"It's awedding."
"You described your mother as primarily hostile with weaponized disappointment. That's psychological warfare, Magnolia. Three days of psychological warfare requires endurance." I push the shield closer. "Carry it."
She snatches it from my hand.
The weight hits her arm and she drops six inches, knees buckling. Her shoulder wrenches left. A sound escapes her, somewhere between a grunt and a word she swallows before it forms.
She doesn't drop the shield.
Both hands grip the leather handle. Her arms shake. Her jaw locks into a hard line that reshapes her entire face, transforms it from soft and anxious to something with edges.
"Fine," she says through her teeth. "Let's go."
She walks to the door. The shield bumps her thigh with every step, throwing her gait off-center. Her left foot compensates instinctively, widening her stance. Untrained adaptation. Good instincts.
I follow.
Outside, the street smells like coal smoke and horse dung and the yeast-sweet undertone of a bakery nearby. Her bakery, maybe. She turns left on Copper Lane without hesitation, shield banging against a lamppost as she rounds the corner. She doesn't acknowledge the impact. Doesn't adjust her grip.
Two blocks in, her breathing changes. Ragged. Sweat gathers at her temples despite the cool night air. The shield arm trembles in a continuous vibration now, forearm muscles firing and failing and firing again.
"You can set it down," I say.
"No."
"Your rotator cuff will inflame."
"I saidno."
Three blocks. Four. A man in a bowler hat crosses to the other side of the street when he sees me. Standard response. Magnolia doesn't cross. Magnolia keeps walking, teeth clenched, shield dragging lower with each step until the bottom rim scrapes cobblestone with a metallic shriek.
She still doesn't drop it.
Five blocks. Hawthorn Street appears ahead, gas lamps throwing orange circles on the pavement. A small shop with a crooked sign reads MADAME TESSIER, BESPOKE TAILORING, BY APPOINTMENT ONLY.
Magnolia stops at the door. Turns to face me. Holds the shield out with both shaking arms.
"Assessment complete?"
I take the shield back. Eighteen pounds lifts from her grip and she sways, catching herself on the door frame. Her arms hang limp. Red welts mark both palms where the leather bit into skin.
She carried it the entire way. Didn't complain past the initial protest. Didn't quit.
"Assessment complete," I confirm. "You'll survive the wedding."
"Damn right I will." She pounds on the tailor's door. "Now take off your vest so Tessie can measure you, and for the love of all gods, hide the garrote."
The tailor's door stays shut.
Magnolia pounds again. Three sharp raps, then a flat-palm slap that makes her wince. The red welts from the shield haven't faded yet. She hits the door with her other hand.
"Tessie! It's Magnolia! I need a favor!"
Silence. Then a window opens on the second floor and a woman with silver hair and a cigarette leans out.
"Closed, darling."
"I can see that. I need a tuxedo."
