Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
My throat tightened, and I nodded. “Just put it on, Cyra. Mr. Tom, will you get her an undershirt? We’re out of time, and I don’t have anything else that will fit you. My suits—in the correct color—are tailored.”
Mr. Tom ducked back into my suite to grab one.
“Oh, no, Hollace, I made her sad,” Cyra whispered, stepping into her pants. “I feel terrible. My heart hurts, Hollace.”
“I definitely think you deserve it,” he replied.
“That was not a gnome, Jessie.” Edgar raised his hand from his position at the end of the line. “I did not bring any gnomes on this journey. I’ve possibly learned my lesson. Time will tell.”
“Well, it could’ve been a gnome.” Indigo turned to him. “Just not one of our gnomes.”
“Oh, yes, quite right. That’s true. It could have. I can check it out—”
Finally, in utter defeat, my tears winning, I faced Austin. “I’m so sorry. I—”
He put a palm to my cheek, and amazingly, I didn’t feel anger in the bonds. Or frustration. Or anything I really should have.
“I suspected something like this would happen. Maybe not so”—his gaze flicked toward the constantly moving line my crew was attempting—“flashy, but certainly not uniform. It’s better the packs know what we are up front and agree to it anyway than to agree thinking we’re something we’re not.”
“Like able to get in a straight line,” Hollace murmured.
Austin tilted his head in a nod, checked his watch, and turned. “We’re a bit early. Let’s get moving.”
“Wait.” I checked my own watch. We were ten minutes late.
“Not uniform, and never on time,” he amended as we started forward. “I planned ahead.”
I glanced at Broken Sue. “Shove my people into place if you have to. Keep them from wandering off. You too, Tristan.”
“He already is,” Indigo said with a grunt. “Shoving him back doesn’t yield any results, in case anyone else thinks to try.”
“I could get results with a shove,” Cyra said.
“You’re in enough trouble,” Hollace reminded her.
“This is my life,” I muttered. “Why didn’t you wear the right color?”
It felt like a whine, but the volume of my voice made it a yell. I simply couldn’t help it.
“Are these not the right colors?” Niamh asked. “I was told to order brown.”
“A brown pocket square,” I said as we descended the stairs. Soon, I’d have to button up my personality. The other packs were probably already there. They’d want to see this mess of a crew show up. “A brown pocket square. Like at Elliot Graves’s cave, remember? I’m not crazy, you were all there. This is not a new situation for any of you. And how did Fred get a suit so quickly? More importantly, why is she here? No offense, Fred, but you’re not magical.”
Mr. Tom cleared his throat, catching up to us. He handed off the undershirt to Cyra. “That might be my fault, miss. About the suit color, not about the off-center Jane tagging along without permission. It seems I misunderstood what you meant. I was very precise in ordering the correct suits and getting them tailored, as requested, so Edgar had plenty of room at the front of his pants. They come in all colors, and you’d been firm on the color scheme when I asked. I wasn’t aware it was just…the square.”
“But then why are you dressed appropriately?”
“Because that’s what Ulric and Jasper said we were wearing. With the purple pocket… Ah. Yes, I see. I should’ve put two and two together. Well…” I could hear his wings flutter. “There is nothing for it. Miss, I humbly ask to be retired in disgrace.”
“I’d take him up on that,” Niamh said.
“I had my own suit, don’t worry,” Fred called up. “I’ve found my people!”
“That’s not something to be proud of, I don’t think,” Ulric murmured.
“You’re one to talk,” Jasper said. “You two have the same hair.”
“Are you color-blind?” Ulric shot back.
“What are you even doing with me?” I asked Austin, sagging once again.
He took my hand and threaded his fingers through mine. “Remember when we arrived at the town outside of Kingsley’s?” he murmured, directing me to the interior of the resort. “You were trying to squish a basajaun into a van when a local asked if you wanted help. You agreed, and I realized then that we’d be showing up with a lot of dirty, decrepit trailers and motor homes instead of the sleek, matching fleet I’d reserved. I’d worried, above all, about losing style points. About not showing well to my brother and his pack.”
“Yeah. Old me would’ve caved and resumed shoving the basajaunak into the vans.”
“Yes. And old me would’ve been a nightmare when I didn’t get my way. I realized that at the time—that I was acting like a remnant of my old self. In trying to show my brother I’d changed, I was regressing.”