Girls of Might and Magic An Anthology By Diverse Books with Magic

“There’s something restless growing within you. We’re all very curious to see what happens when it breaks free.” ― Melissa Bashardoust, Girl, Serpent, Thorn

M 6 CHASING WAVES Kendra Merritt arina tiptoed across the moonlit deck of her family’s boat, taking extra care not to let her bad leg clunk or drag with every step. Her gait was distinctive enough that the odd thump would bring her parents swarming above deck, ruining everything. Silas, her mother’s assistant, snored from the shadows of the smokestack. Perfect. Marina smiled to herself. Right on schedule. He always slept through his watch. Marina never told on him. It paid to have a reliable escape in the middle of the night. Marina limped past the break in the railing where the guild representative had climbed aboard earlier today. He’d stood right there and explained in even, cultured tones how he was planning to destroy their lives. “Without your funding, you can’t afford to keep your license for this vessel,” he’d said, pointy nose in the air. Marina had half expected a seagull to land on it. It was the perfect perch. “Unless you can find the creatures you’re hunting and earn your grant, I will be back to repossess the Haven’s Glow at the end of the week.”

The guild representative had ignored the way her father’s face had gone deep red and then purple under his dark hair and weather-beaten skin. Papa had thrown people off his boat for lesser insults, but the representative wasn’t wrong. They depended on the funding from the museum to keep up their research. Without that funding, there would be no boat, and with no boat, no discoveries. Marina spat on the deck where the representative had stood and used her toe to grind the spittle between the rough boards, making sure the spirits of the sea knew who to target next time they were angry. Her mother might have abhorred curse-bringing but even the gentle researcher might make an exception for the representative trying to steal their livelihood. Marina reached the stern of the Haven’s Glow and glanced back along the darkened deck. The only light came from the moon and the mage globe hung atop the mast to tell passing vessels they were anchored. So far all remained quiet. Silas still snored and her parents hadn’t come racing up to stop her. But now came the hard part. She’d worn the trousers she’d made for herself. The ones with buckles and straps all down the seams, in case she ended up in the water. And she’d tied her long, dark hair into a braid tight enough to make her head ache. Marina tossed her sack over the stern railing with a practiced heave, and it landed in the skiff below. She slung her legs over and started down the rope ladder kept here for quick access to the skiff. The only problem was that the ladder hung right over the porthole of her parents’ cabin. She lowered herself down step by step, trying to keep her balance so she didn’t bang into the hull of the Haven’s Glow. Her bad leg wouldn’t hold her weight, and she had to hop down each rung and trust her good foot wouldn’t slip through. Three rungs from the bottom, her luck ran out. Her good leg slid straight through the gaps in the ladder, and she fell, the rope burning her hands as she clutched at it. Her legs tangled in the ladder, but her fingers slipped and she flipped upside down. She wanted to gasp, but she held her breath as she dangled over the skiff, swinging beside the big rudder. Oh, well done. That was exactly how I imagined this going, Marina thought.

She used a word her mother didn’t know she knew and winced as she tried to untangle herself. Luckily, the nerve damage that affected her leg’s strength also took away a lot of the pain, so at least she couldn’t feel the way the ladder dug into her thighs. Marina jerked and pulled but she was stuck tighter than a rusted rivet. Finally, she yanked her belt knife free and slashed the bottom bit of ladder so she fell the rest of the way into the skiff. The thud echoed across the water. She froze, waiting for Silas to sound the alarm or her parents to fling open their porthole. Nothing. She sighed and gazed up at the cut ends of the ladder. Papa would give her an earful about that in the morning. She’d fix it later. This was more important. It didn’t matter what her parents said. She knew she could find the Marequai, the mystical and illusive sea beasts her mother had staked her reputation on. As soon as they knew where the creatures were, they could get their funding, pay the representative, and all their problems would be solved. “No, Marina,” her father’s voice rang in her head, so realistic she almost turned around to see if he’d actually woken up. “It’s too dangerous. You can’t go out alone. Not after…” He never could say the words. Not after the accident. Last year, she’d been a full member of her father’s crew and her mother’s research team. She’d helped navigate, she’d hung over the side to chip away rusted paint and prime the hull. She’d swum the shallows around the Minosian archipelago, taking notes for her mother. She’d cordoned off sections of beach for them to comb through for discarded Marequai scales. They’d trusted her to do all of it. Until she’d slipped among the rocks of one of the outlying islands. And now they acted like everything had changed. Marina hauled her twisted leg out from under her and levered herself up onto the skiff’s bench. Then she straightened the leg out in front of her as far as she could. Well, it definitely wasn’t getting any straighter. And the muscles had all withered until you could almost see the jagged break. But that wasn’t the thing that had ruined her future.

A year ago, Mama and Papa had been happy to think of her as their apprentice. She could run the Haven’s Glow almost as well as Papa, and she’d always imagined working next to Mama in the hot sun, documenting the Marequai’s movements and habits. Now, they wouldn’t stop talking about sending her back to the city to her aunt. Where she would be safe. Where it was boring. Where she could learn how to be a lady and her tanned skin and calloused fingers would eventually fade. As if boring was all she was good for now. Marina gritted her teeth and leaned forward to loosen the line that tied the skiff to the stern of the Haven’s Glow. This was her chance. This was the moment she could prove to them that nothing had changed about her dreams except how she was going to achieve them. She cast off. Then dug in her sack for a little stoppered bottle of wine. And just as her father had always done before he went off to chase wavedreams, she poured the contents over the side and whispered a little verse to the sea spirits. “Let my way be smooth and my sails full.” No one answered. No one ever did, but Marina didn’t really expect them to. The ritual made her feel better, like she was connected to all her ancestors who’d prayed to the fickle spirits of the waves, all the way back to the ones who’d carved the boats to first travel between islands. The skiff bobbed on the little wavelets and floated away from the Haven’s Glow as she gathered the main halyard in her hand. Over the last year, she’d fiddled and tinkered and given herself too many splinters to count making the skiff into something she could still sail. The lines she’d need now fed through special clamps that gathered them close to her bench, so she didn’t have to go lunging all over to grab them. And the bench itself spread across the waist of the little boat so she could slide to the other side when she tacked without having to stand up. She hauled on the halyard and raised the main sail, its triangular canvas blotting out the moon and the scudding clouds that threatened rain. She didn’t dare wait for a clearer night, though. Not with the representative making all that noise. She’d just make sure she was back before any foul weather rose.

As a smaller steamship, the Haven’s Glow stayed close to the shore and fuel, navigating the archipelago’s shallower harbors. And that was the most likely place they’d find the Marequai. They liked shallow waters and sandy beaches. But they’d been up and down these shores for months with no sightings. And Marina was sure she’d seen the flash of scales and the splash of a fin out by the Horseshoe, a rocky little island further out to sea. She cleated the halyard and took up her main sheet, steering the skiff so the wind came over her port bow. The skiff leaned as it picked up speed, and Marina braced her good leg against the opposite side of the hull. The breeze chilled her cheeks, tasting of salt and seaweed, and she breathed deep, grinning into the wind so that it made her teeth go cold and tingly. There was nothing better than being on the sea except maybe being in the sea. The trip to the Horseshoe only took her an hour with the wind coming right over her bow. The trip back would be longer unless it shifted around. Mama and Papa will probably forgive me. Especially if I come back with the solution to all our problems, she thought. She’d left a note to tell them where she was going—she wasn’t stupid, and you always told someone your plans when they involved the unpredictable ocean—but she really hoped she’d be back before they found it. The Horseshoe curved around this section of sea, almost like a giant had punched his fist down in the middle of the ocean and left a crater. This side of the island spent enough time above water that thick dune grass grew between the rocks and some palm trees stuck up from further in. The far side, where the treacherous opening of the Horseshoe lay, was just sand and rock since the tide regularly washed away anything growing. Off in the distance she could just make out the first island of the archipelago. She turned her back on it. This wasn’t the time to be distracted. She dumped the wind from her sail and loosed the halyard from its cleat. The skiff drifted just off the rocks of the Horseshoe. Marina dug in her sack and produced the net she’d made just for the occasion. Her mother theorized that the Marequai lived their lives underwater since they’d never found nests ashore. But Marina had her own theory to test.

She dropped her little anchor over the side to keep the skiff in place, then braced herself against the mast and hauled herself to her feet, trying to keep the rocking to a minimum. Propped against the mast, she took the net in both hands and tossed it so it sailed out over the water close to shore and splashed down in a wide circle. She grinned. Perfect toss the first time. If she couldn’t be a boat captain like her father or a researcher like her mother, she’d make a pretty decent fisherman. She’d kept the end of the net line in her hand and now she pulled out her secret weapon. A mage globe, a little ball of glass powered by magic that emitted a constant glow even when doused with water. She’d spent the entirety of her allowance on it the last time they were in port. Well, almost the entirety. But a bag of salt water taffy hardly counted. The globe had a little loop at the top, and she secured it to her net line before tossing it in the water, directly over the net which had settled in the sand below. Marina hunkered down in the bottom of the skiff, her eyes just cresting the side of the hull so she could keep watch for fins or scales. Her mother had never tried this. But Marion Hode, the foremost expert on mystical creatures like the Marequai, said that they were intelligent. Even the ones that couldn’t speak were known as problem solvers. They understood far more than most animals. And with intelligence usually came curiosity. Marina was counting on that. She waited with the patience of a hunter. Or a very, very desperate teenager. Every now and then she popped a piece of taffy in her mouth, fuzzy from the inside of her sack. The moonlight reflecting on the water broke and scattered as the little wavelets grew. A gust hit the side of the skiff, making her anchor line go taut, and Marina scowled up at the sky. Clouds raced to cover the moon. Not the little wispy ones from before, either. These were big billowing things that disappeared in the dark as soon as the light of the moon snuffed out. Muck. She was going to get caught in a squall here in a minute if nothing showed up soon.

