“Pretend it’s battle,” Tristan whispered, and Austin faintly nodded.
Battle?
I glanced around at the other alphas and their people, who were patiently waiting. Their focus was acute. They were clocking all this.
It was Kingsley’s faint nod, though, that gave me the confidence I needed.
I shrugged. They’d gotten themselves into this mess. They’d reap what they sowed.
EIGHTEEN
My magic blasted out,filling the entire space. It was how I always prepared, as it let people know what was going on. Another blast followed, this one still felt by all but isolating a directive to my people. Their connections sparkled in my mind’s eye.
I gave them firm pulses, their directions, like in battle. Brooking no argument.
“Oh, whoa,” Fred said, looking around as she followed the herd. They were simply incapable of a crisp line, practice be damned. “Okay. This is next level. Is that magic?”
“Hush, Jane. We’re supposed to be quiet during these,” Mr. Tom told her.
“I strangely don’t mind that nickname,” Fred murmured. “Better than being called a dick, at any rate.” To Mr. Tom she said, “Did you ever think that maybe the name Rufus would suit you better than Tom?”
“Thatisa nice name,” Dave commented. Someone huffed out a laugh, but I couldn’t determine who.
I gave them a whipcrack of magic to hopefully quiet the crew while walking forward with them and motioning where theyshould stand. Magic pumped, working on those connections, organizing them into a loose cluster. It would have to do.
Glancing back at Austin, I shrugged. People were never going to think I was the organized one. As he said, better that they knew up front rather than be surprised.
He took my hand again.
“Do not yank my wing,” Mr. Tom told someone. “I know that was you.”
“Sure, ye’re fluttering it in me face,” Niamh said. “What do ye expect me ta do?”
“Moving back would be a start,” he answered pompously.
The other alphas all began forward toward the table in the center. Except for Kingsley, they wore loose, flowing clothes that would be quick and easy to take off. No one wore shoes, not them nor their people. Not even Kingsley.
Something belatedly occurred to me that I really shouldn’t have forgotten about. I ripped my hand away from Austin and spun. “Wait—Cyra, did you actually blast whatever it was that you thought was a gnome?”
Austin tensed and turned back. That potentially huge problem had escaped him as well.
“Is it going to make you sad again if I say yes?” Cyra asked me, peering out from around Niamh.
“Did you set anything on fire?” I demanded.
“Oh, no, nothing like that.” She smiled. “I just melted a bucket and crisped half a bush and took out a flower bed and kinda blackened the cement a little teeny bit. No one will even notice.”
I stared at her with what I knew was an incredulous expression.
“Which flowers?” Edgar asked, and I noticed he’d already started to slink away from everyone else. He was probably off to find a corner to lurk in or wander over to the other packs andstand too closely. “The lovely pink ones with the leafy stems, or the—hopefully—work-in-progress purple ones that really aren’t fit for the human eye just yet?”
“Purple ones,” Cyra said after some reflection.
“Oh, good.” Edgar sighed with a smile. “That’s okay, then. Punishment fits the crime.”
“Mr. Tom,” I said, willing patience. “Could you please go check it out? If it’s bad, connect with the hotel manager, and we’ll work out compensation.”
“Of course, miss. Right away. Happy to be of service.”
