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CRAZY AS A LOON
HAILEY EDWARDS
Copyright © 2023 Black Dog Books, LLC
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information
storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book
review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the
author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is
purely coincidental.

Edited by Sasha Knight

Copy Edited by Kimberly Cannon
Proofread by Lillie's Literary Services
Cover by Damonza
 CON T E N T S

Crazy as a Loon

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12

Join the Team

About the Author
Also by Hailey Edwards
 CRAZY AS A L OON

Yard Birds, Book 1

Ellie Gleason has protected the town of Samford, Alabama for decades. It’s not as
glamours as her glory days as the WitchLight Hub, but it keeps her active during her
golden years.

Life is good.

Well, it’s okay.

Fine.

It could be bloodier with a smidge more gore, but retirement is meant to be low-key. It’s
not like her fragile bones could handle the strenuous hunt for monsters, even if her
current duties are dull as dishwater.

But when her great-nephew shows up on her doorstep in tears—or is he her great-great
nephew?—begging for help, Ellie straps on her beloved shotgun, Bam-Bam, and gets the
coven back together.

Sure, Betty just had a hip replacement, and Flo would rather flirt than fight, and Ida is
busy with her anniversary plans, and Joan is…Joan. But Ellie is certain she can whip the
girls into shape in time to defeat the creature preying on kids at a nearby summer camp.
She might even have them home in time for dinner.
 CHAP T E R ON E

I f I had a dime for every time a piskie infestation ruined my Sunday afternoon
plans with a blender and a margarita mix, I wouldn’t have to clip coupons from the
weekly sales flyer. Come spring, the weather got warm enough to thaw their wings, and
they descended like locusts on gardens within a three-mile radius of their underground
hive. Worse, they were ovoviviparous, and females birthed fully self-reliant piskets every
single place they fed during that first week. The only thing harder to kill than piskies were
roaches.
And that made me a glorified exterminator.
Welcome to retirement, old girl.
For eighty years, I hunted the most dangerous paranormal creatures to prowl the
night as a Witchlight Hub, but there was a reason why other agencies called us WitchLite.
Without each other, we were about as useless as tits on a bull.
“Ellie.”
“Why do we bother?” I kicked a fallen tomato cage. “The little pests always come
back twice as hungry.”
Piskies were barely the height of a pinkie finger and resembled Tinkerbell, except for
the needlelike teeth, red eyes, razor-sharp claws, and…well…I guess they didn’t much
resemble Tinkerbell after all.
Give me a kraken to wrestle, a griffin to ride, a manticore to defang. Not this penny-
ante pest control.
“Ellie.”
Shelving memories of our glory days, I turned to find Ida on her knees beside a raised
bed. “What?”
“Look.” Her orange-cream shirtwaist dress pooled around her. “Oh, Ellie, just look.”
“I know that tone.” Flo, whose expression had frozen in place decades ago, sashayed
over to us. “Babies.”
Her disgust mirrored mine whenever I imagined her welcoming botulism injections to
banish wrinkles.
“Already?” Betty, still recovering from hip replacement surgery after a boggart tripped
her on the stairs at the library, picked her way across the uneven terrain with her walker.
“Feed them to that stray Pastor Joe adopted.”
First swarm of the summer, and they had to go and target the Samford Baptist
Church’s small garden.
“Is your memory that bad?” I scowled at the six piskets dozing under a lettuce leaf.
“The fundraiser?”
“Oh.” Betty stepped over a shattered watermelon rind longer than my arm. “Yeah.”
“I don’t remember a fundraiser.” Ida sank back on her heels. “Did it happen during my
cruise?”
Every year, Ida and her husband, Eli, cruised to the Bahamas for their anniversary.
Most of us were widows now, so we didn’t begrudge her the romantic getaway.
“The stray ate a litter of piskets.” I rubbed my thumb alongside my nose. “They didn’t
agree with her.”
“The pastor decided she got in a fight with a tom, and we encouraged his notion.” Flo
righted her pillbox hat. “I don’t know what possessed that cat. Piskie teeth are sharper
than Betty’s tongue. The poor thing.” She adjusted the wisp of netting against her silver
curls. “She required emergency surgery, which Colin paid for, but the congregation hosted
a bake sale to pay us back.”
Colin Rourke preferred golf to Jesus, and more conservative parishioners took offense
to his priorities.
But mostly, they resented Flo for taking the most eligible bachelor in Samford off the
market.
Any chance to snub her, they took with glee. Not very Christian behavior, but Flo
didn’t care.
Flo didn’t believe in getting mad. She believed in getting even. And she looked
fabulous doing it.
“We need to hurry this along.” I checked the clunky gold watch my husband wore for
forty years before I picked up the habit to feel closer to him. “Service begins in thirty
minutes.”
“I would do the honors…” Flo extended her leg to flash her white pumps, “…but
they’re new.”
“More Mew Mews?” Betty reached us with a grunt of effort. “How many pairs of shoes
do you need?”
“The designer is Miu Miu.” Flo’s lips crimped in a hard line. “Though I would hardly
expect someone who still hunts Pokémon to appreciate art.” She curled her lip at Betty’s
black orthotic sneakers. “Or style.”
“I have grandkids.” Betty twisted and sat on her walker’s built-in seat. “Of course I
catch Pokémon.”
“That app reminds me of our rookie year in Witchlight.” I cracked a smile. “Those
were the days.”
Our handler, Walter Gleason, dumped us into a pond with a kelpie stallion on our first
day.
The thing almost drowned Joan, broke two of Ida’s ribs, and dislocated Betty’s
shoulder. Flo froze, and it was her or me. I threw myself in front of the charging beast,
stuck to its gummy fur, and it hauled me under.
We passed the test on a technicality. I did catch it, as per our assignment, but it
caught me right back. Had Wally been a hair slower, it would have drowned me and then
eaten me.
“He’s coming.”
The four of us angled toward the flagstone path as Joan burst through the garden
gate in a lather.
“Pastor Joe.” Her quilted purse thumped hard against her back. “He just left the
pastorium.”
The small house provided for the pastor sat maybe a quarter acre from the church.
We didn’t have much time to handle this before he got here and started asking
questions.
Good thing I favored orthotics with a nice chunky sole too.
A loud squelching noise caused the rest of my coven to whip their heads toward me.
“Problem solved.” I wiped pisket goop off on the trampled grass. “Who brought the
lye?”
One look at my face and Betty burst out laughing. Even Flo allowed herself a modest
chuckle.
Lord knows, we were a violent bunch. Practically a death squad in our heyday.
“Me.” Joan dug into her oversized bag. “It’s in here somewhere.”
Alkaline hydrolysis was our preferred method of body disposal, but it wasn’t easily
achieved in the field. That was why we mixed up magically regulated batches to supply
the heat and pressure for the reaction.
“Found it.” She tossed me a prescription bottle. “That’s the last of it.”
One good thing about getting old was all the free prescription pill bottles we recycled
for spell storage. Sure, the containers were plastic and not glass. And those childproof lids
gave Betty fits, but free was free. Plus, no one looked twice at a granny with a few
bottles rattling around in the bottom of her purse. They were perfect camouflage.
“You know what that means?” Betty danced in her seat. “Margarita night at Ellie’s.”
Footsteps rang out on the flagstone path, and I dumped the chalklike powder over the
pisket remains.
The five of us joined hands, power trickled into me from them, and I murmured words
to ignite the spell.
In these rare moments, as borrowed magic swam in my veins, I felt young again. But
all too soon, the remains reduced to goo, then to liquid, and seeped into the earth to
fertilize the next food crop.
“Well, well, well.” Pastor Joe entered the garden dressed in a black suit with his hair
parted just so. “If it isn’t five of my favorite parishioners.”
Joe Deckle was new to Samford, in his midsixties, and in possession of a full head of
thick silver hair.
Both the wedding band he still wore, and the bible he always carried, worked like
catnip on single ladies.
They screamed I am not afraid of commitment in a subtle way women our age
appreciated in eligible men.
“Ellie, you’re looking lovely this fine morning.”
Part of my uniform as village kook entailed wearing a housecoat and slippers around
town. I used to be a lot sadder about that, but then I took to carrying Bam-Bam
everywhere I went as an accessory. When no one batted an eye, so long as I took pains
to match my shotgun to my outfit, I decided I could live with it.
Better to be armed to the teeth than dressed to the nines, in my opinion.
“I showered.”
A snort blasted out of Betty’s nose. “Jesus, Ellie.”
The girls sucked in a collective gasp, but Pastor Joe just laughed under his breath.
“Jesus saves.” Betty folded her hands in her lap. “That’s what I meant to say.”
“I’m sure you…” His gaze slid past her to the garden. “What on God’s green earth?”
“Slugs.”
“Rabbits.”
“Deer.”
“Possums.”
“Tarantulas.”
That last one was Joan, so nobody blinked about her assertion there were vegetarian
tarantulas with a hankering for fresh summer fruits.
“All at once?” He tried to make it a joke, but it fell flat. “The farmer’s market is in
three weeks.”
The farmer’s market was seasonal at the church, and we did our part to ensure a
bountiful harvest.
Proceeds got invested into community programs overseen by the church, which was as
good a reason as any to pitch in. Leftovers were taken home by the congregation and
used in meals that would then be delivered to the elderly and less fortunate. Those were
also fine and noble things, but we weren’t either.
We founded a garden club, not only to get ahead of piskies, but to mix our special
fertilizer into the soil.
The resulting fruits and vegetables didn’t hurt anyone, but they might leave folks open
to suggestion.
That’s not a rock troll, it’s a hide-a-key.
That’s not a brownie, it’s a dirty mop.
That’s not a sprite, it’s a lost doll.
Knowing the sanctimonious pearl-clutchers who gave Flo such a hard time ate produce
from mass piskie gravesites? It made my old and bitter heart rejoice. Just not enough to
irritate my pacemaker.
“Colin would be happy to donate enough plants to replace the ones we’ve lost.” Flo
anchored her hands on her slim hips, ready to take charge. “I’ll make a list after service
and have them delivered tomorrow.”
“Thank you for your kindness and generosity.” Pastor Joe raked his fingers through his
hair. “I regret this means we’ll have to cancel the farmer’s market this year. Perhaps I can
get my brothers to come down.” His shoulders fell over the devastation. “We’ll need
better fences to prevent this from happening again.”
Fences wouldn’t deter these flighty pests, but I couldn’t very well tell him that.
Guilt gnawed on me that I had failed in my duty, however insignificant it felt these
days. Maybe that was the real problem. So little was expected of me, I struggled to hold
myself up to my old standards. I didn’t put much effort into meeting an already low bar,
and that wasn’t me.
The real me.
The old me.
Before I got, well, old.
“Maybe host an auction to sponsor individual plants or entire beds? Winners get their
names engraved on a plaque on a stick? That way we replace what’s lost and the church
earns some money for the fund.” I ignored the eye daggers Flo hurled at me for usurping
her, but I fully intended to pass her the scepter. “I’m sure Flo would love to head up the
committee.”
A handful of women would mortgage their houses to beat her out of pure spite, which
she well knew.
She lived for excuses to goad them into competitions they couldn’t hope to win and
couldn’t fuss openly about without showing an uncharitable spirit, since all proceeds went
to the church and the community.
“That’s brilliant.” Paster Joe embraced me, his scent warm and woodsy. “We’re so
lucky to have you.”
Awkwardly, I patted his back. “Yeah.”
Behind him, Betty rubbed her hands up her arms and made kissy faces.
I don’t know why she was my best friend. I should have let that kelpie finish the job
the day we met.
“I’m happy to spearhead a committee.” Flo inserted herself. “I’ll spread the word after
service.”
Pastor Joe smiled at her, deep wrinkles creasing the corners of his eyes. “Thank you,
Flo.”
Preening under his attention, she smoothed her hands over her hips. “You’re very
welcome.”
“Ladies.” He held out his arm in a sweeping gesture. “Let’s go on in.”
Joan, who stood clutching her purse strap, smiled stiffer than some corpses I had
seen.
Ida rose with the kind of grace you’re either born with, or you’re not, and dusted off
her skirts.
Betty, draped in a flowing housedress that was more my usual style, grunted and
pivoted in her walker.
Once assured his flock was ready to be shepherded, Pastor Joe led us down the path
toward the church.
“He’s tougher to fool than poor old Father Orr was,” Betty murmured, bringing up the
rear with me beside her. “He’s prettier, though.”
Father Orr suffered from dementia and moved to Wyoming to be near his children.
 That was the official line. The truth was, he quit eating Samford grown veggies after
his wife died and he had no one to cook for him. Without that dietary staple, he began
remembering the strange happenings in our small Southern town since the coven
relocated here fifty or so years ago.
We dosed him with a mild hallucinogen, drove him to the airport, and passed him into
his sons’ care.
Seventy-two hours later, he was back to normal, but his kids didn’t believe a word out
of his mouth.
For a while, he sent postcards to his former parishioners, warning them of evil spirits
in our fair town.
Luckily, they didn’t believe a word out of his pen, and life went back to as normal as it
ever got for us.
“He is rather handsome,” Flo agreed, a glint in her eye. “A widower too.”
“Oh, lord.” Betty clutched her chest. “Did y’all hear that?”
Heart tripping, I scanned the area for threats. “What?”
“A cougar yowling.” She dissolved into laughter. “Rawr.” She lost her breath. “Flo is on
the prowl.”
“Better a cougar than a spinster.”
“Just because I never married doesn’t mean I’m a spinster.”
“That’s exactly what spinster means.”
“I aged out of that bracket at twenty-six.” Betty shook out her sleek gray bob. “I’m a
thornback, baby.”
“A humpback more like,” Flo muttered under her breath. “You’ve always had
horrendous posture.”
“Do you still qualify if you have children?” Joan pondered. “You have so many.”
“Only six.” Betty lost her footing, leaning hard on the walker as I steadied them both.
“It’s grandkids that get you. I have fifteen of those and counting.” She huffed her thanks
and kept going. “Men never did appeal to me. Women either. But kids? They’re the most
fun you can have. And if you adopt paranormal kids, you never know what you’re going to
get. It’s fantastic. Like Christmas. One day they’re this chubby toddler. The next, they’ve
shifted into this whole new form that neither of you knows how to control.”
As an adoptee herself, taken in by a warg couple when she was one month old, Betty
was a pack animal at heart and the foremost expert in mixed-species home placement for
paranormal children.
“Oh, let Betty have her fun.” Ever the peacekeeper, Ida waded in. “She can be a
thornback if she wants.”
“Thornback has a nicer ring than widow.” Joan tugged on her purse. “Widow is such a
lonely word.”
The man Joan married in her fifties was more of a mad scientist than the professor he
led her to believe. Brilliant mind, but dull as dishwater. Sadly, he blew himself up on their
tenth wedding anniversary. The explosion destroyed her greenhouse and cost her a
decade’s worth of horticultural research. To my knowledge, she had never cried before or
since.
 She really did love those plants.
“Thornback is fiercer,” Ida agreed, happy to guide the conversation. “What do you
say, Ellie?”
Thumb rolling over my dented, scratched, and slightly melted wedding band. “I like
thornback.”
The word implied you had reached a pinnacle where you were strong enough to face
down anything, and tough enough anyone whispering about you behind your back could
go impale themselves.
Based on her pinched expression, Betty must have heard the edge in my tone.
“I was teasing earlier, about Pastor Joe.” Her voice leveled off once we hit the
sidewalk. “Your situation, your marriage, is…complicated.” She paused to catch her
breath. “I just hate to see you waste your life.”
“Each time one of your kids grew up and left home, did you rush out and adopt a
replacement?”
“You can’t just replace—”
“Exactly.”
Especially since my husband might be dead, but he was still waiting on me to get
home.
 CHAP T E R T WO

