Genevieve reproachfully flipped her windshield wipers.

“I know, I know. I’m hangry, that’s all,” Val admitted.

She raised her head and spotted a cafe on the corner. Pastries, breads, and cakes rested on the counter, behind which a young vampire stood wearing high heels and a frilly pink apron.

“That’ll work,” Val decided aloud.

Genevieve eased into a parking space in front of the cafe, her hood almost bumping a team of sled dogs tied to a hitching post. One of the dogs yawned, revealing six rows of fangs and three forked tongues.

Val gave the dogs a wide berth as she strolled into the cafe. She ordered a Fernwood mocha and a poppyseed muffin, then chose a table by the window, where she sipped the excellent coffee. Its smoky aftertaste held a hint of sweetness like rum.

She finished her muffin and picked up the phone, then placed a call.

“Good morning, my little spark!” her father sang in her ear.

Val smiled. “Hey, Dad. What’s up?”

“You should ask, ‘What’s down?’” Frode guffawed. “We’re dwarves, you know. We go down into mines and things.”

Val groaned and passed a hand over her eyes. “Dad.”

Frode’s laughter boomed in her ear, and she couldn’t help smiling.

“What’s my favorite daughter doing today?” Frode asked.

Val snorted. “I’m your only daughter. You’re on a dad-joke roll today.”

“It’s my job,” Frode informed her happily. In the background, cutlery clattered. Somebody was washing dishes in the old stone sink at home.

Val laughed. “If you say so. How are things at the smithy?”

“Good! Business is booming, as usual, but nothing I can’t manage. I’m never buying another anvil from Freyja Thorsen again.” Frode scoffed. “It hardly lasted a week.”

“I told you her stuff is cheap crap, Dad,” Val scolded.

“I know, I know. I left mine at that pegasus farm up in the Spine and needed another urgently. I forged a new one, and it’s holding up better. Do you need another yet, darling?” Frode asked. “Can I make you one?”

“Sweet of you, Dad, thanks. Mine’s still good. I mostly forge small things, remember?” Val smiled.

“Still going well with your trinkets, is it?” Frode asked.

Val glanced at a billboard across the square that showed a shirtless male faun cradling a swooning female. An iron medallion glittered on the female’s neck. The maker’s mark was invisible from here, but Val knew the initials VS were stamped into the back because she had placed them there.

“Pretty well,” she answered.

Frode chuckled. “I’m so proud of you, darling.” The clattering in the background continued.

“Thanks, Dad. Listen, I called because I’m unexpectedly spending the day in Avalon Town.” Val sipped coffee. “You’re probably busy, but I thought you’d be pissed if I didn’t let you know. Can you make dinner? A late tram will get you home tonight if you want.”

“Dinner? In Avalon Town?” Frode’s tone bubbled with excitement. “With my beautiful daughter?”

“Dad,” Val protested.

“How could I refuse?” Frode laughed. “I’ll be there, darling! I’ll take the next tram.”

“Are you sure? It’s cool if you’re busy,” Val assured him.

Frode snorted. “Never too busy for you, little spark.”

“Good.” Val grinned. “It’ll be great to see you. I’ve missed you.”

“I miss you every moment, darling,” Frode told her.

Val swallowed the lump in her throat. “I know. You can bring Bodil along, too, of course.”

The background clattering stopped.

Frode cleared his throat. “Bodil? If you’d like to see her, I suppose I could ask her if she’s available.”

Val smothered her laugh in a sip of coffee.

“What was that, darling?” Frode asked.

“Nothing, Dad. I’ll see you guys tonight,” Val promised.

She hung up, paid for breakfast, and wandered out to the sidewalk. Light and color filled Avalon Plaza. Brightly colored banners snapped from flagpoles on every building, showing a myriad of crests, logos, and coats of arms. Eight black horses with swan plumes drew a mysterious red carriage across the plaza, trailed by shadows. An orc mother pushed a baby in a stroller down the sidewalk, glowing with happiness. Three teenagers on a magic carpet swooped over her head. She dove to grab her baby from the stroller, then shook her fist at the teenagers as the baby cried.

Val frowned at the teenagers but kept her hand away from her dagger. The giggling pair of elves and the werewolf seemed harmless, but the magic carpet swooped in a curve around the plaza and dove through a world of hazards from flagpoles to lampposts.

Someone spoke near her shoulder. “It’s all good, Miss Stonehold. Our aerial division is on its way.”

Val looked up. A handsome werewolf in a navy uniform strolled toward her with an automatic rifle resting on his back. One hand was covered with metal plates, and its joints sounded hydraulic as he held it out to her.

“Sergeant First Class Blake Early,” he introduced himself.

“Whoa.” Val blinked as she shook his hand, marveling not only at the delicacy of the ironwork but also the presence in which she stood. “You’re Blake Early, hero of the Third Pendragon War.”

“That war had a lot of heroes.” Blake smiled. “I could call you the Hero of Central Park.”

Val flushed. “Paras know about that?”

“I saw you on the news and in every trashy fashion magazine my wife is addicted to,” Blake confessed.

Val laughed, then stopped. “Aren’t you married to Agent Elspeth Feathertouch? The Woodland Fae spy who liberated the Deep?”

“I married up, as you can tell.” Blake hooked his thumbs on the edges of his bulletproof vest. “Ah, there’s the aerial division now.”

Val squinted into the sunlight, then stepped back as dragon wings eclipsed the sun. A few paras looked up with mild interest as a huge white dragon plunged over the plaza. His outstretched claws wrapped around the magic carpet, rolling the three teens in it. Their muffled squawks faded as the dragon flew away, and the banners around the plaza snapped in the wind from his wings.