Without moving anything but her eyes, Livy examined everything Rita had to offer before announcing, “Do you have a cabinet I can use?”

Once Vic dropped a wad of cash on the She-bear, Rita let them use the kitchen in her house behind the store. With over fifty honeys to choose from, Livy sat inside the cabinet under the sink and Vic sat outside it, his unbelievably long legs stretched out in front of him.

Livy had to admit, these were the best-tasting honeys she’d ever had. Not only were there different types of honey, but there were honeys infused with all sorts of things. Chocolate, raspberry, peanut butter, cinnamon . . . the list went on and on.

Even better and much to Vic’s credit, he didn’t once ask what was going on with her. Didn’t mention Whitlan’s daughter or anything to do with that.

Instead, they just sat there in the She-grizzly’s kitchen, ate honey, and chatted about the most nonsensical stuff. Like sports.

“You have no idea,” Vic complained, “how hard it is to be six-five and two hundred and fifty pounds in junior high and not join the football or basketball teams. The principal called my parents about it. Mr. Lawrence. He was very concerned that I was not taking full advantage of the American experience—to which my father told him to go fuck himself. ‘My boy,’ ” Vic said with a heavy Russian accent, “ ‘do not need your weak American sport. He is Russian! He fights bear!’ Mr. Lawrence,” Vic went on with his normal voice, “was full-human, so he thought that was a lot of hyperbole, but I was, in fact, outside fighting bears. My cousins were visiting from Moscow that fall and they were beating the crap out of me in the backyard.”

“Aaaah, family.”

“Speaking of which . . . Smelly Melly?”

Livy chuckled at the nickname. “Did you get that from Shen?”

“Of course. So what’s the deal with your cousin?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, why was she in prison?”

Livy normally didn’t answer questions like that about family members, but sitting here, in some strange bear’s kitchen, in Massachusetts, in a town called Honeyville, while eating fifty different kinds of honey . . . she thought, Why not?

“Melly was in prison because she felt her boyfriend was ignoring her, so she hooked up with another guy. When fucking someone else didn’t work, she arranged her own kidnapping.”

“I’m sorry,” Vic cut in, a spoonful of lemon-infused honey poised in front of his mouth. “She what?”

“Arranged her own kidnapping. It was an elaborate plan, too. The FBI became involved, there was blood at the scene, and calls from the”—she made air quotes with her fingers—“ ‘kidnappers’ with their demands, and she was just about six miles away at some resort with theguy she’d convinced to do this with her because of the money her boyfriend didn’t actually have. And, even after that, they were ready to let her off with most likely a wrist slap because they figured out she was crazy but not crazy enough to actually commit to Bedford Mental Hospital. But then she showed up to her sentencing drunk. So drunk she tripped over the defense table and vomited up a crapload of vodka on the baliff, which pissed off her judge. Got eighteen months, but as I found out a couple of days ago . . . she only served ten.”

“Wow,” he muttered, his cheeks sucked in a bit from the sourness of the lemon. “That’s mighty crazy.”

“That’s Melly. Crazy Melly.” Livy lifted her spoon. “These are the most amazing honeys I’ve ever tasted.”

“I know.”

“A few, though, I’ve had at your house. Now you see why I keep going there.”

“Now you know why I get so cranky when you eat it all. I love my honey.”

A door opened somewhere in the house, and Livy heard what sounded like clanking metal coming toward them. After a minute or two, a male polar walked into the kitchen, dressed in full armor. Like, King Arthur kind of armor.

The polar placed his helmet—complete with a vibrantly colored feather plume—on the table. He stood there for a second until his head slowly turned and he looked down at Livy and Vic.

“Victor.”

“Hi, Ken.”

“What’cha doin’ in my kitchen?”

“Eating your wife’s honey.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Why are you in armor?”

“Renaissance Faire’s in town this weekend. You should come. Jousting starts this evening.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m not sure my friend would want—”

Livy crawled until she was stretched over Vic’s lap. “There’s jousting?” she asked the polar.

“Sure is. It’s an all-weekend thing for us. First rounds start tonight.”

“Can anyone join?”

“Well—”

“No, Livy,” Vic said.

“Quiet.” Livy quickly scrambled completely out of the cabinet. “Can you get me set up with armor and a horse?” she asked the bear.

“I think so, but we don’t have a fox joust at this faire.”

“I don’t want to joust foxes.” Livy grinned. “I want to joust bears.”

CHAPTER 13

Vic shook his head, unable to believe this was happening. “Do you have any idea how insane this is?”

Livy put on another helmet, but it was so large it spun around her head like a top. “You can keep saying it, but it doesn’t change anything.”