This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Witches Behaving Badly, The Witches of Hollow Cove, Book Eighteen

Copyright © 2025 by Kim Richardson

Cover design by Kim Richardson

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction

in whole or in any form.

www.kimrichardsonbooks.com

1

Iwas a beach ball.

Okay, not quite. But if someone had rolled me onto a sandy volleyball court, I could’ve passed for one in a pinch. Two weeks ago, I had a waist. Now? I had a stomach that looked like I’d eaten my weight in pasta and then gone back for seconds. It wasn’t quite “ready to pop” territory yet, but it was definitely “struggling to reclaim personal space from my own belly” levels of awkward.

My wardrobe? A complete betrayal. Nothing in my closet fit anymore. Jeans? Forget it. Those traitors were hanging on to my thighs, refusing to budge another inch. Tops? The only ones that didn’t feel like I was being vacuum-sealed were Marcus’s T-shirts, which hung on me like tents everywhere except where it mattered—namely, my bra, which had gone full sadistic on me. The underwire was digging into my ribs. And the straps? Oh, those were barely hanging on, digging into me with relentless pressure.

Enter Martha’s Spray and Fit—the magical answer to all my problems, or so the shiny purple, bedazzled bottle promised. The name alone should’ve tipped me off. It sounded less like a clothing solution and had more of a sketchy beauty hack vibe you’d expect from a late-night infomercial.

But desperation did things to a person. And putting on an extra twenty pounds in two weeks would cause that level of despair.

I squinted at the instructions printed in swirly font on the back. “‘Spray fifteen inches from your body while wearing the clothes you want to transform,’” I read aloud. “Fifteen inches. What happens if it’s fourteen? Does it turn my jeans into a hula skirt? This feels like important information, Martha.”

I glanced back at my reflection. My jeans were stubbornly stuck mid-thigh while Marcus’s T-shirt hung over my bra, which was currently engaged in some sort of medieval torture reenactment. Basically, I was the picture of maternity chic—if maternity chic involved looking like a very sad marshmallow.

“Well…” I sighed. “This is either going to be amazing or the start of a very awkward call to Martha’s customer service line.” No idea if she had one.

I pressed down on the nozzle and gave myself a good spritz, the mist puffing out in a light lavender cloud. “Please work. Please don’t turn my pants into a pair of sequined bell-bottoms,” I muttered because with Martha’s products, there was always a fifty-fifty chance between fabulous or fiasco.

The mist settled on my jeans, and immediately, the air around me was filled with the scent of White magic—clean and crisp, like pine needles after a fresh rain mingled with wildflowers swaying in a sunlit meadow. It was intoxicating, the kind of smell that made you want to close your eyes and inhale deeply, imagining yourself on some enchanted forest retreat instead of standing in a bedroom with your jeans stuck mid-thigh.

I felt a tingling sensation on my skin, like the faintest prickle of static electricity, but warmer, more alive. It danced across my legs and up my torso, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. It wasn’t unpleasant. A magical caress, a reminder that something extraordinary was at work.

The jeans shimmered faintly, as if someone had sprinkled them with glitter dust under a spotlight. Then, before my eyes, the fabric stretched, the seams groaning in protest before smoothing out, as though saying, “Fine, we’ll make room, but we don’t have to like it.” The waistline shifted, adjusting itself to accommodate my new curves without so much as a pinch or tug. It was… miraculous.

I stared, wide-eyed, at my now comfortably fitted jeans. “Oh, my god,” I breathed, turning to check myself in the mirror. “Martha, you beautiful witch. This is actual sorcery.”

The scent lingered, faint but soothing, as though the magic had left its signature behind. For the first time in weeks, I felt like I wasn’t one ill-fated sneeze away from popping a seam. I smiled at my reflection, a mix of relief and awe bubbling in my chest. Maybe pregnancy fashion wasn’t doomed after all.

“Okay, Martha, round two. Don’t fail me now.”

I unhooked my bra, letting it dangle off one shoulder, and sprayed it. The material shimmered, the band loosening to a perfect fit while the cups expanded slightly, like a bra whisperer had personally tailored them. I snapped the hooks back in place, sighing in relief. Finally, I could breathe without being sawed in half.

I was about to do a celebratory dance when I noticed something odd. My reflection in the mirror didn’t look quite right. The jeans were still snug and flattering, and the bra now fit perfectly, but the T-shirt... Marcus’s T-shirt... was now covered in neon pink polka dots.

“What the—” I grabbed the bottle and squinted at the tiny text on the label. “Caution: Excessive use may result in unintended consequences, including but not limited to: color changes, bedazzling, and spontaneous appearances of fringe.”

“Fringe?” I glared at the mirror. Sure enough, as if on cue, tiny tassels began sprouting along the hemline of the shirt, like it had suddenly decided it was auditioning for a Country-Western music video. Wonderful.

I grabbed a pair of scissors and attacked the offending fringe. By the time I snipped the last tassel, the front door downstairs banged shut so loudly that I nearly stabbed myself in the thigh.

I froze, my hand instinctively flying to my belly as I pulled on the elements around me. My magic crackled at my fingertips, ready to unleash. Ever since that toaster’s charming little threat two weeks ago—Your baby is an abomination. You can’t protect it forever.—I’d been living in a constant state of DEFCON 1. Every creak of the floorboards, every shadow moving across a window, had me on high alert.

This wasn’t paranoia; this was preparation. And I was going to fry their sorry asses if they tried anything.

Teeth gritted, I marched down the stairs, my fists clenched and my magic coiled, ready to strike. My inner monologue was already halfway through a badass threat when I stopped dead on the staircase.

There, standing in my living room, was not a bloodthirsty assassin or dark-magic-wielding psychopath. No, it was Amelia Davenport. My mother.

She was, as always, impeccable. Her shoulder-length dark hair with streaks of gray framed her high cheekbones and full lips, and her dark eyes had that familiar twinkle of judgment that was practically her trademark. She looked like she’d stepped out of a catalog called Bossy but Beautiful Moms Who Invade Your Personal Space.

I blinked, my magic fizzling out. “Mom,” I said, half-relieved, half-annoyed. “I didn’t realize today was ‘Break into Your Daughter’s House’ day. Have you ever heard of knocking?”

Amelia waved a hand at me as if I’d just suggested something utterly ridiculous. “Oh, hush. I’m your mother. I don’t need an invitation.”

“Right, of course. Silly me.” I made my way down the rest of the stairs.

“Besides,” she said, stepping aside with a flourish, “I came to introduce you to someone.”

That’s when I noticed her. Just behind my mother, with two carry-on bags and an air of calm that was frankly suspicious, stood a plump woman in her early sixties. Her silver-streaked auburn hair was woven into a thick braid that fell over her shoulder, and her hazel eyes sparkled with warmth and wisdom. She was dressed in flowing, colorful bohemian-style clothing, adorned with beads and charms that tinkled softly as she stepped forward. The faint scent of pine needles, meadows, and wildflowers seemed to follow her. A White witch.

I blinked again, my brain struggling to keep up. “Who is this?”

Amelia’s eyes widened. “Your doula, of course.”

“My what?”

With a sigh so dramatic it belonged on stage, my mother crossed her arms. “Honestly, Tessa, you really need to educate yourself about pregnancy. Vara is a highly respected doula. She’ll be helping you.”

I turned to the woman—Vara—with what I hoped was a polite, I-don’t-blame-you-for-my-mother’s-craziness smile. “No offense, but I don’t need a doula.”

“None taken,” said Vara, her voice soothing, like chamomile tea in human form.

“She’s here,” Amelia interrupted, “to provide you with emotional support, practical assistance, and guidance during your pregnancy. And, of course, she’ll be here for the birth.”

I blinked at her, my annoyance bubbling to the surface. “Excuse me? Guidance? Emotional support? I’ve got a supportive husband, three helpful aunts, and a magical house. I think I’m covered. Thanks.”

Amelia shook her head, her expression somewhere between concern and exasperation. “That is not a normal baby you’re carrying.”

“No shit,” I shot back, folding my arms over my chest.

She ignored my tone, her brows knitting together as she gave me the once-over. “You’re getting bigger by the second. Look at you! At this rate, you might need a wheelchair by the end of the week.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I said, giving her a tight smile. “Your knack for subtlety is truly inspiring. Maybe Hallmark should hire you for their ‘Congrats on your pregnancy, you enormous whale!’ card line.”

Amelia waved off my sarcasm, her eyes narrowing as she stepped closer, scrutinizing me like I was a science experiment that had gone slightly awry. “This isn’t a normal pregnancy, Tessa. You’re carrying a hybrid baby—half wereape, half witch, and part demon. Do you know what that means?”

“Yes, I’m familiar with the concept, thanks,” I replied, rolling my eyes. “It means I’m cooking up the world’s most magical jack-of-all-trades in record time. I got it.”

“Don’t sass me,” she snapped, though her lips twitched like she was holding back a smirk. “This isn’t just about the baby’s… unique lineage. It’s why your pregnancy is progressing so fast. Normal pregnancies are nine months. Yours? Four. If you don’t slow down, that baby might arrive next week.”

I sighed. “Don’t exaggerate.”

My mother pointed at my stomach. “The accelerated growth is going to take a toll on you if you’re not careful. That’s why Vara is here.”

“And what exactly is she going to do, Mom?” I asked, gesturing at Vara, who stood quietly in the background, her hands folded and looking entirely too serene for the anarchy unfolding in my living room. “Feed me kale smoothies and chant positive affirmations while I cry into my stretchy maternity jeans?”

Amelia’s mouth curved into a smug smile, the kind that said she was ten steps ahead and had already planned my entire future without consulting me. “Oh, Vara won’t just be helping. She’ll be moving in.”

I was hit with a brainfart moment. And then. “Excuse me?” I stared at her, certain I’d misheard.

“She’ll be staying here,” continued Amelia, as if this was the most logical thing in the world. “You need round-the-clock support, and Vara is the best doula money can buy. You need someone with experience. And Vara has been a doula for over thirty years.”

“Thirty-five,” Vara corrected gently, her cheeks dimpling with a modest smile.

This was not happening. “I don’t need live-in staff. I can handle my own pregnancy.”

Amelia gave me a look that could wither flowers. “Tessa, you’re carrying a baby with the strength of a wereape, the magic of a witch, and the unpredictable turmoil of demon blood. You’re already having to enlarge your clothes. Martha’s told me all about it.”

I hate my life.

“Do you think that’s going to get easier as this goes on?” added Amelia.

I opened my mouth to argue, but she barreled on.

“I would have loved to have a doula when I was pregnant with you. But I was alone. No one there to help me,” she added, looking vulnerable.

Here we go. Manipulation at its best.

“But I’m not alone, mother,” I protested. “I have Marcus, your sisters right next door, House, and, oh yeah, magic. Remember magic, Mom? The thing I literally use to zap bad guys away?”

Amelia sniffed. “Don’t be a smart ass. That doesn’t change the fact that you need help, and Vara is the best there is.”

Vara, who had been quietly watching the exchange, finally stepped forward, her expression calm and warm. “Tessa,” she said in that soothing, chamomile-tea voice, “I promise, I’m not here to disrupt your life. I’m here to make things easier. Think of me as… an extra set of hands. Or a calming presence in the storm.”

I sighed through my nose. “It’s not you, Vara. It’s her.” I pointed at my mother, who was now examining a decorative vase like she might throw it out for not being up to her standards.

Amelia didn’t even blink. “Oh, stop being so dramatic. Vara’s moving in, and that’s final.”

“Final?” I uncrossed my arms. “Last I checked, this is my house, not yours.”

“Details,” she said breezily, brushing past me like she owned the place. “Now, Vara, let me show you where you’ll be staying.”

“Whoa.” I held up a hand, stopping her mid-march. “I haven’t said yes, yet. You can’t just show up with luggage and a stranger and expect me to be okay with it.”

“She’s not a stranger. She’s a professional,” said Amelia matter-of-factly. “And you’ll thank me later.”

Before I could launch into a full-blown rant, Vara stepped forward, her hands clasped in front of her. “Tessa,” she said in that relaxing voice of hers, “I understand this is sudden, and I don’t want to impose. If you’d rather I not stay, I can find accommodations elsewhere.”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” Amelia cut in, glaring at me like I was the one being unreasonable. “You’re staying here. End of discussion.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but Vara’s calm gaze stopped me. Her presence was oddly disarming, like a warm hug you didn’t know you needed. I exhaled. “Fine. But just so we’re clear, this is temporary.”

“Of course,” said Vara with a serene smile. “Whatever makes you comfortable.”

Amelia beamed, clearly thrilled with herself. “See? I told you this would work out.”

I shot her a look. “This isn’t a victory, Mom.”

She patted my shoulder as if I’d just told her she was right. “Oh, sweetie. It always is.”

I watched, slack-jawed, as my mother—Amelia Boundary-Who? Davenport—marched Vara up the stairs without so much as a glance in my direction. No waiting for my answer, no acknowledgment that this was my house, and certainly no consideration of how Marcus might feel about a stranger suddenly moving in. But why would she? She was Amelia Davenport, and she did whatever the hell she wanted.

But I knew she was trying to help, in her own, manipulative way. Besides, maybe she was right. I did need help. This was all very new to me, and having someone with loads of experience did sound okay.

This whole pregnancy thing was overwhelming. I had no idea what I was doing. None. Zero. Zilch. The sheer enormity of it all—being responsible for a tiny, hybrid wereape-witch-demon baby who was literally growing at twice the normal speed, was enough to make my head spin.

I sighed, leaning back against the wall. Did I need help? Probably. I’d been winging it so far, and while I liked to think I was doing a decent job of keeping my head above water, there was no denying that every day brought some new, weird challenge I wasn’t remotely prepared for. My body was changing at warp speed, my clothes were constantly rebelling against me, and, oh yeah, there was the not-so-small matter of someone out there who wanted me—and my baby—dead.

The knock at the door made me flinch.

I froze mid-step, my heart leaping into my throat. “Now what?”

The last time someone showed up unannounced, they’d brought chaos, unsolicited advice (thanks, Mom), or life-threatening news. Sometimes all three. Yanking on my magic—because, let’s be real, you never know—I approached the door.

With a steadying breath, I pulled it open, half-prepared to face a monster, a rogue magician, or maybe a rogue magician monster. Instead, I found… a boy.

Not just any boy, though.

He couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven years old, with messy dark hair that stuck up like it had a personal vendetta against combs and a pair of piercing gray eyes that practically glowed in the afternoon light. He wore a simple jacket over a slightly wrinkled T-shirt, jeans that had seen better days, and sneakers with scuffed toes.

And he was giving off shifter vibes. Strong ones. Maybe a werewolf cub? Or something similar? But it wasn’t just the shifter energy that struck me. It was his face. There was something familiar about it, like I’d seen it before but couldn’t quite place where.

“Yes?” I said cautiously, stepping forward and narrowing my eyes as I tried to piece it together. “Can I help you?”

The boy shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clearly nervous. His gray eyes darted past me, scanning the house as if he expected someone to leap out of the shadows. Then his gaze snapped back to mine.

“I’m here to see Marcus Durand,” he said, his voice soft and a little unsteady, like he wasn’t entirely sure he should be here.

I blinked, caught off guard. “Marcus isn’t home right now. He’s at work.” I paused, folding my arms. “What’s this about?”

For a moment, the boy just stood there, staring at me with those hauntingly familiar eyes. Then he swallowed hard and spoke, his voice firmer this time but still carrying a hint of unease.

“He’s my father.”

Well, pinch my ass and call me sparkly.

2

Istood there staring at the kid—probably for way too long to be considered polite—as I tried to make my brain catch up to the words he’d just uttered.

“Marcus Durand is your father?”

The boy shifted nervously under my gaze, like he expected me to suddenly sprout horns and breathe fire. Which, to be fair, might not have been entirely off the table. He had dark hair, slightly wavy and a bit too long, like he was overdue for a haircut. His gray eyes, striking and eerily familiar, darted toward the ground. I’d seen those eyes before. I saw them every morning when Marcus looked at me.

Holy shit on a stick.

I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the knot forming in my stomach. No. This couldn’t be true. Marcus would have told me if he had a child. Wouldn’t he? Of course, he would have. He wasn’t the secret-kid-hiding type.

Was he?

“Tessa? Who is that?” came my mother’s voice from somewhere behind me, her tone suspicious and entirely unwelcome.

Crap.

Amelia Davenport had the subtlety of a battering ram, and this situation did not need her meddling hands all over it. Not now.

“Nobody,” I shot back, maybe a little too quickly.

I turned and grabbed my jacket from the hanger, tugging it on with more force than necessary. Then I slipped on my boots, pulled the door shut behind me, and turned back to the boy.

“What’s your name?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady and calm, like my world hadn’t just been tilted completely off its axis.

“Dylan,” he said quietly. He shuffled his feet and stared at the ground, like he was scared I might bite. And, honestly, with the way my nerves were shot, I couldn’t entirely rule it out.

“Right.” I exhaled, dragging a hand through my hair. “Okay, Dylan. Let’s… go see Marcus.”

I started walking, and Dylan followed without a word. I kept glancing at him out of the corner of my eye, half-expecting him to sprout fangs or wings or something equally bizarre because this entire situation felt like something out of a twisted soap opera. But no. He just looked like a regular kid. A regular, nervous kid with Marcus’s face, shrunk down to pint-sized proportions.

How was this possible? Marcus would have told me if this was true. He wasn’t the kind of man who’d just… forget to mention a whole child. Was he?

The thought gnawed at me, leaving an acidic taste in my mouth. No. This had to be a mistake. Some sort of mix-up. Maybe this kid was confused, or lying, or playing some elaborate joke. Except… he didn’t look like he was lying. He looked like Marcus.

Exactly like Marcus.

That jawline. Those eyes. Even the way he walked, a little cautious but with an undercurrent of something steady, strong—it was all Marcus. A mini, eleven-year-old version of Marcus.

I clenched my fists, trying to keep my thoughts from spiraling out of control. This didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. Not once had there ever been so much as a whisper of him having a child. Yet… the evidence was walking right beside me, in sneakers that looked a size too small, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets like he was trying to make himself invisible.

“Does Marcus know about you?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.

Dylan hesitated, his shoulders hunching slightly. “No.”

I stopped walking and turned to face him, narrowing my eyes. “So, you just showed up out of nowhere, out of the blue, claiming he’s your father, and he has no idea you even exist?” Okay, so that definitely came out sharper than I had intended.

Dylan flinched at my tone but nodded anyway. “I… I didn’t know where else to go,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “My mom told me about him, but she said he wouldn’t… wouldn’t want me.” His gray eyes flicked up to mine, filled with something that looked far too much like heartbreak for a kid his age. “I just wanted to see him. That’s all.”

My chest tightened, a mix of confusion and pity twisting together in a way that made it hard to breathe. If this was true, if this boy really was Marcus’s son, then what the hell had happened to make him think his father wouldn’t want him? And if it wasn’t true—if this was some kind of scam or trick—what kind of life had this kid lived to end up here, in front of me, looking so damn lost?

I didn’t know what to believe, but one thing was certain. I needed answers. And only one person could give them to me.

“Come on,” I said, my voice softer this time. “We’ll sort this out. But just so you know, if you’re lying about this, you’re in for a world of trouble. Got it?”

Dylan nodded quickly, his face pale. “I’m not lying.”

I sighed and started walking again, my mind racing. If he wasn’t lying, if he really was Marcus’s son… then what did that mean for us? For me? For the life we were building together? I shook the thoughts away, forcing myself to focus on the immediate problem. One step at a time. First, I had to get this kid to Marcus. Then we’d deal with the fallout.

As we approached Marcus’s workplace, I glanced down at Dylan again. He looked so much like Marcus that it made my head spin. But there was something else, too, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. A shadow, maybe? A flicker of something in his eyes that didn’t quite belong.

For now, I pushed the thought aside. There would be time for questions later. Right now, I just needed to keep it together long enough to get some answers.

Crossing Shifter Lane at a stroll, I hit the sidewalk and made a beeline for the bland, gray brick building with the sign HOLLOW COVE SECURITY AGENCY hanging crookedly above the entrance. The sign had seen better days—kind of like me at this point.

I pushed open the heavy glass door, holding it wide for Dylan, who trailed in behind me. The familiar scent of freshly brewed coffee hit my nose, making my stomach growl in protest. Coffee would be amazing right now. Amazing and entirely off the table. Stupid pregnancy rules.

“This way,” I said, my voice coming out a little too high-pitched and chipper.

Smooth, Tessa. Super casual. Totally normal.

Worse. I was sweating. Like mega sweating, oozing from every single pore. Awesome.

We walked past a row of closed office doors, the muffled sounds of tapping keyboards and low conversations seeping through the cracks. The hallway had the same faint tang of old paper and printer toner that had always been here, mingled with the occasional whiff of… was that garlic? Someone must have been on lunch break.

The knot in my belly tightened with every step. This was not how I’d planned to spend my day, marching through the agency with a strange boy who may or may not have just blown up my entire life. And, of course, we weren’t exactly being inconspicuous. Dylan clung to my side, his wide gray eyes darting around like he was expecting a ghost to leap out of the walls. He didn’t say a word, but his nervous energy buzzed around us like static.

When we reached the main office area, I froze for a second, taking in the sight. Sitting at Grace’s old desk, looking like she’d claimed it for herself in some unholy goth ritual, was Iris.

The Dark witch was in her element. Her desk was an explosion of all things Iris. Tiny goth figurines with creepy glowing eyes lined the edge like sentinels, vials of suspiciously colorful liquids sat scattered among stacks of old tomes, and her ever-expanding supernatural DNA album, Dana, was sprawled open. A faint scent of sulfur and lavender lingered in the air, and honestly, it was comforting in a weird, witchy way.

I couldn’t help but smile a little. Iris had only recently started working here, but it was clear she was thriving. The witch could turn disorder into efficiency—and make it look cool in the process.

Iris looked up as we approached, her black-lined eyes lighting up with recognition. “Hi, Tessa,” she said, her voice warm but curious. “Didn’t know you were stopping by today.” Her gaze shifted to Dylan. “And who’s this?”

Oh, boy. Here we go.

I swallowed hard, my mind racing as I tried to come up with an answer that wouldn’t immediately open a can of supernatural worms. “Uh… this is…” I trailed off, glancing at Dylan, who looked like he wanted to sink into the floor.

Iris’s dark eyes narrowed slightly, her sharp gaze flicking between the two of us. She wasn’t buying the hesitation. Not even a little. “Tessa,” she said, her tone taking on that annoyingly knowing edge, “what’s going on? Who is he?”

I forced a laugh that probably sounded more deranged than reassuring. “Oh, you know. Just… a kid. Nothing weird. Totally normal. Anyway, is Marcus in his office?”

Iris tilted her head, studying me like I was a specimen under her microscope. “Not yet,” she said slowly, clearly not dropping the subject. “He should be back soon, though. You gonna tell me what’s going on, or are we playing twenty questions?”

I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. I knew there was no way I’d get away with brushing this off. Still, I wasn’t ready to explain… whatever this was. Not until I had answers of my own.

“He’s, uh…” I hesitated, glancing down at Dylan, who was staring at the floor like it held the secrets of the universe. His small hands were shoved deep into his jacket pockets, and his shoulders were hunched, like he was trying to make himself smaller. My heart wrenched at the sight.

How was I supposed to explain this? How was I supposed to explain to Iris—or anyone—that this kid had shown up out of nowhere, claiming to be Marcus’s son? Hell, I didn’t even know what to believe. But one look at Dylan’s face, those unmistakable gray eyes, and my gut told me there was more truth here than I was ready to deal with.

I cleared my throat, forcing a smile. “He’s… someone Marcus needs to meet. It’s complicated.”

Iris raised a skeptical brow. “Complicated how?”

“It’s a long story,” I said quickly, already feeling the cracks in my flimsy cover story widen. “I’ll explain later. Promise.”

Iris leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms like she was settling in for the Tessa Drama Hour. “Fine. But just so you know, you’re the worst liar I’ve ever met.”

“Noted.” I never did master the poker face. My face was less poker and more neon sign that said, “I’m hiding something.”

Her smirk widened, but, to my relief, she let it drop—for now. “Marcus should be back in a few. You want me to call him?”

“No,” I said quickly. Too quickly. “I’ll wait.”

Iris’s smirk returned in full force, and this time, it was accompanied by a knowing gleam in her dark eyes. Great. She was filing this moment away in her mental “Interrogate Tessa Later” folder.

“Looks like Martha’s tailoring spells worked,” she said, tilting her head toward my outfit. Her eyes narrowed, zeroing in on my shirt. “Wait. What happened to the hem? Are those… scissor marks?”

Whoops. “Another long story. But let’s just say Martha’s spells are more like guidelines. If you want them to work properly, you need a prayer circle and a small animal sacrifice.”

Iris let out a laugh, shaking her head. “True. But that’s basically all magic. Isn’t it?”

She had a point. Especially when it came to me lately. Pregnancy had turned my magic into an unpredictable rollercoaster of disaster. Sometimes it didn’t work at all, leaving me feeling as useful as a flashlight with dead batteries. Other times it gave me a little nudge, polite but underwhelming. And then there were the fun times—when it combined with my baby’s apparent mojo to grant me super-strength or unleash bursts of unfiltered destruction. So yeah, not foolproof.

Before I could come up with a witty retort, the sound of footsteps and voices echoed through the building. I turned to see Lori walking in, her no-nonsense demeanor practically sucking the air out of the room. She was tall, built like she could bench-press a truck, and had a sharp, cop-like vibe that said, “I’ll catch you doing something illegal, even if you’re not.” Her long brown braid swung behind her, and her piercing eyes zeroed in on Dylan.

I tensed. Lori and I weren’t exactly besties after the whole Samael situation. And by the way she was glaring at the kid, it was clear her default setting was mistrustful annoyance. Fantastic. Just what I needed—a werebear cop who probably wanted to interrogate Dylan.

Right behind her, another figure strolled in, and my stomach did a weird flip-flop. Marcus. He was wearing his usual leather jacket, dark jeans, and a smolder that could melt glaciers. He had that effortless alpha confidence, the kind that made him impossible to ignore. His dark hair brushed the nape of his neck, and his gray eyes flicked between me and Dylan like he was already piecing together a puzzle I hadn’t given him the box for.

Lori’s gaze darted between me, Dylan, and Marcus, her expression practically begging for some action. Ignoring her entirely, I squared my shoulders and took a breath. Time to rip off the Band-Aid.

“Tessa,” Marcus said, his deep voice rumbling through the hallway. His eyes landed on Dylan, and for a split second, something flickered across his face. Curiosity, maybe? Recognition? No, probably not. If he knew this kid, he wasn’t showing it. “Who’s this?”

It felt like déjà vu—like I’d somehow been transported back to the moment Samael had first walked into my life. Only this time, the kid was a little older, not a godling, and hopefully didn’t have a hidden agenda involving world domination. Hopefully.

I cleared my throat, plastering on a shaky smile. “Can we talk in your office?” I asked, keeping my tone casual. I did not want to have this conversation in front of Lori.

Marcus nodded, though his gray eyes lingered on Dylan for a moment longer before turning toward the hallway. “Sure.”

With one last pointed glare at Lori—who looked ready to burst from sheer nosiness—I ushered Dylan down the hall and into Marcus’s office. The door clicked shut behind us, cutting off the faint hum of conversation from the main area.

When I turned around, I nearly stopped in my tracks. Both Marcus and Dylan were standing there, arms crossed and identical expressions of guarded curiosity etched on their faces. And damn it if they didn’t look exactly alike. The same piercing gray eyes. The same dark hair. It was like someone had hit Ctrl+C on Marcus and pasted a smaller version right in front of me.

This was insane. This couldn’t be real. But it was right there, staring me in the face.

“Marcus,” I began, my voice wobbling slightly. “This is Dylan.” I paused, searching his face for any flicker of recognition, any sign that he might know something I didn’t. But his expression stayed neutral, unreadable. My heart thumped harder, and I braced myself for the next part.

“He says he’s your kid.” The words exploded out of me in a spectacular display of word vomit. There. It was out. And now I had to stand there and wait for the domino effect.

Marcus blinked, his jaw tightening slightly as he turned his full attention to Dylan. For a moment, the room was so quiet I could hear the faint hum of the building’s heating system.

Finally, Marcus spoke, his tone low and calm. “Is that true?”

Dylan nodded, his small hands fidgeting nervously. “Yeah. That’s what my mom told me.”

Marcus stared at Dylan for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “What’s your mother’s name?”

“Annie,” answered the kid. “She says you met in New York.” Dylan was quiet after that, like he was waiting for Marcus to deny it. Or maybe that was just me. Yeah, totally me.

My stomach dropped. His mom Annie. Oh, God. This just kept getting better and better.

I looked at the chief. “Do you remember having a relationship with this Annie?”

Marcus ran a hand through his hair. “Not a relationship. But, yeah, I remember Annie.”

Oh, crap. I was not expecting that. But Marcus had a life before me. I couldn’t get angry for that. I had had a life before him as well.

Marcus looked at me. I’m not sure what I saw there. Guilt? Confusion? If Marcus did have a fling with this Annie and, by the looks of it, sprang out a tiny version of himself, it had to be true. Just the physical resemblance was proof enough.

So, what did this mean?

A thousand protests sprang to my lips, but I swallowed them back. I wasn’t sure I trusted myself not to make things worse. “I’ll leave you two alone so you can talk,” I said, forcing my voice to stay steady.

As I stepped out into the hallway, I leaned back against the wall, my heart racing. My brain scrambled to process what the hell was happening. Was this kid really Marcus’s son? And if he was… what did that mean for us? For everything?

This was going to be one hell of a conversation.

3

“And you’re absolutely sure he’s Marcus’s illegitimate son?” Dolores watched me from across the Davenport House dining table, her hands wrapped around her delicious-looking coffee mug.

“I think so.” I still hadn’t come to terms with all of this. The truth was, I’d never expected Marcus to have a child, other than the one we were having now. My brain hurt just thinking about it.

“Here you go.” Ruth set a tall glass of her swamp water, prenatal vitamin drink in front of me. “Drink up. It’s good for the baby and for you,” she added, her eyes wide with a smile that would make you drink about anything. Her white puffy hair was up and held together with two pens. She had on an apron over her yellow shirt and flowing denim skirt that read, SPELLS FIRST, DISHES LATER.

My eyes flicked to the green water. “Thanks, Ruth.” I took the glass and ventured a sip. Yup. Still tasted the same.

Ruth beamed. “You betcha.”

“Where’s Hildo and Tinker Bell?” I asked, glancing around for signs of their usual mischief.

“Hunting winter moths,” said Ruth, smirking.

I blinked. “Winter moths?”

Ruth nodded. “Isn’t it cute? Hildo’s on a crusade.”

I felt bad for the poor moths. Knowing Hildo, it wasn’t hunting. It was overkill.

“I never figured Marcus as the type to have flings,” said Beverly, as she poured herself a cup of coffee, her kitten heels tapping the hard floor as she joined us at the table. Her beautiful face was flushed, accentuating her beauty even more and making her emerald eyes sparkle like jewels. “He always seemed more of the serious type. Not the philandering type.”

“You mean he’s not a slut like you?” added Dolores.

Beverly shrugged. “He’s male. They have needs.”

“We all have needs. It doesn’t make him a manwhore,” snapped Dolores.

Beverly rolled her eyes. “He was a single, very attractive man. Nothing to stop him from having thousands of flings.”

I spat some of my swamp water. “What? You think he’s had thousands of other women?” I felt like I was about to be sick.

“I don’t know about that many,” said Beverly. “I mean, he’s not me, but it could mean there are others.”

I stared at her. “Others?”

“Other children,” answered Beverly.

“Don’t listen to her,” said Dolores. “It’s very unlikely that there are other illegitimate offspring.”

I wished she’d stop saying that. “I feel better already.”

“Well, I think it’s great that Marcus has a little boy,” said Ruth, as she moved over to the kitchen sink.

“How do you figure that?” growled Dolores.

Ruth turned to look at her sister. “Well, for one, that means Tessa’s baby is going to have a big brother. I’ve always wished to have a big brother.”

Beverly snorted. “You already have one,” she said pointing to Dolores.

Yikes.

Dolores’s eye twitched. “I am not her brother.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Beverly replied with a smirk, sipping her coffee like she hadn’t just insulted her older sister. “I mean, you do have that back and those hands.”

Ruth started to wash the dishes, smiling. I’d never seen someone so happy to do dishes. “Well, I just meant it’s nice for the baby to have a sibling. It’s like an instant friend. Unless they don’t want to be friends and just like to beat on you.”

“Lovely.” I pushed the swamp water away. I didn’t need a drink. I needed answers. And possibly something much stronger.

Dolores’s sharp gaze swung back to me. “So, what’s the story, Tessa? Where did this kid come from? His mother just sent him along with a note saying, ‘Have fun with your dad’?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

I took a deep breath, trying to process everything for the millionth time. “Pretty much. That’s what Marcus told me before I left. According to Dylan, his mom told him to pack his bags, find Marcus, and let him know it’s high time he started pulling his weight. You know, as a father.”

Beverly nearly choked on her coffee, setting the cup down with a loud clink. “Wait, wait, wait. You’re telling me she just kicked him out? Like, ‘Hey, honey, here’s your lunchbox and bus fare. Go find Daddy’?”

I nodded. “Sounds about right.” I might not be a mother yet, but no way in hell would I let my eleven-year-old son take off on his own. When I thought about it, it looked like the kid had been living on the streets for a while. Maybe he’d run out of money, but it looked like he hadn’t been given any to begin with.

Ruth turned from the sink, her hands clasped in front of her chest. “That poor boy. Being sent off like that. It’s a good thing you’re taking him in, Tessa. It’s the kind thing to do.”

I rubbed my temples. “I’m not exactly taking him in.” I looked at my aunts, and I flinched at what I saw on their faces—a collective surprise that I was being so cold. “Marcus is setting up a room for him in his old apartment above Gilbert’s grocery store. He’s planning to stay there with Dylan until we… sort this out.”

It had been Marcus’s idea, not mine. I hadn’t even thought that far ahead just yet. What did that mean? Was Dylan going to stay for good? Or was he just coming to stay for a while and then return to his mother only to come for holiday visits?

I felt like a horrible person. Maybe I was a horrible person. Deep in my gut, this whole situation didn’t make me feel like celebrating like Ruth. Quite the opposite. Did that make me an asshole? Probably.

The room fell silent except for the faint clink of Beverly’s spoon as she stirred her coffee.

“And how do you feel about all this?” Dolores asked, her tone softer now, but her eyes were sharp, dissecting me like one of her spell ingredients.

I opened my mouth, but no words came out at first. How did I feel? Where did I even begin? “Honestly? I don’t know. I’m trying to wrap my head around it. This was supposed to be our baby. Our first baby. And now there’s this kid who looks like a mini-Marcus, and I just… I don’t know how to feel.”

“Conflicted?” Ruth offered gently.

“Conflicted doesn’t even cover it. One minute, I feel bad for Dylan because, let’s face it, being dropped off at a stranger’s doorstep is traumatizing. But then I start thinking about what this means for us—what it means for my baby. And then I feel selfish for even thinking that way.”

Dolores gave a firm nod. “You’re not selfish. You’re mortal.” She leaned back in her chair, her hands wrapping around her coffee mug. “It is a lot to take in. You’re allowed to feel overwhelmed.”

“And hormonal,” Beverly added helpfully. “You’ve got all those pregnancy emotions swirling around. It’s like a magical tornado in your uterus.”

I groaned. “Thank you for that visual. Really.”

Ruth placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “It’ll work out, Tessa. You and Marcus will figure this out together. And in the meantime, Dylan’s got a safe place to stay. That’s what matters.”

“Yeah, sure.” A knot of unease settled inside me. Dylan was safe, but what about my baby? My tiny, helpless, unborn baby who didn’t ask to be part of this messy soap opera? How was I supposed to protect my kid when I couldn’t even predict what would happen next?

Beverly broke the silence, her voice light but probing. “So… do you think Marcus is actually excited about having a son?”

I blinked. That was the million-dollar question. Wasn’t it? I’d seen the flicker of something in Marcus’s eyes when he’d looked at Dylan. Was it recognition? Or maybe just shock? I didn’t know. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that Marcus wasn’t as blindsided by all of this as I was.

“He’s… processing,” I said finally. “Which is fair because I’m still trying to figure out what to make of all this too.”

Dolores leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. “And the boy? What’s your read on him?”

I hesitated, thinking back to the way Dylan had looked at me when he showed up on our doorstep—nervous, unsure, but… familiar. Too familiar. “I don’t know. There’s something about him. He looks so much like Marcus. But…” I trailed off, not sure how to put the rest into words.

“But?” Dolores prompted.

I shook my head. “I can’t explain it. It’s just a feeling. Like there’s more to this than we know.”

“Oh, there’s always more,” said Beverly with a sly grin. “Especially in this family.”

She wasn’t wrong.

“What about the mother?” inquired Dolores. “What do you know about her?”

I thought about it. “Not much. I know her name is Annie and she’s from New York. That’s it.” I hadn’t pushed Marcus for more information at the time. But I would later.

“Hmmm.” Dolores tapped her chin with her finger in thought. “That doesn’t give us much to go on. But we can make inquiries. What is it, Tessa?” asked Dolores, eyeing me. “You look like something else is on your mind.”

Damn, my tall aunt was perceptive. The truth was, I hadn’t told them about the threatening note I’d received. I hadn’t even told Marcus. I wasn’t sure why I did that. Maybe because I didn’t want it to be true, and telling them would automatically make it so. Or maybe because I wanted to figure it out on my own.

“My mother hired a doula,” I blurted instead.

Dolores cocked a brow. “A doula? Is she serious?”

Ruth clapped her hands together. “Oh, I love doulas.”

Beverly snorted. “Since when?”

“Since always.” Ruth made a face. “They are angels, there to help.”

“They are servants, there to serve the mother,” added Dolores, shaking her head.

“They are professionals there to guide and support,” corrected Ruth, crossing her arms over her yellow shirt. Her apron, now boasting a smear of what looked suspiciously like my swamp water, was askew, but she didn’t seem to care. “Just because you like to do everything yourself doesn’t mean everyone else does. I think Amelia hiring a doula was a great idea.”

Dolores glared at her younger sister. “We’re her aunts. We are her doulas. What does Amelia think we’ve been doing all this time? Twiddling our thumbs and cackling over cauldrons?”

“Well…” Beverly leaned back and sipped her coffee with exaggerated nonchalance. “You do a lot of cackling.”

“I do not,” snapped Dolores. “Take that back, or I swear I’ll burn your little black book.”

Beverly sat up straight. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Dolores gave a strange, eerie laugh. “I would.”

I knew Beverly’s little black book was her collection of all the men she’d dated in the past and present, all their information, telephone numbers. Her “hooker journal,” as Ruth called it.

“Tessa needs all the support she can get right now,” commented Ruth. “And if Amelia wants to hire someone to help, what’s the harm?”

“The harm,” Dolores said, her voice rising, “is that it implies we’re not enough, which is ridiculous. Who was here when the Soul Collector demon tried to take Tessa? Me. Who was there when the Dark wizards wanted to kill Tessa? Me. Who was there when that lunatic Silas tried to kill her? Me.”

Ruth raised a finger. “We were all there.”

“She really does love herself,” muttered Beverly.

Dolores glared at Beverly. “The point is, we’ve done everything for Tessa, and now Amelia swoops in with her doula like we’re chopped liver? I’m not having it. I’m going to talk to her.”

“Knock yourself out,” I told her. “But you know my mother. She won’t back down.”

“We’ll just see about that,” said Dolores. “Where is she?”

“At the cottage, probably redecorating my linen closet or assigning Vara to reorganize my underwear drawer,” I said dryly.

Dolores pushed back her chair with a huff, muttering something about boundaries and meddling mothers, before stalking out of the kitchen and out the back door.

Beverly flipped open her compact and smiled at her reflection. “Tessa? Am I the most beautiful witch you’ve ever beheld?”

I smiled. “Absolutely.” She totally was. “Why? Do you need a self-esteem boost?”

Beverly snapped her compact shut. “Self-esteem boosts are for ugly people. You know that.”

I nodded. “Right.”

She leaned back dramatically, draping one arm over the chair. “I have two dates today, and I want to look my best.”

Ruth, who had just plopped down beside me, perked up. “Two? Two at once?”

Beverly beamed. “Well, not both at once, silly. Though that wouldn’t be the first time.”

Okay. Ew.

“But, if you must know,” said Beverly, twirling a strand of her coiffed hair, “it’s all about organization and a touch of sass. Brunch with Roger at eleven, dinner with Gabriel at seven. That gives me just enough time for a touch-up in between.”

Ruth leaned forward, her eyes wide. “What’s the plan for brunch?”

“Roger’s taking me to The Shady Vine. You know, that little bistro downtown with the bottomless mimosas.” Beverly fluttered her lashes. “He thinks he’s charming me with smoked salmon and champagne. And honestly? It’s working.”

I snorted, trying not to laugh. “And Gabriel? What’s his pitch?”

Beverly’s emerald eyes sparkled with mischief. “Oh, Gabriel’s an artist. He’s taking me to some swanky gallery opening in Cape Elizabeth. Apparently, the theme is ‘Mystic Visions through Acrylics.’ He said I was his muse. I do have the perfect body.”

She really did. “I shook my head. “I don’t know how you do it. Don’t you ever get tired?”

“Tired of what?” Beverly blinked, genuinely confused. “Being adored? Being worshipped?”

“No, of juggling all these men,” I said. “Doesn’t it get exhausting?” For me, one was enough, thank you very much.

“Darling, juggling is a skill, and I am an artist,” said Beverly, her voice dripping with mock modesty. “Besides, why settle for one when you can have a buffet? Variety is the spice of life, Tessa. You’d do well to remember that.”

“I’m good with Marcus, thanks.” I sighed, sinking back in my chair as Ruth plopped down beside me.

“So,” she said, clasping her hands together. “Are you ready for the festival this weekend?”

I blinked. “What festival?”

“The November Witch and Stitch Festival.” Ruth’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “You know, the one we have every three years, where witches from all over come to show off their magical knitting projects, trade spell-enhanced yarn, and compete in the broomstick obstacle course.”

I stared at her. “That’s a thing?”

“Of course, it’s a thing! I’ve been talking about it for weeks!”

“No, you haven’t,” Beverly chimed in, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “You’ve been talking about whether you should paint your cauldron cozy orange or purple. No one knew it was for a festival.”

Ruth huffed. “Well, excuse me for trying to keep the details a surprise. But, Tessa, you have to come. It’s tradition. Plus, we’re entering the enchanted quilt contest this year, and I need your help.”

“Help with what?” I asked warily.

“With weaving in the protective charms, of course,” said Ruth, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “We’re making a quilt that doubles as a magical force field. It’ll be amazing.”

“Or a disaster,” Beverly muttered under her breath. “Three years ago, Ruth accidentally enchanted a scarf to strangle its owner every time they sneezed.”

“That was one time.” Ruth glared at her sister. “And I fixed it. Eventually.”

I shifted in my chair. “Ruth, I love you, but I’ve got a lot going on right now. Besides, I suck at potions and spells. You know that. And my magic’s been acting up since the baby thing. I’m not sure I can handle a magical knitting festival on top of everything else.”

“Nonsense,” said Ruth, waving me off. “It’ll be fun. And besides, you could use a break. You’ve been so stressed lately, and this is the perfect way to unwind. Nothing soothes the soul like knitting with witches.”

“I don’t knit,” I pointed out.

“You can learn,” Ruth insisted. “Or you can just cheer us on during the broomstick obstacle course. Dolores really wants to win this year. She got a new broom, and you know how competitive she is.”

“That, I know,” I said, remembering how she was at the Arcane Summit. “Fine. I’ll think about it. But no promises.”