A splash to her left made her turn her head. That wasn’t the lap of waves on rock. That had sounded like a fin. She peered over the edge of the skiff, keeping everything but her eyes hidden. A sleek shape coasted through the water, just under the surface, cutting the waves with a v-shape. Marina waited, holding her breath. The shape stopped and a head stuck up out of the water. The rapidly fading moonlight glinted from a long snout and pearlescent blue-green scales. It reminded her of a horse, except a filmy crest rose from the top of its head rather than a mane. Marina squinted and reached for her notebook, very slowly. But the creature dove under the water once more, flashing its tail. Thick and horizontal, like a dolphin, but scaled and twice as flexible. Her fingers clenched on the fishing line. A Marequai! She’d found one. She’d actually found one. “Come on, come on,” she whispered into the side of the skiff. “Come closer.” The shape circled the mage light bobbing just on the surface, then stuck its head up once more. It peered at the mage light and snorted, sending a little spray of water to fall like stars through the light the mage globe cast. Just a little closer. Saints, she was going to be the first human to catch a Marequai! The university mages hadn’t even known for sure that they existed until just a few years ago. Everything before that had been dismissed as myths and the ravings of sailors lost too long at sea. Just a wave-dream. But here she was, looking right at one, just twenty feet away. A particularly vicious wave rocked the skiff, and she lurched to keep her balance on the bench. Her elbow knocked into the side with a hollow thunk. The Marequai flinched and spun in the water. Marina ducked. She hoped her boat was innocuous enough to blend in with the darkened sea. Or at least more boring than the mage light lure. Several heartbeats later, Marina chanced looking up again. The Marequai still floated near her trap, its head cocked. It did a pretty good job of blending into the waves itself. The only reason Marina had seen it was because she was looking, and its glistening scales reflected the mage light.

The Marequai shook its head with another snort and glided around the lure, examining it from all sides at a safe distance. Marina couldn’t see its eyes from here, but she could just imagine the intelligence and curiosity shining from them. What would it be like to find something so wondrous and completely out of the ordinary floating in her world? Distracted by the idea of a magical light manifesting over the deck of the Haven’s Glow, she almost missed the moment the Marequai slipped closer in the water, sidling up next to the lure like a skittish horse. Now. It was now or never. She hauled on the line of her net, yanking it off the bottom of the shallows and praying it caught around the Marequai instead of sliding harmlessly over or under. Resistance pulled the rope taught against her calloused hands, and she sat up on her bench to see better. The Marequai splashed in a circle, tangled in the netting. Its powerful fin beat at the waves, but Marina’s knots held tight. It wasn’t seated exactly in the middle of the net, the way a fish would be, but it was obviously trapped, which was close enough for Marina’s purposes. She hauled on the line, grunting with effort. The Marequai squealed, a high-pitched sound that carried across the water. Marina resisted the urge to cover her ears. “I’m not going to hurt you,” she said. “I just need to take you home with me. To prove a point. Then you can leave.” As long as they knew where the Marequai nested they’d be able to come back anytime to observe them. The Marequai didn’t seem to believe her. It lurched in the water, trying to escape, but she held fast, bracing her good leg against the side of the skiff. She was fine, but if the creature took it into its head to bolt the other direction, she’d be pulled off balance and… The Marequai suddenly stopped pulling and dove back under the waves, toward the skiff. Leaving a growing amount of slack in the line. Marina peered over the side, her eyes widening. “Uh oh…” The Marquai disappeared under the skiff, taking the slack line and tangled netting with it. “Oh no.” The thing was intelligent. And if she wasn’t careful it would out-think her.

Marina scrambled to tie off the end of the line so the creature couldn’t yank her overboard and under the skiff with it. The Marequai hit its end of the rope just as Marina finished cleating her end. The skiff rocked with the force of its charge and tipped. Marina threw herself to the high side of the boat, trying to counteract the tilt with her weight. Her good leg slipped and her bad one refused to catch her. Instead of balancing the tilting boat, her weight fell against the low side of the skiff. Slow, like a lazy gull, the skiff tipped and the mast fell toward the waves. Marina hit the cold water and gasped, sucking in a mouthful of saltwater. She spit and coughed and lunged for the side of the skiff. Her bad leg dragged at her, pulling her toward the bottom, but she kicked out and grasped the edge of the boat. Muck, she should have done up the buckles on her pants long before it came to this. So much for self-confidence. Wet splats hit her head, and she shook the hair that had come loose from her braid out of her eyes. Clouds boiled overhead and raindrops dimpled the water around her. Great, the storm was here. She’d officially run out of time. She lunged for the high side of the capsized skiff and managed to get her fingers around it. Throwing her weight back, she tried to right the little vessel. Capsizing was part of sailing, every sailor knew that. But the storm would complicate things. She heaved, but the skiff didn’t budge. She kicked with her good leg and then dropped, using her weight and strength to haul the boat upright, but it stayed down, almost like it was moored there. Sheets of rain whipped at the surface of the water, and the wind slapped at her face as she spun around, eyes wide. The Marequai was still tied to the skiff. It thrashed at the end of its rope, keeping her from righting her boat. A flash of lightning lit the growing waves and Marina swore. She’d never get the skiff up and get out of this storm with the Marequai fighting her at the other end of the net. But it was her ticket to earning her parents’ trust again. It was the key to saving her father’s boat and her mother’s research. If she let it go, she was

letting all of that slip through her fingers. Mama and Papa would ship her off to the city where it was “safe.” A rumble of thunder interrupted her thoughts. There was nothing for it. She couldn’t get out of here with the creature. So she’d have to go without. She drew her knife from her belt and kicked to the underside of the skiff, where she could just make out the line cutting through the water to the Marequai. She slashed through it and the two halves instantly floated free. The one attached to the Marequai zipped away through the water and out of sight. Marina watched it go with her lips thin and her throat tight. Then she turned to her work. But the skiff bobbed in the waves, making everything twice as hard. Her bad leg dragged at her, making her hands slip against the hull of the boat. She needed to be able to kick freely. Marina growled in frustration and let go of the skiff. She should have done this before getting capsized. Lesson learned. Now she knew better. She lay back in the water and let the rain beat at her face and chest, then she bent forward and sank as she tied the buckles on her pants as quickly as she could. It was a lot harder in the water, but she’d had tons of practice in the last year, and she managed to get the buckles done up even in the uncertainty of the waves. Now when she kicked, both legs stroked against the current together. Tied together like this, her good leg made up for her bad leg, and she moved almost as well as she had before the accident. For once the ocean acted as an equalizer, and with her makeshift “fin” she could out swim even Silas. She broke the surface and took a big gulp of air. But when she shook the water from her eyes, she groaned. The skiff’s anchor line had snapped, and it floated toward the rocks of the shore, battered by the waves. She could just make it if she swam hard and fast, but she’d better hurry or it would be dashed to pieces. She stretched her arms to stroke through the water, but a light caught her eye from the left. Just on the surface of the waves in the opposite direction, the mage globe bobbed, still tied to the end of the net that had captured the Marequai.

Except it wasn’t moving along like it followed a living creature. It jerked and yanked as if stuck. Marina dove under the waves and squinted, ignoring the burn of salt in her eyes. There, in the rocks by the shore, illuminated by the mage globe, a shape thrashed. The Marequai. It was trapped by the net and caught in the rocks. Bubbles streamed from the creature’s nose and mouth as it struggled. Saints, they breathe air, Marina thought. Sea spirits forgive me, I’m killing it. Her actions had done this. She’d trapped it without any forethought and now it would die because of her. Without a backward glance at her disappearing skiff, Marina dove for the rocks. The Marequai twisted as she approached, trying to escape. She couldn’t speak, but she held up her hands, projecting calm. It’s okay, she thought. I’m going to fix this. She drew her knife from her belt once more and slashed at the bits of net she could see, avoiding the shimmering scales. Its horse-like head turned to peer at what she was doing and it finally stilled. As the last bit of rope parted, it pumped its tail and sprang from the rocks to the surface. Marina followed. Her head broke the surface of the water and a bit of wood floated past, striking her hard enough to make her wince. Pieces of her boat. “Muck,” she said. She was in for it now. The waves dragged her toward the rocks, where her skiff had already met its fate. She fought their pull, but it was all she could do to keep her head above water. A snort made her jerk around. The Marequai floated just a few feet away, staring at her. From this distance, she could finally see its eyes, a deep and lustrous black, darker even than the storm. She spat out salt water. “What now?” she said, knowing it wouldn’t answer. She’d exhaust herself trying to stay afloat and be dashed on the rocks of the Horseshoe.