T he wards on my land weren’t as fancy as the ones at Witchlight HQ, but I could
whistle a tune and hear throaty bullfrog croaks from the stones I buried when
the coven first arrived in Samford that told me the perimeter was secure.
Oh, well.
Better luck tomorrow.
“Come on, Bam-Bam.” I slid my shotgun into its holster down my back. “It’s almost
MMA o’clock.”
Kook duty required me to appear more harmless little old lady and less former
infamous monster slayer, so I always walked the property line in my housecoat before
bedtime. Some nights, just to spice things up, I shot empty cans off fence posts. Toward
oncoming traffic. I fired homemade rock salt shells, but my neighbors didn’t need to know
that.
I also made sure the locals saw me talking to myself. Or my gun. I wasn’t sure which
was worse, so I did a little of both. As much fun as it was (for me), I did it for their own
good. The less they knew about the supernatural world around them, the better off they
would be. Besides, Betty screaming insanity plea at officers who came to investigate my
antics usually prevented me from getting arrested.
Again.
A prickle of guilt stung my spine as I passed the old Madison place on the final leg of
my evening constitutional.
The Madisons had been my closest neighbors, but the missus passed five years ago,
and the mister not long after her. Their house was a cute little thing with a nice creek in
the back. With love, and twenty or thirty grand, it could be a home again. For another
practitioner, if we got lucky.
The girls disagreed with me, but I felt we needed new blood in town.
A strong white witch would be a welcome addition to the area, if we could find a
suitable one.
But we could hash that out if I ever lured in any takers.
As I did every month, I imbued fresh crystals with full moon’s light and my intent, then
buried them near the house. They acted as a beacon to weary souls, and one day would
attract a new owner. That was the hope, anyway. This far out, pickings were slim.
Still, I would hate to watch the old house rot as the years passed. There was
something poignant about the slow deterioration of beauty, but I saw enough of that in
the mirror each morning to last me. No reason for a perfectly good house to fall in on
itself. My face, a crinkled napkin of a thing, was doing enough of that for both of us.
With that done, I headed home with plans to watch MMA until I passed out in my
recliner with a pizza roll hangover.
Once on my porch, I toed off my muddy boots and let myself in the front door I never
bothered to lock.
Sadly, no homicidal maniacs had yet to take me up on the open invitation.
Though I suppose hunting them was more fun than walking in on them.
“Enjoy your stroll?”
The rich, husky voice rolled over me, and I closed my eyes, happy to pretend a few
minutes longer.
“It rained all last week.” A smile tugged at my lips. “It’s a bog out there.”
“Enjoy your slog then?”
“I always do.” That much was the truth. “The Madison place is still empty.”
“You’re seeding it, aren’t you?”
“Maybe.” I loved how well he knew me. “There’s something about it that feels
important.”
“Trust your gut.”
“Sir, yes, sir.”
“None of that, cadet. We’re far past basic training, don’t you think?”
The longer I stayed in the entryway, the longer I got to imagine Wally really was right
around the corner, chatting with me. That he would walk out, wrap me in his arms, and
kiss me silly.
“Well.” I placed my shotgun on the table and shrugged out of my housecoat, leaving
me in faded leggings and an equally worn tee. “You did put a ring on it, as they say.”
“I did, and I would do it all over again.”
After drifting in thoughts of yesteryear all morning, I was still deep in recollections of
our younger days.
“Bet you didn’t think that the first time we met.”
“You were a smart-mouthed, short-tempered powerhouse who didn’t listen to a word
of caution.”
And he was a god made flesh to my eyes: powerful, ruthless, and handsome as sin.
“Flatterer.” I drew up my courage and entered the living room. “How was your day?”
“Same as the day before and the day before that,” he teased, but I heard the
underlying weariness.
Mounted on the wall above the couch was a fish. A bass. Vibrant latex skin stretched
over a mechanical skeleton, really. Its age-worn base was plastic woodgrain. A gold-tone
plaque proclaimed he was Bobby the Big Mouth Bass. Press the button, or trigger the
motion sensor, and he burst into song.
When I entered the room, smile pasted on, the bass was flexed so he was staring at
me straight on. With one side wired into the plaque, he only had so much mobility, but
we made do with his limitations.
More and more, I worried I was the one making do, while he was enduring my
inability to let him go.
“Don’t look so sad, gumdrop.” His voice went soft. “You know it breaks my heart to
break yours.”
“I’m not sad.” I cast back for something, anything to distract him. “We killed our first
summer piskies.”
You could tell them from the spring hatchlings by their duller colors and preference for
melons.
Willing to let me get away with misdirection, he engaged with enthusiasm. “Already?”
This was the equivalent of talking about the weather with a stranger just to have
something to say, and I hated it. Hated, hated, hated. But my Wally’s soul was cursed
into a damned novelty toy, and the cure was as impossible as it was cruel.
“We noticed them before service.” Hard to miss the mess they made. “At church.”
“That new pastor drops by with some truly inventive excuses.”
“Not you too.” I yanked Wally off the wall, and the Velcro strips affixed to the back of
the plaque ripped loudly away from the ones stuck to the sheetrock. “Betty was teasing
me about him earlier.”
Sinking into my recliner, I rested the plaque against my stomach to prop him up
during the match.
“You could go out with him.”
“I would rather stay in with you.”
“I’m not a man anymore, gumdrop. I’m not anything.”
“You’re here, and that’s enough for me.”
“I won’t fight with you when you look so tired.”
“Good.” I stroked a finger down his rubbery spine. “I would hate to earn a pity win.”
Settled in to watch MMA, we fell into a companiable silence brought on by the mutual
appreciation of a good fight that required no commentary when the announcer was doing
just fine on his own.
With my eyes shut, it almost felt like the good ol’ days. Too bad you can’t drift through
life blindfolded.
A chorus of croaks from the wards around the house announced we had guests, and I
sat up straight. A beat later, a howl echoed through the front yard, and skittering claws
tore across the wooden porch.
“Sounds like we’ve got company.” Wally cut his eyes toward me. “Bet you a dollar it’s
the boys.”
The boys could mean any of Betty’s kids or grandkids, but the howl gave me a good
idea of who to expect. The question was who had brought him all the way out here so
late.
“That’s a fool’s bargain.” I refastened him to the wall for his own protection. “I better
let them in.”
I had barely reached the door before a tall young man with light blond hair and
sparkling blue eyes swept in and latched his muscular arms around me. He yanked me off
my feet to prevent a dirty furball moving at the speed of light from knocking me down
like a bowling pin. Good thing too.
Hip replacements might as well be the new friendship bracelets at my age.
“What are you two doing here?” I swatted Zander’s arm. “Does Betty know?”
Zander should have been in college, and Zeke ought to have been at Camp
Mudskipper for the summer.
“We have a surprise attack planned for later.” He set me back down. “One you can
maybe help us with.”
The second my feet touched the floor, the furball swerved, plotting a collision course
with my legs.
“Zeke,” Zander growled in his uncle-est voice. “Calm down, or I’ll tie you out in the
yard.”
To prevent Zeke from landing me in traction, I folded myself onto the floor. The wolf
pup dashed over, braced his muddy front paws on my narrow shoulders, and planted
slobbery kisses all over my face.
“What did you eat?” I spat out fur and dirt. “Your breath is curling my nose hairs.”
Zeke, tail wagging a mile a minute, continued stringing drool over my lips and chin.
“So—” I scratched the little terror behind the ears, “—what’s this about us helping
you?”
“This is Zeke’s first year at Camp Mudskipper, and he’s already tapped out.”
“Betty won’t like that.”
All her kids had spent their summers from ages five to eighteen at Mudskipper.
First, they enrolled as campers. Then, around sixteen, they began volunteering as
junior counselors.
The program catered to shifters, predatory and nonpredatory, and their adopted
siblings. Shifter kids in non-shifter families got a safe environment to interact with their
own kind, often for the first time. Non-shifter kids got a chance to learn about their
siblings through interacting with others in their situation.
The hope was shifter and non-shifter kids alike would form their own support networks
outside of camp.
Easily done these days, when every kid had their own smartphone, laptop, or tablet.
From what I recalled of the previous years’ schedules, Zeke couldn’t have been there
but a few days. Betty had a firm rule that every child gave it a full week before they
decided to stay or come home. It might not work the same for grandchildren, but I wasn’t
betting on it. She was a stickler on that point.
“That’s why I need a second opinion from you and Uncle Wally.” Zander angled his
chin, showing his throat. “Do you mind?”
The gesture was deference out of respect, given I wasn’t a shifter and didn’t rank in
pack hierarchy.
There was only one reason why he would come to us rather than take the problem
directly to Betty.
Whatever brought him to our doorstep, his big brother, Zale, had vetoed involving
their mom.
Zale was Betty’s eldest and Zeke’s dad. And yes, she gave all her kids Z names.
They were each a different species, so she stuck to the same naming convention to
bind them as a family. The kids decided to continue the tradition, which meant the whole
clan was a tongue twister.
“You can always come to us for help. Always. You know that.” I ushered him into the
living room, Zeke at our heels, and we sat beneath Wally to include him in the
conversation. “What’s going on?”
“The camp is…I don’t know…experiencing growing pains? There are more kids, more
staff, more activities. More pressure from parents to receive daily updates. Just more. Of
everything. I’m worried that means Zeke fell through the cracks and that’s how things got
so bad so fast.”
“Okay.” I jabbed him with a bony finger. “What are we missing?”
As much as Zander liked to talk, I didn’t usually have to work this hard to pry answers
out of him.
“Since Zeke got home, he won’t shift back to human.”
There was only one reason why a well-adjusted kid like Zeke would act out in that
way. Animal forms were stronger, faster, and took more damage than human ones.
Getting “stuck” was a fear response.
Fingers itching for my gun, I growled, “Who or what did he need protection from?”
“That’s what I want to know.” He got fidgety. “Zale said to drop it, but this isn’t like
Zeke.”
Green lips pursed, Wally asked, “What else can you tell us?”
“The head counselor, Sara Camron, called Zale when Zeke refused to shift back after a
midnight fun run. As per camp protocol, he was taken to the infirmary and examined. The
nurse found blood in his ruff from a shallow bite. When Zale asked who was responsible,
Sara admitted she didn’t know but insisted any incidents at camp are of the boys will be
boys variety. She insinuated Mudskipper might not be a good fit for Zeke if the stress of a
play bite led to this.”
Shifters played rough. They bit, clawed, and bled daily. A nibble wouldn’t be enough
to spook Zeke.
He grew up too rough-and-tumble with Betty’s kids and her other grandkids for that.
Tail curling with the motion, Wally leaned out for a better look. “How long has he
been a pup?”
Spend too long in an animal skin, and you risked becoming one for life.
“Six days,” Zander confessed. “That’s why I had to act.”
Almost a week was dangerous territory, which meant Betty should have been Zale’s
first call.
“How did you end up with Zeke?” I started piecing it together. “Are you pupsitting?”
“Zale and Maryna are at their cabin. They hoped a family romp in the wilderness
would snap Zeke out of it, but he hid under his bed all weekend. I live the closest, so they
invited me to join them for a hunt, but I couldn’t get through to him either. I suggested
we bring in Mom, but Maryna vetoed that.” He raked his teeth over his bottom lip. “That’s
when I told them I would bring Little Bit back with me, and we could hang in my dorm
room tonight. He’s got an appointment with a specialist in the morning that’s on the way
to the college, so Zale and Maryna agreed to let him sleep over. They don’t know I’m
here.”
When they found out, the fur was going to fly, but he knew that before he made the
trip.
“Kids these days.” I shared a glance with Wally. “So sneaky.”
“I’m twenty-one.” Zander spluttered a laugh. “I’m not a kid.”
“You’re a grown man.” Wally backed him up. “That means you know going behind
Zale’s back is wrong.”
A slow exhale moved through Zander, and he sank into the lumpy couch with
protesting springs that had been used as a trampoline for most of his childhood by both
the boy and the cub.
“Guess now that you know all the gory details,” he lamented, “you’ll have to tell Mom,
huh?”
“Gasp.” I clutched my shirt. “It’s almost like that’s what you intended all along by
unloading this on us.”
This kid. He was slick as a fox. The genetic lottery missed its mark with him.
Most bears weren’t half as sly or silver-tongued as this boy, and he only got cleverer
with age.
Zander knew we wouldn’t hesitate to tell Betty, who had vast experience in this area,
for Zeke’s sake.
“Do what you gotta do, Auntie El.” He linked his hands behind his head and sat back.
“I’ll practice acting shocked by your betrayal for when Mom gets here. That way I can
tweak my performance before I face Zale.”
Wally’s laughter followed me into the kitchen, lightening my soul, where I dialed Betty
on our landline.
A low whine drew my attention to Zeke, who had followed me. His pitiful eyes, made
larger and rounder through practice with Zander, convinced me to feed him the chicken
breast I had been saving to make chicken salad sandwiches tomorrow.
“Can I call you back?” Betty grunted as a door shut in the background. “I have family
drama.”
“Oh?” I washed the grease off my fingers. “Maybe I can help.”
“Zander isn’t answering his phone, and Zeke is staying with him overnight. They’re
supposed to be on campus, but Zander’s roomie says he hasn’t seen him all day. Maryna
is coming unglued, Zale is as pissed as alpha wolves get, and I’m about to put on actual
jeans and go hunt down Zander. I have to get between him and his brother before they
start a pack war over a family matter.”
One of the risks of having kids who grew up to join different packs was the threat of
sibling squabbling boiling over into a political steamer after, for example, a wolf tore out
a bear’s throat for running to their momma and tattling.
“This must be your lucky night. I do believe I can spare you from the agony of denim.”
A beat of silence hit the line then she exhaled like a balloon deflating. “They’re with
you, aren’t they?”
“One has a belly full of chicken, and Wally is entertaining the other with stories of our
misspent youth.”
“I’ll give Maryna a call on the way. Don’t let them out of your sight.”
She hung up, muttering about ungrateful kids giving her a heart attack, and I put the
handset back on the base before I forgot where I left it. Back when phones had cords, we
didn’t have these problems.
Oh well. It could be worse. I could have a cellphone.
On a normal day, Betty lived about twenty minutes away. You could cut that in half
when she was angry.
This stunt, though she didn’t know it was well-intentioned yet, had her madder than a
wet hen.
“Brace yourselves,” I warned the boys. “Hurricane Betty is about to make landfall.”
A whimper escaped Zeke, who squeezed between the couch and the wall, as if his
grandmother had ever said a harsh word to him in his life. Zander, on the other hand,
adopted a stoic expression that drove home just how old that sweet little bear cub had
gotten when I hadn’t been looking.
Ten minutes later, the front door bounced open against the wall in the entryway with
a loud thump.
“Sorry about that,” Betty called toward the living room. “This damn walker does what
it wants.”
“Here.” I got to my feet and met her halfway. “Let me help before you trip over the
rugs.”
Wally had a thing about rugs, and our floor was wall-to-wall overlapping carpets. Pups
and cubs loved to bat the tassels, which meant there weren’t as many as there used to
be, but the lumps made it hard for Betty to get around at present.
“What…are you…doing here?” Betty puffed at Zander, out of breath. “Explain yourself,
young man.” She scanned the area while I helped her sit on her built-in stool. “Where’s
your nephew?”
A low whine rose behind the sofa, outing him, but Betty only sagged and let Zeke be.
Zander leaned forward, laced his fingers, and filled his lungs to give her the same
speech.
“Well?” She kicked a stubborn foot in his direction. “Out with it.”
You had to talk fast around Betty, or you couldn’t get a word in edgewise.
“Mom—”
“Zale told you not to involve me, didn’t he? Probably said I need more time to
recover.”
“Mom—”
“Pretend I didn’t raise you from a cub. Pretend I’ve ever given you a reason to doubt I
could take care of myself. Pretend you haven’t insulted your Auntie El for implying she
would ever let anything happen to me.” Her upper lip curled over the false teeth she got
after a pooka kicked out most of hers. “Then tell me what the hell is going on before I
take you over my knee and spank sense into you.”
 “I don’t think that would help,” I muttered, hoping to make an opening for him.
“He’s wearing his ass on his shoulders, coming here for help first.” She flicked her
trembling hand at me. “No offense to you or Wally.” She zeroed back in on Zander. “He’s
sitting on his brain instead of using it is the only logical excuse.”
A soft gasp behind the couch warned little ears had overheard a big swear.
“Grandma privilege,” she yelled at Zeke then dipped her chin. “I kept my mouth so
clean, you’d think my tongue was a bar of soap when my kids were little. Now here I am,
the granny with the potty mouth.”
“You’ve earned it.” I patted her shoulder, hand close enough to slap over her potty
mouth if necessary to get this intervention rolling, then circled back to Zander. “You were
saying?”
“Zeke called to tell me he dreamed a monster was hunting him in his sleep. I thought
it was first-night jitters, since he’d never spent a night away from home without family,
but he woke up with bite marks on his neck. Just like in his dream. I—”
“—neglected to mention this part of the story,” Wally chastised with a clicking pinch of
his brow.
“What about the fun run?” I reminded myself I would miss him if I strangled him. “The
blood?”
“That came next.” He held up his hands. “I’m sorry, Auntie El, but I didn’t want to
freak you out.”
“Yes, Zander, us hysterical womenfolk must be eased into details lest we faint dead
away from shock.”
Arching her eyebrows, Betty stared at me. “Still think I shouldn’t spank him?”
“Ladies,” Wally called us to order. “Let me see if I have the timeline straight.” He
waited for Zander’s full attention. “Zeke went to camp. He had a bad dream his first
night. He woke up with bite marks. He called you, and not his parents, I’m guessing
because he knew his mother would force him to leave. The next day, he went on a run.
He came back with more bite marks. This time, he refused to shift back to two legs. Enter
the trip to the infirmary, the call home, and the harried parents driving to Mudskipper to
pick up their traumatized child.”
“That about covers it.” Zander scratched his nape. “Except now that Zeke is safe, Zale
doesn’t care.”
Wolves could be a bit insular when it came to protecting their own at the expense of
others, but kids? I wouldn’t have expected Zale to let it go. Unless Maryna convinced him
to drop it. Her people held more isolationist views due to their animals’ solitary nature.
“But you do?” Betty gave him a thorough once-over then asked a trick question. “Why
does this matter so much?”
“Aside from the fact something is preying on kids, and my mom taught me to never
look away?”
“Yes.” Her expression softened at the evidence of his big heart. “Aside from that.”
“We studied sleep daemons last year in Daemonology 101.” He puffed out his cheeks
before he exhaled. “We had a guest lecturer. Mr. Lawson. He showed us footage of
patients in a sleep study being fed on by a sommeilae. He shared photos of that
daemon’s victims, some of them children. I just…can’t forget it.”
“Who in their right mind shows graphic content to kids?” Betty screeched. “I ought to
write that college and tell them to ban him.”
“We’re not kids, Mom.” He thought better of rolling his eyes. “We signed waivers to
attend his lecture.”
Righteous indignation puffed her up bigger than eighties shoulder pads. “They should
have asked—”
“I would have been laughed off campus if I had to drive home to let my mommy sign
a permission slip.”
“Oh, Zandy.” Betty deflated on the spot. “I don’t mean to baby you, but you’re the last
baby I’ve got.”
“I know, Mom.” He grinned, dimple flashing. “But you’ve got grandbabies out the
wazoo.”
Her somber tone brought Zeke venturing out from behind the couch to comfort her.
She wasn’t allowed to hold him yet, but he was very polite and reared up on her knees to
give her access to scratch his ears.
“I don’t have a wazoo,” she said haughtily. “That’s why I adopted.”
Cracking up, Zander covered his face with his hands. “You’re terrible.”
“Okay.” I smothered my own laugh at her joke. “How do we tackle this, Betty?”
“I’m a quarter owner of Mudskipper. Sara Camron, who’s been with us for a decade, is
running the camp this year. That she didn’t contact me about my grandson as a
professional courtesy is troubling. Her boy is about his age. You’d think she would
understand why I might expect to hear it from her first.” She picked a weed from
between Zeke’s teeth. “I’m giving you permission, as an owner, to perform an
investigation on my behalf.”
“Quarter owner?” I felt my jaw drop into my lap. “When did that happen?”
“About eight years ago. Around the same time Sara was hired. The former owners
were strapped for cash and threatening to shut their doors for good. They called in all the
legacy parents to break the news, and one thing led to another. Three of us wrote checks
to help before we left. I believe in their mission, and I had the funds to help. I figured
why not?” She winked at Zander and then Zeke. “Plus I needed somewhere to ship my
kids and grandkids to keep them out of my hair for a few weeks each summer.”
“You said three.” A soft clicking hum moved through Wally. “The original owners kept
a hand in?”
“I wouldn’t have invested otherwise.” She sputtered a laugh. “None of us
grandparents wanted to run it. We were happy leaving that to the next generation. That’s
why Sara made an ideal candidate. Her son had been attending camp for two or three
years by that point, so we knew her a little from group chats, calls, and pickups.”
Mudskipper had been a passion project for the original owners. A shifter couple who
adopted a whopping eleven human kids. That much I remembered reading in their
pamphlets. I was surprised, given the no-tech policy, that the camp had survived this
long. Even with a cash infusion, and continued support, I wasn’t sure it would make it
long enough for Betty’s next wave of grandkids to enroll.
 Wally kept digging, but I didn’t know what he was after. “You have no active role
within the business?”
“No.” She bobbed a shoulder. “But I do get ten percent off registration for each
camper.”
Hands linked in his lap, his blue eyes soft, Zander asked, “Will you take the case,
Auntie El?”
A snort escaped me at the emotional manipulation he did so well. “Do you really have
to ask?”
Betty’s face glowed with thanks that I would spearhead the investigation, but I turned
away before she read how eager I was for an excuse to do something. Anything. Even
spend a long night crouched behind a tree, eaten alive by mosquitos swarming the murky
lake bisecting the boys’ camp from the girls’ camp.
Maybe I would get lucky and the sleep daemon would follow me home to torment my
dreams.
That was one way to spice up my nights.
No offense to Wally meant.
“You don’t have to feel guilty.” Betty nudged my leg with her shoe. “I know you’ve
been bored lately.”
“Most Witchlight agents put in their seventy-five years and retire,” Wally said behind
us. “They’re thankful to have survived that long and look forward to spending the rest of
their lives without fear of worse than a stubbed toe happening to them.” He chuckled.
“Not my wife. My Ellie reupped and even now, in retirement, has kept up her duties.”
“She is pretty awesome.” Zander winked at me. “Definitely my favorite aunt.”
“You only say that because I taught you how to take down those bullies in middle
school.”
Samford was isolated and rural, which made it ideal for raising kids who were half
animal. But that same isolation meant they either got homeschooled, or they attended
class with humans. To ensure her kids blended well in society, Betty opted for public
school every time.
But when two older kids targeted Zander, beating him up for his lunch money, Betty
hit a snag.
Zander’s nature demanded he let his inner bear fight his battles. Even with a
suppression spell to prevent accidental changes in public, around humans, he struggled
with the strength of his beast when the boys cornered him.
Enter Aunt Ellie and a judo mat.
With his shifter strength, Zander was able to channel his natural abilities into
punishing results.
Sure, he got sent home a few times. And, okay, yeah, there was that month of
detention when he broke one bully’s nose. But I was proud of him. Better to take them
down with his fists rather than his claws, right? I thought so. Betty wasn’t sold on
violence as an answer. That was why she grounded me from seeing him for four weeks as
a double-edged punishment. Still, it was worth it. Those punk kids had it coming.
Perhaps because of stories like that one, told over family dinners, Maryna decided
Zeke was better off at a shifters-only school. Betty took the news hard, as if Maryna were
snubbing Zale’s education or felt it wasn’t good enough for their son. But Zale and Maryna
lived in the city. They had to make the best choices for their family based on their
available options.
“That,” Zander allowed, “and no one else let me watch MMA, horror movies, and the
surgery channel.”
That last part wasn’t as terrible as it might sound. Predatory shifter kids held a
particular curiosity about anatomy. Zander more than most. He was premed now, so late-
night TV with me must not have scarred him too badly.
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that, since none of it was on your approved
watchlist.” Betty rubbed Zeke’s soft ears between her fingers. “I wish I could go with you,
Ellie. I hate to miss out on the fun.”
“I’ll carry you,” Zander volunteered. “You’re as light as a feather after I shift.”
“Excuse you.” She kicked at him again, but he wasn’t in range. “I’m as light as a
feather before you shift.”
Chin down, laughter twinkled in his eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”
“That’s what I thought.” She checked with me. “What’s the plan, oh fearless leader?”
“Light up the phone tree first thing in the morning. Call in the whole flock. I want
every available Yard Bird here and ready to party hard by sundown.” I restrained myself
from rubbing my hands together. “Tomorrow, we host a margarita night.”
And then?
I was going hunting.
Yee-freaking-haw.
 CHAP T E R T HRE E

