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“’Scuse me,” he said, swooping up to fly out of the way. Three angry wasps followed him. He snorted, smoke pouring out of his nostrils. The smoke was so thick it knocked them for a loop, and as they dizzily spun out of the way, I grabbed the flyswatter and whacked them to the floor, where Faron stepped on them with his thick boots.
Once all three were dead, Fancypants cleared his throat. “Thank you,” he said after a moment. “I didn’t mean to lead them to you.”
“Whatwereyou doing?” Thoughts of the cord cutting vanished, replaced by the hope that I didn’t have a wasp nest in the wall.
“I was looking for honey.” Fancypants settled down on the back of the sofa. “I found a nest outside and wanted some honey.”
Faron let out a strangled laugh. “Wasps don’t make honey. Hornets and wasps are the assholes of the bee world. Was it a paper nest, hanging from a tree branch?”
Fancypants bobbed his head. “Yes, it was. It’s on the big fir near the shed.”
“I’ll be right back,” Faron said. “Meanwhile, teach him about honeybees.” He slipped out the front door, shutting it behind him.
“Faron’s right,” I said turning to the dragonette. “Honeybees live in hives. Their hives are usually inside a tree, or in the side of a house, or they live in actual hives if a beekeeper is keeping them. Faron’s right—wasps are a bunch of assholes spoiling for a fight. Bees? Nice. Necessary. We’d all die without bees. Wasps? I’m not sure what they contribute to the world, but it’s better to give them a wide berth.”
Fancypants sighed. “I thought they all made honey.”
“I have honey in the kitchen, why did you decide to take them on? Stealing honey from wild bees isn’t a nice thing to do.” Fancypants was, overall, a delightful creature, but sometimes his life choices confounded me.
“I don’t know,” he said with a shrug. Watching a dragonette shrug was both cute and comical at the same time. “It was quicker than coming inside. Where did Faron go?”
“I’m not sure—” I stopped as Faron reentered the house.
“That’s a wasp’s nest all right. I called one of my men who specializes in bees—he keeps the beehives for the commune, and he’ll be down in half an hour to collect the nest. It’s always best to leave these matters to the professionals.” He glanced at his phone. “His name is Kyle. I must run, I have a meeting to attend, but he’ll have identification. With the serial killer still on the loose, I make all my people carry their identification.”
He kissed me again, then—with a wave at Fancypants—ducked back outside. I closed the door behind him and turned to Fancypants.
“He likes you,” Fancypants said.
I couldn’t deny it anymore. “Yeah, he does.”
“And you like him.”
“Kind of.” I stared at the dragonette. “Go on with you, as Grams would say. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“You mean you don’t want to make a choice. Bran likes you. Faron likes you. You like both of them.”
I started to walk away but then, turned back. “Idolike both. But, just when I think I’m leaning toward Faron, Bran comes along and does something wonderful. And vice versa. They know about each other, it’s not like I’m lying to them, or hiding anything from them.”
“Then, until—unless—you decide to commit tooneof them, you don’t have to worry, right?”
I wanted to agree, but the fact was, I didn’t know if I could sustain two relationships. And I was afraid of losing their friendship. I didn’t know how Bran or Faron would react once I took the relationship with the other to a physical level.
A knock on the door interrupted me and I breathed a sigh of relief, pushing my thoughts away. I opened the door to find a tall, stocky man standing there, wearing a cowboy hat. He held out a badge and his license, showing him to be Kyle Collinsworth.
“Kyle? The bee man? Are you Faron’sbrother?” I could see a resemblance between the two in their facial structure.
“Yeah, actually I am. Faron said you have a problem with wasps?”
I pointed toward the tree in question. “There, a wasp nest is apparently hanging on a branch. I didn’t notice it this morning, but…yeah, wasps. Would you like a coffee or something?”
He shook his head. “No thank you, ma’am. I’ll take care of the wasps. Do you want the nest for some sort of spell work?”
I thought about it for a moment. “Maybe a few parts of it. But none of the wasps. They’re such creepy little critters.”
He gave me a polite smile. “I’ll take care of it. You should probably stay inside till I’m done. It will take about twenty minutes.” He tipped his hat and headed for the fir tree. I watched for a moment before closing the door.
I immediately texted Grams with instructions not to come into the yard during the next half-hour, lest the wasps—indignant that they were losing their home—swarm her. She texted back that she was bringing dinner and would be home in an hour.
