I helped him search through stock photos and this double-hearted necklace caught my eye. To me, it represented mother Melissa, daughter Regan, and their love for one another. After several iterations, he came up with the purple swoosh running through the pair of hearts that I still adore today.

When designing the cover for the last book in the series, I wanted a callback to that first book design. It needed a similar double heart theme, but also show the growth in their relationship. Regan's heart, now an adult herself, no longer rests safely inside Melissa's heart. Yet they're still locked together, side by side, as Melissa decides her own fate (represented by the Pandora's box). The purple color scheme is also slightly darker, signifying change.

As my own oldest daughter starts high school next month, I feel a deep connection to Melissa's journey with Regan.  Kids grow up so fast that many things change before I want them to. But a mother's love for her children adapts to every new stage of life, becoming richer and deeper even if it's often bittersweet.

Until next time, happy adventuring!

-DM Fike

Chapter 1

“Are you sure the dress shop is out here somewhere?” Regan tilted her head toward the window at such a severe angle that all I could see was her strawberry blond ponytail. Lodgepole pines towered on either side of the black SUV we’d been driving for the last two hours. I couldn’t even imagine our old beloved car Dirt Dash making it up these steep, winding mountain roads.

I took one hand off the wheel to point at the sheet of paper on her lap. “I’m just following the directions Gabriel gave me. You’re the one reading them.”

She settled back into the passenger seat, facing forward. “It’s such a throwback to use a paper map.”

“Would you prefer to rely on spotty cell phone service out here?”

“I’d prefer not to feel like I’m a pirate hunting for buried treasure. Gabriel even marked the place with a red X. Who does that?”

“Someone who works in an office that is always stocked with all colors of functional ballpoint pens.”

Regan rolled her eyes. “Only you would be proud of that.”

“Of course I’m proud. I’m a professional office manager. It’s kinda my whole identity.”

“Not your whole identity.” Regan nudged me with her elbow. “Isn’t that why we’re driving all the way out into the sticks, so you can become Mrs. Gabriel Alston?”

Lucas barked in affirmation. He’d come with us as a wolf, sprawled across the back row without a seat belt.

I gave him a disapproving glance in the rearview mirror. “Who says Gabriel’s not going to become Mr. Melissa Hartley?”

Lucas shrugged. Apparently, he didn’t care either way. How very feminist of him.

Regan glanced at him. “I’m not even sure why we brought you anyway.”

He whined, placing his head underneath his paws.

I gave my daughter a sideways glance. “I thought you liked Lucas.”

“I do, but he doesn’t want to go dress shopping.”

“He’s only here because Gabriel wouldn’t let us go alone.”

Regan sighed. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Better safe than sorry. Etc. Etc.”

“You may find it annoying, but you have to admit, Gabriel’s kept us alive on more than one occasion.”

“Fair point. I suppose I should get used to it since he’s going to be my new stepfather.”

My heart raced thinking about Gabriel. We’d been dating almost two years and never really talked about marriage much. Now that we’d become engaged, we were ready to get it done sooner rather than later. We probably would have tied the knot immediately, but I wanted to wait until after Regan’s high school graduation so we wouldn’t steal her thunder. That also gave us time to plan a small, intimate ceremony near the beach where he’d proposed. We had catering, music, and floral arrangements down pat. We even had our rings.

Now, I just needed a dress.

Even though this was the first time I’d ever gotten married, I couldn’t imagine myself walking down the aisle in a traditional white dress. I’d never been a fan of white dresses anyway. Left to my devices, I would have ordered a cute evening gown online, but Gabriel insisted on pulling out all the stops for his bride.

Which is why Regan, Lucas, and I found ourselves driving through central Oregon’s old-growth forests on a random Saturday morning in May, searching for the address of a very talented seamstress.

Regan fiddled with the radio but gave up after shuffling through static. “Why do I even bother?” she grumbled as she connected her phone to the console. She preceded to pick a bunch of songs about getting married.

I raised an eyebrow as the third song came on. “You’re laying it on too heavy.”

“Who cares, baby?” she sang along with the lyrics. She continued singing the song, coming to the ridiculous line of “looking for something dumb to do,” when she suddenly said, “Turn here.”

“Is that the dumb thing I’m supposed to do?”

She finally stopped singing. “It’ll be a lot dumber if we pass the turn and have to drive five miles before finding a way to flip around.”

“Good point.” I pulled off the rural highway onto an even narrower road with no shoulder. At least it was paved, unlike a lot of the other turnoffs we’d already passed.

I found out why it wasn’t made of dirt as driveways spun off into the trees at random intervals. We couldn’t see much of the houses given the forest cover, but the buildings we could discern were huge. Mansions with three stories, manicured lawns behind thick iron gates, and huge garages that could store up to three RVs.

Regan whistled. “I had no idea they could build a whole upscale subdivision in the middle of the forest.”

“It’s not that different from the villa.”

But then we passed a clearcut field that housed a small private airport. We both gaped at a small, sleek jet taking off.

“You were saying?” Regan asked.

“I stand corrected.”

Regan skimmed over the paper directions. “According to this, the seamstress’s house should be the next turn on the right.”

I looked for a mailbox to mark the entrance like the other houses. That’s why I nearly missed the turnoff, which had no markings, not even a numbered street sign. Regan complained as I skidded to a halt and made the tight turn.

We drove another half mile before passing a seemingly random fence post. Only, it wasn’t random because Regan sucked in a shaky breath.

“Adder stone,” she said.

“Well, we’re definitely in the right place.” We’d been warned there’d be an adder stone protecting the property. Adder stones were often used by the fae to keep unwanted guests out. Most people would be repelled by them in fear. I could ignore them with my void magic, and Regan could power through the fear since she’d inherited a little of it too.

In the back seat, Lucas whined.

“You okay, boy?” I asked him.

“He’ll be fine,” Regan said, sounding only a little strained.

I knew we’d driven past the adder stone’s influence when Regan let out a breath.

“You did good back there,” I said.

“The adder stone caught me off guard at first,” she admitted, “but honestly, I powered through it a lot faster because of my training with Barbara.”

I gave a noncommittal grunt in reply. I wasn’t super happy about Regan training with my holier-than-thou mother Barbara, but Regan seemed happy spending a few hours each weekend honing her magic. I just hoped the Blessed Order wouldn’t end up brainwashing her.

After passing the adder stone, the house came into view. It was a surprisingly modest one-story cottage with a gabled roofline. There was no manicured lawn but a packed garden with half the plants blooming in a rainbow of colors and a lily-padded pond stuck in one corner.

It didn’t really look like a shop, except that the front window curtains had been thrown open, revealing three dress forms wearing gorgeous gowns: a sleeveless pink tulle dress with pastel flowers stitched into the bust, a navy chiffon dress with a V-neck and elongated sleeves like gossamer wings, and a rust-colored dress with stitched autumn leaves down one side that made its long train resemble an opening petunia bud.

“Whoa,” Regan breathed as I parked the car. “Those dresses really are amazing. Maybe this was all worth the drive.

“I tried to tell you. Rhapsody, the famous nymph seamstress, is supposed to be one of the most exclusive dressmakers of the Court.”

Lucas opted to stay in the car, so I parked in the tree shade and rolled down the window before leaving him behind. As Regan and I walked on the cobblestones to the house, the front door swung open, revealing an abnormally thin man. Vines and natural soft brown hair grew out of his scalp, braided into two neat braids that fell past the shoulders of his frilly blouse. A dryad.

He peered down his nose at us. “Melissa Hartley, I presume,” he said, not sounding very happy about it.

“Yes, I’m here to see Rhapsody.”

He sniffed. “Ms. Rhapsody was expecting only one visitor.”

“Well, this is my daughter. We’re picking out a wedding dress and—”

He cut me off with a wave of his hand. “If the appointment is only for one person, then your companion will have to wait outside.”

Regan balked. “Are you serious?”

“Quite serious.”

I tensed, ready to go to bat for my daughter. There was no way we drove all the way out into the sticks just for Regan to sit in the car.

Fortunately, a voice from inside saved me from making a scene. “Clement? Is that our next client?”

The dryad stepped aside to allow a gorgeous woman into view. Her short wavy hair, black with hints of deep blue, flowed down to her shoulders like water. Her flawless skin had no blemishes, quite the feat for someone around my age. She wore a teal silk shirt and white pants, a simple outfit that somehow echoed the elegant dresses in the window. Her bright blue eyes brought the ensemble together, purposefully matched.

Clement sniffed. “Ms. Hartley came with an extra guest.”

I worried that such an elegant woman would be as unfriendly as her staff, but she beamed instead. “Of course she did. She’s picking out a wedding dress and wants a second opinion.”

Clement’s mouth set in a grim line. “She doesn’t need a second opinion. She has you, the world’s finest tailor. This child”—he pointed at Regan as if she were a mouse he’d caught indoors—“can’t hold a candle to your aesthetic expertise.”

Rhapsody laid a manicured hand with sparkling sea-colored nails on his shoulder. “It’s about comfort and family. We should let them both in.”

“Very well.” He gave a haughty snort but stepped aside. “You are honored to be admitted into Ms. Rhapsody’s presence.”

After Rhapsody sent him off for refreshments, she flashed us an apologetic smile. “You have to excuse Clement. Dryads aren’t used to interacting outside of their trusted friends and family.”

“Tell me about it,” Regan muttered. We’d been attacked by dryads in the past.

But I didn’t want to appear rude. “How did you manage to wrangle him as part of your staff?”

“Our mutual love of plants. He and I both share gardening responsibilities.”

“Really?” I couldn’t imagine this posh fae breaking those fingernails in the dirt.

She nodded. “Nymphs and dryads often get along since we both love greenery. In fact, Clement lived in the nearby forest when I had my home built. He was displaced when the airport runway tore down his grove. I was happy to let him restart a grove on my land so he wouldn’t remain homeless.”

I felt a twinge of sadness for the dryad. Despite their sour attitudes, many of them were often bulldozed off their land.

It also gave me new respect for Rhapsody as she led us into an adjacent sitting room. Despite the lavish furnishings—a polished hardwood floor, a variety of matching stools and chairs upholstered in gold-embroidered fabric, and a Japanese-style room divider depicting a blossoming cherry tree—her pleasant personality made me feel I deserved to be there.

Rhapsody asked us to take whichever seats we preferred, so we chose to sit together on the love seat. She remained standing next to a wooden panel wall with live roses climbing over it. Small runes had been etched into the panel, glowing so faintly they were easy to overlook. The runes likely kept the roses alive.

“Thank you for sending photos of yourself beforehand,” Rhapsody said. “It allowed me to create a quick sample dress in anticipation of your visit.”

“Only one?” Regan asked.

“If you don’t like it, I have others available.”

“Is it one of the dresses in the window?” I asked, since they were the only clothes I could see.

“Those are lovely but are more to display my range of designs. I have another dress in mind for you.”

“Sure,” I said, a bit disappointed. I was interested in the navy dress, even if it was a bit dark for my tastes.

Rhapsody clapped her hands, causing the wood panel to slide open and reveal a secret compartment. Underneath the soft recessed lights was the most beautiful gown: an off-the-shoulder sea green number with quarter-length sleeves and a corset bodice flowing into a pooled train. A shimmery silver cape spilled over the sleeves. Silver threads etched the hemline, like stars twinkling awake at dusk.

Regan gasped. “It’s stunning.”

Rhapsody gazed upon her handiwork with skepticism. “I wanted something that would bring out the green in Melissa’s eyes without overdoing it. I’m about 90% there. I should adjust the silver threads at the bottom. And now that I’m studying you in person, I’m not completely happy with the train length.”

“I love it,” I said. “I don’t see a single thing wrong with this dress.” It matched Gabriel’s beach cliffside proposal: all twilight and fervent love.

“Would you like to try it on?” Rhapsody asked.

“Absolutely.”

She motioned for me to go behind the cherry blossom screen while she gathered the dress across her two hands as if presenting a royal scepter to a queen. She even gave a little bow to me as she handed it over.

I expected such a wonderful dress to be uncomfortable to wear. Instead, it slid over my skin like butter, settling over my curves in all the right places. Even the off-the-shoulder sleeves, which I normally didn’t like, seemed to flow off me as Rhapsody zipped up my back. Then, I walked out from behind the screen.

Regan’s expression, hand over her mouth, said it all. “That’s it! That’s the one!”

The wood panel alcove had a mirror. I gave myself the once over. If it weren’t for my messy gray-streaked chestnut hair and minimal makeup, I could almost pass for an ocean goddess emerging from the sea.

“It’s perfect,” I breathed.

Rhapsody was more critical. “It could use some bunching up in a few places. And I definitely should rethink the hemline pattern. Do you mind if I grab some needles and make a few notes?”

“You do whatever you want, but I can’t imagine this dress becoming any better than it is.”

Her eyes crinkled in the corners with her glowing smile. “Thank you for such a wonderful compliment.” She excused herself to get her supplies.

Regan came up behind me and gave my arm a tight squeeze. “I hate to admit it, but the dryad was right. You didn’t need me at all to evaluate this dress.”

I gave her hand a squeeze back. “Nonsense. I’ll always need you, no matter what.”

Then we continued to stare in awe at my unbelievable wedding dress.

To be continued in Mom Seals Her Fate:

Until next time, happy adventuring!

-DM Fike

“Do I really have to dress up for this?” Henry asked for the fifth time.

“Yes, of course,” I snapped, putting the final bobby pins into my massive wig.  “It’s Halloween.”

I stepped back and looked at myself in the hallway mirror.  With my white flowing gown and cylindrical bouffant wig with white zigzag stripes, I was a perfect bride of Frankenstein.

Henry stood behind me with his arms folded across his chest.  The look would have been intimidating if he hadn’t painted his face green and didn’t have bolts sticking out of his neck.  The olive suit jacket didn’t hurt either.

I giggled.  “You look great!”

“I look stupid,” he growled.

“It’s festive.  And look, we’re a matching couple.”

His stance relaxed slightly at the word “couple.”  “I suppose we are.”  He drew me into his arms for a kiss.

As his lips brushed mine, I would have preferred to have deepened it into something more intimate, but I didn’t want my cheeks to get smeared with green streaks.  I settled on a gentle kiss, then pulled away.

“C’mon,” I said.  “The guests are about to arrive.”

“Kids,” Henry corrected as we trudged our way down the branchy staircase from my treehouse apartment. “You don’t have to elevate them by making them sound special.”

But to me, today was special.  It was my first Halloween as the Librarian of Atlantis.  Most fae didn’t celebrate the holiday, but that was the beauty of running the library.  I got to decide on programming, and I decided there was no better way to get into the holiday spirit than inviting fae children over to trick-or-treat and read a scary story.

I could have run the event on my own, but Henry had offered to help.  He’d been busy for weeks with Stronghold work, and he didn’t want to pass up a chance to spend time together.  I was grateful since both Wallace and Agatha generally made themselves scarce during the children’s events.

“You know, the monster’s name wasn’t actually Frankenstein in the original book,” I told Henry.  “It was the name of the scientist who created the monster.”

“I’m not sure what it says about our relationship that you want me to dress up as a monster.”

“I don’t think you’re an actual monster. It’s just pretend for one evening.”

He eyed my ridiculous wig. “And that hairstyle is what monsters go for?”

“I don’t know.  You tell me.”

He gave me a mischievous smile as we reached the ground floor hallway.  “You could wear whatever you like or nothing at all. It doesn’t matter to me.”

I blushed but had no time to respond as a branch separated from the wall and tapped me on the shoulder. Through our mental connection, Iggy, the sentient ash tree that housed the Library of Atlantis, was telling me that the kids were arriving.

“It’s showtime,” I said. “You know what to do.”

He gave me a bow and then disappeared out of sight.  As a sasquatch, he could go invisible at will.  Even when I asked him to do it, it still spooked me a little.

Perfect for Halloween.

I trotted to the front entrance and placed my palm on the interlocking branches that made up the wall. The branches retreated for me, creating an archway to the outside that revealed a group of children in adorable costumes. I wasn’t sure what to expect since many fae didn’t dress up for Halloween, but they did not disappoint. The kids had dressed up in all sorts of outfits: some more traditional like witches or princesses, other with a magic-oriented bent as dryads or wolf shifters. One girl in the back row had painted a cardboard box to transform into a walking television set.  They all cheered when they saw me, their parents standing at their sides.

“Trick or treat!”

“Welcome!” I said in my best Transylvania voice.  I admit, I had no idea what the bride of Frankenstein sounded like.  I was just winging it here.  “Come in.  Your treat awaits.”

They all shuffled past me, looking around curiously with their cloth sacks held open.

“Where’s the sugar?” a pixie dressed as a wolf shifter demanded.

Henry popped into view next to him.  “Right here,” he said.

The kids screamed in delight, although the television girl was startled enough to run behind her mother’s back.  Her fear quickly faded, however, when Henry began dumping two huge handfuls of candy into each kid’s sack.

As the first batch retreated into the atrium, another wave of fae children arrived.  Henry and I repeated our little routine with them.  I recognized a familiar face at the back of the second group: a young woman with cream-colored braids who escorted a dozen children dressed as different colored crayons.

“Ulyssa!” I greeted the new sasquatch ambassador.  “So great you could make it!”

She gestured to the rainbow-colored crayons.  “And I brought a bunch of new faces to the library for the first time.”

Most of the sasquatch children glanced inside the branchy entrance room in awe, except for a single girl, the orange crayon, who harrumped in the rear.  As the others eagerly got their candy from Henry, she refused to open her sack.

“C’mon, Clementine,” Ulyssa coaxed.  “You love sweets.”

“I don’t want any,” she said, turning her back on Henry.

“It’s okay,” I told a concerned Ulyssa and a disgruntled Henry.  “She can just go ahead and get ready for story time.”

After all the kids got their candy, we all settled down in the library’s open-floor atrium.  The kids sat cross-legged, munching on their treats, as I pulled out a picture book adaptation of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.  It had been translated into verse, which the kids loved, and contained beautiful illustrations of the entire adventure of the headless horseman.  Most kids had chocolate hanging from their mouths at the climax when Ichabod ran across the bridge for his life with the headless horseman throwing his pumpkin head after him.

After I finished that story and a quick explanation of how some humans celebrated Halloween, I invited the fae adults to share ghost stories with the children.  While Ulyssa and several other fae told stories from their magical tribes, Henry and I passed out apple cider to all the rapt children.  My favorite tale of the evening was Ulyssa’s story about a lonely spirit who haunts the sasquatch on nights with a red moon, but only wants to play, not harm, the children.

All in all, the evening ended way too quickly, but I counted it as a wild success.  The kids and adults both chatted excitedly as they made their way out of the library. I was in the process of saying goodbye to a centaur boy dressed as a hippo when Ulyssa ran up to me.