M argarita nights required more than a heavy hand with the tequila to reap a
successful harvest.
They also required pizza, wings, chips, dips, pretzels, and ice. Lots of ice.
Thirteen Yard Birds RSVP’d, not bad for a Monday night, and I grinned at the lucky
number.
The ladies from church might not approve of the five of us, but they came for the free
booze and snacks. What did we get out of it? We skimmed a little off the top of every one
of them as the cost of admission.
Another reason why we chose this place for retirement?
Way back when, five covens lived in a commune founded near present day downtown.
As time marched on, two moved away, and the other three began losing their magic as
they interbred with local humans. Descendants from those five original covens populated
what went on to become the town of Samford.
The women in attendance didn’t have enough magic to light a candle on their own,
but those tiny sparks glinting within each of them could fuel our powers for weeks if
collected and stored properly.
Lucky for us, we were old pros and had refined our process into a boozy good time for
everyone.
Rap music poured out of the living room as I walked past, and country spilled across
the low front porch. Opera swelled over the line for the downstairs bathroom, and
pounding pop rock shook the floorboards.
Party time.
“It’s going to be a good night.” Ida welcomed me into the kitchen. “The energy is off
the charts.”
“Hmm.” I picked up a fresh loaf of bread and set it on the cutting board. “I’m almost
out of mint.”
“We’re good on kykeon, right?” Her gaze flew to the punchbowl. “We have enough for
everyone?”
A fermented barley drink, kykeon contained mint grown from my private garden,
among other things. It was a hallucinogenic, which helped us siphon magic from the
gathered demi-witches and left them in a euphoric state for hours. Not a bad trade, if I do
say so myself. Especially when we dosed them in their margaritas to hide the flavor.
“I have gallons of it prepped.” I waved off her worry. “I meant for the cucumber mint
sandwiches.”
Yes, we served fried buffalo wings, but we also catered to the watercress crowd.
“I’ll check with Joan.” She grabbed a platter of petit fours. “She can fetch more from
the garden.”
“Where is she?” I craned my neck. “I haven’t seen her in over an hour.”
“You know how she gets at parties.” Ida tutted. “She’s in the spare room prepping for
the ritual.”
Joan wasn’t much for people. She preferred the company of plants.
However, margarita nights required full coven participation to achieve the desired
outcome.
“What about Flo?”
“She’s holding court on your couch.” Ida wiped a perfect curl off her forehead with the
back of her wrist. “The drunker this crowd gets, the more they want to press the button
on Wally’s plaque.”
“Ask Zander to put him in our bedroom and lock the door.” I picked up a knife then put
it back down, not trusting myself to behave. I disliked people touching my husband when
he was alive, and I despised them manhandling him now that he couldn’t say no.
“Please.”
The abundance of Velcro adhesive strips decorating my walls never ceased to invite
questions, but they were a practical, if unattractive, part of our lives. Not only did I enjoy
bringing Wally room to room with me, but he would be bored out of his mind if he was
always stuck with the same view.
“All right.” She wiped her hands with a dishtowel. “Can you believe how fast he grew
up?”
“Shifter kids are always ahead of the curve.”
“You’re a bigger softie than me, Ellie.” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t spout platitudes at
me.”
With the ease of long practice, I arranged my expression into grim lines. “You take
that back.”
“You’re dandelion fluff.” She blew a kiss off her palm. “Squishy and fluffy.”
“Are we talking about Betty’s waistline?” Flo sashayed into the kitchen dressed in fire-
engine red with her hair in neat pin curls. “Or what’s between Joan’s ears?”
“One day, Flo, you’ll say the wrong thing to the wrong person, and you won’t be able
to flirt your way out of it.”
“Have you met me?” She fluttered her lash extensions. “Who could resist this?”
It was on the tip of my tongue to throw Pastor Joe under the bus that was Flo, but
that would be cruel. To them both. Flo had a job within the coven, and she did it. Not all
of us were so blessed as to marry for love. Some of us married out of necessity. For the
greater good. And while the years had polished Flo’s heart to diamond hardness, I ached
for what that role had done to her, how it hollowed her out until the bright-eyed recruit
who seduced instructors for a giggle had all but disappeared over the years.
More than once, I wished I had begged her to stop with the hair and the makeup and
the sultry glances. Talents were weapons at Witchlight, and Flo was a natural seductress.
She could convince anyone to do anything with a crooked finger, and management took
notice.
But I had been too busy falling in love to notice my friend was falling apart. Worse, I
justified it by asking myself who was I to lecture her on who she had sex with when I had
been warming Wally’s bed most nights?
Neither of us had made great choices back then, and we had both paid for them in the
end.
Her by weaponizing an act she once enjoyed into a choreographed dance she
despised with a passion.
Me by losing the person I broke all the rules to be with, only for him to end up in a
hellish limbo.
“No one.” A brittle smile threatened to crumble on my mouth. “At least not yet.”
“Challenge accepted.”
“Flo, you’ve only been married five years this time.” Ida rested a hand on her arm.
“It’s too soon.”
Hers was a long con. She picked wealthy targets with criminal interests, mostly
humans (to cut down on the life expectancy of her exes) and liberated their stolen funds.
Right into our joint bank account.
“Ida.” Flo cupped her soft cheek. “Five minutes is too long with some people.”
Dropping her hand, Flo left the room with fresh steel in her ramrod-straight spine.
“Don’t say it,” I warned Ida. “The one thing Flo hates more than men is pity.”
“You’re right.” She stole a treat off the tray still in her hand. “I just wish things were
different.”
“We all wish.” I focused on the cutting board. “And they never come true.”
“Ellie.”
Knife in hand, I turned to find Joan crawling through the window in the laundry room.
As much as I wanted to ask why she didn’t just use the back door, since it was right
there, I knew better than to sidetrack her. Besides, there was logic. Then there was Joan
logic. Never the twain shall meet.
“Pastor Joe is here.”
“What do you mean here?” I dropped the knife with a clatter. “Where?”
“He just pulled into your driveway.” She fidgeted with her purse strap. “He’s got
flowers, Ellie.”
Ida’s eyes widened, but she didn’t say a word.
“For pity’s sake.” I stabbed my knife through the cutting board in irritation. “I’ll cut him
off at the porch.”
Stomping through the house, I shoved aside Birds to reach the front door before the
pastor could knock.
Male energy would contaminate the space and spoil the ritual. Bad enough I had to
talk to him to get rid of him. I couldn’t afford to accept the flowers and risk our fingers
brushing. As the hub, the centermost point for the siphon spell, I had to ensconce myself
in feminine energy, or the whole night would be a wash. With the clock ticking for Zeke,
we couldn’t afford any mistakes.
Rushing out the front door, I headed off the pastor before he reached the front steps.
“Pastor Joe.” I blocked the walkway. “What an unexpected surprise.”
“I saw the cars.” He gestured around my cluttered yard. “I recognize them from the
church parking lot.” He extended the flowers. “I hope it’s not too forward that I invited
myself to your party.”
Ignoring the yellow climbing roses from the pastorium garden he had wrestled into a
bouquet, I seized on the easiest excuse to get rid of him.
“I would have invited you,” I lied through my teeth, “but this party is girls only.”
“Oh.” He took a second look at the cars, and his eyebrows winged higher. “I should
have caught that.”
Half of his parishioners were single women above the age of fifty, so I didn’t hold it
against him for not putting it together sooner.
“It’s tradition.” I had to raise my voice to be heard over the thumping music. “Has
been for years.”
The gatherings started out as a monthly Friday night affair to avoid Sunday-morning
hangovers, but they shifted to biweekly or weekly during busy seasons. Times like these,
when we needed a boost between weekends, we did the best we could with whoever we
could get.
“Oh, yes. I do recall hearing about a club for ladies.” He studied me. “You call
yourselves yardbirds.”
Hoping that would be the end of it, I agreed to get him gone. “Yes.”
“Isn’t that slang for convicts in a prison yard?”
The nickname, in our case, came from the number of times the lightweight members
of our group had been arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct after a margarita night.
Another advantage of old age? Not caring what others thought of you as long as you had
a good time with the time you had left. Especially when they rarely got charged. We
called it granny privilege. Mostly they landed in the drunk tank to sober up overnight.
Anxious to get back to the party, I faked surprise. “Is it?”
“I, uh, yes.” He rubbed his nape. “I believe it is.”
“Learn something new every day,” I mumbled the platitude, “even at my age.”
“I apologize for interrupting.” He appeared to finally take the hint. “I’ll leave you
ladies to it.” He smiled, and it was warm. Too warm. “Oh.” He lifted the flowers Joan
warned me about. “I almost forgot.” He held out the bouquet. “These are for you.”
“Can you leave them there?” I pointed at the flagstone beneath his feet, thankful Ida
bullied me into lining my walkway with roses last year. “I would rather try to root them
than put them in a vase to die.”
“Of course you would.” He chuckled at the sentiment. “I should have put that together
too.”
The less he noticed, the longer he would last around here.
But just in case, maybe I ought to do a deep dive to find out if he had any convenient
children living out west.
 CHAP T E R FOU R

