An hour later, everyone had reconvened in the courtyard for the afternoon activities. Raoul explained the goat yoga session.
“Before we tour the fromagerie, I thought you might like to meet some of our newest goats. Specifically, some of the babies in our nursery. We’ve planned a short session of goat yoga with them. Don’t worry, they are very friendly and docile. It should be very relaxing?—”
Raoul was interrupted when Geraldo suddenly burst through the door. He looked around with a concerned expression, searching for one guest in particular.
“Disculpe, Agent Thorne? There’s an urgent telegram for you! It has only just arrived.”
Exandra’s head snapped up. “A telegram? From whom?”
“The Society for the Protection of Natural Magic, it says. It seemed important, so I brought it out to you, rapido!”
Exandra took the envelope, her brow furrowing. She opened it and scanned the message, her face growing paler by the moment.
“What is it?” Bayard asked, moving closer.
“It’s from headquarters.” Exandra’s voice was tight. “Apparently the Culture Vulture has struck three new locations overnight. Two in France, one in Germany. All facilities known for producing popular Yuletime cheeses. They say they’re concerned this is an even more well coordinated attack than they thought at first and—” She paused, reading the second half of the message. “They want me to check in for an urgent call from the director.” She turned to Geraldo. “I’m sorry. Is there a secure line where I can take a call privately?”
“A private call?” Raoul looked appropriately concerned. “Of course, yes. Geraldo can show you down into the fromagerie. We have a conference room just inside the cheese caves. Very secure. It has excellent reception and complete privacy.”
“Thank you.” Exandra turned to address the group. “You all should continue on with the activities without me. There’s no need for everyone to be disrupted. Please rest assured that I’m on the case and I’ll rejoin you as soon as I can.”
“I’m coming with you,” Bayard announced. He held out Fred’s carrier toward Wren. “Would you?—?”
Wren took the carrier before he finished the sentence.
“Bayard, that’s not necess—” Exandra began to object.
“This is my tour group and this is my responsibility. And, if the Culture Vulture’s activities are escalating, you might need backup. Besides, two sets of eyes are better than one if there’sany reconnaissance needed.” He gripped his cane. “I still have agent-level clearance, and I’m not letting you face this criminal alone.”
Exandra hesitated. Then something like gratitude flickered in her expression. “All right, then. Come along if you must.” She paused again before adding, “Thank you, Bay.”
Geraldo led them away from the group. Behind them, Minerva exchanged a significant look with Zephyr, who gave the tiniest wink.
“Well, then!” Raoul said brightly. “Everyone else, let’s proceed to the meadow for some goat yoga. I promise it will be an experience you won’t forget!”
DUCK, DUCK… GOAT
The meadow was perfect. There was soft grass and glorious mountain views. They were greeted by a rainbow-colored palette of yoga mats arranged in a circle. But the group barely noticed the scenery or the artistic arrangement of the mats. They were far too focused on the pen full of the most adorable, tiny, fluffy baby goats waiting to play with them.
“Oh, my goodness! They’re so small!” Wren exclaimed, already pulling out her camera.
“Eight weeks old,” Raoul confirmed. “Very playful, very curious. They’ll climb on you, nibble your clothes, and generally be delightful distractions while you attempt to find inner peace. But on the other hand, they are excellent helpers. They force us to remain present when the mind begins to wander.”
Fred, who Wren had only just let out of his carrier, took one look at the goats and quacked indignantly. He positioned himself between Wren and the small goats, spreading his wings protectively and squawking louder.
“Fred, it’s okay,” Wren said, trying not to laugh. “They’re just babies. They’re just curious about us.”
Fred was having none of it. Every time a goat approached, he intercepted, herding it away with aggressive quacking and wing-flapping.
“Uh oh, I think he’s jealous,” Jasper observed from where he was settling onto a green yoga mat. He bit back a laugh as a small white goat jumped onto his lap and nibbled at his chin.
“Fred is most definitely jealous,” Raoul agreed, amused. He turned back to Wren and shrugged. “I’m sorry. Perhaps it will have to be duck yoga instead of goat yoga for you?”
“Seems I don’t have any other choice,” Wren said, looking wistfully back at the goats.
And so, while everyone else attempted to meditate with baby goats climbing all over them, Wren sat cross-legged with Fred perched contentedly on her shoulder.
“That’s it.” Raoul led them through a series of simple poses. “Just try and stay present in the moment. Let the goats do their thing. And breathe!”
