Page 14 of No Charm Done

“What kind of offering?”

Yet another unsettling grin from Louise indicated that Luna was on her own in solving that particular puzzle.

“Now then.” Louise raised her hands as the air around them began to shimmer. “Let us see how you handle state fair cuisine, not to mention what havoc the late-summer humidity is going to wreak on your hair. Oh, and do try to land somewhere sensible. Avoid the livestock stalls if at all possible.”

Around the shop, timepieces began chiming and ticking in farewell. They’d been rooting for her all along.

The last thing she saw before reality twisted itself into a pretzel was Louise’s satisfied expression, and Luna had the distinct feeling she’d just made a deal with someone she absolutely should not have. Then the world lurched sideways, time folded in on itself, and Luna found herself somewhere else entirely—specifically, fifteen feet above a funnel cake stand and falling fast.

Chapter 5

In the Court of the Butter Cow

Luna had three seconds to appreciate the cosmic joke of escaping the death trap of Tout le Temps only to plummet into a new one.

She hit the funnel cake cart with the grace of a meteorite, sending clouds of powdered sugar exploding across the midway. The impact coated her from head to toe in about ten pounds of confectioner’s sugar.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” shouted the vendor, a middle-aged woman in an “Iowa Nice” apron who was now staring at Luna as if she’d materialized from another dimension. Which, technically, she had.

Luna sat up slowly on the asphalt midway, spitting out powdered sugar and trying to assess the damage. Her hair looked like she’d been caught in a blizzard; her clothes were likewise dusted with white. And when she blinked, sugar cascaded from her eyelashes. Around her, fairgoers stopped to stare: children pointing in delight, teenagers pulling out phones, adults looking concerned and confused.

“I am so sorry,” Luna began. “I can pay for the⁠—”

“Honey, are you okay?” The vendor had moved from shocked to concerned, which Luna decided was probably a good sign. “Did you fall from the sky? How did you— Were you on the Ferris wheel?”

Luna looked around, taking in her surroundings properly for the first time. She was definitely at a state fair—the sounds of carnival music, the smells of deep-fried everything, the cheerful chaos of thousands of people having aggressively wholesome fun. To her left, she could see a row of carnival games with oversized stuffed animals hanging as prizes. To her right stretched what looked like livestock barns, and beyond that, the towering outline of a Ferris wheel against the August sky.

“I’m fine.” Luna struggled to her feet and immediately slipped on funnel cake debris. “Just a little . . . portal lag.”

The vendor caught her arm, steadying her. “Portal what now?”

“Nothing! I meant . . . uh . . . jet lag.” She reached into her pocket and was relieved to find her wallet had survived the temporal journey. She pulled out what she hoped was enough cash to cover the damage, then decided to be safe and doubled it. “Here, this should cover everything.”

The vendor stared as Luna handed her a small fortune in crumpled bills. “Oh, honey, this is way too much. I mean, the cart’s fine, it’s just some spilled⁠—”

“Please keep it,” Luna insisted. “I really need to find the butter cow. Can you point me in the right direction?”

The vendor was still staring at the money as if Luna had handed her the deed to Iowa. “The butter cow? Well sure, honey, that’s in the Agriculture Building. You just head down the main drag here, past the carnival games—which are all rigged, by the way, so don’t bother—then past the pork chop stand and the deep-fried Oreo booth—can’t miss it; there’s usually a line—then hang a right at the giant slide. The Ag Building’s the big white one with all the flags.”

“Thank you so much,” Luna said, trying to brush powdered sugar off her clothes and only succeeding in creating small white clouds around herself.

“You sure you’re okay, dear? You look like you’ve had yourself quite a day.”

She looked down at herself. She had just fallen from the sky, was covered head to toe in white powder, and was about to go have a conversation with a cosmic deity disguised as a butter sculpture. “I’ve had easier ones. But I’m fine. Sorry again about the mess.”

Luna marched past the carnival games, ignoring the stares of fairgoers who were clearly wondering if she was covered in cocaine. She passed a Whack-a-Mole game with an enormous stuffed rabbit as the grand prize. And the deep-fried Oreo booth did indeed have a line; Luna made a mental note to visit later . . . assuming she survived her divine encounter.

The Agriculture Building was a massive white structure filled with displays of prize-winning vegetables and educational exhibits on soil science, all punctuated by the gentle lowing of cattle from the livestock area. Luna’s attention was immediately drawn to the crowd gathered around a refrigerated display case in the center of the building. She steeled herself as she approached.

Louise was clearly scared of Myrna, and Louise was the scariest person Luna knew. Which, by the transitive property of scariness, must mean . . . Luna didn't want to think about what that meant.

There, behind thick glass, sat the butter cow.

The sculpture was enormous, a larger-than-life-sized cow carved entirely from butter, and so realistic it looked like it might moo at any second. Incongruously, the cow was surrounded by a crowd of smaller butter sculptures, commemorating the fiftieth anniversary of The Muppet Show: a butter Kermit with his banjo, a butter Miss Piggy in full glamour-swine pose, and a butter Fozzie Bear frozen mid-“Wocka Wocka.” A butter Animal sat behind his butter drums and Butter Gonzo was surrounded by adoring butter chickens, while a butter Dr. Bunsen Honeydew showed off a collection of test tubes, his butter assistant Beaker at his side. Children pressed their noses against the refrigerated case, leaving little foggy breath marks. I always thought gods wanted temples, not livestock and corn dogs.

“Temples fall, dearie,” came a voice in her head, warm and folksy as a grandma’s kitchen. “Temples are forgotten. Once I’m rooted in a child’s memory, I’m worshiped forever.”

Luna nearly jumped out of her skin. She spun around to see if anyone else had heard the voice, but the crowd continued chatting and taking photos, oblivious.