W ith Pastor Joe’s taillights flashing down my road, I stomped up the walkway in a
huff.
The nerve of that man. Inviting himself to our party. Bringing me flowers.
Flirting with me. Me. A married woman.
He was too old to go around courting women on warm summer nights like he was still
a teenager.
No sooner had I hit the porch than Zander walked up behind me and hooked his chin
over my shoulder.
The traitor must have been spying on us. No doubt to report any lascivious details to
his other aunts.
“That old dude has the hots for you.” His breath smelled like Ida’s homemade buffalo
sauce. “He didn’t even care you lied right to his face.”
“He doesn’t have your nose.” I thumped his for sticking it where it didn’t belong. “He
can’t smell fibs.”
“Hate to break it to you, Auntie El, but he could tell you were lying through your teeth.
He just didn’t mind. He was too happy you were talking to him.” He waggled his
eyebrows. “Alone. In the dark.”
“There are twenty people in this house.” I prickled with annoyance. “I was hardly
alone.”
“I was just teasing.” He planted a sticky kiss on my cheek that reminded me of when
he was a boy. Except then it had been his candy addiction leaving goo on my face, not
the dozen hot wings he inhaled between slices of pizza. “I’m Team Wally all the way.”
Aunties weren’t supposed to have favorites, but…
“Me too, kid.” Stubborn tears itched the backs of my eyes. “Me too.”
Arm in arm, we entered the house, and Zander almost caused a stampede as the
women rushed to coo and fuss over him. He must have been hiding out to avoid this very
thing, given the level of excitement.
He was an exception to the no-man vibe, the same as the other kids who grew up
running wild in this house and on this land. Wally had been—he was—too. Our energies
were in sync, as if he and the kids were extensions of our coven. Plus, roosters made for
great distractions during hen parties.
“I need a drink.” I hated the dampness of my palms after that incident in the yard. “Be
right back.”
Leaving him to regale the ladies with hilarious stories of his roomie’s drunken
shenanigans during a visit from the governor to the college, I slipped into the kitchen and
poured as much tequila down my throat as I could swallow before Betty ripped the bottle
out of my hand.
“There are easier ways to drown.” She set it on the counter, out of my reach. “What’s
wrong?”
“Paster Joe.”
“Are you mad folks keep teasing you because you don’t like it, or mad at yourself
because you do?”
The urge to swing at her twitched in my arm, and I told myself the only reason I didn’t
tenderize her face was she was an invalid. But I tasted bile when the twisting in my gut
cautioned she might not be wrong.
Wally was the only man I had ever loved. The only man I would ever love. And that
was that.
“The crystals are humming,” Joan mumbled through the pantry door she threw open.
“It’s time.”
Tequila did its job and made me dumb enough to ask, “Why were you in there?”
“Mouse droppings.” She pinched a grain of rice sized turd between her fingers. “You
can tell from—”
“Fucking hell, Joan.” Betty dropped her chin to her chest. “Now I need a drink.”
“—the color of the specimen is healthy,” Joan continued. “You don’t use poison, do
you?”
“Nope.” I took her by the wrist and shook her hand over the trash can. “Drop it.”
“Do you mind if I catch it?” She blinked owlishly. “The mouse, not the feces.”
The thing about living in the sticks was you were always going to have mice. It wasn’t
a commentary on cleaning skills or personal hygiene, it was a simple fact of country life.
A cat would have helped cut down on how often my pantry got turned into an all-you-can-
eat rodent buffet, but Joan hated them with the fiery passion I had only ever seen in a
plant person whose prized, highly variegated, Monstera Albo Borsigiana was stolen by a
stray cat. It climbed in her open window, yanked it right out of the pot, then trotted off,
never to be seen again.
That was sixty years ago. I tried convincing her it must have been one of her
horticultural rivals hidden under a transformation spell, but she couldn’t shake her
mistrust for felines. I doubted she ever would.
“Help yourself.” I checked to make sure she held no other surprises. “ After we fill the
crystals.”
Nudging her shoulder, I herded her toward the sink and watched to ensure she
washed her hands.
“I’ll get the others.” Betty shuffled toward the doorway. “We’ll meet you in the Cave of
Wonders.”
 “It’s a spare bedroom.” I threw a dishtowel at her head. “Not some damn cave.”
“Do you think we could grow stalactites?” Joan’s attention snagged on the new topic.
“We could seed them with crystals, and—”
“This is an old house.” I broke it to her gently. “It can’t support the weight of stone
ceilings.”
“We could always reinforce the roof.” She lost track of rinsing her hands and stood
there with the spout pouring down her forearms. “Do you think Wally could help…?” A
burst of clarity brightened her eyes. “I’m sorry, Ellie. I didn’t mean…”
Head forever in the clouds, Joan often forgot the current state of reality when she
touched down again.
“Don’t sweat it.” I turned off the faucet and dried her hands. “I wish I could forget
sometimes too.”
“Oh, sweetie.” Ida rushed over and appraised Joan. “You’ve soaked your shirt.”
“Have I?” Joan stared at the fabric clinging to her chest and stomach. “Oh.” She
frowned. “You’re right.”
“Come on, space cadet.” Flo took her by the elbow with surprising gentleness. “Time
to do our thing.”
With Flo, Joan, and Ida cutting a path through the crowd, I fell back to keep pace with
Betty.
“That girl spends more time wandering through her head than anyone I’ve ever met.”
“Yeah.” I felt a smile pulling up one side of my mouth. “But she’s one hell of a
conductor.”
Joan had less raw magic in her bones than the rest of us, but linked to the others, and
then to me, she amplified our power tenfold. She kept the flow smooth and regulated,
ensuring no one gave too much or got too little in exchange. We would have all burned
out by now if she hadn’t kept us level.
“Ain’t that the truth?” Betty chortled. “That reminds me. We need to stock her fridge
again.”
Money wasn’t the problem. Joan didn’t need help to afford groceries. Thanks to Flo,
we had more money in our shared account than we could spend in a lifetime. Joan just
forgot to buy them.
The woman could remember different pH requirements for hundreds of plants in her
greenhouse, but she would forget to eat without a daily reminder call to guarantee she
fed and watered herself too.
“I’ll do it.” I mulled over the pantry incident, wondering if she wanted to use mouse
poop as worm food. “She can hunt for critters after.”
The Cave of Wonders, as Betty called it, held rows upon rows of shelves that circled
all four walls. There were no books. Only crystals. Thousands of them. And they glittered
like polished diamonds beneath the overhead light when I flipped the switch.
Except diamonds were a total waste of shelf space, in my opinion. They held a tenth
what a good quartz crystal could preserve. And, as if that wasn’t bad enough, they leaked
over time. Total waste of perfectly good money.
Five plush cushions I was forced to add when we got too stiff to sit on the hardwood
for long periods of time made a star on the floor, and an amethyst pillar as thick as my
waist stood tall in the center of the room. About five feet were visible and another three
extended through the floor, deep into the ground.
After we bought the house, Wally spent a solid week ripping up the planks, leveling
the pillar (a wedding gift from his parents), then cutting the leftover wood into a
gorgeous pentagon design that stabilized its bulk and kept us from having an open hole
in the floor.
From the shelves, I selected five empty crystals to fill then placed them in a large
candelabra-style holder that opened like the petals of a flower around the pillar where it
met the floor.
Only four of us relied on them, but we always kept one in reserve for emergencies. As
the hub, a vessel for magic, I contained my portion within my body. Too bad borrowed
magic didn’t stretch as far as it did in our youth. Now we required more oomph to get the
job done.
Careful not to pull anything, we each claimed a cushion, minus Betty, who remained
on her walker’s seat, and linked hands.
Warmth spread through me, signaling Joan was smoothing out the lumps while we
waited to fully sync.
“I never did thank you for your auction idea, Ellie.” Flo stared down her perfect nose
at me. “It’s just like you to blurt the first thing that comes to mind then leave me to
figure out the logistics.”
Flo wasn’t fooling anyone. She wanted off the hook for this mission to avoid the bugs,
the lake smell, the dirt, the trees, and worst of all, the reek of a dozen boys who had
been living in the woods for a week. Her pride wouldn’t allow her to bow out. No. She
would guilt us into giving her permission. That suited me fine, since she was a capable
but reluctant field agent.
“You’re best at damage control.” I told the absolute truth, which also happened to
flatter. “You’ve got the brains and resources to organize an auction, or whatever solution
you decide on, and that’s where we need you the most.” The icing on the cake was
offering up an assistant. “Ida can help.”
Jerking her attention from a wrinkle in her skirt, Ida bristled. “Now wait a minute—”
Despite being the epitome of a fifty’s housewife in appearance, Ida wasn’t afraid to
get her hands dirty.
“We can’t all disappear for an undetermined amount of time without drawing
attention,” Betty cut in. “There are only so many trips to Vegas we can lie about in a
year. The town already thinks we’re lushes. Do we want them to believe we’re gambling
addicts too?” Her tone firmed, my second-in-command easy with pitching in whenever I
needed backup. “You’re on schmooze duty to fundraise. Deal with it.”
“Fine.” Ida hmphed. “We’ll preserve our cover within the community while you three
run amok.”
Happy to have her way, Flo settled in. Ida, however, was less enthusiastic about
getting benched.
“If it makes you feel any better,” I confided in her, “these two aren’t coming with me
either.”
Every head in the circle swiveled toward me, and Betty’s eyes spat daggers.
“I’m taking Zander and only Zander.” I made it an order. “This is, for now, strictly a
recon mission.”
That dulled some of Betty’s sharpness, but I would get an earful later.
“You break your hip once,” she growled low in her throat, “and suddenly you’re a
liability.”
Okay, maybe I would get an earful now.
“You won’t make the mile of uneven terrain between the parking lot and the camp in
your walker. Not without breaking your other hip.” The long hike was meant to reinforce
the alone in the wilderness vibe. “It’s a minefield out there between the tree roots, small
animal dens, and the new moon.”
Zander had excellent eyesight and his night vision was even better. He would be my
seeing-eye bear so I didn’t join Betty in rehab.
“I’m low on death caps, destroying angels, and fatal dapperlings,” Joan said out of
nowhere.
The hint she wanted to ride along for a chance to forage for poisonous mushrooms
was about as subtle as a brick to the face. They were one of the very few things she
preferred wild rather than hothouse grown for her poisons and tinctures.
“How about I bring some back for you, and you work on making charms from the list I
need for this op?”
“I accept your offer.” She jolted hard. “Oh.” Her eyes brightened. “We’ve reached
harmonization.”
The ritual was as familiar as breathing, and on her cue, we all shut our eyes and
breathed as the warmth in my chest heated to the familiar burn of incoming magic.
Power dripped and dropped from our guests, and the spell we murmured softly collected
it, filtered it through the others, and filled me with pure, undiluted magic that stripped
away the weight of years and left me feeling like that spunky cadet who was dumb
enough to treat a kelpie like I was the fly to his flypaper.
We hummed and whispered and sang, until my skin stretched with the volume of
magic contained within me. The room spun, the pleasant heat in my chest flaring the
longer I held out.
Back in the day, I could have contained every ounce within myself and used it to
perform miraculous feats.
Back in the day, I could have filled every crystal in this room to bursting for the others
to use.
Back in the day, I could have…
“Let go.”
The words drifted to me through a buzz of pure bliss.
“Let go, you old coot.”
A hard shove knocked me onto my back, where I stared up at the whirling ceiling.
“You know better.” Betty jabbed me with her walker. “You’re not twenty anymore.
Hell, you’re not a hundred and twenty anymore.” Jab, jab, jab. “You can’t hold that much
power without incinerating yourself.” She graduated to kicking me, but she was still so
weak, I barely felt her foot. “Dumbass.”
“Not helping, Betty.” Ida pushed to her feet, stepped over my splayed legs, then
joined forces with Joan. “I can already smell your hair burning.”
“That’s Flo.” I lolled in their grip. “She probably keeps a primed curling iron in her
purse for hair emergencies.”
Together, they dragged me over to the crystal pillar where they cupped my hands
around its tip.
“Do you have any idea how much effort is required to look this good?” Flo struck a
pose that had brought low many a man. “How much time?”
“How much hairspray?” Betty snorted. “You’re a walking fire hazard.”
“Release now, Ellie.” Ida rubbed circles on my upper back. “We’ve got you.”
The switch within me flipped, an hourglass turned upside down, and grain by grain, I
emptied myself except for the portion that was mine to keep.
A soft glow filled the crystals in their holders, and each of the girls traded their old one
for a new one.
The crystal holders worked in reverse as well, for any stones still holding magic since
our last charging. A bit of effort on my part sent the dregs back into the amethyst and
diverted it into the ground, nullifying it.
Another side effect of getting old? The magic was shelf stable for shorter periods of
time. The safest thing to do was dump whatever excess we had between charging parties
to prevent another explosion. The first had been hard enough to explain away, but
another would get my address added to the twice daily patrol roster for SPD.
Again.
“Joan gets the extra.” I sank onto the floor, using my cushion as a pillow. “She’ll need
it for the charms.”
Betty, proving why she was Grade A best friend material, waited until after the others
rejoined the party to kick my bony butt so I rolled onto my knees and then got to my
feet.
“What kind of asinine stunt was that?” She studied me through narrowed eyes. “You
held on way past time to let go, and you know it. You had to have felt it.”
“Don’t look at me like that.” I flexed my creaking knees. “I wanted to make sure we
have enough for our mission. That’s it.” I felt her stare boring into the side of my head.
“What?”
“It’s okay to be mad.”
“I’m aware.”
“Are you?” She scoffed. “You got dealt a shit hand, Ellie. You gave your life to the
protection of others, and all you got in return was retirement in the sticks and a husband
mounted on your wall.”
The truth shouldn’t hurt after all this time, but it always did. “I got you too. All of you.”
“Most covens like ours retire and go their own ways,” she said gently, “but we stuck
together.”
Elite teams didn’t survive long in full retirement. Our work kept us alive. It kept our
magic alive.
For her to insinuate they followed me to the boonies out of fear I might go first…
“I don’t have a death wish,” I snapped, “and I don’t need babysitters.”
“Idiot.” She smacked the back of my head. “That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Could you please stop insulting my intelligence and quit being violent?”
“Act like you have a brain, and I’ll treat you like you’ve got one.”
I noticed she made no promise to quit beating the tar out of me. “Fine.”
“Despite what you might think, Oh Mighty Hub, you weren’t the only one who lived for
the danger. We all loved fieldwork. We loved working cases. You’re not the only one who
feels letdown. You’re not the only one who wishes they could still climb beanstalks and
fell giants.”
“That was only the one time…”
“The point is, you’re wallowing.” She firmed her tone. “We’re all old, we’re all bored,
and Ida dreamed she smothered Eli in his sleep last night for snoring.” She shoved me.
“You’re not special.”
“I can see why you’re my best friend,” I said dryly.
“Don’t go and get yourself killed being an idiot is all I’m saying. We can’t work magic
without you, and I for one will be pissed if you felt so sorry for yourself you got
incinerated reloading our batteries then left me to deal with my gaggle of grandchildren
without a magical espresso shot each morning.”
We all spent our magic differently, preserving most of it to perform our duties around
town, but that almost never used an entire crystal, except in busy seasons. That left us
with magic to burn most months and an excuse to indulge. For Betty, that meant
speeding her healing before one of the grandkids rebroke her hip, and giving her the
boost she needed to keep up with them.
“I didn’t mean to scare you, or the others. I push myself. Too hard most of the time. I
know I do. When that much power is convincing you you’re still young and powerful and
able to slay all day, it’s not easy letting go.”
“You suck at accepting how things are,” she said. “That’s part of what makes you a
great team leader. You never take no for an answer, you fight for what’s right, and you
push us to be our best selves.”
“I can’t be both an idiot and a tactical genius.”
“No one said genius.” She shoved me. “Just don’t let the bad days win, okay?”
“Okay.”
Maybe she was right, and I was taking cues from Joan, spending too much time in my
head. Reliving the glory days on a loop meant not living in the present. Which, honestly,
was what made it appeal so much.
The truth was, I had yet to figure out how to be this version of myself. I had always
flown too close to the sun and counted on the coven, or Wally, to reel me in before my
wax wings melted. But they were winding down, enjoying their golden years, and he
was…
A dull ache blossomed in my chest, caving in the cavity around my withering heart.
Betty was right. I had to accept reality. I had to accept my limitations and learn to live
within them.
“Come on.” She shuffled out of the room. “We need to check on our guests.”
We didn’t have to go far to find the first partygoer slumped on the couch, out cold.
Another had curled up in a ball on the floor. The bodies piled up as we neared the front
door, and sure enough, a few had wandered outside to collapse into a semi lucid state.
The neighbors thought they were drunk and passed out on the lawn, but it was more
of a high that left them gazing up at the moon and zoned out for hours. We kept a close
eye on them, but some of them managed to wander in a daze all the way into town
before we caught up to them.
“We might as well start the cleanup.” Flo wrinkled her nose at the chaos. “Parties are
so…messy.”
“Here.” Ida passed her a set of dish gloves in a bright floral print with rhinestone cuffs.
“Does that help?”
“A bit.” Flo admired the sparkle. “Joan?”
“Ready.” She snapped her fingers, and five enchanted trash bags opened themselves.
Each one drifted into the air to hover next to its master. “I brought this for you.” She
handed Betty a metal rod with a pincher on the end. “So you don’t have to bend over.”
“Thanks.” She lifted it, flexing it open and closed. “Reminds me of those dinosaur
heads on sticks the kids used to play with. Those were a gas.” She clamped down on a
crumpled napkin. “Rawr.”
“Scientist now believe dinosaurs had more in common with birds than lizards,” Joan
informed us. “They might not have growled so much as squawked.”
Most of my life, I had a certain mental picture and expectations of dinosaurs. Neither
of those included feathers or chirping. If that made me wrong, oh well. I was at the age
where I liked things how I liked them, and I liked my T-Rexes roaring and lizardy, thank
you.
While she prattled on about the evolution of dinosaurs, the rest of us let the beat of
the music drown out the high points. We picked up the cups, tossed the napkins, and put
the leftovers in the fridge. I tuned in an hour later, just to see where Joan’s narrative was
heading this time, but she had moved on to theories on which modern-day bird’s egg
mirrored how she imagined a dinosaur egg would taste.
Two hours after that, we had the house clean, the guests accounted for, and it was
time for Zander and me to go.
Another good thing about growing old was that everyone’s bedtime had crept up to
seven or eight o’clock. For that reason, we started our parties at dusk. We got in an hour
or so of socializing before we slipped off to the guest bedroom to recharge our crystals.
Then it was lights-out for our guests.
Even after an exhaustive cleanup, Zander and I had plenty of time left for recon
before dawn.
Dressed in black Kevlar leggings, a black racerback shirt, and hiking boots, I was
ready for action.
As soon as I coordinated Bam-Bam’s outfit and fit her into a holster across my back, of
course.
 Some habits died hard.
“Ready to go?” Zander rubbed his hands together. “I’m itching for some action.”
“Then I hope you packed some calamine.”
We left the girls to watch over our inebriated guests until they were sober enough to
drive home, usually four to six hours later, and hopped in his truck to go on an adventure.
 CHAP T E R FIVE

