It was Friday, thankfully, the week had been average, but it was still exhausting. You needed a vacation. Something to get out of town and just not be here anymore. Maybe the research paper wasn’t panning out the way you had hoped, or maybe your boss had been grumpy at the meeting and seemed to take it out on you. It didn’t matter, what mattered was that it was finally the weekend.

You had a few errands to run, or maybe you wanted to go to the bar. It doesn’t matter, but when you were alone in the isle in the market, or were the last person in line for the restroom a man approached you. He was dressed in a clean cut suit. Almost could be called brand new, but you aren’t certain. Other than the suit he was average, if you had taken him out of the suit he could have been from anywhere. Now maybe he was a lawyer or an actor, but not one you recognize. He leans in to whisper, “Open this when you’re alone, preferably at home.” He presses a thick envelope into your hand, and in the seconds you glance down at it he is gone.

Shortly after that, be it in the bathroom stall, or in your car, maybe you make it all the way home, you open the envelope. Inside you find a letter.

To read the letter check your PMs.

Helena wouldn't call this particular Friday an average Friday. She had wrapped a shooting for her latest job on Thrusday, and had spent Friday sleeping in, just up till the clubs opened up for the night. It was around 4 PM that she started getting ready, making sure to shower, shave, and get dressed for a fun night out. Not a girl's night out, just a fun night out alone. Most of her girlfriends were too busy this particular night to join her, so she went to one of her favorite clubs.

Once there, she took a seat in a booth, and was enjoying some alone time till a man came in, slide her a drink and an envelope. "Open this when you're alone, preferably at home," he whispered, and then vanished. Helena barely had time to register what had happened as she looked at the thick envelope in her hands. She shoved it very quickly into her purse and got up and left the club. She no longer felt safe being out by herself.

Once she got home, she opened the envelop. A black card, like one of those super fancy credit cards the directors on her movie used, fell out, as well as a plane ticket, and a letter. She picked everything up and went to read the letter first.

Congratulations Helena Mercury,

You have been selected for the Vorace Lalune Award for Excellence. You will find your plane ticket inside this envelope, as well as a credit card for you to pay for any expenses you may need to cover. The pin number for the card is 0903. Use it as needed.

Your agent has already been informed of your sudden departure and has been informed you will be busy for the next week or so.

Au revoir,

Agatha Lalune

"That's odd. Not an Award I've ever heard of before, or even in my industry. But sure! Why not! I haven't been on an actual vacation in a while." Helena flipped over the plane ticket and realized she was going to France. Good thing she had a passport!

The weekend flew by after that. Helena spent her weekend doing laundry, packing, and informing her friends she'd be out of town for a bit, and this time not for work. Soon it was Monday. She got the airport, got on the flight, and soon clonked out. When she awoke, she was in France, and at the airport. Once she deplaned, and headed to the luggage pick up area, she saw someone there holding a sign saying her name. She greeted the man, who helped her with her luggage, and lead her to the limo. She slipped in and went to close the door. The man informed her that they would be there for a bit, waiting for the other guests. When Helena asked him what he meant, he informed her they were waiting for three others. She shrugged and relaxed in the limo and closed her eyes. "Cool. I'll just wait here then. I guess I was the first to arrive. Yay me." She chuckled a bit as she mostly spoke to herself. She did have to wonder who the other guests were, and what they'd be like.

Greg’s neighbours in the apartment block had rarely ever heard so much as a peep from his flat. Today was a very slight exception to that rule as his front door closed behind him rather earlier but also slightly louder than usual, just barely qualifying as a slam. He half-threw down his messenger bag against the shoe-rack and made a beeline for the fridge, which wasn’t far in the single, smallish room of his studio. With a gentle sigh, he pulled open the fridge door and removed half a bottle of red from the dwindling collection of consumables, among which could be counted most of a tub of margarine, a couple of onions, and one solitary egg - not that he gave any of them a second thought. He pulled a large glass from the cupboard, upturned the rest of the bottle into it so that the wine nearly trickled over the brim, leaned against a counter, and began gently sipping. On an ordinary day, he would have taken a shower and got changed first, but today was no ordinary day.