Ruth beamed, clearly taking that as a yes. “Good. It starts tomorrow.”

“Wait, what?” But before I could argue, Ruth was off, humming to herself as she bustled back to the kitchen.

I turned to Beverly, who gave me a knowing look. “You’re not getting out of it,” she said. “Once Ruth’s got an idea in her head, it’s game over.”

“Great.” I slumped in my chair. “First a surprise kid, and now magical quilting. What’s next? A bake sale for cursed cookies?”

Beverly smirked. “Don’t give her any ideas.”

On any other day, I might have laughed. Ruth was in her element, and I loved seeing her happy. She deserved it. But today wasn’t one of those days. I couldn’t laugh. I couldn’t even muster a smile. Not with the storm of questions swirling in my head.

This wasn’t just about Marcus having a son. This was about the how and the why. Why had Annie waited so long to drop this bombshell? Who was she, really? And what kind of person could just abandon their kid like that? Like he was disposable.

The thought left a sour taste in my mouth. Dylan might not be mine, but no child deserved to be tossed aside like yesterday’s leftovers.

I exhaled sharply, forcing myself to focus. I needed answers, and waiting around wasn’t an option. I’d start with Annie and find out everything I could about her. If she thought she could waltz into Marcus’s life via proxy and disrupt everything, she had another think coming. And if this was some ploy, some scheme to manipulate Marcus or hurt my family, I’d find out.

But deep down, I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something bigger was at play. Dylan showing up now, right when I was pregnant with a child who wasn’t exactly standard issue—it felt too… convenient. Like someone wanted to destabilize us, throw us off balance.

I clenched my fists under the table. Whoever was behind this, whatever their motives, I wasn’t going to let them win. Not with my family on the line.

“Excuse me,” I said, pushing back my chair and standing abruptly.

Ruth and Beverly both looked up, startled. “Where are you going?” Ruth asked, a worried crease forming on her forehead.

“To get some air,” I said, grabbing my jacket. “And maybe a few answers.”

Without waiting for a response, I headed for the door. My chest felt tight, my pulse racing as I stepped out into the crisp November air.

If Annie thought she could mess with my family, she was about to find out just how wrong she was.

And if someone else was pulling the strings? Well, they’d just made a big mistake. Because I wasn’t about to let them unravel everything we’d built.

Not without a fight.

4

Isat at the kitchen island, staring at my laptop. The Merlin Database homepage blinked back, all smug and bureaucratic. If Annie was a member of the New York wereape pack, her name should be listed. Technically. Of course, with Zeke’s deep and abiding hatred for rules, there was a good chance the only thing listed under his pack’s records was a giant middle finger aimed at authority.

I sighed and clicked into the search bar, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. This was going to take forever. Magical bureaucracy made airport security feel like a swift and pleasant experience.

“Here you go, hon,” came a chipper voice.

I looked up to see Vara, her ever-present smile plastered across her face like she was auditioning for a toothpaste commercial. In her hand were two suspiciously large pills, which she promptly dropped into my palm. “Prenatal vitamins.” Next to my laptop, she placed a tall glass of water. “You need to take them every morning. Good for the baby and for you.”

“Oh. Okay.” I eyed the pills. “But my Aunt Ruth already has me covered. She gives me a glass of—”

“No. No. No,” Vara interrupted, her tone dripping with polite disdain. She didn’t even try to hide the skepticism in her eyes. “I’ve been doing this a very long time,” she said, sliding the glass closer to me with a little too much authority. “Is your aunt a doula?”

“No,” I admitted, though Ruth would probably argue that her potions came with a PhD in magical baby care.

“Well then,” said Vara, her tone triumphant, “how can she possibly know what’s best for you and the baby? I’m sure she means well, but you don’t want to take any chances. What if she’s missed an important vitamin your baby needs to thrive?”

I blinked, caught between mild annoyance and the uncomfortable realization that she kind of had a point. Ruth’s prenatal concoction was green and bubbly, and it did smell like fermented lawn clippings. What if it was missing something? Then again, her meat-craving tonic seemed to be working wonders. I hadn’t had a single rogue fantasy about bacon-wrapped steak today. Progress. At this rate, I could probably walk past a barbecue without drooling.

“Okay,” I said reluctantly, feeling an unwelcome pang of guilt. “Thanks.”

“That’s a good girl.” Vara beamed and patted my shoulder. “Now, drink up, and I’ll go start cleaning the bathroom.”

I frowned. “I think the bathroom’s clean.”

Vara stopped mid-stride and turned, her expression a mix of horror and determination. “Never clean enough for tiny baby hands. We don’t want our baby getting sick. Do we?”

“Uh, no. Definitely don’t want that.”

“Exactly,” she said with a decisive nod before disappearing down the hall with the energy of a woman on a mission to sanitize the world.

“Our baby?” I muttered under my breath. Last I checked, this was my baby. Well, mine and Marcus’s, but definitely not a group project. Still, she was just being thorough… right? Right.

I glanced down at the prenatal vitamins she’d handed me and then at the glass of water she’d practically shoved into my hands. Ruth’s green swamp water prenatal concoction might’ve tasted like fermented spinach mixed with regret, but it was made with magic and love. Vara’s pill-pushing felt like the multivitamin equivalent of a pop quiz.

I sighed and swallowed the pills, chasing them with water. Because why not? A little redundancy in the prenatal department couldn’t hurt. Besides, arguing with Vara seemed like a fast track to a lecture on baby hygiene and microscopic germs that would likely end with her asking if I owned a hazmat suit.

With the vitamins down, I turned back to my laptop. The Merlin Database homepage greeted me, all slick design and magical bureaucracy. Whoever thought it was a good idea to slap a wizard hat on the cursor icon clearly didn’t have to take this seriously.

“Okay, Annie, let’s see what we can dig up on you.” My fingers glided over the keyboard.

The search engine hummed as it processed my query. I crossed my fingers, hoping that Zeke’s distaste for paranormal government hadn’t extended to completely erasing Annie from the database. After all, it was hard enough trying to figure out who she was without dealing with a magical paper trail that had been set on fire and doused in gasoline.

“What are you working on, sweetie?” Vara’s voice floated in from the hallway.

I jolted, nearly spilling my water. “Just… boring stuff. Nothing to trouble you with.”

“Well, take your time. And remember, don’t stress. Stress is bad for the baby.”

I rolled my eyes. “Got it. Stress-free detective work. Totally doable.”

The search results finally loaded, and I scanned the list. A handful of Annies popped up, but only one was connected to the New York wereape pack. Annie Ford. Age thirty-four. No magical abilities. No criminal record. Not even a parking ticket. Suspiciously squeaky clean.

“Okay, Annie Ford,” I murmured, clicking on her profile. A picture loaded—a woman with auburn hair and sharp features stared back at me. Pretty. No surprise there. Her information was sparse. Too sparse. No family details, no employment history. Just an address tied to a rundown apartment in Brooklyn.

Vara reappeared, holding a mop like she was about to duel it out with the bathroom grout. “Any luck?”

“Maybe,” I said, closing the laptop just enough to shield the screen. I wasn’t ready to share anything yet. Not with Vara. Not even with the aunts. “Still digging.”

She smiled, the kind of smile you’d give a toddler who just learned how to tie their shoes. “You’re doing great, sweetheart. Just don’t forget to take breaks. And hydrate.”

“Thanks,” I said, my voice tight. “Appreciate it.”

Vara nodded, satisfied, and disappeared down the hallway. She wasn’t just nosy. She had this way of slipping into conversations like she was already part of the family, dropping unsolicited advice as if she’d been running the household for years.

Turning back to the screen, I studied Annie’s profile again. Something wasn’t adding up. Her record was too perfect, too sanitized. And the fact that she’d just dropped Dylan off like yesterday’s leftovers without so much as a phone call to Marcus? That was all kinds of wrong.

“Why now, Annie?” I whispered. “What’s your game?”

I tapped my fingers against the counter, chewing on my lip as unease settled in my stomach. Something about this whole situation felt off. And not just because Marcus might have an eleven-year-old son he didn’t know about. No, this was bigger. Annie had a reason for dumping her kid like that, and I was going to find out what it was.

But first, I had to figure out how to explain this mess to Marcus. Because if Annie was hiding something—and my gut said she was—we were about to step into a whole new world of trouble. And with a baby on the way, trouble wasn’t exactly on my to-do list.

I glanced toward the hallway, where the rhythmic swish of a mop accompanied Vara’s humming.

And that’s when it hit me. I was going to need assistance in this Annie investigation. The Dark witch kind.

Speaking of Dark witches, my phone buzzed on the counter, the vibration rattling the glass of water Vara had left behind. I grabbed it and looked at the screen.

Iris: Hey. Marcus is introducing that kid as his son. Is this true?

My stomach clenched like it had just been sucker-punched. He was already introducing Dylan as his son? I wasn’t sure why it caught me off guard, but it did. If Marcus was doing that, it meant he’d accepted Dylan without hesitation. He’d taken one look at this boy and thought, Yes, this is my kid. And that was… a lot to process.

I typed out a reply, my fingers hovering over the keyboard longer than necessary.

Me: Yes. Well. I think so. He just showed up this morning at our door.

A few seconds later, my phone buzzed again.

Iris: And Marcus didn’t tell you he had a son?

I frowned at the screen, the words twisting in my head. It wasn’t like that. It couldn’t be like that. Could it?

Me: He didn’t know. Dylan’s mother never told him.

Another pause.

Iris: Why? Marcus would have been the best father. Why would she do that?

Good question. A great question, actually. And one that had been swirling around my brain all morning. I could picture Marcus now, his jaw tight, his shoulders stiff, carrying the weight of all the firsts he’d missed out on—first words, first steps, first scraped knees. Knowing Marcus, he was probably already blaming himself for something that wasn’t even his fault.

Why would someone keep something like this from him? Knowing what I did about Marcus—the way he loved fiercely and unconditionally, the way he’d move mountains for the people he cared about—it didn’t make sense. It wasn’t just cruel; it was baffling.

My thumbs hovered over the keyboard. I wanted to respond with something insightful, something that conveyed just how much this was messing with my head. But instead, I went with:

Me: Good question. I’m going to find out why.

I stared at the screen, my reflection glaring back at me from the black edges of the phone. This wasn’t just about Annie or Dylan or Marcus. It was about me, too. About us. About the life we were building and how this unexpected detour was throwing everything into question.

Another buzz.

Iris: Listen, are you looking into her? Because if you are, I’m in.

A small smile tugged at my lips despite the storm raging in my chest. Trust Iris to be all in, no questions asked. Loved my Dark witch friend.

Me: Definitely. I want to know who she is and why she thought this was okay. U in?

Iris: Only if we’re taking the ley lines.

I laughed.

Me: You bet.

I placed my phone on the counter, the dull thud echoing louder in my head than it should have.

Another wave of regret washed over me, heavier this time, like I was drowning in my own insecurities. Was I really digging into Annie’s life because I wanted to protect Marcus and Dylan? Or was it because, deep down, I wanted her to take him back?

The thought twisted in my chest, a sharp pang of shame slicing through me. It wasn’t like I didn’t care about Dylan. He was a kid, and none of this was his fault. But a selfish part of me, a small, ugly voice I hated to admit existed, whispered that this wasn’t how things were supposed to go. Marcus and I were supposed to be experiencing all of this for the first time together. The baby kicks, the sleepless nights, the overwhelming joy and terror of raising a child—it was supposed to be ours.

But now? Now there was this eleven-year-old boy with Marcus’s gray eyes and a nervous smile. And I couldn’t help but feel like he was stealing something from me, something I’d barely even had the chance to grasp.

I leaned against the counter, my hands gripping the edge like it might keep me from being swept away by my own emotions.

Get it together, Tessa.

It wasn’t Dylan’s fault. He didn’t ask to be dropped on our doorstep like an uninvited party guest. And it wasn’t Marcus’s fault either. He hadn’t even known the kid existed.

The truth was, this wasn’t just a shock. It was a gut punch. One moment, I was navigating the wild and magical waters of pregnancy, and the next, I was dealing with a kid who might or might not be Marcus’s son.

And then there was Marcus—the way he’d so easily accepted Dylan, the way he was already stepping into the role of a father. It was both heartwarming and gut-wrenching. Because while I admired him for it, I couldn’t help but feel like an outsider looking in. Dylan wasn’t my child. He wasn’t part of the life Marcus and I had imagined together. And as much as I hated to admit it, a part of me felt… displaced. Like I was being edged out of my own story.

The phone buzzed again.

Iris: Don’t stress. We’ll figure this out. And hey, maybe Annie’s a total psycho. Wouldn’t be the first time we’ve dealt with one of those.

I snorted. Iris had a point. If Annie turned out to be anything less than a saint, I’d be ready.

I sighed, trying to shake off the heaviness settling in my chest. I couldn’t change what was happening. Dylan was here, and he needed us—whether I was ready for it or not. And Marcus… God, Marcus. How was he handling all of this? He hadn’t said much since Dylan arrived, but I could see the storm brewing behind his eyes. This wasn’t easy for him either.

My hand drifted to my belly, my fingers brushing against the fabric of my shirt. “I’ll figure it out,” I whispered, more to myself than anyone else. “I have to.”

The baby kicked lightly, a tiny reminder of the life growing inside me. It was grounding, in a way—a small reassurance that no matter how messy things got, this baby was mine. Ours. And I would fight like hell to make sure they had the life they deserved, even if it meant untangling the complicated knot that Dylan’s arrival had tied in my heart.

But first, I needed answers. About Annie. About Dylan. About how this was all going to work. Because if I knew one thing for sure, it was that this family of ours—messy, magical, and chaotic as it was—didn’t leave loose ends hanging.

I pulled the laptop closer and started typing again, determined to find the missing pieces of this puzzle. Because if Annie thought she could waltz into our lives to stir up crap, she was about to learn that I didn’t play nicely when it came to my family.

And I was just getting started.

5

We were flying. Literally.

Well, ley line flying, that is. Think of it like a plane ride on steroids—minus the seatbelt, snacks, and in-flight movie. Instead, you get a mix of thrilling speed, glowing light streaks, and the ever-present possibility of throwing up if you’re not used to it.

Next to me, Iris squealed, the biggest smile I’d ever seen plastered across her face. Honestly, it was kind of adorable. If ley line travel were a theme park ride, Iris would be that person who bought an annual pass and rode it every day until they knew the operator’s first name.

“This is amazing!” she shouted over the rush of energy swirling around us, her voice nearly drowned out by the roar of the ley line itself. “Why don’t we do this more often?”

I laughed, not sure how to answer that as I gripped the shimmering thread of magic pulling us forward. It had taken three tries to get the ley line to answer my call. I was about to give up on the third try when I’d felt the pull. It seemed my hold on the ley lines was diminishing the further I got into my pregnancy.

The ley line twisted and curved around us, like we were being hurled through a neon roller coaster.

“It tends to scramble your insides if you do it too much,” I told her. “Trust me, no one likes projectile vomiting mid-ride.”

Iris glanced over at me, still grinning. “Totally worth it.”

Of course she’d say that. If Iris could manipulate ley lines herself, I had no doubt she’d be using them every moment she could. As for me? I was just hoping I wouldn’t accidentally spit us out in the middle of the Hudson River. My ley line aim was solid… mostly. But the baby magic had been doing weird things to my usual precision lately. No one wanted to explain why. So fun.

Before we got here, though, things had started a bit more... normally. Ish. Iris had shown up at my door fifteen minutes after I texted her, looking like she’d stepped out of a magazine ad for Goth Business Casual. Black pants, black top, lightweight wool coat, and a leather messenger bag slung over her shoulder. The corners of Dana, her DNA album of all things supernatural, were peeking out.

“Who’s that?” Iris had asked, her dark eyes narrowing as she spotted Vara in the kitchen. The doula was stirring a pot of something that smelled like a mix of tomato sauce, brown sugar, and… I don’t know… possibly lemon? Whatever it was, it smelled really good.

“That’s Vara,” I’d said, in my best please-don’t-ask-any-follow-up-questions tone. “My doula. My mother hired her. Because obviously, I’m incapable of growing a baby without some professional babysitter to watch my every move.”

At that, Iris had gone completely quiet. Her silence was louder than most people’s full-volume judgment. She watched as Vara stirred her pot, humming a chipper little tune that might have been a nursery rhyme. Or a spell. Honestly, who knew?

“Baby special, coming up!” Vara had chirped when she caught us watching, waving her spoon as though it were a wand.

“Right. See you later,” I’d called, practically shoving Iris out the door before the White witch could get curious about where we were going—or, worse, offer me more vitamins. Seriously, if I had to swallow another pill the size of a quarter, I was going to lose it.

And now, here we were. Just me, Iris, and the ley lines.

“Do you ever think about how insane this is?” Iris asked, her voice cutting through the roar of the energy current. She had her arms spread out like she was flying, which, okay, we sort of were. “I mean, who else gets to travel like this? Mortals have planes and trains, and we have this!”

“It’s definitely got perks,” I admitted, tightening my grip as the line made a sharp curve and dragged us along with it. “But, you know, no one talks about the downside. Like ley line turbulence. Or the occasional time you get spit out in a completely wrong place without your legs.”

“True.” Iris’s eyes widened, half-terrified, half-thrilled. “That would be bad.”

“Very bad.” I squinted ahead, seeing our destination coming up fast. I pulled on the ley line and slowed it down.

The light around us softened, and the roaring sound grew quieter, signaling that we were nearing our destination. Thank magic, too, because I was starting to feel that weird ley line buzz in my teeth—a sure sign we’d been on this ride long enough.

We hit the ground with a slight jolt, the energy around us dissipating as we stepped onto the cobblestone streets of the borough of Midwood, Brooklyn. The air here was thick with the smell of fresh bread, brewed coffee, and of course, exhaust.

“Well, that was fun,” Iris said, adjusting her messenger bag as she looked around. Her excitement hadn’t dimmed in the slightest. “So, what’s the plan? Find this Annie and confront her? Or are we doing the whole sneaky, investigative thing first?”

“I want a face-to-face with her,” I said, taking a deep breath. My heart was already pounding at the thought of what we might find.

Iris smirked. “Sounds good to me.”

If this Annie had the answers we needed, I was determined to find them—no matter what it took.

“What’s the address?” asked Iris, glaring at a group of teenagers who were pointing at her. Probably because she and I had just magically appeared. I needed to be more careful about where we landed in broad daylight. Whoops.

I pulled out my phone and swiped the screen. “Fourteen-Eighty Bay Avenue, apartment number six,” I told her. I looked across the street to the tall, red brick apartment building flanked by two huge leafless trees. “Should be this one.”

Together, Iris and I crossed the street and walked up to the apartment building.

“Thank you,” I said to the tall black man who held the door for us.

“This is just like when we were on the hunt for Caleb,” said Iris as we climbed up the concrete steps to the first floor.

“It kinda is.” I scanned the area. I wouldn’t call it a hunt, but she was right. We were at it again. “This is the apartment,” I said, pointing to a door with peeling paint that could have been white once but was covered in grime.

“Here we go,” said a smiling Iris, tapping her bag in excitement.

I was about to laugh, but instead, a sharp pain came from my belly.

With a short cry, I bent over, breathing in deep breaths.

“Tessa? What is it?” Iris’s face twisted in concern.

And then, just like that, the pain was gone.

I straightened. “Not sure. It’s gone now. Just a cramp.” Damn. That was a hell of a cramp.

“You sure?”

I nodded. “Yeah.” Feeling better, I walked up to the door with the black stenciled number six above it and knocked.

“What do we say to her?” Iris stood next to me.

I thought about it. “I have a lot to say. But we can start with why she didn’t tell Marcus about Dylan.”

“Good one,” said Iris.

Still watching me warily, Iris stepped aside as I knocked on the door again with what I hoped was more confidence than I actually had. My head was already spinning from everything—Dylan, Annie, Marcus—but I couldn’t let it show. Not now.

The door creaked open, and a man in his sixties with a protruding belly, a Rudolph-red nose, and a stained tank top that had seen better days glared at us from the threshold. He smelled like stale beer and piss, and I instantly regretted knocking.

“What do you want?” he grumbled, his bloodshot eyes narrowing at me.

I blinked, momentarily thrown off by his total lack of magical vibes. “Uh, I’m looking for Annie Ford. Is she here?”

The man snorted and leaned against the doorframe. “Don’t know anyone by that name.”

“Are you sure?” I pressed. “This is the address I have. She lived here.”

His face screwed up into an annoyed scowl. “Lady, I’ve lived here for three years. Don’t know no Annie.”

Three years? That didn’t add up. “But I have—”

The door slammed in my face.

“Well, that was rude,” said Iris, crossing her arms. “Want me to hex him? I could give him the ‘forever-itching crotch’ curse. He’ll be scratching like a flea-ridden dog for weeks.”

“No.” I sighed. “Tempting, but no.”

“Maybe you wrote the address wrong?” asked Iris.

I shook my head. “No. I memorized it too. This is the address that was written in the Merlin Database.”

“The guy was human,” said Iris, having no doubt sensed the same human vibes as me.

“I know.”

Iris sighed. “So now what? Where do we go from here.”

“Not sure.” I thought about it. “Well, she did live here at some point, just not anymore, and the database hasn’t been updated with her new address. Which isn’t surprising, given how Zeke feels about Merlins.”

My words were firm, but my confidence was starting to crack. The Merlin Database wasn’t infallible, but it was usually a solid place to start. Yet here we were. No Annie. Just a grumpy, beer-soaked human and a dead end.

“The guy was pretty gross,” Iris said, her voice tinged with disgust.

“He was.” My frustration surfaced. What the hell was Annie doing living in a human apartment building, anyway? Shifters and weres tended to stick to their own—or at least to places where the landlord wouldn’t freak out if someone shifted into a giant gorilla mid-rent payment. Was she hiding from someone? From Marcus? From the supernatural world altogether? The more I thought about it, the more questions piled up, each one more infuriating than the last.

Iris flashed me a smile. “We could wander around Brooklyn yelling her name like we’re looking for a lost dog?”

I snorted. “Tempting. But I know someone who might have the information we need.” I felt ill just thinking about it.

Iris tilted her head, her curiosity clearly piqued. “Who?”

“Zeke,” I said, the name tasting bitter on my tongue. It wasn’t just the name. It was everything about him. The alpha of the New York wereape pack had a way of getting under my skin, and not in a fun, playful way. More like in a crawl-into-your-soul-and-make-you-want-to-punch-him kind of way.

Iris’s lips curled into a knowing smirk. “Oh, this should be fun.”

“Fun,” I repeated, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Sure. If your idea of fun is dealing with a self-righteous, overbearing alpha who probably hates me as much as I hate him.” The thought of going to Zeke for help made my skin crawl. He’d made it painfully clear during Marcus’s trial that he didn’t trust me—or like me, for that matter. And the feeling was entirely mutual.

But what choice did I have? Zeke might be the only one who had Annie’s current address. If she was still connected to the New York pack, he’d know where to find her. Or at least, he’d know someone who did. The problem was, getting information out of Zeke would probably be like pulling teeth from a rabid lion.

Iris nudged me with her elbow, her smirk still firmly in place. “You’re really looking forward to this, huh?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” I muttered, shaking my head. “If there were literally any other way to get the information, I’d take it. But right now, Zeke’s our best shot.”

I didn’t add that I wasn’t sure I could even stomach seeing Zeke right now. Not with everything else going on—Dylan showing up, Annie being a mystery, and the constant, nagging fear that I wasn’t cut out for this whole mom thing. The idea of facing Zeke, with his smug attitude and overbearing alpha vibes, was almost too much to handle.

Still, if it meant getting answers about Annie—and by extension, Dylan—I’d grit my teeth and do it. For Marcus. For the baby. For the family we were trying to build, even if it already felt like it was crumbling before it had a chance to fully form.

“Come on. Let’s go see that big ape,” I said finally, pushing myself off the wall.

Iris’s eyes widened in delight. “Oooh, there’s gonna be yelling. Isn’t there? Please tell me it’ll be the dramatic kind. Should I get some popcorn?”

Before Iris could reply, another sharp pain hit me, this one worse than the first. I gasped, clutching my belly as the world spun around me.

“Tessa!” Iris grabbed my arm again, her voice rising in alarm. “What is it? Another cramp?”

I nodded, unable to speak as the pain pounded through me. This wasn’t normal. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

“We need to go home,” I managed to say through gritted teeth. “Now.”

Iris didn’t argue. “Okay. Let’s get out of here. We’ll deal with Zeke later.”

As the pain lessened to a manageable degree, I summoned what little strength I had left and reached for the ley line. It answered instantly, the familiar pull of magic wrapping around us, and we jumped.

The world blurred as we were yanked into the glowing energy, speeding away from Brooklyn and back toward Hollow Cove.

As the ley line pulled us toward home, the cramp that had been gnawing at my side finally eased, disappearing completely. I exhaled, but the relief was short-lived as a new worry crept in. Was working the ley line hurting the baby? Was that cramp some kind of warning? I pressed a hand to my stomach, silently promising my kid I’d take it easy—right after we survived this mess. Refocusing on the ley line’s hum, my thoughts swirled with questions, doubts, and fears. What had Annie been hiding? Why had she lived in a human building?

One thing was clear. This wasn’t going to be easy. And I had a sinking feeling that things were about to get a whole lot worse.

About ten minutes into riding the ley line, I thought I had it under control. The ley line’s hum was steady, soothing even, and Iris was grinning like a kid on a roller coaster again. But then the pain hit me again—sharp, relentless, and blinding. My grip faltered, and I let out a cry as the ley line slipped through my fingers.

Oh, shiiitttt.

“Tessa!” Iris’s voice was filled with panic as the world around us tilted. I felt weightless, the ground no longer beneath me.

We were falling.

Dana, Iris’s precious DNA album, slipped from her bag and disappeared into the swirling energy of the ley line. Iris reached for it, but it was gone in an instant.

“Hold on!” I shouted, panicking and reaching for the ley line again. My fingers brushed against it, but the pain was too much. My vision blurred, and I felt like I was going to pass out.

“Tessa, grab it!” Iris screamed, her voice barely audible over the rushing wind. “Don’t let go!”

Just when I thought I couldn’t hold on any longer, the familiar sight of Davenport House came into view. With the last ounce of my strength, I slowed the ley line, guiding us toward the front lawn.

Iris jumped out as soon as we touched down, landing on her feet like some kind of ley line ninja. I, on the other hand, wasn’t so lucky.

The pain slammed into me, and before I could even think about saving face—literally—I went full-on face-plant into the grass, my butt sticking up in the air in the least flattering pose imaginable.

“Tessa.” Iris’s voice rang out as she rushed over. “Are you okay?”

“Perfect,” I mumbled into the dirt. “Just thought I’d check whether the lawn was up to code. Very… earthy.”

And then the world dimmed, tilted, and went black.

Because, of course, it did.

6

“Look! Her eyes are opening! Her eyes are opening!”

I didn’t have to really focus to know that happy, cheery voice belonged to my aunt Ruth.

“Yes, genius. We can see that,” came Dolores’s sharp tone.

“She’s got a few scratches on her face,” was Beverly’s unmistakable pitch. “If she doesn’t put some of Martha’s, Scars-Be-Gone ointment on that, it’ll leave a nasty scar.”

I loved how they were all talking about me as though I wasn’t conscious.

This time, I peeled my eyes open and, with some effort, managed to pull myself to a sitting position. I glanced around. I was in Davenport House on the couch.

My eyes found Iris. “What the hell happened?”

Iris had her arms wrapped around her middle. “You face-planted and then you passed out.”

I nodded, remembering my Olympic worthy landing. But I also remembered something else. “Shit. Dana. I’m so sorry, Iris.”

Iris forced a smile. “It’s okay.” Her face twitched like she was struggling with what to say next. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“What the hell happened?” Dolores loomed over me, her hands on her hips. “You’ve never passed out from using the ley lines before.”

I swallowed. “It wasn’t the ley lines.” At least, I didn’t think it was. “I had a cramp when we were in Brooklyn. I started to feel… strange… weak… so I thought it best to get home.”

“I’m glad you did,” said Ruth, looking over me. “How are you feeling now?”

“Better,” I told her. “But tired.”

“No wonder.” Dolores pointed at me. “You used too much of your strength. That’s what happened. No more ley lines for you, young lady.”

I glared at her. “I’m a grown-ass witch. Since when do you give me orders?”

“Since always,” muttered Beverly.

“I’ll get you some of my healing tonic,” said Ruth, giving my shoulder a squeeze. “It’ll give you an energy boost. You’ll feel better soon enough.”

I watched as Ruth ran to her potions room, her bare feet slapping loudly on the hardwood floors.

“Dana?” Dolores was staring at Iris. “That’s the book you carry with you.”

Iris nodded. “It’s an album.”

“And you lost it?” inquired my tall aunt.

Iris stared at the floor, her shoulders sagging under the weight of what she was trying to say. “While we were traveling. It… slipped.”

The way her voice cracked at the end made my chest tighten. I knew exactly what she meant by it. Dana wasn’t just some book to Iris. It was years of work, dedication, and her passion for cataloging paranormal DNA. Everything she’d been collecting, studying, and obsessing over for years, all in one irreplaceable album. And now it was gone.

I shifted on the couch, trying to ease the discomfort in my back but also the heavier discomfort in my chest. “It’s my fault,” I said softly, the guilt sinking in like lead. “What slipped was my hold on the ley line. That’s never happened before.” I shook my head as the memory of that terrifying moment clawed at my insides. “And it was scary as hell.”

Iris didn’t respond right away, which made it worse. She just kept staring at the floor, her expression troubled. I knew her well enough to know that when she got quiet, it wasn’t because she didn’t have anything to say. It was because she had too much to say and didn’t know how to start.

“Iris…” My voice cracked slightly. I couldn’t bring myself to say I’m sorry again because it felt too small, too inadequate for what she’d lost. Years of her life—gone—because I’d messed up. Because I couldn’t hold it together.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she said finally, but there was no conviction in her voice, only exhaustion. “You didn’t do it on purpose.”

That didn’t make me feel better. If anything, it made me feel worse. Because unintentional or not, it had happened, and I couldn’t fix it. I couldn’t magically summon Dana back from wherever it had slipped into.

I watched her fidget with the strap of her messenger bag, the same bag that had once carried her prized album. Now it looked empty, like a sad reminder of what wasn’t there anymore. My chest ached as I realized how much that book had meant to her—not just as a tool for her work but as a piece of who she was. And I’d lost it.

“I’ll make this right,” I said firmly, though I had no idea how. “I’ll help you track it down, Iris. Wherever it is, we’ll find it.”

Her eyes finally lifted to meet mine, and for a moment, I saw a flicker of hope. But it was faint and then quickly buried under the weight of reality. “Thanks.”

I nodded, swallowing hard. No way was I letting her lose Dana forever. Not after all the work she’d put into it. Not after all the times she’d had my back. I owed her this much—and more.

If it was out there somewhere, I’d find it.

“Why were you in Brooklyn?” asked Beverly, shaking me out of my thoughts.

“We were looking into Annie, Dylan’s mother,” I told them. “I found her address on the Merlin Database. I wanted to ask her some questions.”

Beverly snorted. “Sure, you did.”

I looked at her. “I did. Of course I did.”

Beverly shook her head. “Jealousy is not a good look on you, Tessa.”

My jaw fell open. “I’m not jealous. I was curious. And I want to know why she abandoned that kid.” Totally true. And, yeah, just a bit jealous.

Beverly crossed her arms and gave me a sly smile. “Curious, huh? Sure, let’s call it that.”

I shot her a glare. “I’m not jealous. I’m just… thorough.”

“Thoroughly jealous.” Beverly giggled. “Oh, Tessa, how you’ve fallen.”

I had. Literally.

Before I could snap back, Ruth reappeared with a small bottle of her infamous healing tonic. The liquid inside glowed a suspicious shade of neon orange. She beamed at me, holding it out like it was the elixir of life itself.

“Here you go. This will fix you right up,” she said, practically bouncing on her toes. “It’s packed with energy-boosting herbs, a touch of magic, and just a pinch of cayenne for a little kick. It’s my new recipe.”

I took the bottle but didn’t get a chance to open it because, at that exact moment, the front door swung open with enough force to shake the hinges.

“Hellooooo!” Vara’s singsong voice echoed through the house followed by the unmistakable sound of her sturdy shoes stomping in like she owned the place.

I groaned inwardly. “Does no one knock anymore?”

Vara breezed into the living room. She carried a casserole dish in one hand and a canvas bag in the other, her smile bright enough to power the entire East Coast.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” said Vara, setting the casserole dish on the coffee table. “I saw you from the kitchen window, sprawled out on the front lawn. Thought you could use a nourishing meal. Perfect for recovery.”

Ruth’s cheery expression faltered, and her eyes flicked to the casserole dish. “She doesn’t need food right now. What she needs is my healing tonic.” She gestured at the bottle in my hand like it was the Holy Grail.

Vara raised an eyebrow, her tone sweet but with a hint of steel. “Oh, I’m sure your tonic is lovely. Ruth, right? But food is the foundation of health. This casserole is packed with superfoods and nutrients designed specifically for a pregnant woman’s needs.”

Ruth’s smile tightened, which was rare. Ruth rarely got upset at strangers. But right now, she looked like she was ready to hex Vara’s casserole into another dimension. “My tonic is designed for a pregnant woman’s needs. It’s my new recipe.”

“And I’ve been helping mothers for decades,” Vara countered, crossing her arms.

I glanced between them, sensing a magical showdown brewing over the coffee table. Great. Just what I needed.

Dolores raised a hand. “Ladies, let’s not turn this into a Food Network witch-off. Tessa’s had enough excitement for one day.”

Ruth looked at me, her bottom lip wobbling slightly. Oh no. Was she actually hurt? My heart clenched. Ruth never got emotional like this. It was like watching a kitten get scolded.

“I appreciate everything you’ve done, Ruth,” I said quickly, holding up the bottle. “I’ll drink this right now.”

But Vara, undeterred, lifted the lid on her casserole dish, and the scent of roasted vegetables and spices filled the room. “And you’ll eat this afterward. Balance is key.”

Beverly leaned forward, sniffing the air. “What’s in that casserole? It smells divine.”

“Quinoa, kale, roasted sweet potatoes, and a hint of turmeric,” Vara said with pride. “All organic, of course.”

Beverly wrinkled her nose and sat back. “Oh, never mind. You lost me at kale. I’d rather drink Ruth’s neon witch juice.”

Dolores gave an exasperated sigh. “Can we please focus on the fact that Tessa nearly fell out of the sky today? This is serious.”

“She’s right,” Iris said, finally chiming in. “We almost died.”

Damn. “I know.” I glanced at Vara and Ruth, both staring at me like two opposing coaches waiting to see which team I’d pick. “…I think I just need some rest. And maybe a little bit of both?” I added, holding up Ruth’s tonic and gesturing at Vara’s casserole. Diplomacy was key here if I wanted to avoid a magical food fight.

Ruth sniffed but nodded, looking a little mollified. Vara smiled, clearly feeling victorious, and started cutting a generous portion of casserole for me.

As I watched the two of them, my brain started spinning again. Why had Annie lived in a human building? It didn’t make sense. A wereape living among humans wasn’t just unusual. It was unheard of. Did she have something to hide? Was she running from someone? Or worse, from something?

And Zeke. He’d never exactly rolled out the welcome mat for me, and the thought of asking him for help felt like swallowing nails. But if anyone knew Annie’s whereabouts, it was him.

My thoughts were interrupted by Vara placing a plate of casserole in front of me. “Eat up, dear. You need your strength.”

I felt Ruth’s eyes on me. “Just after I’m finished with this,” I said, trying to make eye contact with Ruth, but she was glaring at Vara like she wanted to throttle her.

The back door swung open with a bang. Hildo marched in, his golden eyes gleaming as he took in the scene. Tinker Bell zipped in behind him, her butterfly-like wings fluttering so fast they were a blur.

“Oh no,” Vara said, her nose wrinkling as she took a step back. “This is unacceptable.”

Hildo leaped onto the coffee table next to the casserole, his tail swishing as he eyed the still steaming dish.

Ruth stroked Hildo’s head. “There’s my handsome boy. Are you hungry, Hildo?”

“That animal should not be on the table!” Vara’s voice was sharp. “It’s highly unsanitary, especially with a pregnant witch in the house. You should know better.”

Ruth turned slowly, her expression calm but her eyes narrowing. “Excuse me?”

“And the fairy?” Vara continued, waving her hands at Tinker Bell, who had just landed on top of the fireplace mantel across from me. “Animals and bugs are carriers of diseases, Ruth. You should know this.”

Tinker Bell gasped, her tiny hands flying to her hips. “Bugs? Did she just call me a bug?”

I nodded. “She did.” This was not going to end well.

“I don’t bring diseases,” Hildo declared, licking his paw nonchalantly. “I bring charm and sophistication. I’m a familiar, not a back-alley cat. Besides, even alley cats are clean. Where have you been?”

Vara shook her head, pointing at the black cat. “Familiars were the decline of us witches. Oh, sure, they were cute and helpful at first. They brought herbs, scouted for threats, and even helped amplify our magic when we needed an extra boost. But then…” She narrowed her eyes at the cat. “Some of them got greedy.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Greedy?”

“Stole their witch’s magic,” continued Vara, her tone darkening. “Drained them dry. And once they had enough power, they turned. Entire covens were wiped out because their ‘loyal’ little familiars decided to upgrade from sidekick to master.”

“That sounds… excessive,” I said, glancing at the cat, who blinked back at me innocently.

“Excessive but true,” insisted Vara, wagging a finger. “You think it’s just lore or bedtime stories to scare apprentices? Nope. It happened. There’s a reason most modern witches don’t bother with familiars anymore. Too much betrayal, too many bodies buried in shallow graves.”

I grimaced. “Well, this conversation took a dark turn.”

“Just saying,” Vara added, still eyeing the cat. “Watch your back.”

Damn. What was her problem?

Ruth stepped forward, placing her hands on her hips. “First of all, Hildo is cleaner than half the people in this town, and he’s my friend. I trust him with my life. And second…” She gestured at Tinker Bell. “Tinky is family, and you will not insult her.”

Vara let out an exasperated huff. “I’m just saying, pregnant witches need to be in clean environments. Cats carry fleas, and fairies… well, who knows what kind of microscopic organisms are hiding on them.”

“I bathe,” Tinker Bell shouted, her tiny voice high-pitched with indignation. “And I smell like lavender, thank you very much.”

Ruth jabbed a finger at Vara. “You can’t tell me what to do—only Dolores gets to do that, and even she has to bribe me with pie and a guilty conscience.”

“I heard that,” came Dolores’s voice, though she didn’t sound upset.

Vara crossed her arms, her expression tight. “I’m only doing what’s best for Tessa and the baby. You’re letting your emotions cloud your judgment.”

Ruth’s face turned red, and her calm slipped right out the window. “I know exactly what I’m doing. I’ve been brewing healing tonics since before you learned to light a cauldron.”

“Ladies,” I interjected weakly, holding up my hands. “Let’s not fight.”

Ruth made a face, her eyes narrowing at the doula. “I don’t like you.” Good old Ruth and her infamous insults.

Vara huffed. “I’m not questioning your abilities. I’m simply saying that there are more modern, scientifically backed methods than your little potions.”

Ruth sucked in a breath. “Science isn’t everything. Natural remedies have worked for centuries, and it’s going to keep working long after your fancy casseroles are forgotten.”

The room fell into a tense silence, the air practically crackling with the friction between the two women. I’d never seen Ruth this angry before, and honestly, I kind of liked it.

I glanced at Beverly and Dolores, who were both standing off to the side, wide-eyed and holding their coffees like they were in front-row seats to a reality show. Iris had a curious smile on her face as she watched Ruth and Vara battling. I knew deep down she was still devastated about Dana, and I would make it up to her.

“Okay,” I said finally, forcing myself to stand despite the pounding in my head. “I appreciate both of you trying to help, but the stress isn’t good for me or the baby.” Yeah, I was going to play that card. Anything to stop them from fighting.

Ruth’s eyes softened immediately. “Yes. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Vara, however, remained stiff, her lips pursed.

As I sat back down on the couch, I couldn’t shake the memory of the ley line slipping through my grasp. That moment of pure panic when I realized I couldn’t hold on—it was still so vivid, so raw.

What if I hadn’t regained control? What if we hadn’t made it back? Iris and I could have been splattered across the countryside or, worse, lost in some magical limbo forever. My chest felt heavy as the realization washed over me. My magic had failed me when I needed it the most. What did that mean?

I pressed my fingers against my forehead. The ley lines were something I’d always been confident in. They were wild, powerful, and dangerous, sure, but I’d mastered them. I had control—until I didn’t.

Could I even trust myself to use them again? Did this mean I had to stop until the baby was born? Less than four months of being grounded—not just literally but magically? It felt like someone had chopped off a piece of who I was. And if I couldn’t use the ley lines, what did that mean for the rest of my magic?

Yes, my powers had been acting weird since I got pregnant, swinging between supercharged and nonexistent. What if this was just the beginning of things getting worse? What if I wasn’t able to protect myself—or worse, my baby?

I stared at my hands, flexing my fingers as though I could will some sort of reassurance to bubble up through my veins. But nothing came except the same gnawing doubt that had been simmering since Brooklyn.

“You okay?” Iris’s voice cut through my thoughts.

I blinked, glancing at her. “Yeah,” I said quickly. Too quickly. “Just tired.”

Iris raised an eyebrow, but thankfully, she didn’t push.

I nodded absentmindedly, my appetite nonexistent as the weight of everything settled on my shoulders. I had to figure this out—for Marcus, for Dylan, and for me. But most importantly, for my baby. Because whatever was happening, it was bigger than I’d anticipated. Plus, I had the feeling it was just going to get worse.

And then Ruth leaned over and whispered to me, “I don’t like this doula. She smells funny.”

Okay then.

7

Iwoke up the next day feeling... marginally better. Okay, fine, I felt like a damp sock someone left in the corner of the bathroom to fester. A heavy, lingering feeling settled over me, the kind that refused to go away no matter how much I wished it would.

Not to mention, sleeping in an empty bed had not done wonders for my mood. Sure, I’d fallen asleep clutching my phone, Marcus’s deep, soothing voice on the other end of the line. But it wasn’t the same. I was spoiled. Absolutely, unashamedly spoiled by having my ridiculously hot, unnaturally warm, uber-sexy wereape husband next to me every night. Without him, the bed felt too big, too cold, and way too lonely.

“Here. Take these,” said Vara, interrupting my pity party at the kitchen island as she appeared with those giant prenatal pills that could easily double as medieval weaponry and a glass of water.

“Thanks,” I said, forcing a smile as I awkwardly tried to swallow them. It wasn’t pretty. I was halfway convinced I was going to choke and end up as a tragic headline: Pregnant Witch Loses Battle with Prenatal Pill.

“And here’s your omelet,” Vara added as she placed a plate in front of me, the smell wafting up to my nose. “It’s got everything you need to make you feel better.”

I stared at the plate, momentarily distracted by the perfectly folded veggie omelet, golden brown on the outside and stuffed with what looked like sautéed spinach, mushrooms, and cheese. Damn, it looked good.

“This looks amazing,” I admitted, my stomach growling in agreement. “Thanks.” I couldn’t deny that having someone cook for me had its perks. But then again, Ruth had been doing that for years.

After polishing off the omelet—yes, it was annoyingly delicious—I stood up and grabbed my coat from the hook near the door.

“Where are you going?” asked Vara, her hands on her hips and her tone dripping with motherly disapproval. She looked at me like I’d just declared my intention to join a motorcycle gang.

“It’s the Witch and Stitch Festival today,” I said, shrugging into my coat. “Ruth signed me up for some of the competitions.”

Vara’s brows knitted together, her mouth tightening like she was deciding whether to protest. “Are you sure that’s wise? With everything going on? You should be resting.”