C amp Mudskipper hadn’t changed one iota since Betty sent her boys to spend their
summers terrorizing other shifter kids. Still the same six cabin layout with a firepit
in the center. Still the same mucky lake the boys loved but reminded me too much of
kelpies and handsome saviors. And still the pungent aroma of boy that led Flo to donate
an entire case of deodorant annually to the camp.
In true summer camp fashion, girls camped across the lake on a strip of rocky land
generously referred to as The Island. Both genders ranged in age from six to eighteen,
and the teens were plenty old enough to stir up trouble with the opposite sex if they put
their minds to it.
An island wasn’t much of a deterrent once hormones got involved. Especially when
most of the kids could swim better in animal form than as humans.
Zander had put his mind to mischief so often when he was attending, he was forced to
sleep in Zale’s cabin, under his brother’s supervision.
The sky was as black as pitch when we arrived at the parking lot, and the hike to
camp was a nightmare, but Zander kept us on the path. The lone lamppost in the dead
center of camp, and an assortment of battery-operated lanterns, made navigating those
areas easier, but Zander hovered beside me with his hands out like he expected me to
trip and shatter into a million pieces at any moment.
Had Betty not been recovering from a nasty fall, I would have fussed at him, but he
did it out of love.
There was little enough compassion in the world for me to stamp out his for the sake
of my pride.
Tucking his face into his elbow, he sneezed. “Did it always smell like…?”
“Dirty socks and wet dog?” I chuckled at his offended scowl. “Yes, and you did too.”
“I’m a bear.” He wrinkled his nose. “I don’t smell like a dog.”
“You were a boy, and you stank. Accept it and move on.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good boy.”
“Again,” he grumbled. “Not a dog.”
As much as I loved needling Zander, we needed to put a cork in it soon. “How many
campers this year?”
“Thirty-six.” He didn’t miss a beat. “Six in each cabin. Three sets of bunks.”
“Zeke is the only kid absent?”
“As far as I know.”
“Okay.” I stuffed a charm in his shirt pocket then smacked his chest to break it. “Now
you’re invisible.”
With a whack to my pants pocket, I veiled myself from sight as well.
“Sweet.” He shot to his feet. “Do you know how many times I begged Mom for this?”
All day every day for a solid year. He drove Betty crazy over it, and she called me to
vent her frustration. That was right after her first grandchild was born, when Zander—her
baby—felt invisible to the degree he wanted to make it literal.
“Hush.” I swatted him again. “They can’t see you, but they can hear you and smell
you.”
A charm to dull our scents would have been ideal, but that required too much magic.
We had to stick to tried-and-true methods of blending in.
“Here.” I opened a plastic baggy then thrust a paper-wrapped parcel at him. “Stick
that in your pocket.”
“Phew.” He held it at arm’s length. “What is that?”
“Half a dead fish I left in the sun all day.”
“If I smelled this bad as a kid, why did you ever let me visit?”
“Dimples.” I drilled a finger into one of his cheeks. “The world’s a sucker for them, and
so am I.”
A hinge shrieked in the distance, and the slap of a wooden door followed.
Footsteps creaked down warped stairs, thumped onto the ground, then broke into a
run.
“That kid must really have to go.” Zander pointed into the shadows. “The outhouses
are that way.”
“Oh, I can smell them.” My half of the dead fish stank less. “You coming or what?”
“Where?” A furrow dug across his brow. “Don’t you want to trail the kid?”
He ought to be safe as long as he kept his eyes open. I doubted he conked out on the
toilet long enough to tempt a sleep daemon with thirty-four less stinky meal options
dozing around us.
Zeke had been bitten a second time on the fun run, but if he was already stressed, he
might have chosen to nap hidden in the woods while the others played. The sleep
daemon could have gotten to him in that way. Until he shifted, or we caught the creature
in the act, we could only guess.
“I want to see where the kid sleeps.” I waved him toward the cabins. “We’ll wait then
follow him inside.”
The camp was populated with shifters, and their sensitive ears would pick up any
deviation from the norm. They were in foreign, if friendly, territory, and their instincts
would be subconsciously prickling even if they consciously felt comfortable here among
their friends.
Sure enough, the boy dressed in red shorts and a tee with the camp logo came
walking back five minutes later. His eyes were half shut, and his yawn revealed teeth too
sharp to belong to anything other than a cat.
His sleep-drunk plodding covered us as we crept in behind him and watched him fall
into bed.
We discovered a clear spot on the floor, almost impossible to find in a cabin populated
by one child—let alone six—and settled in to wait and watch for any late-night visitors or
unnatural sleep patterns.
Three hours later, the boys snored, smacked, and purred happily.
While I was glad for their peaceful night, I was sore from the hardwood, cranky from
the lack of activity, and counting down the time left on our charms.
Just when I had given up hope on seeing action our first night out, a thin scream
pierced the quiet. The boys around us jerked awake, three of them shifting in reflex, and
cocked their heads to figure out what had woken them.
One boy jogged to the door, scanned the area through the metal screen, then waved
to a kid about his age in the cabin across the way.
“Hey, Trev,” he called out. “What happened?”
“It got Ben.” The other boy wrapped his arms around himself. “He’s bleeding
everywhere.”
Bleeding?
Just like Zeke.
Sleep daemons didn’t draw blood in their attacks. Their assaults happened on the
dream plane.
For two kids to suffer bite wounds, I had to assume we were dealing with a more
tangible predator.
“Trev’s in bad shape,” the kid told his bunkmates. “Let’s sit with him until the
counselors come.”
Ah, yes. An alpha in the making. You could tell by their take-charge attitude and
concern for others.
As the boys rushed out the door, we hurried to follow. By hurry, I mean I forced my
aching joints into some semblance of alignment and limped a few steps until I limbered
up enough to dash out the door on the heels of the very last boy.
Though I doubt they would have heard us over the frantic chatter as the boys spilled
out into the night.
A tall woman in camp colors prowled into the clearing and clapped her hands to get
their attention.
“Ben had a bad dream,” she announced after even the crickets fell silent. “He rolled
off the top bunk and landed on the mug he made in ceramics class. It broke. He got cut.
End of story. Counselor Andrew will escort him to the infirmary. Ben will spend the night
there, and his parents will pick him up in the morning.”
“Like Zeke?” A boy folded his arms over his chest. “He went home too, right?”
“Yes, Trey.” She waved him over to her. “Zeke went home.”
“Rafe? Davie? Tommy?” The boy, Trey, trembled on the edge of a shift. “Did they go
home too?”
 Zeke, Rafe, Davie, Tommy, and Ben.
Five victims.
That was four more than we anticipated, and it didn’t bode well for the others.
“Any child injured at camp is given the option of going home where they can recover
in familiar surroundings.” She scanned the crowd for other signs of unrest. “Any other
questions?”
Trey looked ready to fire more questions, but she placed a firm arm around his
shoulders.
“Everyone back to bed.” She pulled Trey with her toward the office. “Counselor Ricky
will stay in the friendship circle tonight, with a fire going. He won’t let anything happen to
you. You’re all safe.”
Twenty minutes later, Ricky had put the kids to bed, performed roll call, and returned
to the circle.
Another man brought matches and kindling from the supply building to help him start
the fire.
A fire that would do jack diddly against a sleep daemon, but tonight convinced me
that wasn’t what was attacking the kids. And if a tingle of excitement prickled through
me, I couldn’t avoid the anticipation of squaring off against a more dangerous, and
tangible, creature.
“We have to tell the parents.” Ricky kept his eyes on the flames. “There’ll be hell to
pay if we don’t.”
“The camp is already on its last leg. Kids, even shifter kids, prefer video games to
spending a month in the woods without internet or cell reception. If we tell the parents
something is preying on their kids, right under our noses, Mudskipper will fold, and we’ll
both be out of our jobs.”
“One more week,” Ricky decided after a beat. “That’s as far as I’ll push it back.”
“Thanks, man.” He scratched his beard. “I appreciate the extra paycheck.”
“One week,” Ricky reiterated. “Then I’ll tell the parents, and you can send the kids
home.”
Why trust him to do the job when Ricky was the one eager to get help? Did he believe
he would get fired as soon as he reached out? That he wouldn’t be at camp to help the
kids anymore?
“Are you sure?” He clasped Ricky’s shoulder. “You can’t un-ring a bell.”
“Yeah.” Ricky tossed a log onto the fire. “Spread the word, huh?”
Did that mean the entire staff was in on deceiving parents about their kids’ injuries?
Or did Ricky only mean to warn them the money was drying up soon? I couldn’t tell, and
the lack of immediate action on his part bugged me.
“Sure.” Nostrils flaring, the guy jerked his head left. “Sara’s coming.” He backed away.
“I better go.”
The same female counselor who made the earlier announcement exited a building
and nudged Trey toward his cabin.
So that was Sara. But which one was her son? And how could she be so calm about
the danger the boys were in?
 With a curt nod to Ricky, she passed through the trees to the glittering moonlit
lakeshore.
Zander and I stuck close to her, but it wasn’t as if we could jump in her canoe without
her noticing.
We settled for watching her walk the pier then row across the lake to The Island.
Since Andrew and Ben weren’t visible on the water, they must use a motorboat for
emergencies. I doubt he could have crossed the distance that fast, with a frantic child,
without help.
A warm breeze rippled across the water, carrying with it a sent that hit Zander and me
at the same time.
Rot.
The soul-deep kind.
A foul taint white witches like me learned to fear from birth.
“Someone in camp has been using black magic.” Zander gazed across the water. “You
think it’s Sara?”
“Hard to say.” I sniffed myself and almost gagged at the pungent aroma. “Between
the dead fish stink and the smoke, this is the first I’ve noticed it.”
“Me too.” He growled under his breath. “I should have caught it sooner.”
“We expected a sleep daemon.” I patted his shoulder. “Not whatever this is.”
Joan wouldn’t thank me for shelving her request for mushrooms, but we had to get
back.
“I could swim over,” Zan offered. “Scout her quarters, take a sniff around.”
“If I let you out of my sight, after we smelled black magic at work, your mother would
kill me.”
Black witches were a vicious bunch, and any charms or spells they cast were nasty
things. That kind of magic had no place in a camp full of kids. Or anywhere, in my humble
opinion. But that came from the deep-seated fear I might come across one hungry
enough to make a snack out of my hardwired heart.
“I could shift and swim us both over.”
“Not tonight.” I sensed our charms about to fizzle. Add water into the mix? We
wouldn’t make it five minutes. No white witch in her right mind pursued black magic when
the lake might neutralize what little magic I had stored in me. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”
As Wally always said, better safe than dead.
 CHAP T E R SIX