“Have you seen Clementine?” she asked.  “The sasquatch girl in the orange outfit?”

I frowned.  “Now that you mention it, I haven’t seen her since she came in the library.  I didn’t give her an apple cider during the second half of the show.”

Henry overheard the commotion and walked over to us.  “Is that onery sasquatch girl missing?”

Ulyssa nodded.  “She’s been having a rough go of it.  Her grandfather died this past month, and she adored him.”

“Poor thing,” I said.

“She probably turned invisible,” Ulyssa said.  “She could be anywhere.”

I patted her on the shoulder.  “Don’t worry. I’m sure we’ll find her.”

“Yes, but I have to take the others home.”  Ulyssa gestured to the other sasquatch children, restless in their crayon outfits near the front entrance.  “Their families are waiting for them.”

“You go ahead,” Henry said. “Come back once the others are safely back home.”

Ulyssa looked a little uncertain but eventually took his advice.  She was the last one out the door before the branches resealed the library shut.

Henry turned to me. “Ulyssa did have a point.  A sasquatch that doesn’t want to be found is almost impossible to find.”

“Maybe in ordinary places, but the Library of Atlantis isn’t ordinary.”  I stuck my hand on the nearest wall. With my magical connection to the tree strong, I mentally asked Iggy if she would search around the library for the sasquatch girl.

Iggy gave me her firm reassurance she’d be able to find the girl.

“Any luck?” Henry asked as I pulled my hand away.

“Give Iggy some time,” I said.  “She’ll have to wait until the girl starts moving around or does something else to feel her presence.”

Sure enough, about ten minutes later as I was reshelving a bunch of Halloween books from the atrium Halloween display, Iggy’s branch waved me toward the second floor.  Henry followed me, a few books still in my hands, as we approached a set of bookcases Iggy had moved from their ordinary position so that they touched each other in a rough diamond pattern.  The shelves shook as something rattled against them.

Iggy had created a bookish prison.

“Let me out!” a girl’s voice wailed.  Clementine.

“Not until you show yourself,” I said.

“I don’t want to,” she said, her voice shaking.  “I don’t care about your stupid stories or your stupid library.”

“Don’t you want to go home?” Henry asked.

“No!”

Henry made a move toward the shelves.  “I can drag her out.”

I held out a hand to stop him.  This was clearly a girl in pain.

“I’m sorry about your grandfather,” I said.  “I lost my grandmother too.”

The shaking shelves stopped. “You did?”

“Yes.  She was the librarian before me.”

“Do you miss her?”

I paused, deciding on honestly.  “Actually, I never got to meet her.”

“Then you don’t know anything about how I feel,” she snapped.

“Well, actually, I kinda do. You see, I also lost my mom and dad.”

She gasped.  “Both of them?”

“Not at the same time. But yeah, they’re both gone.”

To my surprise, the orange crayon outfit popped into view between the cracks of the library shelves. Big bright eyes filled with tears looked back at me.  “Aren’t you sad?”

“Of course.  I’ll always miss them.”

Her lower lip quivered. “I want Pappy back.”

I glanced down at the top book in my hand.  It was about the Day of the Dead.

“I find comfort knowing how other people deal with loss.”  I showed her the brightly colored picture book with the sugar skulls on it. “Did you know that some people celebrate the dead on the day after Halloween?”

She sniffed, intrigued by the book.  “No.”

“Here,” I held it out for her.  “You can borrow this and read it.”

Branches parted the shelves so Clementine could squeeze through.  She tentatively took the book in her hands.

“This looks so weird.”

“It will feel foreign to you because it’s different.  But think about it: until recently, not a lot of fae understood the sasquatch.  But as we learn about each other’s lives, it feels less weird.  And we understand how alike we are despite our differences.”

She flipped through the book, looking at the pictures.  She stopped at a page with a bright photo of an altar surrounded in bright marigolds and framed pictures.  “What’s that?”

“It’s called an ofrenda.”

She read the passage about them, her eyes shining with each passing word. “I’d like to make one for Pappy.”

“I think you should.”

I led her downstairs, where she read more of the passages in the book.  By the time Ulyssa arrived, we were waiting for her at the entrance.  Clementine was engrossed in the Day of the Dead book and had a sack full of chocolate and candy to take home.

Ulyssa blinked.  “You already found her?”

Henry puffed his chest out with pride.  “Rose is the Librarian of Atlantis for a reason.”

“Clementine checked out that book,” I said.  “She’s supposed to bring it back in three weeks, but she can honestly keep it longer if she wants.”

“Okay, I’ll tell her parents.”  Ulyssa looked bemused as she motioned for the now docile Clementine to follow her. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” I said, waving as she led Clementine up the hill and out of sight.

Henry threw an arm around me.  “I take it all back.  It’s not a stupid holiday after all.”

“What made you change your mind?” I teased.  “The candy? The horror stories?”

“None of that,” he said, looking deeply in my eyes.  “Just you, Rose.”

This time I didn’t mind that I got green makeup all over my face as we settled in for a long, promising kiss.

Check out more of DM Fike's midlife fantasy fiction.

Feedback from my beta readers say the finale is the best book in the series, which really surprised me. Here's what one reader said about our book-loving heroine, Rosalind:

I absolutely love that Rose is full of eye rolling puns and that she doesn't care if anyone else thinks they are funny or not! She is an absolutely fun character! She is finally finding herself and letting go of her worry about what anyone thinks of her. But it is not all fun and games. There are tense moments when you aren't sure which way things will go and you might be holding your frozen breath!

I hope you enjoy reading the ending to Rosalind's magical library saga, and as always, happy adventuring!

-DM Fike

Wallace found the mouse cage empty for the third day in a row.

That would have been all well and good if there hadn’t been a mouse roaming the Library of Atlantis, but the chewed-upon books on the first floor suggested otherwise. They’d been trade romance paperbacks instead of magical scrolls, but still, it ruffled Wallace’s refined sensibilities. As the hob who cleaned the library, he was supposed to take care of such things.

And now the mouse cage was empty not only of mice but off the piece of cheese he’d placed inside. Wallace had no intention of killing the dreadful thing, but he wanted to trap it before it invited more friends to eat books.

“Blasted rodent,” he grumbled, studying the cage for defects. “How is the little bugger avoiding activating the pressure lever?”

Before Wallace could solve his conundrum, Rosalind approached him between the first-floor stacks of books. He quickly hid the cage behind his back. As the Librarian of Atlantis, he could have asked her to access the magic within Yggdrasil, the sentient tree of life, to get rid of the rodent, but he was a professional. He could handle a small mouse problem.

“Hey, Wallace,” Rosalind greeted. “I’m going to Oregon to visit my brother. You need anything?”

“No,” he sniffed, trying to act nonchalant.

“Really? Not some new broom or bleach or heavy-duty paper towels…?”

“I’m quite fine, thank you,” he cut her off.

She shrugged. “Okay, suit yourself. I do have a favor to ask you though. Can you feed Agatha while I’m gone?”

Wallace grimaced. “The dragon? Can’t she take care of herself?”

“She can for the most part, but I promised her a special salmon snack for lunch. I can’t leave that out like dry food without stinking up my entire apartment.”

“So you want to stink up downstairs instead?” he asked, appalled that Rosalind would bring her subpar hygiene into the library proper.

Rosalind rolled her eyes. “No. That’s why I’m asking you to feed her around noon. Just tap on any nearby wall and Iggy will bring it out for you.”

He still bristled. “The dragon can’t eat downstairs.”

“Not inside the library proper, but she can eat in the hallway.” Rosalind put her hands on her hips. “C’mon, Wallace, do me this one solid.”

“All right, all right,” he grumbled. “Just remember that you owe me one.”

“I always do,” she said, walking away. She’d made it halfway across the atrium before she called over her shoulder, “Are you sure you don’t need anything?”

“Absolutely not,” he grunted, and with that, she finally left him alone.

She also left him with the problem of what to about the mouse. He rubbed his chin while he tried to figure out what else he could use to lure the rodent out of hiding.

As it turned out, he didn’t need to do anything. Something squeaked nearby, then scurried beneath a shelf.

“There you are!” Wallace ran after it. He scared the mouse, chasing it between a few shelves and noting its small size. No wonder it wasn’t activating the cage. It was one of the tiniest mice he had ever seen. It probably didn’t weight enough to set off the cage.

He lost sight of the mouse soon afterward, and his spirits fell. The thought of vermin within the library walls set his nerves on edge. He tried to get his mind off it by doing his normal chores—polishing the atrium for the second time this week and wiping down the entire library’s table surfaces—but his mind kept wandering back to his mouse problem.

By lunchtime, he’d all but forgotten about the dragon until Agatha scared him by sneaking up behind him as he scrubbed a desk on the second floor.

“Egads, dragon!” he screeched. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

It was hard to tell given her serpentine face, but Agatha seemed to grin at him as smoke burst out of her nostrils.

“Don’t you dare light any fires around here,” he scolded with a crooked finger. “Even Yggdrasil won’t stand for that.”

But Agatha ignored the hob. She whipped her head around, staring at a little reading nook with a plush armchair and standing lamp.

Wallace followed her gaze. “You are far too large for that armchair. Don’t you dare—”

Agatha leapt like a cat, talons spread, to attack the chair.

“Stop, you scaly beast!” Wallace yelled, raising his broom to smack Agatha. “You’ll ruin the upholstery!”

But Agatha could have cared less about upholstery. She landed on the armchair, her scaly tail thwacking the neighboring lamp aside to expose the shivering form of the elusive mouse.

Agatha peered down at the mouse, fascinated. The mouse tried to run away, but Agatha had her cornered. Every time the mouse darted forward, the dragon was just a little faster, batting it gently with a talon so the mouse couldn’t escape.

Wallace saw an opportunity when he saw one. “Wait here!” he yelled behind his back as he ran as fast as his stubby legs allowed to the nearest staircase. “I’ll be right back!”

Wallace quickly returned with the mouse cage, half worried that Agatha would have grown bored with her mouse toy. But the dragon had spread her body out on the floor to further entrap the mouse as the poor rodent squeaked around in circles.

“Now see here,” Wallace said, reaching over the dragon’s ebony scales. “You don’t need to torture the thing. I just need to put it back outside where it belongs.”

He laid the cage where the mouse could reach it but realized he hadn’t reset the trap with cheese. He wondered how he’d be able to entice the mouse inside, but the mouse was no fool. The mouse recognized an opportunity to escape and fled into the cage.

Wallace manually closed the trap and looked inside the mesh at the shivering mouse. “All right then. Off you go.”

Agatha huffed, irritated that she’d lost her source of amusement.

“I haven’t forgotten about you,” Wallace said. “I’ll feed you as soon as I get back.”

***

Rosalind came back a bit earlier than expected. Her brother hadn’t been home after all, so she’d just done some light shopping and returned to the Library of Atlantis. Even though the hob hadn’t asked for anything, she’d brought Wallace some new lemon-scented detergent as a thank you.

To her surprise, she found Agatha eating a bowl of salmon on the atrium floor, not far from the Grimoire.

“Agatha!” Rosalind scolded. “You’re not supposed to eat in here. Wallace will throw a fit if he finds out.”

“No, he won’t,” Wallace announced right behind her. “I told her she could eat there.”

Rosalind jumped in surprise. “Don’t get in the habit of jumping out of nowhere like Henry. And what’s the deal with letting Agatha eat inside the library?”

Wallace shrugged. “It’s fine.” He spied the lemon detergent in her hands. “For me? Thanks.” He yanked it from her hands and wandered off.

Rosalind watched him leave with a puzzled look on her face. “I’ll never figure out hobs. Not as long as I live.”

Read Curse of the Fae Library for more cozy fantasy fiction.

Rosalind may be the new Librarian of Atlantis, but she has to gain the trust of the fae…even if it kills her.

Rosalind wants to help fae patrons at the mythical Library of Atlantis, but most of them don’t trust someone raised in the human world. Even the fae that support her, like the mysterious sasquatch Henry, have doubts she can do the job.

But the library isn’t her only problem. Someone is using the island of Atlantis for illicit gain, and they view Rosalind as a threat.

If Rosalind doesn’t stop them, she might lose more than just her job.

Download your copy on Amazon, and as always, happy adventuring!

-DM Fike

Here are some snippets of what readers have said so far:

"Wonderful characters, an engrossing story and excellent writing."

"A mix of a comedy and a dash of mystery with magic thrown in to spice it all up."

"I found myself skipping sentences and paragraphs because I needed to know what was coming."

"I'm looking forward to more magical adventures learning about the fae and the Tree of Life."

My brother Jason and I carried two weights with us on that. One of them was our father’s ashes.

But his death dragged us down so much more than his physical remains.

We should have felt light and carefree hiking along Oregon’s coast. We’d often walked these woods as children: glimpsing the Pacific Ocean through breaks in the cliffside trees, tasting the salty sea air, dashing after my nimble fathers’ footsteps as he trudged on ahead of us.

Now he was gone, just like Mom.

I’d barely graduated high school when our mother had died from an undiagnosed heart condition. Remembering her didn’t stab me the same way now like it did two decades ago. I could look at myself in the mirror with the same cascading black locks and slightly tan skin as her and no longer tear up. I could give my reflection a sad smile and wish I’d inherited some of her effortless grace to go along with her face.

But I didn’t feel the same way catching a glimpse of Jason. Age had weathered my brother into looking more like Dad, giving his tan skin a tougher sheen and streaking his short black hair with bits of gray. But it was his goofy smile that would make my heart sink, knowing I would never see it on my father’s face again.

Jason caught me looking at him. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

It was a lie, but what else could I say? Nothing could fix my father’s sudden death a few weeks ago. He’d simply fallen asleep one day and never woke up. Jason had gone to the house to check on him when he didn’t show up for work at the garage they co-owned. The doctor who declared him dead said he died peacefully, that it was a blessing.

I would never in a million years consider my father’s sudden passing “a blessing.”

“How far to the spot where he wants his ashes spread?” Jason asked, cutting the heavy silence.

“Just another mile up ahead. We’ll have to look out for landmarks.”

The forest trail disappeared and reappeared under our feet several times. Dad had always enjoyed going off the beaten path. With no cell service this far into the woods, we had to rely on a map my father had drawn in his will to indicate we were still going in the right direction. The first landmark appeared almost out of nowhere, a wooden plank hanging from a string tied to a cedar, a crude swing.

Jason paused. “This seems familiar.”

“Does it?”

“Didn’t we use to swing on that as kids?”

I dismissed it, moving forward. “Maybe. We used to do a lot of stuff while hiking in the woods with Dad.”

It wasn’t until we hit the second landmark that a sense of déjà vu came over me. A grove of shaking aspen rose next to a bubbling stream. Instinctively, I glanced upward and found a faded purple kite shaped like a butterfly stuck high in their branches.

“That's my kite!”

Jason grinned. “Dad was so irritated. He told you to keep it away from the trees.”

My heart fluttered at the memory. It had been my favorite kite, the one I’d saved up a summer’s allowance to buy. In true Dad fashion, he’d special ordered me another butterfly kite for the next Christmas, this one with yellow and pink polka dots.

Jason surveyed the slope of the hill below us. “This must have been a special place to Dad.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “It looks like every other hike we went on as kids.”

“Then why’d he chose this particular path?”

“He had to pick a spot somewhere.”

“Maybe,” Jason said, although he didn’t sound convinced.

We kept going on the faded path until we came to the last landmark: a break in the Douglas firs that gave a breathtaking, if distant, view of the expansive Pacific Ocean.

I took a deep breath as I pulled the scattering tube with Dad’s ashes out of my messenger bag. “Well, I guess this is it.”

But before I could open the lid, Jason stayed me with a hand on my shoulder. “Wait.”

“What?”

“This isn’t the right spot.”

I frowned, showing him the map. “This is the final landmark. The view here is gorgeous. Why wouldn’t this be the place?”

“Because there’s something else, I just know it.”

He backtracked down to the trail before I could argue further.

“Jason,” I called chasing after him. “I’m tired and it’s getting late.”

“But we have to find the right spot.” He picked up his pace, going off trail so I had to wade into thigh-high grass to follow him.

“That was the right spot!” I yelled as he forged his way toward another stream. Anger threatened to burst inside me. The shock of being told over the phone that the man who’d raised me no longer walked this earth threatened to tear me apart. I wanted to lash out, scream up at the sky. He’d only been in his 60s. He’d just started restoring a Corvette he wanted to drive. We’d discussed taking a trip to the East Coast together, just the three of us, like we used to after Mom died.

It just wasn’t fair that he was gone.

But the sharp four-note cry of a familiar bird stopped any outburst I might have made. I recognized the trill of the red-winged blackbird. It was one of the first bird calls Dad had taught me while hiking. I turned around and found the little fellow perched on a low branch nearby, cocking his ebony head at me.

Another distant memory scratched the surface of my brain. This place was familiar too.

As if on cue, Jason called out, “Here it is! I told you so.”

The blackbird flew toward Jason’s voice. I followed too as if in a dream, into a clearing next to the stream.

A wide field of blooming camas stretched out between the towering trees. The heads of the native flowers dotted the sharp green with softer lilac petals. They swayed in the breeze as if waving gently at us.

The memory burst free. I’d stumbled on this very field with Jason and Dad, long ago. We'd been young children, me only in kindergarten, Jason still in elementary school. The flowers were my favorite shade of purple, and I’d wanted to pick one so badly, but my father insisted that people shouldn’t disturb the wildflowers. He’d forbidden me from snapping off a stalk to take home to Mom. I’d been heartbroken.

My breath hitched in my throat.

Jason glanced at me. “Do you remember, then?”

“Yes,” I breathed, and without his prompting, I marched over to the stream. We couldn’t take a camas flower home, but Dad had done the next best thing. Standing next to the nearby stream, I followed its gentle curve until we came to a spot several yards away from the bubbling water.

A stacked pile of five flat gray rocks, maybe a foot tall, stood where we’d erected it together, several decades ago. A flower tower, Dad had called it. A way to mark the path along the stream that led around the field so that others would know not to disturb the camas too.

Jason put his arm around me. “I think he’d want us to scatter his ashes here.”

I nodded, fighting back tears.

I removed the lid from the scattering tube, but it was Jason who gave it the shake that set my Dad free. His ashes spread like dusty snow, some of it falling over the flowers, but most of it catching the breeze toward the stream, toward the forest, and maybe eventually reaching the ocean, all the places that Linus Baldwin loved most.

The blackbird called down to us. Behind his whistling song, I swear I heard Dad say, “I love you."

Jason must have heard it too because we both said “I love you too” at the same time.

