a mind of its own. It wouldn’t cooperate. The more she begged, the more detailed the map of her path to the Windy city became. This, she was learning, was the atlas’ way of being emphatic.

The atlas painted in tiny trees and fields and added some lakes and puffy dreamlike cumulus clouds in the blue sky. It painted in tiny birds flying above and illustrated all the farmstands along a solitary stretch of road when she was feeling peckish. A flutter of butterflies showed up. Towering skyscrapers rose from the page towards the end of the route. Chicago was all that the atlas would show her, no matter how hard she begged for alternatives. After that, the book was blank.

It was pouring in Chicago when they rolled into town. Although the bad weather had come up suddenly, it was not a surprise to Tempest. More recently, the atlas had begun to add weather predictions along her routes. The clouds had grown darker on the page before they’d begun to change in the sky. She’d noted there were suggested stops for rainbow viewing and appreciated the reminder to carry an umbrella when stopping at a certain rest area. It had started to pour while she was buying herself some coffee.

Tempest pulled the bus into a city lot a few blocks from the venue and paid for parking. For the first time since she’d started competing, the event wasn’t being held at a tavern or a pub. Tonight’s venue was a converted theater on the south side of the Loop.

“Handsome Devil! Handsome Devil!” Fortune teased as she watched Tempest applying makeup. The rain wasn’t doing her curls any favors. Her hair was so frizzy she was afraid someone might mistake her for a cartoon cat that had been electrocuted.

Fortune hummed the first few bars of “It had to be you”.

“That is not helping!” Tempest snapped. She tied a scarf over her head and put on some red lipstick.

“Try not to get into any trouble while I’m gone?” Tempest warned the bird. “I’ll bring you a special treat if I win.”

“Winner, Winner, Chicken Dinner!” Fortune hollered after her.

There was a sort of dilapidated charm to the theater. It had obviously been something grand and special in its heyday. The original gilded proscenium arch was still intact, creating the illusion of a halo floating above the stage.