A line of cars appeared in the distance, and her little Volkswagen skidded in the mud as she turned into an equally sludgy dirt parking lot. Stumps lined the edges of the parking lot, and a veritable fleet of vehicles of all makes and shapes were parked haphazardly. She noticed a row of Porta-Potties off to one side, and a small, lit cloth pavilion across from it. Well. This must be the place.
Beth Ann parked her car between two pickups that looked as if they’d seen better days. She searched vainly for an umbrella in the backseat. Finding none, she sighed and tucked her keys in her purse, then got out of the car.
Rain pounded on her head, immediately turning her elegant updo into a flat mess. The splatters hit her bare arms and she looked down at her sequined, strappy heels and winced. They were already starting to stick in the mud of the parking lot. Ugh. She picked her way carefully across the sea of cars, heading toward the tent. She could hear people laughing, and someone was playing a flute of some kind. Her shoe skidded in the mud once, and she nearly fell facefirst.
Lucy was getting an earful when she found her, Beth Ann decided. She approached the tent and two men in bright, colorful baggy pants appeared. One wore a fur hat that was getting soaked in the rain, and the other’s head was shaved bald.
They both looked to be much, much older than Lucy or her boyfriend. Surprised, Beth Ann crossed her arms, hugging her already-soaked formal dress to her body. “I’m sorry, is this the big QuestMaster shindig?”
The shaved man made a flourish with his hand and bowed to her. “Good eve, milady.”
Okay. “I’m guessing yes? I’m looking for Lucy. Lucy Williamson. She’s here tonight.”
The man in the fur hat peered at her through the rain and then drank a large gulp from the enormous beer mug in his hand. “Sounds like a mundane name to me.”
“Mundane? I’m not sure I follow—”
“Mundane, fair wench,” Baldy said with a leer at her wet form, “Is what you be, lass.”
A man laughed uproariously inside the tent.
Well, wasn’t this fun. “Look. I just want to find Lucy. Can you call her?”
“There be no mundane technology allowed on the Quest grounds for the duration of the Tourney, milady.”
“Super. I’ll just call her phone myself.” She dug through her purse and tugged out her phone.
The furred-hat one immediately put his hand over her own. “Ye’ll not be needing that, wench.”
All right, now. It was raining, and muddy, and she was starting to get a little irritated at this “wench” business. “That’s nice and all, but my sister is grounded, and I need to bring her home before she gets into even more trouble.” She jerked her hand away from his with a polite smile and held the phone up. No service.
Fiddlesticks.
She gestured at the path leading into the woods. A rickety wooden gate covered it and she could see a few cook fires and lights in the distance, and heard the sound of laughter. “Is that where all the campers are? I’ll just head over and look for her—”
The bald one stepped in front of the gate. “Milady, you must first pay the entry fee if you wish to join the Tourney.”
“I don’t want to join the Tourney. I’m just going to check for my sister—”
“I’m afraid we canna let ye do that, lass,” Fur-head said, now mimicking a bad Scottish accent. “Only those that pay the toll may enter the QuestMaster grounds for the weekend.”
These guys were going to drive her insane. “Fine. Whatever. How much is the toll?” She had a few bucks on her.
“Fifty dollars,” Baldy said proudly.
“Fifty…what? Fifty dollars? You’re kidding me.”
“Everyone must pay the toll,” he repeated stubbornly. “If ye don’t wish to pay, we shall have to escort ye from the king’s lands, milady.”
King’s lands, her patoot. “I don’t have that much cash on me.”
Baldy inclined his head ever so slightly. “We take checks, milady.”
“Naturally. Fine. I’ll write you a check.” She headed into the tent to write it. Even under the tent, the air was muggy and gross. Her hair was dripping into her eyes and she was pretty sure her makeup was running down her face. Lovely. Maybe she could be one of the hideous monsters they were hunting this weekend. Long live the swamp hag.
Beth Ann began to write out the check, and then began to shiver. She glanced up. “I don’t suppose you have a flashlight for sale while I’m at it? Or a jacket?”
“Such things are forbidden in QuestMasters,” Fur hat said in a stiff voice, as if outraged by the thought.
Okay, she’d go stomping around in the dark to find Lucy. Whatever. She eyed his cloak—it looked a lot warmer than her thin sequined dress that was even now sticking to her body. “Don’t suppose I could buy that cloak off of you?”
“Tis not for sale—”
“Fifty dollars,” she offered.
He took it off with a flourish. “All yours.”
She pulled out a new check, wrote it, and handed it over.
He smiled and handed her a clipboard. “Sign in, milady, with your QuestMaster name.”
“Oh, um, I don’t have one. How about I come back when I think of one, and then I’ll sign in, okay?” At his nod, she took the cloak he handed her and pitched it over her shoulders. To her surprise, they then handed her a grocery bag. “What’s this?”
“Party favors,” Baldy said with a wink. “Shall I escort you throughout the Tourney grounds in search of our fair maiden?”