Read Curse of the Fae Library to read more about Rosalind's and Jason's relationship.

The flashing blue and red lights coming up behind me was the cherry on top of the cowpie that had become my life.

I dutifully pulled over the cheap sedan I’d bought last week to the side of the highway. As my fingers turned down the volume of the audiobook I’d only barely been listening to, I caught a glimpse of my tired eyes in the mirror. At least they didn’t look puffy anymore. It'd been weeks since I’d cried about Mike because hey, why shed a tear over a guy who cheated on me?

And honestly, the final tears had been more relief than shock. My former husband and I had been on the rocks for more than a year. Just like every other man I’d dated, Mike had become more interested in his political career than our relationship. Not that being a city councilman took up much of his precious time. He’d had time to bang his “political consultant” Bella after all. Still, we’d been on a downhill slide for a long time before his affair.

That didn’t make the divorce—and my subsequent move back to my childhood hometown in Oregon at 40 years old—any easier.

A stocky police officer with sunglasses and a permanent frown strolled up to my driver’s side window. I rolled it down.

He didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Do you have any idea how fast you were going?”

No, but I didn’t want to tell him that. “I may have been going a tad over the limit.”

“You were doing 80 miles per hour in a 50 zone.”

I winced. I forgot how bad the speed traps could be on this stretch of highway toward the coast. “Oops.”

“Oops is right. That’s a Class A violation. I could fine you for up to $2,000.”

My hands strangled the steering wheel. “Two grand?”

His mouth tightened. “Can I see your license and registration?”

I fumbled around in my purse as my mind whirled. I didn’t have $2,000, and I didn’t have a job lined up where I could earn that kind of money. I’d barely thought past driving up to my brother’s house and crashing in his spare bedroom.

“I can’t believe I was going that fast,” I said, more to myself than the officer.

“My radar gun doesn’t lie,” the cop said, his tone offended.

Heat flushed my cheeks. “Sorry. I wasn’t trying to wriggle out of anything.”

“Could have fooled me.”

Every word that came out of my mouth was just digging me deeper into the hole.

I found my license and handed it to him, but when I opened the glove box, it was completely empty.

The officer noticed. “Is there a problem with your registration?”

“No problem.” I tried to remain calm as I faced him. “It’s just that I bought this car recently. I left the registration in my file box.”

The officer took a slight step back from the window. “Ma’am, I really need to see that registration. If you don’t have it on you, I'll have to ask you to step outside of the vehicle.”

“Great,” I said, pushing down my rising panic as he reached for the cuffs at his belt. “Because my file box is in the trunk.”

His fingers hesitated. “You carry your file box around with you?”

“I do when I’m moving.” I gestured to the backseat stuffed with various garbage bags and boxes. “My vehicle doesn’t always look like this.”

“Oh,” he said, sounding surprised. “I guess I just thought…” his voice trailed off.

For some reason, his assumption that I was homeless sliced through my fear, leaving only raw anger in its wake.

“No, I’m not living out of my car. And if I were, it would be awful to threaten me with a $2,000 fine.”

He shuffled backward as I opened the driver side door and stalked back to the trunk. He kept his hand near his gun holster, but that was likely out of habit since he sheepishly looked down at his shoes.

“I’m not like that,” he said as I shifted through more boxes and bags in the trunk.

“Not like what?” I yanked a duffle bag and placed it on the gravel. Of course, the file box had to be stuffed near the back.

“I don’t terrorize the homeless.”

The vulnerability in his voice made me pause. I gave him my full attention. He took off his glasses to expose troubled eyes. His face was also a lot more youthful than I expected, putting him in his mid-twenties.

“My uncle lived on the streets,” he said. “I knew how hard it was for him. That’s partly why I became a cop.”

He reminded me of the community college students I’d tutored years ago during one of my many career shifts. Just a kid trying to find their place in the world.

I gave him a sympathetic smile. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have implied that you’re that kind of cop. I broke the law and you’re just doing your job.”

His expression hardened. “Why were you going so fast anyway?”

I suppose the truth couldn’t hurt at this point. “To be honest, my mind’s elsewhere.”

“You should be paying attention to the road.”

“You’re absolutely right. I should have, but it’s been a rough couple of months. I just finalized a bitter divorce. I’m moving back home without a job. I only have this car full of junk to my name. I guess I’m just distracted.”

He looked chagrined. “Yeah, that does sound like a lot.”

“It is. But it’s also life. Sometimes things don’t go the way we plan.”

He snorted. “Tell me about it. I thought I’d have made detective by now or at least be a beat cop for the city. But right now, this highway patrol gig is the only job I can snag.”

“You’re young yet. You’ll work your way to a better position.”

He raised a suspicious eyebrow. “How would you know?”

I shrugged. “I have a feeling about these things. I can tell when people want something badly enough. You seem like the type who’ll keep trying until you make it.”

“I will,” he said with conviction. Then he shook his head, as if confused by the whole conversation. “Weren’t you supposed to be getting your registration?”

“Oh right.” Shoving aside a few more bags, I found the file box, riffled through the folders, and pulled out the car registration.

The officer took both pieces of identification and asked me to return to my vehicle while he ran them through his system. I slid back behind the wheel, wondering how I was going to pay that stupid fine. I hated asking my brother for yet another favor on top of everything else he’d already done for me.

The officer returned not long later, writing down in his booklet and ripping off a carbon copy form.

“You promise to drive more carefully from here on out?”

“Yeah, I learned my lesson.” An expensive lesson, I thought as he handed me the slip of paper.

“Good.” He took a few steps back before adding, “I hope you land on your feet soon.”

“Thanks. Same to you.”

He gave me a weird look, then nodded and retreated back to his patrol car.

I pulled back onto the highway first, well under the speed limit, of course. The police cruiser quickly passed me in the left lane and sped off. Probably over the speed limit. Typical.

I didn’t bother to look at the ticket until I stopped for gas a few miles down the road. I finally got the guts to check out the fine as I cut the engine near the pumps.

The entire form was blank. He hadn’t given me a ticket. He’d only written a note under inside the “Total Due” box.

“Be more careful. And thanks for the encouragement.”

I let out a sigh of relief. Off with just a warning. How lucky was that?

But as my car filled with gas, I realized I felt more than gratitude toward that police officer. He had the kind of compassion that people needed nowadays. I sincerely hoped he would make detective someday.

Read Curse of the Fae Library to read more of Rosalind's story.

I knew our last candidate wouldn’t work out when I arrived at the rundown motel-turned-apartment complex in North Hollywood.

Gabriel must have had the same thought because his grip on my hand intensified. “We should leave.” His steel gray eyes scanned the neighborhood, as if expecting an attack at any second.

Buildings had boards nailed to the windows like haphazard bandages. Tarps were strung in the alleys and doorways, sometimes with a pair of legs to indicate an occupant. A woman in dreadlocks sang a song at a dilapidated bus stop while everyone else ignored her, as if she were no more than a whistling bird.

But we couldn’t leave. This muse candidate was our last hope for saving the great Library of Atlantis, the largest collection of magical knowledge in the world.

“It’s no worse than where Starla lived,” I said, referring to the last candidate we’d interviewed.

“The hippie living in the Nevada desert?” Gabriel asked with a raised eyebrow.

“She lived in a yurt.”

“It was a clean yurt.”

“No running water, though.”

“I’d take any outhouse over this place,” Gabriel said, wrinkling his nose as we caught wind of something rotting.

“Okay, maybe you have a point, but you have to admit that Starla was flighty, even for a muse. She could barely keep her eyes off the night sky.”

“That’s because she’s an astronomer muse. The sky calls to her.” Gabriel gestured toward the faded sign of the apartment building. “What drives this particular muse?”

“Talia comes from a family of muses who inspire comedy and lyrical poetry.”

“I don’t see anything funny about this place.”

“Maybe there’s beauty we can’t see.” I pulled away from him toward the apartment’s unlatched gate. “There’s only one way to find out.”

Muses are a fae in a class all of their own. They inspire people to do great things, and just like the Greek legends, they specialize in certain subjects. We needed a muse who could unlock the doors to the Library of Atlantis.

Unfortunately, the only living muse who could manage the library had died recently. Normally, one of her heirs would take over the job, but she didn’t appear to have any.

Which meant we were shooting in the dark, hoping a muse from another family would do the trick.

Talia lived on the second floor. Gabriel and I walked up a staircase missing part of the railing and passed a unit with garbage overflowing onto the outdoor walkway.

“Lovely,” Gabriel said, sidestepping the mess.

“Here we are.” I pointed to Room 232. I knocked on the door.

The first tap flung the door wide open.

“Hey!” a sleepy voice called from inside. “Who turned on the lights?”

“Sorry,” I called, squinting as I peered into the darkness. “The door wasn’t properly closed.”

“Then close it.” The reply came from a lump underneath sheets on the single bed that dominated the room.

Gabriel stepped inside. “Talia Weathers,” he said, his baritone booming in the small space. “I’m Gabriel Alston from Stronghold. The fae has an emergency that requires the aid of a muse and—”

“Bugger off,” the lump said. A hand came out from underneath a pillow to wave him away.

Gabriel frowned. “You realize I’m a representative of the Court.”

“I don’t care if you’re Queen Mab herself. I have a hangover. Come back some other time.”

Gabriel opened his mouth to argue, but I stopped him with a shake of my head. Then I marched over to the bedside to take the lead.

“From everything I’ve been told, coming tomorrow’s not gonna help your hangover much.”

The covers pulled back, revealing a tiny woman with green hair and eyebrow piercings. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Your friends all think you’re a lush,” I said sweetly.

“Friends? What friends?”

“Your mother for starts.”

Talia grunted. “My mother thinks I’m a failure.”

“Are you?”

Talia glared at me. “You two should go away.”

Gabriel actually took two steps toward the door, but I stood firm by the bedside. “Your muse magic doesn’t work on me.”

She grimaced. “Wonderful.”

Gabriel shook his head to wrench himself out of Talia’s magical grasp. Muses could inspire people to do things, but only if they wanted to do them in the first place. Gabriel clearly didn’t want to stay here.

Neither did I, but I had a job to do. And fae magic didn’t work on me unless I wanted it to.

“Look, we’re not here to play games," I said. "We need to know—”

Talia suddenly put her finger to her lips. “Shush. Do you hear that?”

I strained my ears. “There’s nothing except that crazy lady singing outside.”

“Exactly.” Talia threw the covers off and jumped out of bed, wearing nothing but booty shorts and a crop top. She darted so quickly between us that neither Gabriel nor I caught her before she zipped out the door.

So much for the hangover.

We ran onto the walkway after her. “Where are you going?” I yelled.

“To find that voice,” Talia called over her shoulder before disappearing down the staircase.

Gabriel offered to fly after her, but I told him it was a bad idea to go full gargoyle in the middle of a busy neighborhood. Instead, we ran after her as she sprinted for the bus stop.

We caught Talia midsentence as she was talking to the singing woman in dreadlocks. Talia had thrown an arm around her shoulder. “…love your singing,” she was saying.

“Really?” the dreadlocks woman asked.

“Really,” Talia said. “What’s your name?”

“J-Jasmine?”

“Jasmine. Great name. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“You have?”

Talia brushed past both Gabriel and me as we stared after the odd pair. “Absolutely. I found a guitar the other day. It needs a new owner. I bet you could use one.”

Jasmine’s eyes filled with tears. “Someone stole my guitar. I was going to audition for a gig, but…”

“But nothing,” Talia grinned. “I’ve got you covered.”

Gabriel and I followed, dumbfounded, as Talia led Jasmine up to her second story apartment. We waited outside as the muse gave a top-of-the-line acoustic guitar to a grateful Jasmine. Jasmine squealed in delight and immediately began to strum out a tune. The sound of her voice mingled with the strings, creating a chill that went up my spine.

Talia waited until Jasmine was absorbed in her music before joining Gabriel and me on the walkway. She ingested a few painkillers along with a glass of water.

“Still faking a hangover?” Gabriel asked dryly.

“Who said I was faking?”

“You seemed just fine running out into the street.”

“Shows what you know about muses. When my magic kicks in, it can override other sensations for a little while.” She regarded us warily. “Tell me again why you’re bothering me?”

“We’re looking for a muse to run the Library of Atlantis…” Gabriel began.

“But we can see you’re not going to work out,” I interjected.

Gabriel turned to me. “Shouldn’t Talia at least visit the library?”

I looked past Talia at the self-absorbed Jasmine, lost to the world in her song. “I have a feeling Talia’s got important work here.”

“Too right,” Talia agreed. “If I don’t give at least some people a chance to escape this dump, who will?”

Gabriel sighed. “I suppose you don’t look like the type who enjoys reading books.”

“Don’t stereotype me,” Talia snapped. “I’ll have you know that I’ve inspired poets before, and I always read their works.”

“Does that mean you want to try opening the library?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Hell, no. I don’t do office jobs. I work best out here on the streets.”

“Well, thank you for your time,” I said, motioning for Gabriel to leave with me.

Talia called after us, “I do hope you find a new muse librarian. I used the visit the Library of Atlantis as a kid. It’d be a shame if it shut down for good.”

“We’ll do our best,” I said, although without another muse candidate on our list, I had no idea who else to interview.

Gabriel echoed my sense of defeat as we left the apartment complex. “Now what? That was our last lead.”

“I’ll keep searching,” I said. “There has to be some muse out there that can run the library.”

And even though I worried I might never find that muse, I took a moment to appreciate Jasmine’s beautiful song. The notes cut through the despair and somehow brightened a corner of this unforgiving landscape. Talia was definitely needed here.

To find out what happens to the Library of Atlantis, read Curse of the Fae Library.

The world had turned completely white.

Gabriel soared over a vast frozen landscape, his bat-like wings spread out on either side of his massive body. If he hadn’t known better, he might have been flying over Alaska, where the pine trees huddled under snowdrifts for a decent part of the year.

But this was western Oregon, known more for its constant rain. Below stretched the Willamette Valley, which rarely saw much snow during any given year. But this cold week in January, a convergence of weather events had created the perfect storm of freezing rain. Everything had become encased in a layer of ice: coating the streets, bending trees toward the ground, and causing power lines to snap.

If Gabriel hadn’t been a stony gargoyle, he wouldn’t have been able to traverse such treacherous conditions without freezing to death. And honestly, he would have rather been back at his remote mountain residence. He could have been snuggled up with his girlfriend Melissa in front of a fire, ignoring the cold outside to enjoy the warmth of her beautiful company.

But she’d been reading on social media about the effects of the ice storm and discovered that someone needed Gabriel’s help. Lorax had gone missing in the forest, and if no one found her soon, she would probably die.

Gabriel was used to be called away at a moment’s notice. As the CEO of Stronghold, Incorporated, he served as a liaison between the humans and the fae. He’d been on plenty of rescue missions before.

He’d just never gone looking for a great horned owl.

Lorax was a resident of the Cascades Raptor Center, a non-profit wildlife hospital for birds of prey. They rehabilitated injured birds and released them back in the wild. Some birds who couldn’t survive on their own stayed on site. Lorax was one of the permanent residents. Her aviary enclosure had been completely destroyed by a downed tree. The trainers couldn’t find her in the rubble, so they were frantically searching the surrounding heavily wooded areas to locate her.

Gabriel soared over the foreset hillside and spotted the Cascade Raptor Center. He winced at the damage. Several thick trunks had fallen, completely destroying two enclosures and partially damaging several others. Pine needles were scattered everywhere. People in thick coats and hats shifted through the rubble, some cooing to panicked birds still tucked away safely.

Beyond the grounds, farther in the trees, voices shouted, “Lorax! Lorax!”

Being careful to stay out of sight since most humans didn’t know gargoyles existed, Gabriel swooped toward the voices, watching them trek their way up a slippery incline. Wearing crampons, they crunched through the ice, steady and slow, calling out to the owl.

Gabriel glided past them, eyes scanning the ground. He reached into a pouch he’d slung over his shoulder. Melissa had read online that Lorax enjoyed playing with toy balls. Gabriel pulled a tennis ball from the pouch and threw it below as a kind of bait to draw the owl out of hiding.

His wings beat the air as he scoured the branches below. Nothing happened.

Gabriel continued forward, tossing tennis balls here and there. Each time he tossed one, he waited, but Lorax never appeared. When he reached for his last tennis ball, hope faded. Perhaps he was already too late. Lorax may have already succumbed to the elements or been attacked by other wildlife. No one might ever find the lost bird.

He tossed the last ball. It bounced down a cedar trunk until it rolled into a small clearing. Gabriel waited one beat, then two.

He was about to leave when the top boughs of the cedar shook. At first it seemed like ice melting or an errant breeze. But then a mottled brown, black, and white fluffball shot out into the sky, gliding down to peck at the tennis ball.

Gabriel smiled. He’d found Lorax.

He quietly landed several yards away. The owl sensed him and froze. She tucked her neck deep into her body, eyeing him warily with her bright yellow eyes, outlined by the feathered brow that identified her species.

“Your friends are looking for you,” Gabriel said in a deep baritone.

The owl blinked.

“Do you know how to get home?”

The owl blinked again.

Gabriel sighed. He doubted he could catch the owl if she decided to bolt. And talking to her made him feel silly.

But he needed her soothe her. “I'm not going to hurt you.”

This time, instead of just staring at him, the bird shivered. Maybe he was getting through to her.

Gabriel slowly stretched out his arm, careful not to make any sudden movements. “I can take you to your friends, if you want.”

The bird slowly unfurled herself. She twisted her neck around 180 degrees to view the entire landscape, as if scanning for other threats.

Gabriel stood still in that pose for several minutes as the owl continued to bob her head around. He tried walking toward her once, but she screeched in alarm, so he stilled himself. He could turn to stone for hours on end. He could wait.

Finally, without warning, the owl bolted into the sky. He thought she might dart away, but she twisted midair and ending up landing on his arm.

Smiling, he walked over to the tennis ball and offered it to her. “Why don’t you hold onto this during the trip back?”

The owl snatched the ball eagerly into her mouth.

As gently as possibly, Gabriel rose back into the air. It didn't take him long to hear the faint cries of frantic voices.

“Lorax! Lorax!”

The bird squeaked behind the tennis ball. Before Gabriel could stop her, she leaped off his arm. Her wings snapped tight at her sides as she zeroed in on the trainers.

Gabriel hung back, descending into the canopy so he could watch the reunion behind foliage cover. He made it behind the treetops just in time to watch the great horned owl land on an eager trainer’s outstretched arm.

“I found Lorax!” the trainer yelled down the hill to the others. “She’s safe!”

Cheers rang out behind him.

The trainer frowned as he examined the tennis ball. “Where’d you get that, girl?”

The owl dropped it into his palm, then turned to look straight at Gabriel’s hiding spot. She ruffled her feathers and screeched in his direction.