Without warning, the Marequai surged forward and struck her in the chest. The air whooshed from her lungs, but instinct made her hold her breath and she clutched at the creature’s crest. Strong teeth sank into the front of her shirt, and suddenly she found herself being towed through the water. Down it dragged her, and Marina had the brief, sharp thought that now it would show her what it was like to drown. But it pulled her to a break in the rocks, an archway cleverly hidden near the sea bed and inaccessible unless you were right on top of it. It yanked her through, and then on the other side, it let go just as suddenly as it had grabbed her. Marina’s lungs burned, and she swam to the surface, using her makeshift fin to propel her toward the air. She coughed and gasped and wiped salt water from her eyes until she could see that she floated in the center of the Horseshoe. Sandy beaches stretched in a circle all around, protected from the brunt of the storm by the trees and rocks making a natural harbor. Marina kicked her way to shore and pulled herself up onto the sand. She collapsed, spent, as the rain pattered against the back of her head. The sun woke her, though she had no recollection of falling asleep, and she rolled over, brushing sand from her face and hands. From the height of the sun, it was midmorning, the threat of the storm long past. Marina groaned. Her parents were going to kill her. As soon as they found out she was still alive. A spray of water hit her right in the mouth and she spluttered. The Marequai cavorted in the shallows in front of her. It stopped and gave her a glare, then snorted water at her. She coughed and wiped it away. “Yeah, I guess I deserved that. I’m sorry, you know?” Her voice stirred something in the dune grass around her, and she held still as long scaly heads raised around her. A dozen Marequai, maybe more nested on the beach of the Horseshoe.

The blue-green creature who’d saved her splashed up onto the sand, waddling on its front flippers like the seals that lived at the other end of the archipelago. It arched its long neck and stared down at her. “Why did you save me?” she said. “I was…pretty awful to you.” She’d tried to use its intelligence against it. But if they were this smart and curious, she should have tried a different tactic. Too late now. The Marequai bent its head and nudged her legs, which were still tied together. They lay on the sand looking a lot like the Marequai’s fin. She rubbed her bad leg with an absent hand and glanced up at the Marequai. “Did you think I was like you?” It leaned forward and snuffled her sandy hair. “Maybe I am,” she said. And maybe it wasn’t too late. It didn’t seem to be holding a grudge. And now she knew how to approach them without resorting to traps or tricks. Next, she’d try food. And more magic. It had definitely liked the mage globe. Maybe she could find more trinkets to pique its interest. “Marina!” a voice threaded through the trees of the island, coming from the rocks where she’d lost the skiff. A column of smoke rose into the sky. “Papa,” she whispered. She bent to undo her buckles. The fin worked best in the water, but on land, she had to hobble on two legs like everyone else. Once free, she tried to struggle to her feet. The Marequai bent to lend her its head so she could balance. “Thanks,” she said. It bobbed its head and then waddled its way back to the water where it lounged in the shallows. She used the trees to prop herself up and climbed to the ridge where the rocks began their sharp descent to the sea. Out on the water, the Haven’s Glow picked its way through the wreckage of the skiff. A familiar figure leaned over the side, peering at the debris. Marina’s heart clenched, fuller than a port at high tide. She waved both hands in the air. “Papa, I’m here!” The figure looked up. “Marina!” “Stay there,” she called. “You’re never going to believe what I found.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Books have been Kendra's escape for as long as she can remember. She used to hide fantasy novels behind her government textbook in high school, and she wrote most of her first novel during a semester of college algebra. Older and wiser now (but just as nerdy) she writes retellings of fairytales with main characters who have disabilities. If she's not writing, she's reading, and if she's not reading, she's playing video games. She lives in Denver with her very tall husband, their book loving progeny, and a lazy black monster masquerading as a service dog. Find her online at https://www.kendramerritt.com.

“A war might be coming, but we have the wings to fight it.” ― Natasha Ngan, Girls of Paper and Fire

O 7 FUNNEL CAKE Amanda Ross n the first day of summer following Quincy Silver’s junior year of high school, her mother received a phone call. It was from Valley Medical Hospital where Calvin, her stepfather, worked nights as an orderly. The caller announced he’d been in an accident, but Quincy’s mother wouldn’t tell Quincy and her younger sister what happened as they sped down 101 in an orange Dodge Challenger, Marvin Gaye crooning on the radio. “I’m sure he’s going to be just fine,” Quincy reassured her mother. “I bet it’s something small but since he works there, they probably decided to examine him.” Denisa tugged at her left braid, a habit she’d had since she was a toddler. “Stop that; your hair’s gonna come out and you’re gonna look baldheaded,” Quincy teased. She and her sister looked at each other with the same almond-shaped eyes, same wide smiles, and laughed. “What’s so funny?” their mother inquired as she pulled into the parking lot. Quincy stopped laughing and glanced at Denisa. She cleared her throat. “Nothing, Mom.”

When they stepped into Cal’s room, Quincy sucked in a breath at the pungent air. Cal lied in a hospital bed with his left leg bandaged from his thigh to his foot. Quincy tried not to gag as she spotted the blood already seeping through the top layer of his gauze. “Oh, Cal!” her mother cried. “Hey, Viv, I’m okay,” he said weakly. Cal’s dark skin appeared ashen under the fluorescent hospital lights. His mustache glistened with sweat, and his tight afro laid flat on one side. “Daddy!” Denisa yelled. He smiled at her then kissed her forehead. “Hey, Deni.” Quincy stood at the foot of his bed, her hands dug deep into her highwaisted bell bottoms. He nodded at her, and she returned the gesture. “I’m glad you’re okay, Cal,” Quincy murmured. The doctor informed them that Cal had a broken leg and a large cut on the same leg that required stitches. He gave them care instructions and handed Cal a written slip, letting him know he wasn’t to return to work for eight weeks. “Eight weeks?” her mother questioned as they helped Cal into the car. “What are we going to do?” “We’ll be just fine, Viv. We’ve got some money saved up.” “Not enough for rent, electric, gas, food.” “Vivian, I’m telling you we’ll be okay. We’re just going to have to budget this summer,” he asserted. Quincy’s mother gripped the steering wheel. “I could get a job,” Quincy suggested. She sucked in a breath, hoping her mother wouldn’t react with the same annoyance as she had the day before when she first proposed the idea. “Quincy—” her mother protested. “Wait a minute, Viv. That’s not a bad idea.” “But—” “Viv, the girl is sixteen. She’s gotta get started working sometime. Whatever pay she brings back will help. Won’t be as much as my salary, but we can float, ain’t that right, girls?” Cal glanced in the mirror and winked. Quincy smiled. Her mother sighed. “Fine. But who's going to look after you? I’ve got work.” “Denisa’s old enough.”

“But— Quincy kicked her sister. Denisa scowled at her. “I mean, yes, I can help.” “Good, it’s settled. Quincy’ll get a job and Denisa and I will get to hang out together this summer and before you know it, I’ll be all healed.” The next day, Quincy rode her bike to the fairgrounds. She roamed around the grounds searching for a help wanted sign until she stopped before the “Foxworthy Funnels'' booth where a girl about her age stood behind the counter, frying funnel cakes. She wore a yellow jumpsuit. Her dark hair sat in two afro puffs on top of her head, and a group of gold bracelets decorated her wrist. Quincy exhaled, relieved to find another girl who looked like her working at the fair. “Excuse me,” Quincy asked as she approached the booth. “Yes?” the girl replied. “I was wondering if you needed extra help this summer?” The girl lifted a brow over a pair of star-shaped sunglasses with rims as yellow as her jumpsuit, taking Quincy in. Her bracelets made a tinny sound as they slid against each other down her wrist. Quincy’s mother had insisted she wear something nicer than her normal t-shirt and Levi jeans, so she wore a silky button-up shirt and a plaid skirt. Vivian also had relaxed her daughter’s hair and styled it like Gladys Knight, one of her favorite singers. Quincy tugged at her skirt, hating that it was a size too small and that it had a small stain on the left side of the hem. Her mother had bought it from Goodwill in that condition with the intention of cleaning it but never had. The girl nodded. “Sure. Let me ask my mom.” She turned toward the back of the booth. “Mom!” A woman with a jet-black afro rushed into the booth. Her full lips were painted cherry red, and her dark eyes were lined in dark black eyeliner. A gold Ankh sat on a black rope around her neck. “Selena?” the woman questioned, looking at the girl in yellow. “What’s wrong?”

“This girl’s looking for a job for the summer.” “Oh. Glad you stopped by. What’s your name?” “Quincy,” she stated. She extended her hand. “I’m Eudora and this is Selena. Have you ever worked at a funnel cake stand before?” “No,” Quincy replied. “Okay, have you worked at a fast-food joint?” “I’ve never had a job before, but I really need this one. I cook all the food at home; I have to. My mom works all day and my stepdad works at night—well he did before he got hurt at work—and then my sister, she’s ten; she doesn’t know how to do anything . . .” Selena and Eudora stared at her with twin looks of pity. Quincy bit her lip. Her heart beat so fast that the sound reverberated in her ears. She wiped her sweaty palms against her leg. “Honey, that’s okay. Everyone’s gotta start somewhere,” Eudora assured. “You can start tomorrow. Selena will train you.” “Yeah, you’ll get the hang of it quick,” Selena added. “Thank you! You won’t be disappointed.” Within a week, Quincy caught on quickly enough to work the booth by herself. She liked creating shapes with the funnel cake batter and interacting with customers. But more than that, she liked working for the Foxworthy’s. Eudora and her husband Miles were patient and funny, and they made Quincy feel included. As for Selena, she was a whirlwind. On the first day Quincy reported to work, Selena asked her everything about her life—what music she liked, what movies she watched. At first, Quincy was overwhelmed by the attention—she was used to being overlooked—but she grew to like the fact that someone was genuinely interested in her life. On the second day, they crossed the street to Oak Hill Cemetery, where they drank Coca-Cola and ate corn dogs. It became their routine, and each day Quincy found herself counting down the minutes until her lunch. “Who was that guy with the curly hair who looked like Robert Plant, the one who came to the booth earlier?” Selena inquired as they lounged

