Then another one landed on the scaffolding.
Then approximately thirty of them arrived at once.
The attack was coordinated, especially considering we were talking about a flock of seagulls.
One went straight for Derek’s coffee, flying into him and causing him to spill it all over his white button-up shirt.Several were tugging on the ties holding up the lighting, and I barely dodged before a huge fixture came crashing down.
A RipTide rep’s phone was in another’s beak, in a maneuver I remembered distinctly.
“What the—” Derek was spinning. “GET THEM OFF?—”
Tanner was already laughing, his inner dolphin showing as he squeaked.
I stood in the middle of the chaos as a bird walked over an unattended laptop, blasting “I Ran (So Far Away)” over the staff’s screams.
Oh, you absolute menace.
She’d used me to power up. She’d run from me because she had gotten what she needed.
Another seagull dive-bombed the biodegradable bottle display and sent the whole thing flying. Derek made a sound I’d never heard a grown man make before.
I thought about her hands in my hair, how she’d looked at me when she’d figured out who I was. Not a celebrity, not an idol or evenpersona non gratalike so many recently. She looked at me like I was a complication, a variable in a plan she hadn’t accounted for.
She’d left and I’d let her go.
Because all the best hunters knew: you let the prey tire itself out, then you strike.
She wanted a fight.
I hadn’t wanted much of anything lately, if I was being honest. But now, the shark had found its target, and she would not be getting away.
I took a long sip of the RipTide I was supposed to be holding naturally and watched as her seagull army wreaked a ridiculous amount of havoc in just a few minutes.
Oh, little witch, if you want a fight, I’ll give you one. But I play dirty.
And I knew exactly the bait I was going to use.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Selena
The seagull situationhad been deeply satisfying. Not only had watching those corporate goons run from a flock of birds been hilarious, the thrum of magic in my blood had been nearly as good as what had happened in the van before.
Well, almost.
When I returned home, Lupe jumped into bed with me and pulled out her phone—someone namedsaint_diegohad posted a video, shaky footage of the RipTide tent in full chaos, seagulls absolutely everywhere, a guy in a polo shirt chasing one around with a clipboard.
The caption said,what is happening on crescent cove beach rn??, and it already had four thousand likes.
“You did that,” Lupe said, delighted.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I replied, flopping onto my bed.
She showed me a second video. A seagull walking around the beach with a branded tote bag on its head.
I grimaced.
All press was good press, right?