Uh oh. That was Gabriel’s cue to leave. Dipping even farther into the pines, he used the thick frozen trunks to dive deeper into the forest, creating some distance before he rose again back into the clouds.

As he sailed away north toward the villa, Gabriel couldn’t help but smile. Not all rescue missions had a happy ending, but he was glad this one did.

This story was written for the Cascades Raptor Center, who recently experienced some devastating losses after an ice storm. Please consider donating to them here.

It had been a long day.

I rubbed my temples as my computer slowly shut down at a snail’s pace. One might assume I had an ancient computer, but actually, it was a top-of-the-line model bought just a few months ago. Unfortunately, even that didn’t help the poor machine stand a chance against the strong fae magic swirling around the Stronghold Salem office building.

And today the building had been exceptionally packed with fae visitors. Not only had a group of deer shifters come through so Gabriel could warn them to quit walking on their hind legs and freaking locals out, but the fae prince (and my child’s father…long story) had stopped by with a pair of guards to discuss his upcoming coronation.

Their presence had kept me busy, not only to make sure both groups had enough to eat and drink, but Gabriel had me sit at the table during each discussion. He didn’t just treat me like the average office manager, he respected my opinion and wanted me involved in Stronghold’s important decision making.

It made me proud of my new job, but it also made me very tired.

Gabriel left to escort the prince back to the Southern Court, leaving me to drive home alone. I checked in on the only other person at the office before I left: Vanessa, Gabriel’s warrior angel in charge of security. I found her in the office’s lobby, tidying up the reception area wearing a sharp black suit. She’d been called in to guard our front door while the prince visited.

“I’m heading out,” I called out to her. “Need anything?”

“If you don’t mind, there’s a little shop downtown I’d like to visit.” She gave me the address to a place relatively close by.

“I’m happy to, although I’m surprised you’re not walking there. That seems to be more your style.”

“It closes in twenty minutes, and I want to pick up some bath bombs before they close.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Bath bombs?”

“I’m allowed to like bath bombs,” she answered defensively. “They’re locally made and smell divine. I especially like the lavender ones.”

“You’re right,” I said quickly. “That sounds wonderful. Maybe I’ll pick up a couple for myself.”

She didn’t reply as she locked up the office and headed with me to the elevator that would lead us to the underground parking garage, but she did relax a little.

Of all the fae I worked with on a regular basis, I had the hardest time getting close to Vanessa. She rarely ditched her no-nonsense attitude and kept her private life to herself. I’d worked with enough people to respect that and decided not to waste time with idle chit-chat as she sat in the passenger seat of Dirt Dash, my aging beige hatchback. The fact that she didn’t complain about all the random papers scattered in the backseat of my car only enhanced her stoic professionalism.

Even with the shop less than a mile away, it was still rush hour in downtown Salem, and near Christmas to boot. It took us five minutes to make it the same number of blocks, red tail lights stretching in a long line out the dashboard to match the tinsel decorations on the streetlamps. Crowds flooded the streets as the walk signs came on, bustling from shop to shop.

“I’ll have to drop you off,” I told her. “Parking’s going to be a nightmare.”

“That’s fine.”

Unfortunately, parking turned out to be the least of our worries. As we waited for the light to turn green, a mob of young people with matching red sweaters and elf ears suddenly stopped right in front of our car in the crosswalk. They formed a blockade line to face us.

I wrinkled my nose. "What in the world...?"

Vanessa stiffened, as if prepared to do battle.

Their leader, wearing a green and white scarf, suddenly yelled, “One…two…THREE!”

They burst into acapella song, shifting their hips and waving their arms. Their harmony was atrocious, huffing to the beat of their strange dance. As they spun in front of my headlights, I realized what they were doing.

“It’s a flash mob,” I groaned. “We’re stuck here.”

Cars around ame honked furiously. They’d figured out the same thing too.

My ears perked up. “Are they honestly singing some bizarro version of Last Christmas by Wham!”

Vanessa turned to me, confused. “What’s ‘wham?’”

“It’s the sound your heart makes as it drops to the bottom of your feet when you hear this song.”

My clever joke was completely lost on Vanessa. She gritted her teeth. “Don’t they realize how disruptive they are being.”

“It’s probably some sort of social media stunt.” I pointed at two guys in puffer coats with nice looking cameras, recording from either side of the line dance. “They probably don’t care, and they’ll disperse before police arrive.”

Vanessa grabbed the door handle. “This is outrageous.”

My eyes widened as she exited the car. “Vanessa? What are you doing?”

She slammed the door in response.

My hands gripped the steering wheel, wondering if I should follow her. Vanessa could take care of herself, which is why I worried more about the flash mob performers. She would flatten them without a second thought.

Or at least, that's what I thought she would do as she marched straight up to the scarfed leader, hands drawn up in fists.

But before I could leap out of the car, her hands flung out wide, leaving her body prone. She inhaled a deep breath before belting out a familiar tune.

“Ave Maria…”

Her literal angelic voice cut through the awful Christmas pop song. It silenced not only the flash mob members, who stared at her in wonder, but the honking cars. I half expected her wings of light to burst out of her back, but thankfully they didn’t, meaning no one had any idea that she was using her alluring magic on them.

She continued to serenade the intersection with her song, slowly moving toward one of the sidewalks. The camera-man moved out of her way as she ushered the line of red sweaters to follow. Then, still singing, she waved frantically at me.

Oh, that’s right. I was immune to her thrall, at least on a magical level. I’d been more frozen by the sheer audacity. She wanted me to drive on. The light was still green, so I eased Dirt Dash across. None of the other drivers followed me, though, too enraptured by Vanessa’s voice.

That turned out to be a stroke of luck because there was an empty spot right in front of the bath shop, clear on the other side of the street. I changed three lanes and eased into the spot, then dashed into the shop as Ave Maria swelled behind me.

By the time Vanessa had stopped singing, I’d exited the shop. Behind me, the clerk turned the “Open” sign to “Closed.”

Vanessa noticed the change and frowned. “Did I do all that for nothing?”

“Not for nothing,” one of the puffer-coated camera-men said, enthralled in her wake. “You sound like an angel.”

Vanessa gave him a menacing scowl. “And I can crush you like one too if you don’t leave immediately.”

Snapping out of his stupor, he recognized the genuine threat and skittered away.

I stifled a laugh. “Don’t worry. I bought several of your favorite lavender bombs. I also snagged a few peppermint ones, just for the season.”

Her grimace faded, not into a smile exactly, but something resembling gratitude. “How much do I owe you?”

“Absolutely nothing. Just getting that flash mob out of the way was worth every penny.”

She took the bag from me, clutching it to her suit. “Thank you, Melissa.”

“Anytime.” I held out a palm. “I think I feel a drop. Would you like me to drive you back to the office?”

She started to shake her head no, but then relented. “That would be nice.”

We dove back into Dirt Dash, waiting as a steady flow of traffic swirled around us.

A thought popped into my head. “Actually, you could do one thing for me.”

She glanced at me warily. “Yes?”

“Could you sing Ave Maria again? I missed the good parts while buying this stuff in the shop.”

Vanessa relaxed and began her gorgeous rendition of the classic song. It sent chills up my spine that had nothing to do with magic as I pulled back out onto the road. She really did have the voice of an angel.

And I swore, as she held onto one of the song’s longest notes, that she did smile, just for a teeny second, clutching her lavender bath bombs in her lap.

Read more of Melissa's magical adventures in the Magical Midlife Mom series.

My teenage daughter Regan held her nose as I opened the trunk to Dirt Dash, my beat-up beige hatchback that I refused to trade in for a newer model. The strong odor of fish wafted out.

“Are you sure selkies even celebrate Thanksgiving?” she asked.

“Who cares?” I grabbed one red bucket and motioned for her to pick up the second. “It will be a nice gesture either way.”

Regan wrinkled her nose but grabbed the bucket of fresh cod, keeping the handle as far away from her as possible as we trudged across the secluded gravel parking lot. “How did this not stink up the entire car?”

“Ida gave me a rune stone that keeps any odors within a tight radius. The smell shouldn’t travel much farther than the trunk.”

“Remind me to thank Ida later. This all seems like a bit much just to spread some holiday cheer.”

“Hey, the selkies saved our bacon back when your fae grandma wanted you dead. It’s the least we can do in return.”

“You’re giving them dead fish in return for saving our lives?” Regan asked sarcastically.

“Of course. Who doesn’t like food? And Gabriel told me selkies never say ‘no’ to cod.”

Regan continued to make faces as we wound our way through a dense path of conifers on our way toward the beach. I decided not to comment. This wasn’t only about repaying a massive debt to the selkies. During my first year as the official Stronghold HR manager, I decided it was my mission to spread holiday cheer.

“You could have invited everyone to a turkey dinner at the office,” Regan grumbled.

“I said everyone likes food. Not everyone likes turkey.”

“That’s why you have the potatoes, stuffing, and pumpkin pie. Who in their right mind doesn’t like pumpkin pie?”

“Gabriel doesn’t.”

Regan halted in her track to give me a sorrowful look. “I’m so sorry.”

I raised an eyebrow at her. “Why?”

“Because that means the end of your relationship, and I know how much you liked him.”

I rolled my eyes and kept going. “Har. Har. You are hilarious.”

Regan giggled, jogging to keep up with me. Welcome to the world of sarcastic teens.

Even with Regan’s bad jokes, I was grateful for her company. I wasn’t a huge fan of making the hour-long drive out to the coast alone, and she knew it. Instead of hanging out with her friends on a Saturday, she chose to spend it with me. It warmed my heart.

Then Regan ruined it. “Can you let me drive on the way back?”

At the end of the day, she was still an opportunistic teen with a learner’s permit.

I’d fought off animal shifters, seasoned knights, and actual demons, but nothing scared me more than the idea of Regan behind the wheel.

“Sorry, kiddo, but I’m not ready for you to drive on those twisty mountain roads between here and Salem. We need to stick to easy Sunday morning driving for now.”

“But I’ll never learn how to really drive that way!” Regan protested.

“And I thought you were just coming with me out of the goodness of your heart. I guess we both have to deal with disappointment.”

We’d made it through the treeline to the rocky path that led down to the beach. We grew silent, partly due to the argument, but the muddy path and steep terrain also forced us to concentrate as we balanced the heavy buckets in our hands.

When we got to the bottom, we trudged onto wet sand that clung to the bottom of our sneakers in clumps. I don’t know how they do it, but the selkies always knew when to appear at this secluded beach. Today was no exception. Before long, a dozen shiny gray pinniped heads popped up among the waves.

None of them came to shore, though. Instead, we waited until a gorgeous, mostly-naked woman rose out of the foam, like Aphrodite from the sea. Her silver hair cascaded over her dark skin. The only bit of clothing she wore was her fur pelt around her shoulders.

Rowena, leader of the selkie tribe, approached with an amused smile. “Is that cod I smell?”

I nodded enthusiastically. “I brought two bucket loads for you…for Thanksgiving.”

Her brow crinkled in confusion. “What is that?”

“I told you so,” Regan muttered behind me.

I ignored her. “It’s a human holiday where we express our gratitude for all the good things in our life. We always top it off with a meal, so I decided to bring you some.”

“You eat raw cod?” Rowena asked, surprised.

“No, we tend toward turkey, potatoes, and pumpkin pie.”

Her grin widened. “I’m glad you brought the cod. No offense, but that sounds disgusting.”

I turned around and finger waved at Regan. “I told you so.”

Rowena laughed at our antics. “You two remind me of my conversations with Sadie.”

My heart lightened at the name of Rowena’s young selkie daughter. “Where is she?”

“She’s off on a foraging expedition of her own.” Rowena frowned. “I was worried she was a little young for such an excursion, especially given her brazen nature. But then I realized that I would only hold her back if I did not allow her to grow.”

I blinked, taken aback by that statement. I looked over at Regan, half expecting another “I told you so,” but she refused to look at me.

Rowena helped Regan and I distribute our fishy snacks by chucking them out into the waves, watching the various seal heads grab them eagerly in their jaws before diving back under the water. Rowena saved a few for herself and her daughter to be eaten at a later time.

“Thank you for your kindness,” Rowena said before doing a full body flip back into the wave, expertly wrapping her pelt around her like a cloak so that she hit the water as a seal.

Regan offered to put my bucket into hers and carry them back up to the car, but I took them from her. “I’m sorry about earlier,” I said. “I’ve changed my mind. I’ll let you take a short driving shift on the way home.”

Regan’s eyes widened with joy. “Really?”

“Really,” I said, hoping I would not regret this decision when we were driving at the edge of the curvier roads. “As long as you promise to take absolutely every safety precaution.”

“I will!” she said, grabbing the buckets from my hands and dashing up the path with energy only young people have. “Thanks, Mom!”

As I trailed after her at a more reasonable pace, I paused to smile at the gently rocking Pacific Ocean. “Thank you for the parenting advice,” I said to an absent Rowena. I’d come to perform an act of kindness for the selkies and ended up getting some much-needed advice in return.

My heart full of gratitude, I followed after my daughter to our next adventure.

Here's hoping I'd survive.

Read more of Melissa's magical adventures in the Magical Midlife Mom series.

“This is a bad idea,” I scolded Regan. “Gabriel would not be pleased.”

My teenage daughter Regan stroked Lucas’s thick, black fur. At a glance, the canine looked like a large dog breed, but once he fixed his focused stare on you, you knew he was a wolf.

Most people didn’t know he was also a human, a fae shifter.

Regan straightened from petting her boyfriend to address me. “It’s a matter of security. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

Lucas barked in agreement.

I wasn’t convinced. “I don’t think Gabriel considers the petty theft of Halloween decorations from our front porch ‘a security threat.’”

“But someone’s got close to us without us knowing it. You have to take that seriously.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m sure it’s just a couple of neighborhood kids grabbing stuff. A simple Halloween prank.”

Regan projected her voice as if she were at one of her debate tournaments. “Then why haven’t we caught them on our doorbell camera?”

I hated to admit that she had me there. Whenever we checked the footage, the video mysteriously wobbled out of focus. By the time it fixed itself, the items were gone.

Even though the fae were notorious about mucking up technology, I shook my head. “Why would a fae care about the tea lights that light our pumpkins? Or the purple solar lamps that line the walkway? It’s not exactly grand theft.”

“I don’t know,” Regan said, stubbornness creeping into her voice. “But Lucas and I intend to find out.”

Lucas growled, again backing his girlfriend.

I stifled a yawn, glancing at the clock. It was almost midnight, and I had to work tomorrow. “It’s your lost sleep. I’m not staying awake to confront a bunch of bored middle schoolers. Good night.”

“Good night,” Regan called. She opened the door, letting Lucas slink out into the night to find a hiding space. She herself spread out on the couch, hunkering down for the night in case she heard anything.

I went straight to my bedroom in the back of my tiny house. If Regan and Lucas wanted to play amateur detective, that was their business. I cracked my window open, letting the cool autumn breeze flow over me. Regan often messed with the thermostat, keeping the house too hot for me. I preferred sleeping in the cold.

As soon as I’d changed into my pajamas and my head hit the pillow, I was out.

* * *

In my dreams, I wandered through the Stronghold Salem office, preparing for my long day. I tossed and turned, unable to shake my thoughts from my day ahead. I spent a good chunk of my restless dreams typing endlessly on a keyboard, my computer screen perpetually blank.

“Excuse me?”

The dream version of me glanced up from my desk at the intrusion. The voice sounded strangely out of place.

But when the voice didn’t repeat itself, I shrugged and continued typing.

“Excuse me?”

This time, I knew the voice wasn’t coming from my dreams but somewhere in the real world. My eyes blinked groggily awake, staring into the soft moonlight coming from the window. It was still the middle of the night.

“Regan?” I asked, but the door to my bedroom was still shut.

“No, it’s me, Ms. Hartley.”

A shadow stirred at the foot of my bed. A flash of pink hair caught my attention, framing a small, cherub-like face.

Adrenaline shot through my system. I jerked into a sitting position, a scream bubbling in my throat.

It never escaped my lungs. As I inhaled, the shadow darted forward on glistening wings and slammed a hand over my mouth. I inhaled the scent of morning dew and stared into the eyes of what appeared to be a small child.

“Please don’t scream,” the mysterious fae said. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I just have a problem.”

I pushed aside her hand, scooting away from her. I considered crying out anyway but realized that Regan would come running in first before Lucas. Childlike appearance or not, I had no idea who this fae was, and I wouldn’t put my daughter in danger unless absolutely necessary.

“Who are you?” I demanded in a hiss. “And why did you break into my bedroom?”

Tears formed at the corners of her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I never meant for it to come to this.” As her shoulders shook, bits of glitter formed around her in a haze.

“A pixie? I asked.

She nodded fervently. “I know that taking things without asking wrong, but my sister and I just love all the little lights humans use this time of year. They look really great around our huts. We knew you were a kind human that probably wouldn’t mind if we took a few.”

I gaped at her. “You’re the one stealing from my front porch?”

“We were going to pay you back, honest! We don’t have human money, but we were going to leave you this tonight.” She reached behind her back to grab something.

My heart raced, worried it might be a weapon, but she only pulled a little canvas bag off her belt. Opening the drawstrings, she displayed more glittery dust inside.

My jaw dropped. “You were going to give me pixie dust?”

“Sure. It’s much more valuable than the lights we took. Don’t you like it?”

I shook my head, half wondering if I was still asleep. I knew all about pixie dust, having been blasted in the face with it a few times. Pixie dust had the power to absorb other fae magic. You could literally wield any magic with it. It was highly sought after in fae circles.

“Can you even legally give it to me?” I asked. “I thought pixie dust trades had to be regulated.”

“Among other fae,” the pixie said. “It’s our magic. We’re allowed to give it freely as long as the recipient is in good standing with Queen Mab.” She paused. “You are in good standing with the queen, aren’t you?”

“I work for Stronghold. Of course, I am. But still, why not just leave it on the porch? Why wake me up in the middle of the night?”

Her lower lip trembled. “You have to call off your wolf. He’s got my sister trapped in your garden shed.”

Ah, now all the pieces were falling into place. Lucas must have spotted them stealing more lights off my porch and cornered one. I got out of bed, opening the door to the hallway.

“C’mon. Let's see what I can do.”

My creaky door woke a sleepy Regan on the couch. She raised her head, her hair tangled in knots and a line of drool running down her face. She looked like I probably did at this time of night: dead to the world.

“Waz goin’ on?” she grumbled as I stalked toward the back door.

“Lucas caught our thieves…”

“Borrowers,” the pixie cut me off.

Regan flinched at her in surprise, seeing her fly behind me for the first time.