He stood there for a short while in thought, quite unsure what to do with himself. Apart from any more pressing concern, Greg had never been home before gone half six in all the time he had lived in London without having a prior engagement, and simply didn’t know what to do with the newfound time he had now acquired at twenty past two. Brief salvation came when his eyes rested on the airing cupboard where he stored the vacuum cleaner and realised that he could probably clean the flat. The hoover, which was excellent and worth shelling out for, was light and lithe and glided over the faux-floorboard linoleum with ease, casually extracting the few stray bits of lint that had accrued since he had last done a clean, and, given the size of the place, didn’t use up more than ten minutes. He had already washed up his now empty glass, the only unclean item of crockery in the place and so, he supposed, a trip to the supermarket might be in order.

It was only when he picked up his bag did he remember the second most notable thing that had happened that day, and began rifling through the bag's main pocket. Had he not been so distracted at the time, he would expect his keen eye to better remember the man who had given it to him, but, as it was, the only things he could remember was that he had been wearing a suit and had pressed an envelope into his hands before melting away into the London Friday lunchtime throngs. And here it was, the envelope. The paper was thick and creamy - expensive. Greg neatly tore it open from one end of the flap to the other, removed the letter and sat on the futon to read:



A brief examination of the envelope revealed the aforementioned card, classy in black but with no details whatsoever upon it, a plane ticket for the coming Monday from Heathrow, and, more surprising still, a passport for him, the gold letters on the newly-pressed maroon covering glinting gently in the light. The photograph had been taken from his work’s ID badge, he noted, which was odd, because, whatever the award was, it could be safely assumed that it hadn’t come from work. With the slightest of frowns, he replaced the envelope’s contents and leaned back on the foldout sofa the stillness of his body offset by the frantic drumming of his left hand on his knee.

Looking back on the series of texts, Maddie could definitely see how her silence might seem alarming. It certainly explained the frantic rapping on her motel room door.

“Maddie? Are you in there?!” She heard Zoey shout, a little too loud for Maddie’s liking.

Madison Garner sprang up from her cross legged position on the floor, shouting back, “Yeah, Zoey, it’s open!” The scrawny twenty three year old began hurriedly cleaning up the room, putting out her cigarette and flinging open the window.

“Well, it shouldn’t be! Anybody could’ve walked in.” Zoey responded huffily, but with a hint of relief in her voice. Maddie was shoving an empty chinese takeout carton into the trash when Zoey pushed open the door. She glanced at Zoey to just in time to see her fearful features turn into disapproving ones. She sniffed the air cautiously and asked, “Is smoking allowed in here?”

“I doubt it.” Maddie answered with a shrug, and began raking her hands through her hair in an attempt to look neater, though it was far too late to disguise the state she had been in for the last week or so.

Maddie had only started working with Zoey a months ago, but they had hit it off quite well. They seemed to be on the same page about a lot of things. Unfortunately for Maddie, that meant that Zoey had a knack for seeing through Maddie’s facade. She pointed at the takeout leftovers in the garbage and asked, “When did you eat that?”

“Last night.” Maddie lied effortlessly, picking up the pillows and bed sheets off of the floor where she had haphazardly thrown them. “Sweet and sour chicken. Came with rice, but I’m not a fan of fried rice.” She threw the sheets back on the bed, but not before cringing once again at their busy floral pattern. Maddie turned back to Zoey and watched as she picked up one of many crumpled sheets of paper that were on the floor. In response to the unspoken question about the scarcity of her texts, Maddie told her sternly, “Zoey, I was working. And that’s balled up for a reason.” Her protests didn’t stop Zoey from unfolding the paper and reading it, however. With a quick eye roll Maddie dashed to the bathroom to wash her face and change her clothes.

Zoey continued the conversation through the bathroom door. “If you were working, why didn’t you call me? I would’ve helped. We’re supposed to be partners, remember?”

After splashing water on her face, Maddie asked, “Are we playing questions?” Her voice reverberated on the tiles of the bathroom walls, the bright fluorescent light flickering harshly.

“Wha-” Zoey sputtered. Her voice was muffled through the door, but Maddie could practically hear her blushing. “That’s not funny.”

“Seriously Zoey, how many different ways can I apologize?” Maddie dried her face with her towel, regretting that the water wasn’t all that refreshing.

“Just the one would be nice.”

