Chapter 40
CHAPTER FORTY
Hades
Six in the morning and the farmhouse was already alive with movement.
I’d been up since four. Hadn’t slept much anyway. Just held Lettie through the dark hours while her breathing stayed shallow and restless against my chest. When dawn broke, I slipped out of bed and headed downstairs.
The truck was already backed up to the porch. Lettie had done that the night before. Smart. Efficient. Ready.
I started loading crates, the heavy ones first. The wooden boxes filled with jars and bottles and products she’d spent weeks preparing. Cerberus watched from the porch, his massive head resting on his paws. Alert but calm. He knew the routine. Knew he wasn’t coming with us today.
I heard the back door open behind me.
Turned.
And froze.
Lettie’s mother stood in the doorway. Dressed. Hair fixed. Makeup applied. She looked more put together than I’d ever seen her. More alive. More present.
And that made every instinct I had scream danger.
She didn’t acknowledge me. Just walked past like I wasn’t there, moving toward the truck with purpose. Then she climbed into the passenger seat without a word.
I watched her through the windshield. The way she sat straighter than usual. The way her eyes scanned the driveway and the road beyond with an intensity that made my gut clench.
She was waiting for something.
Anticipating something.
And whatever it was, it was tied to today.
Lettie appeared in the doorway a moment later. Long skirt and a soft gray sweater. Hair pulled back in a loose braid. Beautiful. Guarded. Afraid.
Her eyes found mine immediately.
“She’s already in the truck,” I said quietly.
Lettie nodded. Like she’d expected it. Like this was part of the pattern she’d been trying to decode for days.
“I need to grab the last few things,” she said.
“I’ll finish loading.”
She disappeared back inside. I secured the final crates, making sure everything was tied down and stable.
Pegasus and Memnon pulled up on their bikes a few minutes later. Right on time. I’d called them last night and told them to be here at six. They’d follow us into town to help with setup and stay close.
Because I wasn’t letting Lettie out of my sight today.
Not with her mother acting like this.
Not with the dread sitting heavy in my chest.
Lettie came back out carrying a basket of smaller items. I took it from her hands and set it carefully in the truck bed beside the crates.
“That’s everything,” she said.
I turned to face her and pulled her close. My hands found her waist as her body pressed against mine.
“You ready for this?” I asked.
“No.”
I kissed her. Slow and deep. Trying to give her something solid to hold onto when the ground started shifting beneath her feet.
She kissed me back. Her hands fisted in my shirt. Her breath came faster.
When I pulled away, her eyes were wet.
“I’ve got you,” I said. “Whatever happens today, I’ve got you.”
She nodded and swallowed hard, then stepped back and climbed into the driver’s seat.
Her mother sat silently in the passenger seat. Watching the road ahead with that same unsettling energy.
I walked to my bike, then climbed on and fired the engine.
Pegasus and Memnon flanked me. One on each side. The three of us formed a protective convoy behind Lettie’s truck as she pulled out of the driveway and headed toward town.
The ride took less than fifteen minutes.
Main Street was already waking up when we arrived. Vendors setting up booths. Early risers claiming their spots. The smell of coffee and baked goods drifting through the morning air.
Lettie pulled into the lot behind the hardware store and parked near booth seventeen. I rolled in behind her and killed the engine. Pegasus and Memnon did the same.
Lettie climbed out of the truck. Her mother followed. The older woman moved with purpose, walking straight to the booth, and sat down in the folding chair Lettie had set up the day before.
She didn’t help.
Didn’t offer.
Just sat there, watching the street. Waiting.
Lettie opened the tailgate and reached for the first crate.
That was when I moved.
I crossed the distance in a few long strides. My hand found her waist before she could lift the crate.
“Baby,” I said.
“What?” Her voice was steady, but I saw the tension in her shoulders. The way her eyes flicked to her mother, then back to me.
I gestured to Pegasus and Memnon. “They can handle this. You don’t need to be lifting all this shit yourself.”
Her jaw tightened. “I’ve been doing this for years, Brock.”
“Yeah, well, now you don’t have to.” I reached for the crate she’d been about to grab.
Her hand shot out and stopped me. “Don’t.”
I looked at her. Saw the stubborn set of her mouth. The protective way she positioned herself between me and her products.
“These are mine,” she said quietly. “My work. My booth. I need to touch them. Arrange them. This isn’t something I can supervise from the sidelines.”
Fuck.
