Linus closed his eyes and let me rub the tension from his neck and shoulders. Thirty seconds passed, a minute. Two. The darkness evaporated in increments until he stood in his plain tee and pajama pants.
“I apologize.” He leaned into my touch. “I must have been more exhausted than I realized.”
For him to admit it, to react so violently, he must have been worse off than I estimated. “It’s not your fault. They clearly made a suicide pact.”
“You hit me,” Lethe whined. “Now I’ll have a swollen cheek in your wedding photos.”
“You’ll heal it within the hour, and if you don’t, then I will.” Crisis averted, I finally noticed what she was wearing. Denim overalls, a white tee, and waders. “Um, Farmer Brown called. He wants his clothes back.”
“Don’t worry. I have a set for you in Moby.” She clapped her hands. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.”
I left my hand where it was. “Linus?”
“I’m fine.” Color rode the ridges of his cheekbones. “You can go.”
“Are you sure?” I tugged on his shirt. “We could ditch these losers and snuggle instead.”
“No, you can’t.” Lethe grabbed me by the arm. “You’re coming with me. Linus, you’re going with him. Punch him in the face if you have to, but accept your fate.” She saluted him. “Good day, sir.”
“Keep an eye on Oscar,” I called to Woolly. “And Corbin. Don’t let them do anything I wouldn’t do.”
The lights strobed, giving the impression she had learned how to roll her eyes at me.
“Yeah, that really narrows it down.” Lethe snorted. “Later, Woolly.”
Lethe must have helped herself to my keys earlier. Moby was idling in the driveway, crammed with familiar faces. They all wore the same outfit as Lethe, convincing me she had signed us up for line dancing lessons or something else that would end the night with us shouting yeehaw.
I climbed in while she took the wheel and turned to address the group. “Hey, ladies and gent.”
“Hey,” they chimed back, all smiles.
Marit, Adelaide, and Neely filled the bench behind us, and Hadley sat with Tisdale Kinase, the Atlanta alpha, on the third row along with a gwyllgi enforcer I wanted to say was named Ares.
The stark changes to Hadley’s appearance sucker-punched me every time. Whenever we chatted, it was through brief texts during lulls in patrol or over the phone for quick procedural questions, one newbie to another. The rare times I set eyes on her during Linus’s conference calls to Atlanta, I averted my gaze so my brain stopped trying to make Hadley be Amelie again.
Charms did the heavy lifting, concealing her scent and augmenting her appearance in subtle ways that made it appear she was Adelaide’s sister, not Boaz’s, the similarities between the women more obvious when the trio was together. The hazel contacts helped, so did the short layers that gave Hadley perfect blonde curls, a shade darker than her natural color. Less Pritchard blonde and more Whitaker blonde. But those were surface changes. The real transformation was happening beneath her skin as she came into her own.
“Do I get any hints?” I studied them. “I’m coming up blank here.”
“No.” Neely flicked his fingers at the dashing red silk ascot he had tied around his throat to liven up his outfit. “You can, however, join the club.”
He flung a bundle of clothes at me, an exact copy of what everyone else wore, and I drew an obfuscation sigil on my arm to keep me concealed while I changed. A button printed with the word Bride pinned to one of the denim straps completed the ensemble. That’s when I noticed Lethe sporting a MOH button.
Aww.
Lethe didn’t wait for me but stomped on the gas and yelled, “Yeehaw.”
Sometimes it was scary how well I knew her.
With Neely at the helm, I had expected (more) silk or sequins, and fancy drinks that glowed in the dark or boiled fog.
Based on his fidgeting with his clothes and the shine from his thinned lips overpainted with gloss, he was starting to wish he had chaired the party planning, but it might just be indigestion brought on by poor fashion choices.
As much as I wanted to pity him, I didn’t. Not even a little bit. He had brought this down on himself.
And on the rest of us.
He could have tipped us off, but he didn’t, and now we were all in for what promised to be a wild ride.
“Everyone reach beneath their seats,” Lethe called. “You’ll find six ounces of cheap wine to get us started. Toss that back, and get ready for the best night of your lives.”
Eleven
Linus fell in step with Hood as they entered the woods behind Woolworth House, shoeless and still dressed in his pajamas. On the fly, Hood tossed a button over his shoulder, and Linus caught it. It read Groom, and he smoothed his thumb over the glossy surface. Smile tugging on his lips, he pinned it on. Now that his adrenaline was ebbing, he recalled Hood wearing one that read Best Man.