“Borrowers,” I corrected for our guest. “And I need to go sort things out.”

A disoriented Regan followed me outside, both of us slipping on flip-flops before stomping across the grass toward the aging garden shed.

Lucas, who had been growling at the structure, dashed over to us when he saw us leave the house. He had his hackles raised and teeth bared.

The pink-haired pixie cried out and flew up higher in the air.

“Enough,” I told Lucas. “It’s just a few pixies. They’re harmless.”

Lucas got a good look at the pink-haired pixie but continued to growl under his throat.

I bopped him on the nose. “She’s giving me pixie dust in exchange for the stuff they're taking. It’s more than a fair trade.”

He yipped in confusion at that.

I ignored him, marching over to the garden shed and throwing open the door. In a flash of sparkly dust, a second pink-haired pixie whizzed outside and flew upward to meet the first one.

“Sister! Are you okay?”

“Yes. The big bad shifter didn’t hurt me.”

I cleared my throat to catch their attention. “The big bad shifter wouldn’t have chased you in the first place if you'd have asked for the lights. Tell me, is it common for pixies to just take what you want and pay later?”

Both guiltily wrung their hands. “Not exactly…” they admitted in unison.

“Right. So next time, if you want something from me, knock on the door and ask. Or better yet, come into the Stronghold office. I have an office budget that I can use at my discretion.”

“Really?” one of the pixies asked.

“Sure. Just don’t tell a bunch of other pixies. It’s not that much money.”

“Yay!” The two pixies danced around each other. “Thank you, Ms. Hartley.” One of them threw the pouch of pixie dust at me. I would have missed it, but Lucas leaped up and caught it gently in his teeth.

“Goodbye!” they called as they flew away.

Regan watched all of this with wide eyes. “Am I still asleep?”

“I wish,” I grumbled. I turned to Lucas. “Can you take that back to the Stronghold office and put it on my desk? I’d rather not have a powerful fae substance just hanging around my house.”

He grunted and headed for his doghouse, which had a fairy ring in the back that would whisk him straight to the office across town.

Regan followed me meekly back into the house. “It’s never a dull moment around here.”

“Tell me about it. I’d rather just get egged like all the other neighbors.”

Regan gave me a sly grin. “I’m sure I could make that a reality.”

I wagged a finger at her. “If you or Leah do anything to my house, I swear, I will ground you from debate practice for a month.”

Regan raised her hands in self-defense. “Just kidding. It was a joke. You don’t have to be so testy.”

I grumbled as we settled back inside in our bedrooms. This time, when I went to bed, I closed the window. Better to sweat it out all night than deal with another pitiful pixie trying to swipe my Halloween decorations.

Read more of Melissa's magical adventures in the fae world in the Magical Midlife Mom series.

“Take that!” she screamed, aiming at her target.

Her attack should have hit the beast, but it turned at the last second, scurrying around a blackberry bush. Thorny vines writhed instead, shaking as if they’d come to life.

“Did you get it?” her companion called behind her.

Ina skidded, her black boots grinding into the forest floor as Vincent, her game warden boyfriend, came into view. He couldn’t wield the four elementals like she could, but he had some slight magical talent. Ina had been trying to teach him some sigils when the large black beast had shown up on the remote Oregon beach they’d been practicing on.

“I missed!” She motioned for him to follow as she dashed after the creature. “It’s fast for a vaettur.”

“Are you sure it’s a vaettur?” Vincent asked, referring to the supernatural creatures from another dimension that Ina had been trained to combat. As a nature wizard, Ina had a lot of practice banishing those otherworldly creatures.

“What else could it have been?” Ina asked.

“It looked like a wolf to me.”

Ina threw Vincent a bewildered glance over her shoulder. “Have you ever seen a wolf that black and that large?”

“Well, no but—”

“That thing looked like it could eat a sasquatch for breakfast.”

Vincent cringed mid-sprint. “Please don’t tell me sasquatches are real.”

“Not that I’ve ever heard of, but with vaetturs, there could always be a first.”

“It’s not a fenrir, right?” Vincent asked, referencing the monstrous wolf-like vaettur that they’d both fought not long ago. “Because if it is, maybe we should get some of your nature wizard buddies to back us up.”

“It’s not a fenrir,” Ina insisted. “Not only does it not have the right markings, but it would have already tried to kill us.”

“Good point.”

Ina scoured the dense Douglas firs but couldn’t find a single hair of the creature. Something that size could probably drain the pith of a grizzly bear without a problem.

It had to be stopped.

Ina stopped running, instead crouching to the ground so she could thrust her fingers into the mud. Pooling her earth pith, she wrote a quick square sigil and closed her eyes. She felt Vincent halt beside her through the vibrations in the ground, patiently waiting while she worked her magic. She sent her senses out, mentally searching for other signs of movement.

She felt paws padding away from them.

“There! It’s heading that way!” Ina took a sharp left, Vincent on her heels.

The pair quickly closed the gap on the creature. Ina grew tense. Vincent could probably hold his own against a normal vaettur, but he didn’t have her training. She knew better than to tell him to leave. He would never abandon her, an endearing quality she both loved and hated in moments like these.

So instead, she gave him a warning as they darted through trees. “Just follow my lead. Don’t confront it directly. I’ll just banish it back to its realm, and then deal with its…”

She trailed off as she came upon a shimmering light standing in the middle of the forest.

“…breach,” she finished, staring at the object of her conversation in surprise. Normally breaches were free-floating, but this one stood between an archway made of stone.

Vincent stood beside her, his eyebrow raised. “Are breaches normally surrounded by rocks?”

“No,” Ina breathed. “They never are. They are tears in our dimension, not physical embodiments of—”

Ina didn’t have time to finish her sentence as a growl emanated from inside the breach. Both Ina and Vincent leaped backward, their arms outstretched to protect each other from the danger within.

Before either of them could speak, a haunting voice came from inside the archway. “Lucas? What are you doing?”

Ina peered into the shimmering disc. Instead of seeing a hazy version of her own world, which she expected, a pretty blond teenager in a track suit stared back at her. The teenager knelt beside the black wolf, fingers curled in its raised haunches as the beast bared its teeth at them. The girl and the creature appeared to be looming in a…hallway?

Vincent saw her too. “Who are you?” he demanded.

The girl’s eyes widened in surprise. “Uh oh. This is gonna be awkward. I’m Regan and—”

“Get away from that vaettur!” Ina grabbed the modified watch battery that hung from her necklace, her lightning charm. She could conjure a bolt powerful enough to make Zeus envious. It was her strongest attack, and although she didn’t use it for just any occasion, she did rely on it for powerful vaetturs.

And a helpless teenager in the presence of that large black beast was a substantial threat.

Regan blinked at her. “He won’t hurt me.”

Vincent held up a conciliatory hand. “I know this all may seem strange to you,” he said in his most soothing voice. “But you’re in great danger next to that wild animal.”

Despite the beast snapping its powerful jaws, Regan clutched him even tighter. “He’s not a wild animal!” she yelled. “He’s my friend.”

Ina drew a zigzag sigil, causing electricity to spark from her fingertips. “I don’t want to hurt you, so I’m going to count to five before I blast that vaettur back to its homeworld. One…”

“Ina,” Vincent warned, looking at her in dismay. “You’re not really going to zap her with—”

“Two…”

Regan screamed as Ina’s hair began to stand on end from all the static she was generating from her sigil. “Are you crazy?”

“Three…”

The black haired creature howled, attempting to lunge forward toward Ina, but Regan’s hold kept him in place.

“You can’t hurt him!” Regan screamed. “He’s just trying to protect me!”

“Four…”

“Ina!” Vincent screamed one last time, lunging for her.

“Lucas!” Regan screamed at the same time, the creature slipping out of her grasp.

Two things happened at once. Vincent knocked her over, moving her aim slightly to the side. Ina let go of her lightning blast, aimed at the now charging wolf.

And Lucas, the supposed vaettur, wasn’t heading for Ina. He threw his body against the stone column supporting the archway on his side of the breach. The stones fell like building blocks onto the hallway carpet.

As Ina’s lightning struck, the archway was destroyed on both sides of the breach. The shimmering mirror between the two spaces vanished in an instant.

In the immediate aftermath, Ina and Vincent stared at the smoldering pile of stones. Ina pushed Vincent away from her first.

“You were gonna kill that kid!” Vincent panted as Ina crawled over to view the aftermath.

“No, I wasn't,” Ina countered, completely calm. “I wouldn’t have released the bolt if you hadn’t knocked me over.”

“Well, I didn’t know that. You looked dead serious to me.”

“That was kind of the point.” Ina poked the closest blackened stone, noting some strange markings on it. “Weird. This looks kind of like a sigil, only I don't recognize even its base form.”

Vincent forced himself to follow her train of thought. “Is that normal?” He peered at the stone behind her.

“No.” Ina gawked at the space where the archway had stone. “You can’t blast away a breach. You have to seal it shut with your pith. And it doesn’t occur between weird columns like some magical version of Stonehenge.”

“Do you think that girl's safe?”

Ina tossed the stone back on the pile. “How should I know? Humans don’t appear inside breaches. None of this makes sense.”

Vincent drew her in for a comforting hug. “Well, it’s over, for now. We’re okay.”

“Yeah,” Ina said, but she had no idea what to make of any of it. Had she been seeing a portal to another world, where the vaettur had come from? Or had that weird breach been some sort of shortcut to somewhere else on Earth?

Nobody, definitely not Ina, could say for sure.

“C’mon,” Regan waved at the person lagging behind her. “It’s over here.”

Patrick grumbled as he followed the strawberry blond teenager beneath the glaring, flashing lights. “Why in Queen Mab’s court would you drag me here?”

“Because this is what I want!”  She narrowed his eyes suspiciously at him.  “Or are you going to renege on our bet?”

“Of course, I won’t,” Patrick said, acting as if he were offended by the very idea when in fact, he had seriously considering ducking out of the mall.  As a leprechaun with luck magic, he thought he could easily win a coin toss with his boss’s girlfriend’s teenage daughter. If he would have won, she swore she would convince her shifter boyfriend Lucas to stop napping on his favorite office couch while in wolf form.  He was beginning to resent the stray hairs all over his clothes whenever he sat down for a sip of afternoon tea.

Instead, Regan had beaten the odds and correctly called heads.  Now he was in her debt instead.

Patrick glanced at his distorted, red-haired reflection over a large screen with dancing anime characters, his dour expression at odds with their radiant smiles and terrifying large eyes. “You could use my luck magic for anything, and you chose to take me to the local arcade?”

“Anything within reason,” Regan corrected.  “And you’ll understand once you see the machine I need help with.”

They wove past a gaggle of middle schoolers jumping around the dancing rhythm game and dodged a toddler running in terror after watching her father shoot at zombies with a plastic gun. Patrick had no idea what on earth he was expected to do until Regan pointed at the row of shiny transparent machines filled to chest-level with colorful characters.

“The claw machines?” he asked in outrage as Regan pulled out a prepaid card that would activate the machine. “You expect my luck magic to win you something out of one of those?”

“Not just something.” Regan pressed her forehead against the see-through plastic to scan the prize plush animals.  She let out a squeal of glee when she spotted her prey. “That thing.”

Patrick followed her finger to a spherical plush in the back row.  He had to squint to make out the details on the black and white blob: pointed ears, cute little paws, and a goofy grin with exaggerated canine teeth.

“You want a dog stuffed animal?” he asked skeptically.

“It’s a wolf, not just a dog.  And it’s a special kind called a reversible plush.  You can twist it inside out so that another wolf appears, only the opposite side is all grumpy and frowny.”  She clenched her hands near her cheeks.  “I want it so bad!”

“Then just order one online.”

“I can’t!  They’re sold out everywhere.”

“Then just buy a different one. I’m sure there’s thousands of wolf toys to choose from.”

“But not one like this. It reminds me of Lucas.”

“Within reason, just as you said.”  Patrick eyeballed the robotic claw hanging from the machine’s ceiling.  “My luck magic can’t work miracles.  These things aren’t made to actually win.  I’m a leprechaun, not a miracle worker.”

Regan wouldn’t be deterred. “C’mon, Patrick.  Pretty please?”

“Oh, all right.”  He settled himself in front of the joystick that controlled the claws.  “As long as you’re paying.”

“Of course!” Regan swiped the prepaid card.  The machine, which had been playing muted carnival music, roared to life with extra blinking lights and doubled its volume.  Patrick winced.

“Here goes nothing.” He hit the start button.

He moved the joystick around, the claw jerking like a marionette falling off its strings over the pile of plushes.  He positioned the claw as best as he could over the wolf and frowned.

“I don’t think it’s going back far enough.”

“It’s fine,” Regan reassured.  “Just try it.”

“Okay.”  He tapped the button to activate the claw.  It lowered, Regan and Patrick both leaning forward in anticipating.

It completely missed the wolf plush, skittering back toward its initial position.

“See?” Patrick said. “Not winnable.”

“It might take a few tries,” Regan said, swiping the card.  “Try again.”

Patrick begrudgingly wasted two more attempts on the target.

“It’s no use,” he said. “Maybe we should try that fluffy kitten with the cowboy hat over there.  I bet I could get that one.”

“The cat doesn’t remind me of Lucas,” Regan pouted.

“It should,” he grumbled under his breath.  “He sheds as much.”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.”  He motioned for her to swipe the card again. She complied.

On the fourth try, as Patrick pushed his luck magic as far out as he dared, something did happen. One of the claw’s three prongs managed to snag the wolf’s plastic tag.  It lifted up out of the pile into the air.

“You’ve got it!” Regan cried.

But the claw jolted at the top of its apex, and the wolf bounced back down.  At first, it looked like it would roll down an incline straight into the prize hole.

“Yes!” Regan screamed in delight.

But then rolled past into a corner near the front where the claw could never reach.

“No!” Regan’s face crumpled.

Patrick slapped an angry palm against the machine.  “That was shite!”

“Sir!” A uniformed arcade employee wandered over to the pair.  “Do not strike the machine!”

“But this whole thing is rigged,” Patrick’s face turned red.  “How can you possibly expect us not to get angry?”

The employee took a step back from him.  “Sir, if you don’t calm down, I will have to throw you both out.”

Regan stepped in between them.  “I’m sorry. He’s just upset.”  She put a hand on Patrick’s shoulder.  “Just forget the wolf.”

Patrick’s brow furrowed. “But you wanted it.”

“It’s okay,” she said sadly. “You tried.  I won’t hold you any further on the bet.”

The employee watched them warily as she trudged away from the row of claw machines.

Patrick wavered, looking from Regan and back to the stuck wolf plush.  It was just one shove away from the hole.  It just needed a little push.

Or a little magic.

Patrick closed his eyes, channeling his luck energy, feeling it build in his fingertips.  He knew it wasn’t good to let his luck magic out in large quantities, but he couldn’t bear that look on Regan’s face.

She’d have her stupid wolf plush.

Something with him vibrated. No, something external.  The ground beneath him shook.

Then everything around them shook.  Machines knocked into each other.  The air ducts in the high ceiling above them swayed.  Light all around them flickered on and off, and not because of a strobe effect.

“Earthquake!” the employee cried out.

Regan flipped back around, her mouth an astonished ‘O’ as she stared back at a grinning Patrick. Then her eyes flickered to the claw machine…right as the wolf plush teetered to one side and fell into the hole.

“Yay!” she yelled, running back to the machine.

Patrick blew out a breath of exertion and the earthquake stopped.

As Regan bent over and grabbed the wolf plush, hugging it to her chest, the employee stared at Patrick in horror.  “The shaking…did you…?”

“Cause an earthquake?” Patrick laughed.  “Of course not.  That’s crazy.”

“He’s not crazy,” Regan told the employee.  “Just lucky.”

The employee gaped after them as they headed for the arcade’s exit.  The other patrons—the father and toddler and the middle schoolers—were all chattering excitedly about the bizarre earthquake.

Regan twisted the wolf inside out, showing off a darker colored wolf with more sinister bared teeth and angry, V-shaped eyebrows.  “See? Just like Lucas!”

Patrick chuckled. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I do.”  She stroked its head.  “You know, I bet Lucas wouldn’t sit on that couch if you bought him a nice, wide doggy bed.”

“Really?” Patrick asked in surprise.

“Yeah, he loves them. Just make sure it’s for a really big dog.”

“Will do.”

So Patrick did win the bet, after all.  They both did.

Catch more luck magic in the Magical Midlife Mom series, a story about how Regan's mom saves her from being the dreaded Chosen One.

Chapter 1

I tensed under the thick canopy of red, yellow, and green trees around me. My whole body sung with elemental pith—earth, fire, air, and water. My lightning charm hung around my neck in case I’d need that too.

I had to be in top form. I couldn’t screw this up.

“Ina,” Vincent Garcia said gently. “Will you relax a little? You’re not going into battle.” He hid his athletic build underneath a black leather jacket and jeans, his short ebony hair windswept without his work hat. He reached over to brush away a strand of my own long black hair that had escaped my updrawn hoodie.

I pushed aside the surge of happiness that rose in my chest. After getting attacked by the wolf vaettur fenrir a few weeks ago, Vincent and I had officially decided we were dating, a fact which made the autumn’s birdsong brighter and my blood pump faster.

It also haunted my nightmares.

For most women, finding a partner is a normal (and much sought after) facet of life. But I was a shepherd of Nasci, a kind of nature superhero. I could envision Guntram, my mentor, scolding, “Shepherds don’t form romantic attachments.”

His disapproval alone, though, wouldn’t stop me. I have a very specific reputation for breaking rules.

My anxiety stemmed from my history with Vincent. We’d only known each other for a little over half a year, and in that short time, our relationship had been a flow of on-again, off-again contact.

My stupid heart lurched at the thought that this was just another “on-again” phase.

I ignored my fear to focus on the matter at hand. “Winning over your family might as well be a battle.”

“This is Oscar we’re talking about, remember? He already likes you.”

“We’ll see what he thinks after our little chat.”

Although not a shepherd like me, Vincent came from an “innate” family. Innates, like shepherds, can manipulate elemental pith. Guntram tasked me with becoming a bridge between the more reclusive shepherds and innates, who live normal lives outside the forest. I hadn’t made a lot of inroads with Vincent’s family yet.

That was all going to change today. I’d asked Vincent’s cousin, Oscar, to meet us at his house, located outside the coastal town of Florence, Oregon. Oscar knew I could “sense” water pith like him. He often asked me to help him with difficult plumbing jobs under the assumption I was also an innate.

We were about to teach him I could do a whole lot more than find a leaky pipe.

Before long, Vincent and I left the forest and emerged into the unfenced back yard of a single-story house with a hot tub on the patio. Vincent had once put me in that very hot tub after a rogue shepherd named Rafe tried to bury me alive in the desert. We’d shared our first kiss there. I flushed at the memory.

