Chapter One
Priya balanced the tray of canapés on her shoulders and left the kitchen to head to the enormous tent outside. She’d worked at Flamingo Farm since the event venue opened and loved the place as if it were hers. Even when working, the pastoral feel of the place made her happy. The main house—a sort of farmhouse mansion—was old enough to impress and new enough not to feel creepy. Outside, swaths of green grass feathered into ever-blooming flower beds.
It was hard to be unhappy at Flamingo Farm.
The place hosted various events but specialized in weddings. Priya loved watching the ladies in their lacy dresses laugh and dance with family and friends. The farm felt magical when the fairy lights hung and the music swelled.
At least, it had felt magical.
Lately, things weren’t going so well.
The venue suffered a terrible spate of mishaps. Three recent weddings had been all but ruined by increasingly suspicious events. The first time, the electricity failed. It took electricians over an hour to get there, test the system, and confirm everything was okay. They seemed to think someone was simply turning off the power. The next event went off without a hitch—until reports of food poisoning flooded in the following day. The flowers never arrived for the wedding after that—the florist had a van full of lilies carjacked.
Who carjacks flowers?
The food and the flowers weren’t Flamingo Farm’s fault, but try to tell that to a weepy bride mourning the arrangements she and her mother spent hours selecting. Try telling that to a couple who spent their honeymoon barfing up everything they’d eaten at their wedding and then some.
Suddenly, magical Flamingo Farm felt cursed.
Today’s wedding progressed smoothly, but the staff couldn’t hide their uneasiness. The farm’s owner, Hana Dahl, paced the grounds, eyes telegraphing her anxiety. One or two more disasters and Flamingo Farm would drop from every wedding planner’s list. That would ring the venue’s death knell, and Hana would be forced to sell. She’d spent the first three months clinging to the place by her fingernails—only to have this trouble start just as her finances stabilized.
The woman looked on the verge of tears, twenty-four-seven.
Priya headed toward the grand white tent to pass around her canapés. Dusk neared—twinkling string lights and the setting sun competed for attention.
So far, so good.
The wedding guests gathered in the tent, sharing stories as the bride and groom giggled, blushed, and groaned through the excessive attention of their adoring friends and family.
Priya prepared her smile as she neared the open flap of the tent’s entrance. Everything seemed perfect. Maybe this time everything would be—
Maaaaah!
Priya jumped, balancing her tray at the last second to keep it from spilling. She stopped twenty feet from the tent as a cacophony of nasal bleats filled the air. While searching for the noise source, her attention drifted toward the forest rising at the edge of the property’s north end.
There it was again, calling from the trees.
Maaaaah! Maaaaah!
In the forest, bushes thrashed.
Something was coming.
Maybe it wasn’t safe to stand where she was?
Priya tensed, preparing to run.
That’s when they exploded from the trees.
Goats.
A large herd of floppy-eared goats in every color and combination of patchwork burst onto Flamingo’s pristine lawn. Two masked people ran alongside them, spurring them toward the tent with long, thin sticks. They wore loose khaki coveralls that flapped as they moved.
Priya’s jaw fell open as she stepped back toward the house, unsure what she should do. She couldn’t warn the people in the tent without throwing herself in the path of the determined goat mob.
While she watched with wide eyes and legs rooted to the ground, the two herdsmen funneled the bleating creatures into the tent, goats bouncing against each other like bumper cars as they threaded through the flap. A few on the outer edges broke free to trample through the landscaping, crushing flowers and flattening crotons as they moved.
Human screams laced with the goats’ frenzied bleating. It was hard for Priya to tell them apart except when one preceded a tirade of panicked cursing.
She assumed the goats couldn’t drop F-bombs.
Pandamonium erupted from the wedding tent—crashing silverware, plates, and glasses drowned the goats’ calls in staccato bursts.
Guests burst from the tent as if someone had screamed fire! They tripped over goats, their heels and fancy dresses, and each other as they spilled into the yard. Streaks of red wine splashed across crisp white dress shirts.
When most of the goats had disappeared inside the tent, the men spurring them on turned and bolted back into the scrub pine forest. One noticed Priya and hailed her with a single wave before disappearing into the treeline. He said goodbye as if he’d stopped by for a drink and decided it was time to head home.
Priya remained rooted, her jaw slack. Somewhere deep in the woods, an engine roared to life. The rumble grew fainter until, once again, the only sounds were bleating goats and cursing people.
Priya snapped from her shock. She lowered her tray to the ground and ran toward the tent, looking for a way to help.
She wasn’t afraid of goats, but she couldn’t help but gasp as she poked her head through the flap. She’d expected chaos, but the destruction inside seemed so complete. Chairs and tables lay on their sides, knocked over by panicked guests and confused goats. Several nannies gathered to munch on expensive flower arrangements lying on the ground. Half the flowers were still on tables, half in the dirt—much like the goats themselves. A horned billy commandeered the stage, nibbling on the corner of a turntable stand while the DJ begged him to leave.
Priya recognized the wedding planner huddled in the corner. The woman had been so poised and professional during setup. Now she stood in front of the cowering bride, arms out, warding off goats as if they were brain-hungry zombies. Behind her, racing stripes of black mascara crisscrossed the bride’s cheeks.
Priya scanned the area.
Where’s the groom?
She couldn’t help but think a day-one-abandoning of his bride to crazed farm animals didn’t bode well for the marriage.
“What happened?” said a voice behind her.
Priya whirled to find Hana, hand over her mouth, eyes as wide as fried eggs.
“Men came out of the woods, herding the goats into the tent,” said Priya.
“I don’t know these goats,” said Hana, lowering her hand. She seemed to take comfort in this fact, though the disastrous result didn’t change whether these goats were home team or away.
Hana’s expression pinched. She looked at Priya as if the girl’s words had just registered.
“Wait, you said men? Someone did this on purpose?”
Priya nodded. “I don’t see how it could have been an accident. They herded them right into the tent and then ran back the way they came.”
“Did you recognize them?”
Priya shook her head. “They were wearing masks. Scarves over their faces.”
Priya noticed someone in the tent's center snapping photos as the goats stomped, nibbled, and head-butted their way through the event. The photographer was the only person who seemed happy to see the goats. Maybe she knew the crazy goat attack story was worth a thousand boring receptions. The bride and groom wouldn’t realize how lucky they were for a while.
Maybe years.
But when they did, there would be photos.
Yay.
The photographer squatted to get an ant’s eye view of a fat little pygmy nanny and then leaped to her feet to grin at Priya and Hana.
“This is amazing,” she said, snapping away and taking a quick photo of their horrified mugs.
Hana’s mood darkened from shock to smoldering fury. Priya had never seen her look like that before—not even when they caught Austin stealing the silverware.
It was a little scary.
“We’re not cursed,” she said.
Priya blinked at her, frightened to say anything, as her boss continued.
“We’re not unlucky. Someone is doing this to us. Just like I thought.” Hana clenched a fist. “I’m going to call the police, but if they don’t end this today, I’m taking things into my own hands.”
“What do you mean?” asked Priya.
“I’m not sure yet,” said Hana. “But I’ll figure it out. Don’t you worry.”
The DJ goat on the stage snorted into a microphone, and the ladies’ focus shifted to him.
The billy leaned into the mic and screamed so loud everyone had to cover their ears.
Several of the other goats fainted.
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