“It’s a festival,” I said, already reaching for the doorknob. “Not a triathlon.”

“It’s still important to listen to your body,” Vara insisted. “And if you start to feel unwell, you’ll come straight home. Won’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, flashing her my most innocent smile. I might have even saluted.

Vara didn’t look convinced, but she nodded reluctantly. “Fine. But don’t push yourself. And avoid any overly physical activities.”

I bit back the urge to remind her that the festival’s most intense activity was probably going to be Ruth challenging someone to a potion-off or Beverly trying to flirt her way out of knitting. Instead, I just smiled and stepped outside, already bracing myself for whatever commotion awaited me.

Just then I heard the front door closing behind me. I whirled around to see Vara pulling on her coat.

“I think it’s best that I come with you,” said the doula, a large bag around her shoulders with god only knew what inside.

I cringed inwardly. “Right.” This was going to be interesting. I appreciated her help in the kitchen and the house, but this? I didn’t need a babysitter.

Together we walked down Stardust Drive all the way to Shifter Lane and the center of town.

The November Witch & Stitch Festival was in full swing, and downtown Hollow Cove looked like someone had taken every autumn Pinterest board, thrown it into a cauldron, and stirred until it exploded. The large sign swaying over the street, adorned with glittering leaves and twinkling fairy lights, read THE NOVEMBER WITCH & STITCH FESTIVAL.

Stalls lined both sides of the streets, each decorated with whimsical, witchy flair. Pumpkins, gourds, and brooms were artfully arranged around cauldrons bubbling with steaming concoctions. The scent of spiced cider, roasted chestnuts, and caramel apples wafted through the crisp air, and I swear I could hear some jazz music playing faintly in the background.

Vara walked beside me, her giant bag clinking ominously with whatever she’d packed in there. Knowing her, it was probably some combination of herbal teas, prenatal vitamins, and maybe a portable defibrillator. She looked around, taking in the festival with a prim, approving nod. “This is quite charming,” she said. “Although some of these booths could do with better sanitation.”

I gave her a side-eye. “Pretty sure the potion booths don’t have to pass a health inspection.”

She sniffed. “Perhaps they should.”

We moved further into the throng of festival-goers. Paranormals of all ages were out, browsing stalls with names like Broom and Bloom, Wickedly Knitted, and Herbs, Hexes, and Honey. A cauldron bubbling with an unidentifiable purple liquid sat at one booth, labeled Mystery Potion: Drink If You Dare. A werecat vendor had a stall full of hand-sewn cloaks with enchanted stitching, and a group of giggling young witches were trying on matching ones in the corner.

“Tessa Davenport!” shrieked a familiar voice.

Oh, crap.

I turned to see Gilbert, his face redder than usual as he barked orders at a couple of teenagers struggling to set up a pumpkin-toss game. His trusty clipboard was clutched tightly in his hands, and he was accompanied by his favorite friend—his scowl. “If you’re here for the knitting competition, you’re late!”

“Knitting’s not really my thing, Gilbert,” I called back, “but thanks for the reminder.”

“Late entries pay double,” he shouted after me before turning his ire back to the hapless teens. “That pumpkin’s crooked! Are you trying to ruin the festival?”

Vara raised an eyebrow. “Charming fellow.”

“Oh, you’ll love him after your tenth cider,” I said dryly.

Further down the street, I spotted a familiar head of puffy, white hair standing behind a table stacked high with colorful pies. Ruth, in all her festival glory, was handing out samples of her infamous magical baked goods. Her apron—this one reading STIRRING UP TROUBLE SINCE 1975—was already covered in flour. She spotted me and waved me over enthusiastically.

“Oh, hi, Tessa,” said Ruth, giving me one her infectious smiles. “Come try my Mood-Lifting Mulberry Pie. It’s enchanted to cure bad moods instantly. Perfect for you after… you know…” She looked at Vara and wiggled her eyebrows.

Before I could answer, Vara swooped in. “Is it safe for pregnant witches?”

Ruth blinked, her cheerful expression dimming into a scowl. “What do you want?”

Vara stared at the pie. “Tessa can’t eat that. It looks fit for a pig, not a pregnant witch.”

Ruth’s cheeks darkened in color. “What did you say?”

Oh, dear.

“I’d prefer if she didn’t eat anything without my supervision from now on,” said Vara, her tone final.

Did she just say what I think she did?

The two women stared at each other, and I could practically see the sparks of tension. “I’ve been making pies for this family for decades,” said Ruth, her voice low but pointed.

“And I’ve been helping mothers through pregnancies for decades,” countered Vara, crossing her arms.

I stepped between them quickly before their bickering could escalate to the hex-off phase. “I’ll pass for now, Ruth,” I said with a strained smile. “Maybe later.”

Ruth’s face fell, and guilt immediately stabbed me in the gut. I mouthed, “Sorry,” to her as we walked away, but I could feel her disappointment hanging in the air.

“Hi, Tessa,” a voice called out. I turned to see Beverly, decked out in a bright red trench coat and heeled boots that were probably worth more than my entire wardrobe. She was chatting animatedly with a tall, handsome man who looked like he could toss a refrigerator without breaking a sweat. Her laughter rang out as she placed a manicured hand on his arm, leaning in just a little too close.

Dolores stood a few feet away, her arms crossed and muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, “Hussy.”

I waved at them, but before I could head over, my attention was caught by the sound of raucous laughter near the center of the square. A crowd had gathered around a makeshift stage where, to my surprise, Ronin was standing.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” he called out, flashing his signature cocky grin. “Place your bets. The Great Ronin is about to attempt the impossible: the Three-Legged Broom Race. Let’s make some money, people. That’s it. Come on now.”

I spotted Iris standing at the edge of the crowd, looking both amused and mortified as Ronin dramatically tied one leg to a younger paranormal, who looked like he was regretting his decision already.

“I told him not to sign up for this,” Iris informed me when I reached her. “But does he listen? No. He’s convinced he’s an athlete.”

The crowd erupted into cheers as Ronin and his partner took off awkwardly, their mismatched strides sending them zigzagging down the course. The broom was strapped to the half-vampire’s back.

I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “That man has no shame.”

“None whatsoever,” Iris agreed, shaking her head. “He lives for this stuff.”

As I watched Ronin nearly wipe out into a stack of hay bales, a small smile tugged at my lips. For a moment, the tension of the last few days eased, and I let myself enjoy the festival.

A pair of gray eyes watching me caught my attention. My heart swelled as a large, stupidly sexy wereape walked through the crowd toward me. Sometimes it still amazed me that a guy that hot would be interested in me. Hell, he’d married me, and now I was pregnant with his kid. His handsome face spread into a smile that melted panties. Yes, he was that glorious.

Unfortunately, my daydreams of some hot, horizontal tango with my husband disappeared when I spotted the kid next to him. Dylan.

Marcus came straight for me. “Hi, babe.” He kissed my cheek. “I missed you,” he whispered, his hot lips brushing my earlobe.

I shivered. “I’m good.” I hadn’t told him about my brush with death. I didn’t want to add to his already heavy personal load.

Marcus’s eyes went to my Dark witch friend. “Hi, Iris. Ronin seems to be enjoying himself.”

Irish giggled. “He is.”

“You must be, Vara,” said Marcus, making me flinch.

Damn. I’d completely forgotten she was stuck to me like a tick.

“Tessa’s told me about you.” Marcus stuck out his hand and shook Vara’s.

Vara beamed, shaking Marcus’s hand firmly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Marcus. Tessa’s said wonderful things about you.” Her tone was warm, but it had an almost rehearsed quality to it, like she’d practiced this conversation and was mentally filing away every detail about him.

Marcus nodded politely, his easy charm on full display. “Likewise. And this little guy here is my son Dylan.” He placed a hand gently on the boy’s shoulder, but Dylan squirmed under the attention, his eyes darting to the ground as if it might swallow him up.

My son Dylan. Okay, it was hard to hear that. I’m not going to lie.

“Hello, Dylan,” said Vara, crouching slightly so she was at eye level with him. “It’s so nice to meet you. Are you enjoying the festival?”

Dylan shuffled his feet, clearly uncomfortable. “I guess,” he mumbled, barely loudly enough to hear.

Vara straightened, her smile unwavering. “I have to ask. Why aren’t you at the cottage with us?”

I stared at her. That was some pretty personal information right there. It pissed me off that she was asking Marcus about that. That was not her business. I met Iris’s gaze, and she gave me a “what the hell” look.

Marcus’s lips twitched into a smile. “Actually, he and I are staying above Gilbert’s grocery store for now. It’s just a temporary arrangement while we sort everything out.”

Vara’s eyebrows shot up so fast I thought they might fly off her face. “Above a grocery store? With all the noise and the smells? That’s no place for a child. Especially not your son.”

“It’s just temporary,” Marcus repeated, his tone calm but firm. “Dylan usually lives with his mother, so he’s just here for a little… vacation.”

“Vacation?” Vara’s voice held a note of disbelief, as if she’d never heard a more absurd excuse. “A young boy should be staying with his family. At home. With you and Tessa. That’s where he belongs.”

Before Marcus or I could get a word in, Vara clapped her hands decisively. “That settles it. I’ll head back to the cottage right now and start converting the office into a proper bedroom for Dylan. He’ll need a comfortable bed, of course, and some games, and I’m sure I can whip up some decor to make it feel like his own space.”

“Wait, just a minute—” I started, but she was already adjusting the strap of her bag and marching purposefully toward Stardust Drive.

“Don’t worry, dear,” Vara called over her shoulder. “I’ll have everything ready by tonight. You just enjoy the festival.”

Marcus and I stood there, watching her retreating figure, the festival noise fading into the background as my brain tried to catch up with what had just happened. Ruth had been annoyed with Vara, sure, but now I was starting to see why. The woman didn’t just take the initiative. She steamrolled over everyone else’s plans and made her own.

“Well,” Marcus said after a beat, rubbing the back of his neck. “She’s efficient.”

“Efficient?” I repeated, turning to him. “She just decided—without asking—to turn…” I hesitated, not wanting Dylan to feel unwanted.

Marcus grinned, clearly not bothered in the slightest. If fact, he looked so damn happy. “Tessa? Are you okay with that?”

How I was supposed to answer to that? If I said no, I’d officially earn the title of World’s Biggest Asshole—complete with a crown and a commemorative plaque.

Did I think it was a good idea? Dylan was Marcus’s son—or at least, we were working under that assumption until proven otherwise. Of course, he deserved to be with his family. But deep down, I couldn’t ignore the gnawing confusion and unease twisting in my stomach. This was all happening so fast. Too fast.

“Yeah,” I said finally, forcing a smile. “Of course. It makes sense.”

Marcus’s hand slid around my waist, pulling me close. “Thanks, babe. I know this is a lot to take in.”

You have no idea.

I just leaned into him, letting his warmth and steady presence calm my frayed nerves.

Dylan, who had been quiet this whole time, shifted awkwardly on his feet. “Can I go… look at the booths?” he asked softly, his gray eyes glancing up at Marcus.

“Sure, buddy,” said Marcus, his voice gentle. “Just stay where I can see you.”

Dylan nodded and darted off toward a booth selling enchanted wooden toys, leaving me and Marcus standing in the middle of the bustling street.

“You okay?” Marcus asked, his eyes searching mine.

“Yeah,” I said, though the word felt heavy with all the things I wasn’t saying. “I just… need to wrap my head around everything.”

He kissed my temple, his stubble brushing my skin in a way that sent a shiver down my spine. “We’ll figure it out together. All of it.”

I nodded, my heart swelling at his words even as my mind churned with questions I didn’t have answers to. Dylan moving into the cottage changed everything—our dynamic, our routines, our plans for the future. And as much as I wanted to embrace it for Marcus’s sake, a small, selfish part of me couldn’t help but feel like I was losing something.

“Maybe I should go with him,” said the chief, his eyes on Dylan.

“Yeah. Go.” I pushed him gently, staring at his fine butt as he reached his kid.

“You okay?” Iris was next to me. “That’s a lot to take in.”

I sighed. “I know.”

“You could have said no.”

“And hurt Marcus’s feelings? Look at him. He’s all… all what a father should be. He’s thriving. Just like a responsible father should.” My heart crushed as I knew Marcus was going to love this kid soon. How did that make me feel? Confused.

“Did you tell him about our accident?” asked Iris.

I shook my head. “No. Not sure that I will.” And there was also the threat on my baby’s life I hadn’t told him about. Looked like I was back at hiding secrets again.

“So, what do we do now? About Annie?” asked the Dark witch.

“I thought of something.” I pulled out my phone. “I found Zeke’s number in Marcus’s things. I’m going to call him.”

Iris grinned and crossed her arms over her chest, looking delighted at the prospect.

I swiped my phone with my finger and tapped on Zeke’s name.

I held the phone to my ear, my stomach doing somersaults as it rang. Zeke wasn’t exactly my favorite person in the world—scratch that… he wasn’t even in my top one hundred—but he was the only lead I had right now.

“Yeah?” came his gruff voice.

“It’s Tessa,” I said, forcing my voice to stay calm. “Tessa Davenport. Marcus’s wife.”

There was a pause. I could almost hear his brain working, like he was debating whether or not to hang up. “What do you want?”

Straight to the point. Fine by me. “I need to ask you about someone. A woman named Annie. Annie Ford. She used to be part of your pack.”

Another pause, this one longer. I could hear background noise—voices, the clinking of glasses. Was he at a bar? Of course he was.

“Annie Ford…” he repeated slowly, like he was trying to pull the name from the depths of his memory. Then his tone shifted, a flicker of recognition creeping in. “Yeah, I remember her. Why are you asking?”

“I need to know where she is,” I said, gripping the phone tighter. “Do you have any idea where she might be?”

After a long, uncomfortable silence, Zeke said, “She’s dead.”

8

The words hit me like a kick to the gut. “What?” I croaked, my voice trying to catch up to my brain.

“She died three years ago,” Zeke said, his tone so casual you’d think he was reciting the lunch menu. “Car accident. Why are you asking about her?”

Iris brushed up against my shoulder. “What?”

“She’s dead,” I whispered, holding the phone away, watching as her eyes rounded.

I felt like the ground had shifted beneath me. Dead? Annie was dead? But then… how had Dylan ended up here? “She has a son,” I said, my voice shaky. “A boy named Dylan. He’s here.”

Zeke released a slow breath. “A son? I didn’t know Annie had a kid.”

That made two of us. “So you’re telling me you had no idea?” I asked, my frustration rising. “She was part of your pack, and you didn’t know she had a kid?” That was all kinds of weird.

“She left the pack years ago,” said Zeke, his tone defensive. “Said she wanted to live in the human world. I didn’t keep tabs on her after that.”

I pressed a hand to my forehead, trying to piece this together. If Annie had left the pack, lived among humans, and then died three years ago… who had been taking care of Dylan since then? A sickening thought crept into my mind. “Do you think he’s been living on the streets? Alone? All this time?”

There was a pause, and for the first time, Zeke’s gruff tone softened. “Hell, I hope not. But if she didn’t have anyone else…”

Iris, who had been listening intently, spoke up. “Did she have a boyfriend or… someone who might’ve been around to help her? You know, a partner?”

It was a good point—one I hadn’t even considered. I pressed the speaker tab on my phone. “Zeke, do you know if Annie had… anyone in her life? A boyfriend or partner? Family?”

Zeke let out a long sigh, and for a moment, I thought he wasn’t going to answer. “Not that I know of,” he said finally. “She didn’t have family. We were her family. And if she had a boyfriend, it wasn’t serious enough to bring him around the pack. Annie wasn’t exactly… social.”

“What do you mean?” I pressed.

“She kept to herself,” Zeke explained. “Even before she left the pack, she wasn’t the type to share much about her personal life. And after she left… well, I didn’t exactly keep track of her. She was done with us, and I assumed she wanted it that way.”

Iris frowned, her brow furrowing. “So she could’ve had someone in her life, but no one knew about it?”

“Possible,” Zeke admitted. “But like I said, it’s just as likely she didn’t. Annie wasn’t the kind of woman to rely on anyone else.”

My thoughts swirled. If Annie had been on her own, raising Dylan without a pack, and then she died… it painted a grim picture of Dylan’s life. But Iris had raised a valid question. If Annie had someone else, someone human or supernatural, who had been in the picture, that could change everything.

I swallowed hard, my heart twisting painfully. Poor Dylan. No wonder he’d come looking for Marcus. He must’ve been desperate, clinging to the hope that his father—this man he’d never even met—would take him in. “He’s just a kid,” I said softly, more to myself than to Zeke. “He shouldn’t have had to go through that.”

“Why are you asking about Annie?” Zeke asked again, his tone sharper now. “What does any of this have to do with Marcus?”

I hesitated, knowing this was the moment to drop the bombshell. “Because Dylan says Marcus is his father.”

Dead silence. Not even the clinking of glasses in the background.

“Come again?” Zeke finally said, his voice low and dangerous.

“You heard me,” I said, my grip tightening on the phone. “He showed up at our door yesterday and said Marcus is his dad. And he looks just like him.”

“He does,” agreed Iris. “Exactly like him. It’s scary, really.”

A loud screech that sounded suspiciously like Ronin cut through the air, coming from somewhere inside the festival.

Zeke let out a bitter laugh, the kind that left me feeling angry. “Well, I’ll be damned. Looks like Marcus’s past has come back to bite him.”

I gripped the phone tighter, already feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. “It’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it?” Zeke said, his tone sharp. “You’re telling me some kid just shows up out of nowhere, claims to be Marcus’s son, and you’re ready to roll out the welcome mat? How do you even know he’s telling the truth?”

I opened my mouth, ready to defend Dylan, but the truth was… I didn’t know. All I had was the boy’s word and the fact that he looked like Marcus—a mini version of him. But that wasn’t exactly concrete evidence. Was it?

“Well, he looks like Marcus,” I said, hating how defensive I sounded. “Gray eyes. Same build. Same… vibe.”

“Vibe?” Zeke scoffed. “That’s not proof. That’s wishful thinking. For all you know, the kid could be playing you. Ever think about that?”

My jaw clenched. “He’s not playing us. He’s just a kid.”

“And kids lie,” Zeke shot back. “If he’s Annie’s son—and I’m not even convinced of that yet—he belongs with the New York pack. Not running around Hollow Cove with a bunch of witches.”

Motherfracker.

His words lit a spark of anger in me. “He’s with his father,” I said firmly, though the lack of actual proof made my confidence waver. But his words still pissed me off. “And he’s safe here.”

Zeke’s voice dropped, heavy with frustration. “If he’s Annie’s son, then he’s pack. My pack. You think I’m just going to let him stay there because you’ve decided to play house with him?”

“Excuse me?” I snapped, my voice rising. “He showed up on our doorstep. Alone. Scared. I’m not just going to shove him out the door and tell him to find his own way back to New York.”

“No, you’re not,” said Zeke, his voice like steel. “Because I’m coming to Hollow Cove to get him.”

My heart dropped. “What?”

Iris sucked in a breath. “Uh-oh,” she whispered.

“You heard me,” said Zeke. “If he’s Annie’s son, then he’s one of us. And he belongs with his pack. Not some cozy cottage full of witches who don’t know the first thing about raising a wereape. He needs structure. And he needs to be with his own race.”

Rage hit, boiling over before I could stop it. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for him.”

“Neither do you,” countered Zeke, his tone sharp and unyielding. “Especially when you don’t even know if he’s Marcus’s kid. You got any proof? Other than he looks like him?”

Proof? Of course I didn’t have any proof—just a scared kid with familiar gray eyes and a heartbreaking story. “Give me a few days,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady despite the knot in my throat. “Let me talk to Marcus. Let me figure this out.”

Zeke let out a low, dismissive hum. “Fine,” he said after a beat. “But only because I’m curious to see how this plays out. You’ve got three days, Davenport. After that, I’m coming to Hollow Cove, and if that boy is not Marcus’s, he’s leaving with me.”

“Fine,” I bit out, my heart pounding. “Three days.”

“I’ll be waiting,” warned Zeke before the line went dead.

I lowered the phone, staring at it as if the screen might offer me some magical solution to this mess. Spoiler alert: It didn’t.

“Zeke’s coming here? To take Dylan?” Iris crossed her arms and leaned forward, her expression equal parts concerned and disbelieving. “Does he always bark orders like that, or is this a special performance just for you?”

I massaged the back of my neck, trying to process everything. “He’s an alpha. Barking orders is his thing.”

Iris’s eyebrows shot up. “And you’re just… okay with this? Letting him steamroll his way into Hollow Cove?”

“No,” I snapped but then immediately felt bad for taking it out on her. “I’m not okay with it. But what am I supposed to do? He’s right. I don’t have any proof. All I have is a scared kid who might not even be Marcus’s son.”

Iris softened, her head tilting to the side as she studied me. “But you believe he is. Don’t you?”

I hesitated, the conflict swirling inside me. Did I believe Dylan? Yes. At least, I thought I did. But what if I was wrong? What if he wasn’t Marcus’s son, and I’d just opened the door to a whole new level of chaos? And then there was the nagging thought I couldn’t shake. What if Zeke was right? What if Dylan really did belong with his pack in New York? Wouldn’t that be better for him?

“I don’t know,” I admitted finally. “I mean, what if Zeke’s right? What if it would be better for Dylan to be with his pack? To be around people who understand him?”

Iris’s eyes widened, her shock evident. “You can’t be serious. You’re actually considering handing him over to Zeke?”

“I don’t know what I’m considering.” I let out a frustrated breath. “I just… I don’t want to make the wrong decision. This isn’t just about me or Marcus. This is about Dylan, and I don’t know what’s best for him. What if I’m not cut out for this? What if…” My voice trailed off as the weight of it all pressed down on me.

Iris reached out, placing a comforting hand on my arm. “Tessa, you’re overthinking this. You’re doing what you always do—taking all the weight on yourself. You don’t have to figure this out alone. We’ll get proof. We’ll talk to Marcus. We’ll handle Zeke. But you have to stop beating yourself up. You need to take care of yourself first, especially after what happened.”

Deep down, I wasn’t just worried about Dylan. I was worried about myself. About what his arrival meant for my family, for the baby I was carrying, for the life Marcus and I had envisioned together. And no matter how hard I tried to push those thoughts aside, they kept creeping back in, whispering doubts I didn’t want to face.

“Okay,” I said finally, shoving those thoughts into a mental box labeled Deal with Later. “First step is figuring out if Dylan is Marcus’s son.”

Iris gave me a small, reassuring smile. “Exactly. And until then, don’t let Zeke get in your head.”

I wasn’t so sure about that, but I nodded anyway. Three days. That’s all I had. Three days to find the proof I needed before Zeke showed up to turn our lives upside down. No pressure or anything.

With a heavy sigh, I tucked the phone into my pocket and looked over to the festivities. Across the street, Marcus stood next to a booth, laughing, his head thrown back as he helped Dylan toss beanbags at a target. Dylan’s face lit up with the biggest grin, his nervous demeanor from earlier completely gone. He was a kid—just a kid—having fun with his dad. My husband.

The sight tugged at my heart in ways I wasn’t prepared for. Marcus looked so natural, so at ease, like he was born to do this. To be a father. He ruffled Dylan’s hair, his laugh deep and full of warmth, and my chest ached. There was pure joy in his eyes, a kind of happiness I hadn’t seen in a long time.

And Dylan? He was soaking it up, like someone who’d been starving for this kind of connection his entire life.

But the ache in my chest wasn’t just from the sweetness of the scene. It was from the bitter reality lurking in the back of my mind. If Zeke showed up and took Dylan away, it would destroy Marcus. I could see it as clear as day. He was already so attached, so protective. Losing Dylan, after finding him, would rip him apart.

I swallowed hard, blinking back the sting of tears. My heart felt like it was being pulled in two different directions. I wanted to protect Marcus, to protect Dylan, to protect what we had. But how could I do that when I didn’t even know the truth? When all I had was a gut feeling and a ticking clock counting down to Zeke’s arrival?

I turned away, the sight of Marcus and Dylan laughing together too much to bear. I had to figure this out. Fast.

Because if Zeke came and tore our family apart, I wasn’t sure we’d ever recover.

9

If there was an award for the “Most Likely Witch to Screw Things Up Royally,” I’d be walking on stage right now, accepting it with a sarcastic curtsy and a face full of regret. Honestly, they could probably rename the whole category after me.

Calling up Zeke had seemed like a brilliant idea at the time. I’d envisioned myself as this sleuthy, investigative witch, unraveling mysteries with wit and charm. Instead, I’d ended up inviting a wereape-sized disaster to my doorstep. The scoop on Annie? That’s what I’d wanted. What I got was a territorial pack alpha ready to march into Hollow Cove and stake his claim.

So, yeah. Gold star for me.

The fact that Annie—Dylan’s mother—was dead only made things worse. It wasn’t just a speed bump; it was a full-blown brick wall. If Dylan really was Marcus’s son, there was no “sending him back home to mom” or “just visiting on holidays.” It meant he was here to stay, permanently.

Five minutes ago, I’d been stressing about prenatal vitamins and whether I’d ever fit into jeans again. Now, I was grappling with the possibility that Marcus had a whole other kid who would, by default, become part of our family.

Unless, of course, Dylan wasn’t Marcus’s son. In which case, Zeke would swoop in like some wereape grim reaper and haul the boy off to New York. And that would just crush Marcus’s soul into a million tiny pieces. No big deal or anything. Just the emotional equivalent of a wrecking ball to my husband’s heart.

I sighed and dropped my head into my hands, the weight of it all pressing down on me. My brain was doing cartwheels trying to figure this out, and meanwhile, my heart was off somewhere, sobbing into a pint of emotional ice cream. Did that make me a terrible person? Part of me—like a tiny, tiny part—thought maybe it would be better if Dylan wasn’t Marcus’s son. Because if he wasn’t, this whole mess would just… go away.

Wow. I’m officially the worst.

I groaned and leaned back in my chair, dragging my eyes toward the window. That’s when I saw them—Marcus and Dylan, now back at the cottage. They were in the front yard, where Marcus had set up some ridiculous beanbag toss with wooden monster mouths that opened and closed.

Marcus was crouched down next to Dylan, pointing out something on the board, his face lit up with a grin. Dylan’s awkwardness was still there, evident in the way he shuffled his feet and hunched his shoulders, but there was something else, too. A tiny, fleeting smile tugged at his lips as Marcus handed him another beanbag and ruffled his hair. It was shy, hesitant, like Dylan didn’t quite know how to smile anymore, but it was there.

And Marcus? He was glowing. I’d never seen him look so... natural, so completely in his element. Like tossing beanbags and bonding with a kid was exactly what he was meant to do with his life. Watching them, my heart did this weird clench-and-melt combo that I couldn’t quite explain. Stupid, traitorous heart. It couldn’t make up its mind whether to cheer for Marcus’s obvious dad skills or mourn the fact that this wasn’t exactly what I’d signed up for.

I tried to shake it off, but the image stuck in my head. The way Marcus looked at Dylan, like he was already proud of him. The way Dylan was slowly starting to let his guard down, inch by careful inch. It made me wonder—had Dylan ever had anyone look at him like that? Or was Marcus the first?

And then there was me. Sitting here like a moody villain in my own story, stewing in a soup of guilt and confusion while they were out there building something real. What kind of person did that make me? The kind who wasn’t sure if she was ready to share her husband with an eleven-year-old? The kind who selfishly wished all of this could be a little less complicated?

I was an asshole. No point in denying it.

If Zeke showed up and ripped Dylan away, it wouldn’t just be hard on Dylan. It would destroy Marcus. He was already falling for the kid, already stepping into that role without hesitation. And now, I’d put a ticking time bomb on all of it by calling Zeke.

Yup, I do fantastic work.

“Almost done, hon,” said Vara suddenly, making me jerk.

“What?” I stared at her, shaking out of my thoughts.

“Your son’s room, of course,” she added happily.

My son’s room?

I swallowed, not sure what to say to that. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure.” Vara spun around on her heels, very light on her feet, and marched back up the stairs.

The moment Vara disappeared upstairs, I grabbed my jacket and slipped out the front door, making my way next door to Davenport House. I needed space—actual, physical space—to think. And maybe some carbs. Definitely carbs. Something fried or covered in cheese. Yum.

Inside, the house was quiet, the kind of quiet that only Davenport House could manage when the aunts were out stirring up madness somewhere else. Hildo was fast asleep curled into a ball on the couch. Tinky was nowhere to be seen.

I slid into a chair at the dining table, dropping my head onto my folded arms. What was wrong with me? I should have been thrilled for Marcus, for Dylan. But instead, I felt… conflicted. Torn between wanting to do what was right and this selfish little voice inside me whispering, What about you? What about your baby?

What kind of person did that make me? The kind who sat at the table, avoiding her problems, apparently.

The front door opened, and the familiar clatter of Ruth and Dolores filled the house.

“Tessa? I thought you were at the festival,” said Ruth, making her way to the kitchen, with Tinker Bell riding on her shoulder.

I forced a smile. “Hey.”

“Perfect timing,” continued Ruth. “We’re taking a break from the festival and came home for lunch. I’ll whip something up for you.”

“Thanks, but I’m not really hungry.” Liar.

Ruth waved that off. “Nonsense. You’re always hungry.”

Dolores snorted as she dropped her bag on the table. “True.”

My lips parted. “Hey. I’m pregnant.”

“I’ll make you something with lots of cheese.” Ruth beamed. “And butter. Maybe a grilled cheese sandwich with extra cheese. Vara would hate that, which makes the idea even better.” She giggled like a mischievous schoolgirl as she bustled into the kitchen.

“Where’s Beverly?” I asked. “Still at the festival?”

“Probably throwing herself at that werebear again,” said Dolores. “She loves to make a scene. What’s the matter?” she asked, her sharp eyes narrowing at me. “You look like someone just told you they’re banning magic.”

I straightened up, running a hand through my hair. “I’m fine.”

Dolores raised an eyebrow. “And a very bad liar.”

“Fine-ish,” I admitted. “I was just wondering… is there any way to retrieve Dana? The album Iris lost in the ley line?” It was my fault it slipped from her bag. If there was a chance to get it back, I’d take it.

Dolores frowned, crossing her arms. “Highly unlikely. When something leaves the ley line like that, while in motion, it’s destroyed. The magic that powers the ley lines doesn’t let things like that survive. Trust me. It’s gone. Just be happy it wasn’t Iris.”

Damn. If that had been Iris, I would have never forgiven myself. Ever.

My shoulders slumped. I’d figured as much, but hearing it out loud still felt like a gut punch. “Great. So, I destroyed years of Iris’s work in about ten seconds. Fantastic.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” said Ruth from the kitchen. “You were trying to get home safely. No one can blame you for that. Except maybe Iris. But she’ll get over it. Probably.”

“Probably?” I repeated.

Ruth shrugged. “She’s a Dark witch. They hold grudges.”

“Can we focus?” snapped Dolores. She turned back to me. “Is that it? Or is there something else you’re not telling us? You look like there’s more to tell.”

Wow. Could she really know this? Was Dolores skilled in mindreading or was she just really perceptive? Probably because I don’t have a poker face and wear my emotions like makeup for everyone to see.

I hesitated. How did I even explain this? That I felt like an imposter in my own life? That I wasn’t sure if I could handle Dylan moving in? That I didn’t know how to deal with Marcus being so happy about it?

Ruth made a face. “It looks bad. Better just say it before you explode.”

“She’s a person, you idiot,” hissed Dolores. “She can’t just explode.”

Ruth pursed her lips. “Tell that to Eddie Bottum. One minute he’s sitting at the kitchen table… and the next… boom. Eddie Bottum bits.”

I blinked, not sure how to respond. “It’s Dylan,” I finally said. “And Zeke. And the fact that I don’t know if Dylan is really Marcus’s son. And the fact that if he isn’t, Zeke’s going to show up and take him back to New York. And I don’t know how to stop him.”

Dolores, who had been eyeing me with her usual laser-like focus, tilted her head. “Zeke knows about Dylan? How? Don’t tell me Marcus called him.”

I winced. “Um… not exactly. I did.”

Dolores’s expression shifted from neutral to sharp disapproval faster than I could blink. Ruth paused mid-slice, her knife hovering over a thick piece of bread topped with cheese. Even she looked alarmed.

“You called Zeke?” Dolores’s tone was flat, but I could tell she was holding back a full lecture.

I held up my hands defensively. “I needed intel on Annie. You know, Dylan’s mother? I thought he’d know something about her. I wasn’t expecting him to, you know, start planning a full-blown kidnapping.”

“Let me get this straight,” said Dolores, crossing her arms. “You called Zeke, the Zeke, to poke around about Dylan’s mother, and now he’s planning to show up here to take the boy?”

“Pretty much,” I said weakly.

“Oh, Tessa,” muttered Ruth, shaking her head as she sliced the bread.

“I didn’t know it would snowball like this,” I said, gripping the edge of the table. “Zeke didn’t even know Dylan existed until I told him.” Yeah, that had been a pretty stupid move.

Dolores’s eyebrows shot up. “What do you mean he didn’t know?”

“I mean,” I said, blowing out a breath, “he had no idea Annie even had a kid. When I told him, he sounded genuinely surprised.”

“That doesn’t sound like Zeke,” said Ruth, frowning. “Aren’t alphas supposed to keep tabs on their pack? Their numbers? I mean, they multiply like rabbits.” She chuckled, clearly entertained by her own joke.

Dolores shot her a sharp look. “This isn’t a farm, Ruth. We’re not talking about a bunch of bunnies frolicking in the woods.”

Ruth shrugged, still grinning. “Well, I’m just saying. How hard can it be to keep track? They’ve got, what, litters running around everywhere?”

Dolores huffed. “We’re talking about wereapes, not feral cats. Try to keep it together.”

Ruth smirked. “Oh, excuse me for trying to lighten the mood, Miss Grumpy Pants.”

Dolores glared at her sister. “I will end you, Ruth.”

I snorted despite myself, the tension in the room easing just a little. Only Ruth could get under Dolores’s skin and somehow make it entertaining.

“Yeah, well,” I said, turning the conversation back to me. “He was also real quick to tell me that if Dylan’s Annie’s kid, he’s part of the New York pack and doesn’t belong here with a bunch of witches.” I couldn’t keep the bitterness out of my voice. “Then he gave me three days to figure out if Dylan’s really Marcus’s son before he shows up and hauls him back to New York.”

“Three days?” Dolores’s eyes widened slightly. “That’s not much time.”

“Tell me about it,” I muttered, sinking lower in my chair.

Ruth looked between me and Dolores, her expression unusually serious. “But what about Annie? Doesn’t she have a say?”

I shrugged. “She’s dead.”

Dolores blinked. “Dead? What happened?”

I glanced at my tall aunt. “Zeke said she died three years ago in a car crash. That’s all I know.”

“Does Marcus know?” asked Dolores.

I shook my head. “I don’t think so. Unless Dylan told him, but Marcus would have told me.” Right?

Dolores leaned against the counter, her arms crossed. “And you’re sure she’s Dylan’s mother?”

“That’s what Dylan says. And Zeke confirmed Annie existed, but beyond that…” I trailed off, staring at the table. “I don’t have any proof. Just the word of a scared little boy and the fact that he looks a lot like Marcus.”

“Looking like someone isn’t proof,” Dolores pointed out. “We all have our doppelgangers.”

True. Their Wanderbush cousins were proof. “I know,” I said, running a hand through my hair. “And Zeke knows it too. He made it clear that unless I can prove Dylan’s Marcus’s son, he’s coming here and taking him. And if I do prove it, he still wants Dylan to go back with him. He says he belongs with the pack.”

Ruth’s face fell. “But Dylan’s already been through so much. He needs stability, not to be dragged to New York by someone who didn’t even know he existed.”

“Tell that to Zeke,” I said dryly. That wereape really knew how to get under my skin. I never trusted him, and now, even less.

Dolores’s eyes narrowed, her fingers drumming rhythmically on her arm. “Zeke doesn’t care about Dylan in a sentimental sense. He cares about what Dylan represents. If he really is Marcus’s son, he’s got alpha blood in his veins. That kind of potential isn’t something Zeke would leave wandering around unclaimed. It’s in his DNA, Tessa. Dylan could grow into an alpha someday, and Zeke won’t risk that kind of power being outside his control.”

Dread hit. I hadn’t thought about it like that, but of course, Dolores was right. For Zeke, this wasn’t about giving Dylan a home or ensuring his well-being. This was about control, about power, about keeping the pack’s hierarchy locked in place. To Zeke, Dylan wasn’t a scared little boy; he was a future alpha-shaped chess piece, and the idea made me sick.

“We’ll figure this out, Tessa. We always do,” soothed Ruth.

I nodded, trying to believe her. But as I thought about Zeke’s ultimatum, Dylan’s uncertain place in all of this, and Marcus’s happiness at having a son, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this time, the stakes were higher than ever.

Dolores’s expression softened—well, as much as it could. “You’re overthinking this.”

“Am I?” I asked, gesturing wildly. “Because it feels like I’m just thinking about it the right amount.”

“Look,” said Ruth, appearing with a plate of grilled cheese sandwiches that smelled like heaven. “You’re not alone in this, Tessa. You’ve got us. And cheese.” She set the plate in front of me with a flourish. “Now eat. It’s scientifically impossible to be stressed while eating cheese.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, even as a tear threatened to escape. They were trying, in their own way. And maybe that was enough. For now.

I took a bite of Ruth’s grilled cheese sandwich, and holy witchy cauldrons, it was heaven. The butter, the cheese, the perfect crunch of the toasted bread—it was everything Vara’s health-packed kale casserole wasn’t. I practically melted into the chair, letting out a satisfied sigh.

If this bread were a man, I’d have married it.

“Ruth, if I die today, just know this bread is the reason I’ll haunt you. You’re never allowed to stop making it.”

Ruth beamed, her cheeks glowing as she set down a plate piled high with even more golden, cheesy perfection. “I knew you’d like it. It’s the secret ingredient.”

“What is it? Love?” I asked, already reaching for another sandwich.

“Tofu,” she said with a straight face.

Dolores groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Ruth, must you always ruin things? Just let her eat in blissful ignorance.”

I froze mid-bite, narrowing my eyes at Ruth. “Tofu? In a grilled cheese sandwich? That’s... diabolical.”

Ruth grinned. “Blended tofu makes the cheese creamier. You didn’t even notice. Did you?”

I chewed slowly, glaring at her. “I feel betrayed. But also impressed. Carry on.”

Ignoring them, I swallowed another bite and turned serious. “Is there a way to test if Dylan is really Marcus’s son? Like a DNA test or magical equivalent?”

Ruth tilted her head, thinking. “Well, there are ways. We could analyze the magical signature in Dylan’s aura and compare it to Marcus’s. Magical DNA, if you will.”

I perked up. “Really?”

“Yes, it’s possible. I’ll need something from both of them—a strand of hair, a drop of blood, maybe a toenail if they’re feeling generous.”

Dolores shuddered. “You know, Ruth, for someone who bakes cookies, you’ve got some disturbing serial-killer energy.”

I ignored them, my brain already racing. “Marcus’s won’t be a problem. And I think I can get Dylan’s. Now that he’s staying at the cottage, I’ll just snag something when he’s not looking.” Definitely not a toenail.

Ruth raised her eyebrows. “He’s staying with you now?”

“Yeah,” I said with a sigh, leaning back in my chair. “We have him set up in the office.” No need to mention that Vara had appointed herself the boss of all things baby and kid-related.

Dolores snorted. “So now you’ve got Marcus, Dylan, and that nosy doula all crammed into your cottage? Sounds cozy.”

“Oh, it’s cozy, all right,” I said, rolling my eyes. “So, how long will this magical DNA detection take?”

“About twenty-four hours,” answered Ruth. “Could be a little more. Could be a little less.”

One day. That was longer than I’d hoped. I’d hoped for a few hours, but I didn’t really have a choice.

I nodded, though my insides stirred at the thought of sneaking DNA samples like I was some kind of magical CSI. But if it meant getting answers and stopping Zeke from swooping in like the big bad alpha wolf, I’d do whatever it took, even if it meant navigating the madness of my ever-shrinking personal space.

One thing was certain. I had to tell Marcus about Annie’s death. But if I did, he’d ask how I knew, and then the truth would come spilling out.

And if Marcus found out what I was really doing, I wasn’t sure he’d ever forgive me.

10

After finishing Ruth’s drool-worthy grilled cheese sandwiches (seriously, if there was a religion for this food, I’d be its most devout follower), I decided it was time to head back to my place and, you know, casually commit a crime against personal privacy by snooping for DNA. Yay me.

I wasn’t exactly thrilled witch myself. But I knew I had to do it—not just because of Zeke and his alpha threats but because I needed to know the truth. I wasn’t the kind of witch who could live with a giant, unresolved question mark hovering over her head like an accusatory ghost.

I pushed open the front door to my cottage and froze. “Mom? What are you doing here?”

“Finally,” Amelia Davenport exclaimed, throwing up her hands like she was auditioning for a role in some soap opera. She was dressed in a chic pink blouse under a tailored blazer with black pants. “I’ve been waiting for you for over an hour,” she added, her tone both irritated and faintly accusatory.

I blinked. “I was literally next door. You could have walked twenty feet and found me.”

“But why should I have to?” she replied with a huff, waving it off like it was the most absurd suggestion she’d ever heard.

Before I could respond, she gestured toward Vara, who was standing off to the side. “Now that you’re here,” my mother continued, clasping her hands together in excitement, “we have some very exciting news.”

“You can’t move in,” I said automatically, before I could stop myself.

Amelia’s brows shot up. “I’m not moving in,” she snapped, clearly offended. “Though, given that tone, maybe I should.”

Oops. Actually, no—not oops.

I shrugged. “What news?” My eyes ping-ponged between her and Vara, who looked unnervingly smug.

“Well,” said my mother, her voice taking on that lilting tone she used when she thought she was about to win some kind of argument, “we’re taking you to your first ultrasound.”

I blinked at her, caught completely off guard. “Uh… this soon?” I knew ultrasounds were typically around thirteen weeks for human pregnancies. But I wasn’t exactly cooking up a normal human baby. Half-wereape, part-witch, and a dash of demon? This baby was a magical casserole of genetic surprises.

“Yes, this soon,” my mom replied with an exaggerated eye roll, like I was the one being unreasonable. “We’re already late for the appointment, so let’s move.”

Before I could even form a coherent thought, let alone an objection, my mother and Vara herded me out the front door.

“We can walk from here,” said Vara in her overly calm, almost-too-cheerful tone. “It’s only a five-minute walk.”

I came to a full stop on the gravel path. “Wait. I want Marcus to come. I’m sure he’ll want to be there.”

I turned back toward the cottage, but Vara stepped in front of me like a linebacker guarding the end zone. “He’s not in there,” she said smoothly. “He’s with his son. Back at the festival, enjoying himself.”

“Fine. I’ll call him.” I reached into my bag for my phone, but Vara’s iron grip clamped down on my arm, stopping me mid-motion.

“Men don’t want to be involved in these sorts of things,” she said with a patronizing smile that made me want to punch her.

I turned to my mother, who was unusually tight-lipped, which was almost as unsettling as Vara’s words. “Mom?” I asked, hoping for backup.

But Amelia just gave me a weak shrug. Traitor.

“Well, I think Marcus would want to be involved,” I said firmly, yanking my arm free from Vara’s death grip. “I know my husband, and he’d absolutely want to be there.”

Vara’s lips thinned as she let out a sigh that dripped with faux-patience. “Do you really want to interrupt the wonderful time he’s having with his son? Why spoil a lovely bonding moment for something as trivial as an ultrasound?”

Trivial? Trivial?

I was going to smack down a doula. I know it. You know it.

My fists clenched, and I took a deep breath to keep from unleashing a tidal wave of curses. “I don’t think it’s trivial,” I said tightly. “And I don’t think Marcus would either.”