The curtains moved behind the sliding glass door, drawing my attention. Focus, Ina. Focus.

Oscar’s head peeked over the fabric. He had the same ebony hair and dark eyes as Vincent, but his face was rounder and he wore black-framed glasses. His expression changed from caution to surprise as he recognized us. He flung the curtain back and slid the glass panel open.

“What are you two doing back here?”

Oops. I supposed it did seem weird that we hadn’t arrived by road to such a remote residence. Vincent had offered to drive his silver Subaru, but I’d been so nervous, I asked to walk. Vincent and I had hiked from his apartment and traveled here via wisp channel, fixed tree portals that let us cover miles in an instant.

Explaining our transportation method to Oscar was not how I wanted to introduce him to shepherd magic.

I motioned for Oscar to step outside. “I walked to show you something back here. Come on.”

He hesitated in the doorframe. “First you guys call to meet with me to tell me ‘something important,’ but you won’t discuss it over the phone. Now you’re chilling out in my back yard. It’s sketchy.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “More sketchy than abandoning me inside a horror house because you couldn’t handle a bunch of baby snakes?”

“That wasn’t sketchy. That was hilarious.” Oscar’s lips curved upward as he recalled what had become known as the “Snake Incident.”

Vincent interjected before either Oscar burst into giggles or I strangled him because of it. “Actually, that’s kind of why we’re here. Ina wanted to show you more of her magic.” Vincent wrapped his arm around my shoulders, making my cheeks burn. “My girlfriend’s not just like our families, Oscar. She can do a whole lot more.”

“Like . . .?” Oscar asked.

I ducked out of Vincent’s hold. “If you’d quit being a coward for a change and come out here, I’ll show you.”

“Fine, you’ve piqued my interest.” Oscar finally stepped onto the patio and slid the glass door shut behind him. “But I swear, if this is some kind of trick, I’m not giving you any more jobs, Ina.”

“Whatever,” I said, stepping farther away from the house to manipulate the elements. “You need me to help you, not the other way around.”

Oscar lifted a skeptical eyebrow. “You don’t have any other gainful employment.”

This seemed as good an opening as any to drop the bombshell. “That’s because my job is to defend nature itself.”

An awkward silence followed my grandiose statement. Even though what I’d said was true, it did sound ridiculous when spoken aloud.

Oscar cleared his throat. “Okay. That’s . . . neat.”

“What I mean is I do . . .” I tried to find a way to downplay my previous theatrics. “. . . stuff that protects forests from those that would harm it.”

Oscar took a small step back. “You’re not some kind of eco terrorist, are you? Because I don’t want to get into any legal trouble.”

“No, it’s nothing like that.” My mind scrambled for a way to explain what a shepherd was without freaking Oscar out. “I’m kind of like Vincent. He’s a game warden, right? Only he stops poachers from hunting animals. I just guard the wilderness from . . . other stuff.”

“‘Other stuff?’” Oscar repeated, thoroughly confused.

“Yeah, like . . . uh . . .”

Vincent stepped in to say what I couldn’t. “Ina’s a nature wizard, Oscar. She fights interdimensional monsters with her magic.”

I glared at Vincent. “I wasn’t going to tell him about vaetturs. It’s not like I can summon one and prove they exist.”

“But you can show him your powers,” he countered. “So start there.”

“Wait, wait,” Oscar interrupted. “This is too much for me. Can you get straight to the punchline?”

“This isn’t a joke,” I snapped. “I’m a shepherd of Nasci, the goddess who lives in the center of our world and gives everything life. I’ve pledged to protect the temperate forests of the Pacific Northwest from the vaetturs of Letum with the elemental gifts she’s given me.”

So much for dialing back the drama.

Oscar threw his hands up. “That’s about as much of this prank as I can take. I have a job to do in a few hours, and I’d like to eat lunch before then. If you’ll excuse me . . .” He flipped around to make his way back inside the house.

Oh, no. I wasn’t going to let Oscar walk away now that I’d given him my Nasci soliloquy. I gathered air pith and wrote a sideways “S” with my right hand. Then, releasing that energy, I sent a sudden gust of wind toward Oscar so strong that it knocked over a cheap plastic lawn chair right in front of his path.

Oscar skirted backward. “Whoa! Where’d that come from?” He studied the towering pines surrounding his property. They rocked back and forth but then stilled without my air manipulation.

“It came from me,” I declared.

He turned back around, confused. He hadn’t seen me draw the sigil, so he had no reason to believe I’d created the wind.

“You can sense water,” he said. “You can’t do anything with air. A person can only manipulate one or the other.”

“Maybe that’s how it works in your family,” I said. “But shepherds can wield all four natural elements, not just one.”

Oscar crossed his arms and gave me a smug look. “Then prove it.”

The little twerp didn’t think I could back up my claim. I glanced over at Vincent, who was trying to hide a laugh. He knew I could do a whole lot more than summon a simple updraft.

But how to really prove it to Oscar? He wouldn’t be impressed with water, and anything I did with air he’d probably chalk up to weather. Lightning would be overkill. That left two elements.

And one of them was way flashier than the other.

I scanned Oscar’s back yard for a good target and found his fire pit several yards away, essentially a homemade ring of cement blocks. A few semi-charred logs remained scattered inside.

Perfect.

Fire is the combination of water, air, and earth and takes finesse to control. I made sure not to overdo it as I pooled fire pith into my hand. I made a deliberate show of drawing a spiky circle with a cross behind it, then flung a fist-sized fireball toward the pit.

Oscar yelped as the fireball streaked past him and ignited on the logs. I’d hoped they would catch fire, but the logs were too damp. The fire sizzled in a few sparks before fading out.

Overall, I was pretty pleased with my magical display. I mimicked Oscar’s self-righteous stance. “Believe me now?”

Oscar tiptoed across to the fire pit, looking as if it might bite him. As he craned his neck to peer over the rim, Vincent flashed me a discreet thumbs-up. His cousin couldn’t doubt me now.

Or at least, that’s what I thought.

Oscar’s shoulders relaxed, and he whirled back around to me. “You couldn’t even light it on fire.”

I gaped at him. “So?”

“So,” Oscar said, nodding his head as if coming to some grand conclusion. “That proves this is all just a hoax.”

“How do you figure?” I demanded.

He wagged a finger at both of us. “Because you two were lurking around back here when I caught you. You must have been setting the scene so when Ina launched a hidden firework up her hoodie sleeve, it would ignite the logs. But you clearly didn’t have time to douse the pit with lighter fluid, so your little plan failed.”

Vincent threw his hands upward. “And where is this lighter fluid we were supposedly carrying?”

“Probably back at your car, which you parked down the road,” Oscar reasoned, nodding his head. “Yes, that explains everything. This is all revenge for the Snake Incident. I knew you were still mad about that.”

Oh, I was mad all right. Oscar was somehow explaining away the truth right before his very eyes. I grabbed my charm necklace, absorbing extra pith from their reserves.

Vincent must have picked up on my mood because he said, “Ina, don’t—”

But I’d already made up my mind. If Oscar needed proof he couldn’t refute, I’d give it to him.

“You now know I can manipulate three of the four natural elements,” I said in a loud announcer voice. “Water, air, and fire. The only one you haven’t seen is earth. Let me rectify that, right now!”

Pooling all the earth pith from within my body and the charm, I drew squares inside squares inside squares until I didn’t have any room to draw anymore. When I released all that pith, it opened up a massive sinkhole underneath Oscar, swallowing both him and his fire pit whole.

To read the rest of Ina's latest adventure, preorder Extending Branches, Magic of Nasci, Book #9.  

Until next time, happy adventuring!

-DM Fike

Gary Truman discovered the gargoyle statue in the middle of his back lawn early Tuesday morning. He nearly dropped his coffee onto his tile kitchen floor when he spotted it outside the patio doors.

Gary had only been living in his new rural home for a few short months. The renovated farmhouse with no neighbors for miles in the quiet Oregon countryside had been a retirement gift to himself after three decades of working for the state government. He was only a half hour drive outside of Salem, but his old city felt like a world away. He’d come to expect the various wild birds, deer, and even occasional mountain lion that visited his property.

He never expected a monsterous gargoyle statue twice his size and made out of stone to just appear overnight. The creature was hunched over with its wings wrapped around itself like a cocoon. Its humanoid head poked out from over the wings, mouth twisted as if in pain. Besides a few rough scratches near its clawed hands, there were no marks in Gary’s pristine grass to indicate how anyone could have hauled it in.

Baffled, Gary did what most people would do when presented with a bizarre sight in the modern world. He snapped a picture with his phone and posted it to his social media account.

Does anyone want the new lawn ornament someone left in my yard? he wrote as a joke.

His friends immediately replied with surprised emojis. One of his former co-workers urged him to make the picture public so she could share it, and he did, against his better judgment. That made the picture go viral, and within the hour, he had hundreds of likes and comments.

Gary tried to keep up with the barrage of comments, but when the trolls began to harass him, he put down his phone. This was not how he meant to spend his morning. He’d been meaning to go into town and get himself a pet. He’d been leaning toward a cat, but now that he had weirods dumping massive statues in his back yard, he figured he needed a dog that would bark if this ever happened again.

He was in the middle of searching for the nearest animal shelter when the unmistakable sound of an engine coming down his long driveway caught his attention.

Warily, he peeked outside his front window at the intruder. He worried it might be the lunatic who’d dropped off the statue in the first place.

He was surprised, however, to watch a beat-up beige hatchback park right outside his porch. That little car could not have possibly transported the gargoyle statue. And he doubted the average-sized woman with the frizzy, chestnut-colored hair wearing a track suit had anything to do with his unwanted sculpture.

She didn’t seem threatening. He cracked the front door open and called out to her. “Can I help you?”

She flashed a brilliant smile at him. “Are you Gary Truman?”

“Yes.”

“Great! Don’t mind me.” With a friendly little wave as if she was just passing him on the street, she avoided the front door completely and walked over to the side gate.

“E-excuse me?” Gary stammered, but by the time he stepped out onto his front porch, she’d already disappeared into the back yard.

Gary’s face turned red. “Hey!” he yelled, following after her. She might look harmless, but he wasn’t about to let a stranger walk around his home without permission.

He found the woman leaning up against the gargoyle, her hand on its back in an almost soothing gesture.

“Look what you got yourself into,” she scolded the statue. “I told you not to go out alone.”

Wonderful. The woman was a nut job. “Now see here!” he called out to her from the fence, unsure as to whether he should approach her or not. “This is private property, and you’re trespassing.”

She gave him a sheepish grin. “Oh, yes, sorry about all this.” She pointed at the gargoyle statue. “I came right away when I saw your post. I’ll take him away with me when I leave.”

Gary gaped at her. “How?”

She didn’t answer him, glaring instead at the statue. “See? Look what trouble you’ve gotten me into.” She turned back to Gary. “If you’ll just give me a few minutes, I’m sure I can—”

Gary lost his composure. “I’m not giving you anything. You either get out of here right now, or I’m calling the cops.”

The woman tilted her head as if considering this. “Okay,” she finally said, as if this was an acceptable solution. She then went back to whispering to the gargoyle statue.

Fuming, Gary patted his pockets, looking for his phone, but he must have left it inside when he heard the car come down the driveway. He marched back to the front, found his phone, and tried to dial 9-1-1.

Unfortunately, his cell phone service blipped out at that very moment. He tried several times, but none of his calls went through.

Anger gave way to fear. What if the crazy lady attacked him? Should he lock himself inside his house and hope his cell service returned? His friends had warned him of the dangers of living so far away from the city. He’d laughed them off at the time, but now he wished he’d listened to them.

The side gate creaked on its hinges. Gary jumped as he heard a voice…no voices. Two people were having a conversation.

“It should have been a routine capture,” a deep baritone voice said. “I didn’t expect an ambush.”

“That’s why you should have brought backup,” the woman replied with disdain. “I could have come with you.”

“You’re not trained for this.”

“And your training didn’t stop you from getting seriously hurt.”

“I’m fine now. I just needed a bit of healing.”

Two people rounded the corner into Gary’s view: the frizzy-haired woman from before, and an extremely tall, dark-haired man. He looked like he could lift the gargoyle statue out back with ease, but that’s not what freaked Gary out.

The gigantic man was completely naked.

Gary shrieked, the high-pitched sound originating from some primal place inside him. It whistled in the air, cutting through the man and woman’s conversation.

The man pushed the woman behind his back, as if Gary were a threat. “Who are you?” he demanded in that deep baritone voice.

Gary’s mouth bobbed up and down like a goldfish while he desperately tried not to stare at the stranger’s genitals.

The woman skirted around to scold the giant. “He’s the guy whose property you decided to take a stone nap on.” She gave Gary an apologetic shrug. “I am so sorry about all this. We’ll be leaving now.”

Gary’s brain was unable to form coherent thought, which lead to garbled speech. “You…I…what…?”

The woman ignored him and unlocked the passenger door of the hatchback. “Get in,” she told the man.

“Am I ever going to hear the end of this?” the giant asked as he somehow managed to shove all his muscles inside. The car visibly strained lower to the ground.

“No,” the woman said. Then she gave Gary one last smile. “Thank you for your time.”

Gary, still muttering one-word syllables, watched them sputter off back down his driveway toward the main road.

Once he could no longer hear the car’s engine, he strolled in a daze back to the kitchen. He didn’t want to look in his back yard, but he had to know. He glanced out the patio door.

The gargoyle statue was gone. Only a mangled patch of grass denoted where it once stood.

With no logical explanation for what had just happened, the wheels in Gary’s head ground to a screeching halt. He managed to slump into a dining chair right before he fainted.

Read more about gargoyle shenanigans in the Magical Midlife Mom series.

“Are you sure you can handle this?”

Zacariah had stopped Barbara on her way out into the Monastery fields, where a brand-new squire was waiting for her first lesson with the Blessed Order.

“Of course,” Barbara replied. She folded sleek, strong arms across her chest, her entire body taut and ready for battle despite her advanced age.

Zacariah raised an eyebrow. “You heard what she can do, right? She will unleash every last bit of her power and—”

Barbara narrowed her eyes at Zacariah. “Do you want me to train her or not?”

Zacariah nodded curtly.

“Then let me do my job.”

Zacariah said nothing as Barbara exited into the heat of the desert, but he did remain at the window, watching what would happen next.

The squires had already gathered for their lesson. They formed two straight lines, kids ages ten to seventeen forming uneven rows as they waited for their teacher to arrive.

All but one: the slouching girl who sat cross-legged in the dirt. She picked at her shoelaces, still wearing civilian attire consisting of a halter top and cut-off jeans, in stark contrast to her companions' T-shirts and sensible cotton shorts. She didn’t bother to look up through her black, uncombed hair as Barbara approached.

Barbara made a beeline for her, stopping just a few feet from where the girl sat. “Get up, Avery."

Avery finally peeked up, her lips forming a scowl. “You again?”

“I told you I’d be the one to teach you your first lesson.”

“And I told you to suck it.” Avery spat in the dirt.

The two lines of squires drew in a collective breath. Olivia, a petite girl with braids, took a step forward. “Don’t talk that way to your superior!”

Barbara cut Olivia a sharp glance. Olivia gulped and took a step back.

Barbara focused back on Avery. “Your teenage angst doesn’t impress me. Get in line.”

“No.”

Barbara let a long silence hang in the air. “Do you want to go back to the streets?”

That question made Avery flinch. Up until a week ago, she’d been living in an illegal homeless encampment in Las Vegas. It was better than being used as a punching bag by her alcoholic stepfather…but not by much.

“Is Zacariah already kicking me out?” Avery asked, unable to keep the desperation out of her voice.

“No,” Barbara said.

Avery relaxed until Barbara added, “But I will if you don’t follow the rules.”

Avery jumped to her feet, her scowl burning hotter than the desert sun. “I don’t have to listen to you!”

Barbara stared into the angry eyes of this unfortunate youth. It was a story that she’d seen played out so many times with the new Blessed Order recruits. Most had been hurt in some way, usually through violence or just plain neglect. Barbara ached for this kid.

She knew exactly what it felt like to be all alone.

Barbara let none of that sympathy show. “You won’t be able to control your powers without some basic self-discipline, a skill which obviously eludes you.”

Avery laughed without mirth. “What do you know about powers?”

“I’m a paladin of the Blessed Order,” Barbara said simply. “I know about magic.”

“Then show me yours!” Avery screamed.

Barbara waited until the echoes of the kid’s cries faded in the wide open sky. “I don’t need to.”

“Fine!” Avery threw her arms out wide. “Then I’ll give you a taste of mine.”

Waves flew out of Avery. Although they weren’t visible to the naked eye, everyone in the vicinity could feel them. The two lines of obedient squires suddenly broke as it hit them. Some fell to their knees. Others grabbed their heads. A few even ran back toward the safety of the Monastery. They all cried out.

Avery was pelting them with her fear magic.

Barbara gritted her teeth as the fear sank deep into her bones. With Avery's magic focused directly on her, the fear was ten times worse than what the squires felt. It dregged up buried memories: watching fellow paladins die in battle, countless episodes of barely escaping death herself, and seeing her first love's eyes go blank. If she dwelled on any single image, much less all of them, she would go insane.

Instead, Barbara strode forward with purpose, straight for Avery.

The teen’s eyes widened as Barbara closed the distance between them. “H-how is that possible? You should be paralyzed with fear!”

Barbara waited until she was within arm’s reach of Avery before she said, “If I caved each time I was afraid, I would have died long ago.”

Then she slapped Avery, hard, right across the face.

The snap reverberated across the desert. Avery fell. As she lay on the ground, sobbing, the other teens got ahold of themselves and slowly returned to their positions, reforming the lines.

Barbara hovered over a blubbering Avery.

“Go…ahead,” Avery managed. “Send me…away.”

Barbara's shadow blocked out the sun over the teen. “Is that what you really want?”

Avery paused. Barbara was sure she would let loose another sarcastic response but instead she said in a whisper, “No.”

Barbara nodded, the only outward indication of the hope that stirred in her chest. If this girl flung out her fear magic every time she was upset, someone would kill her, sooner or later. But this girl could learn to control her rage and still be saved, despite everything had happened to her.

Barbara pointed at the other obedient squires. “Then get in line.”

Slowly, as if moving through water, Avery wiped away her tears, got to her feet, and dragged herself to the edge of the back row.

Barbara waited until she'd slouched into place before addressing them all. “Let’s get started.”

As the squires began their warm-up exercises, Barbara caught a glance of Zacariah at the Monastery window. He gave her a thumbs up before disappearing.