Madison froze, the revelation that she hadn’t even apologized to her friend yet shot through her like a well deserved bullet. “Oh.” She mumbled weakly before shuffling back to the door and sticking her head out so she could look her friend in the eyes. She took a deep breath, as if preparing to be punched, and said, “I’m sorry, Zoey. I’m sorry you had to come all this way to check up on me, I should’ve called you back. It was terrible of me not to. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

Zoey softened a little, but her arms will still crossed. “...you still owe me a movie night. And a brainstorming session.”

Maddie disappeared back into the bathroom and pulled on some new clothes. “It’s a little early...there’s a park a few blocks from here. I’ve been there a couple of times. The fountain there would be great in a shot.” After quickly getting dressed, Maddie burst out of the bathroom and practically dragged Zoey out of the motel room into the overpowering sunlight outside. “Come on, I want to show you.”


“It looks like a sea urchin.” Zoey wrinkled her nose at the fountain, crossing her legs on the stone bench they sat on.

“Mm.” Maddie replied, an unlit cigarette clenched between her teeth. She was glaring at the ‘Smoke Free Zone’ sign across the way, as if giving it the stink-eye long enough would make it vanish. She gave up quickly, turning her attention back to Zoey. “I was thinking space probe.” She glanced at the park around them; the summer heat hadn’t been kind to the grass. It had been burnt to a crispy brown, which meant that there were no kids in the playground area, much to Maddie’s relief. She didn’t like being around too many noisy people.

After a moment, Maddie spoke up again, this time about work. She had been thinking about what to say about it the entire walk here. “I’d rather just scrap that whole script, really.” She leaned back on the bench, watching the sky. “Either start from scratch or find someone else’s. I mean, there are piles of more deserving scripts sitting in some agent’s office somewhere.”

Zoey squinted curiously at her colleague. “Madison, are you feeling okay?”

“I’m good, really.” She answered a little too quickly. Madison hated how often Zoey asked questions, it always made her feel like she was on the defensive. A conversation with a friend shouldn't feel like a wrestling match. Maddie knew that she would leave eventually, though. It was a pattern in her life that she took some small comfort in.

“Is this about Socks?” Zoey asked.

Without our Socks. That was the last project they had finished together. It was just a short surreal low budget film they had done about a brother and sister who lived in their parent’s backyard. No money, but a lot of heart. It was screened at a small-time festival but the audience response wasn’t enthusiastic. Their agent Gavin hadn’t been pleased about it.

“I’m done worrying about Socks. I’d rather move on.” Maddie said, staring defiantly as a passerby looked disdainfully at the unlit cigarette dangling precariously from her mouth.

Completely ignoring her response, Zoey continued. “I mean, Dillan told me how you can get sometimes.”

“How I can get.” Maddie deadpanned, after putting the cigarette away and fiddling with some gravel on the ground with her feet.

“He said-” Zoey started.

Maddie interrupted with a bark of a laugh colored with a bit of anger. “Dillan bought a station wagon ‘ironically’, so I really don’t care about his opinion of me.”

“A break from it all usually helps me.” Zoey didn’t seem to want to back down. For the life of her, Maddie couldn’t see why talking about this right now was so damn important.

“Yeah, speaking of breaks,” Maddie sighed. “I gotta take a piss. I’ll be right back.” She got up from the bench and marched towards the women’s bathroom, aching to get in the shade and away from the third degree for just a minute or two.

Once she rounded the corner of the building and was out of eyesight of Zoey, Maddie relaxed a little, leaning against the cool brick wall. However, before she had the chance to process her thoughts, she heard someone else approaching the building. A man in a suit appeared from the other side of the building, holding a thick envelope.

Before Maddie could ask why he was wearing a suit on such a hot day, the man placed the envelope into her hands and said in a low voice, “Open this when you’re alone, preferably at home.” Maddie looked at the envelope in shock, but when she looked back up to question him, he was already gone.


This couldn’t be real. But here it was, clenched between her hands.



There was a round trip plane ticket in the envelope, along with a card and a passport.

Maddie was reading it over and over, leaning against one of the sinks inside the bathroom. Her hands were shaking from barely controlled excitement, the flapping paper was the only sound she could hear. It was unsettling her even more, so she began to talk out loud.

“Never heard of Vorace Lalune. Could be a scam...but scams don’t pay for passports, and they sure as shit don’t give out credit cards. And flying…” She started pacing back and forth, rubbing the paper nervously between her forefinger and thumb. “...probably France. Always wanted to go.”

She stole a quick look outside the door to make sure no one was eavesdropping. After seeing no one, she continued.