But before I could call him, Vara looped her arm through mine and started tugging me down the street. “Come on, dear. Let’s not waste any more time. The sooner we get this done, the better.”

I shot a helpless look at my mother, who just shrugged again, looking vaguely amused.

As Vara marched me down the road, I couldn’t help but feel like I’d been strong-armed into something. And for the first time since she’d arrived, I found myself wondering if maybe, just maybe, I shouldn’t have trusted this doula so quickly.

We arrived at a small yellow cottage with white shutters that I must have passed a thousand times without ever really noticing it. A whimsical sign on the front lawn read Magic Wand Maternity, complete with a little wand illustration that sparkled faintly.

Without hesitation, my mother barged inside, the tiny brass bell above the door jingling in alarm. I trailed behind her, already regretting this entire endeavor.

The interior was cozy, with cream-colored walls and soft lighting that felt inviting, if not overly cutesy. A receptionist with lavender hair piled into a beehive glanced up from behind her desk and smiled. “Welcome to Magic Wand Maternity. You must be Tessa Davenport.”

“Yup. That’s me,” I said, glancing uneasily at the room full of other pregnant paranormal women. There was a werewolf—her faintly glowing yellow eyes gave her away—flipping through a parenting magazine. A vampire, pale as porcelain, tapped her nails on the armrest of her chair like the waiting time was killing her (pun intended). And a female troll was balancing what appeared to be a massive caramel macchiato on her swollen belly.

I suddenly felt wildly out of place, and I wasn’t even sure why. Maybe because, unlike these women who all seemed like they had their magical pregnancies under control, I was a hot mess being dragged here by my overbearing mom and a doula who might secretly be the commander of an army somewhere.

The receptionist’s soft voice pulled me from my thoughts. “The healer will be with you shortly. Please take a seat.”

My mother, Vara, and I squeezed into a corner of the waiting room. Vara pulled out a notebook and immediately started scribbling something down, probably a list of everything I was doing wrong. My mother grabbed one of the magazines and grumbled, “Who writes this drivel?” under her breath as she flipped through it.

I was just about to relax when the receptionist called out, “Tessa Davenport? Room five, please.”

I got up, my nerves prickling, and followed the lavender-haired woman down a hallway lined with doors marked with stars and crescent moons. Room number five had a plaque with a sparkling wand on it, of course, because why not?

Inside, I was greeted by an extremely short woman standing on a step stool near a table covered in magical implements and what looked like standard ultrasound equipment but with way more crystals attached. The scent of wild flowers and pine she was giving off told me she was a White witch.

“Wynona Moondust,” the witch introduced herself, her voice raspy but warm. “You’re the Davenport witch, yes? Heard all about you.”

“Uh… great,” I replied, because no way could that mean anything good.

Wynona waved me toward the padded table. “Go on. Lie back. Let’s see what kind of magical mayhem you’re cooking up in there.”

I climbed onto the table while my mother and Vara settled themselves into the corner like overly invested spectators at a sporting event. Wynona mounted her stool, mumbling something under her breath as she fiddled with the crystal-encrusted wand attached to the machine.

“What was that?” I asked nervously.

“Nothing, nothing,” she replied, waving me off. “Just talking to myself. It’s how I get things done.”

Okay.

Wynona adjusted her glasses, peering at me with a sharpness that made me feel like she could see through to my soul. “So, Tessa, you’re carrying a baby that’s part demon, part witch, and part wereape. Quite the magical cocktail you’ve got there.” She smirked, clearly amused. “How’ve you been feeling? Any morning sickness? Weird cravings? Unusual magical phenomena?”

I blinked at her rapid-fire questions, trying to figure out which one to answer first. “Um… morning sickness was rough at first, but it’s mostly gone now. Cravings? Oh, yeah. Meat. Lots of it. Like I’d throw down for a steak at 7 a.m. if I could.”

Wynona grinned knowingly. “Wereape genetics. Their metabolism burns hot, so the baby’s probably signaling for all the protein it can get. You should indulge it. Within reason, of course.”

“Good to know,” I said, though I wasn’t about to become a meat-eating witch. Ruth would never forgive me.

The healer chuckled, flipping a switch on the machine. “What about your magic? Has it been… behaving?”

I hesitated, glancing at my mother and Vara, who were now pretending not to be overly invested in the conversation. Should I tell Wynona about the ley line incident? About how my magic seemed to have its own mind these days? Before I could decide, Wynona’s sharp eyes pinned me in place.

“Is your magic behaving erratically?” she repeated, her tone gentler this time.

“Yes,” I admitted reluctantly. “Sometimes it’s fine. Sometimes it’s… not. It feels unpredictable, like it’s not completely mine anymore. And today…”

“What happened today?” asked the healer.

I wasn’t about to talk about my ley line magic in front of a stranger. “Just getting worse.”

Wynona nodded, as if she’d heard this a thousand times before. “Perfectly natural,” she said, her voice calm and reassuring. “Given what you’re carrying, your magic is likely adjusting to the unique magical makeup of the baby. It’s like your body’s trying to figure out how to manage two very different sets of magical energy at the same time.”

“So, I’m not broken?” I asked, trying to keep the nervousness out of my voice.

She gave me a wry smile. “Not broken. Just temporarily… rewired. Once the baby’s born, your magic should settle back to its usual self. Maybe even stronger, depending on how things go.”

“Stronger?” My brows shot up. “You mean I’ll be more powerful?”

“Possibly,” Wynona said with a shrug. “Or you’ll just be better at managing what you’ve already got. Either way, it’ll sort itself out. Just don’t try to force it in the meantime. Work with it, not against it.”

I let out a small breath of relief. At least I wasn’t permanently cursed with rogue magic. “Thanks. That’s good to know.” I was starting to like this healer.

“Of course,” said Wynona, adjusting the wand as the machine hummed softly. “Anything else you’ve noticed? Mood swings? Energy spikes? Sudden urges to climb trees or howl at the moon?”

I laughed despite myself. “Not yet, but I’ll let you know if that changes.”

“Do,” she said with a grin. “You’re carrying a rare little bundle in there. Anything’s possible.”

“If I go on a banana binge, you’ll be the first to know.”

Wynona adjusted her stool, climbing down briefly to jot some notes on a clipboard before looking back up at me. “What about your diet? Eating enough? Getting a good balance of nutrients? And are you taking all the prenatal vitamins you’re supposed to?”

I opened my mouth to respond, “Well, Ruth—”

“She’s taking everything I’ve given her,” Vara cut in, her voice firm as she folded her hands primly in front of her. “I’ve ensured she’s on a strict regimen of prenatal pills—perfectly formulated and highly effective.”

Wynona raised an eyebrow and gave Vara a once-over, her expression unreadable. “I see,” she said slowly before turning back to me. “Tessa, go on. What were you going to say?”

“Well,” I started again, side-eyeing Vara, “Ruth’s been making me these prenatal drinks. Custom-made potions, really. She says they’re tailored specifically for me and the baby, with all the nutrients I need.”

Vara let out a sharp breath, her tone tightening like a stretched rubber band. “Those aren’t necessary,” she interjected, forcing a tight smile. “She’s getting everything she needs from the pills. There’s no need to rely on… potions.”

Wynona’s eyes flicked between Vara and me, her sharp gaze lingering on the doula just long enough to make Vara shift uncomfortably. Then she smiled—warmly, but with a clear note of authority.

“I’ve known Ruth for years,” Wynona said lightly. “If she’s taken the time to create a prenatal drink just for Tessa, I’d say it’s worth continuing. Ruth’s potions are second to none, and magical pregnancies often need a little extra care.”

Vara’s face turned a shade of red that rivaled a ripe tomato, but she pressed her lips together without another word. Her knuckles tightened slightly around the strap of her ever-present bag, but she kept her composure, just barely.

I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my face. It felt like a tiny victory in the ongoing Ruth-versus-Vara saga.

“Okay,” I said, trying to keep my tone casual, though the warmth in my chest was undeniable. “I’ll definitely keep drinking them.”

“You should,” said Wynona, returning to her notes with a satisfied nod. “There’s no such thing as being too careful, especially with a magical pregnancy. Keep doing what works for you, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

I risked another glance at Vara, whose jaw was clenched so tightly I was surprised it hadn’t cracked. She still didn’t say anything, but I could practically feel her frustration radiating.

Wynona, oblivious or perhaps just choosing to ignore the tension, climbed back up onto her stool and adjusted the magical wand. “All right, let’s get this show on the road.”

I leaned back, a little more relaxed now, and let her do her work. Knowing Ruth’s efforts were validated made me feel so much better, and a little guilty that I had believed Vara over my loving aunt.

Wynona adjusted the wand in her hand, muttering something under her breath about the finicky nature of “new-age magical tech” as she waved it over my stomach. The wand hummed softly, emitting a faint glow of silvery light that rippled across my skin.

“All right,” she said, her voice calm and professional. “Let’s take a look.”

I held my breath as she worked, her eyes narrowing in concentration. Her stool squeaked slightly as she leaned closer, examining the glowing magical projection that appeared in midair above my belly. The image was a swirling mix of light and shadow, with faint outlines I could just barely make out. It was like watching a magical sonogram, only way more surreal.

After a few moments of silence, Wynona straightened, her face breaking into a reassuring smile. “Everything looks perfect,” she said, her voice warm.

My mother let out a sigh. “Thank the cauldron,” she said, her hands held together in front of her like she was about to pray to the goddess.

My eyes burned, and I blinked fast. I was not about to have an ugly-cry moment in front of the healer.

“Healthy growth, strong energy readings, and all the little… uh… wereape features are exactly where they should be for this stage.”

I blinked. “Wereape features?”

“Yes,” said Wynona with a nod. “The unique blend of magical and shifter genetics can manifest in different ways, but everything here is developing beautifully. The heart is strong, the aura is stable, and there’s absolutely no cause for concern.”

“Wait,” my mother cut in. “Are you saying the baby is more… wereape than witch? But Tessa is a witch. Surely the baby can’t just be wereape?”

Wynona tilted her head thoughtfully, her wand still glowing faintly. “It’s too early to say for sure. Right now, we’re seeing the genetic markers and traits common for both witches and wereapes. As the pregnancy progresses, we’ll get a better sense of which traits are more dominant.”

Amelia’s lips pursed in dissatisfaction. “So, you’re saying this baby might not have any witch in it at all?”

I groaned internally. “Mom, can we not?”

“What? It’s a valid question,” she said, crossing her arms as she gave Wynona a pointed look. “After all, Tessa comes from a long line of witches. It would be a shame if this child didn’t inherit even a spark of that legacy.”

“Amelia.” Wynona set her wand down on the tray. “This is a mixed-species pregnancy. It’s entirely natural for one side to express itself more than the other at different points of development. But until the baby is born, we won’t know for sure which traits are dominant.”

My mother huffed, clearly unimpressed by the lack of definitive answers. “I just think it’s important for the baby to carry on the witch heritage. That’s all.”

“What’s important is that my kid is healthy,” I countered.

Wynona glanced between the two of us, her expression twitching in what looked suspiciously like amusement. “For what it’s worth, Tessa, the baby’s aura is incredibly strong. Whether it’s more witch or wereape, this child will be special.”

Special. I had a feeling I already knew that.

I let out a breath, the tension in my shoulders easing just a bit. “So, the baby’s… normal?”

Wynona chuckled softly. “As normal as can be, given the unique circumstances. Trust me, you’re doing just fine, and so is your little one. Just keep following your instincts, Tessa. And listen to Ruth’s advice.” She shot a quick look at Vara, who was still standing stiffly off to the side. “She knows what she’s doing.”

I couldn’t help but grin at that. Wynona had clearly sided with Ruth, and that made me feel a little more grounded. Maybe I wasn’t so terrible at this whole pregnancy thing after all. “Thank you,” I said, my voice steadier than it had been in days. “That really means a lot.”

“Of course,” said Wynona, climbing down from her stool and patting my hand gently. “You’re doing great. And as long as you keep taking care of yourself and listening to your body, you’ll be just fine.”

For the first time in weeks, I felt a flicker of hope. I wasn’t entirely screwing this up. My baby was healthy, and I wasn’t alone in navigating this weird, magical pregnancy. Sure, I still had to deal with Zeke, Dylan, and the million other curveballs life kept throwing my way, but at least I could cross one thing off my ever-growing list of worries.

“Do you want to know the sex of the baby?” Wynona asked, peering at me over her sparkly, cat-eye glasses.

“No,” I said quickly. “Absolutely not.”

“Yes!” my mother and Vara said at the same time.

I turned my head to glare at them. “Excuse me, no. As in not happening.”

“But Tessa, don’t you think—” my mom began.

“Nope.” I cut her off, my voice firm. “I want it to be a surprise. And last I checked, I’m the one carrying this magical bundle. My kid. My rules. Got it?”

Wynona cackled softly. “That’s it, then. You’re all done.”

I swung my legs over the side of the table and hopped down. “Thanks,” I muttered, grabbing my coat from the chair. “I’m walking home. Alone.”

“Wait—” Vara started, but I was already halfway out the door.

The chilly November air hit me as I stepped outside, but it did little to clear the fog of questions swirling in my brain. Annie. Dylan. Zeke. And now this baby—a tiny bundle of demon, witch, and wereape genes already turning my life into a magical circus act.

But the baby was healthy, and that was a win. A big one. One I’d take with a smile, even if the universe wasn’t done messing with me yet.

11

Okay, so I might have been a little dramatic in how I exited the healer’s clinic. But honestly, can you blame me? My mother was being her usual overbearing self, Vara was one sanctimonious “hon” away from me snapping, and I had enough on my plate without unsolicited life advice from every corner. The idea of firing Vara was starting to sound downright magical. I didn’t care if my mother threw a fit. This was my life, my baby, and I wasn’t about to let some witchy doula hijack it.

With my cheeks still flaming and my head swimming, I stormed down the street. My boots smacked against the pavement, and my inner monologue was spiraling into a full-on rant about boundaries and prenatal vitamins when I realized I wasn’t heading toward the cottage. Nope. The happy cheering and loud conversations hit me. Somehow, I’d walked straight into the mayhem of the festival.

And, because I’m me, I didn’t just stop and collect myself like a rational person. Oh no. I marched forward blindly and face-planted into someone’s chest.

“Oof!” I staggered back, clutching my nose and ready to apologize for head-butting some poor stranger. “Marcus?”

Sure enough, my hot husband was standing there, his tall frame casting a shadow over me. He was holding a stuffed animal—a bear, I think—with one arm while the other rested lightly on Dylan’s shoulder. Both of them stared at me like I’d just announced I was moving to Mars.

“Tessa,” said Marcus, his expression shifting with amusement. “You okay? You look like you’re on a mission to single-handedly scare off every tourist in Hollow Cove.”

“Fine. Just fine,” I said, waving him off as I tried to collect what little dignity I had left. I wanted to tell him about the magical ultrasound—didn’t know what else to call it—but I didn’t feel comfortable talking about that in front of Dylan.

Annie’s dead. Annie’s dead. Annie’s dead. “What are you two up to? Winning all the prizes at the booths?” I said instead.

“Something like that,” he said, ruffling Dylan’s hair. “We were just about to grab some snacks when I got called. A fight is breaking out between some young werewolves at the festival. Stupid territorial nonsense.”

My brows shot up. “What, did someone pee on the wrong booth and spark a turf war?” I laughed. They didn’t.

“I have to go handle it,” said Marcus. “Can you keep Dylan company for a bit?”

“Uh…” I glanced down at Dylan, who looked as uncomfortable as I felt. He kicked a rock with his sneaker and avoided my gaze. “Sure. No problem.”

“Thanks, babe,” said Marcus, leaning down to kiss me on the forehead. “I owe you one.”

“Make it two,” I mumbled as he walked off, leaving me alone with Dylan.

The boy shifted awkwardly, clutching the stuffed bear like it was his only lifeline.

“So…” I forced a smile, determined not to let the weirdness show. “Ever tried caramel-covered popcorn? Because it’s life-changing.”

“Caramel popcorn sounds good,” said Dylan, his voice quiet but hopeful.

“Excellent choice,” I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. Because, let’s be honest, this was awkward. What do you even talk about with a kid you’ve just met who might be your husband’s son? I had no idea.

We approached one of the booths where a cheerful witch was spinning caramel and popcorn into magical clouds that floated above her cauldron. “One large bag, please,” I said, handing over some cash.

The witch winked as she handed me a bag. “Careful, dearie. This batch packs a punch.”

Laughing, I handed the bag to Dylan, who took it with wide eyes. He popped a piece into his mouth and froze, his expression shifting from surprise to pure bliss. “This… is amazing.”

I laughed harder. “Told you.”

As we walked through the festival, I kept stealing glances at him. He was so small, so quiet, so… not Marcus. But there was something else, something that tugged at my heart in a way I couldn’t explain. For an eleven-year-old kid, Dylan carried himself differently. He felt… older. Like he’d seen too much, lived too much for someone his age.

It was in the way he didn’t seem overly excited by the festival, the way he didn’t ask a million questions like most kids would. He didn’t fidget or complain or beg for more popcorn. He just walked beside me, calm and composed, like he’d been doing this whole “grown-up” thing for years. It made me wonder how much of his childhood he’d missed out on. Living on the streets would do that to a kid. They grow up fast when they’re trying to survive.

And that thought? It made my chest tighten.

We passed the knitting competition tent, and I spotted Ruth in the crowd, furiously waving at me like she was trying to signal a plane. Her eyes were wide, and she was gesturing in a way that could only be described as… bizarre.

She pointed at Dylan. Then at her own head. Then mimed pulling something from her hair and holding it up triumphantly.

Yeah, Ruth could be totally inconspicuous at times.

I gave her a subtle shake of my head, mouthing, Not the time. But Ruth didn’t seem to understand the concept of subtlety because she started gesturing even more frantically, nearly knocking over a fellow competitor with a giant ball of yarn.

“Uh, is she okay?” Dylan asked, glancing at Ruth with mild concern.

“Totally fine,” I said, steering him in the opposite direction before Ruth decided to bring out semaphore flags. “She just gets really… enthusiastic about knitting. You should see her during the holidays. It’s like the Super Bowl of yarn.”

Dylan gave me a small, confused smile, which I took as a win.

“You’ll meet them,” I said, realizing that he should. “My aunts. That was Ruth. And then there’s Dolores. The bossy one. And Beverly. The flirt.” I laughed.

He didn’t. Of course, he wouldn’t. He had no idea what I was talking about.

“Maybe tonight. For dinner. Would you like that?”

Dylan looked around the festival. “Yes.”

“Good. Ruth will probably insist on making you dinner, so what’s your favorite dish? Anything special you like?”

Dylan shrugged, his gaze fixed on the ground as he kicked a loose pebble. “I don’t know.”

“Come on,” I pressed. “There’s gotta be something you love. Pizza? Beef burgers? Spaghetti?”

“Not beef burgers,” he mumbled, glancing up briefly before looking away again.

I blinked. “Oh, well, that’s good because my family doesn’t eat meat.” I grinned. “So, no burgers, but Ruth can make a mean veggie lasagna or maybe a veggie pizza. Even a juicy steak if you want.” Ruth would kill me for that one.

“That’s fine,” Dylan said quickly, his voice a little higher than before. “I don’t like meat anyway.”

I laughed, thinking he was joking. “Wait, a wereape who doesn’t like meat? That’s like… a witch who hates Halloween.” I laughed harder, mostly because I was slightly nervous, and probably was going to scare the kid away.

But the moment the words left my mouth, I saw the flicker of discomfort cross his face. His shoulders hunched slightly, and his brows knitted together, as if I’d just insulted him.

Oh crap.

I immediately stopped laughing, the humor draining out of me like air from a balloon. “Hey, no big deal,” I said quickly, trying to backtrack. “Lots of people don’t like meat. I don’t like meat. It’s totally fine. Really. So… veggie pizza? Does that work?”

Dylan hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Pizza’s good. If that’s okay.”

“Totally okay,” I said, forcing a cheerful smile. “Ruth’s veggie pizza is the stuff of legends. You’re going to love it.”

He gave me a small, tentative smile in return, and I let out a silent sigh of relief. The last thing I wanted was to make him feel more uncomfortable than he already did. Whatever his deal was with meat, it wasn’t my place to pry—not yet, anyway. Right now, I just needed to keep things as normal as possible.

But a wereape that didn’t eat meat? That was… strange.

“So,” I said, sneaking a glance at Dylan as we walked, “do you like your room? If you need anything else, just let me know. Extra pillows? A lava lamp? A poster of… “ What did adolescents have as posters now? No idea.

“It’s fine,” replied Dylan, his tone neutral, but there it was—a tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he was trying to suppress a reaction.

“Well,” I said lightly, smiling to keep things easy. “If you don’t like the color or the bed’s too hard, we can fix it.” Though Vara had done most of the work, House could change it all in a blink of an eye.

Not sure why I hadn’t told her…

He glanced at me, and for a fleeting moment, I thought I caught something in his expression, but then his face settled back into that guarded look. “It’s nice. Thanks.”

Okay. Progress. Sort of.

“What about school?” I asked, keeping my tone casual. “Do you go to one?”

He shifted slightly, and there it was again—a faint flinch near his eye. “I’m homeschooled,” he said quietly.

“Homeschooled, huh? That’s cool.”

Dylan’s eyebrows lifted for a fraction of a second, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he stared straight ahead, his expression carefully blank.

“Do you have a favorite subject?” I pressed, pretending not to notice his silence.

He shrugged, his face tightening ever so slightly again. “I like reading.”

“Reading’s great,” I said, nodding like I’d just uncovered the key to the universe. “What kind of books? Fantasy? Mystery? Superhero comics?”

“Anything,” he said, but his tone was clipped, and the flinch was back, this time at the corner of his mouth. It was subtle, but it was there.

“Well, if you ever need new books, let me know. I’ve got a whole shelf of them at the cottage. You’re welcome to borrow anything you want. Plus we have a great library in town. I’m sure you’ll find something there.”

He didn’t respond right away, and for a moment, I worried I’d gone too far. But then he murmured, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” I said, smiling softly. “You know, you remind me of Marcus when he’s quiet like this. He’s all mysterious and broody sometimes too.” Which was so, very, very hot in my book.

Dylan glanced at me, his gray eyes flickering with something I couldn’t quite place—curiosity? Nerves? Both? “Really?”

“Really,” I said with a nod. “You’ve got his eyes, you know. Same color. Same intensity. It’s kind of uncanny.”

His gaze dropped to the ground, and the slight tic in his face returned, faint but noticeable. “I guess.”

“Sorry,” I added quickly, realizing I might have pushed too hard. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just… I want you to feel at home here. That’s all.”

“It’s okay,” said Dylan, but the tightness in his voice and that telltale twitch made me think it was anything but okay.

I let out a soft sigh, glancing ahead at the festival booths. This wasn’t going to be easy. Dylan had walls—big ones—and whatever he’d been through had turned him into a kid who didn’t know how to trust. But for Marcus—and maybe even for Dylan—I was willing to try.

As we moved further down the festival, I decided to test the waters. I kept my tone light, casual—like we were just two friends chatting over popcorn. “So,” I began, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye, “how’s your mom doing?”

Dylan’s head snapped up so fast I thought he might give himself whiplash. His face went blank for a moment, like his brain was scrambling to reboot. “She’s… uh… fine.”

Lie. Big fat lie. The hesitation, the way his voice went up half an octave, the fact that he suddenly couldn’t meet my eyes—it was textbook.

“Oh, good,” I said, feigning oblivion. “What’s she up to these days?”

He shuffled his feet, his hands tightening around the little bag of caramel popcorn like it was his only lifeline. “You know… stuff.”

“Stuff?”

Dylan gave a nervous laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching in that weird way I’d started to notice. The poor kid looked like I’d just asked him to solve a calculus problem in front of a live studio audience. “Just… regular mom stuff.”

“Regular mom stuff,” I echoed. “Got it. And what about the rest of your family? You have any aunts or uncles?”

His shoulders stiffened, and there it was again—that tiny, almost imperceptible spasm at the edge of his mouth. “No.”

“No aunts or uncles?” I asked, keeping my tone casual, even as my curiosity spiked. “What about siblings?”

His eyes darted away, and his hand tightened around the popcorn bag again. “No siblings.”

That nervous twitch was practically doing the cha-cha now. My heart sank a little. Poor kid. Whatever his story was, it clearly wasn’t an easy one.

“What about grandparents?” I asked softly, trying to gauge his reaction. “Do you have any grandparents?”

Dylan’s jaw tightened, and for a split second, I thought I saw a flicker of panic in his gray eyes. “No.”

That single syllable was clipped, almost mechanical. Marcus would kill me if he saw this. But once I’d started, I couldn’t stop. And with the way he was reacting—his quivering, his body language, the fact that his answers were getting shorter and more tense—it wasn’t just nerves. It was something else. Something deeper.

I stopped walking, crouching slightly so I could meet his gaze. “Hey,” I said gently. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I’m just trying to get to know you better.”

Dylan blinked, his expression shifting as if he was trying to decide whether he could trust me. After a long pause, he mumbled, “Thanks.”

I straightened, giving him a small smile. “No problem. And just so you know, if there’s anything you want to talk about—or not talk about—that’s totally fine too.”

He nodded, his grip on the popcorn bag loosening slightly, but the twitch didn’t completely go away. I wasn’t sure what it was, but this kid was definitely holding something back. And I had a feeling it was only a matter of time before the truth came out.

If Annie had died three years ago, where had he been all this time? Why hadn’t he come sooner to find Marcus? I got that he would have been much younger, too young to wander around the country. So, where had he been? And who had been looking after him?

Poor kid. He wasn’t a great liar, but I didn’t push. Not yet. Instead, I tried to figure out my next move. Because if he was lying about his mom, what else wasn’t he telling us?

I was going to find out.

But first, I needed some of his DNA.

12

After another hour of wandering the festival, mostly consisting of Dylan cautiously nibbling on caramel popcorn while avoiding eye contact, I decided it was time to head back to the cottage. The kid looked like he needed a break from my relentless questioning, and frankly, I needed a break too.

Back at the cottage, Vara had immediately swooped in with her signature overbearing energy, insisting on making Dylan a “snack” that was probably less about the kid's preferences and more about her chance to lecture him on the importance of whole grains. While she was busy clattering around in the kitchen, I seized the opportunity to slip out the front door and dart over to Davenport House.

When I told my aunts about the dinner plan and my hope that it would be the perfect chance to grab some DNA off the kid, Ruth practically squealed with delight.

“This is perfect,” she said, clapping her hands together. “We’ll call it ‘Operation Who’s Your Daddy.’”

Dolores, who had been leafing through a large green tome at the table, snorted. “Subtle, Ruth. Real subtle.”

“Or better yet,” continued Ruth, undeterred, “we could go with ‘The Spawn Will Be Revealed.’ You know, for dramatic effect.”

“Maybe tone it down a notch,” I said, eyeing her. “It’s just a strand of hair, not a full-scale witch tribunal.”

“Oh, but it could be,” said Ruth, waggling her eyebrows.

Dolores rolled her eyes, muttering, “We’re one step away from bringing out torches and pitchforks.”

I laughed. “Let’s just… make sure he has a good time. Okay?” I warned, though I couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips. Leave it to Ruth to find a way to turn this into a daytime drama.

Beverly sauntered in from the hallway, already holding a glass of red wine. “What’s all this about revealing a spawn? Did I hear something about fathers? I love fathers. Are they single?”

“Just dinner tonight,” I told her. “Dylan and I will come over. I’ll see if Marcus can free himself from whatever fiasco is happening at the festival. And no Vara.”

Ruth nodded approvingly. “Good. That witch smells.”

Okay then. “Oh, and Ruth. Can you make your famous veggie pizza? Dylan doesn’t like meat.”

“Oh?” Dolores perked up. “That is unusual for a wereape.”

“I think maybe that’s a result of him living in god knows what kind of conditions,” I told her. “I don’t think he had the opportunity to eat meat, maybe.”

“Don’t worry,” said Ruth. “I’ll whip up my veggie pizza. He’ll love it.”

That, I didn’t doubt.

And so, an hour and a half later, Dylan and I walked into Davenport House’s back door, leaving Vara behind at the cottage. She hadn’t been thrilled about being excluded, but I’d managed to convince her that “family bonding” was a sacred thing in the Davenport household.

Which was true. Especially when said bonding involved stealing DNA.

Vara had had time to shop for Dylan and clean his new clothes, so he looked like any ordinary well taken care of eleven-year-old kid.

“Hi,” I said as Dylan and I stepped into the kitchen through the back door.

“This must be Dylan,” said Ruth, beaming as she wiped her hands on her apron. “I’m Ruth.” She bent slightly to be eye level with him and grinned. “Do you like cheese? Because if you don’t, I’m not sure we can be friends.”

Dylan blinked, looking slightly startled. “Uh… I guess?”

“Good answer.” Ruth straightened up. “Cheese is non-negotiable in this house.”

Dolores approached next, her sharp eyes studying him like she was trying to figure out his entire life story from the way he stood. “I’m Dolores,” she said, her tone crisp but not unkind. “The one who makes sure everything doesn’t fall apart around here.”

“And I’m Beverly, the gorgeous one.” Beverly stepped forward with a dazzling smile and flipped her hair over one shoulder.

Dylan’s face turned pink as he mumbled, “Hi,” and shuffled his feet. Clearly, he wasn’t used to this level of energy—or the full-on Davenport Welcome Experience.

“Come on, let’s get you settled in the living room,” I said quickly, steering him out of the kitchen before Ruth could start quizzing him about his favorite cheeses.

Dylan sat stiffly on the couch. His hands clasped tightly in his lap as he glanced around the room like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. Ruth bustled in with a plate of cookies and set them on the coffee table. “Help yourself, sweetie.”

He gave her a polite nod but didn’t move, like he thought the cookies might bite him first.

As Ruth bustled back toward the kitchen, I felt it.

A warm, sizzling sensation spread upward until my brain was suddenly full of bacon. Crispy, glistening strips, sizzling in a cast iron pan. My mouth watered as a flash of steak—medium rare, juicy, with a side of golden, buttery mashed potatoes—danced across my mind like some kind of forbidden food parade.

Oh no. Not now.

I bit my lip, trying to keep it together. The cravings weren’t new. They’d been popping up sporadically ever since I got pregnant. And they weren’t the cute, “Oh, let’s eat a whole jar of pickles” kind of cravings. Nope. These were primal. Carnivorous. Like my inner wereape baby was demanding a five-course meat feast and wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Images of barbeque ribs, pepperoni pizza, and a whole roasted turkey invaded my mind. I felt my stomach growl loudly enough to make Dylan glance over at me in alarm.

I leaned closer to my belly and whispered, “Settle down, kid. We talked about this.”

Marcus’s kid—or not—was right there, and I wasn’t about to let him see me lose my cool over imaginary bacon. That would be… weird.

Dylan looked up at me, and I gave him a small nod. He hesitated but then reached for a cookie, nibbling on the edge like it might explode. Poor kid. He clearly wasn’t used to being the center of attention, and my aunts were a lot to take in.

I envied his restraint because I was seconds away from storming into Ruth’s kitchen and demanding a cheeseburger. Which would have been awkward, considering my aunts were practically anti-meat crusaders.

“Everything okay, Tessa?” Ruth called from the kitchen, probably sensing my inner turmoil.

“Peachy,” I called back, forcing a smile as I stuffed my hands into my lap. The visions of pork chops and brisket faded, but I swore I could still smell a backyard barbeque. Was that normal? It didn’t feel normal.

Maybe I needed to mention this to Wynona at the next appointment. Or maybe I just needed to invest in a stash of tofu bacon and insect-based steak (I swear I saw that online somewhere). Either way, my kid and I were going to have another little chat about boundaries.

Just as Dylan was settling awkwardly on the couch, the back door burst open, and in padded Hildo, followed by the erratic fluttering of Tinker Bell. The two of them were clearly back from one of their “hunts,” and judging by the streak of mud on Hildo’s head and ears along with the faint smell of something charred, I didn’t want to know the details. What the hell were they doing?

“I smell food,” Hildo croaked, ignoring Dylan entirely as he flapped toward the kitchen in a determined beeline. “Cheesy. Gooey. Divine.”

Tinker Bell hovered over to Dylan, her tiny wings buzzing in excitement. “Hi,” she said in her bell-like voice, waving a minuscule hand.

Dylan’s entire demeanor shifted in an instant. His expression wavered—just enough for me to catch it—and his eyes narrowed. Then he hissed. Hissed. Like an angry cat.

“Dylan!” I said, startled, as he raised his hand like he was about to swat her out of the air.

Tinker Bell gasped and darted backward, her tiny hands flying to her mouth. She looked at me, lowering her hands with a confused expression. That made two of us.

“Uh, Tinky, maybe you better join Hildo,” I said quickly, trying to diffuse the situation. “I think he’s raiding the cheese.”

“Okay.” With a wary glance at Dylan, Tinker Bell zipped off toward the kitchen, her glittery golden trail lingering in the air.

Dylan dropped his hand and slumped back onto the couch, his face carefully blank now. But I couldn’t shake the odd feeling that had crept up my spine. One minute he’d been fine, and the next, he’d practically gone feral at the sight of the fairy.

What the hell was that about? I was shocked, yes. But I was a lot more curious.

“Have you ever met a fairy before?” I asked, keeping my tone light.

He shrugged, not looking at me. “No.”

Fairies weren’t exactly common, even in the paranormal world. Still, the way he’d reacted… it wasn’t normal. Not even for a shifter kid. My witchy instincts whispered that something wasn’t quite right, but before I could think too hard about it, the front door opened, and Marcus stepped inside.

His presence filled the room immediately, like it always did, and my strange feeling evaporated as quickly as it had come. His jacket was slung over one shoulder, and his shirt was slightly wrinkled, as if he’d been running around all day. His hair was tousled, and he wore a tired but satisfied look on his face.

“Eight arrests,” Marcus announced, his voice carrying a mix of exhaustion and relief as he dropped his jacket on the nearest chair. “And thankfully, no one was killed. Though a few young werewolves are going to wake up tomorrow wishing they’d made better choices.”

He glanced around, his gaze landing on me and Dylan. His face softened immediately, and a warm smile spread across his lips. “Hey, you two.”

Marcus crossed the room in a few strides and leaned down to kiss me. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice low and full of emotion. “Thank you for doing this—for spending time with him. It means the world to me.”

Regret punched me square in the stomach, and I forced a smile. “Of course.” I was going straight to hell. I glanced over his shoulder and caught Ruth and Dolores exchanging equally uneasy looks. We were all booking first-class seats to hell.

“We’re glad to have him here,” expressed Ruth, her usual brightness dimmed by what I could only describe as collective Davenport guilt.

Marcus turned to Dylan, who was still clutching his cookie. “How’s it going, buddy?” he asked, crouching down slightly to meet his son’s eyes.

Dylan nodded. “It’s fine.”

“Good,” said Marcus, ruffling his hair affectionately. “This is your family now, okay? These ladies might be a little... energetic, but they’re the best. I promise.”

I bit my lip. Here was Marcus, practically glowing with happiness at the thought of his son finally having a place to belong while I was scheming to pull a hair off the kid’s head for a DNA test. I felt like the worst person on the planet.

And judging by the way Ruth was suddenly avoiding eye contact while Dolores tapped her fingers on her armrest, I wasn’t the only one feeling like that.

Still, we had to know.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Ruth called from the kitchen, her voice a touch too loud. “Please sit.”

And as much as I hated myself for it, I couldn’t help but notice the way a single strand of Dylan’s hair fell across his forehead, taunting me like it wanted to be plucked. But that would be way too obvious, not to mention borderline assault.

Everyone settled around the dining table, with Ruth carrying in two large trays of steaming veggie pizza. “Ta-da!” she said with a flourish. “The best veggie pizza in Hollow Cove—extra cheese, no meat, and the crust is gluten-free because I care.”

Beverly snorted. “Care about what?” She cocked an eyebrow as she slid into her seat. “Calories? Or making people question why they bother eating at all?”

“It’s good for you,” snapped Ruth, slapping Beverly’s hand away as she tried to grab a slice before everyone was seated.

“Well, I don’t care for calories,” said Beverly. “I’m one of those beautiful women who can eat anything they want and never gain weight.”

I looked at her. “That’s why women like me hate women like you.”

Beverly giggled and took a sip of wine. “Can’t help it. It’s in my genes. The goddess made me perfect.”

Okaayyyy.

I spotted Tinker Bell perched on top of the cabinets, glaring down at Dylan. Poor thing. That had been… unsettling, to say the least. On the counter, Hildo was happily munching on what looked like mini pizzas, crumbs scattered around him. Knowing Ruth, she’d probably made him a batch just for him—because, of course, why not pamper the snarky, food-obsessed feline familiar?

Marcus and Dylan both grabbed slices, the boy nibbling at his quietly while Marcus went straight for a massive bite. “Ruth, this is amazing,” he said between chews. “Thank you.”

Ruth beamed, but her focus was laser-sharp. “You’re welcome, Marcus. Dylan, sweetheart, do you need a napkin? Oh, you’ve got a little sauce right there—” She leaned in with a napkin, clearly aiming for the stray hair on his forehead.

“Ruth,” I hissed under my breath.

“What? Just helping,” she said innocently, retreating without her prize.

Dolores leaned forward, her eyes narrowing as she scrutinized Dylan’s water glass. “Dylan, do you want some ice in your water? It makes it extra refreshing.” Without waiting for an answer, she reached over to grab his glass, only for Marcus to intercept her with a frown.

“Dolores, let the kid drink his water in peace.”

“Yes, of course,” she huffed, retreating.

“Dylan, darling,” said Beverly. “Have you ever seen such a stunning bracelet?” She dangled a sparkly, overly gaudy piece of jewelry in front of his face, waving it like she was trying to hypnotize him. “Isn’t it shiny? Go ahead, touch it.”

The boy just stared at her, clearly confused. “Uh… no, thanks.”

“Beverly,” Marcus said, giving her a look. “I don’t think he likes jewelry.”

“What? I was just being friendly,” Beverly said, feigning innocence. “Everyone loves jewelry. And if they say they don’t, it’s either because they can’t afford it, or it doesn’t look good on them. Like it does on me.”

I sighed. This was a damn disaster. This was a circus, and I was the unwilling ringleader. Still, if we couldn’t get any DNA from Dylan at this dinner, I could probably get some hair strands from his pillow tomorrow morning. But I was running out of time. Zeke hadn’t given me much time to figure out if Dylan was Marcus’s kid. Ruth needed to work her magic tonight.

Speaking of Ruth, she circled the table, wielding a water pitcher like it was a magical staff. As she approached Dylan, she shot me a series of exaggerated wide eyes and hand gestures that looked like a mix between someone ripping imaginary hair and conducting an orchestra. I nearly choked on my water, trying not to laugh.

Subtle, Ruth. Real subtle.

She stopped behind Dylan, the picture of innocence, and began pouring water into his glass. Then, she “accidentally” tripped next to his chair. “Oops!” she cried, clutching the table for dramatic effect as the pitcher wobbled dangerously in her other hand.

“Are you okay?” asked Marcus, staring at Ruth as though he wasn’t sure she was really herself.

“Oh, I’m fine, fine.” Ruth brushed off imaginary dust from her skirt. “Just a little spill. Nothing to see here.”

In the commotion, a tiny pair of scissors had magically appeared in her hand. With a quick and totally-not-suspicious snip, she snagged a strand of Dylan’s hair. She straightened up, hiding the hair in her pocket as she refilled the rest of Dylan’s glass like nothing had happened.

Dylan looked up at her, confused. “Um… thanks?”

“Anytime, sweetie,” said Ruth, beaming down at him. She shot me another triumphant look over his head, her eyebrows wiggling so hard I was surprised they didn’t fly off her face. I bit down on my lip to keep from laughing, giving her the tiniest nod of approval.

I turned my attention back to Dylan, who was now looking at Ruth with a wary expression, like he suspected he was the butt of some inside joke.

“Everything okay?” I asked him, forcing a smile.

He nodded slowly, his eyes flicking back to the pizza. “Yeah. Fine.”

I wasn’t sure if he was talking about the pizza or the entire situation, but I decided not to push my luck. For now, we had what we needed. And hopefully, Marcus hadn’t noticed the shenanigans we’d just pulled right under his nose.

If the test proved Dylan was Marcus’s son, then what? Would Zeke really take him away? And if he wasn’t…

I swallowed hard. What was he hiding? And why did my instincts scream that I was missing something big?

Dylan glanced up at me then, just for a split second, his gray eyes narrowing before he quickly looked away.

We had his DNA. Mission accomplished. For now.

But I had a terrible feeling that soon, this peaceful dinner would be a distant memory—and everything was about to change.

13

Islipped one of Marcus’s T-shirts over my head, the soft cotton falling past my hips like the world’s most comfortable nightgown. These shirts had been my go-to for the past two weeks—Marcus’s scent lingering, except now it was my armor against the mess downstairs. Between dinner, Dylan, and everything else, I was in desperate need of a time-out.

After dinner at Davenport House, Marcus and Dylan had stayed downstairs to watch TV. Totally fine by me. I needed time to figure out how I was going to tell Marcus about Annie’s death and, oh yeah, the not-so-subtle death threat someone had sent me regarding our baby. Nothing like a little late-night existential dread to help you sleep.

But, of course, the universe—or more specifically, Vara—had other plans.

As soon as we walked into the cottage, she pounced like an overzealous cat.

“Your baby is fine, Marcus,” she said, her voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “The healer did the ultrasound today, and your child is in perfect health.”

Yup. I was officially adding “deep-fried doula” to tonight’s menu.

Marcus turned, his face lighting up. “Why didn’t you tell me you went to a healer today?”

Because I was too busy dodging the bossy doula and my mother, I wanted to say, but instead, I gave Vara a look that I wished could turn her to stone. “It just happened,” I said, forcing a smile. “And you were busy.”

Marcus pulled me into one of his hugs—the kind that made the rest of the world disappear, if only for a second. “That’s great,” he said softly, squeezing me just a little tighter. “I’m so happy to hear that.”

I looked over his shoulder at Dylan, expecting to see some flicker of emotion. Jealousy, curiosity, something. But no. The kid was staring into space. Nothing. Nada. Just a big ol’ wall of apathy.

Before I could process that, Marcus released me, and Vara swooped. “Here,” she said, practically shoving a plate of muffins into my hands, along with a glass of water. “I fixed you a little snack before bedtime.”

A snack? Before bedtime? What was next, a lullaby and a bedtime story?

“No thanks.” I moved past her, making for the stairs.

Vara gasped dramatically, her voice rising. “It’s for the baby. You must have at least one. You don’t want your baby to miss any important nutrients. Do you?”

I paused on the stairs, my fingers gripping the railing, and turned my head just enough to respond without looking directly at her. “The baby is fine,” I said firmly, my tone leaving no room for argument.

From the corner of my eye, I could see Vara bristle, her jaw tightening like she was gearing up for round two. But I wasn’t sticking around for the encore. Without waiting for her inevitable rebuttal, I marched up the stairs, leaving her and her nutrient-packed muffins in the dust. One more word out of her, and I would make her eat them.

By the time I reached my room, I was already regretting not snapping back at her, but then again, I was trying to keep my stress levels down for the baby.

Which is why I decided to stay in my room for the rest of the night. I didn’t want to accidentally burn the doula to a crisp. Mother wouldn’t be pleased.

I flopped onto the bed, grabbing my laptop, and opened it on my thighs.

The glow of the Merlin Database login screen greeted me like an old friend. Or maybe an old frenemy. It was hard to tell these days.

I logged in. “Okay, Vara. Let’s see who you really are.”