beneath a willow tree at lunch, sitting cross-legged on a blanket. Her shorts exposed the length of her dark, smooth legs. “That’s John Balboa. He’s a senior.” “I think he likes you.” Selena sipped her drink. Quincy nearly spit out hers. “No way.” “He was totally giving you the eyes and flirting with you.” “I doubt it. John dated Minnie Franklin last year.” “I don’t know who that is,” Selena admitted. “She’s one of the popular girls at school. Well, as popular as girls like us can be,” Quincy explained. Selena nodded. “She’s so beautiful. She looks like Ronnie Spector.” “So? You’re beautiful, too.” Quincy winced. She’d been called many things, but beautiful was never one of them. People always used words like “quirky” and “heavy set” when they spoke about her. “Uh uh,” she countered. She looked down at her corndog then pushed the food away from her, unable to take another bite. “Stop doubting yourself,” Selena asserted. “You’re beautiful and you’re more powerful than you realize.” Quincy stared at Selena, intrigued by her use of the word “powerful”. “Well, when school starts, you’ll meet them all,” she said. Selena shifted. She slipped her sunglasses back on, this time wearing a pair of pink heart-shaped ones that matched her shirt. “What is it?” “I won’t be here to go to school with you in the fall.” Quincy’s stomach dropped. Her cheeks grew hot. “What?” “We never stay in one place for too long. We have to go where the fairs are, so come September we’re gone.” She drained the last of her soda and set the bottle aside. Quincy slipped her sunglasses on, not wanting her new friend to see the tears welling in her eyes. “Quincy, it’s okay. It’s only June. We still have so much time to spend together.” Selena wrapped an arm around Quincy, and for a second, Quincy leaned into her friend’s touch. They sat like this for a moment, under a willow tree, gazing out at the stone memorials for the long dead. She scanned Selena’s

legs. A long, jagged scar ran down the inside of her thigh, ending just below her knee. “What happened there?” Quincy asked. Selena closed her legs and scooted away from Quincy. “Nothing, just an accident when I was a kid.” “What happened?” “We should get back.” Selena stood, grabbing her plate and empty soda bottle. Quincy sighed and followed her lead. The two strolled back to the fairgrounds in silence. That night, Quincy woke to Denisa climbing into her bed. “What are you doing?” Quincy asked groggily. “I don’t want to be in my room.” “Why not? You’ve got the biggest one,” Quincy whined, not bothering to hide the jealousy in her voice. “I don’t like seeing the man at the foot of my bed,” Denisa whimpered. A shiver ran down Quincy’s spine. She sat straight up and looked at her sister. “What? What man?” “The one with the glowing eyes. This is the second night he’s been there, just staring at me.” She yawned. “I’m tired; just go back to sleep.” Seconds later, Quincy heard her sister snoring. How could Denisa drop a bomb like that then just go back to sleep? She glanced at the alarm clock on her nightstand. 3:34. Quincy took a deep breath and peeled her blankets off. She trudged across the room to the door, her heart thundering in her chest so loud that the sound echoed in her ears. She jerked the door open, squinting at the eerie red glow of the hall light. She peeped across the hall to her sister’s room, where the door stood wide open to the yawning darkness beyond it. Just as she stepped outside of her room, she heard what sounded like nails scraping against wood. Quincy squeaked. As she turned to close the door, she thought she saw a shadow move in the darkness.

She tossed and turned for the rest of the night, her eyes opening at the slightest sound. After waking up groggy and unfocused the next morning, Quincy made the coffee slightly stronger than usual. She was eating breakfast when Cal entered the room on crutches. “Morning,” Quincy said. Denisa flinched as her father seated himself at the head of the table. He balanced his crutches on her mother’s chair and heaved a sigh. “Good morning,” Cal replied through gritted teeth. Quincy scowled momentarily. Maybe he’s just in pain, she thought. “How’s the leg?” she asked. “How do you think?” he spat. His eyes were bloodshot. It was barely ten in the morning but already sweat beaded on his forehead. Denisa’s lip trembled. Cal grimaced. He shoveled food in his mouth and began chewing loudly. “Well, I’m off to work now,” Quincy announced. She looked at Denisa, who shook her head slightly, her dark eyes wide. Quincy frowned at her then set her plate in the sink. She walked out of the kitchen and stood in the foyer, sliding her feet into her Adidas. She was just about done when Denisa crept up on her. “What the hell?” Quincy shrieked. “Why are you being such a freak?” “There’s something wrong with Dad, Quin,” she whispered. How could she be this freaked out by her dad who, just this time last month, was playing hide and seek with her in the yard? Quincy’s stomach churned. “What do you mean?” “He’s different after the accident. He’s mean and he just spends the day staring at things. And he smells,” Denisa frowned. “Pain can make people act out. Remember how much of a brat you were when you sprained your finger?” Denisa rolled her eyes. “Quincy, I’m serious.” “Have you tried talking to Mom?” “She’s sleeping. It’s her morning off, remember?”

Quincy sighed. Her mother had worked double shifts every day since Cal’s accident. She finally had the morning off, and she’d all but threatened their lives the night before when she told them not to disturb her. “Well, try talking to her when she wakes up. If you can’t handle it, then maybe see if you can convince her to get you all out of the house or something. Maybe it’ll help him and you feel better?” Denisa nodded. She crossed her arms and trudged back into the kitchen. Selena smiled at Quincy as she stepped behind the Foxworthy Funnels booth. As Quincy slid on her apron, Selena turned toward her, placing a hand on her hip. “You won’t believe what I got last night,” Selena grinned. She reached beneath the counter and pulled out a small radio. “Oh, groovy!” Quincy squealed. She rushed over and inspected the small orange device. “Have you played it yet?” Selena grinned. She lifted the antenna and set it down on the counter. When she turned on the radio, music filled the booth. She then turned the dial and landed on a station playing The Isley Brothers. The two danced around the booth, singing along to “That Lady,” when Eudora and Miles entered the booth. “Oh, I love this song!” Eudora exclaimed. She began dancing along with them, and Miles laughed as he stood at the counter, tapping his foot and mixing batter for the funnel cakes. “I want to get their album, man!” Quincy shouted over the music. “This song is so good!” “Maybe we can bike over to Rasputin’s tonight and get it?” Selena asked. Quincy began to say yes, but then her conversation with her sister came rushing back. She had been so freaked out— Almost instinctively, Quincy turned to see her mother, Denisa, and Cal standing on the other side of the booth. She focused on Denisa and narrowed her eyes briefly. When she told her to get them out of the house, she hadn’t meant for her to bring them to the fair. “Mom, what’re you doing here?”

“What, I can’t visit my baby on my morning off?” she replied. “C’mon Quincy, don’t be rude. Introduce me.” “Mom, these are the Foxworthys. This is Selena, Miles, and Eudora.” Quincy looked from Selena to Miles then to Eudora as she said their names. “This is my mother, Vivian.” Miles extended a hand. Her mother shook it, eyeing him warily. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Vivian. Quincy’s been such a help this summer.” “Really?” Her mother raised a brow. “Yes, she’s been a joy. She and Selena have become thick as thieves,” Eudora said. “That’s my sister, Denisa,” Quincy continued. Denisa waved. “And that’s my stepfather, Cal.” The air shifted as Cal stepped up to the booth. He was still sweaty. He had dark circles beneath his eyes and though he was normally clean shaven, his facial hair had grown in more heavily now. “It’s good to meet you, man,” Miles uttered. Gone was the joviality that had been in his voice seconds ago. Now it was hard-edged and curt. “Well, can we get you anything? On the house, family discount,” Miles added. “That's nice of you. We’ll take two funnel cakes please,” Quincy’s mother requested. “Can I have strawberries on mine?” Denisa asked. Quincy nodded and began making the cakes. As she did, she heard Miles speaking with her mother, asking her about work, how long she’d lived in San Jose, and didn’t she know this was such a beautiful place to live. “I’ve lived here most of my life. It’s all the same to me.” Vivian groaned. Miles laughed, and Quincy could tell he wasn’t sure if her mother’s statement had been a joke. After a few minutes, she pulled the funnel cakes out of the frier and set them on a plate. She then handed them to her mother and sister. “Thanks, Quin,” Denisa said. Without waiting for their mother, she took a large bite of the cake and smiled. “Is it good?” Quincy asked.

