Page 148 of Break Out the Girl

François steps up to the table, carrying three bottles of a crisp white wine. He brought several crates from his father’s cellar. Filling everyone’s glasses, there is a distinct lightness to his posture. It fills my heart with joy.

“To freedom,” François says, raising his glass.

“Freedom,” we all echo, clinking our glasses together.

The log fire crackles, and the scent of pine is everywhere. The golden wires that connect me, London, Tally and François hum with contentment.

“This is fucking good, English,” Layla grunts through a mouthful of fish.

“It’s dark, can someone get the lights?” I ask, lazily. All three of my guys exchange glances.

What’s that about?

The next second, François casts an emerald green globe of light to hover above the table. “Very witchy vibes,” Layla snarks.

London blinks rapidly, and starts moving his hands too. Within seconds, a warm, deep amber globe pops up just above my head.

Then all eyes turn to Tally as he grunts and frowns.

“Relax,” François tells him.

“It’s not so easy in front of an audience,” he replies through gritted teeth.

“You’ve got this, Burt,” London comments, looking like a kid waiting for Santa.

And indeed he does—a beautiful golden ball of light swirls from his fingers and out up into the air like a helium filled balloon. We all cheer.

“Magic, boss?” Layla grins. “Not so working class now, are ya!”

Clay nudges her. “Have you seen where he’s living? The bossman is bourgeois these days!”

Talking of which.

“What are your plans now?” I ask Clay and Lay. “I know you just got out, but…thoughts?”

Lay answers first with a shrug. “Find a crib, I can’t go back and live with my folks. Love them, but Gods, no. Opal said I can pick up some hours at the clinic which will help.”

“Clay?”

He sighs. “Honestly, no idea. I’ve handyman skills, but no one in Ashgrave has the money to employ someone like me. Do it yourself, is the town motto.”

“Er, I think you’re misquoting,” Tally grins, pointing a fork at him. “It’s actually ‘DIY or die’, remember?”

They laugh, Layla joining in.

“I am not understanding,” François frowns.

“Of course you aren’t, Frenchie. But it’s simple. Do everything yourself, because if you waste money paying someone you won’t have food on the table,” Layla explains.

Wow.

I imagine François is feeling the same as me. Embarrassed and guilty about the wealth-divide in this country. There’s not much we can do about that, but we can help with one thing.

“What if you moved into the second cabin up here? There are four bedrooms, two bathrooms, so you’d have plenty of space…” I trail off as they look at me open-mouthed.

Finally Lay finds her voice. “Wait, what?”

“Rory, no,” Clay adds. “We can’t just move into your space.”