For the first time all day, Barbara allowed herself a brief smile. Training these kids was tough, but she loved every single minute of it.

Then she wiped the grin off her face and barked, “Ten laps! Double speed! Go…go…go!”

And they all ran. Even Avery.

Read more about Barbara and the Blessed Order in the Magical Midlife Mom series.

I tried not to freak out as the satyr—a half man, half goat fae—picked me up and slung me over his shoulder. For a guy not much taller than me, he easily carted me deeper into the dense woods.

This was all going according to plan.

Normally, I’m the humble office manager for Stronghold, a fae-based firm that works closely with the US military. Under a peace treaty spearheaded by Queen Mab, we’re often tasked with going after fae who harass unsuspecting humans. I don’t normally get involved with those assignments, but this particular satyr tried to kidnap a local woman with his entrancing magic. Her husband had fortunately rescued her before she could get dragged off into the forest, but with a satyr’s lustful appetite, he was bound to try again and soon.

Someone had to serve as bait to draw the offender out, and I’d been the only female available at the time.

My boss, Gabriel Alston, had been dead set against it at first. His steel gray eyes had flashed with explosive anger when he told me, “You are absolutely not coming with me.”

He might have been intimidating in his massive gargoyle form, but my stubbornness matched his rocky persona any day. “Then how are you going to find the satyr?” I asked with exasperation.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I’ll figure something out.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “You’ll just let other women get hurt while you bumble around looking for a satyr who can easily slip past you?”

He wings were spread out so wide that they bumped against either side of the office hallway, where I’d cornered him. “I can’t let you.”

“Why not?”

His anger melted into something more vulnerable. “Because I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

His tone took some of the bluster out of my own frustration. Gabriel and I had been through a lot while we’d saved my daughter from an ancient fae prophecy. We’d even made love once while on the run from her would-be captors. But since resolving that issue and returning home, we’d walked eggshells around each other. Stronghold was swamped, tackling issues that had been put off in our absence. I told myself we were too busy to address our mutual attraction.

In the back of my mind, I worried that with the immediate danger gone, Gabriel was having second thoughts about our relationship.

Even now, as he shuffled on his massive heels, I had to admit that gargoyles had fierce protective instincts. He would have been worried about any employee going on a dangerous mission, especially me, who didn’t have any formal training.

But I had something up my sleeve that most office managers didn’t have. “The satyr can’t entrance me because of my void magic. I’ll be fine.”

“What happens if he tries to harm you physically?” Gabriel asked.

“He won’t. I’ll take a whistle with me. You can fly overhead until you hear it, then come rescue me.” I paused to narrow my eyes at him. “Unless you don’t think you can fly fast enough.”

“It’s not my flight speed I’m worried about,” he ground out. “It’s you.”

“And I’ll never forgive myself it that satyr hurts someone else if I could have stopped it.”

And that’s how, begrudgingly, Gabriel had flown me halfway across the state toward the Oregon coast, on the outskirts of the Siuslaw National Forest where the satyr had last been spotted. Gabriel and I had assumed it could take hours to lure him out, but it had only been about fifteen minutes since Gabriel had deposited me on a remote hiking trail and taken back to the skies. I hadn’t seen him since, but I knew he was up there, somewhere, waiting.

Now I had to give the signal. Reaching into my pocket, a difficult task given that it was smashed against my captive’s shoulder. I managed to wrangle it out.

The satyr noticed the glint of silver in my hands. “What’s that?”

He stopped so suddenly, I didn’t have time to brace myself. My body lurched with his, and in horror, I dropped the whistle to the ground.

The satyr craned his neck to examine it near his hooved feet. “A whistle?”

I struggled in his firm grasp. “Let me have it.”

“I don’t think so.” He kicked it away with a solid thwack. It shot deep into a blackberry bush, where the thorns would prevent me from ever finding it.

So much for my brilliant plan. I had to gain Gabriel’s attention, so I took in a deep breath to scream.

“Help! He’s over here! Gabri—”

My momentum shifted and before I knew what had happened, the satyr flung me like a pillow onto the ground. I landed hard on my back, the wind forced out of my lungs. Pain radiated across my body as I gasped for breath.

The satyr was on top of me, hand over my mouth. He leaned over me with malice. I got a good look at his beady little eyes for the first time, and the empty depths I saw scared me.

“Be still, little one,” he said in a horrifying soothing voice, like a mother might comfort a crying child. “Don’t fight me.”

His entrancing magic washed over me but I pushed it aside, struggling against his body weight on mine.

His face twisted in confusion. “How are you resisting me?”

I had to get him off of me. Using a self-defense technique I’d learned from my knightly mother, I thrust my hips upward. It knocked him enough off balance that I was able to push him off me and scramble backward.

But the satyr was surprisingly fast, using his spindly legs to thrust forward in a tackle. He landed so hard on my chest that I choked on empty air.

As I sputtered and tried to regain my wits, he had the gall to caress the side of my cheek. “Don’t worry. You’ll enjoy being with me, love. I promise.”

A roar cut through the air above us. The satyr only had a split second to lift his head to the noise when suddenly his weight came off me.

“She’s not your love,” a menacing voice growled. Gabriel towered above me, the satyr wriggling like a worm in his claws.

“G-Ga…” I tried to say his name but didn’t have enough air. I coughed.

Distracted, Gabriel turned to me. “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice ending on a tremble.

Before I could respond, the satyr managed to land a weak kick at Gabriel’s bicep. “She’s mine!” he howled.

Gabriel’s expression became so dark, it would have taken my breath away if I’d had any. “She doesn’t belong to anyone,” he said in a deadly whisper. With his free hand, he punched the satyr in the chest with his stone fist.

The fae’s eyes bulged. He sputtered, getting a taste of his own medicine.

“Melissa?” Gabriel asked, his attention once again on me. “Speak to me.” He tossed the goat man as if he were no more than a discarded bit of paper, straight into the same blackberry bushes with my whistle.

“I’m…okay…” I managed as I sat up.

Gabriel had his strong arms around me in an instant. “I heard your screams. It took me a few minutes to locate you, and when I saw the bastard on top of you…” he couldn’t finish his sentence.

I leaned into him, burying my head into his shoulder despite its hard texture. I could not deny my desire to get as close to him as possible. “I’m fine,” I said slowly as I breathed in mouthfuls of sweet air. “Except you got one thing wrong.”

He laid his chin on top of my head. “What’s that?”

“I do belong to someone…you.” As I spoke the words, I knew them to be true.

Seconds went by. Gabriel didn’t reply, although his arms around me began to shake.

The pounding blood in my veins chilled. Had I made a mistake?

“I’m sorry,” I blurted out. “I was just overcome with emotion. I shouldn’t have—”

He released me so we could stare at each other, nose to nose. I got lost in his steel gray eyes.

“And I belong to you,” he said.

He morphed instantly into his human form, his lips drawing toward mine. As he kissed me, long and deep, he removed any doubt that had been lingering in my heart. I knew then that our relationship wasn’t just the product of circumstance.

Gabriel Alston and I were officially together for the long haul.

Thank you for reading this bonus epilogue to my Paranormal Women's Fiction series, Magical Midlife Mom!

"Are you sure he can't see us?" my daughter Regan whispered, clutching my sleeve.

It was a fair question, given that we were standing only a few feet away from a nasty-looking, dragonfly-winged pixie. He had a scar running across one blind eye and a set of sharp daggers, one in each hand. He scowled as he peered in our direction...and looked right through us, presumably seeing nothing.

"Ida's got an illusion shield up," I said as the pixie wandered slightly away from us. "It must be working."

I was thankful for that too. Our band of merry Stronghold misfits had been holed up inside a rental house outside Redmond, Oregon for only a few days. It had been a production to move us from our last hideout. Moving again would take a lot out of us.

It would have been better if we could strike our enemy first, but Archbishop Idris of the Blessed Order had gone into hiding. He wasn't our only problem. We also had a bunch of bounty hunter fae gunning for us. The pixie was the second one in so many days that had shown up at the remote rental house.

"What are you two doing out here?" a voice growled behind us.

We jumped, not having heard Gabriel Alston approach the outskirts of the ranch that overlooked a set of hills in the distance. You'd think a stone monster gargoyle would make a lot of noise, but sometimes when he glided in the air, he only created the barest whisper on the wind.

I folded my arms in self-defense. "We're staying within the illusion shield perimeter. We're perfectly fine."

"I'd rather you stayed in the house."

"We're too cooped up in there. We needed a change of scenery."

He scowled. "You could have least warned the rest of us that someone else was snooping around."

"We were about to go find you," I said. "We just got distracted by the pixie's scar."

"It's very intimidating," Regan added. "But kind of misleading, don't you think? Scary as it looks, it probably messes with his depth perception."

"I haven't thought of that," I replied. "Do you think that's why he compensates with two daggers instead of one?"

"I think it's a distinct possibility."

Gabriel growled. "This isn't funny."

I wagged a finger at him. "I don't see you doing anything to stop the pixie, you big bad gargoyle."

"That's because I'm a big bad gargoyle who delegates."

"Delegates to whom?" I asked.

Before he could answer, the pixie shrieked, raising his hands above his head and whipping around. He flailed for a few seconds before something smacked into him, and he crumpled to the ground.

Henry, our resident sasquatch with invisibility powers, towered over the pixie's unconscious body. I knew the moment he became visible because Regan flinched in surprise.

Henry waved in Gabriel's general direction. "Got 'im!"

Gabriel stepped past the illusion shield line. We followed on his heels.

Henry blinked in confusion as we came into view. "What are you two doing out here?"

"That's exactly what I asked," Gabriel grumbled. "Talking with them is like asking a pair of cats for directions."

"I'll have you know that most cats have a much better sense of direction than we do," I shot back.

"Yeah!" Regan agreed before she realized I'd insulted us. Then she glared at me.

Henry rolled his eyes, focusing on Gabriel. "What do you want me to do with our little winged pest?"

"I'll take care of him, like I did the last one," Gabriel said.

Regan gasped. "You're not going to kill him, are you?"

"As tempting as it is, no," Gabriel answered. "He's just following orders from Queen Mab. But we do need to get him out of here. I'll fly him a decent distance away so he'll have a hard time finding his way back."

"But he might return, along with more friends," I pointed out.

"That's why I plan on starting a rumor among the fae that we've moved on," Gabriel said. "If I visit a fae hangout relatively close by, perhaps in Nevada at one of the fae-run casinos, I could create the impression that we've split up and are leaving the area."

"You're going to go gambling alone and convince a bunch of fae that you're not with us anymore?" I asked skeptically.

"I agree," Henry interjected. "At least take one of us with you."

"Not just one of us," I argued. "Me. I'm one of the people Queen Mab is looking for."

Gabriel frowned. "That would put you in harm's way."

"Then I could go," Regan volunteered.

"No," Gabriel, Henry, and I said in unison.  

She folded her arms across her chest and glowered in defeat.

I nudged the leg of the unconscious pixie at our feet. "These guys are persistent. You're going to need good bait to make it convincing."

Gabriel didn't look happy, but he finally said, "Fine. You and I will go after I dispose of this trespasser. Be ready for a long flight when I get back or get left behind."

The three of us stepped back as Gabriel grabbed the pixie by the waist, threw him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, then spread his enormous bat wings and took off into the air.

"Gabriel needs to find his chill," Regan muttered.

Henry shook his head at her. "He's just scared for Melissa."

"He should be scared for all of us," I said. "We might be able to stop the fae from sniffing around the ranch, but we have bigger problems beyond that. If the archbishop gets his way, everyone is in danger."

To find out what happens next, pick up your copy of Mom's Last Stand, the conclusion to my Paranormal Women's Fiction series, Magical Midlife Mom!

"This is not a good idea."

Seven-year-old Sadie rolled her chocolate brown eyes at her best friend, Jordan. "Of course, it's a good idea."

"What if we get caught?"

"We won't get caught."

"That's what you said the last time we got caught."

Sadie snorted, the sound a mixture of her seal form and her current human body. "Just trust me."

Sadie and Jordan huddled under their seal coats, hiding among the herd of perfectly normal harbors seals around them. The herd shifted lazily around them, enjoying the first day of spring sunshine on the Oregon Coast after a long winter.

Sadie knew Jordan would go along with her plan. Jordan always did. That's what best friends were for.

But if Sadie's mother, Rowena, found out, she'd be furious. Rowena discouraged the selkies, half-human and half-seal fae, from interacting with humans as much as possible. Sadie reminded herself this was for the harbor seals' own good. They weren't just messing around for fun.

Jordan suddenly tensed. "They're coming."

Two teenage boys laughed, punching each on the arm as they approached the seal herd. The seals around the girls tensed. Their relatively secluded beach had been invaded...again.

Sadie had been around the first time it happened. The two local boys had found a secret path through the nearby woods and scrambled down the cliffs. They were loud and obnoxious, scaring away most of the wildlife. They loved harassing the sunbathing seals most of all.

"Wait for my signal," Sadie whispered, pulling her fur coat tight around her. The two selkie girls could switch between forms, but they could only transform back into animals with their selkie fur coats.

The boys broke out in a run toward them. A few harbor seals closest to the waves lumbered back into the ocean, but most of the seals wouldn't make it before the boys came at them. They grabbed sticks off the sand, screeching and laughing at the terrified, clumsy seals.

Sadie waited until they'd almost reached the edge of the herd when she yelled, "Now!"

Sadie and Jordan rose from the middle of the herd, draping their pelts over their bodies like robes, and screamed at the top of their lungs.

"GO AWAY!"

"LEAVE THE SEALS ALONE!"

The boys nearly fell in the sand. One of them flipped around on his heels, fleeing from the surprise appearance of two howling creatures.

But the second boy stood his ground. "They're just kids!"

The first boy stopped and turned around. "What?"

"Look!"

He pointed at the girls, who were still screaming at them to leave. A smug smile spread across his face. "You don't scare us."

The second boy slowly gained confidence too. "That's right. We're bigger than you."

By this time, most of the seals had managed to get into the water, leaving only Sadie and Jordan behind.

"Now look what you done," the first boy said. "You spoiled our fun."

"Good," Sadie said haughtily. "You shouldn't bother the seals anyway. It's against your laws."

"So?" the second boy asked. "Who's going to stop us? You?"

"They won't," a voice behind the girls replied, "but I will."

A breathtakingly beautiful woman with silver hair and dark skin, the same as the selkie girls, rose out of the water. She'd wrapped her pelt around her as well, but the boys were much more concerned with the sharp trident she held in one hand. It gleamed in the afternoon light, accentuating three sharp points.

She pointed it at the boys.

"If I hear of you bothering the harbor seals again, I will personally skewer you. Do I make myself clear?"

Behind her, the seals who had abandoned the beach bobbed in the waves. They let out a barking roar of approval that drowned out all other noise, even the mighty ocean.

The boys didn't hesitate this time. They ran screeching back toward the cliffside, never looking back.

With the boys gone, Jordan shrunk under the woman's angry gaze. "Rowena, I'm so sorry. It wasn't my idea."

"I know whose idea it was," Rowena said, glaring at Sadie. "You disobeyed my direct order. Neither of you are supposed to interact with humans, especially cruel ones like those boys."

"But they were bothering the herd," Sadie protested. "Someone had to stop them."

"That's an adult job, not for children." Rowena said. "Now come. I must think up a proper punishment for your disobedience."

Sadie gasped. "Not kelp harvesting again. I hate kelp soup."

"Then double shifts of kelp harvesting for you."

As Sadie groaned, Jordan nodded solemnly. "Yes, Rowena."

Sadie lagged behind as her best friend transformed back into a seal and dove into the water. Her bottom lip jutted out in a pout. "Selkies protect the herd. It's my duty."

One last glare from Rowena sent Sadie back into seal form. The harbor pup gave her mother one last baleful look before sinking deep into the sea.

Rowena waited until she'd sulked out of sight before allowing herself a small smile. Her daughter Sadie may be small but she was also fierce. One day, she would be a great leader of the selkies.

Read more about selkies in the Magical Midlife Mom series.

Guntram, an aging lumberjack of a man with the grumpy personality to match, sat cross-legged in front of the shimmering disc of the breach. He remained calm and collected, as if meditating in the swaying forest around us, while the mirror-thin disc cut to a world of monsters on the other side.

That would have been all fine and dandy if a gigantic tentacled monster wasn't trying to get through.

"Can you seal that breach a little faster?" I asked, absorbing more fire pith from the metal charm around my neck. I traced a spiky circle with a cross in the air. A fireball flew out of my fingertips and singed a tentacle about to smack Guntram across the face. The aftermath smelled like burnt calamari that had been sitting out for too long. Ew.

"These things take time, Ina," Guntram reminded me patiently, his own fingers a blur as he wrote complex sigil after complex sigil. Sealing an interdimensional breach meant threading your own life energy through the gateway to bar it shut. One false move could cut us shepherds in half. While we could rock all sorts of elemental magic, we weren't known to regrow limbs.

Apparently, the Lovecraftian octopus trying to shove its way into our world had no problem losing an appendage or two. I burned it again with another fireball, but I was running out of fire pith. I didn't dare try smacking it with water, since it would likely absorb that and use it against me. That only left much less effective earth and air to attack the marine-based creature.

When Guntram and I had first found the breach, the giant octopus vaettur had already been trying to wedge its way through the hole into our woods. I told Guntram that we should banish it first, then seal the breach. Guntram, however, had decided this was a unique opportunity for me to defend an active breach while he sealed it shut. As a rookie shepherd, he was always looking to impart a good lesson.

But now I was running low on the one element that could stave off the vaettur. I tentatively sliced at the octopus with a wind gust, but it barely fazed the beast. Ditto with flinging rocks. I couldn't keep this up for much longer.

I knew I shouldn't break Guntram's concentration, but I was running out of options. "I really don't want to explain to the others how you died today," I said. "They already think I'm a loose cannon."

"You're a solid shepherd, Ina. Just concentrate on using less fire pith per sigil, and you'll be fine."

I beamed at the rare compliment from the old man.

"Now, shut your blabbering mouth, so I can finish this."

Followed by a blistering rebuke. Very on brand.

But Guntram had a point. I had to dole out smaller bits of fire pith to keep my tentacled friend at bay.

As Guntram closed his eyes and continued to draw sigils, I concentrated on pulling the tiniest bits of fire pith from my charm. I also waited until more of a tenacle emerged before blasting it, sending the limb curling back into the shimmering disc. Eight small fireballs went by.

When Guntram began the wrap-up sequence of sigils, I felt confident things would go smoothly.

That's when the vaettur's beak busted through. Unlike a normal octopus mouth, this thing had razor-sharp serrated edges and pulsed with an eerie greenish light. It snapped with a scary staccato.

"Guntram..." I warned.