I typed Vara’s full name—Vara Vale, which I’d overheard her telling Marcus earlier—into the search bar and hit enter, half expecting to find a list of criminal records, shady dealings, or at least an unpaid parking ticket. Something. Anything. Instead, what popped up were glowing reviews that practically made her sound like the Mother Teresa of doulas.

“Best doula ever. She transformed my pregnancy experience!” one review gushed.

“Highly recommend Vara. She’s a literal lifesaver. Five stars!” another chimed in, complete with a string of glittery heart emojis.

“Oh, come on,” I mumbled, scrolling further, hoping for a shred of controversy. “She can’t be that perfect.”

The reviews continued to paint her as a saint. A paragon of wisdom. A goddess among mere mortals. It was nauseating. And it explained exactly why my mother had been so quick to hire her. Amelia Davenport lived for glowing reviews.

I gritted my teeth and shut the laptop harder than necessary. “Of course, she’s a magical angel on paper. Figures.”

Just then, the door creaked open, and I looked up to see Marcus poking his head in, his usual easygoing smile lighting up his face. “You hiding in here?” he teased.

I shrugged, setting the laptop on the nightstand. “Just enjoying the peace and quiet. Until someone comes in with muffins, that is.”

He chuckled and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “That bad, huh?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” I said, flopping back onto the pillows as Marcus approached the bed.

Without a word, he slid onto the mattress beside me, propping himself up on one elbow and resting his head in his hand. “So,” he said, his gray eyes glinting with amusement. “Want to tell me what’s got you hiding from the world?”

I turned my head to look at him, my heart doing that annoying flutter thing it always did when he gave me that boyish grin. “Oh, you know. Just dodging overly aggressive doulas and casually pretending I have this whole ‘creating a baby’ thing under control. Totally normal day.”

Marcus leaned over and kissed my temple, his lips warm and familiar. “You’re handling it all like a champ.”

“Am I, though?” I said, my voice tinged with self-doubt. “Because it feels more like I’m just holding it together with duct tape and hope.”

“You are,” he said with a smirk. “But it’s damn impressive duct tape.”

I laughed despite myself, the sound easing some of the tension in my chest. Marcus had that effect on me, making everything feel just a little less overwhelming. And hot. Did I mention how hot he was?

Marcus folded his arms behind his head, making his biceps bulge. “Vara’s not that bad. She might be a bit overzealous. But it’s what she does. It’s all for the baby.”

I sighed. He was right. But he didn’t have to know that. “Fine.” I tapped my thigh with my finger, my mind racing.

“What’s up with you?” asked the chief. “Is there something you’re not telling me.”

Yup. There is.

I swung off the bed and marched to the dresser, yanking open the first drawer. As I rummaged through the mess that was my underwear collection—lace, cotton, and one pair that I swore had lost a battle with the washing machine—I cringed at the thought of my mother’s judgment. She’d probably faint at the sight, clutching her pearls and muttering about “proper drawer organization.”

Finally, my fingers brushed against the edge of the white card. I pulled it out and turned back to Marcus. With a deep breath, I handed it over. “This came through our toaster two weeks ago,” I said, as if that sentence made any sense in the real world.

He blinked, glancing from me to the card, and then back at me. “Our toaster?”

“Yes, ours,” I told him. “You know, the magical messenger system we didn’t ask for but apparently came free with the cottage.”

The chief’s expression darkened as he read the card. “Your baby is an abomination. You can’t protect it forever.”

Marcus’s jaw tightened, his fingers clenching the card so hard I thought it might disintegrate in his hands. His gray eyes darkened, and the veins in his neck popped like he was seconds away from beasting out into his King Kong alter ego.

“This came two weeks ago?” His voice was low and controlled, but I knew better. That was the before the storm voice. The one that came right before he exploded. Uh-oh.

I winced. “Uh… yes?”

His head snapped up, his gaze pinning me in place. “And you didn’t think to tell me? For two weeks?”

I rubbed the back of my neck, avoiding eye contact. “Well… I didn’t want to stress you out. You’ve been dealing with the baby and work and, you know, life. Plus…” I paused, swallowing hard. “I didn’t know what to do about it.”

“Didn’t know what to do about it?” he repeated, his voice rising slightly. “Tessa, this is a direct threat. To our baby. And you thought, Oh, I’ll just shove it in my underwear drawer and hope for the best?”

“When you say it like that, it sounds ridiculous,” I mumbled.

“That’s because it is ridiculous!” he snapped, running a hand through his hair. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was… in denial,” I admitted, totally true. “Okay? So I screwed up. I should have told you earlier. Part of me thought if I ignored it, it would go away. And, honestly, I’ve been dealing with a lot lately. A surprise kid showing up on our doorstep. Vara trying to mother me to death. The festival, the ley line incident, and my relentless craving for bacon—by the way, thanks for keeping that gene out of the fridge.”

Marcus glowered at me. “What ley line incident?”

Ooops. “Just that I don’t think I can use the ley lines anymore. Not until the baby is born.”

“Tessa.”

“Marcus.”

“This isn’t funny,” growled Marcus, waving the card in the air. “This is serious. You’ve been walking around with this hanging over your head, alone, for two weeks?”

I crossed my arms defensively. “It’s not like I haven’t been handling it.”

“Oh, really? Let’s hear it.”

I bit my lip and avoided his gaze. “Actually… I didn’t tell anyone. Not even my aunts. I’ve been trying to figure it out on my own.”

Marcus stared at me, his jaw tightening. “Two weeks,” he repeated.

I threw my hands up defensively. “What was I supposed to do? Gather the family around for a toaster threat unveiling? ‘Hey, everyone, look at this card of doom that popped up between the waffles.’”

His eyebrows shot up, unimpressed. “Yes, actually, that’s exactly what you should’ve done.”

I winced. Okay, maybe he had a point. “I just… I didn’t want to freak anyone out until I had a plan.”

“And how’s that plan coming along?” His tone was dry, but his eyes searched mine, full of frustration mixed with worry.

“Not great,” I admitted, slumping onto the edge of the bed. “I’ve been doing the whole ‘lone wolf detective’ thing, which, shocker, turns out I’m terrible at.” I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “I thought if I could figure out who had sent it, at least I’d have something to go on. But I didn’t exactly make a ton of progress.”

Marcus’s expression softened—just a little, though his frustration was still written all over his face. He exhaled sharply and sat next to me, pulling me to his side. “Tessa, I get it. You wanted to protect me. But we’re supposed to be in this together. You can’t take this kind of thing on alone.”

I rested my head on his shoulder, feeling the tension in his body even as he held me close. “I know,” I murmured. “I just didn’t want to add more to your plate.”

He leaned down and kissed the top of my head. “You are my plate. You and the baby. Everything else is just noise.”

I let out a snort, despite myself. “Great. Now I feel like a Christmas turkey.”

“You’re more like dessert,” he said with a faint smile, though his tone still carried a hint of worry. “No more secrets. Especially not ones that involve threats to our family.”

“Got it,” I said softly, though remorse still gnawed at me. I wanted to promise him I wouldn’t keep things from him again, but the truth was… my instincts to protect him were strong. Too strong. For now, though, I’d let him believe I was handing over the reins. At least until I figured out what our next move was.

Marcus leaned in and kissed my neck, sending tiny thrills shooting straight down to my toes. “Come, wife,” he murmured in that deep, commanding voice of his.

I think I might have purred.

His big, callused hands slid over my thighs, leaving a trail of goosebumps and very inappropriate thoughts in their wake.

“I’ve been a very bad witch,” I whispered, my voice dripping with faux innocence. “Are you going to punish me?”

The chief growled—a real, honest-to-goodness growl—and before I could say another word, he actually ripped—ripped—the T-shirt I was wearing, leaving me sitting there in nothing but my panties and my dignity.

“Will I be punished many times?” I asked breathlessly as he leaned down and kissed my left breast, his stubble grazing my skin in the most delicious way.

“Oh, yeah,” he rumbled, his broad shoulders flexing as he trailed his lips down to my stomach. His hands gripped my hips, pulling me closer until his hard chest pressed against mine. It was like hugging a granite statue—a very sexy, very alive granite statue.

“I’ve missed this,” I admitted, inhaling his intoxicating scent—some mix of musk, spice, and pure male. Ever since I told him I was pregnant, our bedroom activities had slowed to a crawl, mostly because he seemed worried about, I don’t know, breaking me or something. It was sweet, in a frustratingly abstinent sort of way.

Marcus growled again, a sound that vibrated through my whole body, and captured my lips with his in a kiss that made my brain short-circuit. The kind of kiss that makes you forget your own name and lose all sense of time and space.

And then, right as I was ready to kiss coherent thoughts goodbye forever, he pulled back just enough to say, “I’ll put a surveillance team around the house.”

I blinked. “I’m sorry, what now? Are we multitasking during foreplay?”

He didn’t smile. “I’m serious. It’s necessary. Not negotiable.”

“Well, way to kill the mood,” I muttered, though I knew he was right. His hands slid down my waist, and despite my grumbling, I couldn’t help the shiver that ran through me when his skin touched mine. “Fine. If it makes you feel better, I’ll live in a bubble of paranoia.”

“It’s not paranoia,” he said, his eyes dark and intense. “It’s protecting you. And the baby.”

Right. Of course he was right.

Marcus growled again, and this time there was no talking. He kissed me so deeply my eyes rolled back in my head, and I was officially done for. My body was practically vibrating with need, and all I could think was, finally.

And then it was on. Like, on. Marcus dipped his head, caught the edge of my panties with his teeth, and pulled them down like some kind of wereape magician. My body was seconds away from officially declaring this the best night of my life, when—of course—a knock came from the door.

“Are you freaking kidding me right now?” I groaned, flopping back onto the bed.

“Who is it?” Marcus asked, his voice a mix of annoyance and barely contained lust.

“Dad?” came Dylan’s muffled voice from the other side of the door. “I can’t get the app to work.”

Marcus froze, his head dropping onto my shoulder with an exaggerated groan. “The kid has the worst timing.”

I smirked, trying not to laugh. “Parenthood looks good on you, Chief.”

He lifted his head, glaring at the door like he was seriously considering ripping it off its hinges. “Five minutes. Is that too much to ask?”

“For us? Apparently,” I said with a grin, pushing him off me and grabbing the nearest blanket. “Welcome to your new life.”

I watched as my hot, almost-sexy-time husband stepped out of our bedroom, his broad shoulders and perfect jean-wearing backside disappearing out the door like some kind of cruel tease from the universe.

I flopped back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. “Well, that’s it,” I muttered to myself. “My sex life is officially over.”

14

Iwoke up the next morning grumpy, still orgasm-less, and now annoyed that I’d been abandoned. Again. My bed felt cold, empty, and honestly a little betrayed, like it missed Marcus too.

I vaguely remembered him getting up early, leaning down to kiss me, and whispering, “Going to the office.” In my half-asleep state, I’d groaned something unintelligible that was probably a mix of “Don’t go” and “Bring back breakfast,” but he was gone before I could fully form a coherent thought.

And then it hit me. Again. The guilt. Annie. Dead Annie. The woman who’d apparently liked Marcus enough to have his child but just not enough to mention it. Or, you know, to keep breathing long enough to explain herself. I hadn’t told him. I’d fallen asleep last night, putting it off like it was an appointment I could just reschedule for next year. Now it was eating away at me.

I groaned and flung the blankets off, glaring at the sunlight streaming in through the windows like it had the audacity to be cheerful. “Fine, universe,” I muttered, swinging my legs off the bed. “I get it. I suck.”

After a quick shower, I brushed my teeth and pulled on a gray yoga outfit that miraculously still fit without the assistance of Martha’s magical spray. Small wins.

I trudged downstairs, fully prepared to face that meddling doula. What I wasn’t prepared for was the sight of Dylan and Vara standing in the kitchen, their tense body language making it obvious they were in the middle of an argument. Dylan’s arms were crossed, his small face warped in anger, while Vara loomed over him, her hands on her hips as her mouth moved in a tight, rapid rhythm.

I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Dylan’s expression was enough to make me pause. He wasn’t just annoyed. He was furious. And something about the way he clenched his fists at his sides sent a ripple of unease through me. For an eleven-year-old, he had an intensity that was unnerving.

“What’s going on here?” I asked, stepping into the kitchen. “Are you two fighting?”

Vara turned, her face immediately shifting into that calm, overly pleasant mask she always wore around me. “Nothing to worry about, dear,” she said with a dismissive wave. “I was just teaching Dylan some manners.”

My eyes flicked to Dylan, who looked like he wanted to launch himself at the doula. “Should you be doing that?” I asked, keeping my tone even but firm. “That’s up to Marcus. Not you.”

For a split second, Vara’s calm demeanor cracked. Her eyes widened in shock, and her mouth opened like she was about to protest. Please say something so I can fire you, I thought. Do it. Give me one reason.

But Vara, the professional—or maybe just good at pretending—clamped her mouth shut and spun away. Without a word, she walked over to the cupboard, pulled out my giant prenatal pills, and poured a glass of water.

“Here,” she said, handing them to me with a tight-lipped smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “For the baby.”

I stared at her, half-expecting her to add a snide comment or a passive-aggressive dig, but she didn’t. She just stood there, waiting for me to take the pills.

“Thanks,” I said flatly, popping the pills into my mouth and taking a big swig of water. I swallowed, watching her the whole time and waiting for her to slip up. But she didn’t. She just nodded and turned back to the counter, as if the entire exchange hadn’t happened.

Dylan, still standing by the table, avoided my gaze. His anger had melted into something quieter—resentment, maybe, or just exhaustion. I wasn’t sure.

“You okay?” I asked him softly, but he just shrugged, his eyes fixed on the floor.

I glanced back at Vara, who was now slicing fruit with the precision of a master chef, her back to both of us.

Dylan finally spoke, his voice low and tight. “I’m Fine.”

But as the words left his mouth, I caught it again—that strange ripple in his features. It wasn’t dramatic, just a faint flicker, like a glitch in a video game or a trick of the light. But it was there. I wanted to ask him about it, but I had a feeling he’d just lie to me. Like he was lying about his mother not being dead.

I cleared my throat, forcing myself to act normal. “Listen, I have to pop next door for a bit,” I said, glancing at Vara. “Can I leave Dylan with you for an hour or so? I have… some things I need to do.”

Dylan didn’t say anything. He didn’t object, didn’t argue, didn’t even look at me. He just sat there, his small frame rigid and his jaw clenched so tightly I thought it might shatter. It was unsettling, to say the least.

Vara, on the other hand, lit up like I’d just handed her the keys to a shiny new cauldron. “Yes, of course,” she said, her smile so wide it could’ve been an ad for toothpaste. “This is why I’m here—to help.”

I hesitated, glancing between the two of them. After seeing their little spat moments ago, the idea of leaving Dylan with Vara didn’t exactly fill me with confidence. But I was just going next door.

“Okay,” I said slowly. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Vara nodded, her smile still firmly in place, and Dylan stayed silent, his body trembling in anger. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was… off, but I pushed it aside. This was a quick trip. What could go wrong? I couldn’t think about that right now.

I slipped on my garden clogs, grabbed my gray wool cardigan from the wooden pegs by the door, and headed outside.

After a few strides, I stepped into Davenport House, the door creaking softly as I pushed it open. Before I even had a chance to close it behind me, Ruth’s voice erupted, a high-pitched wail that rattled my soul like nails on a chalkboard in surround sound.

“She’s gone! Gone!”

I froze mid-step, my hand still on the doorknob. “Who’s gone?” I asked, my voice steady, though my heart had started a panicked drumbeat in my chest. I shut the door behind me and moved toward the kitchen, where I could hear murmured voices.

As I entered, the scene before me was grim. Dolores and Beverly sat at the kitchen table, their faces long and worried. Hildo was perched on the counter, his tail swatting irately with his eyes sharp and alert. And Ruth—poor Ruth—was pacing the room, clutching a tissue in one hand and wiping at her tear-streaked face with the other.

“Who’s missing?” I repeated, scanning their faces for answers.

Ruth turned to me, her eyes watery and red. “Tinker Bell,” she said, her voice breaking. “She never came home last night.”

I blinked, processing her words. It wasn’t like Ruth to get this worked up, but then again, she was deeply sensitive when it came to creatures. The fairy was her tiny, glittery companion, and it made perfect sense that Ruth would be on the verge of a meltdown over her disappearance.

“I’m sure she’ll be back,” I said, trying to inject some calm into the room. “Maybe she just needed a little… fairy me-time?”

Ruth shook her head violently, her white hair bouncing with the motion. “No! She’s never been gone this long. And never without Hildo.”

All eyes turned to the sleek black cat perched on the counter.

“We didn’t go hunting last night,” said Hildo, his voice low but tense, like someone carefully measuring their words. “Stayed in. Tinker Bell said she wanted to go out for a bit, but…” He flattened his ears. “She didn’t come back.”

Ruth let out another small sob, clutching her tissue tighter. “She always comes back. What if something happened to her? What if she’s—” She broke off, unable to finish the sentence.

“Hey,” I said gently, stepping forward and placing a hand on Ruth’s shoulder. “Don’t go there, okay? Let’s not jump to conclusions. We’ll figure it out.”

But even as I said the words, a knot of unease formed in my stomach. Tinker Bell was tiny but fierce, and the thought of her alone and in trouble didn’t sit well with me. Something about this felt off.

“She’s tougher than she looks,” I added, trying to reassure both Ruth and myself. “Maybe she got distracted. Found something shiny and lost track of time.”

“She never loses track of time.” Ruth’s voice trembled. “She’s smarter than that. Something’s wrong. I can feel it.”

Dolores, who had been quiet up until now, let out a sigh. “Well, sitting here worrying isn’t going to help. We should start looking.”

“Agreed,” Beverly chimed in, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “The poor thing’s out there somewhere, and if we don’t hurry and find her, Ruth’s going to stress herself into a whole new set of wrinkles. And trust me… those cannot be reversed.”

I glanced at Hildo whose tail was still flicking angrily, watching us with sharp eyes. “You’re sure she said she was just stepping out?”

Hildo nodded once. “Said she’d be back before dawn. She wasn’t worried about anything. Just… casual.” His tail flicked again, his voice dropping a notch. “But it’s not like her to not keep her word.”

Ruth paced the room, her hands clutching at her apron like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to the ground. “I’m going to see Marcus,” she declared, her voice resolute but wobbly. “He needs to put the town on high alert. Everyone should be out there looking for Tinker Bell.”

My heart ached at the sight of her. Ruth, who was always the cheerful, nurturing presence in our lives, now looked like she was on the verge of falling apart. Her wild eyes darted around the room like she was searching for answers in the wallpaper.

Dolores let out a long sigh, her arms crossed. “Ruth, you know Marcus isn’t going to do that. A missing fairy doesn’t qualify as an emergency.”

Ruth’s head snapped toward Dolores, and she glared at her sister. “Doesn’t qualify as an emergency?” she repeated, her voice shrill. “Tinker Bell is a living, breathing being. She’s part of this family. How can you say that?”

Beverly leaned back in her chair with a smirk. “You know what is an emergency? Me not having a date for Friday night. Now that’s a crisis.”

Dolores shot her a look that could curdle milk. “Could you not?”

“What?” Beverly asked with an exaggerated shrug. “I’m just saying. Priorities.”

Ruth threw her hands up in exasperation and started muttering to herself, something about “heartless sisters” and “no appreciation for fairies.” She began rummaging through the kitchen drawers, pulling out random objects like a flashlight, a magnifying glass, and what appeared to be a bird whistle.

“Ruth,” I said gently, stepping toward her. “Let’s take a breath, okay? Marcus is busy, and—”

“I don’t care how busy he is!” Ruth snapped, her voice cracking. “He’ll listen to me. He knows how important Tinker Bell is. He has to do something.”

I exchanged a worried glance with Dolores, who simply shook her head, her expression grim. Beverly was inspecting her nails as if she hadn’t just poured gasoline on the situation.

“Ruth,” I tried again, my tone softer this time. “I know you’re upset, and I promise we’ll figure this out. But storming into Marcus’s office might not be the best approach right now.”

Ruth’s frantic movements slowed, and for a moment, I thought I’d gotten through to her. But then she turned to Hildo. “And you,” she said, pointing a shaky finger at the cat. “You were supposed to keep an eye on her! How could you let her just wander off?”

Hildo let out a low, disgruntled meow. “I’m not her keeper, Ruth. She’s a free spirit. You know that.”

Ruth’s face crumpled, and she sank into a chair, clutching the bird whistle. My heart coiled at the sight. I wanted to comfort her, to promise that everything would be okay, but the truth was, I didn’t know that it would be. Not this time.

I wanted to ask about the DNA potion, to see if Ruth had made any progress, but now wasn’t the time. Not when she was like this. Not when the house felt heavy with the weight of her distress.

Beverly broke the silence, her voice uncharacteristically soft. “We’ll find her, Ruth. She’s tough, that one. Probably out there scaring off raccoons or charming some unsuspecting birdwatcher with her sexy legs.”

“Seriously?” Dolores scowled.

Beverly shrugged. “What? She does have great legs.”

Ruth sniffled, dabbing at her eyes with a corner of her apron. “You really think we’ll find her?”

“I know so,” Beverly said with a wink. “Fairies don’t just disappear without a reason. She’ll come back when she’s ready. Probably with a story to tell.”

Dolores let out a low sigh. “Until then, let’s not lose our heads. Okay? We’ll keep an eye out, but we need to stay grounded.”

I nodded, though I couldn’t shake the unease coiling in my gut. Something about this felt… wrong. Tinker Bell wouldn’t just vanish. Not like this. So what was I missing?

Ruth sniffed, and I put a hand on her shoulder. “We’re going to find her. I promise.”

She gave me a watery smile, though her eyes were still filled with worry. “Thank you, Tessa. I just… I can’t lose her.”

“You won’t,” I said firmly, though the uneasy churn in my gut warned me this was far from over.

Ruth sat upright suddenly, clutching the bird whistle tighter, her wide, tear-streaked eyes boring into me. “Tessa, do you think… do you think she went back to Storybook? Or…” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Do you think Samael came to claim her? What if… what if he’s hurting her?”

I shook my head, exhaling sharply. “No, Ruth. Samael’s just a little kid now. A very creepy, very powerful little kid, sure, but still a kid. He’s probably off somewhere tormenting mortals with his parents, like all godlings do on the weekends.”

Ruth sniffed, her hands twisting in her lap. “Are you sure? You know how protective Tinker Bell is. She’d never just leave me. Something happened to her. I know it.”

“Samael doesn’t care about fairies,” I told her. “He’s too busy ruining someone’s perfectly fine existence. This isn’t him.”

I stood there, trying to piece together the jumbled puzzle of emotions and instinct in my head.

And then it hit me. Like a lightning bolt straight to my witchy gut.

“I know who has her,” I said, the words tumbling out before I could think them through.

Ruth froze, her tear-streaked face lifting to meet mine. “You do? Who? Who took Tinky?”

My lips parted, the realization settling like lead in my chest. “Dylan.”

15

Okay, so storming into my cottage like a woman on a mission—with three furious witches flanking me—might not have been my brightest move. But hey, desperate times called for desperate measures, and my gut was screaming at me that Dylan had Tinker Bell.

Judging by his reaction when he’d seen her yesterday, the twitchy, hissy thing he’d done that gave me serious Exorcist vibes, I knew he had Tinky. And I was going to find her. Because if he’d done something to her—cauldron help us—I had no idea how I was going to handle it.

I shoved open the front door, my aunts stomping in behind me. Vara was at the kitchen sink, scrubbing dishes with a vigor that suggested she had unresolved feelings about something—probably my existence—and Dylan was sprawled on the couch, flipping through a comic book like he didn’t have a care in the world.

He looked up as we entered, his eyes widening at the sight of my witch brigade.

“Tessa?” Vara said, wiping her hands on a dish towel, her tone already edging toward disapproval. “What’s going on?”

I ignored her and zeroed in on Dylan, who suddenly looked very small and very nervous. “Where is she?”

He blinked. “What?”

“Tinker Bell,” I snapped, my hands on my hips. “Where is she?”

Dylan sat up straighter, the comic slipping from his lap. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Lie. His face rippled again, that strange distortion flickering across his features before settling back into place. I narrowed my eyes.

“You’re lying,” I said, my voice low and dangerous. “I saw the way you looked at her yesterday. So, I’ll ask again. Where is she?”

“I don’t have her!” he said, his voice rising an octave. “I swear!”

To my surprise, Vara stepped forward, her expression tight but calm. “He’s just a boy, Tessa. Don’t you think you’re being a little harsh?”

I turned to her, my temper flaring. “No, I don’t. And frankly, Vara, this is none of your business.”

Her lips thinned, and she straightened her spine, looking affronted. “It is my business when it concerns the well-being of this child or any child. He’s been through enough. Don’t you think?”

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to remain calm. Barely. “With all due respect, Vara, if Dylan took Tinker Bell, then it is my business. So, unless you have something helpful to add, I suggest you stay out of it.”

Ruth was glaring daggers at Vara, and for a moment, I thought she was going to tackle her. Instead, she muttered something about “meddling know-it-alls” and crossed her arms.

“Dylan,” I said again, stepping closer to him. “I’m not mad. I just want to know where she is.” Nah, I was mad as hell, but whatever.

“I told you,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “I don’t know!”

I studied him, my gut twisting. He looked scared, and that ripple in his face had returned. Something wasn’t right. Something about him wasn’t… real.

Fine. If he wasn’t going to tell me, I’d find out myself.

Without another word, I turned and marched in the direction of the stairs.

“Tessa, what are you doing?” Vara’s voice followed me, sharp and disapproving.

I turned just long enough to see her moving to block my way. Her arms were crossed, her posture stiff, and the sharp lift of her chin made it clear. She thought was in charge here.

Oh, hell no.

Before I could respond, Dolores stepped forward, placing herself squarely between us. She tilted her head at Vara, her eyes narrowing to slits. “You don’t want to mess with us, doula,” she said, her voice low and deadly.

Vara hesitated, her face flinching with uncertainty. Apparently, she wasn’t ready to test her luck against Dolores’s badass witch powers. Good call.

Taking advantage of the standoff, I bolted up the stairs, my heart pounding in my chest. If Tinker Bell was here, I was going to find her.

I threw open Dylan’s bedroom door, my eyes darting around the space. It was weirdly tidy—suspiciously tidy. No doubt Vara had a hand in that.

“Where are you, Tinky?” I called out, moving toward the closet and yanking the door open.

Nothing.

I dropped to my knees and peered under the bed, half-expecting to see her tied up with dental floss or maybe even duct tape. But again, nothing.

I moved to Dylan’s dresser, pulling open drawers and rifling through neatly folded clothes. Nothing. Then I turned to his bed, flipping up the pillows and checking under the blanket. Still nothing.

Frustration hit as I straightened and surveyed the room again. My gaze landed on Dylan’s backpack sitting neatly on the desk chair, and my gut clenched.

I reached for it. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, a mix of determination and dread coursing through me. Something told me this was my smoking gun.

But before I could open it, an idea struck me. “House,” I said, looking around the ceiling and feeling foolish that I hadn’t thought of this in the first place. “Is Tinker Bell in this room?”

The pipes creaked, groaned, and let out a low, gurgling sound that I immediately recognized as House’s way of saying no.

Damn it.

“Where are you, Tinker Bell?” I whispered, my voice shaky with mounting defeat. After what felt like an eternity of searching, I realized there was one other place I hadn’t checked.

Vara’s room.

The thought gnawed at me, but if she was hiding something, I was going to find out. Yes, House could have “showed” me in his own way if Tinky was here. But Vara was a witch, and it was totally possible she’d thrown up a glamour or some kind of cloaking spell, making it impossible for House to detect her.

Yeah, she was going down.

Just as I moved toward the door, ready to check her space, the sound of heavy boots echoed from the stairs.

“Tessa?” Marcus’s deep voice called out, sharp and laced with confusion.

I froze, my stomach sinking. Crap.

A moment later, Marcus appeared in the doorway, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene—me standing in the middle of Dylan’s room, drawers open, blankets tossed aside, and sheer guilt written all over my face.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, his tone a mix of anger and bewilderment.

“I know this looks bad,” I said quickly, raising my hands in surrender. “But I can explain.”

Marcus folded his arms across his chest, his piercing gray eyes narrowing. “Vara called me and said you were being cruel to Dylan.”

My jaw dropped, and I felt my blood pressure shoot through the roof. Cruel to Dylan? Of course, she’d spin it like that.

“How did you get here so fast?” It was like he’d moved ley-line fast.

“I was on my way here,” answered the chief, looking just as mad as I was at the moment. “What’s going on?”

I jabbed a finger toward the floor, words flying out of my mouth. “Tinker Bell is missing. And I believe Dylan took her.”

Marcus’s face shifted from angry to full-on livid, his brows drawing tight as his jaw locked. It was that look he saved for moments right before he either beasted out into his gorilla form or unleashed his commanding alpha presence—the kind that could silence a room and make people rethink their life choices. “How can you say that?”

“Because he’s a liar.” At the horror on my husband’s face, I quickly added, “He lied about his mother. Did he tell you she was dead? By the look on your face, I’m going with a big fat no. He lied about that, Marcus. And he’s lying about this. I know it.”

Marcus blinked, his anger momentarily replaced with confusion. “Wait—what are you talking about? How do you know about Annie?”

I hesitated, suddenly realizing I might have just dug myself into a deeper hole. “I made some calls,” I said, my voice measured, like I hadn’t just admitted to poking around his past.

Marcus crossed his arms, his jaw tightening. “What calls? To who, Tessa?”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I bit my lip, avoiding his piercing gaze. “To Zeke,” I admitted. This was not how I had planned to tell him. A for effort? More like an F for execution. “I called Zeke, and he confirmed that Annie’s been dead for three years.”

Marcus stared at me like I’d just grown a second head. “You called Zeke?” he repeated, his tone a mix of disbelief and irritation. “Why would you do that?”

“I wanted answers,” I shot back, the frustration rising. “I wanted to know why she dumped Dylan on our doorstep without a single explanation. And now I know—because she couldn’t. She’s dead, Marcus. Dead for three years.”

His face softened for just a moment before hardening again. “You should’ve told me. I deserved to know that.”

“I know. I should’ve told you. But I didn’t want to upset you until I had more answers. Real facts.”

Marcus ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. “And what else did Zeke say? What else aren’t you telling me?”

I opened my mouth, half-expecting the words to tumble out: Zeke’s coming to take Dylan. He gave me three days to figure it out, and if Dylan’s not yours, he’s taking him back to New York. But something stopped me.

Maybe it was the way Marcus looked—tired, overwhelmed, like the weight of the world was already on his shoulders. Or maybe it was the shame I felt for not trusting him enough to tell him everything. Either way, I stayed silent.

“Nothing else,” I lied, my voice steady. “That’s it. He confirmed she was gone. Died in a car crash. That’s all.” Yeah, lying to my husband wasn’t a smart move. But I was protecting him. Until I had real facts, proof, I wasn’t going to burden him with this. Not yet.

Marcus stared at me for a long moment, his eyes searching mine for something—truth, maybe, or reassurance. And for a moment, I thought he was going to say something about Zeke—that he knew, somehow, about the alpha’s plans to claim Dylan. But he didn’t.

Marcus’s eyes flicked between mine, his fury now mingled with something else—sadness? Confusion? “This kid’s been through hell. My kid. And now you’re accusing him of kidnapping a fairy? Do you hear yourself right now?”

“Yes, my ears work just fine. And if you’d seen the way he reacted to Tinker Bell yesterday, you’d be hearing me too. He hissed at her, Marcus. Hissed. Like some kind of unhinged snake.”

Marcus shook his head, muttering under his breath before looking back at me. “He’s a kid, Tessa. Kids get scared or weirded out by things they don’t understand.”

I crossed my arms, glaring at him. “This wasn’t him being scared. This was… something else. Something off.”

“And your solution is to tear apart his room and accuse him of stealing a fairy?” His voice was low, controlled, but I could see the volcano of anger rising.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. “I’m not just accusing him for no reason. He lied about his mother, Marcus. What else is he hiding? And where exactly do you think Tinker Bell is? She didn’t just fly off into the sunset without telling Ruth.”

Marcus’s face tightened, and I could tell he was trying to process everything I was throwing at him. But I wasn’t done.

“Look,” I continued, my voice softer but still firm. “I know you care about him. I get that. But we can’t ignore the fact that something isn’t adding up here. If I’m wrong, fine. I’ll apologize to Dylan myself. But if I’m right…”

Marcus shook his head, his expression pained. “Tessa, this isn’t just about you being wrong or right. This is about how we treat him. He’s a kid. And he’s been through enough already without being accused of something like this.”

I sighed, frustration gnawing at my insides. “And what if he did do it? What then, Marcus? Are we just going to sweep it under the rug?”

His silence spoke volumes.

“I’m going to keep looking,” I said finally, my voice steely with determination. “Because if Tinker Bell is in trouble, I’m not going to sit around and do nothing.”

Before Marcus could respond, a small voice came from the doorway. “What’s going on?”

We both turned to see Dylan standing there, his face pale and his eyes wide with something that looked like a mix of fear and confusion.

And then I saw it—the subtle ripple in his features, the one I’d seen before when he was nervous or lying.

“Dylan,” I said, keeping my tone as calm as I could. “Do you know where Tinker Bell is?”

His hands fidgeted at his sides, his eyes darting to Marcus for support before landing back on me. “No. I told you. I don’t know.”

Liar.

“Dylan,” said Marcus, his tone steady but weighted with expectation. “If you know something, now’s the time to tell us.”

“I don’t know anything!” Dylan blurted, his voice cracking as the words tumbled out too fast. That ripple passed over his face again—a subtle shift that sent a chill through me. He was hiding something.

“Did you see that?” I asked Marcus.

The chief looked at me, confused. “See what?”

“Nothing.” I glanced at Dylan again and then back to Marcus. “You can believe him if you want, but I’m not letting this go. Not until I find Tinker Bell.”

Marcus’s face hardened, a storm brewing in his eyes. “It’s over. He didn’t do it.”

“Something is wrong, Marcus. Can’t you feel it? He’s lying.”

Marcus’s hands clenched at his sides, and for a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something more, but instead, he drew in a deep breath, steadying himself. “Drop it, Tessa.”

I stared at him, my heart thudding painfully in my chest. “What?”

“He’s a kid,” Marcus snapped, his patience finally cracking. “And I said drop it.” His voice was cold now, unfamiliar, like a door slamming shut between us.

I watched in stunned silence as he turned and placed a hand on Dylan’s shoulder. “Let’s go,” he said, his tone gentler but resolute.

Dylan glanced back at me, his face unreadable, before allowing Marcus to guide him out the door.

I stood there, my hands trembling with frustration, and my heart splintering under the strain. Just last night, I was about to get lucky with some mattress mambo with my husband. Now, it felt like an ocean had opened up between us, and I was standing on the wrong shore, shouting to someone who couldn’t—or wouldn’t—hear me.

Had I pushed it too far? The thought dug its claws into my brain, whispering doubts I didn’t want to face. Maybe I’d been too eager, too quick to point the finger at Dylan. Was it because, deep down, I wanted it to be true? That he’d taken Tinky? That he’d done something so awful Marcus would have no choice but to send him away—to Zeke?

The idea made me sick, but it also clung to me—a shadow I couldn’t shake. I didn’t want to admit it, not even to myself, but the thought had been there, lurking in the darkest corners of my mind. Was I that petty? That selfish? To want this kid gone just so my life could feel normal again? So that Marcus and I could go back to how things were before Dylan showed up?

No. That wasn’t it. I didn’t want him gone—not really. I wanted answers. I wanted to understand why this kid made my instincts scream and why every time I looked at him, I felt like something wasn’t adding up.

But what if I was wrong? What if I was projecting my fears, my insecurities, onto Dylan? The kid had already lost his mother—probably spent years alone, surviving however he could. And now here I was, storming into his life, accusing him of God knew what because I couldn’t shake the feeling that he didn’t belong. What kind of person did that make me?

I dragged myself back to my bedroom and sank onto the edge of the bed, my legs too shaky to keep me upright. My hands clutched at the sheets, my breath coming in short, ragged bursts as the weight of my actions pressed down on me.

And Marcus… God, the look on his face. The anger, the disappointment, the hurt. He thought I was being unfair, and maybe I was. But what if I wasn’t? What if I was right, and Dylan had taken Tinky? What if my instincts were screaming for a reason?

I buried my face in my hands, my mind a tangled mess of contradictions. I wanted to protect my family, to protect Marcus, but at what cost? How far was I willing to go to prove I was right? And if I was wrong… if I was wrong, would Marcus ever forgive me? Would I ever forgive myself?

My mind reeled with a storm of feelings—anger, betrayal, fear—and a suffocating certainty that things between Marcus and me would never be the same.

16

Ididn’t know how long I stared at the ceiling of my bedroom. Hours? Minutes? Time had lost all meaning in my swirling pit of shame and frustration. At this point, I was one existential crisis away from calling up an exorcist to deal with my own thoughts.

I felt like a complete ass—a premium-grade, award-winning, put-it-in-a-display-case-and-call-it-a-day kind of ass. There was no excuse for my behavior, except maybe… pregnancy hormones? Could I play that card? Would Marcus buy it? If I worked up enough tears and threw in some dramatic hand gestures, I might be able to squeeze out a little sympathy.

Good plan. Solid. Foolproof.

Except, the way he’d looked at me—shocked, disappointed—left a heavy weight pressing against my chest. Like a baseball bat to the gut hard. No, scratch that. Like a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire, on fire, wielded by a vengeful god. Yeah. That’s it.

Marcus had never looked at me like that before. Not even when I’d pissed off his mother by laughing at that hideous fur wedding gown she wanted me to wear at my wedding. But today? Today, he had. And the worst part? I wasn’t even sure if he’d forgive me. Maybe he never would—especially if Dylan turned out to be his real son.

Ugh. Dylan. The kid who had single-handedly upended my life in the span of twenty-four hours.

I groaned and rolled onto my side, pulling the blanket over my head like that would somehow shield me from reality. I needed to make it up to Marcus. And Dylan. Somehow. Probably with a lifetime supply of apology pizza. But the problem was… I couldn’t trust Dylan.

It wasn’t just me being a jealous, paranoid wife (okay, maybe a little). My gut, my instincts—both witchy and demony—were screaming at me that something wasn’t right.

I wasn’t imagining things.

Dylan wasn’t just a lost little boy with sad eyes and a tragic backstory. He was off. I didn’t know how, or why, but I knew it in my bones.

And if I was right, if Dylan wasn’t who he said he was… I had just made a huge mistake letting Marcus walk away with him.

I had no idea where Marcus or Dylan had gone. The house was eerily quiet—just the low hum of the central heat, like House was trying to comfort me but didn’t quite know how.

I sighed and flopped back onto the bed, scrolling mindlessly on my phone until a text from Iris popped up.

Iris: Hey. Dylan is here at the agency. Marcus asked me to babysit for a while. Do you want me to get some of his DNA for Ruth’s potion?

I actually laughed out loud. Leave it to Iris to be casually diabolical.

Me: No thanks. Ruth already got some.

Iris: Okay. I’ll just get some for me.

There was a long pause. Too long. I frowned. She’d just remembered she lost Dana. Damn, pile on more guilt.

Iris: Maybe not.

Poor thing. That DNA album had been her prized possession. Losing it was like losing a limb, a part of her.

Iris: Do you want me to ask questions? Dig a bit more?

I sat up, my fingers flying across the screen.

Me: See if he’s keeping a secret. Like the whereabouts of Tinker Bell.

Iris: I heard she was missing. Ruth put up flyers.

Wait.

I stared at the screen.

Flyers?

Ruth had made missing fairy flyers?

Knowing her, she was probably offering a reward too. I could already picture some poor human stumbling upon one and calling her, thinking they’d found a lost Chihuahua.

I shook my head, refocusing as another message popped in.

Iris: You think he took her?

I hesitated before typing back.

Me: Maybe. I’m not sure. But Marcus is furious with me.

A moment later…

Iris: Ah. Now I get why he’s here. Don’t worry. I’ll get some intel for you.

I sighed, tossing my phone onto the mattress.

God, I hoped she found something.

Because the longer this dragged on, the more I felt like I was spiraling. I wanted to believe that Dylan was just a scared kid looking for a family. But every instinct I had screamed otherwise. He was too quiet. Too guarded. His reactions were wrong.

And that twitch.

Every time he got nervous, his face rippled, like it couldn’t quite hold its shape.

Something wasn’t right with that kid.

And I had to figure out what.

But first, I needed to apologize to my husband and come clean about what Zeke had said. No more secrets. Because look what secrets had done already.

I rolled off the bed and headed downstairs. Vara was doing the dishes, humming to herself. I barely made it down the stairs before it hit me.

A sharp, stabbing pain lanced through my belly, so intense that the world tilted, and my knees buckled beneath me.

Oh, hell no.

This was bad. This was really, really bad.

A wave of nausea crashed over me, so strong that I had to grip the banister to keep from face-planting. But my body had other plans because a second later, my legs gave out, and I crumpled to the floor.

The pounding in my head muffled everything, but I could hear voices—stifled, urgent. Hands grabbed at me, pulling me upright, and suddenly, I was being hauled into the living room.

Vara.

Her face was tight with concern as she eased me into a chair.

“Breathe, hon,” she said firmly, brushing hair from my sweaty forehead. “Just breathe.”

I tried, but my chest felt tight, my body trembling with the effort of just existing through the pain.

Fear clawed its way up my throat.

The baby. Oh god, the baby.

Vara disappeared for half a second but then reappeared, shaking out two massive prenatal pills from a bottle.

“Here,” she ordered, pressing them into my palm along with a glass of water. “Take these. They’ll help.”

My fingers trembled as I gripped the glass. My throat was so dry it took two swallows just to get the pills down.

“Something’s wrong,” I whispered hoarsely, my other hand clutching my stomach as another sharp twinge made me gasp. “Maybe I should go see the healer—”

“No,” Vara cut in quickly, her expression unreadable. “This is perfectly normal.”

I blinked up at her, unsure if I’d heard correctly.

“This kind of pain isn’t normal,” I rasped. “I-I should—”

Vara crouched in front of me, her grip gentle but firm on my knee. “Listen to me, Tessa,” she said softly. “You’ve overexerted yourself. The stress from everything—Dylan, the fairy, all of it—it’s taking a toll. You need to relax.”

Relax? Was she serious? I was dying over here.

“But it hurts,” I wheezed, my voice shaking.

Her eyes softened. “I know. But that’s just your body telling you to slow down. The baby is fine. You’re fine.”

I wasn’t so sure.

My insides roiled, my limbs tingling from exhaustion. The worst of the pain seemed to have subsided, but a dull, lingering ache remained, like my body was warning me that this wasn’t over.

I swallowed hard. “I don’t—”

“No more worrying,” Vara interrupted, squeezing my knee before rising to her feet. “You need to rest, Tessa. Stop thinking about anything else but this baby. Understand?”

I nodded weakly, though deep down, unease rose inside me.

The pain had been real. I still felt sick. Dizzy. And as much as I wanted to believe her, to trust that this was just normal pregnancy stuff, I wasn’t sure I could.

But at the moment, I didn’t have the strength to argue.

Because right now? I wasn’t even sure I had the strength to stand.

But then, Vara was right, the pain started to subside until I couldn’t feel it anymore. It was gone.

Just then, the front door burst open. Perfect timing.

Beverly sashayed her way in, fanning herself as she said, “Who are those hot men out there? Have you seen the size of their… muscles.” She giggled.

“Keep your legs crossed, Beverly,” snapped Dolores and shut the door behind her.

Beverly flopped onto the couch and peeked through the curtains. “I mean, really, Tessa. If you’re hiding a secret wereape bodyguard service, now would be the time to share.”

Dolores rolled her eyes. “Would you stop drooling? Honestly.”

