ONE HUNDRED SEVENTY-TWO: Plastic Wrapper and All
Alden’s head throbbed. His ears roared. Fury and flight speed were equally likely culprits.
He jumped off the nonagon, taking in the situation as well as he could in this mood. Jeffy—cheerful beside the grill. Jupiter—floating peppers and looking intrigued. Drones—hovering, two of them filming, one doing something else.
Maybe it performs some amazing spell that makes Winston seem like a likable human being to his fans.
A few people were going in and out of the entrance to the girls’ building, which was almost hidden from this spot here in the cookout area at the back of the garden. And Winston was all the way over there with them.
On his own interface, Alden could see himself in profile, standing a couple of steps away from Jeffy and the grill. He’d been watching Winston’s hideous…whatever the hell it was…on the way over here. He might have screamed at the speedster a few times. Hard to remember clearly. He’d definitely texted and been ignored.
Now, his fists were clenched. He wanted to scream some more. This was worse than when Hazel had forced his Peace of Mind debt to land. He was angry, embarrassed, sorry he hadn’t foreseen this somehow and headed it off.
“Are you here to pick up the food?” Jeffy asked again.
Alden pulled his eyes away from Winston.
He left the drones behind. It’s enough.