It was going to be the biggest, best cookout in the history of Dead End.
And possibly the last.
31
Jack
We made the four-hour drive to Savannah in two and a half. I-95 traffic was unusually light for a change, so we cruised along at a fairly high speed and listened to music, not talking much. Austin wasn't one for small talk, and I wasn't either. Plus, I had a lot on my mind.
"Where's Dallas?"
He looked up from the laptop he was working on. "With Mellie. They're packing up her bakery, just in case."
"There's a lot of that going around," I said flatly. "That damn queen has a lot to answer for."
"Agreed."
After that, we were silent all the way to Savannah. Austin's GPS guided us to the hotel where we'd better find Mickey Young, who was already going to be very sorry he hadn't answered his phone.
When the manager refused to give us the key to Mickey's room, or even take us there and open it for us, I shifted shape and roared, right there in the middle of the very luxurious lobby, sending guests and staff running. Dead End was in danger.
Tesswas in danger.
I had no time or patience for this nonsense.
The manager suddenly remembered that she could open a guest room if the guest might be in danger, and surely not answering his phone might be a sign of danger, and she raced ahead of us to take us there.
I had no doubt it was the longest elevator ride of that poor woman's life.
She hunched in the corner, as far from me as she could get, and I tried not to think about how mad Tess would be at me for scaring her.
No luck.
I shifted back to human and apologized, but the manager's fear didn't seem to lessen one bit.
Austin deliberately brushed a few tiger hairs off his pants, raising an eyebrow at me. I just snorted and shook my head.
When we got to the twelfth floor, the manager knocked on 1204.
"Mr. Young? I need to speak to you."
"Go away," called a voice that was unmistakably Mickey's.
"Mickey, answer this door before I break it down," I shouted, reaching past the woman to bang on the door for emphasis.
Seconds later, the door flew open and Mickey, dressed only in a towel and a sheepish grin, stood there staring at us.
"Austin? Jack? Why are you here?"
"Who is it, Mickey?" The owner of that decidedly female voice sauntered into view a moment later, and she also wore nothing but a towel and a smile, although her smile was more on the smug side.
"Friends from Dead End," he told her. "Why are you here, guys?"
The manager edged away from the door. "Can I go now?"
"Yes. And thank you," I said, but the glance she shot my way wasn't in the least friendly. We'd probably be smart to get out of there before she called the police, which was fine, because not only didn't I sense any Fae magic at all, I had a sneaking suspicion I knew this woman.
"Jack?" She walked closer, clutching her towel. "Mickey, let them in! That's Jack! He rescued our ukuleles!"