Figures shifted in the gloom ahead, and the darkness in Linus stirred with interest.
Corbin stepped out from behind a tree with Oscar by his side. Cruz, also in pajamas, his silk and designer, which led Linus to believe he hadn’t been the only one kidnapped, looked like he would rather be anywhere else. Midas appeared last, a paintball gun braced on his shoulder, and approached them.
“Linus is on our team,” Hood announced. “Midas, Linus, and I will be the blue team. Cruz, Oscar, and Corbin, you’re the red team.” He scanned the area and pointed out the hidden wraith. “Cletus is in charge of keeping us honest.”
With the lines drawn, each team retreated to their side of the forest where guns, ammo, and face paint awaited them.
“Corbin is the team leader for the red team. I’m team leader for blue.” Hood passed around the equipment. “Our mission is to eliminate the other team as quickly as possible so we can move on to phase two.”
“Phase two?” Linus could barely wrap his head around phase one. “How many phases are there?”
Hood bared his teeth. “Depends on how long it takes us to accomplish our goals.”
“Five minutes.” Midas checked his watch. “Then all bets are off.”
Linus armed himself, listened while Midas outlined the perimeter, then drew short-range telepathy sigils on himself and his team so they could communicate without alerting the others.
“We’ve got this in the bag,” Hood said into their minds. “Move out.”
The three of them crept through the trees, silent as wraiths. Only Linus’s bare feet, which slowed him down, saved him from taking a paintball to the chest. Instead it winged his arm and splattered on the tree trunk behind him.
Heart pounding in anticipation of the hunt, he gathered shadows around him and blended into the night.
“We’re here,” Lethe sang as she pulled onto the shoulder of the road. “Just smell that country air.”
I smelled something, all right. Cow patties. Lots and lots of cow patties.
The rich aroma of livestock that hit me when I stepped out of the SUV gave me a bad feeling about this. Three gwyllgi could do a lot of damage to a herd if they shifted. I couldn’t figure out what mass slaughter had to do with bachelorette anything, so maybe I was wrong.
“We’re splitting into teams. You will be on your team for the duration. Do not lose sight of your team.” Lethe waited until everyone shouted agreement. “Grier, Hadley, Marit, and I are red team. Mom, Neely, Ares, and Adelaide, you’re blue team.”
The gwyllgi in our midst perked when they noticed all the tiny dots in the distance, a herd of dozing dairy cows. No, wait. They were too small for that. The scale wasn’t wrong because the cattle were off in the distance. It was wrong because they weren’t cows at all. They were goats. We must be in Springfield, about forty minutes north of Savannah. The caterer told me she was sourcing the goat cheese for our wedding from a farm there. Lethe must have made a mental note of it.
“What are we doing here?” I counted sixteen goats. “I thought we were going cow tipping.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Lethe scoffed. “Seriously, Grier. Use your imagination.”
Clearly mine had limits. “Can you even tip a goat?”
“What’s with you and tipping?” Lethe brushed past me. “Does this look like a restaurant to you?”
“Yes,” Ares said, speaking for the first time. “It kind of does.”
Ignoring her, Lethe climbed in the pasture. The rest of the girls followed her, and I brought up the rear.
There were a few cows here and there. Maybe one per dozen goats. The goats were all colors, shapes, and sizes. I debated tucking one of the tiny ones under my shirt. I could always mail the farmer a check later, right? The only thing that stopped me was recalling the sheer number of predators who lived next door, whose control might not be as absolute as Hood’s and Lethe’s.
“Here’s the deal.” She kept her voice low as we stalked deeper into the field. “The farmer has twenty-one pet fainting goats. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to find them and spook them into falling over. Document your victories, people. Pics or it didn’t happen. We’ll compare results in an hour. The team with the most faints wins.”
Once the other team dispersed, I edged closer to Lethe. “Scaring fainting goats, huh? You’re right. It’s not like tipping cows. At all.”
“Be smug later.” She zeroed in on a pudgy gray goat with a mouthful of grass. “Play to win now.”
Before I could ask if causing the goats to faint hurt them, Lethe had shifted. She didn’t charge the goat or chase it. She put herself upwind of it, waited a second for it to notice her, then chuffed when its muscles locked as tight as a drum, and it fell sideways, its legs stiff as boards.
Lethe gave me a look, and I took out my phone to capture the image.
“I’m not sure how I feel about this,” I admitted as I absorbed the scope of how much havoc our crew was causing the pasture full of animals.