I was behind the bar, busy clearing bottles off the folding tables, when Halleigh Robinson rushed over. Her usually sweet face was flushed, streaked with tears. I noticed her at once—she was supposed to be getting married in an hour, yet she was still wearing blue jeans and a T‑shirt. “Sookie!” she said, rounding the bar to grab my arm. “You have to help me.” Truth was, I’d already helped her. I should have been in a nice dress, not a work uniform. “Of course,” I said, assuming Halleigh just wanted me to mix her something special. If I’d been listening to my instincts, I would’ve known better. But I was trying to behave, scrambling to block out all the noise. Telepathy wasn’t easy, especially at a high‑stress event like a double wedding. I wished I were a guest, not a server. Eric had insisted on using his own people, but the guy had crashed on the way from Shreveport and never showed. So Sam, who’d been laid off, was suddenly hired back. From a bar‑work standpoint, I was a little disappointed. But I couldn’t say no to a bride on her wedding day. “What do you need?” I asked. “I want you to be my maid of honor,” she said. “…Wait, what?” “Tiffany passed out right after Mr. Cumberland took our first round of photos. She’s being rushed to the hospital.” This was an hour before the ceremony, when the photographer was taking group shots. The bridesmaids and groomsmen were all dressed up. Halleigh should have been in her wedding gown. Instead, she was in jeans, with curlers still in her hair, no makeup, and tears streaming down her face. Who could say no to that? “You’re the perfect size,” she said. “And Tiffany might need surgery for appendicitis. So… will you try on the dress?” I glanced over at my boss, Sam. Sam smiled at me and nodded. “Go on, Sook. We don’t open till after the wedding anyway.” Just like that, I followed Halleigh across Belle River to the Bellefleur mansion, which had recently been restored to its pre‑war glory. The hardwood floors shone, the harp beside the staircase glinted with gilded trim, and the silverware in the dining cabinet was polished to a mirror finish. Servants in crisp white uniforms bustled everywhere, the black letter E neatly stitched onto their coats. In America, ultra‑elegant events had become banquets for the highest tier of consumption. When I saw the emblem, a sharp twinge went through my chest—my missing boyfriend had worked in the supernatural branch of that same E organization. But I didn’t have time to dwell on it. Halleigh was pulling me up the stairs without pause.