Denisa nodded vigorously. Quincy watched as her mother took a bite. The corners of her mouth twitched. “Oh, Quincy. You put your foot in this,” she gushed. Quincy smiled wide. “Quincy’s the best funnel caker out of all of us.” Miles affirmed. “Ain’t that right, Eudora?” Eudora, who stood at the back of the booth with Selena, simply nodded. “Cal, you ought to try this,” Vivian said. She scooped a spoonful of cake and held it up to Cal’s mouth. “Don’t want to,” he replied, his voice a sneer. Quincy felt that uneasy feeling raging inside of her again. She looked to Denisa, who stood far away from her parents and ate the funnel cake daintily. “C’mon, Cal. Our baby made this and it’s really good—” “I don’t even know why you brought me here. It’s too hot and I’m hungry.” “So have some cake.” “I don’t want cake,” Cal growled. He stalked away, his crutches sinking into the grass as he walked. “I want some real food.” Vivian trudged after Quincy’s stepfather. Denisa stood by the side of the stand, still eating bits of cake and strawberry. Quincy took a deep breath. She looked from Eudora to Selena and then to Miles. She hated the way their smiles tinged with pity. “I’m sorry about that. My family’s weird.” “Oh, honey, that’s okay. Every family has their fair share of ‘weird,’” Eudora reassured her. “My mom’s a busybody. And Cal, he’s not always like this.” “Oh?” Selena asked. “Yeah, he’s normally chill. We get along fine. He’s on crutches now because he had a bad accident at work.” “What happened?” Selena questioned. Miles scowled at Selena, who added: “. . . if you don’t mind.” Quincy shrugged. “He’s an orderly at Valley Medical. He had an accident somehow; I think a patient attacked him or something? He’s got a broken leg, a lot of cuts and scrapes. A huge gash on his leg.” “A gash—” Selena exclaimed.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Miles said. “I’m sure he’ll be on the mend soon.” “Quincy,” Eudora interjected. “Would you go down to the Johnny Rockets booth and grab some lunch for everyone?” She pulled a ten-dollar bill from her pocket. Quincy grabbed the money and nodded. She looked down at Denisa, who stood by the booth. “Why did you bring them here?” Quincy whispered. Denisa’s eyes turned glassy. “I didn’t. Mom insisted, saying she wanted to see what your ‘lil job’ is like.” Quincy groaned. They walked over to the Johnny Rockets booth and stood in line. After waiting for fifteen minutes, they ordered fries and burgers and sodas for themselves and the Foxworthys. While they waited for their food, Quincy turned toward her sister. “I know that he’s been strange the last few weeks, but I’m sure it’s just the accident. Maybe he’s got an infection or something.” Denisa scoffed. “You don’t know.” “No, but—” “You and mom are at work all day, so you don’t see the real things he does. Sometimes he makes this weird growling sound. When Ms. Richards walks her dog in the afternoons, it howls every time it passes the house now, and dad will stare out the window at it. I caught him snarling at it the other day.” Quincy’s temples throbbed. She didn’t know what to think about what her sister was saying. On one hand, she was ten. She made things up all the time. On the other, she’d been so scared of everything lately. After the server called out their order, they grabbed the food and hurried back to the booth, weaving their way through the crowd. The wooden door that slid open announcing the booth was in business had been pushed down. Quincy heard the Foxworthys talking as she and Denisa approached the back of the booth. “We can’t just kill him. We don’t know how far along in the change he is,” Miles reasoned. “He looked pretty advanced to me. Heightened anger, the sweats. Only a matter of time before he starts trying to eat someone and I don’t want that someone to be my friend,” Selena argued. “We don’t want anything to happen to Quincy either,” Miles said. “Or her sister, or even her mother. But we have to tread lightly here. Better to

perform the ritual and rid Cal of the beast than to go in with murder on the mind. Remember what happened in Cleveland?” The Foxworthys went silent. Selena heard someone shift. “Quincy?” Selena questioned. Quincy took a breath and entered the booth. “Food’s here!” she exclaimed, her voice pitched higher than she’d intended. The family startled, surprised to see her back. They looked at each other, wondering how much Quincy and Denisa had heard. “Thank you, honey.” Eudora forced a smile. “Are we closing up for the day or something?” Quincy asked. “Just wanted to close up for lunch.” Miles grinned. Quincy knitted her brows. Each of them grabbed their food and began eating. The awkward energy in the booth overwhelmed Quincy. She glanced at Denisa, who stared down at her plate. Quincy’s heart pumped in her chest. She felt as if she would throw up, but she knew she had to say something. “What were you talking about just now?” “Pardon?” Eudora asked, taking a sip of her soda. “When we came back, we heard you talking about, um—” “We heard you talking about killing my dad,” Denisa blurted out. Quincy’s eyes widened as she looked at her sister. “I’m sorry; she just—” “No, that’s okay,” Miles said. He set his burger down and sighed. “You were going to find out sooner or later.” “Miles—” Eudora pleaded, casting a sidelong glance at her husband. “You see, Quincy, we don’t just do this for a living.” He gestured at the booth. “We help people, too. People who are dealing with things they don’t understand.” “What do you mean?” Quincy asked. “Well—” “Dad, stop beating around the bush,” Selena urged. She hopped down from her spot on the edge of the counter and smoothed out her Jimi Hendrix t-shirt. “Quincy, we’re monster hunters.” The statement hung in the air, leaving Quincy unsure if she should laugh or cry. “I don’t—” “And also, witches,” Eudora added.

“Quin, listen. My mom, my dad, me? We travel the country slinging funnels and slaying monsters using our magic. Sometimes we heal them and sometimes . . .” Selena shrugged. “. . . they die.” “You’re crazy! Witches aren’t real. Monsters don’t exist,” Quincy quavered. But even she doubted the words when they escaped her lips. She thought back to the night when Denisa had climbed into her bed. She thought about the sound she heard in her sister’s room, like nails on a chalkboard. Were they saying that was Cal? And witches? Magic? No, that wasn’t possible. She’d never once seen anything magical from them. Then she thought about how they always seemed to make a profit despite not having many customers. How Eudora and Miles were in their late forties and looked barely thirty. How Selena sometimes knew what she was feeling or thinking even before she did. “I think you know differently, Quin,” Selena coaxed. Her kohl-rimmed eyes bore into Quincy’s. My stepfather is a monster. And my new friend is a witch, Quincy thought. “What kind of monster is he?” Quincy asked. Beside her, Denisa squirmed. “He’s a werewolf,” Miles confirmed. Quincy nodded. She’d seen The Wolf Man with Lon Chaney Jr. at the penny movie night with her mother, years ago. She remembered seeing him transform from a man into a beast and the thought of that happening to her stepfather sent shivers down her spine. “Why would you have to kill him?” Quincy murmured. “Because if left alone to its own devices, a werewolf will kill any human it comes across. It feeds on meat and flesh. You, your sister, and your mom are in grave danger.” “And if he doesn’t kill you, then he might turn you. And then you’d become a werewolf,” Selena warned. Quincy eyed her sister, who sat with her head in her hands. “Deni, are you okay?” “Can you heal him?” Denisa whimpered. Eudora sighed. “Maybe. But we’re not going to let anything happen to either of you, I promise.” “How can you promise? You won’t be coming back to our house with us,” Denisa said.

“True. But we have something that you can use for protection, just in case.” Eudora pulled a silver dagger out of her bag. The edge was sharp and the hilt of it was shaped like a wolf’s head. Along the shaft was a row of symbols etched in the metal. “It’s silver. It’ll weaken the werewolf, especially if you say it with a spell,” Eudora explained. “The words are—” “Quincy? Denisa?” their mother called. Selena mouthed the words “hide it” before pulling open the window. “What’s going on?” Quincy’s mother questioned. “Oh, nothing. We close this during lunch so we don’t get any customers,” Quincy uttered. She nodded then turned to her youngest daughter. “Denisa, come on it’s time to go home.” Denisa squeaked. “What do I do, Quincy?” she whispered. “Don’t worry; I’ll give Quincy the spell. It’ll keep you safe,” Selena whispered. Then louder she said: “It was nice meeting you, Denisa. You’re pretty groovy, for a kid.” “See you soon, Deni.” Quincy waved. Denisa nodded. She shuffled out of the booth. Her mother wrapped an arm around her shoulders when she approached. Several feet away, Cal loomed near an ice cream stand, his grey shirt stained with sweat and his bloodshot eyes glaring at them. The rest of the day passed by in a daze. Now that she knew what the Foxworthys were, Quincy couldn’t help but stare at them as they moved about the booth. She biked home quickly after work. I’ve got to get back to make sure she’s safe, Quincy thought. That evening, she cooked meatloaf with mashed potatoes and peas on the side. While they ate their dinner modestly, Cal shoveled the meat into his mouth like he hadn’t eaten anything in days. They retired to bed at eleven, and despite her nerves, Quincy fell asleep almost instantly.

Her eyes snapped open two hours later at the sound of whimpering. Quincy sat up in bed and stared into the inky black darkness of her room. When she heard the sound again, she slid out of bed. She tiptoed to her desk and grabbed the dagger Eudora had given her earlier. She crossed her room toward the door, trying to remember the words Selena told her to say. She opened her door quietly then stepped into the hall. The whimpering grew louder. She looked at her mom’s room before remembering she was at work. Quincy squeaked before taking a deep breath. I’m coming, Deni, she thought. Quincy pushed open her sister’s door and turned on the light. She squinted momentarily at the brightness before spotting Cal staring at her, Denisa’s wrist in his hand and her upper arm inches away from his teeth. Were his canines always so long? She opened the sheet of paper Selena gave her with the spell on it and held it out before her. “Romulus, sewer of carnage,” Quincy began. Cal emitted a low growl. “I command you to heel in the name of Bastet. Bend to my will or meet the sting of silver.” He lunged at her. Quincy screamed and brought the dagger down against Cal’s forearm, tearing through the skin, a hissing sound emanating from the wound. He cradled his arm and glared at her, a low growl emanating from him. The sheet of paper dropped from her hands. “What the hell is going on here? Oh my God, Cal. What happened?” Her mother rushed into the room. She grabbed Cal’s hand and held it, examining the cut. “Denisa was having a bad dream or something. I heard her whimpering, and when I came in, Quincy was standing over her with that knife and she was saying some satanic mumbo jumbo,” Cal replied. “That’s not true! He attacked Denisa,” Quincy argued. “I was defending her.” “With a dagger? What is this?” Her mother snatched the dagger from her hands. “Where did you get this?” “I—” “Mom, Quincy’s right!”