T he next morning, long after the girls had seen off our last guest and Zander and I
had returned from the camp, we all sat down to a shifter-size breakfast spread
Ida cooked up to discuss what we had learned at Mudskipper.
We had just finished covering the bullet points when the back door swung open, the
knob embedding itself in the drywall. I couldn’t count the number of times that had
happened with shifters in the house. That area was held together with plaster and hope,
and it looked like I was running short on both.
A curvy woman almost five feet tall prowled in with a hand fisted in the ruff of a
massive golden wolf.
“Zander,” she growled at her brother-in-law. “You have some explaining to do.”
The wolf snarled its lip over its teeth, and drool strung its jaw.
“Hi, Maryna.” I blew on my piping-hot tea. “Zale.”
Zander crunched on his bacon, sipped his orange juice, and otherwise ignored the
fuming couple.
“Zale.” Betty shook her finger at him. “This is your auntie’s house, and you are a guest
in it.”
“Apologies, Auntie El.” Maryna inclined her head like royalty. “We will, of course, pay
for the damages.”
“Now wait just a cotton-picking minute.” I shot to my feet. “I know that tone, young
lady.”
The aggression in my stance triggered Zander, and a hulking grizzly tore from his skin,
shoving the table clear across the kitchen into the fridge.
“No.” I jumped on his back. “You are not fighting in my house.”
“Are you out of your mind?” Wally flexed his gills at me. “Get off that bear.”
With a gentle paw, Zander pushed me off him onto the floor then grunted to the wolf.
They didn’t speak the same language in this form, but they had one of their own, as
brothers often did.
“Maryna,” Betty tried again. “You need to stop this.”
“Zander lied to us.” A wildcat yowled in her voice. “He disobeyed a direct order not to
involve you.”
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 PLATE CCCCLII.