She dug through the bag. To her surprise, she pulled out a box of condoms. There was also a roll of toilet paper in the bag, and a bottle of cheap rum.
This was the big party her sister had gone to? Where they passed out boxes of condoms as soon as you paid to get in? Beth Ann clutched the bag to her chest and smiled tightly. “Actually, I think I’ll go find her on my own, thanks.”
The fur-headed one stepped out in the rain with her to open the gate. “Luck to thee, fair lady. May ye steer clear of the dragons in the forest.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said dryly, and headed down the path.
The rain pelted her, the ground underneath her feet slushy and sucking at her strappy Louboutin sandals. She was pretty sure they were ruined, but she hadn’t brought a spare pair of shoes. That was fine—she hated these shoes anyhow, and they were far too pricey for a beautician to own, anyhow. They’d been a gift—an apology from Allan when he’d cheated on her. She didn’t regret ruining them. She wouldn’t have worn them if she’d have thought she’d be spending her Friday night in a muddy forest looking for Lucy, after all.
The two men didn’t follow her down the path, just went back into the tent at the front. She clutched the bag and stumbled down the dark, overgrown path, heading for the first campfire in the distance.
“Wait, milady,” called a voice behind her.
She turned, hopeful. Maybe she wouldn’t have to go searching in the woods after all. “My sister?”
But the man—Baldy—jogged out to her, and presented her with an apple.
Beth Ann stared at it for a moment, then back at him, confused. “I’m not sure I follow.”
“By QuestMaster rules, if a gentleman wishes to show a lady his favor, he presents her with an apple.”
How terribly awkward. “Oh, well, listen, honey. That’s nice, but—”
He leaned in. “It is all in how you receive the gift, milady. An apple from a potential lover can be a teasing token.” He leaned in as if sniffing the apple, and turned a hot gaze on her.
Beth Ann took a step backward. “That’s nice of you, but I’m not sure—”
As she watched, he turned over the apple and began to tongue the base. Over and over, stabbing it with the tip of his tongue and continuing to give her the same heated glance. As if he were making love to the thing.
Oh, mercy. This was rather horrifying.
He held the poor, violated apple out to her, then bowed.
She raised a hand in the air. “I really must pass.”
Baldy frowned. “That’s not how the game is played. You must accept it and then demonstrate your decline of my favor by using the apple.”
She was doing no such thing. Beth Ann pulled out her phone and checked the time. “It’s getting late and I really have to go. Sorry. I’ll have to learn the rules next time.” She gave him a tight smile, and then disappeared down the path as quickly as she could.
Lord, to think that an apple could be used in such a graphic manner.
To her relief, he didn’t follow her. She did, however, run into three more girls a bit farther down the path. They were about Lucy’s age and dressed like wenches. Very loose wenches. They smiled as they sauntered past, ignoring the rain, and she noticed each one carried a beer mug and an apple. She continued on to the nearby campsite, and smiled at the people gathered there as she approached. More teenage girls were here, and she scanned the faces, looking for Lucy. No luck. These girls were scantily dressed and sat on the laps of men in tunics and capes. All were oblivious of the rain pouring down. One couple in the back of the group was making out as if they didn’t realize they were in public. Or in a rainstorm.
“Excuse me,” Beth Ann said, stepping forward and giving them a little wave.
“A fairy,” one of the girls said with a drunken giggle, raising a mug. “Behold her sparkle.”
“Yep, that’s me,” Beth Ann said cheerfully, determined to put a pleasant face on things. “Sparkly. Isn’t that nice of you. Listen, honey, I’m looking for Lucy Williamson. Have any of you seen her?”
One of the men stood and gave her a puzzled look. “I know not of a Lucy.”
“Sounds like a mundane name,” another wench piped up, then belched.
“There are no mundanes here this eve, milady,” said another.
This was going to be a long, long night.
TWO
Two hours later, she was no closer to finding Lucy. If her sister had been hiding at one of the campsites, her friends and fellow QuestMasters had done an excellent job of concealing her. Everyone she asked had never heard of a Lucy, and she didn’t know her sister’s QuestMaster name. Everyone, it seemed, had one. She’d met a Sparkle Blossom, a Megan the Fair, a Ragnar the Great (who didn’t seem so great), and three different Aragorns.
She’d also met a lot of drunks and had run across a lot of people making out. She’d been propositioned more tonight than she’d ever been in her life. Apparently the QuestMasters geared up for the big tourney tomorrow by drinking heavily and sleeping with anything that said yes. And here she’d thought they camped out in the woods because they were into nature. Turned out they were just into underage, unsupervised drinking. She’d seen more teenagers carrying bottles than she’d seen adults to supervise them.
The rain didn’t seem to be slowing down the QuestMasters any. They wandered from campsite to campsite, laughing and drinking despite the rain and now inches-deep mud. Most of the campfires had gone out in the torrential downpour and her newly purchased cloak was little more than a sodden blanket around her shoulders. She’d taken off her shoes when they’d started to sink in the mud instead of slide. Now she carried them in the bag along with the condoms and alcohol.