With no other options, they heated up ten cans of franks and beans.
Warix found a fancy cheesecake in the walk-in fridge. It had edible flowers on each precut slice.
They dished out their own bowls of franks and beans and grabbed slices of cheesecake before filing back into the formal dining room.
“Please take a seat,” Wadsworth instructed from the speaker on the sideboard.
Plum found places for herself, Sofia, and Marlowe in the center of the vast dining room table.
Jude sat on her left. “Wow, this is fancy,” he said, smiling as he pulled out his heavy chair.
“Except for the franks and beans and having to serve ourselves.” Shelley sat on the other side of Sofia, stirring her beans in slow circles. Her bright red lipstick accentuated her frown of disgust.
“Yeah, but the room does feel like something from an old-timey movie,” Plum agreed.
Brittlyn had already claimed a seat at the head of the table. She poured herself a glass of wine from a crystal decanter she’d brought from the liquor cart.
Jalen sat at the opposite side of the table, with Warix and Dude on either side of Sean, who’d claimed the foot of the table, across from Brittlyn.
“Hey.” Sofia leaned forward in her chair, calling down the table to Sean.
“What?” Sean frowned, as if knowing already that he wouldn’t like whatever Sofia had to say.
“You have to get some food and water for Henrietta.”
Sean rolled his eyes. “Later,” he said, his accent making it sound like lay’ah.
Sofia leaned out farther over the table, as if she would reach through Sean’s refusal with sheer intensity. “No, now. When was the last time she had anything to drink? You’ve been carrying her around since we got here.”
“She’ll be fine,” Sean grumbled.
Sofia fumed, anger rising from her in a nearly palpable heat.
“Guess that bird’s days are numbered,” Brittlyn said, her tone mild and amused. “How in the world will you ever explain to your followers what happened to Henrietta?” She picked up her wine, taking a self-satisfied sip, her eyes mockingly wide over the glass rim. “There goes your fame. Goodbye, meal ticket.”
Speaking of meals, Plum took a bite of her franks and beans. It was as advertised.
Sean shrugged and rested his forearms on the table, almost in defiance of the fancy table setting. “Well, here’s a little trade secret.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. His shoulder muscles flared somehow wider. “There’s always another chicken.”
Sofia gave an audible gasp.
Brittlyn laughed.
Plum didn’t get it at first, but then the implication rolled through her brain: ’enry’et-ah wasn’t the first ’enry’et-ah.
“How many?” Sofia’s voice was small.
“Five, maybe six.” Sean shrugged. “They’re all black silkie hens. That’s the name of the stupid breed.”
Marlowe turned wide eyes to Plum, then an expression of sympathy to Sofia. Sofia looked like her dog had just died, or something equally tragic.
How long had she followed Chick Magnet?
“Why are you telling us?” Cici asked. “Aren’t you taking a risk?”
“Yeah,” Dude said. “How do you know we won’t rat you out?” The mirrored sunglasses nestled in his spiked, bleached hair glimmered in the dim light from the chandelier.
Sean shrugged. “It’s getting where I don’t care anymore. Not really. I hate those damn birds.”
“But what about your followers?” Jude asked. His tone was reverent on the word followers.
“What about your sponsored posts?” Brittlyn asked more pointedly.
“Who would believe you, anyway?” Sean said. “When I have a chicken and no one can say she’s not the same hen. It’s my word against yours.”
“It’d be a flame war,” Dude murmured. “Those are always fun.”
“They are if you’re doing the flaming,” Warix said, his mouth full of beans.
Sofia shoved her chair back. “I’m going to take care of that poor creature.”
“You shouldn’t take on responsibility for a pet if you aren’t committed to taking care of it,” Shelley scolded him.
“Wouldn’t call a chicken a pet, luv,” Sean rejoined.
Sofia stalked out of the room.