ACHANIA MOLLIS.
Soft-haired-leaved Achania.
CLASS XVI. ORDER VI.

M O N A D E L P H I A P O L YA N D R I A . T h r e a d s u n i t e d . M a n y
Chives.
GENERIC CHARACTER.
Calyx duplex. Interior monophyllus, semi-striatus, sub-cylindraceus,
quinquefidus, persistens. Exterior octophyllus, basi leviter coalitus.
Corolla sub-clavata, convoluta. Petala quinque, basi uno latere
alternatim auriculata, lobis columnam staminum convolventibus.
Stamina. Filamenta plurima, ad basin in tubum corolla longiorem torta,
in partem superiorem tubi coalita, cujus apex liberatus est.
Pistillum. Germen sub-globosum. Stylus filiformis. Stigma decemfidum.
Pericarpium. Bacca sub-globosa, quinque-locularis.
Semina solitaria.
Empalement double. The inner one-leafed, half-striped, nearly
cylindrical, five-cleft, and remaining. The outer eight-leaved, and slightly
attached at the base.
Blossom nearly club-shaped, and folded together. Petals five, alternately
eared on one side of the base, the lobes of which are rolled round the
columnar shaft of the stamens.
Chives. Threads numerous, united at the base into a tube longer than the
blossom, twisted, and united near the upper part of the tube, the point of
which is liberated.
Pointal. Seed-bud nearly round. Shaft thread-shaped. Summit ten-cleft.
Seed-vessel. A berry nearly round, with five cells.
Seeds solitary.
SPECIFIC CHARACTER.
 Achania foliis tomentosis, cordatis, trilobatis, dentatis. Calyx exterior
revolutus, pubescens. Flores solitarii, axillares. Corolla sub-clavata. Petala
convoluta, sub-inclusa, læte coccinea, nervosa, tomentosa. Caulis fruticosus,
villosus, sub-tripedalis.
Achania with downy leaves, heart-shaped, three-lobed, and toothed. The
outer cup is revolute, and hairy. Flowers grow solitary from the axillæ of the
leaves. Blossom nearly club-shaped. The petals are folded together and
nearly closed, of a bright scarlet colour, nerved, and downy. Stem shrubby,
hairy, and near three feet high.
REFERENCE TO THE PLATE.
1. The empalement.
2. A blossom spread open.
3. A petal detached, shown from the outside.
4. The chives spread open.
5. Seed-bud and pointal, summit magnified.
This handsome hot-house plant is certainly an old one, having been a
sojourner with us near thirty years, but has not as yet been figured in any
publication that we know of:—a neglect most probably resulting from the
singularity of its unclosing flowers; so uncommon a character naturally
conveying an idea that the plant was in an imperfect state. Under this
prejudice it has lost the charm of novelty, and many a less attractive object
has been preferred before it. This genus approaches so close to the genera of
Hibiscus, Althea, Malva, &c. that it must certainly be considered as a very
near relation to that family. Its foliage is frequently deciduous on the lower
part of the stem; a defect to which stove plants in general are but too subject.
It is a native of South America and the West India Islands, was found by Dr.
Houston in Jamaica in 1731, and introduced by B. Bewick, esq. in 1780. It
flowers from July till the end of the year.
 PLATE CCCCLIII.

PROTEA REPENS.
Creeping Protea.
CLASS IV. ORDER I.

TETRANDRIA MONOGYNIA. Four Chives. One Pointal.

ESSENTIAL GENERIC CHARACTER.
Corolla 4-fida, seu 4-petala. Antheræ lineares, petalis infra apices
insertæ. Calyx proprius, nullus. Sem. solitaria.
Blossom four-cleft, or of four petals. Tips linear, inserted into the petals
below the points. Cup proper, none. Seeds solitary.
SPECIFIC CHARACTER.
Protea repens, foliis sub-amplexicaulibus, cordatis, undulatis, apice
reflexis, acutis, marginibus rubris: floribus sub basin: interius squamarum
calycis læte carneum, exterius fusco-purpureum, villosum.
Protea with a creeping stem, and leaves nearly surrounding it, which are
heart-shaped, waved, bent back at the end, sharp-pointed, and red at the
edges: flowers grow towards the base of the plant: the inside of the scales of
the empalement are of a bright flesh colour, and the outside of a purply
brown, and hairy.
REFERENCE TO THE PLATE.
1. The blossom complete, and one of the chives magnified.
2. Seed-bud and pointal, summit magnified.
The appearance of this Protea, as cultivated in the gardens, is diametrically
opposite to its natural character, which, as its specific indicates, is repent or
creeping; instead of which, the branches of the plant are bent from their
natural habit, forced as upright as possible, and fastened to a stick; in which
situation the flowers only would compare with our figure. But so averse is it
to this confined mode of treatment, that, as soon as the branches are
liberated, they instantly take the direction most natural to them, and which is
certainly the most graceful. Although repens is the more general title of this
Protea, yet we have heard it sometimes called amplexicaulis, a name given
by some cultivators to a plant whose foliage is so nearly resembling the one
now figured, that, when it arrives at a flowering state, it will most probably
prove to be no more than a variation of culture. It is a difficult matter to say
in what stage the flower is most beautiful, whether in the bud state, before
the pointals are released, or afterwards. From their long confinement, the
pollen adheres so strongly to them, that when relieved they appear like the
antheræ. Our drawing was made at the Hibbertian collection from a plant in
fine bloom in the month of February.
 PLATE CCCCLIV.

