For Bob Mecoy, agent extraordinaire.

Without your encouragement and frequent feedback on this one, it never would have been finished.

CROUCHING IN THE DARKNESS OF THE CLOSET, I stilled as footsteps approached. My instincts screamed to run. I stared at the thin ribbon of light under the door, shadows of shoes paused. I silently urged them to walk away. All I wanted was one day of peace. One day. The knob turned. No luck. With a whoosh of fresh air, my hiding spot was exposed.

“For sand’s sake, Opal, what are you doing in there?” my mother asked.

I suppressed a sigh. The truth—hiding from her—wouldn’t help. “Looking for my boots?”

Her scowl deepened as she pushed back a lock of graying hair. “They’re on your feet.”

I straightened. “Oh…yes…well.”

“Come. There are a thousand things we need to do, and you’re wasting time.” She shooed me through my room and downstairs to the kitchen. “Sit and read me the guest list while I cook lunch.”

My gaze swept the long wooden table filled with paper, swatches of fabric, lace, sequins, sewing patterns and half-completed decorations—enough clutter to force us to eat in our formal dining room. I cursed my sister Mara under my breath. Before returning to work at the Magician’s Keep’s glass shop, Mara had asked our mother to plan her and Leif’s wedding, trusting her with everything. Smart girl. She remained a safe five-day journey away from Mother’s all-consuming new passion.

When I failed to sit at the table, she stabbed a spoon at the chair. “Guest list, Opal.”