She lifts her head. Wipes her eyes with the heel of her palm. Takes a breath. Another. Puts the key in the ignition and the van sputters to life with a mechanical cough that suggests the engine has opinions about its continued existence.
"Okay." She checks her mirrors. Pulls out of the narrow gap between the sedan and the brick wall with a confidence that borders on reckless, missing the sedan's side mirror by two inches. "Okay. We have a two-hour drive. The rehearsal dinner is at seven. That gives us maybe twenty minutes to get our story straight before we walk into the lion's den."
"Briefing window. Good."
She merges onto the main road. The van protests the acceleration with a high whine from the transmission. The bobblehead cat vibrates against my thigh.
"Tell me about the hostile forces."
"The what?"
"Your family. Start with the command structure. Who leads?"
Magnolia snorts. But she answers. "My mother. Patricia Jenkins. She goes by Patty but don't you dare call her that to her face, it's Mrs. Jenkins until she tells you otherwise and she won't tell you otherwise."
"Noted. Temperament?"
"She once made a caterer cry at my eighth birthday party because the frosting roses were mauve instead of blush."
I file this underhigh-value threat, prioritize diplomatic engagement. "Father?"
"Dad's a sweetheart. Richard. He'll shake your hand and offer you a beer and ask about your hobbies. He collects model trains. He is not the problem."
"Allied force. What about the bride?"
"My sister, Petunia." Magnolia's grip shifts on the wheel. Tighter. Ten and two, knuckles blanching under the skin. "Petunia is... Petunia is the golden child. Valedictorian. Law degree. Engaged to Todd, who works in private equity, because of course he is. She's not cruel, she's just—everything comes easy to her. She doesn't even notice the wreckage."
"And she's marrying the male who is allied with your ex."
"Todd, Craig, and Mark went to college together. Still best friends. Mark is a groomsman." Her jaw tightens. "Which is why Mark was at Grimshaw's picking up his suit. Same wedding party."
The tactical picture sharpens. Enemy combatant embedded within the operational theater. No possibility of avoidance. Constant proximity for seventy-two hours.
"Other hostiles?"
"My Aunt Geneva will ask if you've accepted Jesus Christ as your personal savior within the first four minutes. Uncle Teddy will be drunk by noon. My cousin Britt runs a mommyblog and will photograph everything you do and post it with commentary."
"Define everything."
"Everything. What you eat. What you wear. How you stand. She got twelve thousand likes on a photo of my dad falling asleep in a lawn chair last Thanksgiving. Caption was 'mood.'"
Social surveillance. I adjust my threat matrix accordingly. "What does the family know about me?"
"Nothing yet." Magnolia flicks on her headlights. The sun has dropped behind the tree line and the highway stretches ahead in deepening purple, bordered by thick stands of pine that crowd the shoulders. "I told my mother I was bringing a date. She asked what he does. I said private security."
"Accurate enough."
"She asked if he was handsome. I said very."
The interior of the van is dim now. Only the green glow of the dashboard instruments and the sweep of oncoming headlights. I cannot see if she is blushing. Her scent gives nothing away over the baseline flour-and-sugar that saturates every surface of this vehicle.
"And they don't know I'm an Orc."
"They do not know you're an Orc."
"That seems like relevant intelligence to withhold from your command structure."
"That's the whole point, Dash." She takes an exit ramp, curving onto a darker two-lane road. Trees press closer. No streetlights. The van's headlights carve a narrow tunnel through the dark. "I told you in the contract. I need someone who will make them so uncomfortable they forget to ask me why my bakery isn't turning a profit yet, or why I'm single, or why I can't be more like Petunia."