“Agent, probably Gavin? They must’ve seen one of my…” Maddie trailed off, slowly realizing that Zoey was still outside, waiting for her to come back. She stuffed the envelope into her purse and her hands into her pockets, trying to steel her nerves as she went back outside. Once she did, she saw that Zoey had moved from sitting on the bench to lounging underneath a nearby tree.

As Maddie approached her, Zoey explained. “I was melting on that bench.”

“Y'know Zoey, I think you’re right. I could use a break.” Maddie said, sighing and shrugging, feigning acceptance. “My nerves are just...shot. I think a week off would do me some good.”

Zoey stood up straight, looking relieved and a little surprised that Maddie agreed with her. “Oh, yeah? Where are you gonna stay?”

“I’ll give Brad a call.” Maddie lied again. She had told Zoey some time ago that she had a brother. The truth was that she didn’t even know anyone named Brad. “He lives a few hours away.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot. I remember you telling me that he lived near here.” Zoey said, following Maddie who was heading for the park exit. “Wait, isn’t he the one who collects bugs?”

“Yeah.” Maddie chuckled. “It’s gonna be a weird vacation.” As she headed back into the direction of the motel, Maddie could see a corner of the envelope sticking out of her purse. She stared straight ahead as they walked together, eyes bright with excitement.

Club Akakarah – 2:43 am

The still night air of the African port city felt cool as the southerly Spanish breeze rolled across the Straight of Gibraltar into what was long ago called ‘The Interzone.’ Down in the harbor district, old smuggling dens now held one of the Arab world’s darkest underground nightclubs, Akakarah. Out back, in the former warehouse’s damp cobblestoned loading bay, a heavy iron door was flung open, as the deep, shifting pulse of electronic music poured out into the night. Two men in dark grey muscle shirts drag a well-dressed partier through the door and give him a good shove, sending him stumbling on his feet into the open.

“Fuck you! Ya piece o’ shit cocksuckers! That guy had it coming to him!” As the lone man slurred limp-dicked insults in what vaguely sounded like a British accent, one of the bouncers stepped forward with purpose. He wore a look of dispassionate disgust on his face, only partly obscured by a thick, full beard. As the bouncer raised his arms into a fighting stance, a look of fear cast over the young Brit’s face. Underneath the heavily crisscrossed scars earned from some deep lacerations, the kid could almost make out an Army Rangers tattoo.

“You want to act like a little shit, and get away with it? Go to fucking Miami.” The brutality was over in seconds. A sharp right hook to the jaw, a knee in the stomach, and a hard shove into wet cobblestone. “Welcome to Tangier, kid.” Growled the grizzled, American Ex-Pat, “Don’t you fucking ever come back.”

The second bouncer, a tough looking Moroccan native, finally stepped away from the door and let the poor bastard’s friends come out and help carry him away. “What a joke, isn’t it Paul?” He said in Darija, the Moroccan Arabic dialect.

Paul shook out his right hand, still a bit bloody and sore from another scrap he had been in a few nights ago. “Life is a fucking joke, Saeed, my friend. That’s why we drink.” Paul flashed a quick smile and pulled out a cigarette, “Want one?”

Tangier, Morocco – 6:17 am

Even early in the morning, the Medina in Tangier bustled with life. The market smelled of freshly baked bread and spices, the sounds of chopping and cutting, pounding and grounding, only pierced by the squeals and squawks of those animals destined to meet the butchers’ block. As Paul stumbled through the crowd, exhausted and half drunk from his shift at the club, he massaged his right hand, the hard, calloused knuckles busted open from contact with too many faces. Distracted by the damage, the Ex-Pat hardly noticed the out of place Suit approaching, envelope in hand. “Open this when you’re alone.” He said, shoving the envelope into Paul’s hands as he pushed past.

Paul stood still for a moment in confusion, his mind heavy, before whipping around in panic. He started after the strange man but quickly realized that he had been lost in the thick crowds mobbing the marketplace.

“Oh, fuck.”

Apartment of Paul Graves – 6:53 am

Congratulations Paul Graves,

Paul raised a shot of whiskey to his lips, his still bloodied hand trembling, spilling more booze on the floor than down into his liver. He slammed the shot down on the table and then swiped it off the table, hardly caring as it shattered against the floor. A highball glass took its place on the table, next to a notebook filled with poetry, a .45 caliber handgun, and that damn letter.



