Chapter 1
Whoever invented slushies deserved a snazzy national award. On the hottest days, those things tasted like heaven. Especially after the first brain freeze-inducing sip. Once the drink melts, you’ve got even more to enjoy. A win-win, I say.
My ten-month-old niece, Sveta, squirmed and grinned in her car seat with red-stained lips. She’d gobbled up every spoonful I gave her. Grandma Lasovskaya, Sveta, and I sat in the backseat while Mom and Karey sat in the front.
“Oh, Natalya, she’s never gonna sleep tonight,” my sister-in-law Karey grumbled from the driver’s seat. “Did she drink the whole thing?”
“You’re with family,” my mom said firmly from the passenger seat. “Don’t worry. Her deduska and babushka will mind our sweet baby.”
“I’m serious about my auntie duties.” I covertly slid Sveta another cracker. “If I’m not spoiling my printsessa, I’m not doing it right.”
Grandma grinned with approval.
It was moments like these—seeing Sveta grin at me—that made me forget about the proverbial asteroid hurling in my direction. The mellow pop music from the radio and the pleasant Maine breeze through the rolled-down windows wouldn’t stop the goddess Diana from hunting me down with her hellhounds.
Two months ago, I’d tangled with a creepy creature called the Basilisk King. He’d set loose a bunch of basilisks back home. To capture him, I’d gotten close to the goddess’s hunting grounds north of town and lured him there. Diana snatched not only the Basilisk King, but me too. Thanks to Karey’s aunt Mevelyn, I returned home and the wood nymph stayed in my place. I thought I was free and clear, but the goddess’s promises to come for me again were true.
Sveta’s sticky fingers reached for another cracker, drawing me away from my dark thoughts.
The sign down the road read, “Welcome to Stitchings!” Underneath that, the population boasted three hundred. This was a true small town. We’d finally made it to our haven—until we had to make a run for it again.
After escaping South Toms River due a hellhound’s arrival, my family had escaped to the north. We drove up to Massachusetts, then rested overnight before the final push to Maine.
Karey pulled into the gravel parking lot in front of Stitchings’ only grocery store. Like most small towns, the place also served as the liquor store and garden supply depot. I wouldn’t be surprised if they sold bait too. Their spot was ideal. Moosehead Lake was nestled right next to the store and a marina. At this time of the day—mid-morning on a Saturday—tourists docked and took out pontoons for a pleasant late July outing.
The Stravinskys, though, wouldn’t be boating this week. We were leaving as soon as I snagged the seed Grandma had told us about. To be honest, I wasn’t sure if all that research Mom and Grandma had undertaken was true, but if she believed there was a shop that sold seeds capable of summoning a champion, I had to try to find the place.
As I lifted Sveta out of the car seat, I couldn’t help but notice we only had one other car with us. Aunt Vera and Aunt Olga pulled into the next spot, but Uncle Boris’s van and Thorn’s SUV were missing. Dad had tagged along with them as they’d headed south to throw the hellhound off our trail.
My phone practically nipped at me from my jeans pocket. Anything could go wrong and my mate and family would get caught in the middle. To keep my twitchy fingers from calling Thorn, I rained kisses on my niece’s forehead instead. Sveta giggled and my fast-beating heart steadied briefly.
As Aunt Olga and my two teenaged cousins got out of the car, Karey headed over to a shorter evergreen. She briefly ran her fingers along the pointy leaves, then she returned to join us. The nymph probably used her magic for a quick conversation. My aunt Vera was the last to get out. She adjusted her snug knit skirt and drew up her black hair into a ponytail. It was far too hot for her European chic sensibilities.
We headed inside and the cool air fanned our faces.
“Very nice,” Grandma Lasovskaya said in her soft-spoken voice.
“Did you get any intel from the tree?” I asked Karey as she grabbed a shopping cart. After wiping down a greasy spot on the cart handles with an antibacterial wipe, I placed Sveta in the child seat in the front.
“It’s too soon to know anything,” she replied. “I just let the tree know to pass along anything suspicious.”
“Thanks. It’s awesome to know every tree you’ve visited is now a gossip mill.”
We shared a smiled before she added, “Oak and birch trees are much chattier than the evergreens, but all trees are nosy, so we should learn a lot soon.”
The air conditioner in the back of the store groaned louder than my father-in-law Farley’s snores. I was surprised the place was cool.
The store itself was a cozy den of essentials, boasting only three aisles. My kind of place. There was even a bulletin board for community announcements. I’d asked Bill about adding one at my former workplace, The Bend of the River Flea Market, or The Bends as the locals called it, but he’d always put his foot down.
“Why should I give free advertising space for somebody else?” he’d grumbled. “Next thing ya know, we got pyramid scheme flyers all over the place.”
At the time, I’d tried to explain we’d use the board like this store did. Anybody frequenting this place would see a traveling carnival was coming to Stitchings in two days.
Again, I didn’t want to be here to check it out.
As we ambled past the shelves, I couldn’t help but notice an unusually generous candy section in the back. The rows practically winked at me with their colorful wrappers and sweet promises. My eyes met with Sveta’s and her round face lit up. Her tiny fingers reached out for a candy bar.
“Not today, sweetie,” Karey said softly. “You still need to eat dinner.”
Ah, but who could resist such temptation? After Karey wandered down the aisle with Grandma shuffling after, I snagged a Hershey’s bar.