Beverly scoffed. “Oh, come on. We’ve been through a lot lately. I deserve a little eye candy.” She gave another lingering look outside. “Tell me at least one of them is single.”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “Pretty sure they’re here to guard me. I have no idea if they’re single or not.”

Dolores raised an eyebrow. “Guard you? From what?”

Before I could answer, Vara peeked through the window, her sharp eyes narrowing at the men stationed outside like she was offended by their presence. Fabulous. As if I didn’t have enough to deal with.

Dolores crossed her arms. “Tessa?”

I turned my attention to my tall aunt. “I think Marcus sent them.” I glanced outside again, catching sight of one particularly burly wereape standing with his arms crossed, scanning the area like he was expecting a full-scale invasion. “Probably for my protection.”

Dolores frowned. “Protection from what?”

I hesitated. “Where’s Ruth?”

“Waiting in the Volvo,” said Dolores. “Don’t change the subject. Who are those wereapes, and why are they protecting you?”

My fingers twitched on my lap. This was not how I wanted this conversation to go, especially with Ruth outside waiting in the car, barely keeping herself together over Tinker Bell’s disappearance. But my aunts weren’t going to let it drop.

So, I took a deep breath and said, “I got a… letter.” Not exactly a letter, but I was going with it.

Beverly, still half-draped over the couch, perked up. “A love letter?”

“No,” I said, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. “A death threat.”

That got their attention.

Dolores’s eyes sharpened. “What?”

I stood up, moving gingerly because I still wasn’t convinced my legs wouldn’t betray me. I walked over to the little side table and grabbed the now-crumpled card I had shown Marcus last night. “This came through our toaster two weeks ago.”

Dolores took the card, her lips tightening as she read it. Beverly, for once, looked actually concerned as she read over her sister’s shoulder.

“Your baby is an abomination. You can’t protect it forever,” Dolores read, her voice hard.

Beverly sucked in a breath. “Well, that’s horrifying.”

“Right?” My pulse raced. “I wanted to figure out who sent it before I freaked anyone out.”

Dolores shot me a look. “You mean before you told Marcus.”

“Also that.”

Beverly shook her head. “Tessa, darling, I love you, but keeping something like this from your husband? Not your best moment.”

I huffed. “I know. Believe me. I know.”

Dolores was still staring at the card. Then, her eyes flicked to the window, where the wereapes remained stationed. “And Marcus knows now, obviously.”

“Yeah. And he’s pissed.” I crossed my arms, swallowing the culpability that was climbing up my throat.

Beverly let out a dreamy sigh. “Marcus is so romantic.”

Dolores gave her a look. “What?”

“Protecting your pregnant wife with a team of trained, deliciously hot bodyguards?” Beverly fanned herself again. “That’s practically a paranormal romance novel waiting to happen.”

Dolores ignored her and turned back to me. “This message… this is serious, Tessa.”

“No kidding.”

Beverly waved her hand. “Look, I would love to keep chatting about ominous death threats and your smokin’ hot security detail, but Ruth is waiting in the Volvo. She’s spiraling. We need to get moving.”

I frowned. “She’s that bad?”

Worry pulled Dolores's features. “She hasn’t had anything to eat today. Not even coffee.”

I gasped. “No coffee. That’s not bad. That’s apocalyptic.”

“She’s in a state.” Beverly nodded. “So, are you coming or what?”

I hesitated, glancing at Vara, who was now blatantly glaring out the window at the wereapes like they were an infestation. I half-expected her to grab a broom and start swatting at them, yelling something about vermin. The doula’s mood swings were giving me whiplash.

But I wasn’t going to be locked up in this house all day under her watchful eye like some fragile, wilting flower. Nope. If I had to listen to her tell me to “relax” one more time, I was going to hex myself just for the break.

I grabbed my coat and slid one arm through followed by the other. “Let’s go.”

Vara turned, her lips already forming the objection I had no doubt she’d been rehearsing for hours. “Tessa, I really don’t think—”

I smiled sweetly, the kind of smile that could either charm a room or set it on fire, depending on my mood. “And I really don’t need your permission.”

Dolores snorted, and Beverly tossed me an approving wink. With that, I stepped out the door and hurried toward the familiar boxy comfort of my aunts’ old Volvo station wagon.

I slid into the back seat next to Ruth who had an avalanche of flyers stacked precariously in her lap. Across the top, in bold letters, it read: MISSING FAIRY: $5,000 REWARD. Beneath the text was a surprisingly flattering picture of Tinker Bell, wings glittering in the sunlight like she was posing for Fairies Monthly.

Beverly sat in the front passenger seat and immediately began fixing her lipstick using the rearview mirror.

Dolores sat in the driver’s seat, gripping the wheel with focused determination as she turned the key, the engine starting without hesitation.

I stared at the reward amount, blinking hard. “Five thousand dollars? Ruth, where are you going to find that kind of cash?”

“Oh, we have a plan,” said Ruth, patting the stack of flyers like they were her beloved pets. “We’re going to sell the Volvo. It won’t cover all of it, but Beverly agreed to sell her diamond earrings and necklace.”

Beverly adjusted the mirror and smirked. “Walter gave them to me. He was horrible in bed.”

I blinked. “Good reason.”

“And Dolores is putting some of her antique spell tomes on eBay,” Ruth added proudly, like this was some brilliant financial scheme.

Dolores growled. “Don’t remind me. Those tomes are priceless.”

“So is Tinker Bell,” snapped Ruth, clutching the stack of flyers even tighter, her eyes shimmering with emotion.

My chest tightened. Seeing Ruth like this—so heartbroken and frantic—was doing a number on me. If Dylan had anything to do with Tinker Bell’s disappearance, this wasn’t just about getting the fairy back. It was about making things right for Ruth. For my family.

Dolores hit the gas, and we shot forward, the Volvo humming along as it swerved onto Stardust Drive. I gripped the door handle as Ruth muttered about where to start plastering the town with flyers.

“We’ll hit the library first,” instructed Dolores, steering the car like she was navigating a war zone. “Then the park, the coffee shop, and the town square.”

Ruth was already rifling through the flyers, handing me a stack. “We’ll cover every inch of this town. No one can miss her picture. I already put some at Marcus’s office early this morning, but we’ll take some more. Just in case.”

I gave her a forced smile. If we didn’t find Tinker Bell, I wasn’t sure my aunt Ruth would ever recover. My gaze shifted back to the window, watching the small shops and familiar faces of Hollow Cove blur past us.

Please let us find her.

With that, I leaned back, determined to find Tinker Bell. And if Dylan did have something to do with her disappearance?

He was about to regret it.

17

Ispent most of the day helping Ruth put up flyers for our missing Tinker Bell, my fingers stiff from the cold and my legs aching from the endless walking. The sun hung low now, casting the streets of Hollow Cove in an amber glow. I tugged my scarf tighter around my neck as the chilly wind nipped at my skin.

We had canvassed nearly the entire town—every street, alley, and shop—but our efforts were completely futile. No one we spoke to had seen the tiny fairy, and by the time we headed back to the car, Ruth looked like someone had drained the light out of her.

Dolores started the engine of the old Volvo, the heater sputtering out weak bursts of warmth. “Maybe she’s waiting for us at home,” she said, her tone firm, as if sheer will could make it true.

“Yes,” agreed Beverly, turning in the passenger seat to face Ruth, her manicured nails tapping against the armrest. “I bet she’s there with Hildo, stuffing their faces with whatever leftovers they could find. You know how that cat loves a good feast.”

Ruth sniffled, wiping a big, fat tear from her cheek with her sleeve. She didn’t answer and instead stared out the window, her chin trembling slightly. My heart clenched. Ruth was usually the glue that held us all together. Seeing her like this, broken over the thought of losing Tinker Bell, felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to my chest.

I caught Beverly’s worried expression, and it mirrored my own. Something or someone had fairy-napped Tinky, and the thought made my skin crawl. Fairies didn’t just vanish unless something sinister was at play. And if I hated one thing more than cold weather and annoying doulas, it was seeing my sweet aunt Ruth like this.

Dolores kept her eyes on the road as she said, “That fairy better be there, or someone’s going to regret this.”

The drive back was unusually silent. Even Beverly, who could normally fill the air with enough juicy gossip to last a lifetime, remained quiet, tapping her foot to some imaginary beat. I tried not to spiral into worst-case scenarios, but it was hard. The idea of Tinker Bell being hurt—or worse—was gnawing at my gut.

After what felt like an eternity, the Volvo finally pulled into Davenport House’s driveway. Dolores hadn’t even killed the engine before Ruth bolted out of the car, shouting, “Tinky? Are you here? Tinky?”

I hurried after her as she threw open the front door and stormed inside, her voice echoing through the house. “Tinker Bell? It’s me! Are you hiding?” Ruth’s eyes darted frantically around the room, her hands trembling as she lifted cushions off the couch and peeked behind furniture.

Dolores and Beverly followed us in, both of them scanning the living room while I rubbed my arms, trying to shake off the chill of the evening.

Ruth ran to the kitchen. “Tinky? Tinker Bell?”

I followed her but saw no sign of the fairy. I spotted Hildo lounging on the table. “Did you see her today?”

The cat flatted his ears. “No. Not since yesterday.”

Ruth sniffed, moving over to the stove, where she grabbed a pink wooden spoon and began stirring one of the cauldrons.

“Do you want me to check our usual hangouts again?” asked the cat as he sat up, looking like he wanted to have a job or just do anything to help.

I nodded. “That would be great.” I watched as Hildo leaped off the table and ran to the backdoor. It swung open as he ran out.

Beverly gave me a gentle nudge and said, “I’ll make some fresh coffee. Something warm and comforting.” She sashayed into the kitchen, her heels clicking against the floor.

I wanted to point out that I couldn’t have any of that brown, delicious heaven—though my craving was screaming otherwise—but before I could get the words out, a wave of nausea hit me.

Nerves coiled inside me, and a cold sweat prickled my skin.

I wobbled slightly, gripping the back of the chair before finally sinking into it. My breath hitched, and for a second, I thought I’d have to bolt for the bathroom. “I—uh, I think I need to—”

Just as I was about to excuse myself to go lie down, the sensation lifted as quickly as it had hit. My head cleared, the queasiness fading like it had never existed.

I blinked, letting out a slow breath. “Well, that was fun.”

Beverly looked over from the coffee machine, arching a groomed brow. “Are we adding evening sickness to the list of things that suck today?”

“Maybe,” I said, cautiously patting my belly like it had a mind of its own. “Or the baby’s messing with me again. Either way, it’s a blast.”

I glanced over to my aunt Ruthy. She was still stirring, her shoulders shaking as silent tears slid down her cheeks. My heart shattered a little more. Ruth, the happy-go-lucky aunt who could make a potion out of sunshine and hugs, was falling apart over this. I needed to fix it—if only I knew how.

“Ruth,” I said softly. “We’ll find her. I promise. She can’t just vanish. She’s somewhere, and we’ll find her.”

Ruth sniffled, not looking up from her stirring. “She’s all alone out there,” she whispered. “What if she’s cold? What if she’s scared?”

I had a feeling the fairy was far worse than scared at this point. “She’s tougher than you think,” I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. “I mean, she’s survived living with us. That’s basically combat training.”

Beverly chuckled as she brought over three steaming mugs of coffee. “Good point. If she’s smart enough to avoid Dolores’s cooking, she can avoid danger.”

Dolores, who was stomping around upstairs, yelled, “I heard that. My cooking’s fine, thank you.”

Beverly winked at me. “If fine means explosive diarrhea, then sure.”

I laughed and pointed to the steaming cup of coffee Beverly put in front of me. “I can’t drink that. But it does smell delicious.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” Beverly took the mug away and came back with a tall glass of water. “Here you go.”

“Yum.” I glanced at Ruth, who was still mixing the cauldron and staring into space. The cauldron burped out a small puff of lavender-colored steam, and she let out another sob.

Before I could say anything to comfort her, and I had a feeling I’d run out of everything, Dolores appeared at the top of the stairs, her arms filled with thick, ancient tomes. She descended the stairs with heavy, deliberate steps, her feet thudding against the wood. When she reached the bottom, she dropped the books onto the dining table with a loud thud.

“I’ve been thinking about that threatening note you got,” said Dolores, brushing a strand of hair from her face as she opened the first book. “And it reminded me of something.”

“Please tell me it’s something good, like the kind of spell that locates fairies and also fixes husband drama.” I laughed. She didn’t.

Dolores ignored me, flipping through yellowed pages while muttering to herself as her long fingers danced over cryptic symbols and faded illustrations of witches and demons. “Nope, not this one… Nope, not the exploding gnomes chapter either…”

Beverly rested her chin in her hand, looking amused. “This is exciting. I can’t believe I canceled my date with Antonio to watch Dolores flip through her stinky old books.”

I took a sip of my yummy water. “Who’s Antonio?”

Beverly’s lips curled into a sultry smile. “Oh, Antonio. He’s a traveling mage from out of town. Hands like a sculptor and a voice like molten chocolate. I met him last week when he enchanted a friend’s car to parallel park itself. I figured if his magic was that good with machines…” She trailed off, her eyes sparkling suggestively. “You can imagine what he could do with me.”

Okaaayyy.

Dolores sighed loudly. “For cauldron’s sake, Beverly. Do you ever have a conversation that doesn’t turn into soft-core smut?”

Beverly shrugged, completely unapologetic. “When you’ve got it, flaunt it. And honey, I’ve got it.”

She did. She really did.

Beverly sighed dramatically, swirling the last bit of coffee in her mug. “It’s tragic, really. But saving the world and helping my family does come first. Even before Antonio’s magic hands.” She paused, winking at me like I knew all about Antonio’s hands.

Ew.

Dolores tossed a crumpled napkin at her. “Get a room, Beverly. Preferably far away from me.”

Beverly giggled. “Oh, don’t worry. If things go well, Antonio and I will be in a room—possibly several rooms.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, despite the weight of everything we’d just learned. “You really do live in your own rom-com. Don’t you?”

“I prefer to call it a magical romance adventure,” said Bverly with a grin. “Now, can we wrap this up so I can call him and reschedule?”

Dolores shot her a look but continued flipping until she stopped on a page filled with drawings of gates and runes. Her brow furrowed deeply. “Ah. Here it is.”

“Here what is?” I leaned forward, curiosity gnawing at me.

Dolores tapped the page with her finger. “Old crone tales. Prophecies. Dark warnings about hybrid children who could potentially unlock gates or trigger dangerous magical events.”

I blinked. “Wait—what gates? What events?” Fear gnawed at my insides.

Ruth gasped softly, finally looking up from her cauldron. “Like an apocalypse?” she said, turning around, her cheeks wet with tears.

“No one’s saying apocalypse yet,” I said quickly. “Right, Dolores?”

But Dolores’s expression didn’t give me much comfort. She tapped the book again. “It says here that some hybrid children, especially those with unique magical lineages, have the potential to act as keys. They can unlock sealed gates, call upon ancient forces, or—”

“Or bring forth some creepy dark god who wakes up cranky,” added Beverly. “This just keeps getting better.”

I swallowed hard. “So, you think my baby could…”

Dolores looked at me with a seriousness that made me catch my breath. “It’s possible. The note you received is not just a random threat. Someone knows about the baby’s potential, and they’re either scared of it or want to use it.”

“Want to use it?” I felt like the room tilted for a second, and I gripped the edge of the table. “Okay. But my baby is just a baby. It’s not out here unlocking cosmic gates and summoning dark gods… yet.”

Dolores watched me. “But someone out there thinks it could. And that’s a scary thought.”

My throat tightened. “If they think my baby’s the key to some ancient, evil power, they’ll do whatever it takes to get to me.”

Beverly sipped her coffee, her pinky raised. “Well, then. Looks like we’ve got ourselves a big ol’ mess. Don’t we?”

I sighed. “Understatement of the year.” I thought of something. “But why haven’t they tried anything? It’s been over two weeks since that note… and nothing?”

Dolores closed the tome in front of her with a thud, sending a puff of dust into the air. She adjusted her glasses and gave me a look that made me feel like I’d just asked why water was wet.

“Maybe,” said Dolores, “it’s not that they’re lazy or waiting for the perfect weather conditions to curse you. Maybe they’re playing the long game.” She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “Scaring you first. Letting that fear seep into your bones, keeping you on edge.”

Beverly, who’d been swirling her coffee like it was a fine wine, raised an eyebrow. “Classic villain move. Drag it out, let her sweat, and then—bam—strike when she least expects it.”

“Wonderful.” I leaned my head on my hand. “So, I’m supposed to just sit here waiting to be ambushed?”

Dolores shrugged, opening the tome again and flipping another page with one hand, the other tapping her coffee cup like she had a countdown running in her head. “That’s the idea. They’ll wait until you’ve gotten comfortable. When you’ve convinced yourself the threat was empty, forgotten it, maybe even convinced Marcus that you were imagining things. And then—”

Beverly clapped her hands together suddenly, making me jump and nearly knock over my coffee. “Boom. Game over.”

“Sounds like fun,” I said, pulling my water closer.

Ruth sniffled from the kitchen, where she was stirring her cauldron like she was making a potion to drown her sorrows in.

Dolores set her book down and leaned forward. “Tessa, you’ve been through worse. We’ve been through worse. We need to stay ahead of this thing. The fact that they haven’t struck yet is an advantage. We have time to plan.”

I nodded, even though my gut twisted with doubt. “Okay, planning. Great. So, step one—figure out who’s behind this. Step two—stop them before they strike.”

“Preferably before they curse your unborn child into some demonic overlord,” said Beverly casually, sipping her coffee.

I nearly choked. “Seriously?”

“What? I’m just being realistic.”

Dolores folded her hands neatly and took a breath. “We’ll start with narrowing down possible threats. Whoever sent the note isn’t just some random prankster. It’s someone who knows what you’re carrying and what that means. Someone with high magical knowledge. Not your average witch or wizard. Someone extremely powerful.”

I leaned back in my chair, my thoughts swirling as I picked up every piece of information I’d learned over the last few weeks and tossed it into an overwhelming whirlwind of dread. Someone with high magical knowledge wanted my baby for what they thought it could do. Yeah, like I was going to let that happen. Over my dead body.

But why my baby? What did they think it could do, exactly? Unlock a secret ancient tomb? Control demons?

My baby was a hybrid. Just like I was. And yes, in my uniqueness, I had special abilities, like demon magic and the ability to bend ley lines when they weren’t trying to betray me and send me face-first into a lawn. But the question that haunted me was, what would my kid be able to do?

I shivered at the possibilities. Could the baby manipulate magic in ways we hadn’t seen before? Maybe tap into shifter strength and demonic power at the same time? The thought was both thrilling and terrifying, like finding out your toddler could juggle knives and spell books before they could walk.

My fingers curled around the edge of the table. What if my child’s very existence was prophesied in some dusty, ancient tome—some “child of hybrid destiny” nonsense that people would die to control? Or worse—kill to control. And then the thought hit me: Did they want my baby to be a weapon? Or did they want to stop it from becoming one?

But deep down, I knew this wasn’t going to be easy. Someone wanted my baby. And they weren’t going to give up without a fight.

“It’s ready,” called Ruth suddenly, yanking me out of my thoughts.

“What’s ready?” I asked, sitting up.

“The magical DNA test,” she answered. “The potion’s analyzed the magical signature in Dylan’s aura and compared it to Marcus’s.”

I swallowed. “And?” This was it. That was the answer I’d been waiting for. This was going to determine what I did next and what happened to my family.

Ruth shrugged. “It’s… inconclusive.”

“What do you mean, inconclusive?” asked Beverly.

Ruth sighed. “The potion couldn’t give a clear answer.”

I frowned. “Why not?”

“It’s complicated,” answered my aunt. “Magical signatures aren’t as precise as human DNA. Dylan’s aura shares similarities with Marcus’s, but there’s a second magical influence mixed in, masking the results.”

Dolores leaned forward. “A second influence?”

“Could be from his mother, if she was magical,” Ruth explained. “But without stripping that magic away, we can’t be sure.”

“So, that’s it? We don’t know for sure if he’s Marcus’s son?” I asked, my voice a little higher than I intended.

Ruth shook her head. “No.”

Well, shit.

18

Ileft Davenport House and trudged through the short path to my cottage, feeling like I’d aged about ten years in the last hour. I’d told my aunts that I wasn’t feeling well—which wasn’t a lie—and that I needed to go lie down. Also true. What I didn’t mention was that I needed the alone time to overanalyze every bad decision I’d ever made.

When I stepped inside the cottage, silence settled over me. No singing, no bustling around, no overbearing doula ready to shove muffins in my face.

“Vara?” I called out, pulling off my boots and hanging my coat. Another cramp hit, and I doubled over, groaning. “Damn it. Where is that witch when you actually need her?”

I waddled to the couch and flopped down with the grace of a beached whale. Today had been a total disaster. Yesterday had been a total disaster. At this rate, tomorrow would be competing for the title of Biggest Disaster of All Time. My life was basically a montage of those scenes in rom-coms where the protagonist keeps tripping over everything while sappy music plays in the background—except there was no music, and instead of a charming happy ending, I had a missing fairy, a suspicious kid, and a pissed-off husband.

Yay me.

I sighed and draped my arm over my face. The cramp slowly faded, but the emotional weight lingered, refusing to let go.

Another cramp rippled through my belly, and I winced. This wasn’t normal. Was it? My mind jumped to the worst-case scenario because why not? Pregnant witches with half-demon babies didn’t exactly have “normal” in their vocabulary.

I pulled out my phone and texted Marcus.

Me: I’m sorry about earlier. Can we talk tonight?

No response. Just the three dots dancing like they were mocking me before disappearing altogether. I sighed, tossing the phone onto the coffee table and rubbing my belly gently. “Settle down, little one,” I whispered. “I know your mom’s a mess, but we’ll figure this out. Somehow.”

Right on cue, another cramp hit, and I doubled over. Yup. Everything was just peachy.

I was still bent over, trying to breathe through the cramp, when a loud knock echoed through the cottage. Not the gentle, polite kind—this was the heavy, urgent knock that meant bad news. Fantastic. Just what I needed to cap off my disaster of a day.

I shuffled to the door and opened it. There stood Iris, looking concerned, and Ronin, effortlessly pulling off the whole leather jacket and cocky smirk vibe.

The half-vampire gave me a once-over, his eyes narrowing as he pointed at my stomach. “You okay? Or do you need the doula? You know, the witch with the ‘aura of moola.’” He grinned at his own joke. “I’m on a roll.”

I blinked. “You’re loving this. Aren’t you?”

Iris elbowed him. “Ignore him. He’s been rhyming since breakfast. He thinks it’s charming.”

“It is charming,” argued Ronin, leaning against the doorframe like he had all the time in the world. “Where’s the doula, anyway? She around, or did you banish her to another dimension?”

“If only,” I muttered. “She’s probably lurking somewhere in the shadows, waiting to ambush me with prenatal muffins.” I stepped aside and let them in.

Ronin walked in, sniffing the air. “I smell guilt carbs. Blueberry, right? You’ve been stress-eating.”

“Not even close.” I closed door. The thought of food right now made me want to hurl. The only good thing about it was that I hadn’t craved any meat lately.

Iris plopped down on the couch. “Anyway, I figured I’d check on you and report back. You know, since you have the kid who won’t talk.”

I sank into the armchair, leaning my head back with a groan. “Please tell me you found out something useful.”

Iris sighed, kicking off her boots and tucking her feet under her. “I tried. Really, I did. I asked him about school, hobbies, favorite foods, pets, enemies—”

“Wait,” I said, lifting my head. “Enemies?”

“Hey, you never know,” she replied, shrugging. “Anyway, he barely said a word. It’s like talking to a wall. He’s too quiet, Tessa. Unnaturally quiet. I don’t trust it.”

Ronin nodded, pacing near the window. “Yeah, I caught a glimpse of him when I stopped by the office. Gave me the creeps.”

“Really?” I asked, frowning. “Why?”

Ronin leaned against the windowsill, his arms crossed. “He’s too good at being invisible. Kids like that? They either have secrets or they’ve learned to disappear to survive. Either way, it’s bad news.”

“Or he’s just a kid who went through hell.” I thought about how I barged into his room last night. If he was truly Marcus’s son, that made me the biggest ass in this paranormal town.

Iris glanced at me. “And there’s this weird ripple in his features when he gets nervous. His face kind of… flickered when I asked about his favorite subject in school. And he didn’t even give me an answer.”

My witchy instincts had been screaming for days, and now they were practically howling. “I knew it,” I said. “He’s hiding something. Something big.”

Ronin tilted his head. “So what’s the plan, boss lady? You want me to grill him? I can do the bad cop routine. I’ve got the leather jacket for it. And I look hot doing it.”

I snorted. “I’ll pass, thanks. I’m trying to keep Marcus from divorcing me, not speeding up the process.”

Ronin winked. “Your loss.”

“Tessa,” said the Dark witch, “that will never happen. Marcus loves you.”

I felt a pang in my chest, and I wasn’t sure if it was from the cramp or the idea of Marcus leaving me. “I’m not sure. Well, not at the moment.”

Iris watched me for a second. “Okay. So, how’s Ruth’s DNA detecting potion going?”

“It’s done.”

“And?” asked Iris.

“It’s inconclusive.”

Iris leaned forward, her eyes wide. “Wait—back up. Inconclusive? Did you say the DNA test was inconclusive?”

I ran a hand down my face. “Yes. Ruth finished the potion earlier today. The result wasn’t exactly what I was hoping for.”

“Inconclusive?” Ronin opened the fridge and took out a beer. “What does that even mean in magical DNA terms?” He twisted the top and took a sip.

“Basically, the potion couldn’t give us a definitive match,” I said, slumping back in my chair. “It detected similarities but not enough to confirm if Dylan’s actually Marcus’s son.”

Iris blinked. “So, you’re telling me that after all the sneaky hair-snipping and potion-brewing, we’ve got nothing?”

“Exactly,” I groaned. “A whole lot of magical maybe.”

Ronin took another sip from his beer. “Well, that sucks. So what now?”

“Good question.” I wiped my brow. “I wanted to ask Ruth if we could try another test but… she’s so sad… I just couldn’t bring myself to ask her.”

“Tinker Bell is still missing?” asked the Dark witch.

I nodded. “You know me. I don’t believe in coincidences. Dylan showing up. And Tinker Bell gone missing when I saw him have a very feral reaction to her.”

“Really?” Ronin sat on the couch next to his girlfriend. “Tinky is hot.”

“Ronin,” hissed Iris.

“What?” said the half-vampire. “I’m just saying that is a weird reaction to have. Especially a preadolescent boy to a sexy fairy. Hell, I wish I had me a tiny fairy growing up.”

I laughed. “Leave it to you to turn a missing fairy into your preadolescent fantasy.”

Ronin grinned, kicking his feet up on the coffee table like he didn’t have a care in the world. “I’m just saying—there’s a difference between awkward preteen crush and hissing at the fairy like she’s public enemy number one.”

I nodded. “Exactly. And that’s what’s making me crazy. If the DNA test didn’t give us anything concrete, that means Dylan could still be Marcus’s son.”

“And if he is,” added Iris, leaning forward with a sigh, “then accusing him of fairy-napping is going to backfire. Hard.”

“It did.” The memory of Marcus’s disappointed face was imprinted on my retinas.

Ronin waggled his eyebrows. “You know what you need?”

“A bucket of wine?” I joked.

“Besides that.” He smirked. “You need to relax.”

“I can’t relax,” I said, my tone hardening. “The kid’s in my house. Meanwhile, Marcus is playing father of the year, and I’m here, stuck in this limbo of maybe he’s lying, maybe he’s not. It’s like psychological torture.”

Iris tilted her head sympathetically. “Look, if Dylan is lying, we’ll find out eventually. No one can hide the truth forever.”

“Tell that to my magical DNA test,” I said.

Iris chuckled, but then her expression sobered. “You still don’t trust him. Do you?”

I pursed my lips. “Not even a little. I want to trust him, for Marcus’s sake. But every time I look at him, something feels off. I don’t know how to explain it. I just… I just can’t.” Or maybe it was my kid telling me.

Ronin took another swig of his beer. “Must be fun inside your brain right now.”

“Oh yeah,” I said sarcastically. “It’s a theme park of overthinking, complete with anxiety roller coasters and guilt-themed gift shops.”

Iris leaned over and patted my leg. “So what’s the plan? You just going to wait for him to slip up?”

“I guess.” I sighed. “Unless Ruth suddenly gets a lead on Tinker Bell or I catch Dylan doing something shady, I’m stuck.”

Ronin stretched and cracked his knuckles. “Well, if you need someone to rough up the kid a little—”

“No,” Iris and I said in unison, glaring at him.

He grinned and raised his hands in surrender. “Just putting it out there.”

Iris shook her head and turned back to me. “Does Marcus know about the test?”

“No,” I admitted. “And now that it’s inconclusive, there’s really no point in telling him.”

Iris leaned back, thinking it over before finally nodding. “Okay, you’re right. Telling Marcus about the inconclusive test now would probably only push him closer to Dylan. He’s already in defensive dad mode, and you don’t want to make that worse.”

“Exactly. I just have to suck it up and try to coexist with the kid until we figure this out.”

Iris gave me a sympathetic look. “Think you can handle that?”

I snorted. “I’ve survived god attacks, rogue mages, and Beverly’s relationship advice. I can handle one moody eleven-year-old.”

“Confidence. I like it.” Iris grinned, but her amusement faded as she saw me wince and clutch my stomach. “Tessa, what is it?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly as another sharp pain hit. I straightened and forced a smile. “Just another cramp.”

She wasn’t buying it. Her eyes narrowed as she studied me. “Like the type of cramp that had you nearly lose control of the ley lines?”

“That’s about right.”

The Dark witch stared at me. “You do look paler than usual.”

I chuckled weakly. “It’s nothing. Look. It’s almost over.” I winced.

“Tess,” said Ronin, shaking his head in disapproval. “You’ve always been a terrible liar.”

Iris’s face wrinkled in worry. “Maybe you should see the healer again.”

“I will,” I promised. “I’ll call tomorrow and make an appointment.”

Iris didn’t look entirely convinced, but she nodded. “Good. I’ll come with you.”

“Okay, thanks.” I tried to sound confident, but deep down, I couldn’t shake the gnawing worry in my gut. What if these cramps weren’t just stress or pregnancy-related but something more?

“Is there something else?” asked the Dark witch, watching my face closely.

I shrugged. “Just that I feel like a gigantic liar. I hate lying to Marcus. I don’t know what to do anymore. Dylan’s lying. I know it. But Marcus won’t see it, and every time I try to prove it, I end up looking like the bad guy.”

Iris reached over and squeezed my hand. “You’re not the bad guy, Tessa. You’re just trying to protect your family.”

Ronin pursed his lips, nodding. “Yeah. Secrets are like landmines. The longer you keep them buried, the bigger the explosion when they go off.”

I laughed bitterly. “Great. I’ll add that to my growing list of things to stress-eat over.”

A knock at the door made me flinch. Iris and I exchanged a glance, but before either of us could move, Ronin shot up from the couch like someone had just yelled, “Free beer.”

He grinned, chugged the last of his drink, and set the bottle on the coffee table with a dramatic thud. “The doula. Finally. I’ve been waiting for this moment.”

Iris groaned, face-palming. “Ronin, sit down.”

But there was no stopping him. He zoomed to the door at vampire speed, practically bouncing on his toes as he flung it open with the enthusiasm of a kid meeting Santa Claus.

“Hello, dou—” His grin vanished. He blinked twice. “You’re not the doula.”

Standing in the doorway, his arms crossed and looking very much like he wanted to eat someone for breakfast, was Zeke.

My stomach plummeted. Just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, the alpha wereape from the New York pack stood in my doorway.

Now this was a clusterfuck of gigantic proportions.

19

Filling nearly the entire doorway with his imposing frame stood Zeke—the alpha wereape of the New York pack.

The glow of the porch light caught the edges of his cropped white hair while the tribal tattoos along his arms shifted subtly as he folded them across his broad chest. He remained still, silent. His weathered features revealed nothing, but his piercing eyes locked on to mine, cold and calculating, like a predator deciding when to strike.

“Well, this is awkward,” mumbled Ronin, stepping back dramatically with a smirk. He shot me a sideways glance. “You want me to take care of the monkey, Tess?”

Zeke growled low, the sound reverberating through the room.

I sighed, shooting Ronin a look. “I got it. Thanks.”

Ronin winked, clearly enjoying himself way too much, and plopped down on the couch like this was prime-time entertainment. He hooked his arm over Iris’s shoulder and said, “You say the word, and I’ll banana-peel him outta here.”

Zeke took a step forward, ignoring Ronin altogether. “I don’t have time for your games. Where’s the boy?”

I crossed my arms, squaring my shoulders. “Not here. And even if he were, you wouldn’t be leaving with him.”

The wereape’s eyes darkened, but before he could retort, I heard Ronin whisper behind me, “Should I be filming this for later?”

I stared at the large wereape. “Weren’t you just here two weeks ago?” This was feeling strangely like a déjà vu moment.

Without an invitation, the wereape walked in. “Where’s Dylan.”

I stood up, wincing at the damn cramping again. “You said I’d have more time. You can’t just show up here.” I looked over his stupidly large shoulders but couldn’t see his faithful bodyguards. He was alone.

Yet how did he get past my bodyguards? Ah, the alpha thing. Right.

Zeke’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the room, completely ignoring my protest. “I went to Marcus’s office. He wasn’t there. Neither was the boy.” His voice was as rough as gravel.

“Too bad,” I answered.

“I’m here for the wereape cub, and I’m not leaving without him.”

I clenched my jaw, my hand instinctively going to my belly as another cramp hit. Oh, fantastic. My uterus decided now was a great time to host the cramp Olympics. I tried to keep my face neutral, but the sweat on my forehead probably betrayed me.

“I don’t think you understand,” continued Zeke, his gaze boring into mine like he could smell my nerves. “This isn’t a request. The pack won’t let an abandoned cub—especially one with alpha blood—grow up with witches. It’s unnatural. He belongs with us.”

A wave of protectiveness swelled inside me—irrational, maybe, but I didn’t care. My fingers curled into fists. “Dylan isn’t going anywhere.” Huh? Those words surprised the hell out of me.

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” growled Zeke, stepping farther into the room. His gaze shifted to Iris, who looked like she was mentally calculating how many spells it would take to hex him into a potted plant. Either that, or she was contemplating her herpes hex.

“You’re acting like he’s some stray dog you get to pick up and rehome,” I spat, stepping forward despite the pain shooting through my abdomen. “Dylan isn’t yours to take.”

Zeke’s eyes narrowed. “Then let’s hear about that magical DNA test you promised me.”

I swallowed, straining to keep calm. Tell him the truth or lie? If I told him the truth—maybe—he’d see that the test being inconclusive didn’t automatically mean Dylan wasn’t Marcus’s son. Maybe he’d back off and give us more time to figure this mess out without escalating.

Or, he could take inconclusive as no, grab Dylan, and we’d never see the kid again. Marcus would be furious.

But if I lied through my teeth and told him it wasn’t ready yet, Zeke wouldn’t know. It’d buy me time. Marcus wouldn’t have to know yet that I botched this.

I pressed my fingers against my temples, pretending to massage away the tension, but really, I was mentally flipping a coin. Heads: truth. Tails: lie.

It landed on heads.

I took a deep breath, lifted my chin, and went with it. “It was inconclusive.”

Zeke blinked, and for a brief second, I saw something flicker across his face—disbelief, maybe. Or victory. Hard to tell. “Inconclusive,” he repeated. “So you don’t know if he’s actually Marcus’s son.”

“That’s exactly what inconclusive means,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm because, hey, if I was going down, I was going down with sass. “It means the test couldn’t confirm anything.”

He crossed his arms, his gaze sharpening. “Then that’s as good as a no.”

“No, it’s not,” I shot back, stepping forward. “It means exactly what it says. It’s undecided. We need another test. Something more reliable.” If we had some of Annie’s DNA, we’d be golden. But she’d been dead for three years, so that was highly unlikely.

Zeke’s lip curled, like he wasn’t buying what I was selling. “I’ve been in this world long enough to know when magic’s inconclusive, it usually means something’s off.”

“Nothing’s off,” I said quickly, probably too quickly. “It’s just complicated.”

Zeke leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering. “If you really believed Dylan was Marcus’s, you’d be fighting me tooth and nail right now. Wouldn’t you?”

He wasn’t entirely wrong. But I couldn’t let him have the upper hand. I had to believe there was more to Dylan’s story, even if my instincts were telling me that something was very wrong.

“There’s still a chance that Dylan is Marcus’s son,” I argued, fighting off another wave of cramps.

“Tessa? You okay? You don’t look good,” came Iris’s worried voice.

I waved a hand in her direction. “I’m fine.”

Zeke’s lips curved into a smug, wolfish grin. “Inconclusive means no. If he were Marcus’s son, that test would’ve confirmed it. But it didn’t. Which means the kid isn’t Marcus’s.” He took another step closer. “I’m taking him with me.”

“No, you’re not,” I snapped, my voice sharp enough to surprise even me. Sweat trickled down my back, but I stood my ground. My body might be giving up on me, but my stubbornness had no plans to. I moved to plant myself face to face with the big wereape.

If there was going to be projectile vomit, better make sure it hit Zeke.

“Tessa.” His tone was low, like he was trying for patience but had none left to give. “If the test was inconclusive, you’ve got no claim to him. I do.”

My pulse thundered in my ears. “Marcus doesn’t know about the test.” Saying it out loud made the weight of my secret feel even heavier.

Zeke tilted his head slightly. “So you’ve been keeping this from him, huh?” His smirk deepened, and I hated how smug he looked. “If Marcus finds out—”

“That’s none of your business,” I hissed, my breath shaky. “And you’re not taking Dylan.”

Zeke’s expression hardened, the smugness fading. “I don’t want to do this the hard way.”

“Well, you’re about to find out what the hard way looks like,” I fired back, stepping closer even though my body was screaming at me to sit down. My protective instincts were in full overdrive, and I wasn’t sure if the baby or the adrenaline was fueling me. All I knew was that Zeke didn’t belong here, and he wasn’t talking Dylan, wherever he was.

Iris cleared her throat. “I don’t think you realize who you’re dealing with, Zeke. If you think Tessa’s just going to hand over that boy, you clearly don’t understand how stubborn a Davenport witch can be.”

Zeke growled. “Witches don’t scare me.”

And there it was.

I crossed my arms, narrowing my eyes. “No, I didn’t think we did. Because if we did, you wouldn’t be standing in my living room, throwing around your weight like you’re auditioning for a remake of Planet of the Apes.”

Iris choked on a laugh, but Zeke didn’t budge. His eyes locked on mine. He didn’t respect me. Not as a witch. Not as Marcus’s wife. To him, I was just an obstacle. An inconvenient witch who’d somehow weaseled her way into Marcus’s life. And the truth of it burned like acid in my stomach.

“If you respected me,” I said quietly, “you’d listen. You’d back off. But we both know you’re not going to do that, because to you, I’m nothing. Just a witch.”

Zeke’s gaze darkened, but he didn’t deny it. He didn’t say a word. And that silence was worse than if he’d actually agreed out loud.

I felt a wave of nausea rising, my body choosing the perfect moment to remind me that I was carrying a hybrid baby with a thing for poorly timed cramps. Sweat trickled down my back as I clenched my jaw, refusing to let him see that I wasn’t feeling my best. He didn’t deserve that satisfaction.

As Zeke turned to leave, the sharp cramping wrenched again in my belly, more intense this time, like my insides were trying to tie themselves together. I gritted my teeth, pressing a hand to my stomach as beads of sweat trickled down my back.

Calm down, Tessa. Don’t do anything stupid. Breathe. Just breathe.

But breathing wasn’t helping. Something was creeping inside me—my magic, slithering through my veins like it was searching for an escape route. My skin tingled, heat building in my fingertips, like I was holding on to a live wire. I clenched my fists, hoping it would stop, hoping that if I could just focus on anything but Zeke’s smug face, I wouldn’t explode.

“I’m done listening to you. I’m taking him, and there’s nothing you can do about it,” Zeke growled.

And I felt it again. That sickness, that painful cramping. This was it. I was going to projectile vomit all over the alpha wereape. But it wasn’t vomit that erupted from me. It was magic.

My power snapped like a taut rubber band breaking free, and suddenly, I couldn’t hold it back.

It wasn’t up to me anymore.

Before I could even shout a warning, the blast hit Zeke square in the back.

His massive frame was lifted clean off the ground like he was a ragdoll in a windstorm. Arms flailing, he let out a surprised grunt as he sailed across the room in slow-motion glory, crashing into the wall with a thunderous crack that shook the entire cottage.

Zeke slid down to the floor with a groan, landing in a heap of limbs and pride. Dust particles floated around him like confetti celebrating my accidental victory.

Ronin, beer in hand, stared with wide eyes before rushing over. “Holy shit,” he said, bending down to check on the wereape. Then he looked back at me. “You just killed the monkey.”

Whoops.

20

What does a witch do when she accidentally kills the alpha wereape of New York?

She freaks out. And then she freaks out some more.

I placed my hands over my head, jogging on the spot. “He can’t… I … it was an accident.” This had gone down the crapper faster than Ronin’s vamp speed.

Zeke didn’t move. His body lay slumped against the wall, eyes closed, and I couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not.

Ronin stepped forward, his grin fading. “Uh… you sure about that?”

Iris brushed past him and knelt down next to Zeke. She pressed her fingertips against his temple and muttered something in a language I didn’t recognize—dark, ancient, and definitely not something I knew.

After a moment, Iris leaned back on her heels, glancing up at me with wide eyes. “He’s not dead,” she said finally. “But… he’s in some kind of magical coma.”

“Fuck me,” said Ronin with a strange little smile on his face.

“What? How? I don’t even know how to do that?” I pressed a hand against the wall to steady myself. “I didn’t do this on purpose.” Or… maybe I did? Zeke wasn’t exactly at the top of my Christmas card list. It’s possible that on some unconscious, hormonal, pregnancy-fueled level, I kind of wanted to do this. Great. Now I had to add “witch split personality” to my growing list of things to worry about—right under “inconclusive DNA tests” and “potential wereape revenge rampage.”

Ronin, holding his empty beer bottle like it was a microphone, cleared his throat. “You accidentally comatosed the wereape alpha? That’s a new one.”

“Maybe?” I turned back to Iris. “How do we wake him up?”

Iris shook her head, her brow contracting as she examined Zeke’s limp body. “I don’t know if we can. He’s not just knocked out. This is deep. Could be days, weeks… years. Maybe forever.”

Forever? I could barely keep my legs from buckling. “What do you mean, forever? He can’t just stay like this!”

“Well, you did blast him with your uncontrollable magic, combined with hybrid baby mojo,” Iris pointed out, standing up and dusting off her knees. “Your magic’s out of whack because you’re carrying a part-wereape, part-witch hybrid. That’s not exactly in the ‘easy fix’ category.”

Damn. Iris was right. My magic had been acting strange ever since I’d gotten pregnant. But this was insane.

“Fantastic.” I leaned my head back. “Not only can I not use ley lines, but now I’m a walking magical bomb. Great for family picnics.”

Ronin chuckled, leaning casually against the wall. “I don’t know. I think it’s kinda awesome. You turned a massive wereape into a meat sack with one blast. That’s badass.”

“I almost feel bad,” I said, but the words came out hollow. Truth was, I didn’t feel as bad as I should have. Zeke had been stomping around, demanding to take Dylan, and a tiny, selfish part of me wasn’t exactly upset that he wouldn’t be doing that anytime soon.

“At least I didn’t kill him.” But he might never wake up. Not sure that was any better. “But if he does wake up, he’s going to be pissed.”

“Oh, yeah,” Iris said cheerfully. “He’s going to be out for revenge. But you’ve got time to figure out a plan before that happens.”