I understood possession. Understood the need to control your own territory. But watching her strain under the weight of those crates made something violent twist in my chest.
“You’re gonna hurt yourself,” I said.
“I’m stronger than I look.”
“I know you are.” I stepped closer and lowered my voice so only she could hear. “But you don’t have to prove it. Not to me. Not to anyone.”
Her eyes searched mine, looking for something. Control, maybe. Or the promise that I wasn’t trying to take over.
“I need to do this,” she said finally. “It’s my booth. My products. If I’m not the one setting it up, it doesn’t feel right.”
I wanted to argue. Wanted to make her sit down and watch while we handled everything. Lettie wasn’t weak. But I saw the way her hands trembled slightly from the need to maintain control over the one thing that was entirely hers.
So I made a choice.
“Compromise,” I said.
She raised an eyebrow. “What kind of compromise?”
“You arrange everything. Touch every jar, every bottle, every fucking soap bar if you need to. But the heavy crates? The lifting? That’s on us.” I gestured to Pegasus and Memnon. “They carry; you direct. You still control your booth, but you don’t break your back doing it.”
She considered that, her eyes flicking to the prospects standing a few feet away, waiting for orders.
“They don’t touch the products,” she said. “Just the crates.”
“Deal.”
“And I arrange everything myself.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
She nodded slowly, then looked at Pegasus and Memnon. “Bring the crates to the table. Set them down gently. Don’t drop anything.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Pegasus said immediately.
Memnon just nodded and moved toward the truck.
I watched them work. Watched Lettie direct them with quiet authority, unpacking each crate with careful precision, arranging jars by size and type, placing tincture bottles in neat rows, stacking soaps in small pyramids.
Everything had a place. Everything had a purpose.
Her mother sat in the folding chair at the back of the booth, silent, watching the street with that same unsettling energy.
By the time the sun was fully up, the booth was ready. Jars gleamed in the morning light. Herb bundles hung from hooks along the tent frame. Soaps sat wrapped and labeled. Tinctures lined up like soldiers.
Lettie stepped back and surveyed her work. She nodded once, satisfied.
Pegasus and Memnon positioned themselves at the edges of the booth. Not hovering. Just present. Watching the crowd gather.
I stayed close to Lettie, my hand at her back as the morning passed in a blur of activity.
Women approached with questions. Lettie answered each one with patience and care. An older woman asked about arthritis salve. A younger one whispered something about anxiety. A mother wanted something to help her daughter sleep.
Lettie never judged. Never questioned. Just listened and offered solutions.
I watched her work. Watched the way she softened her voice, her posture. The way she made people feel safe enough to ask for help.
This version of Lettie was different from the one I knew in her kitchen. Softer on the surface. More accessible.
But underneath, I saw the calculations. The way she assessed each person who approached. The way her eyes tracked movement in the crowd even while she smiled and answered questions.
She was always hunting. Always watching for threats.
Just like me.
So I stayed close. My hand at her back when she needed grounding. My body behind hers when the crowd pressed too close. My presence a statement to everyone who looked at her.
Mine.
Pegasus handled the restocking. Memnon managed the crowd flow. Both of them were professional and respectful.
And Lettie’s mother sat in that folding chair at the back of the booth. Silent. Alert. Watching.
She looked good. Better than I’d ever seen her. Hair fixed. Makeup applied. Clothes that actually fit instead of the shapeless nightgowns she usually wore.
She sat straighter. Leaned forward occasionally. Her eyes scanned faces in the crowd with an intensity that made my gut clench.
By early afternoon, the crowd had thickened. The festival was in full swing. Music blared from speakers near the food stalls. Kids ran between booths screaming and laughing. Adults moved slower, stopping to chat with neighbors, examining products.
Lettie had sold out of half her stock. Pegasus was taking orders for next week. Memnon was keeping the crowd moving smoothly.
Everything was normal.
Until it wasn’t.
Lettie’s mother’s posture changed.
Subtle. A straightening of her spine. A shift in her breathing. Her hands unclenched in her lap and she leaned forward, eyes locking on something in the crowd.
I followed her gaze.
A man. Mid-forties maybe. Tall. Muscular build with dark brown hair, graying at the temples. Jeans and a flannel shirt that screamed department store clearance rack.
Forgettable and familiar at the same time.
But he moved through the crowd with purpose. Not browsing. Not stopping at booths. Just walking. Straight toward us.
And Lettie’s mother watched him like he was the only person in the world.