Ice skittered haphazardly as a frenzied Paul cracked an ice-tray, somehow managing to score enough into the glass for his purposes. As whiskey flowed into the glass, things started to get blurry. Paul downed it all in one go. It all went black.

Somewhere over Spain – July 1st

Truth was out there somewhere, and Paul knew he was just about to reach it. All around was empty void. Darkness and despair. A white light appeared in the distance, illuminating a grey mist surrounding everything in all directions. So thick that it seemed like nothing else existed in the whole world. Or maybe nothing else did exist. Nothing but this mist. Paul swam weightlessly toward the light, drawing closer and closer until he found it’s source. A beautiful woman, her pale skin giving off a brilliant light, and washing away even the shadows cast behind Paul as he floated toward her, arm outstretched. Drifting closer and closer he could feel the warmth of her glow, filling him with such beauty and wonder. He reached out, softly searching for a cheek to rest upon. But just as he was about to feel her skin beneath his fingers, she started to fade away. Like smoke, twirling off the end of a cigarette, she began to evaporate, dispersing into the void. Becoming again what she once was, her light disappeared as she joined the mist. Once more, only darkness remained.

Spain – 3:26

Paul woke from his dream with a start. “Where the fuck am I?” He asked aloud, his lips more comfortable with those syllables than was healthy. The past few days came back to him in bits and pieces, all of it was blurry, and even of that, a great deal was indecipherable. What was clear however, was that he was currently on a private plane, and that he was headed for France. He wasn’t handcuffed either, which was a good sign.

Within a few moments, an almost disgustingly pleasant flight attendant appeared, speaking with a far too cute French accent. “Hello sir, I hope you’ve had a restful sleep.” She smiled, “Can I get you any thing to drink? Coffee maybe?” The girl was good, Paul noticed. He couldn’t tell whether she knew how fucked up he had been or not. Still kind of floating around in his head, Paul was pretty sure he had just been on a pretty heavy mescaline binge. He definitely needed the coffee.

“Uh… Shit. Uh, yeah thanks. How about booze? You got anything for this edge?” Paul answered.

The girl almost lost her seemingly constant smile at that, nearly betraying that ‘I don’t think you need any more, sir’ kind of look. “Is Irish cream in the coffee okay?”

“Yeah, whatever, that’s fine. Thanks.” Paul stood up as she left and made his way to the bathroom. Washing his face in the mirror, Paul recognized that dead look in his eyes that always followed a few days like the ones he’d just had. What he didn’t recognize was the shirt he was wearing. It was white and dotted with small multicolored feathers, probably designer. It seemed more like something his father would have worn. Paul rolled up the sleeves, exposing the latticework of scars covering his thick forearms. That was definitely not something his father would have worn so comfortably, but Paul was proud of the pain. It had made him who he was.

After returning to his seat he found the coffee and his black rucksack all there for him. Looking through his bag, Paul found no weapons, which was probably alright considering from all appearances that by some insane chance, this trip was legitimate. There had been no reason to panic all along. He did find though, unsurprisingly, a pill bottle full of mescaline, and about an eight-ball’s worth of coke. The mescaline he left in the bag, but the coke he slipped into his pocket. Finally, he pulled out his notebook and decided to write for the remainder of the flight.

Bordeaux–Mérignac Airport – Late Afternoon

As the plane descended through the clouds, Paul downed the last of those three fingers of scotch he had been provided after the coffee. It couldn’t be a bad place that he was headed, so long as they were serving better whiskey than the usual Tangier rot-gut he was used to. Tearing two pages out of his notebook, Paul moved to crumple them up, but hesitated before standing up and folding them into his back pocket as he made his way to the bathroom again. Once inside he made sure to lock the door as he pulled out the coke he had been holding on to and tapped out a line on the sink counter. A subdued, but undoubtedly wonderful euphoria washed over Paul just as he washed his face, the cool trickle of water droplets dripping from his thick beard highlighted by his attention to sensory phenomena. He closed his eyes and gave over to the feeling of falling through the sky, losing track of time until suddenly the plane went wheels down. It was time to face whatever the hell it was that he had just signed up for.

Stepping down on the airfield, Paul embraced the light easterly breeze rolling in from the sea tempering the heat radiating off the tarmac. At the bottom of the stairs stood a man in a suit, “Welcome to France, Monsieur Graves. Please, allow me to show you to the car.”

