Page 104 of Spring L.A.W.
“Don’t forget…” she called over his shoulder. “Beltane Eve… Big celebration right here! Well, here in the mansion, when it relocates to Tennessee. You’re all invited.”
EPILOGUE
Two days later, on Mount Funk, Tennessee, Beltane…
By noon,the Tennessee mountain had turned itself into a full-blown pagan flirtation festival. The L.A.W. mansion sat in a clearing on Mount Funk like a grande dame who had decided clothes were optional, but flower garlands were mandatory. Ribbons streamed from every porch post. Wreaths of fresh greenery hung on the doors. Somewhere in the distance, somebody had started drumming like they were summoning the Goddess herself, and from the back meadow came the cheerful shrieks of about thirty invited guests trying to Maypole with wine in their systems and coordination nowhere in sight.
Joell stood on the back terrace with Crowe beside her, looking smug in that deeply irritating way of a man who had recently become both human and even more convinced the universe revolved around him. “It’s official,” she said, surveying the chaos. “We’ve crossed the line from sacred sabbat to woodland dating show.”
Crowe slid an arm around her waist. “And yet somehow it suits you.”
She gave him a sidelong look. “Careful. That sounded sincere.”
“It was. I’m trying this new thing called emotional availability.”
“Disgusting.”
Out on the lawn, the Maypole had been planted deep into the earth, towering over the guests in a storm of ribbon and spring flowers. Crystal had somehow turned the whole event into a fashion statement. She stood near the base of the pole in a pale sea-green dress that fluttered around her legs like she’d ordered the breeze in advance.
“I’m just saying,” Crystal announced to no one and everyone, “if one more guest tangles my ribbon, I shall take it as a personal attack.”
“You say that every year,” Victoria called.
Victoria lounged on a blanket in sunglasses, looking like a glamorous action hero on holiday. Reginald, her raccoon familiar, sat beside her with both tiny hands wrapped around a sugared bun he had absolutely stolen from the feast table.
“It’s true every year,” Crystal shot back.
Magda appeared carrying two pitchers of something pink and dangerous. “Who wants Beltane punch?”
“Nobody who values consciousness,” Sahara said.
Magda grinned. “Coward.”
Sahara stood under the shade of an old tree, elegant as always, her dark hair pulled back, her expression dry enough to dehydrate nearby plant life. Beside her, Lioness was sketching the guests and adding unflattering details with the ruthless joy of an artist who feared neither criticism nor lawsuits.
“You made that one’s thighs too small,” Sahara murmured, glancing at the page.
Lioness didn’t look up. “I’m not drawing what she has. I’m drawing what she believes she has.”
Rayna barked a laugh from the steps. She had one hand around Payne’s arm and the other around a goblet of cider, and she looked entirely too pleased with life in general.
“Please tell me you’re doing one of Joell next,” Rayna said.
Lioness finally looked up. “Already did. The page burst into flames.”
Joell put a hand to her chest. “That could mean so many flattering things.”
Brianna came out onto the lawn carrying a tray of honey cakes, looking harried in the very particular way of a woman who had volunteered to help and immediately regretted having a generous spirit. “Can somebody take these before I drop them and we all decide ants are part of the ritual?”
“I’ve got them,” Rayna said.
Payne took the tray from Brianna before Rayna could, because he was smart and presumably wished to stay alive.
Brianna exhaled. “Thank you. I nearly sacrificed my wrists to Beltane.”
“Honestly,” Crystal said, “that would have been dramatic, but not in a sexy way.”
“Everything here is in a sexy way,” Brianna muttered. “That’s the problem.”