My regal, blonde-haired Aunt Olga nodded with approval as she observed the covert exchange. “Good choice.”
“I think so too,” I replied with a grin.
We neared the single fridge for beverages and a hulking freezer for meat as the soft strains of an old Hank Williams tune drifted from the radio. Mom scampered over with glee. She’d already piled cans of vegetables, loaves of bread, and tubs of Rocky Road ice cream into the cart, but now she hurried over to grab the most important staple: meat.
“Do you want me to get another cart?” I asked, raising an eyebrow at the growing mountain of provisions.
She grinned at me, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement. “An army runs on its stomach,” she reminded me. “It’s been a long time since I’ve made a real fire pit and roasted our dinner. I can’t wait for your dad to start digging.”
I tried to smile, knowing Mom was trying to add normalcy to an unexpected trip.
Mom added, “I can’t wait to teach Sveta how to make s’mores. We can even have hot dogs too.” She stole a glance at Aunt Vera. “Her kids don’t like hot dogs,” she whispered. “Shame.”
Aunt Vera heard every word and pursed her lips.
I chuckled, joining her as she rifled through the floor freezer for bulk meat. She examined the frozen packages and the look of concentration on her face never faltered.
“They’ve got plenty of mackerel and perch,” I said, passing her a packet.
She sighed wistfully and her gaze grew distant for a moment. “You know, your dad and I used to fish at the marina when we first moved to South Toms River. Fyodor was horrible at it too. Couldn’t catch a thing, but I loved how he tried to be cool about it. ‘It’s okay, Anna,’ he’d say to me. I can take my pretty wife out to eat.”
I smiled. “Well, at least he tried.”
“He did.” She stole a glance out the window—perhaps she hoped Dad had returned sooner than expected. “At least your husband can fish.”
On the way to the register, Mom veered off to the back. Like any sneaky grandma, she grabbed another Hershey’s bar and slipped it beneath the groceries.
At last, we made our way to the checkout, but there was no one behind the counter. Mom and I peered over the edge and were met with the sight of a wiry-haired fairy perched on a stool, her fingers nimbly knitting a tapestry of colorful threads. She didn’t wear a glamour—which I didn’t find unusual since she had a very human-like appearance. The short fairy wore a brightly colored peasant shirt and capri pants. The script on her name tag read “Patty.”
“Done with your shopping, are you?” Patty inquired, her gaze meeting ours. With a jerk of her chin, the stool rose, bringing her to eye level with us.
“Do you have any lamb?” Mom asked. “Nice and lean?”
The fairy grinned. “Not today, dearie. Care for some deer? It’s ten dollars a pound.”
Mom hid her displeasure with a curt nod. “Not at that price. I’ll tackle one of those on my own and put it in my pot.”
I chuckled, knowing full well we bought half the meat in the freezer.
The clerk went through the cart to add up the items. She paused as she added the tubs of ice cream into a bag.
“My grandma likes ice cream.”
“You plan to stay long? We normally don’t have werewolves come here—well, until recently, that is.”
“Just for a spell. We needed a nice, quiet family trip,” Mom said.
Hopefully not too long of a spell, I couldn’t help but think.
Eight stuffed bags later, we wrapped up the purchase.
The fairy leaned in with the kind of excitement a human might reserve for juicy gossip. “Well, let me tell you folks about the troubles around here. About two months ago, it all began with a brownie, a cheeky little thing who fancied herself a mushroom forager.”
I glanced at Mom. “What happened?”
“She owned the trading post just down the street. One night during the full moon, she left her shop—with the front door standing wide open—but she never returned.”
Mom frowned. “That’s terrible!”
Patty’s expression turned somber. “Her family searched for days on end. My people, the fairy folk, found the poor thing washed up on the far shore of the lake.” Her voice lowered as she stole a peek at Sveta. “Her throat had been torn out.”
She kept going, probably unaware that Sveta repeated far worse after hearing Uncle Boris speak from a football field away. “It was a heartbreaking sight and that wasn’t the end of it. A month ago, during the full moon, a sprite met a sinister fate as well.”
I shuddered. Beside me, Karey’s grip on the shopping cart tightened. Guess that nosy tree network hadn’t told her about that.
“So, two disappearances,” I said, “both ending in tragedy around the full moon. Does everyone suspect a nearby pack is involved?”
Patty nodded solemnly. “Yeah. Folks can’t help but point fingers.”
Grandma raised a shrewd eyebrow. “They always blame our people,” she quipped in Russian.
The fairy slowly nodded. Guess she understood Russian. “The world can be quick to point fingers, my elder sister.”
Patty’s gaze shifted to Sveta. “Watch over the young one. This area is dangerous at night.”
On the counter, I spotted a photo of Patty and her family. She had a husband and four kids, all grown and smiling through their human-like glamours. I hoped Patty’s family would be careful around here.
“She’ll be fine,” I assured her. “Thanks for the warning.”
As we gathered our bags and returned outside, the somber mood followed us. I didn’t expect every place we’d visit to be all sunshine and happy distractions, but I hadn’t thought we’d find murderous werewolves.
Loading up the car, I cast a glance down the quiet street that stretched along the tranquil lake. We needed time to rest. I needed it most of all. The calm waters should’ve acted as balm to my worries, but I couldn’t help but sense an undercurrent of unease around here, a reminder that danger, like a lurking shadow, could be just beyond the horizon.
