Page 19 of Spies Don’t Fall for Their Best Friend

I fill the smoker with pine needles and a bit of burlap, light it, and pump the bellows until cool white smoke curls out in soft puffs.

Charlie eyes it. “What does that do?”

“If one guard bee thinks we’re a threat, she releases a warning scent, and that warning spreads like middle school gossip at lunch. Smoke makes it harder for the rest of the hive to smell the drama. Plus, it makes them think there’s a fire nearby, so they start eating honey in case they need to evacuate. It’s like a surprise fire drill, except everyone panic-eats before leaving the building.”

Charlie nods as she puts on her veil. “So, you’re jamming their comms while creating a credible evacuation threat, which causes the target population to prioritize resource loading over defensive engagement.”

I stare at her.

She looks back at me through her veil, seeming shocked at what just came out of her mouth. “Can I just blame that on my long day?”

“I think you should blame it on Mackenzie. Your spy-loving sister-in-law is rubbing off on you.”

We walk slowly toward the hives, the late-summer grass brushing against my boots. Bees move in and out of the entrance boards in steady traffic, some returning with pollen packed onto their legs in tiny golden bundles.

I stop a few feet from the hives and lift one hand. “Hello, my tiny striped overachievers in pollen pants.” I step closer. “Ladies, this is Charlie. She’s a friend. She can be trusted. She’s sleep-deprived and currently exhibiting the fortitude of a wet paper towel, but she means well.”

“I’m standing right here,” Charlie says.

“The bees value honesty.”

“I value not being slandered in front of insects.”

A bee drifts out from the entrance and circles once in front of Charlie’s veil before flying off.

Charlie goes completely still. “Was that a greeting or a warning?”

“Yes,” I say.

I puff a little smoke near the entrance of the south hive, then I wait. The bees continue moving, alert but not frantic. I ease off the outer cover and set it upside down on the grass, then remove the inner cover with the hive tool. A warm, sweet smell rises from inside— rich and bright and earthy all at once.

“Oh, wow,” Charlie breathes. “That is incredible. I thought it would smell more like… fear.”

“That’s because most people who talk about bees only talk about running away from them, screaming.”

I loosen the first frame carefully and lift it free. Bees cover the comb in a living shimmer, moving over capped honey and open cells. I hold it over the hive body, slow and steady.

“This one’s mostly honey,” I say. “See the capped part? That waxy layer?”

Charlie leans in, then immediately remembers she is leaning toward thousands of bees and leans back. “I see it.”

“They seal it when the moisture content is right.”

“I appreciate a good sense of quality control.”

I inspect both sides of the frame, then slide it back into place. “This one stays.”

“Why? There’s honey on it.”

“We can’t just take it because it's full,” I say, more to the frame than to Charlie. “We only take what they can spare.”

I lift another frame, check the capped honey, then check another. The south hive is strong. Calm. Healthy. They have enough. Maybe more than enough, but I am careful because “more than enough” is not something you guess at. Not with bees. Not when their winter depends on what you leave behind.

I slide the frame back and move to the next. This one is almost fully capped. Heavy, golden, clean. A frame I can take without hurting the hive. I smile. “Okay, this one can come with us.”

Charlie straightens as if her bee assistant role has just been activated. “What do I do?”

“Hold the lid to the nuc box open. And don’t panic.”