“Unless he wakes up in a few minutes,” Ronin added helpfully.

I shot him a glare. “Great.”

“So…” Iris glanced at me. “What do we do with him now?”

“Leave him here and put a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on his forehead?” Ronin laughed, but his face suggested he really wanted to do it.

“I can’t leave him here.” I sighed, trying to think of a plan.

Ronin froze. His smirk vanished as he darted to the window. “Uh, Tess?” he said, part amused, part alarmed. “We’ve got company. Your doula, I’m assuming, and your husband are having a friendly chat right outside. Oh, and bonus—Dylan’s with them.”

“Shit.” My voice shot up three octaves as I rushed to the window and peered out. Sure enough, Vara stood with Marcus and Dylan, gesturing animatedly like old friends. “Quick, we need to hide him.”

Iris blinked. “Where? He’s not exactly pocket-sized.”

“Next door to my aunts’ house,” I said, pacing frantically. “Marcus doesn’t know Zeke’s here, and if he finds out, I’m dead meat. He’s already mad as hell at me, and I need time to come up with an explanation that won’t make him despise me more.” Plus, they were the only witches I knew who could wake a person up from a magical coma, or something close to it.

Iris nodded. “Yes. And they can help with the coma,” said my Dark witch friend, pulling the thoughts right out of my head.

“Great. Now we need to move,” I hissed. “If Marcus sees Zeke like this, I’m screwed. Through the back door. Hurry!”

Iris leaned over Zeke, who looked like a knocked-out MMA fighter. “And what do we do if he wakes up halfway to your aunts’ place and decides to eat Ronin’s face?”

Ronin shrugged, already moving toward Zeke’s feet. “Guess I’ll die doing what I love—helping witches clean up messes.”

I stared down at Zeke, hating every second of this but knowing it was necessary. “Let’s go. And try not to drop him.”

I shuffled backward, grunting as I grabbed one of Zeke’s massive legs. His foot was the size of a Thanksgiving turkey—possibly bigger—and I was immediately regretting this plan. “Holy hell. What’s this guy made of? Steel and concrete?”

Ronin had the worst job of the three of us, carrying Zeke’s head and shoulders. But he was equipped with vampire strength where we weren’t.

The half-vampire huffed as he lifted, his biceps straining and bulging visibly beneath his leather jacket. “Yeah, well, congrats to me for grabbing the part that drools. I’m living my best life right now.”

Together, we shuffled toward the back door, moving in what I can only describe as the world’s least coordinated conga line. As we passed the kitchen table, Zeke’s head smacked into one of the chairs, making a dull thud.

“Oops,” I said, biting my lip. “You think he felt that?”

Ronin grinned. “I hope so. Maybe it’ll knock some sense into him.”

We kept moving, only to crash Zeke’s knee into the doorway. “Dammit!” I hissed, glancing over my shoulder to make sure Marcus and Vara weren’t peeking through the window.

“Don’t panic,” whispered Iris as we hauled the large wereape out the back door. “We’re almost out.”

As if on cue, Zeke mumbled something incoherent—something that sounded suspiciously like “banana.”

Ronin screamed like a girl, immediately dropping Zeke’s head with a loud thunk onto the stone path. “He’s alive! He’s alive! He said banana! Is that a code word for something?”

“Ronin!” I hissed. “Get it together. He’s still out cold.”

Ronin exhaled sharply, wiping his brow. “I’m just saying, if a guy wakes up and his first word is banana, bad things are about to happen.”

Outside looking in through the side window, I saw Marcus and Vara stepping inside the cottage. “We don’t have time for this. Pick him up, and do not drop him again.” Not that I felt bad or anything, but it would be hard to explain bruises and scrapes when he woke up.

With renewed determination, and a bit of fear, Ronin grabbed Zeke’s shoulders again, and we shuffled across the backyard, still bumping into things like a trio of drunk movers.

We finally reached Davenport House’s back door, and as if on cue, House opened the door for us. “Thank you, House,” I panted as we stumbled inside.

We lumbered into the kitchen, breathless and barely holding it together. The moment we entered, I spotted my aunts sitting around the dining table, papers and markers spread everywhere as Ruth meticulously drew little hearts on a stack of Missing Fairy flyers. The sight of her pale, sad face tugged hard at my heart. I had to find Tinker Bell for her. No matter what.

Unfortunately, our grand entrance wasn’t exactly subtle.

Beverly, who had been sipping what I assumed was spiked coffee, took one look at Zeke and let out a dramatic, ear-piercing scream. “What happened to my Zeke? Is he dead?”

“Not dead,” I grunted, adjusting my grip as we half-dragged, half-dropped him onto the kitchen floor. “Just a long story and he’s really, really heavy.”

Dolores stood. “Put him on the couch,” she ordered, motioning with a sharp nod.

We grunted as we lifted Zeke for what felt like the hundredth time, our muscles quivering like we’d just survived boot camp. With one final, collective heave, we dumped him unceremoniously onto the couch. The poor thing let out a desperate creak, and I silently prayed it wouldn’t collapse under the wereape’s weight.

I bent over, panting. “How much does this guy weigh?”

Beverly smiled. “Two hundred and fifty pounds of glorious muscle.” She knelt down and rubbed her hands over his large chest. “Such an exquisite specimen. Such lovely, big hands.”

Dolores rolled her eyes. “I hope Marcus doesn’t walk in and find us huddled around this unconscious alpha like some weird ritual sacrifice.”

I rubbed my lower back as Iris and I shared a look. “Let’s hope not.”

Dolores turned her laser-focus to me, her eyes narrowing. “Explain. Now.”

I wiped my forehead, still catching my breath. “Zeke showed up at my cottage, demanding to take Dylan back to New York. You know how I am. I don’t like to be given orders.”

“We know,” answered my aunt.

I shrugged. “Things… escalated. And then I sorta put him in a magical coma.”

Ruth, who had been eerily quiet, looked up from her flyers. Her lip trembled, and my chest squeezed seeing her that way. Just then I noticed Hildo curled on her lap, and I knew it was his way of trying to comfort her.

I sighed, feeling a headache on the way. “It wasn’t on purpose. My magic is acting weird. One minute I was arguing with him, the next he was flying across the room like an angry bird.”

“Angry wereape,” corrected Ronin, plopping onto the armrest of the couch. “The guy practically bounced. It was great.”

Dolores’s eyes widened. “Your magic did this?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I think the baby’s messing with it.” Or my kid was feeling the anger I had felt and wanted to help.

Dolores muttered something about anarchy following me like a lost puppy. Then she clapped her hands, her no-nonsense aura fully activated. “Okay, then. We need to wake him from this coma. It can be done, but it’ll take a little time.”

I glanced at Zeke, whose arm dangled off the couch like a deflated balloon. “How much time? Because if Marcus shows up before Zeke wakes up, I’m toast.” I wanted him to hear my side of things. I wanted him to know that I wasn’t crazy or some demented witch who wanted to ruin his relationship with his maybe-kid.

Beverly, completely ignoring the discussion, was still rubbing Zeke’s arm, her fingers tracing patterns on his biceps like she was sketching a masterpiece. She leaned down, kissed his cheek, and whispered, “You’re too good for this world, baby.”

Dolores wrinkled her nose. “Beverly, stop trying to romance the patient.”

Beverly pouted and kissed Zeke’s forehead. “I’m giving him encouragement.”

“You’re giving him cooties,” muttered Dolores. She turned toward Ruth. “Ruth, I need you to help me prep the spell to wake him.”

Ruth, who was sitting at the kitchen table with a stack of “Missing Tinker Bell” flyers like they were her life’s mission, barely looked up. “I’m busy.”

Damn. Poor Ruth. This was really tearing her up inside. I hated seeing her like this.

Dolores sighed, exasperated, but before she could launch into a lecture, Iris raised her hand like an eager student. “I can help. I know my magic’s Dark, but I can still do White magic if you coach me.”

Dolores considered her for a moment and then nodded. “Fine. But you’ll have to keep up.”

Iris grinned. “I will.”

I turned to Dolores, my heart thudding. “Do you think we can have the spell ready before Marcus shows up?”

“That depends,” said Dolores, rolling up her sleeves. “On whether Beverly stops making out with the wereape and lets us work.”

Beverly blew a kiss at Zeke and stood up with a dramatic sigh. “Fine. He’s just so damn hard to resist.”

That’s not what I would say about him. And I wasn’t totally sorry I had put him in a magical coma either.

“What’s going on here?” came a familiar, very annoyed voice.

Okay, now I was really sorry. Not because of the magical coma thing but because I wasn’t mentally prepared to deal with this level of trouble without at least a piece of cheesecake.

I turned around. Marcus stood in the kitchen doorway, his gray eyes fierce as he took in the scene.

Ronin shut the fridge door, a beer in his hand. “Oh. This is going to be awesome.”

21

Okay. I won’t pretend that lying wasn’t the first thing that popped into my head. I wasn’t perfect—cauldron no. If there were trophies for bad decisions, I’d need a whole room just to store them. But this time, I was tired of lying to the man I loved. Marcus deserved better.

Which is probably why I was about to drop a truth bomb that would make the previous two weeks look like a warm-up act.

I cleared my throat. “So, um... I put him in a magical coma,” I said, keeping my voice steady as if I were telling him I’d accidentally forgotten to buy milk, not knocked out the alpha of the New York pack.

Marcus blinked. Once. Twice. His jaw clenched, but he didn’t say anything yet.

“And by ‘him,’ I mean Zeke.” I winced, giving him my best please-don’t-divorce-me smile. “Me and the baby, I think.”

His eyebrows shot up so fast I was half-expecting them to hit the ceiling. “You and the baby?”

“Yes. The baby was definitely involved,” I said quickly, like blaming a fetus would make this sound totally reasonable. “Rogue magic, pregnancy hormones—it’s basically a cocktail for disaster. It’s amazing I haven’t accidentally set the house on fire.”

Marcus rubbed the back of his neck, and I could practically hear the gears turning in his head. “You put Zeke in a coma,” he repeated, like he needed to say it out loud to process the sheer level of absurdity.

I nodded, biting my lip. “On the bright side, he did go down pretty easily. Kind of like a big, angry sack of potatoes.”

Marcus’s eyes rested on Zeke on the couch. “How long has he been in this coma?”

“Um... a few minutes?” I said. “Iris and Dolores are working on waking him up.” I just hoped that was going to work.

The chief walked into the living room, his gaze sweeping over Zeke sprawled on the couch like an oversized rug that had seen better days. Marcus stood there for a moment, his arms crossed and eyes unreadable. Then he turned to me. “Why? Why is he in a coma, Tessa? What happened? And why is he even here?”

I swallowed. There was no escaping this. “Because I called him,” I said softly, the words tumbling out faster than I’d intended.

Marcus’s brow jerked slightly, but he didn’t look surprised. Of course, he already knew I’d called Zeke. That’s how he found out about Annie’s death. This time, the second half of the confession would be the kicker.

“Remember when I told you that I called him to ask about Annie?” I continued, my voice steady but my insides were stirring. From the corner of my eye, I could see Iris fidgeting. She was nervous for me, which, of course, only made me more nervous.

The chief nodded. “Yes.”

“I thought maybe he’d know why she never told you about Dylan or if I was missing something.”

Marcus nodded slowly, silently urging me to continue.

“So…” I exhaled. “He told me that if Dylan wasn’t your son, he belonged to the New York pack under pack law. He said he was coming here to take him.”

Marcus’s eyes hardened, and I could see the muscle in his jaw flexing. “He told you that?”

I nodded. “Yeah. And I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to make things worse, and then today, he just showed up out of nowhere and started making demands. He said he was going to take Dylan. And I…” I gestured to the unconscious alpha. “Well, I overreacted.”

Marcus looked down at Zeke again, his expression unreadable. “And by overreacted, you mean you blasted him into a magical coma?”

“Yes,” I admitted, cringing a little. “But to be fair, he was being an asshole. You know how I love those.”

Ronin snorted. “Good one.”

“Ronin,” hissed Iris, shooting him a glare sharp enough to cut glass.

“What?” Ronin shrugged, grinning. “She’s funny. I appreciate good material when I hear it.”

Marcus’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t say anything. Just a nod. “And then?”

I inhaled a shaky breath, knowing the worst part was about to come out. “And then I asked my aunts to perform a DNA test to see if Dylan really was your son.”

Marcus’s face was unreadable. He didn’t flinch, didn’t explode, didn’t even blink. But the weight of his silence crushed me.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, my throat closing up. “I screwed up. I know I did. I shouldn’t have done it behind your back. I know that. I just… I just had to know.”

Dolores stepped forward. She cleared her throat and said, “The test was inconclusive. It means we don’t know for sure.”

Marcus finally moved, rubbing the back of his neck as he processed that information. “So you’re saying you don’t know if he’s mine.”

“That’s right,” I admitted. “And then Zeke just showed up out of nowhere just now and started talking about taking Dylan. I got angry. And then, well, you know the rest.”

Marcus exhaled, his shoulders lifting slightly before falling again. “And you didn’t think to tell me any of this before it got to this point?”

“I didn’t know how,” I said, my voice breaking a little. “I didn’t want to make you angrier. You’ve already been upset with me about Dylan, and I thought if I could figure this out on my own, it would fix everything.”

I glanced over at Iris, who gave me a thumbs up for encouragement, but it didn’t do much to alleviate the thumping of my heart.

Marcus let out a long, exasperated sigh, muttering something under his breath that sounded like a prayer to whatever deity looked after husbands of crazy witches. “Tessa, you can’t just... body-slam pack leaders with magic.”

“Okay, but in my defense, he was being a jerk,” I said, crossing my arms. “And technically, I didn’t body-slam him. The magic did. I just happened to be the... vessel.”

Marcus paced across the room, running his hands through his hair. “This is bad, Tessa. Zeke isn’t just some random wereape. He’s an alpha.”

“Trust me. I know,” I said. Would I go to jail for this? I had no idea, and I had no doubt Zeke would let me know as soon as he woke up from his coma.

I waited, bracing myself for the explosion, the lecture, the how-could-you-do-this-to-me speech. Instead, Marcus walked over to me, his gaze softer than I expected.

“You wanted to protect Dylan,” he said, surprising me. “I get it.”

My eyes widened. “You do?”

“No shit—ouch,” said Ronin, winning a smack from Iris.

“I’m not thrilled about the lying,” continued the chief, stepping closer and taking my hand in his. His touch was warm, grounding me like an anchor. “But I understand why you did it.”

I blinked fast. “Okay.” I would not have a meltdown. Nope. No, I wouldn’t.

“Dylan showing up out of nowhere while you’re pregnant with our baby... It’s a lot. And I know you were trying to protect everyone—me, the baby, even Dylan.”

I sniffled, tears threatening to spill over. “Mmmhmm.”

He pulled me into his arms, holding me tightly. “It’s okay. We’ll figure this out. Together.”

I buried my face in his chest, overwhelmed by his forgiveness and love. “I really thought you’d be furious.”

“Oh, I am,” he said with a smirk. “But I also love you. And nothing is going to change that.”

My chest felt like it might actually explode from the overwhelming love flooding through me—either that or I was about to have a very inconvenient emotional meltdown. “You’re way too good for me,” I whispered, my voice cracking as I did my best to hold back tears.

Great. If I started sobbing, I’d be one ugly cry away from needing a mop.

He smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to my forehead. “Nah. You’re exactly what I need. Crazy magic, secrets, and all. Keeps a guy on his toes.”

Ronin, still leaning against the wall with a beer in hand, raised it in salute. “Man, you guys are disgustingly cute.”

But in that moment, with Marcus holding me and promising we’d figure things out together, I knew one thing for sure. No matter how chaotic my life was, with Marcus by my side, I could handle anything. Even a wereape alpha in a magical coma.

Marcus leaned back and looked at Dolores. “When will he wake up?”

Dolores gave him a pointed look. “Maybe a half hour. Depends on when you let me start working.” She shooed us away with her hands.

Marcus and I walked out of the living room to give my aunt space so she could start barking orders at Iris like a drill sergeant preparing for magical battle.

“Let’s hope he doesn’t remember much,” I muttered under my breath.

Marcus chuckled, his warm, rough voice making me momentarily forget how close we were to a full-blown disaster. “I wouldn’t count on it.”

I opened my mouth to reply and was hit with another cramp, sharp and sudden, like the baby was staging a rebellion inside me. I hunched over, clutching my belly. “Oh, come on,” I groaned. “At least wait until I’m near a couch.”

Marcus immediately had his hand on my back, gently rubbing in soothing circles. “What’s wrong?” His brow furrowed with worry.

“Not sure,” I said, trying to act like it didn’t hurt like a sonofabitch. “I’ve been having these weird cramps all day.”

“We’re going to the healer tomorrow,” Iris called out from the living room, clearly eavesdropping like the good friend she was.

“Right,” I said, straightening up just enough to give Marcus a reassuring look. “It’ll be fine. I’m sure it’s nothing serious. Probably just the baby practicing karate.”

Marcus didn’t look convinced. His eyes stayed on me, soft but serious. “Go home and lie down. I’ll be there soon.”

I cocked a brow. “You’re not coming?”

He shook his head, his gaze shifting to the couch where Beverly had resumed her shameless caressing of the unconscious alpha. “I think I should be here when he wakes up. I need to ask him some things.” The way he said it made it clear he wasn’t just sticking around to keep the peace. He wanted answers, and Zeke was about to get the third degree.

Fine by me. I had zero desire to be there when that interrogation started. “Good luck with that,” I mumbled.

Marcus kissed the top of my head, lingering for just a moment. “See you in a bit.”

I nodded, turning toward the kitchen, but I didn’t make it far. Ruth’s pale, hollowed face stopped me in my tracks. She sat there, clutching a stack of missing Tinker Bell flyers like they were her last hope.

It hit me like a gut punch, harder than any cramp ever could. My aunt looked like she hadn’t slept in days although the fairy had only been missing for less than twenty-four hours. Suddenly, the madness with Zeke didn’t seem quite as pressing.

“Ruth—” I started, but she shook her head, forcing a weak smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“I’m fine,” she whispered, even though we both knew that was the biggest lie ever told in this house—and that was saying something.

I bit my lip, my chest tightening. “We’ll find her,” I promised softly. “I swear.”

Ruth nodded, but her gaze drifted back down to the flyers, her fingers trembling slightly. I wanted to say more, to tell her how much I hated seeing her like this, but the words stuck in my throat.

Instead, I made a mental note. As soon as the cramps eased and I felt better, I was going out to find Tinker Bell. Sure, I was pregnant, and my magic was a hot mess, but I wasn’t dead. I was a Shadow witch. I had skills.

And I was going to shift all my energy into finding that fairy—no matter what it took.

22

Iwalked back to the cottage, my boots crunching against the gravel as I mulled over the evening’s craziness. Surprisingly, I felt marginally better about the whole Zeke in a magical coma situation and the who’s your daddy secret DNA testing. And by marginally better, I mean I wasn’t actively sweating bullets and hyperventilating. So... progress.

Marcus, my beautiful, kind, ridiculously sexy husband, didn’t hate me. Yay. I’d practically sprinted out of Davenport House before anyone could ruin that streak of good fortune. Okay, more like the pained wobble of a hundred-year-old witch, but you get the idea.

Sure, he wasn’t thrilled with the lying, but who could blame him? I’d gone full witchy detective behind his back. Yet instead of exploding or storming out, he’d kissed me and said we’d figure it out together.

Together. Just hearing that made my chest swell with warmth—and okay, maybe a little bit of “I’m the luckiest witch alive” smugness. Marcus was the best of men. My Marcus. The one who put up with my quirks, my crazy, and my occasional habit of accidentally sending people flying into walls.

Double yay.

“Oh, hi, Tessa,” chirped Vara as I shuffled through the door. “My vegetable lasagna is ready. You’re right on time.”

“Ugh,” I muttered weakly, peeling off my boots like they weighed twenty pounds each.

Dylan sat on the couch flipping through a comic, his face completely blank. He didn’t even look up. Good to see you too, kid.

“I’m not hungry, thanks,” I said, hoping that would be the end of it.

Vara, of course, was not the kind of witch who believed in taking no for an answer. “You sure? You really need to eat to keep your strength up,” she said, her voice warm but laced with the unmistakable tone of I know better than you, so just eat the damn lasagna.

Strength? Sure, because wrestling a wereape into a magical coma wasn’t exhausting at all.

Even though my head was feeling a little less like a blender on high, the cramps and nausea were still lurking. “I don’t feel well,” I admitted. “I just want to lie down.”

And that was my mistake.

Vara’s eyes lit up like she’d just been handed a new mission. In a flash, she grabbed a plate, cut a massive piece of lasagna (honestly, did she think I was carbo-loading for a marathon?), filled a glass of water, and was heading toward me. “I’ll take this to your room for you.”

“I’m good—”

“No, no,” she cut me off, her voice sweet but final. “You shouldn’t be on your feet. Rest is key.”

I sighed, too tired to argue. I followed her up the stairs, shuffling like an old witch who had seen too much magic and not enough wine.

When we reached the master bedroom, I collapsed onto the bed, sighing as my muscles hit the mattress. Vara placed the plate and glass of water on the nightstand like she was tucking me in for the night. I half-expected her to fluff my pillows and sing me a lullaby.

Then she grabbed my hand and dumped a small pile of pills into my palm. “Don’t forget to take your pills,” she said like she’d memorized the line from a prenatal instruction manual.

“Right,” I said, plastering on my best smile. “Will do.”

Vara lingered for a moment, watching me with those overly attentive eyes. After what felt like an eternity, she gave a small nod of approval and left the room, shutting the door behind her.

As soon as I heard her footsteps retreat down the stairs, I dumped the pills on my nightstand and flopped back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.

I exhaled slowly, trying to breathe through the pain. I think I’d read somewhere that breathing was supposed to help alleviate it. Except this wasn’t normal pain. These were magical cramps that felt like a small explosion going off inside me. I rolled onto my side, cradling my belly and focusing on anything other than the searing discomfort.

My mind didn’t get the memo.

Instead, it ran straight back to the mayhem of my day: Zeke storming into my cottage like a wrecking ball of testosterone and pack laws, Marcus defending me even when he probably had a million questions of his own, and the way Dylan had just sat there on the couch earlier, so quiet, so withdrawn, flipping through a comic like he wasn’t the reason for all the chaos unraveling around us. But he was.

Maybe it was time for me to admit something—something that had been swirling around my gut for a while now, making me feel even more confused and guilty. Maybe Dylan was Marcus’s son. Maybe I’d known it deep down all along. Maybe that’s why I’d been so protective of him when Zeke tried to take him.

I rubbed my belly gently, a small wave of pain subsiding as I kept breathing through it. My mind wouldn’t stop replaying that moment, though—me, standing in front of Zeke, ready to defend a boy I wasn’t even sure I trusted. Ready to risk everything to make sure he stayed with us.

That wasn’t nothing.

It surprised me, that protective instinct. But maybe it shouldn’t have. Dylan wasn’t just a kid Marcus cared about. He was possibly the half of Marcus’s life that I hadn’t known existed until now. And if that was true, he wasn’t going anywhere.

I swallowed hard, blinking up at the ceiling as another cramp squeezed my insides. If this kid was Marcus’s son, we’d figure it out. We’d make room for him here—emotionally and physically. And as hard as that sounded right now, we’d learn to live with each other. We’d have to.

It was strange. The idea didn’t scare me as much as it had yesterday. Or this morning. Or even an hour ago.

But that didn’t mean it wasn’t complicated as hell.

I closed my eyes, my breathing slowing. There’d be no DNA test to guide me this time, no magical proof to give me the answer. Just instincts and messy human emotions. And if Dylan was staying, we all had some adjusting to do—Marcus, me, and even this tiny person growing inside me.

“Guess you’ll be sharing more than just a house,” I whispered softly to the baby, hoping the little one was listening. “You’ll have an older brother.”

I thought back to the way Marcus had looked at me earlier, with forgiveness in his eyes despite all the things I’d done. I couldn’t let him down again. I wouldn’t.

We were going to figure this out. As a family. Even if that meant baby steps.

I felt myself dozing off, a faint smile tugging at my lips as my thoughts drifted…

Somewhere in my foggy sleep, I was being chased through a field by a gang of fried chickens—crispy, golden, and surprisingly fast. One of them clucked something about revenge, and it lunged—

I startled awake.

I blinked the sleepiness from my eyes, the shadows in the room stretching long and dark.

“Okay.” I rubbed my eyes. “That was a weird dream.”

And then I heard it—the unmistakable sound of the front door clicking shut.

My heart skipped a beat. Marcus. He was finally home after the Zeke-in-a-coma drama. I pushed to my feet, wincing slightly as my body reminded me I wasn’t quite back to normal yet, and made my way downstairs.

I had questions, lots of them—about Zeke, about what Marcus had said to him, and mostly about whether I should start writing my apology letter to Zeke in glitter pen or regular ink. But as I reached the bottom step, I stopped short.

It wasn’t Marcus.

The house was eerily quiet, the only sound being the faint creak of the floor under my feet as I crept toward the living room. No sign of Vara. No sign of Dylan.

I wasn’t sure if it was the baby or just plain instinct, but something… wasn’t quite right.

I peeked into the kitchen. Empty. No lasagna on the table, no doula force-feeding me vitamins. I walked to the window and pulled back the curtain just enough to see outside. I sucked in a breath.

Vara and Dylan were halfway down the street. Vara was gesturing wildly, her arms flailing in that I’m-lecturing-you way while Dylan trudged beside her, his shoulders slumped like he wanted to be anywhere else.

Where the hell are they going? And why did it look like Vara was arguing with him?

I bit my lip, debating whether I should call out to them, but something held me back. Curiosity. Suspicion. Maybe a little of both. Whatever it was, I wasn’t just going to stand there and watch them walk off into the night.

It was weird. And my witchy instincts told me to follow them.

So, of course, I did.

I grabbed my coat, pulling it around me to block the chill as I slipped out the door as quietly as possible.

And that’s when I spotted the problem.

Marcus’s wereape bodyguards—two hulking walls of muscle. I could just make out some tribal tattoos peeking out from under their coats around their wrists and necks. The older one looked to be in his fifties, grizzled and built like a retired rugby player who could probably lift a sofa with his pinky finger.

The younger one, maybe thirty, had that cocky, overconfident swagger of someone who thought they were invincible—and probably spent way too much time flexing in the mirror.

I got why Beverly had been drooling. But I needed to get rid of them long enough to slip away. So, I did what any witch with questionable decision-making skills and a ticking clock would do. I lied.

“Excuse me? Yeah, you,” I said, waving at them. “Marcus just called. He needs you both. Urgent chief business.” I threw in a fake smile for good measure. “He’s waiting for you inside Davenport House.”

They exchanged a brief look—probably debating whether I was full of crap. But to my surprise, they shrugged and headed toward the front door of my aunts’ house without so much as a follow-up question.

I stood there, blinking, completely stunned that it had actually worked. For a second, I nearly forgot why I was out here in the first place. Right. Vara. Dylan. Focus.

I spun around and bolted down the street, cursing under my breath at how much of a head start they’d gotten. They were already so far ahead, I half-panicked, thinking I’d lost them. But then, up ahead, I spotted them—Vara and Dylan, strolling casually up the street.

My boots crunched softly against the sidewalk as I followed them, keeping my distance but close enough to see Vara’s wild hand gestures and Dylan’s occasional head shake.

What the hell is going on? I had no idea. But I wasn’t about to lose sight of them. Not when every witchy instinct I had was screaming that this wasn’t just an innocent stroll.

I stayed in the shadows, ducking behind trees and parked cars like I was in a low-budget spy movie. My heart pounded harder with each step, but I ignored it, focusing instead on trying to be invisible.

Where are you taking him, Vara?

The crunch of concrete under my boots turned to the soft rustle of leaves as I trailed them off Stardust Drive and into a wooded lot. Shadows stretched and twisted around the narrow dirt path, and I realized how quickly night was falling.

I crept further, my breath clouding in the cool evening air. The thick canopy of trees muffled most sounds, but as I pressed forward, the occasional snippet of their conversation drifted back to me.

“You need to understand how important this is,” Vara hissed, her voice sharp and urgent.

Dylan mumbled something back, too quiet for me to catch, but it made her snap, “I don’t care what you think. This isn’t about you. It’s about the baby.”

I froze, my heart hammering so hard it felt like it was trying to leap out of my chest and sprint back to the cottage. My baby? My hand instinctively flew to my stomach as a wave of protectiveness and dread washed over me. What the hell did Vara want with my baby?

My grip tightened on the edges of my coat, and I forced myself to move. My mind was already spinning, trying to piece together what they could be planning, but nothing made sense. Maybe I should call Marcus, I thought briefly but dismissed it as I realized in my haste I’d forgotten to grab my phone. Crap.

Ahead, Dylan’s voice raised just enough for me to hear. “I don’t want to do this. Why do we have to?”

“You don’t have a choice,” Vara shot back. “You knew what you were getting into when you came here. It’s too late to back out.”

I swallowed hard, creeping closer as their silhouettes became clearer. The trail ended at a small clearing where an old, weathered barn stood out, forgotten. Its wooden beams were splintered and sagging, the roof caved in slightly on one side. Ivy and moss had claimed large chunks of the structure, but it still looked stable enough to serve as whatever creepy lair Vara had planned.

They reached the barn, and Vara yanked the door open. Dylan hesitated for a second, glancing over his shoulder like he could sense me watching, but Vara barked something at him, and he reluctantly followed her inside.

I crept closer, the underbrush crunching softly under my boots. Reaching the barn, I pressed myself against the side, peering through a gap in the wooden boards. Inside, moonlight filtered through holes in the roof, casting eerie patches of light on the dirt floor.

Vara lit a lantern, its warm glow illuminating her determined expression. “You have to trust me,” she told Dylan, her voice softening but still laced with urgency. “This is the only way.”

Only way for what? My fingers gripped the edge of the wooden slat as I strained to hear more. The only way to what? To do what to my baby?

Dylan rubbed his arm, looking down at the floor. “Why is it always so complicated?” he mumbled, his voice thick with doubt.

Vara stepped closer, lowering her voice, but I could still hear her. “Because it just is. The baby isn’t just another hybrid. It’s special. Powerful. And if we don’t act soon, we lose our chance.”

I felt like the world had tilted sideways. The cramps from earlier flared up again, but I ignored the pain. Special? Powerful? What the hell did that mean?

I had heard enough. My body trembled, not just from the cold, but from the overwhelming urge to burst inside that barn. But I couldn’t yet. Not without knowing exactly what I was up against.

With my breath held and my heart pounding, I stayed where I was, eavesdropping on a conversation that could very well change everything.

Vara turned to Dylan, her expression sharp and expectant. “You’re hesitating,” she said coldly. “Why?”

Dylan shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I’m not hesitating,” he muttered, but the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips said otherwise. “I’m just wondering why we’re wasting so much time. You said this would be quick.”

I bit my lip, pressing myself tighter against the barn’s exterior. The air felt too heavy, too thick, like it knew something terrible was about to happen.

Vara tilted her head, studying him. “Patience. Can’t rush fate.”

Dylan laughed under his breath. “I just want to go back to my life.” He leaned against a post, looking relaxed, but his eyes—cold, calculating, far too mature for an eleven-year-old—told a different story. “And I want what you promised me.”

Power.

The realization hit me. He wasn’t some lost, scared kid. He wasn’t looking for family or love. He wanted power, and Vara was offering it to him on a silver platter.

“You’ll get what you deserve,” said Vara smoothly, running a hand along his arm. “But only if you play your part.”

Dylan’s smirk widened. “I’m playing it. Aren’t I? I got his trust. Didn’t I? I’ve been living in his house, eating his food, smiling like I care about any of this.”

Bastard. I had to clamp a hand over my mouth to stop the bile rising in my throat. This wasn’t just a betrayal. It was planned, premeditated, and cruel.

Vara tilted her head, smiling faintly. “Yes. And she’s been taking her pills like a good little witch. Hasn’t she?”

Dylan snickered. “Like a stupid bitch.”

“Well,” Vara said, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “A little Dark magic goes a long way. By the time she realizes what’s happening, it’ll be too late. Her strength will be gone, her magic drained. She’ll be too weak to stop us.”

I felt like the ground had just dropped out from under me. The pills. The ones Vara insisted I take every day without fail. The ones she watched me swallow like a hawk. They weren’t prenatal vitamins. They weren’t helping me. They were killing me.

My legs trembled as I fought the wave of nausea crashing over me. I wanted to scream, to burst into the barn and rip Vara apart with my bare hands, but I couldn’t move. All I could do was stand there, frozen, as their words echoed in my head.

Vara’s smile widened. “Once she’s gone, and the baby’s born, everything we’ve worked for will fall into place. No one will stand in our way.”

I clenched my fists so tightly that my nails bit into my palms. Not today. Not ever.

My baby wasn’t going to be their pawn. Hell no.

The anger bubbling inside me was almost unbearable, but I forced myself to stay quiet. Not yet. I needed to hear more.

“And Marcus?” Vara asked. “Does he suspect anything?”

Dylan rolled his eyes. “He’s distracted. Trying to play hero or whatever. He’s too stupid to see what’s happening under his own roof.”

“Good,” Vara said, satisfied. “Because once we have the baby—”

I couldn’t hear the rest. My heart pounded too loudly, my blood roaring in my ears. My hands trembled, but I forced them into fists.

Not my baby. Not on my watch.

I slipped into the barn, the scent of hay and old wood filling the air as the heavy door silently shut behind me. Keeping low, I pressed myself against the wall, my fingers brushing the rough, splintered surface. I edged toward a stack of old crates, crouching behind them, and peeked out just enough to see them huddled together—whispering, plotting, completely unaware of me.

Something gold flickered in the corner of my vision. I turned to the right, my breath catching in my throat.

On an old, rickety chair sat a birdcage, rusted with crooked bars, and inside, glowing faintly, was Tinker Bell.

23

Her tiny wings fluttered weakly, her light dimmer than I’d ever seen it. She clung to the bars, her little hands wrapped tightly around the cold metal as she slumped forward, barely conscious.

Oh no. Tinky!

My heart broke at the sight. Had she been trapped like this since she disappeared? I fought the urge to burst out of hiding, to snatch the cage and run like hell. But one wrong move, and Vara or Dylan would stop me. And I wasn’t exactly feeling like a track star with the cramping and whatever unstable magic was still coursing through my system.

I bit my lip, my gaze flicking back to Vara and Dylan. They were too busy discussing whatever twisted plan they had for my baby to notice me.

Hang on, Tinky, I thought. I’m getting you out of here.

I snuck in closer, crouching as I crab-walked over to the birdcage, every movement making my muscles scream in protest. I winced as another cramp lanced through my belly like a hot knife. Sweat clung to the back of my neck, and I fought the urge to curl into a ball right there on the cold floor.

The dim lantern light flickered, casting shadows along the rotting wooden beams of the barn. The scent of damp hay and something metallic hung thick in the air, making me swallow back nausea.

Tinker Bell’s head snapped up at my approach, and her eyes widened with a spark of recognition.

“There’s a binding spell,” whispered Tinker Bell, her voice a fragile chime. “I can’t get out. They’ve been… draining me… my magic…” Her voice cracked, and it was like someone twisting a knife in my chest.

I pressed my trembling hands against the cold metal bars of the cage, my palms slick with sweat. Bouts of fury and rage swirled inside me, hotter than any cramp. My breathing turned shallow as I thought of Vara and Dylan—how they had done this, how they wanted to use my baby for their sick plans.

My hatred for both of them burned through my veins, leaving no room for fear.

In that moment, I saw red. It wasn’t just anger. It was survival. My demon mojo surged forward like an unstoppable tidal wave, cold and wild, as if it had been waiting for me to unleash it. My fingers curled tighter around the cage as the power hummed through me, crackling like static electricity. Black tendrils of magic unfurled from my fingertips, slithering up the bars like snakes.

The metal glowed red-hot, the binding spell fighting back with sizzling resistance. But I pushed harder, driven by pure instinct. My pulse pounded in my ears, drowning out everything but the desperate need to break this damn cage open.

The tendrils pulsed, expanding and tightening like vines strangling their target. The air around me shimmered with heat, and the smell of burning metal and magic filled my nostrils.

“Come on,” I whispered. “Break, you bastard.”

With one final surge of power, the binding spell frayed and crumbled, sizzling away like a lit fuse burning to its end. The birdcage door disintegrated, metal melting and falling apart with a faint hiss.

The fairy shot out of the cage, wobbling midair before landing softly on my open palm. Her wings fluttered weakly, her glow even dimmer now.

“Can you fly?” I asked, my voice shaking as much as my body. My knees wobbled, and I leaned against the chair for support, lightheaded from the effort.

Tinker Bell nodded, though her face was sunken, her features drawn tight with exhaustion. But her eyes—her eyes were wide with determination, and that gave me hope.

“Get help,” I whispered urgently. “Hurry.”

Without another word, Tinky shot into the air, a tiny comet of light zipping toward the barn’s exit. She vanished into the night in the blink of an eye, leaving me with only the dim glow of the lantern and the pounding of my heart.

“Tessa? This is a surprise.”

I whipped around and locked eyes with Vara, standing twenty feet from me with Dylan lurking behind her. The smirk on her face was smug, but her eyes—those cold, calculating eyes—told me I was in deep trouble.

A cramp hit me so hard I had to brace myself against the nearest stack of hay bales, gasping for air. Beads of sweat trickled down my forehead, dripping into my eyes and making everything around me blur. My insides felt like they were being wrung out like a wet towel.

“She followed us,” said Dylan, his voice higher-pitched than usual, and yup, there it was—that creepy, twitchy ripple passing over his face again. His fingers fidgeted at his sides as he glanced nervously between me and Vara. “She’s not supposed to be here. She knows now. What about the plan?”

“It’s fine, you moron,” snapped Vara, her tone sharp and cutting. “It’s just a little bit early. Nothing changes.”

Dylan’s lip quivered as he glanced back at me, his body giving a small, nervous jerk. His wide eyes, though, weren’t those of an innocent child. They flickered with something darker, a sinister edge, as if he was quietly plotting what came next.

I straightened, gritting my teeth as the cramp subsided just enough for me to breathe without wanting to scream. My heart pounded against my ribcage as I tried to keep my expression neutral, even though all I wanted to do was launch myself at them, claws out.

“What plan?” I asked, my voice hoarse but steady. “What exactly is going on here, Vara? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you two have been scheming something seriously evil.”

“She heard us,” said Dylan, his voice shaky as he rubbed his palms against his jeans, his fingers flinching like he couldn’t keep them still. “She knows.”

Vara rolled her eyes, her patience with Dylan clearly wearing thin. She stepped closer to him and grabbed his arm, yanking him toward her. “Relax,” she hissed through gritted teeth. “Everything’s under control.”

Dylan’s gaze darted toward the empty birdcage, and I didn’t miss the way his jaw tensed. “But she got Tinker Bell out,” he whispered harshly, yanking out of Vara’s grip. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Well, it did,” I said, folding my arms over my chest despite the residual pain twisting in my belly. “Sorry to ruin your master plan, but fairies don’t belong in cages, and neither do babies, in case you were wondering.”

Vara’s lips curled into a tight smile, her eyes narrowing as she studied me. “I’d be more concerned about yourself, Tessa. You’re not exactly in fighting shape right now. Are you feeling a little… sick? Is that pain I see on your face? It hurts. Doesn’t it?”

I wiped the sweat from my brow and forced a laugh, one that was probably a little too wild, but screw it. “What the hell did you do to me?”

Vara grinned. “Only what was necessary.”

Dylan fidgeted, his fingers tapping nervously against his leg. “Maybe we should leave.” He glanced at the barn door as if he was ready to bolt. “She looks... mad.”

“Oh, she’s definitely mad.” Vara’s tone dripped with condescension. “But it doesn’t matter. She’s not strong enough to stop us. Not like this.”

My palms itched as I tried to summon my demon mojo from earlier. I felt the faintest flicker—just a whisper of power—and then… nada. Nothing. My demon magic had officially clocked out and left me hanging. Damn.

“You sure about that?” I said anyway, hoping confidence could substitute for actual magic. I took a shaky step forward, my legs wobbling beneath me like I’d just spent an hour running on a treadmill. Like that would ever happen.

Vara’s smug smile faltered for a heartbeat, but then she saw through my bluff because, of course, she did. I probably looked about as intimidating as a sleepy kitten. She laughed. “Oh, Tessa. You’re adorable when you try to be threatening.”

I hated this bitch. I gritted my teeth, ignoring the way Dylan’s face jerked with that creepy ripple again. “It’s not a threat. I will kick your ass. It’s a promise.”

Vara swept her gaze over me like I was a bug she could crush with her shoe. “Kick my ass? Sweetheart, you can’t even stand up straight.”

Dylan snorted, but Vara didn’t let him linger on the joke. She leaned closer and whispered something in his ear. His face jerked again, and he fidgeted uncomfortably, glancing back at me as if I’d suddenly grown another head.

I took another step forward, praying to any magical entity who might be listening that my magic would come back, just a spark—anything. But all I got was another wave of dizziness and a stabbing cramp that nearly had me doubled over. Great.

“Let me guess,” I said, leaning against a wooden post for support. “You’re going to monologue about how weak I am and how you’ve been feeding me magic-killing pills like some evil life coach from hell?”

Vara tilted her head, her eyes narrowing. “No monologue necessary. You already figured it out. But don’t be too hard on yourself. You made it much further than I expected.” Her gaze dipped to my belly. “But the baby’s taking everything from you now. Soon, there’ll be nothing left.”

A chill shot through me, but I plastered on a smirk anyway. “Well, joke’s on you, Vara. I’m stubborn as hell, and if you think a little cramping and nausea are going to take me down, you’ve clearly never seen me on a bad hair day.”

Vara laughed, a low, sinister chuckle that made my skin crawl. “Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart. But soon, there won’t be any of you left.”

I tried one last time to summon my magic, my palms heating up slightly before it vanished.

“Something wrong?” Vara purred, stepping closer. “You look a little pale.”

I gripped the wooden post tighter, my knuckles turning white. “Pale’s the new trend. Didn’t you hear?”

Vara tsked. “Give up, Tessa. You’ve lost.”

A flash of anger cut through the dizziness. I hadn’t lost—not yet. “I don’t lose,” I whispered, pushing off the post and straightening as much as my body would allow.

Vara’s eyes glinted with malice. “You really think you have any fight left?” she asked, her voice deceptively calm. “You can barely stand, Tessa.”

I leaned against the post, my legs trembling like they were about to quit on me. “That’s the thing about me,” I said through gritted teeth. “I don’t know when to quit.”

Vara snorted. “Cute. But you should be more worried about what’s coming next.”

I swallowed hard, my pulse pounding in my ears. “What do you mean? What’s coming next?”

Dylan shuffled awkwardly. “The ritual,” he said, a nervous edge creeping into his voice.

“What ritual?” I demanded, my voice sharper than I expected. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

Vara’s smile stretched wider, slow and condescending. “The ritual that will ensure I get exactly what I want.”

“Yeah, my boot up your ass.” My pulse pounded in my ears as I watched her crouch down and yank away a dust-covered tarp from the floor. The smell hit me first—a metallic tang mixed with the stink of rotting meat.

Then I saw it.

Painted in thick, glistening streaks of blood, a large circle took up most of the floor, its surface decorated with runes and symbols that pulsed faintly as though they were alive.

Vara snapped her fingers, and the black candles that surrounded the circle sprang into life, something that Dolores was an expert at. The flickering flames cast distorted shadows on the walls, making everything look like it was moving. Breathing.

And there, at the edge of the circle, lay a dead goat.

Its throat had been slit, the blood pooling into grooves carved into the wooden floor. I hadn’t noticed it before, but now that I had, I couldn’t unsee it—the empty, glassy eyes stared up at the ceiling, accusing me of being too late.

