Good.
Magnolia's hand finds my knee under the tablecloth. A squeeze.Be nice.I cover her fingers with mine and leave them there. Contractual obligation. Physical displays of affection were outlined in clause four, subsection B, written in gravy on a blood-stained napkin in a tavern that no longer has a front door.
The hand stays. Warm. Small enough to disappear entirely under my palm.
I eat my fifth serving of boar.
Dinner winds through six courses. A salad with edible flowers that taste like pepper and regret. A fish course that arrives under a silver dome and steams when uncovered. A palate cleanser that is literally just a frozen ball of lemon hovering two inches above the bowl. The dessert is a chocolate torte that Magnolia studies with the intense focus of a rival combatant analyzing an opponent's blade work.
"Buttercream's grainy," she whispers.
"Fatal flaw."
"The ganache ratio is off too. Too much cream. Not enough dark."
"Sloppy craftsmanship."
She grins. Mud still crusted behind her left ear. I don't tell her.
After dessert, the wedding coordinator stands and announces that the bridal party is invited to take evening cocktails in the enchanted hedge maze behind the clubhouse. Mandatory fun. The hedges are twelve feet tall and grown from Silverleaf stock, which means the branches move on their own, rearranging the paths every twenty minutes. A parlor trick for rich elves. A tactical nightmare for anyone responsible for maintaining a perimeter.
The guests filter outside. Tiki torches line the maze entrance. Champagne flutes float on enchanted trays that drift through the air at shoulder height.
I catalog every exit. Two. The main entrance and an emergency gap near the northwest corner where the hedges thin. Suboptimal.
Magnolia's sister, Petunia, grabs Magnolia's arm and drags her toward a cluster of bridesmaids near the center fountain. Magnolia glances back at me.
"I'll be ten minutes."
I nod. Post up near the entrance. Arms crossed. The hedges rustle and shift around me, branches curling and uncurling like fingers. One reaches for my shoulder. I stare at it until it retracts.
Seven minutes pass.
Mark is gone.
He was standing near the champagne station thirty seconds ago. Blue suit, no mud, glass in hand, laughing too loud at something Todd said. Now the space is empty. The champagne tray drifts in a slow circle where he stood, confused and unattended.
I scan the maze. The hedges have shifted. New walls where open paths stood moments ago. The bridesmaids' laughter carries from somewhere deeper inside, muffled by thick magical foliage.
Magnolia's not laughing. Tight. Controlled. The specific pitch she uses when she's scared but refusing to show it.
"Back off, Mark."
Southwest. Forty feet. Behind two walls of hedge that weren't there a minute ago.
I move.
The first hedge wall is three feet thick. Solid Silverleaf, branches woven tight as chainmail. It would take a normal person ten minutes to navigate around it.
I go through.
Branches snap against me. Silverleaf thorns rake across the ruined armor-silk. The hedgescreams, a high thin sound like metal on glass, and tries to close around me. I grab two fistfuls of enchanted wood and rip them apart like curtains.
Second wall. Same procedure. More screaming.
The clearing opens up. Small. Circular. A stone bench. A single floating lantern.
Mark has Magnolia backed against the hedge. One hand on the wall beside her head. Leaning in. His mouth moving fast and low, the way men talk when they don't want witnesses.
