Page 156 of Break Out the Girl

Lay snorts at my blushing face. “The goat speaks truth, Barbs.”

Layla has just gotten home from her morning shift at the clinic. She’s taking classes in the afternoon in various healing techniques. François found an online university which he enrolled her into.

She wasn’t very impressed by his high-handedness at first.

My snake still needs to learn to ask before making executive decisions. Still, she begrudgingly admits she’s learning a lot. Opal and their patients are benefitting.

Talking of our bossy French man—François has called a mandatory family meeting, acting incredibly mysterious and high-strung.

Because the afternoon weather is absolutely lovely, London and I completely ignore his request to gather inside and decide the meeting should be outside. We’ve moved the wooden picnic tables together in the sunny yard.

I’m in the process of smoothing tablecloths over all three.

“That’s completely unnecessary, Barbs,” Layla laughs. “You’re just making more laundry.”

That may be true, but London has gone to a lot of trouble producing ‘high tea’, so I want to make a nice setting for it.

Layla is scoffing at the glass jar full of bluebells on the table center, as a truck pulls up. Tally and Clay stumble out looking wiped.

For the past three days they’ve been doing intense manual labor down in the valley; picking early cabbage crops for a local farmer to bring in some extra cash.

Even though me and François have cash a-plenty, it is not in the Ashgrave nature to take a handout. Clay is covered in dirt, shoulders slumped. Tally doesn’t look as exhausted, but he has shifter energy to draw on.

Much to Clay’s dismay, he is not a shifter.

Though Layla is!

Her first shift, only days after she was released from Quo, transformed her into an Elk. Which makes a lot of sense: powerful and muscular, attuned to nature.

Sky skips out of the second cabin to greet the guys. “Ugh, you smell rancid.” She wrinkles her nose and takes several steps back. “Wash! Immediately!”

Both men look abashed and head to their respective showers. “So gross,” Sky groans, shaking her head. “Do you need any help, Rory?”

“Nope. Did you finish up the unit on medieval history?”

She rolls her eyes at me. “Yes, and that’s why I can tell you Tally smells like a midden, and Clay looks like he was flushed down a garderobe.”

I grin. “Good job, babe. And as for him, I bet London needs a hand. He was bleating about his cream not clotting earlier.”

She zooms off. Layla watches her go. “Think she’ll be ready for in-person school soon?”

I shrug. “It’s up to her. I’m kind of enjoying the role of home-school teacher.”

“Weirdo,” Lay snorts. “I can’t think of anything worse.”

The cabin door bangs open and again, and London appears, carrying a huge tray. Sky is behind him, teapot in hand. “FOOD!” she yells at the top of her voice.

By the time the high-tea—mini pate sandwiches, scones, jam and cream, plus two steaming pots of Earl Grey—has been assembled, Clay and Tally are back, looking and smelling much fresher.

Now we are just missing the one guy who called this assembly in the first place.

Ah, there he is.

François walks towards us holding a laptop computer, his brow furrowed as he looks at the loaded picnic tables.

“I explicitly requested we meet inside.” His jaw tightens slightly. “I set up the projector to do a digital presentation. There are interactive spreadsheets to go through.”

“Oh, sit your ass down and stop pouting,” Layla snorts, slathering clotted cream onto a pastry. “Just spit out what you have to say.”