“What are you?—?”
Grains clattered against the gravel like tiny bullets.
And then came the sound.
It was a war cry, really. An eruption of clucking, flapping, squawking chaos.
Chickens, dozens of them, descended in a rust-colored storm, all surging toward the scattered grain and encircling Honey like she was the main course. Honey shrieked when one flew straight into her legs, pecking the ground inches from her shoes. Another leapt up, wings flapping, and brushed against her hip.
Dear god.
The child was still there just outside the chaos she’d summoned, her big doe eyes unblinking beneath a curtain of wispy bangs as she watched the chickens swarm Honey.
“Why would you do that?” Honey cried, voice teetering on hysteria.
She took a ginger step back, but a chicken lunged at her toe and she shrieked again.
Brooke blinked once, calmly, and then turned on her heel, dropped the bucket, and ran toward the house without a word.
“Oh, no. No, no, no—” Honey muttered, turning in a slow circle as the chickens continued the onslaught.
The screen door creaked, and another figure emerged onto the porch.
The eldest Hale daughter took one look at the scene and arched an eyebrow. “Uh…what are you doing?”
Honey held up both hands. “Don’t come over here. Don’t make eye contact. They can smell fear.”
Emma stared at her. Then she burst out laughing. “They’re chickens.”
Emma rolled her eyes and walked straight into the fray. A few hens fluttered back at her presence. She reached down, scooped up a particularly aggressive chicken, and tucked her under her arm like a football.
“Her name’s Cluck Norris,” she said. “She bites everybody.”
“Will you just get them to desist?”
“Just walk away. They literally only want the corn.”
Honey lifted her chin and stepped carefully backward, brushing feathers off her blazer and trying not to make sudden movements. The chickens lost interest the second she was no longer the epicenter of grain, and she huffed.
“You can’t go,” Emma said.
“I am leaving. Before I am assaulted again, consider that I have the full weight of the government behind me.”
It was a stretch, but she was tired of this farm, filthy from head to toe, and in desperate need of a shower and a calming cup of tea.
“I’m not a circus clown. I cannot stick around here for your amusement.”
Emma didn’t respond right away. She chewed on her thumb—an absolutely revolting habit—and Honey tried not to think about bird flu or salmonella. She pressed her lips together, holding back a lecture.
“You can’t go,” Emma said again, more quietly this time, “because I need your help.”
Honey’s phone vibrated, informing her that a driver had been assigned to pick her up, a Percy Bloom in a white Volvo. Two minutes out.Thank god.
“My help?” Honey echoed, already righting her upturned suitcase and making her way toward the end of the driveway where she intended to wait.
“Yes. With the well.”
“I will address the well once the proper paperwork has been filled out.”