U RT I C A B A C C I F E R A .
Berry-bearing Nettle.
CLASS XXI. ORDER IV.

MONŒCIA TETRANDRIA. Chives and Pointals separate.

Four Chives.
GENERIC CHARACTER.
* Masculi flores.
Calyx. Perianthium tetraphyllum.
Corolla nulla. Nectarium in centro floris cyathiforme.
Stamina. Filamenta quatuor, subulata, longitudine calycis.
* Feminei flores vel in eadem vel distincta planta.
Calyx. Perianthium bivalve, persistens.
Corolla nulla.
Pistillum. Germen ovatum. Stylus nullus. Stigma villosum.
Pericarpium nullum.
Semen unicum.
* Male flowers.
Empalement four-leaved.
Blossom none. Honey-cup is formed in the centre of the flower, like a
small cup.
Chives. Filaments four, awl-shaped, and the length of the cup.
* Female flowers in the same, or in separate plants.
Empalement. Cup two-valved, and remaining.
Blossom none.
Pointal. Seed-bud ovate. Shaft none. Summit hairy.
Seed-vessel none.
Seed one.
SPECIFIC CHARACTER.
 Urtica baccifera, foliis alternis, cordatis, dentatis, aculeis tectis: calyces
fœminei, baccati, alternatim in ramos longos divaricatos positi, dependentes,
læte rubri, et aculeis tecti: caulis aculeis magnis tectus.
Berry-bearing Nettle with leaves alternate, heart-shaped, toothed, and
covered with prickles: empalement female, having berries, and alternately
situated upon long straggling branches, hanging down, of a bright red colour,
and covered with prickles: stem covered with large prickles.
REFERENCE TO THE PLATE.
1. A flower magnified.
2. The same with the summit detached, magnified.
This plant is most completely armed in all directions, and known by the
appellation of the Horrid Nettle. The fierceness of its exterior evinces
grandeur, and the bright red flower-stems combine some share of beauty:
and notwithstanding its ferocious aspect, the Common Wild Hedge Nettle
suffers a light approach with less impunity than this terrific plant; thus
proving the old axiom of an open enemy, however powerful, being less
injurious than a pretended friend, whose insidious character, like the Hedge
Nettle, unheeded stings. In the Hortus Schœnbrunnensis of Jacquin it is
described and figured, and also in the Icones of Plumier, p. 259, tab. 260,
who gives it the additional specific of arborescens: and there is but little
doubt of its forming a tree-like appearance in the Antilles and Blue
Mountain Valley of Jamaica, where it is indigenous. The figure represents
the upper part of a large specimen, communicated by A. B. Lambert, esq.
with whom it flowered in the summer of 1804.
 PLATE CCCCLV.

P O LY G A L A M I X TA .
Mixt Polygala.
CLASS XVII. ORDER III.

D I A D E L P H I A O C TA N D R I A . Tw o B r o t h e r h o o d s . E i g h t
Chives.
ESSENTIAL GENERIC CHARACTER.
Calyx 5-phyllus: foliolis duobus alæformibus, coloratis: legumen
obcordatum, biloculare.
Cup 5-leaved, with two of the leaves like wings, coloured: pod inverse
heart-shaped, two-celled.
SPECIFIC CHARACTER.
Polygala floribus imberbibus, axillaribus, purpureis: foliis fasciculatis,
5-6 in singulo fasciculo, linearibus, acutis, valde confertis inter flores: caule
suffruticoso: ramulis filiformibus, patentibus.
Polygala with beardless flowers, growing from the axillæ of the leaves,
and of a purple colour: the leaves grow in fascicles, 5 and 6 in each fascicle,
linear, sharp-pointed, and very much crowded amongst the flowers: stem
shrubbyish: branches thread-shaped, and spreading.
REFERENCE TO THE PLATE.
1. The empalement magnified.
2. The keel magnified.
3. One of the wings magnified.
4. The chives magnified.
5. The pointal magnified.
6. Flower of a white variety.
Amongst the numerous introductions of novelty to the gardens of G.
Hibbert, esq. the Hesteria section of the genus Polygala (although not
splendid) are all of them particularly desirable, from their lively, long, and
(of this species) we may say continual bloom; it having been seen in flower
throughout the whole year. There is a variety of it with white flowers of
equal durability, and so perfect a fac-simile in every other particular, that a
separate figure will by no means be requisite, especially as in the winter
season the purple flowers are sometimes almost bleached by the cold, and
the distinction in consequence less apparent. It is well known by the
cultivators under the appellation of mixta; a specific given to it from the
promiscuous manner in which the flowers and leaves are profusely mixt
together.
 PLATE CCCCLVI.

L A C H E N A L I A F L AVA .
Yellow-flowered Lachenalia.
CLASS VI. ORDER I.

HEXANDRIA MONOGYNIA. Six Chives. One Pointal.

GENERIC CHARACTER.
Corolla 6-petala, infera; petalis 3 interioribus longioribus: stamina
erecta: capsula sub-ovata, trialata: semina globosa.
Blossom 6-petalled beneath; the three inner petals the longest: chives
erect: capsule nearly egg-shaped, three-winged: seeds globular.
SPECIFIC CHARACTER.
Lachenalia foliis geminis, lanceolatis: scapo erecto, colore cinereo-
cæruleo in modum marmoris variato: corollis flavis, sub-pendulis, sub-
cylindraceis, cum limbo petalorum interiorum permagno et expanso: tria
petala exteriora angusta, et apice virescentia.
Lachenalia with leaves in pairs, and lance-shaped: flower-stem upright,
and of a slaty-colour obscurely marbled: blossoms yellow, nearly hanging
down, somewhat cylindrical, with the border of the inner petals very large
and spreading: the three outer petals are narrow, and greenish at the point.
REFERENCE TO THE PLATE.
1. A flower spread open.
2. Seed-bud and pointal, summit magnified.
3. The seed-bud cut transversely, magnified.
This Lachenalia may be regarded as a perfectly new species, there not being
a figure of it extant, nor is it enumerated in the Species Plantarum of
Willdenow. We were at first inclined to have called it ringens, from the
wide-gaping character of the mouth of the flower: but as so many of this
genus have received a specific title in reference to their colour, the
appellation of flava in the present instance will doubtless be generally as
well accepted. The figure was made, from the only plant that has as yet
flowered in this country, at the nursery of Mr. Williams of Turnham Green,
who informs me that he has had the plant three or four years, but has found it
difficult to flower, and slow of increase.
 PLATE CCCCLVII.

BANKSIA SPINULOSA.
Thorny-leaved Banksia.
CLASS IV. ORDER I.

TETRANDRIA MONOGYNIA. Four Chives. One Pointal.

ESSENTIAL GENERIC CHARACTER.
Receptaculum commune elongatum, squamosum: corolla tetrapetala:
stamina limbo inserta: capsula bivalvis, disperma, dissepimento mobili
interjecto: semina alata.
Common receptacle elongated, scaly: blossom of four petals: chives
inserted into the limb of the blossom: capsule with two valves, two seeds,
and a moveable partition between them: seeds winged.
See Banksia serrata, Pl. LXXXII. Vol. II.
SPECIFIC CHARACTER.
Banksia foliis linearibus, longis, margine revolutis, sub-apices
spinulosis: ramis patentibus, ad basin foliis sparsis, superne fasciculatis.
Banksia with long linear leaves, rolled back at the edges, and towards the
ends furnished with little thorns: branches spreading, thin of leaves at the
base, which are bundled together on the upper part of the branches.
REFERENCE TO THE PLATE.
1. A flower.
2. A blossom spread open, one chive magnified.
3. The pointal, summit magnified.
The flowers of this Banksia bear a considerable degree of affinity to the B.
ericæfolia already figured in Pl. 156, but very distinct in the foliage. From
the small thorns on the upper part of the leaves it has acquired the specific
title of spinulosa. It is not very often seen in bloom, although an old plant;
which is accounted for in the slowness of its growth, and the size it generally
attains to before it becomes a flowering plant: and as this character is
prevalent through the whole genus, it no doubt prevents them from being so
generally cultivated as they would otherwise be; since, when in flower, they
are certainly both curious and beautiful. Our figure was taken from a plant in
the collection of His Grace the Duke of Northumberland, at Sion-House near
Brentford; where, under the care of Mr. Hoy, several fine species of this
genus are in very great perfection.
 PLATE CCCCLVIII.

EUGENIA MALACCENSIS.
Malay Apple Tree.
CLASS XII. ORDER I.

I C O S A N D R I A M O N O G Y N I A . Tw e n t y C h i v e s . O n e
Pointal.
GENERIC CHARACTER.
Calyx. Perianthium monophyllum, superum; in medio orbiculus, supra
quem quadripartitum est: laciniis concavis, persistentibus.
Corolla. Petala quatuor, calyce duplo majora, obtusa, concava.
Stamina. Filamenta plurima in orbiculo calyci inserta, longitudine
corollæ: antheræ parvæ.
Pistillum. Germen turbinatum, inferum. Stylus simplex, longitudine
staminum. Stigma simplex.
Pericarpium. Drupa quadrangularis, coronata, unilocularis.
Semina. Nux subrotunda, glabra.
Empalement. Cup of one leaf, above: in the middle is a little circle, above
which it is four-divided: the segments are hollow, and remaining.
Blossom. Petals four, twice the size of the calyx, obtuse, and hollow.
Chives. Threads many in a little circle inserted into the calyx: tips small.
Pointal. Seed-bud top-shaped, beneath. Shaft simple, the length of the
stamens. Summit simple.
Seed-vessel. A berry four-angled, coronet-shaped, and one-celled.
Seed. A nut nearly round, and smooth.
SPECIFIC CHARACTER.
Eugenia foliis oppositis, alternis, latis, ovalibus, apice acuto, leviter
torto, glabris, lucidis. Caulis erectus. Ramuli superiores dumosi, cortice
rugoso, colore pulliginoso: ramis floriferis oppositis, alternis, rectis: corollis
alternatim oppositis, purpureis.
 Eugenia with opposite alternate leaves, broad, and of an oval form, with
an acute point, slightly twisted, smooth, and shining. Stem upright. The
branches above are bushy. The bark is wrinkled, and of a light brown colour.
The flower-branches are opposite, alternate, and straight out. The blossoms
are alternately opposite, and purple.
REFERENCE TO THE PLATE.
1. A petal.
2. A chive, one tip magnified.
3. The empalement and pointal.
4. A half-ripe fruit.
The figure of this Eugenia was made from the finest plant in this country in
the hot-house of G. Hibbert, esq. where we were in hopes it would have
perfected its fruit; but were disappointed, as in a very forward state towards
ripening it fell off. But, as far as it was advanced, we have represented it, as
in this climate it might probably never arrive at greater maturity, unless a
larger house were constructed for it: otherwise the degree of heat necessary
to preserve the smaller tropical plants would always be subject to injure
those of a large size, from the natural extension of their roots approaching
too near the flues. But although so much care is required for it in this clime,
in the warmer regions of Macassar, Amboyna, and the Moluccas, where it is
indigenous, not the least attention is necessary; for, such is the extreme
indolence of the natives, that it is imagined, if any care had been requisite for
its preservation, it would soon have been lost for want of it. In the Hortus
Malabaricus of Rheede there is an uncoloured figure of it, with descriptions,
in which it is said to be a fruit-tree of great general utility to the country
from its extreme abundance, grateful taste, and salubrious quality, flowering
twice in the year. The fruit in an unripe state is of a bitterish and rather
astringent character; but, when ripe, of a fine flavour, exceedingly
wholesome, and beneficial as an allayer of inflammation in feverish habits.
The flowers are by the Dutch at Amboyna preserved, and frequently eaten
by way of salad. It is said to form a tall umbrageous tree, and when in fine
bloom must certainly be an object of great beauty.