‘The car’ it turned out, was really a limonene. Paul’s skeptical gaze and dilated eyes were hidden behind a pair of stylish sunglasses, (which much like his shirt he had no idea how he had come to own). But as he was ushered into the vehicle he saw he was not alone. Was she another poet here for the award? She didn’t look like the dangerous type at least, and Paul was still pretty low key messed up and feeling good anyways. Pulling the folded pages from his pocket, Paul proceeded to toss them onto the seat next to his fellow passenger. “Here, I don’t want this anymore, but I can’t bring myself to destroy it either. Hold on to that for me.”

If she picked it up, it would read:

It was nearing on 5pm when the last two joined their party. The group now consisted of two females and two males, oddly perfectly split, maybe it was intentional or maybe that was just who won the award this year. The four sitting in the much-too-large-for-just-them-limo certainly didn't have answers to those questions. It turned out that Maddie had almost missed her flight, well would have had it not been a private plane waiting for her, due to some communication error, a wrong turn and an accident (that she thankfully had not been involved in by only one car). The new-comer gentleman, one Gregory Round, it seemed had had similar troubles, but instead of a wrong turn the miscommunication ended him up at the entirely wrong airport where he had to catch another cab to make it to the correct airport.

Enough words were shared between the nervous four to communicate each of their interest in the whole affair, but failed to get across any actual information save for basic introductions as each saw necessary. The rest of the limo ride were met with silence, for each their own reasons.

Upon arrival the vineyard stretched out on rolling hills as far as they could see, the setting sun giving just enough last shreds of light to allow the group to see how lovely their retreat location was. The limo went up a long drive until stopping smoothly outside a beautiful manor. As if alerted of their presence three people stepped out onto the porch. The first was a dapper man of about 30 years of age. Anyone who had looked up the family before arriving would recognize the man as the grandson and heir to the Lalune fortune, Rene Lalune. Behind him stepped a beautiful woman, with dark hair that ran most of the way down her back. The two were engaged to be married, though no date had been officially announced. From the shadow of the door finally stepped an elderly woman, leaning heavily upon a cane, the matron of the family, Agatha Lalune. She was the widow of the late Vorace Lalune.

The doors to the limo opened and hands were offered to the ladies to help them out of the limo.

"Welcome to Chateau De Lalune." Agatha spoke with a clear, but heavily accented voice. "You all must be tired, come in and rest. Have something to eat. Tonight is for relaxing. Traveling always makes one quite tired."

The group was led inside the mansion and into a dinning area where several options were laid out for the group to choose from.

The old woman who had greeted them had commented that traveling could make people tired, but Maddie was nowhere near tired. It was a good thing that the trip hadn’t been overwhelming, but she did remember weaving quite the tapestry of profanity when she almost missed the flight. That part was a bit terrifying, but the actual flight managed to calm her down and let her focus on the road ahead. The flight had been boring enough to let Maddie sort her jumbled thoughts. It was a good thing, if she hadn’t had that chance she might’ve gone completely bonkers during the limo ride to the mansion.

Her anxiety had melted away completely the second the doors to Chateau De Lalune gave way, revealing the splendor inside. It wasn’t that it was mind blowingly extravagant, but for Maddie it was picturesque, new, and untamed by her imagination. She eyed the paintings on the wall with a good deal of interest as they passed. She entertained the idea of staying behind to get a closer look at them, but thought better of it for once. It simply wouldn’t do to appear so easily distracted. Maddie would have to get a better look later, though her mind was already wandering, imagining the brushstrokes and what they said about the painter. She didn’t know anything really practical about paintings but loved to look at them and let them stir her thoughts.

Maddie followed with the rest of the group into the dining room on the left and was greeted with a varied and delicious looking display of food. Just small stuff really; fruit, salad, coffee, that kind of thing. There was a handsome devil preparing some drinks, including wine which Maddie found herself eyeing more than the food. The only sustenance she wanted at this point was nicotine, but that would have to wait. In the meantime, wine sounded damn good, especially since it seemed to be the Lalunes’ thing. As she and the other guests started to settle into this new situation, Maddie made a beeline straight for the closest glass of white wine and claimed it a bit ungraciously. She sipped it carefully, not wanting to drink too much too fast, especially around new people.