Like a watercolor brush drawn across wet paper, the blue dawn feathered the sky over Rita’s sleeping revelers. Diana and Logan had been dozing by a fire, wrapped in a quilt when a commotion up at the house woke them.
A cluster of people ran down the path toward them shouting, Zeff among them. Blurred sounds distilled into, “They’re cutting the Grove of the Ancients!”
Logan snapped to crystalline awareness, and Diana lifted her head groggily.
“What’s going on?”
“There you are!” Zeff said, detaching from the group who ran on, stirring sleepers throughout the field. “Machines! Right now.”
“But what about the stay—the study or whatever—” Diana said.
“I don’t know. I think they’re just doing it,” Zeff said.
“Those motherfuckers,” said Logan
“But that’s illegal!” Diana exclaimed, now ful
