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The fresh country air and sunshine did wonders for my mood. I was happy that I’d opted not to style my hair. Hell, I was just plain happy.

Iris growled into her pillow. She really didn’t know how she could have been more clear.Iris? Are you unwell?

Iris finally rolled her body over and forced herself to enunciate as she said, I am not at my best in the morning.Marie-Claire just stared at her.Iris rubbed her eye. Perhaps if we depart—what? The last bit was not much more than a snap, really.

Ehrm . . . One corner of Marie-Claire’s mouth stretched out in a bizarre approximation of a grimace. Your cheek.Iris let out an aggrieved sigh. Pillow crease?

Oh. Is that what that is? Asked with enough perkiness to make Iris want to reach for a weapon.

Have you never seen one before? she asked instead.Son-of-a-basket weaver.

There was a demonic brown stinkbug on my windshield.Squealing like a small child, I darted around the front of the Jetta and yanked open the door. I lurched into the car and slammed the door shut just in case the stinkbug was ninja stealth, which most were.

I turned the car on and hit the windshield wipers, grinning like the Mad Hatter as the wipers flung the bug into next week.Linds raised a brow from where she waited on the sidewalk.