She glanced at Quincy’s feet where the paper had fallen. She opened it, her eyes scanning the page, then looked up at Quincy, eyes narrowed. Quincy’s heart sunk as her mother flipped the paper over and saw Selena’s name and number on the bottom of the page. “What is this? Did you and your lil’ friend plan this?” Quincy shook her head. “Quincy,” her mother warned. Her eyes were bloodshot. Quincy shook her head again. Vivian slapped her daughter for the first time in years. Quincy brought her hand up to her cheek, her eyes welling at the sting of it. “You’re done working at that funnel cake stand.” “No, Mom!” Quincy cried. “No, Quincy. I said you’re done. I won’t let that girl get you into this satanic stuff. Tomorrow I’m taking you up there so you can quit and collect your last paycheck. You’re grounded for the rest of the summer. And you, Denisa, no more cosigning your sister's foolishness. Now both of you, go to bed.” She slowly led Cal out of the room and into their bedroom. Quincy looked at Denisa, who sat in the middle of her bed with tears streaming down her face. “What are we going to do?” she muttered. “I don’t know,” Quincy’s voice quivered. She slid down the wall and wept. Quincy hated the sound of the tires scraping against the gravel as her mother pulled into the fairground parking lot. Her mother didn’t speak to her the whole way there, instead blaring Tammi Terrell to fill the silence. Once they hopped out of the car, Quincy led the way to the booth. “Quincy! Is everything okay? We were worried when we didn’t see you this morning,” Eudora said. She wore a bright pink headband and a fringed shirt. As always, rows of bracelets covered her left wrist. Quincy recognized some of the same etchings on the bracelets as had been on the dagger. “No, Eudora, everything is not okay,” Quincy’s mother retorted. She stepped in front of her and leaned over the counter, holding the dagger in

her hands. “I don’t know what you’ve been doing with my girl this summer, but whatever satanic business you got her up to stops now.” “Satanic business?” Selena said, deadpan. She crossed her arms over her bosom, her red, heart-shaped glasses covering her eyes. “Selena,” Eudora pleaded. She faced Quincy’s mother. “Vivian, I can assure you there’s been nothing of the sort going on here this summer. We’ve just taught Quincy how to use the fryer, count money, and work the funnel cake stand.” “Yeah, right. That’s how she managed to get a hold of this dagger to cut my husband with last night? From learning how to work a fryer?” her mother quipped. Eudora didn’t blink. Neither did Selena. “Vivian, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never seen that dagger before.” “Well, regardless, Quincy has something she wants to say to you.” Quincy’s mother pushed her forward. “I, uh. I have to quit. I can’t work here anymore.” Eudora clenched her teeth and nodded. “I understand.” “I also need my final check,” Quincy added. Eudora nodded again. She left the booth. Selena rounded the side of the booth and extended her hands. “I’m gonna miss you, Quincy.” She wrapped her in a hug. Quincy inhaled Selena’s scent. She smelled like orange and ginger and sunshine. “Vivian, I have the check here,” Eudora announced. When Quincy’s mother walked toward Eudora, Selena slipped a foldedup paper into Quincy’s hand. She nodded at her, and Quincy slipped it into her pocket just as her mother turned. “Goodbye, Eudora. Goodbye, Selena,” Quincy uttered. “Goodbye, Quincy. It was a pleasure working with you.” Eudora smiled. As Vivian and Quincy walked away, Quincy glanced over her shoulder to see Selena placing a hand over her heart.

Sitting in the bathroom hours later, Quincy opened the paper onto her lap. The top part of the note included a list of ingredients. The bottom listed step-by-step instructions for Quincy to follow along with a note from Selena underneath it. “This is how we keep in touch, no matter where I am. XO.” That night, Quincy performed the spell. She made sure everyone was asleep, even Denisa, who insisted on sleeping in Quincy’s room. She snuck into the bathroom and left the light off, using only the candle included in the ritual as lighting. The spell called for mint, candle smoke, a personal item of the person you wanted to reach, and three drops of blood. She set the pink sunglasses Selena had given to her on the floor beside the candles. She crushed the mint between her fingers and dropped it onto the fire. “Eshu, bring me the one I seek the most. Carry her to me on the smoke of this candle and take her with you when the light ceases to be. Eshu, this I beg of thee.” Quincy eyed the safety pin she grabbed from her mom’s sewing kit. This is going to hurt, she thought. She winced as she pricked herself and dropped some of her blood into the burning candle. Seconds later, Selena appeared in the bathroom, smiling down at Quincy. “I knew you’d get it,” she exclaimed. “I told you that you were powerful.” “You just gave me the instructions.” “No, Quin. That spell? It’s for a witch to call another witch to her. You’re a witch, girl, just like me.” Quincy felt as if the ground would rise up to meet her. She shook her head, struggling to handle the numerous bombshells she’d been dealt over the summer. “How is this possible?” she asked. Selena smiled. “Everything is possible with magic.” Quincy blinked profusely then shook her head. “What do we do, Selena? My mom doesn’t want me anywhere near you and your family, but I think Cal is getting worse,” she uttered, her voice breaking. “What do you mean?” “He tried to bite Denisa, so I fought him off.” Selena’s eyes widened. “Did he break the skin?”

“No.” She sighed. “Thank goddess. If he hasn’t bitten anyone yet, there’s still time. Werewolves can be turned back with a ritual, but once they bite someone, they’re no longer human. Can you get her and Denisa out of the house for a few hours tomorrow?” “Yeah, no problem. She’s working a double.” “Great. We’ll be at your house around eleven. Take Denisa and go to the park or something.” “Are you sure you don’t want me there?” “Quincy, no. You might get hurt and I can’t have that,” Selena pleaded. She placed a hand on Quincy’s shoulder. Quincy nodded. “Thank you, Selena.” Selena winked. “It’s what I do, Quin. Now get some rest. Tomorrow is a big day.” Quincy placed a hand over her heart, and Selena returned the gesture. Once Quincy blew out the candle, Selena faded away. Seconds later, Quincy wiped the lonely tear that slid down her cheek. The next morning, Quincy was surprised to find her mother sitting at the table sipping coffee. She glanced at the clock, almost eight in the morning. “Good morning,” she said. She slid into a chair across from her mother. “Morning,” her mother replied coolly. “I thought you were working today.” “I asked Esther if she could cover my shift. I thought we could go to Goodwill, get a few things.” Quincy breathed deeply, relieved that she didn’t have to come up with a lie for why they needed to leave Cal alone. They ate breakfast in silence, each of them in varying levels of disgust over Cal’s eating habits. They left around ten, and Quincy kept checking her watch, growing more and more nervous as eleven approached. She hadn’t told Denisa what was happening. She didn’t want to frighten her or risk her saying something to their mother.

Quincy was trying on a dress when her mother stepped into the fitting room. “Are you okay, Mom?” Quincy asked. She wore a maxi dress and tied her relaxed hair into a ponytail. The store was warm, but her mother looked as if she’d been standing outside for hours. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead and upper lip. The armpits of her yellow dress were stained with sweat. Her eyes were bloodshot, just like the night before. Just like Cal’s, Quincy thought. “Yes, Quincy, I’m fine. It’s just so hot in here.” Quincy didn’t respond. She turned back toward the mirror, observing the way the white linen maxi dress fit her. “What do you think?” Quincy asked. “I think it’s a beautiful dress. You can wear it to church this Sunday.” “Mom—” “I don’t want to hear it, Quin. After the things that have happened these last few weeks, I realized we needed to make that a priority again. I grabbed myself a little something to wear, too.” Vivian modeled the yellow dress she wore. It was all Quincy could do not to roll her eyes. She sighed and grabbed at the dress’s zipper but stopped. As her mother lifted the yellow dress up to try on another one, she spotted a large white square of gauze on her calf, the center of it dotted with blood. “What happened to your leg?” Quincy asked. Her mom looked down at the wound and shrugged. “I must have scraped it last night at work. Probably ran up against the side of the trash can. It was bleeding a lot. Hopefully, it doesn’t get infected.” Her mother slipped off her maxi dress and pulled on the black one. “What do you think?” she asked. Quincy’s mouth dried up. Her chest felt tight, and it was all she could do to stop herself from hyperventilating. She thought about what Selena told her about werewolves, how if they bite someone they cannot be cured. And now my mother will become one, too, she thought. Quincy pulled the dress off and hastily slipped on her jean shorts and tank top. “Quincy, where’s the fire?” “I’m not feeling too hot.”

“What?” “I don’t feel good. I think I’m getting my period—can we go home?” “Quincy, we haven’t been here that long, and we still need to get Denisa’s clothes,” she grumbled. Quincy doubled over, clutching her stomach. In that moment, she was grateful that she always experienced terrible cramps with her periods. “Mom, I’m in a lot of pain right now,” she groaned. “Okay, okay, Quincy. We’ll get this stuff and leave.” Her mother slid the dress off and slipped back into her own maxi dress. Quincy gathered the clothes she’d chosen and eased out of the dressing room, still hunched over and walking stiffly. Her mother knocked on Denisa’s dressing room door; the ten-year-old opened it wearing a pink plaid skirt and white short sleeve shirt. “Your sister isn’t feeling well. Grab the clothes you want to get and let’s head home,” Vivian said. They paid for their items and walked out. As they slid into the car, Quincy noticed the same smell on her mother as she had on Cal—it was musty, animalistic. Quincy clutched her stomach and groaned as they peeled out of the parking lot. “Quincy, what’s going on?” “Mom, I’m cramping a lot. It really hurts,” she lied. Her mother sped down Santa Teresa toward their home. With every green light, Quincy’s terror increased. She didn’t know what to expect, but she had an aching feeling that something had gone terribly wrong. They passed the Foxworthy’s station wagon at the front of the neighborhood. Shortly after, they pulled into the driveway. Quincy half expected to see signs of a magical ritual or of a fight, but there was nothing. The door was closed, the windows shut. It wasn’t until they stood in front of the door that they heard raised voices. The second they stepped into the house, Quincy gasped. Cal and Miles were struggling with each other in the hallway. Both men had cuts and bruises along their bodies, and a small pool of blood rested just behind the

