Could the saboteur be behind this? Is this their new strategy—not sabotagingthingsbutpeople? An ominous wash of dread scuttles down my back.
I call the concierge to bring coffee to the room, stat. Then I call Mandy, summoning her upstairs. She must’ve been on her way over already, because no sooner have I arrived at the elevators than I run straight into her. She clutches onto my arms, gasping for air.
“Sabby, were we supposed to leave gifts in the guests’ rooms?” she asks.
That throws me momentarily off-track.
“Who asked you that?”
“The staff! They told me that—that Sidney’s mom said—”
I shush her. “It’s fine. Sidney, Brett, and I signed a contract. And our paper trail doesn’t mention anything about random gifties. We can worry about that later. Don’t tell Sidney. Now, let’s leave that for the moment, Mandy. I need to know—did you see any suspicious signs of sabotage downstairs? A white thing lurking near Levi, maybe?”
The pixie withdraws, biting her lip uncertainly.
“Uh, I don’t think so? Though I might’ve been distracted by his face.”
I sigh.
“I know, I know,” says Mandy. “You’re off the market and only have eyes for Hanry. But Levi really is cute!”
At this she giggles shamelessly, and my worries about sabotage give way to exasperation. I don’t know what pixie powers Mandy has, exactly—if it’s pheromones she uses to make humans smitten or something else—but either way, I suspect she’s been up to no good.
“Did something happen between you two?” I ask, rubbing the bridge of my nose.
Mandy completely misses the warning in my tone. She explains cheerily: “Levi was taking photos of the dessert table and he asked me if I liked thrift store shopping. I said yes! Apparently, he collects vintage cameras and likes scrapbooking. We’re so well-matched!”
Yikes.
“Control yourself,” I say.
She throws back her head in distress. “What,whyyy? He isn’t a groomsman! Or a guest!”
“No. Stop.” I lead her to the elevators. “We’re working, Mandy, and you’re on details duty. No more making boys crazy.”
“You’re no fun.” She pouts.
“We can have fun later. For now, we need to be serious. Remember, we can’t let any of the human guests realize you’re a pixie. Or that Sidney’s a werewolf. Same with her friends.”
“I guess you’re right. It’s probably better for me not to get caught up with the PBI again,” she agrees.
“Again?” I ask. Do I really want to know? I decide I don’t.
As we turn the corner, I think I see something in the hallway flicker for just a second. But it’s just a chandelier—I hope.
I really, really hope.
In the groom’s suite, I find Brett and his groomsmen in good spirits, watching college football and taking shots with all the gusto of asynchronized swimming routine. Mandy controls herself admirably. After one quick photo for Sidney and a reminder about the wedding timetable, I leave the boys to their masculine delights.
But by the time guests are leisurely rolling in from their midafternoon cocktails to the reception hall, I realize I might have been too sanguine.
“You sent too much booze,” Brett is complaining to Sidney as I approach them inside the floral tunnel.
“Oh, come on, Brett!” Sidney throws her whole effort into cajoling him. “It’s gotten everyone friendly! And here you thought my girls wouldn’t get along with your boys.”
“Yeah. Your friends are kinda… weird.”
“What do you mean?” Sidney asks.
