Chapter Seven: Man of the Hour | Part 2
Three members of Service Club marched toward them—Mercuria and Farish, the Selkie siblings who’d spoken in favor of their auction for Terre Mackawn, and an eighth-year Dragonfolk named Dain. Farish brandished his planner like a breaking news bulletin.
“What kind of problem?” Seerla asked.
Farish slapped his planner onto the table. “With Rhea gone, we never had a meeting to plan the auction. But I just found out that she managed to book the ballroom before she left!”
The details wormed their way back to the forefront of Thirtyx’s mind. Everything before the attack on Grimmary seemed like another lifetime. “So when did she book the ballroom for?”
Dain tapped a claw on the entry in Farish’s planner. The auction was supposed to happen in three days.
“Pfah,” Thirtyx and Seerla cursed in unison.
“Who did Rhea go to about booking the ballroom?” Farish asked. “I’ll see if we can reschedule.”
Seerla was shaking her head before Farish had finished. “No, I heard through the grapevine someone died last weekend from a contaminated basking pool. It’s still so bad out there. People need aid now, so if there’s any way we can pull this together, I think we should try.”
Farish rolled his eyes. “I get it, but I’ve got Comps to study for. Dropping everything for three days to throw together an impromptu auction isn’t exactly feasible.”
Mercuria glowered at him. “I’ll be sure to tell Adonna you said your Comps were more important than her survival next time she writes.”
“Hold on. There may be a way we can compromise.” Thirtyx stared at the planner, mostly to avoid seeing the certain ridicule that would accompany his proposal. “I’m not Comping. I can lead the charge and band together all the underclassmen who also don’t have Comps to worry about. Dain, Mercuria, do you think we can make it work? That is, of course, if anyone’s willing to let me organize them.”
Dain scoffed. “You’ve got the forbidden knowledge about why Rhea and Benn got dragged back to the palace. If there was ever a time you could count on people listening to you, it’s now. I’m in.”
Mercuria smirked. “You’re in because you have a crush on Aeris, and you want to prove you care about Selkies.”
“Doesn’t change the fact that he’s in,” Thirtyx said with a smirk of his own. “Mercuria, a firsthand account from your sister might soften people’s hearts—and wallets. Do you think she’d be willing to write something?”
“I’ll send her a raven after class. And I’ll be sure to mention that Farish can’t be bothered to help because of his precious test.” She cast another critical glare at her brother, who threw his hands up in exasperation.
“Adonna Comped! She’ll understand why—”
“Art!” Seerla cut in. “I know we haven’t talked about what we’d be auctioning, but Nephrie’s made a lot of practice paintings in preparation for her Art Comp. She has tons in her closet, most with aquatic themes. Selkie art for a Selkie benefit is a decent draw, right?”
Thirtyx raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t I say I would handle this because you and Farish are Comping?”
“Comping or not, I want to help. Plus, my Troll crafting circle owes me a favor. Watch how fast I convince them to paint some blessing rocks for us. They meet on Corspanes, so they can whip some up tomorrow.”
Thirtyx was both startled and impressed by Seerla’s commitment. “That would be great, but seriously, don’t put too much work on your own plate.” He knew she was likely already overtaxed from acting as Thirtyx’s emotional support, not to mention her help copying notes for Rhea when Thirtyx fell behind.
Seerla batted her eyelashes, which elicited a strange feeling in Thirtyx’s gut. “It’ll be fine. I love a good challenge.”
So, instead of listening to a word of his final two lectures, Thirtyx found himself mentally sorting through the necessary logistics to make this wild plan happen. In addition to Dain and Mercuria, Service Club had three 10th-years, two ninth-years, and a seventh-year he could approach about splitting up the workload. They’d need decorations, fliers, an emcee, an announcement the headmistress could read at breakfast—all in addition to rustling up the items they’d need to sell.
Calley Jones 