Gabby rolled that over in her mind. The way Amanda was calling her out, Sheridan might have motive to: 1) kill Amanda and 2) drag her reputation.
Sheridan, the woman who wanted them out of her face, could be the problem.
Longest day in history at yet another activity, the yoga tent. What is this, summer camp?
Gabby had never liked yoga. Holding an uncomfortable pose until you were bored or about to fall over—it was more like sex with Phil than exercise. And really, it was a waste of time when she had a national security leak to investigate. Gabby needed to Be More. Do More, not contort herself into an awkward position to reach enlightenment.
Skip yoga and snoop around the main offices—that’s what she should be doing. Or working on an organizational map of the cult, which probably wasn’t the posterboard family tree–style project she was imagining.
Yoga was the last thing she needed. Getting centered and finding balance was a waste of time in the real world, and it was a myth here.
Just as she was flipping around to head anywhere but yoga, she spotted Sheridan outfitted in yoga pants and a Jackson Hole T-shirt.
Damn it. Now Gabby had to make a choice. Follow the womanshe was supposed to be babysitting who didn’t want anything to do with her or…
There was no choice. If she had to do yoga to learn something, then so be it.
Gabby fell into step with the psychic and headed toward class.
Sheridan’s gray-streaked hair stood out at the resort where everyone else was Botoxed and filled to perfection and slathered in Inner Beauty cream. Sheridan didn’t need anyone’s approval. Her confidence had a gravitational pull.
“How’s the psychological decluttering coming?”
“I told you we weren’t talking,” Sheridan said sharply, not even glancing Gabby’s way.
“Are you going to skip yoga now?”
“No, but I’d like you to.”
The yoga tent wasn’t really a tent. It had a gleaming wooden floor, a live harpist, pillar candles, and an ocean breeze. It wasThe Great British Bake Offtent on a beach. Gabby defiantly picked up a yoga block. If Sheridan didn’t want to talk to her, she’d eavesdrop. After the room filled with women, Gabby placed her mat closer to Sheridan, close enough that she could speak to her if she wanted.
Lana sashayed in and plopped her mat right in front of the two of them. After some hellos, she looked at Sheridan and asked, “What’s it like having a vision?”
“Like a bowel movement for your brain,” Sheridan answered matter-of-factly.
Gabby felt like her brain took a shit all the time, and she’d never predicted anything.
“I read that piece Amanda Duvall wrote about you,” Gabbyblurted out because she wasn’t sure how else to work it into the conversation. Interrogation wasn’t conversation, unless you were good at it.
Sheridan flashed an annoyed look. “Ma’am, are you trying to rile me up? Because it’s not going to work.”
The way she answered the question made her seem a little riled up.
Sheridan, hands on hips, answered the question. “Amanda had some fair points. I see how I am problematic, but democracy has worse problems than me: politicians who are owned by rich donors, lobbies that determine votes, an invisible administrative state, the electoral college, and an uneducated and misinformed population of voters. If she was truly worried about democracy, she has plenty of bigger fish to fry.” Sheridan gave her impassioned speech calmly, but there was a quiet energy behind her words. Gabby never expected a psychic to be so worked up about government.
Jasmine dimmed the lights and cued the harpist. “Welcome, everyone!” she said in a soothing tone. “I normally don’t teach yoga, but Saphire is feeling a little under the weather.”
Probably too many G-shots. Blindly drinking anything a cult leader handed out seemed like a bad idea after Jonestown. The Kool-Aid might sound good, but…
Gabby’s thoughts drifted to Rasputin. It wasn’t like she was a historian, but she had watched the cartoon version ofAnastasiawith Meg Ryan, and she remembered Rasputin trying to take over Russia. Sheridan could be pulling a Rasputin, but it was hard to say. If Sheridan did want to take over, maybe she’d do a better job. Gabby was inclined to cheer her on.
After some light stretching, Jasmine moved into a downwarddog. “Gia, this is an active pose. Push into your heels and engage your core.”
For Gabby, the core of her body was something to cover with rouching or drapey fabric that hopefully didn’t pooch out and make her look pregnant, even though that’s what it usually did.
Jasmine shifted into a plank and then back again, lifting one leg up into the air. She made it look easy.
The rest of the class followed Jasmine’s lead like they’d done it a thousand times, a good reminder that Inner-G recruited through yoga studios. This wasn’t paradise; it was Gabby’s nightmare.
