Page 78 of The Rut in the Road

Vi was due to show up around three, at which point Ward was going to go through the plans for both tonight and tomorrow with both of us. That way all of us could come in later tomorrow, which we were all likely to need. Especially if things didn’t go according to plan.

I wasn’t sure how likely that was—but I’d definitely be asking Ward later.

“So,”Mason began, addressing me, Vi, Beck, and Ward. Vi was looking attentive, stylus poised over her tablet, just like she was listening to a professor giving a lecture, which I suppose, technically speaking, she was. “According to Detective Maza,who very helpfully looked up protest permits for me, the MFM has a protest planned starting at 7:00 p.m. about two blocks from Shade.” Shade was the nightclub where Ward, Vi, and I were going.

“Shit,” Ward muttered, although he seemed more annoyed than seriously worried. I noticed Vi looking at me, chewing her lower lip. Wanting to reassure her, I tried to keep my expression calm, even though I felt anxiety tightening in my stomach.

“The fact that they have a permit suggests that they’re not planning on breaking the law,” Mason replied, although I’d worked with him long enough to hear the tension in his voice. I wondered exactly how worried he was. He did tend to be very protective of Ward, and he wasn’t going with us, so he was going to be more stressed than usual anyway.

Ward snorted, which told me he didn’t think much of Mason’s pronouncement.

Mason and Beck both glared at him.

Vi squirmed a little from her seat beside me on the couch.

“As much as I despise what they stand for,” Mason said, and I thought I might be able to hear him grinding his teeth as he spoke. “There hasn’t been a violent MFM protest in Virginia in several months, and none in Richmond for almost a year. That suggests that we’re unlikely to encounter anything more violent than words.”

As much as I wanted to be reassured by what Mason was saying, I couldn’t help but hear Raj’s worries in my mind:that might also mean that we’re due for an outbreak of violence. But even I knew better than to say that out loud.

It absolutely meant, however, that I was going into tonight’s séance prepared to use whatever magic I might need to defend both Ward and my sister—although the only reason Ward might be in any danger at all was if he didn’t see whatever it was coming. If he knew about it, he would be far more capable thanVi or me—or both of us put together—of handling pretty much anything the MFM could throw at us, literally or figuratively.

“I’m expecting there might be a bit more than that,” Ward said, and I really wished he would stop arguing with Mason. The big orc was wound up tightly enough as it was, and it was also making both Vi and Beck increasingly nervous. “You know, spitting, maybe a few pieces of trash, some rude graffiti that might end up on the truck.”

Mason did not look pleased about that. It was his truck. Beck was insisting on taking her car out to Short Pump for her very swanky party, which meant stuffing Mason into it, something he was willing to tolerate so that we could put Ward’s wheelchair in the back of his Tacoma. I’d offered to use my car, but he’d said he’d prefer I used his. Probably because it was bigger and safer.

That should make Raj happy.

I grimaced. I didn’t like that I sometimes thought derisively about Raj’s worrying. It felt… mean. And a little bit like a betrayal, although that didn’t make much sense to me, since I’d said to him that I didn’t think he needed to be worried about me. At least not about me walking home from work.

He was probably more justified in worrying about the protest that was planned for downtown this weekend, since it also made me nervous. Not as much as he seemed to think I should be, but I did think there was a very real chance thatsomethingmight happen at the séance, or, more realistically, either coming or going.

I was expecting things to be thrown at the truck, possibly people hitting it with signs or maybe even their fists as we tried to get through the alley. I wasn’t expecting actual physical violence directed atus, though. Mason was right—that seemed unlikely.

I should really know better.

“Why dothey care what people do at their parties?” Violette asked me, her arms crossed over her chest as she glared out one of the big tinted windows at the protest below. The main dance floor of the club was up a half-flight of stairs, which meant that we were able to look over the top of the protest, which had also been kept to the opposite side of the street.

We’d gotten lucky—they hadn’t realized who we were or what we were doing there when I’d pulled down the alley to the parking lot behind the club that was reserved for staff, as instructed by the party organizers. So we’d gotten in without attracting much attention.

“Why does anybody care what anybody else does?” I asked, although the question was mostly hypothetical.

Vi grunted. “God, I hate people.”

I wasn’t sure Ihatedpeople, but there were definitely a lot of people I felt more animosity toward than friendliness or even apathy. Especially if they were attending a Magic-Free Movement rally.

“You two ready?” Ward asked, and I turned away from the window to find my boss had changed into black leather pants, a billowy black shirt that looked like it belonged on the cover of a romance novel, and a corset-style vest stitched with moons and stars in purple and orange.

“Nice ’fit, boss,” Vi complimented him. She and I were also both wearing black—Vi had a long broomstick skirt and a blouse with dark glittery sparkles and dangling black crystal beaded earrings, and I had simple black pants and a black button-down. I didn’t own anything with sparkles or embroidery.

Ward glanced down at his clothes. “Thank you,” he replied. “I feel like I’m ridiculously overdressed.”

“We are at a Halloween party,” I pointed out. “And you are the center of attention.”

Ward grimaced. I knew that wasn’t his favorite thing to do, but we all also understood that sometimes it was parties like this one that would help us not only pay the bills and our salaries, but also contribute towards the charitable work that the Lost Lineage Foundation did with our help. Not because Ward had to pay for it—not in the sense of cutting a check, anyway. We did volunteer time, though, since we didn’t charge for a lot of the work we ended up doing on the Foundation’s behalf. Gigs like this one meant that we could afford to spend that timenotbeing paid.

“I still feel ridiculous,” he replied, brushing his hands down his vest.

“It’s perfect,” Vi told him with a grin. “The client willloveit.”