couch. Eudora and Selena stood at the kitchen table, ancient looking books splayed out before them. Spices and plants littered the ground. When they looked up, Quincy noticed their faces were painted white with some of the same symbols on the dagger and Eudora’s bracelet. “What the hell is happening? Why are you in my house?” their mother screamed. “Quincy, you were supposed to keep them out of the house!” Selena shouted. Her mother turned on her, eyes bloodshot. “Quincy, you did this?” she questioned. “I—It’s Cal. He’s sick and they’re trying to help.” “Does that look like he’s really being helped?” She gestured to the hallway where Cal and Miles were still entangled. Miles got the upper hand and punched Cal. His body was now covered in hair. When he glared at them, his eyes glowed. Their mother dashed toward them and tried to pull Miles away. Eudora chased after her, pulling her off of Miles. Quincy grabbed Denisa’s hand and darted into the kitchen. She slid her sister under the table. “You stay here, okay? Don’t come out until I tell you to.” Denisa nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks. “We tried the ritual, but it didn’t work,” Selena sputtered. A bruise blossomed on her left cheek. “That’s because we’re too late,” Quincy’s voice broke. “He bit my mother.” Selena’s eyes widened. She blinked back tears and a somber look spread across her face. “What do we do?” “We have to kill him. There’s no saving him now,” she declared. “But what about my mom?” “She’ll be fine; we can save her.” Selena slid a book over toward Quincy. “Here. We have to start the ritual over. All of our herbs and stuff got knocked over when we tried it on your dad and it didn’t work. See if you have these things. I have to tell my parents about your mom.” Selena rushed out of the kitchen before Quincy could respond. Quincy cried out as she heard the sound of bodies hitting walls and floors, the

sound of fists against flesh. She blinked back tears and began breathing out of her mouth as she skimmed the book for the ritual. She dabbed her fingers in the white paint in the canister on the side of the table. She struggled to keep her hands from shaking as she drew a line down the center of her face, from her forehead to the tip of her nose. She drew dots beneath her eyes then traced three symbols on her face, two on her cheeks and one on her forehead. Once done she scrambled to grab the ingredients. Quincy yanked open the cabinets, searching for herbs and a lighter. She yelped when she heard a loud bang. Suddenly, the house grew still. It felt as if all the air had been let out of the room. Quincy clutched a jar of marjoram as she walked slowly into the living room. On the ground lied Cal, his mouth open and his body still covered in hair. A single gunshot wound rested in the middle of his chest. Blood blossomed on the ground beneath him. Quincy glanced at Miles, who sat with his head in his hands. Eudora held the gun in her left hand, her right arm around Selena. Selena pressed a hand against her side, where blood pooled from the wound. “Selena,” Quincy whispered. “I’ll be okay. Don’t worry about me.” She smiled weakly. For a second, they stared at each other, neither of them speaking. Quincy nodded and looked up at Eudora. There was so much resolve and apology in her eyes that it made Quincy reach for the wall behind her to stabilize herself. “Were you able to find the things you need for the ritual?” Selena asked. Quincy nodded. “Okay. Where’s your mother?” Quincy searched the room. She scowled as she stepped into the hallway. She hurried back into the kitchen and stiffened when she saw her mother gripping Denisa in her arms. Quincy dropped the jar of marjoram and screamed when she saw her mother’s teeth sink into Denisa’s shoulder. “No!” Quincy yelled. She dove to her knees and slid across the floor. She grabbed at Denisa, wrestling her mother for her sister. Denisa wailed and Quincy pulled her hard, their mother releasing her grip. Quincy stood and pushed Denisa out of the kitchen, where she ran into Selena’s arms. Quincy turned back just as her mother lunged at her. A shot rang out. The bullet connected with the cup cabinet, and the sound of shattered glass reverberated through the room. Her mother darted out of the back

door and though Eudora ran after her, there were no more shots. Quincy knew her mother had gotten away; she fell to her knees and sobbed. The five of them remained in the house. As Selena bandaged herself and Denisa, Eudora and Miles began cleaning the scene. They pulled their mother’s car into the garage then set Cal in the driver’s seat, placing the gun in his hands. They cleaned the carpets and the rest of the home, using magic to make it all the more immaculate. “What are we going to do now?” Denisa cried. Her tears spilled freely down her cheeks, making small pools on the front of her grey shirt. “Do you have any other family?” Eudora asked. Quincy shook her head. “You’ll come with us,” Miles decided. Eudora and Selena nodded. Quincy turned to Denisa. Though she’d only just met the Foxworthys, Quincy knew they had nowhere else to go. She also knew it was only a matter of time before people started asking questions that she didn’t quite have answers for. She squeezed her sister’s hand before facing the Foxworthys. “Okay,” Quincy agreed. “Denisa, I can help you pack your things. Would that be okay?” Selena asked. Denisa nodded. She slid out of the chair and followed Selena up the steps. Selena looked back at Quincy and touched a hand to her heart; Quincy returned the gesture. When they were out of earshot, Quincy turned to Miles and Eudora. “What do we do now? My mom bit Denisa.” Miles nodded. “We can do a ritual to heal her, but not here. We’ve got to get on the move. As for your mom—” “You might not like it, Quin, but your mother is gone. She’s a werewolf now, and it’s our job to hunt them. We’ll get you and Denisa somewhere safe for a few days, then we’ll come back and hunt.” Quincy shook her head. “I want to be there.” “Quincy,” Eudora soothed. “No,” Quincy objected. “I need to say goodbye before—” Before my mother dies, she thought. Quincy buried her head in her hands and sobbed.

A few hours before they departed, Quincy packed her belongings in two duffle bags. She slid her favorite books, her mother’s photo album, and her mother’s perfume in a separate backpack she clutched as they left. Camouflaging with the darkness, they left the house at three in the morning. They walked out of the neighborhood slowly and slid into the Foxworthys’ station wagon quietly. Selena, Denisa, and Quincy piled into the backseat. After an hour, Denisa fell asleep against Quincy’s shoulder. Quincy gazed out the window as they traveled along the coastline, their headlights illuminating the cliffs and the ocean beyond. Selena wound her fingers through Quincy’s hand, and Quincy turned to glance at her over Denisa’s head. As Selena nodded, Quincy returned the gesture. Quincy looked back out at the ocean, the magic she’d discovered and the loss she’d endured over the last few days coalescing within her.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Amanda Ross's favorite thing to do is to create magical worlds that bridge fantasy and reality. She finally put pen to paper as a teen, and from then on, she was hooked on the magic of storytelling in all its forms. She primarily writes urban/contemporary fantasy, dark fantasy, and horror. Each story packs a magical punch and has plenty of campy humor. The first novel in her Witchkind series, To Astera, With Love, published in June 2020. Its sequel, To Ilaris, In Desperation, is set to release in fall 2021. Amanda currently lives in the Bay Area and enjoys reading and eating donuts by the beach. Sign up for her newsletter or follow her on Instagram.

“I am just a single girl. I am five feet two inches tall and I am in-between in every way. But I have a secret. You can build walls all the way to the sky and I will find a way to fly above them. You can try to pin me down with a hundred thousand arms, but I will find a way to resist. And there are many of us out there, more than you think. People who refuse to stop believing. People who refuse to come to earth. People who love in a world without walls, people who love into hate, into refusal, against hope, and without fear.” ― Lauren Oliver, Delirium

N 8 A MEETING IN THE WOODS Nicole Givens Kurtz oah Sinclair, aka, Sin, preferred cars to people, but Chastity Williams had been the exception. Sin didn’t share their relationship issues. In public, they displayed affection with each other, but they didn’t let on that they had a secret—Sin often fell victim to irreconcilable rage, especially when Chastity didn’t do what he said or answer her phone when he texted or called. One early autumn afternoon, Chastity, dressed in jeans, black highheeled boots, and a dark green puffy coat, forced their secret out into the open outside Lee’s Convenience Store. Sin wrapped Chastity’s shoulder-length plait around his fist and pulled. “Let go!” She grabbed her partner’s right wrist. Her fingers couldn’t wrap around its thickness and tears prickled at the corners of Chastity’s eyes. “I won’t go again.” Hot whispers sprang up around them as neighborhood customers shuffled in and out of the corner bodega. Clothed in hats, jackets, and gloves, they cast Chastity pity-filled glances as they hurried away. She didn’t blame them. ‘Round here, folks didn’t see nothing or know nothing. They didn’t wanna know anything.

“I ain’t gonna keep tellin’ you.” Sin released her hair. His short fade, free of waves, peaked out from his baseball cap. “The forest is vast. Strange disturbances happen in there.” Chastity massaged her burning scalp with her fingertips. She couldn’t tell him that she and Medora met three or four nights a week. Rarely in the daylight. But always in the woods. Her ebony wool hat had been pulled down low over her forehead and ears, but her gold hoop earrings and cheeks were cold. “Okay. Okay!” Chastity moved out of his reach in case he wanted to get handsy again. “I just got these extensions put in.” Sin snatched her hands and held them up to his face. “You been bleedin’ again.” He spoke with certainty. “Medora. Told you to stay away from her.” “Them.” “What?” “You said her. Their pronoun is them.” Chastity whispered, inching back from him. “Whatever.” “It’s no big deal.” Chastity tried to pull her hands free. “Just little pinpricks.” Sin dropped her hands. “Stay away from her. She’s a cold, devious, and calculating bitch.” “They’re my best friend.” Chastity couldn’t make her mouth confirm the truth of their relationship. She shoved it down inside and forced a smile for Sin. “You heard me,” Sin replied. “Come on.” He started walking down the sidewalk away from the store. “Let’s go.” She followed in silence, watching the scarred and cracked pavement shift beneath her boots. Ahead, Sin, hunched against the wind in a threadbare hoodie, put his earbuds in. She sighed. How was she going to tell Medora she wouldn’t be able to come tonight? Chastity lived with her gigi, and Sin lived a building over. He watched her door and sometimes hung out in the lobby by the mailboxes to make sure she didn’t leave her apartment. He wanted to keep her safe. Part of her believed him. The neighborhood had more than its allotment of poverty and crime, people crawling over each other for crumbs. He protected her on more than one occasion from being mugged, possibly raped. She understood why he remained protective.

