23. Scarlet Sage #2
“Busy ten minutes.”
A knock sounds downstairs.
Wes reaches for his phone on the nightstand. “Driveway camera. Honey’s car.”
I look at the screen. Honey stands on my porch beneath a yellow raincoat, wearing the expression of a woman prepared to feed her way through a crisis. Her arms are full of bakery bags and a casserole dish. Her sister isn’t with her, but the pink Sweet Tooth bags say she sent reinforcements.
Wes looks at me. “Do you want her in?”
My house. My choice. Even after everything.
“Yes.” I start to push myself upright, but my tender muscles object. Both men notice.
Wes shifts out of bed first. “Take your time.”
“I’m capable of walking down my own stairs.”
Roman stretches beside me. “We have recently gathered evidence to the contrary.”
“I hate this investigation.”
By the time I make it downstairs, Honey is in my kitchen unpacking food like she has declared war on hunger and intends to win by noon.
She turns when she sees me, her golden-brown eyes too bright. “Oh, Scar.”
“Don’t hug me if you’re going to cry into my hair. It’s been through a lot.”
She crosses the kitchen anyway. Her arms wrap around me, warm and tight, smelling of sugar, rain, and Sweet Tooth’s honey glaze. I stand stiff for one breath and then hug her back.
Honey pulls away and looks me over while she takes in the scent of the room. Her gaze catches on the sleep shirt, my tangled hair, and the two men in yesterday’s clothes. Understanding flashes across her face.
I point at her. “No.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Your eyebrows did.”
“I can’t help that they’re expressive.”
Roman opens a bakery bag. “Junie sent honey cakes, sausage rolls, and a note.” He reads aloud, “If Scarlet refuses food, tell Wes to use his scary voice.”
I snatch the card. Junie’s looping handwriting fills the little pink paper. Eat. Honey is authorized to bully you. Also, you are loved. Be annoying about it later.
I set the card down before my throat does anything embarrassing.
Honey points at the table. “Sit.”
I glance at Wes. “See? That is what a command sounds like.”
He folds his arms. “I’m taking notes.”
Roman places a plate in front of me with enough pastries to sedate a lumberjack.
Honey unpacks the remaining boxes. “You’re not supposed to come into town.”
“Good morning to you too.”
Her mouth presses together. “Mrs. Delaney told several business owners you were barred from festival spaces.”
Wes’s expression cools. Roman nudges the plate closer until it touches my hand.
“It’s worse than gossip,” Honey says. “Lena’s beta came into Sweet Tooth this morning looking gray. Lena keeps waking up convinced her alpha left her, even when he’s beside the bed.”
Honey continues before any of us can reply. “A tourist pack at Cypress Kiss Rentals had an episode last night. Newly courted, here for early festival blessings. The omega started screaming that her beta had been replaced. Sheriff Bentley sent a deputy and a bond medic.”
Wes leans against the counter. “Did they report anything unusual?”
Honey glances at him, then at me. “I overheard the sheriff say they bought a protection bundle. No vendor name Junie or I recognized.”
I keep my breathing steady. One bundle and one frightened pack don’t establish a cause. But man, does the possibility suck.
“What was in it?” Wes asks.
“They’re all over town. Junie saw one yesterday. Swamp lily, white thread, a printed card with a sweetheart blessing.” Honey lowers her voice. “And a tiny stone charm, because people are terrified without the Love Stone.”
Roman looks toward the evidence wall in the dining room. “Those features are worth comparing with what we already collected.”
Honey pulls out a chair. “You think the flowers are carrying whatever is making people sick?”
“We don’t know,” I say. “The plants we collected from the swamp retained unidentified chemical material. We would need to test the bundles to see if they contain it.”
“Not to mention not every bundle is coming from the same place,” Roman says.
Wes opens his notebook. “We need the bundle, the vendor, and a complete list of what the pack handled before the symptoms began.”
Honey exhales slowly. “So people might be carrying the problem home because they think they’re buying protection.”
“Might,” Wes says. “We need to verify before we scare the town.”
The rain picks up again, ticking against the kitchen windows.
I take a bite of a sausage roll because Junie’s note is watching me. Then another because Roman is. Wes says nothing, which is probably why I take a third.
Honey’s eyes soften.
I point my pastry at her. “Do not make this sentimental.”
“Don’t worry. Your reputation as witty and stubbornly independent will stand.”
“Exactly. Consistency matters.”
Roman laughs under his breath.
The morning almost feels ordinary. Food. Rain. Honey filling my kitchen with concern disguised as carbohydrates. Two men carrying my scent and moving around my house as though pack care is part of my normal.
I let myself have it.
Then Honey reaches into the last bakery bag. “Oh, yeah. Junie found these tucked into Sweet Tooth’s flower delivery this morning. She thought it was random vendor junk, until she recognized the same pink sign from a pop-up booth near the old post office.”
She slides a folded festival flyer across the table. Pink border. Tiny hearts. A fake old-fashioned blessing in curling script. At the bottom, beneath a painted swamp lily, is three words: Temporary Bond Relief
Wes reaches for the flyer. Roman stops him with one hand and pulls an evidence bag from his pocket with the other.
Honey looks at me, fear finally breaking through her sweetness. “Scarlet. What does that mean?”
I stare at the words. Relief is not the same as protection. “I don’t know,” I say.