This was magic. Black magic. And I hadn’t even felt it…

Those pills had done a real number on my magic.

Vara stood and gestured toward the circle like she was presenting a masterpiece. “Impressive, isn’t it? Ancient voodoo combined with a touch of Black magic. Took me months to gather the ingredients. The blood, the bones, the herbs. Every piece exactly where it needs to be.”

I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. “You slaughtered a goat in here?” My voice came out high-pitched, somewhere between panic and revulsion. “What? Was the grocery store fresh out of chicken thighs?” I hated her even more for that.

Vara chuckled. “It’s all part of the ritual, dear. Blood magic requires sacrifice.”

“Yeah, well, you should’ve sacrificed your manicure instead,” I shot back, trying to mask my terror with sarcasm. But my hands were trembling, and I couldn’t stop staring at the blood-soaked symbols. “Smells like death.”

“Good,” said Vara sharply. “Because death is part of this.”

I tore my gaze away from the circle and glared at her. “So this is it, huh? This is your big plan? A dead goat, some blood, and a few creepy candles?”

Vara’s smile didn’t waver. If anything, it grew colder, curving with a kind of sick satisfaction. “It’s not about the tools, Tessa. They’re just instruments—props, if you will.” She took a step closer, her eyes gleaming as the flickering candlelight danced across her face. “It’s the intent that matters. The will behind the ritual. Blood fuels it, death seals it, and power—your baby’s power—will make it unstoppable.”

She crouched down near the circle, her fingers brushing over the dark stains on the floor as if she was savoring their presence. “This isn’t just magic. It’s ancient, primal magic. The kind that demands a sacrifice foul enough to make most witches cower. But me?” She looked up at me, her gaze as chilling as the air around us. “I’m not most witches.”

I took a step back, my legs trembling. “No. You’re a sick bitch.”

“No, I’m strategic,” Vara corrected. “I know exactly what I’m doing. And soon, so will you.”

The candles flickered as if the air itself trembled in response to her words.

I glanced at the dead goat again, its lifeless body lying too close to the circle, and I knew this wasn’t just a ritual. This was a war. And I was the prize.

Dylan draped a dark blue robe over Vara’s shoulders, the fabric embroidered with runes and ancient symbols that seemed to shimmer faintly, as though they were waiting to be activated. Once the robe settled around her, he handed her a long, twisted wooden staff, its surface covered in deep etchings that pulsed faintly with Dark magic. At the tip, a small, bleached skull—possibly from a goat or a fox—grinned hollowly, its empty eye sockets seeming to follow me as she gripped it firmly in her hands. The staff emitted a faint hum, like it was alive and thrumming with dark energy.

Then, with a reverent expression, Dylan looped several necklaces around Vara’s neck. The necklaces weren’t just ordinary strands. They were woven from twine and braided hair, adorned with tiny, delicate bones that clinked softly as she moved. Some bones were shaped like claws, others were sharp fragments of ribs, and a few were strung with tiny charms carved from animal teeth. Together, they created an unsettling symphony of movement and sound, like death itself had accessorized her.

So, so, creepy.

Vara ran her fingers over the necklaces, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment, as if she were drawing power from them. When her gaze snapped back to me, it was sharper, more predatory.

“Now,” she said softly, gripping the staff tighter, “let’s begin.”

24

Istared at Vara in her full voodoo ensemble—dark blue robe, runes shimmering, skull-tipped staff in hand. Okay, not what I was expecting. Did she have this outfit prepped in case of emergencies, or was this her casual Friday look?

“And what, exactly, do you want?” I asked, though I already had a pretty solid, very terrifying guess.

Vara tilted her head, studying me like I was a specimen under a microscope. “You really haven’t figured it out yet?” She let out a soft, mocking laugh. “Poor, Tessa. You’ve been so busy trying to protect Marcus and his little boy, you didn’t see what was happening right in front of you.”

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my voice. “Then enlighten me. What do you want from me? From my baby?”

Vara’s gaze darkened, her voice dripping with triumph. “Your baby isn’t just any baby. It’s a hybrid of two powerful magical bloodlines—yours and Marcus’s. That makes it unique. Dangerous. And valuable. With magic like that, your child is a walking, breathing key that can tip the balance of power in my favor.”

I blinked, trying to process her words, but it felt like my brain was wading through molasses. “Stop speaking in riddles. Give it to me straight.”

Vara stepped closer, the glow of the lantern casting eerie shadows across her face. “Your baby’s magic is the key to everything,” she said, her voice smooth, almost reverent. “Once I siphon that raw, untapped power, I won’t just be stronger. I’ll be unstoppable. Imagine it, Tessa. Multiple forms of magic fused into one being. No limits. No weaknesses. I won’t need a gate or some ancient relic. I’ll be the power.”

I shook my head. “You were never just a White witch. Just a crazy bitch.” Something popped into my head. “And you sent me that note. Didn’t you?”

Vara’s smile turned creepy, almost mechanical. “Well, aren’t you the smart one.”

The cramp hit me again, harder this time, and I bit down on my lip to keep from crying out. “You’re insane,” I hissed, gripping a wood beam like it was the only thing keeping me upright. “You think you can just—what? Kill me, take my baby, and become queen of the witches?”

“Voodoo queen,” Vara corrected with a smirk, as if that made it better.

My insides wrenched with a mix of pain and rage. “You’ve been feeding me those pills. You’ve been weakening me so I wouldn’t be able to fight back.” I cursed myself for taking those damn pills.

“And it worked. Didn’t it?” Vara said, her tone smug.

I hadn’t taken the ones tonight, and maybe that was the only way I’d survive this.

I tried to summon my magic again, but it was like trying to light a match in a hurricane. My hands trembled, my vision blurred, and the heat of my own failure burned through me.

“Give it up, Tessa,” said Vara, as if she could see the internal battle I was fighting. “There’s no point in fighting anymore. Soon, it’ll be all over.”

I clenched my fists. If they thought I was down for the count, they had another think coming.

“Put her in the circle,” Vara commanded.

Shit.

I tried to run, but it was like my legs couldn’t support my weight. I fell to my knees and felt strong hands drag me, stronger than any eleven-year-old wereape kid should have. Yeah. Dylan wasn’t an ordinary kid. Nope, he was something else entirely.

Vara’s laugh echoed throughout the barn. “Excellent. Just as it should be.” Her eyes glimmered with something ancient and dark as Dylan yanked me into the circle.

My knees hit the blood-soaked floorboards with a wet thud, sending a cold, sticky sensation up my legs as the coppery scent of old blood assaulted my nose. I barely noticed the sharp sting as my palms landed hard, skidding across the slick surface. When I pulled them back, they were streaked with crimson, the thick liquid clinging to my skin like it had a life of its own.

The pain in my stomach cinched tighter, sharper, like someone was threading a wire through my organs and yanking it taut. My breath came in shallow gasps, and I could feel the beads of sweat dripping down my temple, mixing with the grime and blood smearing my skin.

The symbols painted in blood pulsed beneath me, glowing brighter. They looked alive, shifting ever so slightly as if they were breathing. My head throbbed in sync with the pulse, and it felt like invisible hands were pressing down on my skull, trying to crack it open and pour out my thoughts.

I tried to push myself upright, but my arms shook like jelly, slipping on the bloodstained floor. My knees dragged through the thick mess, streaking the blood in long, grotesque trails beneath me. The scent of iron was so strong I could taste it in the back of my throat.

“Look at her.” Dylan sneered, his face lit up with pure delight as he watched me struggle. “She’s falling apart. Just like you said she would.”

Vara smirked down at me. “I told you the pills would do their job. She’s powerless.”

I wanted to snap back, to tell them they hadn’t won yet, but the dizziness was getting worse. My vision blurred at the edges, and the glow of the lanterns morphed into swirling halos of light. I couldn’t even tell if I was seeing the barn anymore or some hellish version of it.

Get up, Tessa.

Straining, I tried to gather every ounce of strength I had left. My fingertips clawed at the floorboards, slick with blood, as I tried to inch away from the center of the circle.

“Don’t even think about it.” Vara slammed the butt of her staff into the floor with a loud crack. The skull on the tip rattled, its hollow eyes burning with power.

I groaned, my head pounding with the intensity of a drumbeat. The fiery pain in my gut seemed to intensify, and I could feel the magic—my baby’s magic—being pulled from me like a thread unraveling from a spool.

Dylan crouched down beside me, the glow from the blood symbols casting ugly shadows across his face. “You never trusted me. How did you know I wasn’t really Marcus’s son? He thought I was, but you never did. How did you know?”

I tried to focus on him, to summon any remaining spark of magic I had, but all I could manage was a weak flicker of warmth that faded almost instantly. My hands trembled, streaking more blood across the floor as I clenched them into fists.

I struggled to lift my head as Dylan leaned down, his face way too close to mine. “You’re not as smart as everyone thinks you are,” he said, his voice dripping with smug glee. His face contracted again—only this time, it didn’t stop. It rippled and contorted like he was glitching in and out of his human form.

So, so creepy. What the hell was he?

“Leave her,” commanded Vara. “She’s exactly where she needs to be. Let the ritual do the rest.”

Dylan stood, a wicked smile stretching across his face as he backed away toward Vara. “Don’t worry, Tessa,” he called out. “When this is all over, you won’t feel a thing.”

I swallowed hard, the taste of fear bitter on my tongue. I wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet. Not while my baby’s future—my future—was on the line. I pressed my palms harder into the blood-soaked floor, ignoring the way they slid as I fought to get my legs under me.

The voodoo queen raised her staff and began to chant.

“Nubeleli malili, niyinoli lubiangi ni ngui, pe nizwi likubu ni ngui!” she cried out, her voice guttural, speaking a language I didn’t recognize. It sounded ancient, older than dirt and twice as cursed. As her words slithered through the barn, the symbols on the floor began to glow red, pulsating.

Dylan clapped his hands, practically vibrating with excitement. “This is it! This is where it all changes.”

My vision blurred, the lantern’s glow bending and twisting as my body waged war against itself. Every instinct told me to get up, to fight, but I couldn’t. My legs were jelly, my hands clammy, and my magic? A big fat no-show.

I tried to focus, to think. I couldn’t let them win. I had to find a way to stop this. “You think this is going to work?” My voice came out strained, but I didn’t care. “Stealing my baby’s magic for yourself? Power like that doesn’t follow orders, Vara. It’s unpredictable. It consumes everything—and everyone—who thinks they can control it.”

Vara’s chanting grew louder, faster, like she was working herself into a trance.

Dylan leaned over the circle beside me, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “You’re wrong. Once she takes that power, it’ll be magic beyond anything you can imagine. And I’ll finally get what I deserve.”

I blinked through the fog clouding my brain. “And what exactly do you think you deserve?”

He leaned closer, the ripple on his face making me nauseated. “Everything. Power. Respect. No one’s ever going to push me around again.”

“And you think Vara’s going to give you that?” I rasped, trying to stall, trying to do something. “She’s using you, Dylan. The second she doesn’t need you, you’ll be tossed aside like yesterday’s garbage.”

He hesitated—just for a second—but Vara’s chant grew louder, and the glowing symbols flared brighter, snapping him out of it. “Nice try,” he said, “but I’m not some stupid kid.”

“Really?” I coughed. “Because you’re acting like one.”

Vara stabbed her staff in our direction. “Enough talk,” she barked. “The ritual is in motion. Nothing can stop it now.”

The light from the symbols pulsed faster, and I could feel the energy gathering in the center of the circle. My baby. They were drawing power from my baby.

I bit down hard on my lip to keep from screaming. I had to think. I had to do something to save my kid.

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to sit upright despite the cramps that felt like a thousand knives stabbing my insides. My fingers twitched, desperate to conjure magic that wasn’t coming.

Through the haze of pain, I pictured Marcus’s face. His smile. The way he looked at me like I was his whole world. And our baby. Our future.

I wasn’t going to let them take that from me.

I dug deep, past the fear, past the weakness, past the betrayal of my own body. If my magic wouldn’t come willingly, I’d drag it out kicking and screaming.

“Come on. Come on,” I whispered, squeezing my eyes shut and forcing myself to focus through the pounding in my head. My fingers pressed harder into the blood-soaked floor as I tried to call up any fragment of power—just a spark, a flicker, something. Anything.

But there was nothing.

Not a whisper. Not a tingle. Not even the faintest hum of energy beneath my skin. My magic, the same magic that had blown Zeke across the room not long ago, was silent. Gone. It was like trying to light a dead match in the middle of a storm.

Panic clawed at my chest, making it harder to breathe. My heart raced as the blood symbols beneath me pulsed again, stronger this time, and I could feel the pull, the drain, the terrifying realization that this circle wasn’t just keeping me trapped. It was leeching me dry.

The edges of my vision swam like I was underwater. Vara’s chanting grew louder, her voice twisting into something unrecognizable, ancient, and sinister. The lanterns flickered wildly, casting her shadow across the barn like she was some demon queen presiding over her victory.

And then I saw it.

The dagger.

Its blade gleamed in the flickering light, the metal curved and sharp. Vara held it with both hands as she stepped toward me, her eyes locked on my belly with the kind of determination that turned my blood to ice.

“No.” My body shook as I tried to push myself up again, but my arms gave out, sending me sprawling back onto the floor. The blood was everywhere now—on my hands, my knees, my clothes—and the coppery scent clung to me like a curse.

Vara’s smile widened. “Don’t worry, Tessa,” she purred, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “This will be quick. The baby won’t feel a thing.”

Tears fell freely down my face as fear and desperation surged through me, more powerful than any emotion I’d ever felt before. Not for myself but for the life growing inside me. My baby. My child. The tiny, innocent life that hadn’t even had a chance to breathe its first breath.

I couldn’t let this happen.

I wouldn’t let this happen.

“Stay away from me!” I screamed, my voice cracking with raw emotion as I tried to crawl backward, my hands slipping on the blood-slick floor.

Dylan stood off to the side, grinning like the little monster he was while watching me struggle like it was his favorite thing in the world.

“You’re making this harder than it needs to be,” said Vara, her tone so calm it made me sick. “Just accept it, Tessa. It’s over.”

“No,” I whispered, tears streaming down my face as I clawed at the floor, willing my body to move and my magic to respond.

But neither did.

And then, like a cruel joke, the baby kicked.

A small, fluttering movement that should have filled me with joy instead broke me wide open. I sobbed, pressing my hand to my belly as the reality of how close I was to losing everything crashed over me, heavy and suffocating.

“Please,” I whispered to the baby, to myself, to anyone who could hear me. “Not like this.”

Despair hit as I realized what I’d done.

It seemed that the magic I’d used to save Tinker Bell had drained me, left me with nothing, not even a little from my kid’s magic. I had nothing.

Saving Tinker Bell had cost my life and my kid’s.

And now I’d pay the ultimate price.

25

Just when I thought it was over, when the glint of Vara’s dagger came at me, a high-pitched, familiar voice pierced through the barn.

“Get away from her, you bitch!”

My blurry vision caught a flash of light—no, glitter—as something zoomed into the barn like a tiny rocket.

Tinker Bell.

My heart leaped as the little fairy shot across the room, slamming into Vara’s face with enough force to make her stagger backward. “Ah! You filthy critter. Kill the fairy!” Vara yelped, swatting at the air as Tinker Bell circled her head, unleashing a flurry of tiny but powerful kicks to her nose, cheeks, and forehead.

If I’d had the energy to laugh, I would have, but I had to settle for a bit of drool.

I didn’t have time to process how absurdly wonderful it was to see Vara getting her face pummeled by a pissed-off fairy.

Using the distraction, I tried to push myself to my knees. The floor beneath me felt like quicksand, and I collapsed back down.

Dylan lunged at Tinker Bell, but she flew easily out of his reach and hit back with a slash of her golden sword catching him in the left eye. He yelped, stumbling backward while clawing at his face. I could see clearer now that Vara wasn’t voodooing (just made that up) and saw the blood streaking down his face.

The barn door crashed open with the kind of dramatic flair I could only appreciate if I wasn’t seconds from passing out. My vision was still spotty, but even through the haze, I could see them—my family and friends—charging in like the magical version of The Avengers.

Dolores led the charge. Her arms outstretched as a burst of white energy flared from her palms, scattering the glowing runes on the floor like leaves in the wind. Beverly stormed in right behind her, wielding mini whirlwinds above her palms like bracelets. “Hands off the baby, or you’ll be seeing sparkles in places you didn’t know existed,” she snapped.

Iris was right next to her, both hands clutching tiny pouches, of what I could only imagine were her Dark magic doom bundles and curse bags.

Ronin swaggered in with a smirk, cracking his knuckles. “Here, doula, doula. Come here, girl.”

And then there was Marcus. My heart nearly gave out when I saw him, his gaze dark and dangerous, his muscles tensed as he strode in with Zeke at his side. Zeke, that was surprising. Guess he woke up from his accidental magical coma. Whoops.

Marcus met my gaze and his expression filled with worry followed by fury.

My wereape moved toward me, but the second he saw the glowing runes surrounding my feet, he froze. His eyes darted to the circle and then back to me, panic deepening. He knew. Moving me could trigger the magic—could hurt me, could hurt the baby. His jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides as if forcing himself to stay put was physically painful. But he didn’t dare take another step, and the weight of that hesitation nearly broke me.

But then Ruth stepped into my line of sight. She stormed in wearing full-on combat gear: camouflage pants, what looked like a black bulletproof vest, and a red headband. A massive bag was slung over her shoulder, bulging with what could only be described as magical destruction.

“Bad, bad doula!” yelled Ruth, her face blotchy, sweaty, and red. Her eyes were wide with just a tad of crazy.

Yeah. Ruth was a badass when it came to insults. Love my aunt Ruthy.

Vara’s head snapped toward Ruth, her expression somewhere between disbelief and horror. “Fools. It’s too late. You’re all too late. I have already begun the ritual.”

Ruth whipped her bag off her shoulder and set it down with a loud thud. She unzipped it and started tossing vials, powders, and magical artifacts like she was a machine gun with unlimited ammo.

The first vial exploded at Vara’s feet, sending a cloud of sparkling green mist into the air. The voodoo queen coughed violently, stumbling backward as she waved her hands to clear the air.

“This is for hurting Tinker Bell, you voodoo trollop!” shouted Ruth, her voice dripping with righteous fury.

“You tell her, Ruth,” Dolores added, rolling her shoulders as she came up to stand next to her younger sister. “Let’s see her try to doula her way out of this.”

Ruth lobbed another vial. This one shattered midair, releasing a burst of glitter and what I could only assume was some sort of paralyzing powder because Vara’s legs buckled, and she collapsed to the floor.

The fake-doula uttered a few words of voodoo magic and then blew a handful of dirt from her palm, letting it swirl around her legs. Then, she stood up, looking smug. “You really think glitter is going to stop me?”

Ruth didn’t answer. She was too busy yanking out fists of enchanted powders and tossing them like she was seeding a garden of destruction. One hit Vara square in the chest, and her skin crackled with tiny bolts of lightning.

“Ahhh!” screamed Vara, flailing as the magic sizzled around her. But before she could fully recover, her hand dove into the folds of her robe. When she whipped it back out, she held a handful of grimy cloth pouches tied tightly with fraying rope, their surfaces stained with dark smudges and strange symbols etched in what looked like dried blood. Voodoo hex bags, if I had to guess.

“Looks like Doula Doom isn’t done yet,” said Ronin, leaning against a post and watching with morbid fascination.

Vara hurled the first hex bag directly at Ruth. When it hit the floor, it erupted into a squirming, writhing pile of maggots.

Beverly let out an ear-piercing screech and hopped onto a nearby chair. “Maggots! I draw the line at worms. I did not sign up for this.”

“Calm down, Beverly,” said Dolores, flicking a maggot off her shoe. “They’re just worms with ambition.”

“They’re disgusting!” shouted Beverly, swatting at her ankles.

Another hex bag hit the floor, this one exploding into a mass of cockroaches that scattered in every direction. Beverly shrieked again, waving her arms around like she wanted to take flight. I didn’t blame her. That was truly unsettling.

But Ruth didn’t even flinch. Creepy crawlers were basically her buddies. She loved them. Spiders, centipedes, you name it, they were her squad. And that was a fact the fake-doula clearly hadn’t accounted for. Rookie mistake.

Ruth stood there, a strange, tiny smile on her face as the cockroaches climbed up her legs and chest.

And then, with a war cry that would have made any warrior proud, she reached into her bag, grabbed what looked like a jar of transparent green liquid, and tossed it at Vara. The jar shattered against Vara’s shoulder, releasing a cloud of acrid green smoke.

Vara coughed, stumbling backward as the smoke coiled around her like a living thing and clung to her clothes and skin. Her eyes narrowed, burning with fury. “Your White magic is nothing but a parlor trick,” she rasped, her voice dripping with venom. “You’ll never stop me.” Her hand shot to her side, her fingers closing around another hex bag, ready to strike.

“We will,” countered Ruth, her eyes blazing with determination as she hurled a final vial. It exploded at Vara’s feet, sending a shockwave of energy through the room.

The blast hit Vara hard, sending her stumbling backward—right into her own blood-drawn circle. The force of her impact knocked me out of the circle, sending me sprawling across the dirt.

Before Vara could react, the surrounding candles flared, their flames leaping higher. The hem of her robe ignited first, and within seconds, fire raced up the fabric, devouring it with supernatural speed. She clawed at the burning cloth, her furious screams mixing with the crackle of the flames as the circle’s magic locked her inside.

Vara screamed, flailing as the fire consumed her. She tried to crawl out of the circle, but the runes pulsed with power, holding her in place. Her screams echoed off the barn walls until, finally, they faded, leaving nothing but the crackle of flames and the smell of burning magic.

I blinked, staring at the pile of ash that used to be Vara. I was glad she was dead. Did that make me a bad witch? If it did, I didn’t care. She tried to kill my child. If I had the chance and the energy, I would have fried the bitch myself.

Ruth dusted off her hands like she’d just finished a particularly satisfying chore. “Well, that’s what you get for messing with my Tinky.”

“Remind me never to get on Ruth’s bad side,” came Iris’s voice. I had to agree.

Ronin clapped slowly, grinning. “Ten out of ten. Would watch again.”

Tinker Bell zipped through the air, a blur of glowing light and fluttering wings, and hovered just inches from Ruth’s face. With a playful twirl, she held out her tiny hand. Ruth grinned and leaned in, gently tapping her finger against Tinker Bell’s palm in a perfectly timed high-five.

“Nice work, Tinky,” said a proud Ruth. Tinker Bell glowed even brighter, doing a quick backflip midair like she’d just taken a victory lap.

I was so focused on Ruth and Tinky, soaking in the absurd perfection of the scene, that I barely noticed the snarl—until it was too late.

Dylan’s footsteps were quick, his eyes burning with a feral intensity as he lunged at me, Vara’s dagger gleaming in his hand.

“Oh shit—” I tried to move, but my body was still sluggish from the cramps and the aftershock of magic. My heart seized in panic as the blade came closer, too close.

Then, a blur of movement.

Dylan didn’t just stop. He was ripped backward, like an invisible force had yanked him off course. My eyes widened as I saw Marcus, his arm a blur of muscle and rage, pin Dylan against the barn wall like he was nothing more than a rag doll.

The dagger clattered to the floor.

I gasped, my lungs finally remembering how to work, but Dylan wasn’t done. In Marcus’s iron grip, the boy—or whatever the hell he was—began to jerk and shudder, his body convulsing.

Marcus’s face darkened, his sharp gray eyes narrowing on the boy. Dylan’s skin rippled, shifting like liquid. His features distorted, stretching and reforming. His nose elongated, his fingers curled into claws, and his teeth sharpened into jagged points.

“My witchy instincts told me so,” I whispered.

Dylan—no, the changeling creature—let out a guttural hiss, his eyes glowing an unnatural yellow as he thrashed against Marcus’s grip. His claws raked against Marcus’s arm, but my husband didn’t even flinch.

“Marcus, don’t!” I cried, as I saw the raw fury in his expression. I knew that look. He was on the verge of losing control, and if he did, there would be no coming back for Dylan.

But just when I thought he was going to crush the changeling or snap his neck, Marcus pivoted, raising his free hand—and brought it down hard against the side of Dylan’s head.

Crack.

The changeling slumped forward, unconscious, his body reverting back to its original form as he dangled from Marcus’s grip like a limp marionette. His jagged claws shrank into fingers as his contorted face smoothed out, but he still looked far from innocent.

Marcus exhaled slowly and dropped him onto the floor. “Not today.”

Dolores was at my side, helping me steady myself as I wobbled on weak legs. “Well,” she said, eyeing the unconscious changeling. “That escalated quickly.”

“Escalated?” Ronin snorted. “That was art. I’m just mad I didn’t bring popcorn.”

Ruth approached, her eyes darting from Dylan to me. “Are you okay, Tessa?”

I nodded shakily. “I think so.”

Marcus ran to my side, his strong arms scooping me up off the blood-streaked floor like I weighed nothing. “I’ve got you, baby,” he whispered, his voice a soothing balm against the turmoil still buzzing in my head. “Are you okay?” His gaze swept over me, cataloging every scratch, every bruise, every tremble like I was the most fragile thing in the world.

I swallowed hard, tears stinging my eyes. “I’m okay. I promise.” I laid my head against his chest, melting into the warmth of his arms. For a moment, I just let myself enjoy it—being held by my man, the man who always knew how to make me feel safe, even when everything was crumbling.

“She was poisoning me,” I choked out, my breath hitching. “Those pills... she was making me sick. Slowly killing me so she could take our baby’s power.”

Marcus’s jaw clenched so tightly I thought his teeth might crack. He cradled me closer, his arms flexing like he could protect me from every bad thing that had already happened. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with regret. “I should have believed you.”

I shook my head, blinking through the tears as I gazed up at his beautiful, tortured face. “Don’t do that. It’s over.” My voice wavered as fresh fear twisted inside me. “I just want to go home.” But then something hit me. “What about our baby?” I turned to my aunts, the desperation bleeding through my words. “That poison made me sick. It hurt me. What if it hurt my kid too?”

Dolores moved closer. “Don’t worry,” she said, her tone solid, confident. “Your baby is stronger than you think.”

Ruth bustled over, clutching a small jar like it was her secret weapon. “I’ve already got something brewed to detox your system,” she said firmly. “It’ll take a few days, but we’ll flush every last bit of that witch’s poison out of you.”

“And my baby?” My voice cracked, barely above a whisper.

Ruth’s lips curved into the warmest, most reassuring smile I’d seen from her in days. “Yes, Tessa. Both of you. You’re going to be okay.”

Relief washed over me so fast that I sagged in Marcus’s arms, letting out a shaky breath. For the first time in what felt like forever, I let myself believe it. We were going to be okay.

A flicker of movement caught my eye, and I blinked, suddenly remembering Zeke was still here. How did I forget about that mountain of a man? He hefted Dylan like he was a particularly annoying gym bag and slung him over his shoulder.

“I’ll take this one to your office,” he told Marcus. “I’ve got some questions for him.”

I bet he did. Probably the kind of questions that ended with someone regretting their life choices.

Beverly climbed down from her chair, cautiously poking at the floor with her heel to make sure the maggots and cockroaches were gone. “Next time we fight some deranged doula, maybe we skip the bugs and go straight to fire. Just a suggestion.”

I let out a weak laugh, leaning into Marcus’s chest as the adrenaline began to fade. “You know,” I said, my voice tired but laced with humor, “next time, let’s just hire a normal doula. One that doesn’t want to kill me or my baby.”

Marcus chuckled, his arms tightening around me. “Deal.”

I let out a shaky laugh, leaning into Marcus’s chest. My entire body felt like it had been wrung out like a dishrag, but I couldn’t help but feel a sense of victory. Vara was gone. The nightmare was over.

For now.

26

Three and a half months had passed since the whole ordeal with Vara—the voodoo queen disguised as a doula from hell—and her creepy little changeling sidekick Dylan, who was now somewhere in Zeke’s custody, hopefully rethinking his life choices and regretting every moment of his involvement.

In those last few months, my aunts had officially taken over my recovery with their special brand of witchy TLC. And by TLC, I mean borderline torture. Ruth had named the regimen the “Doula Detox,” and it came with a strict, no-nonsense attitude and an entire catalog of remedies I didn’t even know existed. Some of it was fine, like soaking in the large cauldron in the backyard that smelled like eucalyptus and, oddly, peppermint tea. But the rest? Let’s just say the magical healing oils I had to rub over my skin every night weren’t exactly spa-day luxurious. They were greasy, smelled faintly of garlic and old socks, and made Marcus avoid cuddling with me for days.

Then there were the detox potions. You haven’t lived until you’ve downed something that tasted like rotten broccoli blended with moldy cabbage while your loving aunt pats you on the back and says, “This’ll clean you out real good, sweetheart.”

“Clean me out of what?” I’d asked once.

Ruth had smiled sweetly. “Everything. Just in case.”

I didn’t even want to know what that meant.

But apparently, Ruth had thought this through. Because before I knew it, I was stuck in her three-week purification cleanse, featuring more of those vile potions and something called “fake-doula witch’s detox tea” that smelled like feet, which I had to drink every four hours.

Yeah, good times.

Of course, my mother had made her grand entrance at the worst possible time. She arrived on day one of my detox journey, bursting into the house with tears streaming down her face, sobbing, “It’s not my fault!” like she was auditioning for a daytime soap opera. Apparently, she was still reeling from the fact that she’d hired Vara without doing any background checks. Because, sure, that’s the priority when someone almost murders your daughter and unborn grandchild.

After a lot of shouting, crying, and several rounds of, “Why didn’t you just ask your sisters for a doula recommendation?” things eventually calmed down. My mother still wasn’t over it, but I’d learned to compartmentalize her dramatic outbursts and focus on things that mattered—like making sure my baby was still okay.

And thankfully, Wynona Moondust, my favorite magical maternity healer, had confirmed that everything was fine. “Your baby is perfect,” she’d said during our last visit. “You’re a very lucky witch.”

Lucky. Sure. I was lucky in the same way someone survives being struck by lightning twice and lives to tell the tale while their hair smokes and their eyebrows are permanently singed. Ruth had an ointment for that.

But I wasn’t about to let that minor detail ruin the mood.

Tonight was all about celebrating.

I’d invited Iris and Ronin to dinner at Davenport House for a “the baby is fine” party. Because if there’s one thing the Davenports know how to do, it’s throwing a party.

Beverly had been put in charge of drinks, which meant cocktails with names like “Horny Bachelors,” “Forbidden Desires,” and “One-Night Hex.”

Ruth stirred a bubbling, golden casserole with enough melted cheese to trigger emotional distress in any lactose-intolerant person within a mile. The mouthwatering smell wafted through the kitchen as Dolores casually waved her hand and floated plates and silverware onto the table.

I waddled into the dining room, still adjusting to the extra weight from my ever-expanding belly. I made my way over to Iris, who was carefully arranging a dramatic centerpiece of purple and black roses she’d brought over because apparently, even casual dinners required a touch of gothic flair.

“Very subtle,” I said, eyeing the roses. “Are we eating or summoning spirits?” Though they were absolutely gorgeous.

The Dark witch eyed me, her expression a mix of curiosity and suspicion. “So, are you going to tell me what the surprise is?”

I glanced at Iris and shrugged. “Not yet. Soon,” I said, gripping the arm of the chair as I awkwardly lowered myself into it. My belly made the whole operation feel like parking a yacht in a compact car space. Halfway down, I misjudged the angle, wobbled, and let out a soft grunt. “Graceful as ever,” I wheezed, finally landing with a sigh. “One of these days, I’m going to sit down without feeling like I just ran a marathon.”

Iris smirked but kept her focus on the roses. “You sure you don’t want a crane to help next time?”

“Ha. Ha. I’m one bad day away from hiring construction equipment just to get off the couch.”

Ronin entered the room, already holding a beer. “Did she tell you what the surprise is yet?”

Iris looked over at the half-vampire. “Not yet. I’m working on it.”

Ronin took a sip of his beer. “I love surprises. Especially naked ones,” he added, winking at Iris, who was shaking her head.

I laughed. “I’m sure you do.”

“Who’s naked?” Beverly strolled over, carrying a tray of colorful cocktails. She was wearing a sequined ensemble that sparkled so much it was difficult to tell whether it was a dress or a low-budget disco ball. Honestly, it could go either way.

“No one is naked,” I told her.

Beverly made a dramatic pout, setting the tray down with a flourish. “Well, that’s disappointing. I was hoping it’d be Zeke. Waiting for me in the cauldron out back, naked to rub my shoulders and whisper sweet nothings into my ear.”

Ronin choked on his beer. “That’s… oddly specific.”

Beverly sighed dreamily. “A girl can dream. No, wait. That actually happened.”

Ruth spun around from the oven, her eyes wide. “You skinny-dipped in my cauldron with Zeke?” She was wearing an apron over her light green dress, the bold letters across the front proudly declaring: POWERED BY MAGIC AND CARBS.

Beverly gave a coy smile and a one-shoulder shrug, the kind that practically oozed mischief. “I never said it was Zeke.”

Dolores groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this… but for the love of magic, Beverly, who was it?”

Beverly’s smile deepened as she plucked a cocktail from the tray and took a sip, savoring the suspense. “Jeremy Barden. Now there was a man who knew how to heat things up. He had exquisite taste in jewelry. And those nights… well, let’s just say the necklace wasn’t the only thing leaving me breathless.”

Ruth gasped. “In my cauldron?”

“What can I say?” purred Beverly, swirling her drink. “The man knew how to stir a potion.”

Dolores rolled her eyes. “I think I need to bathe in holy water just from hearing this.”

Ronin took another swig of beer, smacked his lips and said, “I’m learning so much tonight. More than I wanted, but still—quality content.”

I grinned, shaking my head as I watched them. It wasn’t a family gathering until Beverly brought up a half-inappropriate fantasy and Dolores tried to shut it down. Made me all warm and fuzzy inside.

Tinker Bell zoomed toward the kitchen table, clutching a tiny wooden spoon almost as long as she was tall. She sprinkled something dark into the bubbling pot Ruth was stirring, and the air instantly filled with the mouthwatering aroma of garlic, onions, and something rich and hearty.

Ruth nodded approvingly. “Thanks, Tinky.”

“You’re welcome.” Tinker Bell puffed out her chest with pride, her wings fluttering. That’s when I noticed it. She was wearing an apron.

Not just any apron, but a miniature version of Ruth’s, with the same bold words: Powered by Magic and Carbs. It was stitched in tiny, glittering letters, like the whole thing had been designed just for her.

I blinked. “You made her a matching apron?”

“Of course, I did,” said Ruth, looking over her shoulder at me. “We’re a team.”

I smiled. Of course, they were. And a very cute one, too.

Hildo was perched on the counter, pawing chips into his mouth when he thought no one was looking. He’d pause after each one, his ears twitching in case Ruth caught him.

“Hey, Hildo,” I called, leaning on the table, “we can see you, you know.”

The cat nearly choked on a chip, shooting me a glare before casually licking his paw like nothing had happened. “I’m just taste-testing.”

Tinker Bell zipped over, hovering in front of me. Her wings buzzed softly as she placed her hands on her hips. “Don’t mind him, he’s in a mood.”

“I’m a cat,” meowed Hildo. “I’m always in a mood.”

I snorted as my mind drifted back to the night we’d destroyed Vara and her creepy voodoo plans. I’d cornered Tinker Bell later that night when things had finally settled and asked the one thing I couldn’t get out of my head.

“Why did they take you? Did they want your magic? To help with their voodoo crap?”

Tinker Bell had shaken her head and replied, “No. It wasn’t about my magic.”

I’d frowned. “Then why?”

The tiny fairy had sighed, her wings drooping slightly. “Because I was dumb enough to follow them. I snuck off that night after them while I was out hunting bugs. In November, I know, but bugs are tastier when you have to work for them.”

Ew. “Okay, so you were bug hunting. Go on.”

“Well,” she continued, “I saw Vara and Dylan walking in the middle of the night. Alone. So I followed them to the barn. I heard them talking about the baby, and I knew something was wrong. But before I could fly back and warn you, they caught me.”

Now, standing in the warm glow of the kitchen, I could still hear the way her voice had quivered just a little when she’d said that. She’d been terrified but brave enough to follow her instincts.

“Dinner’s ready!” exclaimed Ruth, snapping me back to reality.

The scent of bubbling cheese and roasted vegetables filled the air as everyone shuffled to the dining room table.

Beverly plopped into her chair, adjusting her sparkling sequin dress before reaching for another cocktail. “Just once,” she said, swirling the colorful liquid in her glass, “I’d like Ruth to cook something that doesn’t involve five different kinds of cheese.”

I smiled. “Everything tastes better with cheese. It’s a fact.”

“Facts are that I love diamonds and massages, darling. Cheese is just extra calories,” she replied with a wink.

As everyone took their seats, Ronin glanced around the table. “Where’s Marcus?”

“He went to get something for me at the cottage,” I said, casually cutting into my casserole.

Right on cue, the front door opened, and there he was—my gorgeous, glorious wereape husband with a mysterious parcel in his hands. He walked over, kissed the top of my head, and handed me the package wrapped in glossy black and purple paper.

I pushed myself up from the chair, grunting like an old door hinge that hadn’t seen oil in years. After a brief battle with gravity—and the extra weight throwing off my center of balance—I managed to waddle over to Iris and hand her the parcel. “This is for you,” I said, slightly out of breath.

Iris blinked, clearly surprised. “For me? What is it?”

“Open it,” I said, grinning.

With the precision of someone unwrapping a priceless artifact, Iris tore through the wrapping paper. When she saw what was inside, her jaw dropped. “It’s an album?” she whispered.

I nodded. “Yup. A DNA album. I couldn’t find the one you lost because of me. I searched everywhere for weeks. I just couldn’t find it. But with the help of my aunts, we made a new one. And trust me. It’s fully loaded.”

Ruth beamed proudly and clapped her hands. “It’s got werebear hair, gremlin toenails, slices of ghoul skin, manticore mane clippings, banshee tear stains, zombie dandruff, succubus lip gloss residue, a tuft of minotaur chest hair, troll belly lint, kelpie hoof shavings, ghost ectoplasm splatter, and enchanted elf earwax and—oh! And dry gnome nuts.”

Ronin spat out his beer. He wiped his mouth and said, “Man, I love this place.”

Iris’s face went through about five different shades of shock and gratitude. “Dry gnome nuts?”

“They’re not easy to come by,” said Ruth, taking a sip of her wine like gnome nuts were as natural as jars of honey. “You’re welcome.”

Iris laughed through her tears, clutching the album to her chest. “You guys… this is—thank you.”

My eyes burned as I tried to hug her and almost tipped over. So instead, I gave her a pat on the shoulder. “You’re welcome. You’ve done so much for me. It’s the least I could do.”

The Dark witch just sat there, crying and smiling at the same time, and it made my insides pool with warmth.

I wiped at my own eyes. “So, what are you going to name it?” Because of course, I knew my Dark witch friend was going to give her new album a name.

Iris glanced down at the album and then back at me. “Doris.”

“Iris and Doris,” expressed Ronin, a goofy grin on his face. “Like I said, I love my life.”

I beamed at her. “It’s perfect.” I took a glass of water and raised it. “Welcome home, Doris.”

We all laughed, and for the first time in weeks, I felt like things were really okay.

Marcus slid behind me, his strong arms circling my waist and pulling me back against his chest. His warm breath brushed against my ear as he whispered, “I can’t wait until our baby comes.” His voice was soft, intimate. “You’re going to be an incredible mother, Tessa.”

I closed my eyes, breathing him in and letting his warmth and steady presence remind me that we’d made it through worse. But I knew the past few months had been hard on him—on both of us. Dylan’s arrival hadn’t just been a curveball. It had been a wrecking ball, smashing through every ounce of stability we’d fought to build.

It wasn’t just the boy’s presence. It was what he represented—the possibility of a son Marcus didn’t know existed. A son who had slipped into our lives effortlessly, all wide eyes and vulnerability, camouflaging his deceit beneath innocence so perfectly that even Marcus, a powerful wereape and chief, hadn’t seen through it. Dylan had fooled him, played him. And that truth had cut Marcus in ways I didn’t think he’d ever fully admit.

I’d seen it happen, the guilt creeping into his shoulders and weighing him down like chains he couldn’t shake. The way he’d second-guessed himself, doubting his instincts—the instincts that had always guided him as a leader, as a protector, and as my husband. He’d questioned everything, including me.

He’d apologized more than once, but not in the quick, casual way you do when you bump into someone or forget to pick up milk. No, these were the kind of apologies that came from somewhere deep, from a man who felt like he should’ve done better, seen more, protected harder. As if being deceived by a changeling wasn’t a trick designed to fool even the sharpest among us.

But Dylan hadn’t just chipped away at Marcus’s trust in others. He’d chipped away at Marcus’s trust in himself. And watching him carry that weight, seeing the cracks form beneath the surface, had been its own kind of heartache.

I leaned into him now, tightening my arms around him as if I could hold those broken pieces together. And as his arms squeezed around me, I realized we weren’t just surviving this. We were going to rebuild something even stronger.

But in this moment, none of that mattered. His arms around me, the steady beat of his heart against my back, told me what words couldn’t.

My throat tightened, a flood of emotions crashing into me. “I don’t know what I’m doing. What if I screw this up?” Knowing me, that was a huge possibility.

He gently turned me around, brushing a strand of hair away from my face. “No one knows what they’re doing at first. But you’ve got me, your mother, and your aunts. We’ll figure it out.”

I let out a half-laugh, half-sob, leaning into him. “Good. Because… I think my water just broke.”

Well, slap my broomstick and call me airborne.

I was having a gorilla-witch baby—right now.

Don’t miss the next book in The Witches of Hollow Cove series!

After fifteen years of marriage, I catch my husband cheating on me. What do I do? I laugh, which probably wasn’t the reaction he expected.

And then I laughed some more.

So, when a job comes my way from The Twilight Hotel—a paranormal hotel in midtown Manhattan that serves as a sanctuary and residence—I take it.

Cue in tattooed, sexy as sin, grumpy restaurant owner Valen, who can’t do drama or high-maintenance women. The problem? He’s cruel and dangerous.

And he’s hiding something.

Rumors arise of a dark spell that would mean the hotel's closure, and I don’t know who I can trust. Do I have what it takes to fight this new evil? We’ll see.

BOOKS BY KIM RICHARDSON

WITCHES OF NEW YORK

The Starlight Witch

Game of Witch

Tales of a Witch

THE WITCHES OF HOLLOW COVE

Shadow Witch

Midnight Spells

Charmed Nights

Magical Mojo

Practical Hexes

Wicked Ways

Witching Whispers

Mystic Madness

Rebel Magic

Cosmic Jinx

Brewing Crazy

Witchy Little Lies

Magic Gone Wild

THE DARK FILES

Spells & Ashes

Charms & Demons

Hexes & Flames

Curses & Blood

SHADOW AND LIGHT

Dark Hunt

Dark Bound

Dark Rise

Dark Gift

Dark Curse

Dark Angel

TEEN AND YOUNG ADULT

SOUL GUARDIANS

Marked

Elemental

Horizon

Netherworld

Seirs

Mortal

Reapers

Seals

THE HORIZON CHRONICLES

The Soul Thief

The Helm of Darkness

The City of Flame and Shadow

The Lord of Darkness

MYSTICS SERIES

The Seventh Sense

The Alpha Nation

The Nexus

DIVIDED REALMS

Steel Maiden

Witch Queen

Blood Magic

NEWSLETTER

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Kim Richardson is a USA Today bestselling and award-winning author of urban fantasy, fantasy, and young adult books. She lives in the eastern part of Canada with her husband, two dogs, and a very old cat. Kim’s books are available in print editions, and translations are available in over seven languages.

To learn more about the author, please visit:

www.kimrichardsonbooks.com