She bit her lip as the row of late model cars came into sight. Almost there. Home. But the woods held a powerful sway. Her fingers bore the pinpricks from last night’s outing. Medora used blood droplets in her magic spells and conjuring. Chastity gave it to her willingly. It wasn’t a lot like in the movies-no slicing of palms or whatnot. Just a few voluntary droplets of blood. Her and Medora’s meeting in the woods provided a certain freedom that they couldn’t cleave from the city, their overcrowded neighborhood with people and expectations everywhere. Once they reached the fork to her apartment building, Sin kissed her on the lips, gave her a one-armed hug, and pushed off toward his place. He lived alone. She watched him go, thankful he didn’t say more than ‘bye.’ A head nod and a hug implied peace, and Chastity released a long breath of relief. She reached the lobby, crossed to the elevator, and headed up to her own home. Once she reached the 12th floor, she exited with her hands in her coat pockets, fast walking with her head down past the other apartment doors. Experience taught her to keep to the farthest wall away from anyone exiting their homes or those thirsty enough to want to pull her in. Thank you, Jesus! Chastity’s key turned the lock in the door, and she hurried into the home she shared with her gigi. The rich aroma of collard greens and vinegar hit her stomach like a fist. Chastity’s stomach rumbled. “I’m home, Gigi!” She dropped her backpack beside the kitchen table and unzipped her boots, hopping on one leg in turn to take them off. “Gigi?” Her grandmother, affectionately known as Gigi, came into the kitchen, eyeing her granddaughter with a small smile on her face. “You look frozen through.” “Nah, it ain’t bad. Just hungry,” Chastity said. “Dinner will be ready in a bit. Your little friend is here.” Gigi nodded. “They’re in your room.” “Medora?” Chastity paused. “Already?” “You going someplace tonight?” Gigi asked, arms akimbo on wide hips clad in her favorite sweats. “Yeah, but later.” Chastity avoided Gigi’s searching glare and escaped to her room where she found Medora seated on the purple bean bag, reading

a book. They raised a hand when Chastity entered the bedroom “You’re early.” Chastity sat down on the edge of her bed. “I thought we could leave earlier, since it’s already dark.” Medora looked up from the book. Their dark eyes sparkled in the room’s low light. Their shoulder-length braids had been swept back into a ponytail. Purple and blue braids mingled with the black hair. “You okay?” Chastity heard Sin’s warning in her ears and rubbed her scalp. “We’re still going right?” Medora asked, noting Chastity hesitation. “There’s a party over at DJ’s…” Medora wrinkled their button nose. “DJ’s? You know what kind of folks gonna be there. Not our people. City folks. The street talks and when Sin finds out, well, I wished you’d drop him. You know, the city seems to be self-destructing, but there’s safety in the trees.” Chastity swallowed at the sharp truth of Medora’s words. Sin would be furious if she went to DJ’s, but he’d been angry if she went to the woods again. Her arm dangled off the bed where Medora reached out, took her hand, and held it. “Remember last night?” Medora said, their voice like a velvet scarf. She did. They’d pricked their fingers and fed their blood to the fire, promising their love to each other and calling forth protective spirits. Medora led the chant, and Chastity followed. Afterwards, they drank their sodas, ate sandwiches, and Medora read a scary story. They snuggled and enjoyed the quiet and beauty of the sky before trekking back home. Magical. Loving. Safe. “To the trees!” Chastity shot up like the rush of warm excitement in her body. They didn’t have any other place in the world. Not really. As outsiders, Chastity and Medora heard the rumors others pushed about them. Unsavory stories that tainted their reputations. Chastity heard the coarse whispers when she walked past. …dyke… …weirdo… …oreo… …witch… Medora had a chaotic personality, but Chastity found comfort in the manic. Medora’s aesthetic of white clothing and vibrant make-up perked

Chastity’s interest in joining them in their meetings in the woods. Their non-binary status confused people and sometimes threatened their safety. The otherworldly aura Medora portrayed with their dress, behavior, and personality lured Chastity the way the trees had, with a subtle, mysterious tug. “I’m gonna eat first before we go,” Chastity said. Medora laughed. “Me too. Your grandmother’s fried chicken livers are too good to not eat.” Chastity and Medora stood at the forest’s dark, open mouth with their flashlights’ cold metal pressed into their palms. The worn hiking path shot forward into bleakness. The temperature plummeted and their breaths came out in whisps. Medora pulled their wool hat further over their ears and held up their flashlight. “Let’s get lost!” They shouted. Chastity put her free hand in her pocket. Without waiting for a response, Medora marched forward along the unlit path. Overhead, stars crowded the cloudless, evening sky. The cold reduced all scents to a burning in Chastity’s nostrils. It came as a relief from the pungent city odors of trash, car exhaust, and cheap fast food. The crunch of stiff twigs and withered grass beneath their sneakers provided the sound as they walked. Medora led. Chastity followed. They discovered the remote area, located at the beginning of the spring thaw. The area was engulfed in trees. The isolated space had a clearing in its center but was surrounded by woods. Overrun with people in the summer, the woods belonged to them in the fall. Out here, Chastity could howl, hoot, and dance awkwardly, sing off key and above all else—love without the criticism, harsh whispers, and disapproving glares. Ahead in the distance, twigs snapped. An owl’s hoot followed. Medora came to a fast halt. They swept their flashlight to the left, and then called, “This way.” They stepped off the path, and Chastity’s excitement grew. Medora always seemed so certain. She loved that about them and jogged ahead to

catch up. Once she did, their hands met and clasped tight. The ground beneath Chastity’s feet felt more solid when she held Medora’s hand. They pushed ahead, through the freezing night air. The warmth of their closeness made her feel cozy. The wooden trail opened into a tiny clearing. Their meeting space, the outdoor office. In its center, a blackened circle filled with ash. “Finally. I thought you got us lost,” Chastity teased. She released Medora’s hand and shrugged off her backpack. “Never. This place has been tattooed on my soul,” Medora declared, sweeping their hands out as if embracing everything. They removed their backpack, too and went off in search of wood for a fire. Chastity set up their makeshift camp. She removed the blankets from her pack and placed one on the ground close to the fire. As she did so, a soft breath brushed her ear. She screamed and scrambled away. “Not funny, Medora!” But they weren’t there. As she spun around, searching the gloom, she wiped her ear, and tried to calm her thundering heart. “Medora?” Nothing. “Medora, I’m cold. Stop playing around.” Chastity rubbed her arms. Her puffy coat felt chilly to the exterior. “What?” Medora appeared on the opposite spot in the clearing. Their ivory coat glowed against the dark. “You’re screeching like a damn barn owl.” “You shouldn’t play games,” Chastity pouted. “What are you going on about?” Medora dropped her wood bundle onto the pit, crouched down and started the fire. “Something moaned next to me!” Chastity closed her eyes and tossed her head back in prayer. “Oh Jesus!” “Come here, closer to the fire.” Medora waved her over to the spot on the blanket. They sat down and patted the spot beside them. Chastity pushed the worry away and settled down next to Medora. She inhaled Medora’s scents of fire and sweat. Medora tossed another blanket over them and with fingers stiff with cold, took out their cell phone. “Are you ready to hear more of the story?” Medora asked in their best old crone voice.

“Yes!” Chastity leaned her head onto Medora’s shoulder, closed her eyes, and listened to Medora’s velvety voice engaged in a scary ghost story. “This is a magical place. You can feel it,” Medora asked, pausing the story. “Can’t you, love?” “Yes.” Chastity reached for their hand. She couldn’t really feel the magic per se, but Medora fancied themselves a witch, a Black, from the hood, spellcaster, and they entertained it. Chastity believed in the natural magic of being with Medora. When together, they invoked something otherworldly—the cozy fire, the glittering stars, and the swirl of their shared love. Magic. Medora’s drone lured Chastity into its embrace. Minutes meld into hours to years. Time bled into the ether and the woods melted into the hypnotic rise and fall of Medora’s voice. Chastity wrapped herself into it, cloaked against the city’s jarring exterior. Medora stopped. The silence startled Chastity from her bubble. “What?” She sat up and looked around. Beside her, Medora had gone still. “There’s a body.” “What? A body?” Chastity peered across the fire to the streak of white set against the dark. When did that get there? Medora stood up, tossing the blanket off her shoulders. “It was probably summoned here.” Chastity shook her head. “What?” “Someone called it here.” The thread of glee in their voice made Chastity uneasy. “Why? I don’t understand.” It seemed personal, as if only the object and Medora remained. Chastity watched as Medora howled at the full moon. They whirled around the lump and then waved Chastity over. “Look at this!” Chastity shook her head. She’d seen dead bodies before, overdose addicts, stabbing victims, but it didn’t get easier to look at. “I’m good.” Medora dug around by the body. They collected mementos, tokens, and souvenirs each time they came out, but taking things from a dead body seemed creepy, even for them.