"Sh!" he hissed back, his brow beaded with sweat.

He had just a few more sigils to go, but the beak kept on coming, growing longer and longer. It was easily the size of my arm.

And it was snapping dangerously close to Guntram, who didn't appear at all alarmed at the incoming threat.

I couldn't conserve pith any longer, not if I wanted Guntram to keep his head on his shoulders. I absorbed the rest of the charm's fire pith and drew crosses for a continued fire blast. I let it fly just seconds before the vaettur chomped off the end of Guntram's nose.

Waves of heat distorted the air as the beak retreated back into the disc. Unfortunately, it didn't completely disappear. I kept up the fire stream like a flamethrower, knowing I was running low on fuel.

And then I sizzled out.

The beak shook itself and then surged forward toward my mentor.

"No!" I dove forward, thinking I could at least physically take the blow for Guntram.

"Finished!" Guntram said at the same time.

The shimmering disc of the breach vanished, slicing the beak in two. It fell harmlessly in front of Guntram's lap.

Well, almost harmlessly. Given my forward momentum, I tripped on it and nearly fell onto my face. I drew a quick air sigil just in time to cushion the blow so the plunge only knocked a bit of air out of my lungs.

Guntram towered over me as I flipped over on my back. "Was that so hard?"

"Yes." I panted in fresh gulps of air. "Absolutely yes."

He nodded in satisfaction. "It's good to keep you on your toes."

I waved at my body. "Except I'm not on my toes."

"Close enough. We're alive. It was touch and go there at the end."

My eyes widened. "You didn't know if I could protect you?"

He shrugged. "There was a slim chance you'd fail."

"Why risk your life then?" my voice rose to a shout. "We could have just attacked the stupid thing together."

"But now you're stronger. And the next time, if we don't have a choice, you'll be better prepared. Besides," an amused gleam twinkled in his eyes, "That was kind of fun."

"Fun?" I repeated incredously. "You're kidding, right?"

He didn't answer, drawing a sigil that launched him straight into the air. His raven companions, who had been waiting in the treetops surrounding us, also took to the skies, encasing him in a feathery swirl as he took off back toward our homestead.

"Mentors," I grumbled. "Can't live with them." Then I looked down at the severed octopus beak at my feet. "And definitely wouldn't want to live without them."

Read Ina's story from the beginning with Chasing Lightning.

(From Chapter 1 of Magical Midlife Mom, Book #4. NOTE: This preview has been modified to minimize spoilers.)

I pushed the spin button on the slot machine one more time. The brightly colored lights on the screen flashed, tinkling with happy notes as they landed on three bars. It was a small win to recoup my losses. Yawning, I hit the button again.

Since the casinos didn’t have clocks to encourage the gamblers to keep spending money, I was forced to check my phone for the time. Two a.m. I wouldn’t last much longer before I fell asleep drooling over the slot machine. I collected the ticket with my meager monetary remains and walked over to Gabriel at the poker table.

Once I reached his side, I whispered into his ear, “It’s getting late.”

“Any luck on our mission?” he asked, equally as quiet while the businessmen next to him chatted.

“Nope. And the only thing I won tonight was a gallon of soda.” I squirmed from the mounting pressure in my bladder. “Speaking of which, I need to use the bathroom.”

“Okay, I’ll play one last hand and call it quits.”

“Sounds good.” I brushed my hand against his jacket sleeve as a parting gesture. A magical heaviness settled into my body. Interesting.

I skirted around the table and made my way to the women’s restroom. Behind the swinging saloon-style door, I found a small but clean space with three stalls and two sinks. The industrial soap couldn’t erase the lingering essence of smoke, but it smelled better than the gaming rooms. I entered the farthest of the three empty stalls.

I heard someone enter the bathroom outside the stall as I finished up. I unlocked the door and found a male custodian between me and the sinks. His rolling garbage can blocked the closed door in the narrow space.

“Excuse me,” I said, trying to get around him to wash my hands.

He paused for a long second, but he finally moved, letting me pass.

I tried not to look at him in the mirror as I slathered soap over my hands. He was staring at me. The guy’s waiting for me to clean up, I reminded myself. No big deal.

I shook water from my fingers and leaned over for a paper towel.

He blocked me with his shoulder. “Where’s your daughter?”

My adrenaline spiked. “What did you say?”

“I asked, where’s your daughter?” He took a menacing step forward, his dull brown eyes flashing a shiny red. “I know who you are, Melissa Hartley. Everyone is searching for you.”

I gasped. “You’re a fae.”

“Half fae. My family won’t let me forget it.” He snapped his fingers, and embers sparked on the tips.

I retreated a half step, the counter digging into my side. “You look plenty powerful to me.”

“It’s not enough for my uncle,” he shot back. “He says if I were full fae, I could do so much more than start a few fires. If I capture you, maybe they’ll finally respect me.”

“Please,” I said, channeling reason into my voice. “I won’t go willingly, and there’s no way the casino will let you drag a person out of here kicking and screaming.”

His eyes blazed a full fire engine red. “You won’t scream after I choke you. Then I’ll stuff you in the garbage bin”—he gestured at what I now realized was quite a large can—“and take you wherever I want. Maybe I’ll even torture you to tell me where you’ve stashed your kid. My uncle will never pick on me after that.”

He lunged at me.

I anticipated his strike and dodged right. I kicked at his legs, trying to knock him off balance, but I missed.

“Stop squirming,” he hissed, waving a flaming hand in my face.

There wasn’t a lot of room to step aside, so I had to move slightly toward him to avoid being burned. He used that proximity to shove me to the ground. I tried to get up but slid on the tiles. He bore down on me, pinning both of my wrists to the floor, our faces close together as his fire ignited with both hands. I flinched, anticipating pain, but my void magic nullified its effects.

The custodian noticed, dumbfounded. “Why aren’t you burning?”

“You’re not the only one with powers,” I said before headbutting him.

He yelped, the blow taking him by surprise. Unfortunately, it made me see stars too. I tried to aim a knee into his groin but couldn’t get enough leverage. He recovered faster than I expected, his hands coming around my throat, full of flames.

“Whore,” he seethed, squeezing my airways shut. “You’ll pay for that!”

I struggled against him, the sickening smell of my burning collar filling my nostrils. I managed to land a few solid punches to his sides, but he wouldn’t let up.

I couldn’t keep up a good fight without air. My lungs ached as my vision went in and out of focus. My body felt like it was slowly detaching from me as it became heavy.

Too heavy.

Traces of Gabriel’s stone magic still hummed in my veins. With my last ounce of will, I summoned the sensation to my right hand and struck the custodian’s face.

The punch landed with a solid thwack. He cried out and loosened his grip.

I didn’t waste the opportunity. I shifted Gabriel’s stone skin magic to my right leg, then thrust upward, right into his groin.

He gave a high-pitched squeal and keeled over.

I panted over him, pulling that stone skin back to my hand, ready to smash his skull in. But as he whimpered, I held back. Not only had I never killed anyone, we actually wanted this sick jerk alive. He’d tell other fae that he’d seen me, which was the entire point of our mission.

I couldn’t walk away without one final threat, though. “If you come anywhere near my daughter, I’ll rip your junk off.” To emphasize my point, I slapped him with my normal left hand.

He sobbed as I left through the swinging door.

Magical Midlife Mom Paranormal Women's Fiction Series

Single mom Melissa Hartley discovers that magic exists in the worst way possible: through her teenage daughter. Follow along as she navigates the world of the fae to protect her child from an ancient prophecy.

Until next time, happy adventuring!

-DM Fike

This story gives a little bit more backstory on Melissa's mom, Barbara. Fans of my work know that I love to take unlikeable characters and make you think twice about them. I realize this is a gamble, since many readers like characters in neatly labeled boxes, but I believe that understanding the human side of people, even ones we don't initially like, is important. There have been many times in my life where I judged someone without really understanding why they might be acting they way they do. I didn't become besties with any of them, but it gave me a new perspective on their struggles.

This book also is probably the most "twisty" of the series that should keep you guessing up until the finale.

Enjoy and as always, happy adventuring!

-DM Fike

(told from Melissa Hartley's point of view)

Java Haus is a tiny manufactured home turned coffee shop, the outside painted light purple with brown trim. Decked out in faux hardwood throughout, the walls had been knocked down to provide more space for seating. I found the place jam packed this early on a weekday. A mixture of blue- and white-collar workers, hailing from nearby government offices and industrial companies, needed their morning coffee.

I placed my mocha order with the barista, complimenting her bright pink hair, then found a relatively quiet corner to wait. I pulled out my phone and went over my notes for my big meeting later this afternoon.

I had to convince our new CEO not to reduce employee benefits. So many of my coworkers depended on decent health insurance coverage. I went over my speech points over and over again. I had to get it right.

The barista finally called my name. I strolled across the bar to grab my coffee, attention glued to my phone. I grabbed one of two paper cups on the counter, the one with my name scrawled across it. Without really paying attention to where I was going, I flipped around to head out the door.

And collided with a solid, hulking mass.

My cup tilted out of control toward an expensive black suit. I watched in horror as mocha splashed across the fabric.

I winced as my eyes traveled upward to meet the person I’d just doused with coffee.

My gaze kept going up and up and up.

A giant with broad shoulders like a football player glanced down at me with steel blue-gray eyes. Dark brown hair with slightly graying temples framed his angular face. He frowned at his stained attire.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, shoving the stupid phone into my pocket and grabbing napkins off a side table. “Let me help you.”

My clumsy fingers slapped the tissue too hard on his chest. The guy had no give. His torso felt as if it could have been carved in stone.

“No need for that,” he said, his voice deep. He removed his jacket, revealing a taut collared shirt that clearly showed he knew the inside of a weight room. It wouldn’t surprise me if he could lift the entire coffee bar and haul it over his shoulder.

Or he could lift me and take me anywhere.

A burst of heat lit my cheeks and spread across my body. Was I really having a hot flash right now?

I tried to get ahold of myself. I should offer to repair his suit, maybe have it washed. I opened my mouth to propose that plan of action.

Instead, I said, “Give me your phone number.” Loudly and with a hint of desperation. The pink-haired barista heard me and winked at us between making drink orders, amused.

The giant noticed it too. “I’m not interested.”

I wanted to fade into the floor. “Not for that,” I said, which only further emphasized that I was thinking about a hook-up. I just wasn’t going to get out of this unscathed. “I can pay to dry clean your suit.”

The giant assessed me. His full attention felt like being stalked by a quiet predator of the night: calculating, smart, and ultimately sizing you up for a meal.

I bit the inside of my cheek to control myself.  Curse my flailing middle-aged libido.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, turning to dismiss me. “I can afford it.”

Clearly, he could. His suit probably cost more than a month of my salary. But his casual dismissal of me—the poor, single, struggling mom—put me on the defensive.

“I can afford it too!” I announced. I whipped out a business card from my purse. “If you change your mind.”

He took it. Instead of trashing it, which I thought he might, he actually read it. One of his eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You work for Cascade Vista?”

“Yep. I practically run the place.” I purposely implied I might be important. Sure, I was just an office manager, but he didn't need to know that.

“Thank you, Ms. Hartley,” he said, carefully tucking my card away in his wallet. “I’ll let you know if I wish for you to pay the bill.”

“Great.” An awkward silence fell over us. There was no other reason to talk. I backed toward the door. “Hear from you later.

Then I fled back to my car.

It wasn’t until I’d banged my forehead against the steering wheel in shame that I realized I hadn’t even caught the guy’s name. Smooth, Melissa. First you get yourself an expensive dry cleaning bill. Then you pseudo-flirt with a guy you spilled a drink all over.

“And I didn’t even get to drink my mocha,” I grumbled as I started the car.

I really hoped this marked the end of my day’s bad luck.

Read the actual way Melissa and Gabriel meet in Mom of the Chosen One!

Henry grunted as he plopped down into the wire chair. He instantly regretted that decision when its flimsy legs shook. He grabbed the rim of the circular metal table, transferring its wobbliness to the striped umbrella attached to it. He worried he might have broken something, but the entire structure finally settled down.

It had been a long day at Stronghold Incorporated, and Henry was starving. He'd just ordered a late dinner at this small cafe not far from the office. He deserved a quiet meal after watching disgruntled fae protest at the Capitol Building. All of the other patrons sat inside the large glass windows, throwing their jackets and hats into corners of their booths. Only Henry, with his plaid shirt covering most of his excessive chest hair, felt warm enough to dine outside in the waning light of the late spring evening. As a sasquatch, the cold rarely bothered him, even on his exposed face and hands.

He allowed himself a tenative stretch before relaxing on his seat. The day's work was finally over.

Or so he thought.

An alarm suddenly blasted through the narrow downtown corridor. Henry frowned, looking for a vehicle's blinking headlights to indicate someone's alarm had gone off. Instead, he saw a bank's entrance three doors down slam open, increasing the siren's decibel level. A heavyset man in a ski mask spilled onto the sidewalk. He flung a heavy backpack over his shoulder.

The burglar ran straight for him.

Henry's instincts kicked in as a weight from his gut washed over his entire body. He'd gone invisible.

But he wasn't sure how he could help. The Salem police didn't know about fae magic, and Stronghold certainly didn't condone their employees interferring with human business.

As the burglar raced toward him, though, grinning like an idiot through his ski mask, Henry knew he wasn't just going to let this guy get away.

Henry stood, barely moving the wire chair as he silently stepped into the burglar's path. Even without his magic, he knew how to move without making a sound. Not that the burglar would have heard him, anyway, since the guy was pounding the sidewalk so hard.

Henry considered tackling him, but at the last second, thought better of it. He swerved to the side to allow the burglar to rush past him, only he left one foot out and hooked an ankle against the thief's.

The burglar crashed onto the cement like a ton of bricks.

The patrons in the window of the cafe gasped, wide-eyed. One woman screamed, her voice muted through the glass. The burglar glanced around, his hands scuffed where he'd tried to break his fall.

"What the f—?"

"Stop!" a security guard finally dashed out of the bank toward them. "Don't move!"

The burglar had no intention of complying. He tried to scramble to his feet.

The security guard reached for his gun, threatening a shoot-out.

Henry gave a long suffering sigh. He'd already had to douse a few fireball-happy fae at the protests today. The last thing he wanted was gunfire to ruin his supper.

Henry plopped down on the burglar's back just as hard as he had onto the wire chair earlier.

The burglar let out a "Oof!" as the air rushed out his lungs. Once he caught his breath, he tried to move, but Henry pressed down on him more.

"I said, 'Stop!'" The security guard halted a few feet from them, pointing a gun unknowingly inches from Henry's head. Henry froze.

The burglar squirmed underneath him. "What's going on?" he shrieked.

"Spread your arms on the ground!" the security guard yelled.

The burglar didn't comply, still trying to break free. Henry, not wanting to a bullet in his skull, slowly leaned over and whispered into the thief's ear.

"Do it, or I'll kill you myself."

The burglar gasped, frozen.

The security guard, who hadn't heard Henry, nodded in satisfaction. "That's right. Be still, and everyone lives."

Henry waited, still leaning over the burglar's ear, until the security guard slowly withdrew handcuffs at his side.

"Good boy," he whispered to the thief. "And remember, if you try any funny stuff, I'll be watching you."

The burglar whimpered as Henry rolled off him, but he remained in place on the ground. Henry managed to slip past the security guard so that they didn't touch.

Henry quietly strode over to the cafe's main entrance and slipped inside. No one noticed the door opening and closing since everyone had their eyes peeled on the burglar's capture.

Henry didn't go visible again until he was standing next to a column, mostly thrown in shadow. Then he waltzed up to the pickup window, where a slack-jawed cashier tried to peek above the heads of the patrons to watch the action.

He strode up to her and asked, "Is order number 561 done?"

She blinked a few times before snapping to reality. "Uh, yeah." She pushed a plate of food towards him.

"Can you put it in a to-go box?" Henry asked. "I think I'm done hanging downtown for today."

Read more about Henry the sasquatch in Mom of the Chosen One.

Vincent drummed his fingers on the silky tablecloth, checking his phone for the fifth time in as many minutes.

He tugged at his uncomfortable tie. He'd had to book this restaurant reservation months in advance. Ina promised to wear a dress if she could see him in a suit. She really wanted this.

And now she was late.

The stuffy waiter came by, sniffing as he looked down his nose. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to order?"

"Yes," he said, trying to keep the edge out of his voice.

The waiter gave him a pitying look that said he'd seen this scenario all too often: the hapless date getting stood up, on Valentine's Day no less.

Vincent massaged the back of his neck, trying to stem his unease. Yes, Ina was a nature wizard and monsters weren't known for going on rampages at a convenient time. He'd known she might have to go on duty, so he'd texted her before arriving at the restaurant to ensure she could make it. She'd replied she was on her way.

That was an hour ago.

His leg started to get twitchy, and he bounced it up and down under the table. Maybe Ina had run into something really bad. She could be hurt on a mountainside, injured and unable to call for help...or worse.

He checked his phone again. No messages.

He finally pushed himself back from the table. He couldn't ignore the sinking feeling in his gut any longer. Ina had to be in trouble. Even if he didn't know where to start, he would look for her until he found her.

A commotion near the front door caught his attention. All the other couples in the darkened room stopped clinking their glasses and silverware to see what was going on.

"You can't go in there!" the waiter cried, trying to block someone from walking past the host's podium.

"Watch me."

Ina skirted around him and scanned the room. The tension in Vincent's body evaporated at seeing her, but when he noticed the details, his muscled stiffened again. Ina's black hair, normally pulled back in a ponytail, was a tangle of twigs and dirt. Her pale green dress, also muddy, had been torn, exposing a few scratches tinged with blood. She wasn't wearing any shoes, creating footprints as she stormed across the room toward him.

"Ina," he breathed. The rage in her eyes indicated she was clearheaded, and her movements didn't appear sluggish.

She ignored the gasps of the other patrons as she threw her arms wide, exposing even more rips down the side of her dress.

"I spent a month's worth of plumbing jobs on this outfit!" she exclaimed. "But then one stupid vaettur jumped me, and this happened."

She held a pair of scuffed up high heels, the tips of which had been snapped clean off.

Tears formed in Ina's eyes. "I'm sorry."

Before Vincent could reply, the waiter got between them. "Miss!" he cried. "You cannot enter this establishment in your condition. I have to ask you to leave."

Vincent raised his voice. "She's my date."

The waiter flinched at Vincent's tone. "Yes, well," he sputtered. "I understand you were waiting for her, but given circumstances..."

"It's okay, Vince," Ina said. "I'm not welcome here." She turned back to the entrance.

Vincent shouldered past the waiter. "I'm going with you."

"Sir," the waiter called after them. "What about your bill?"

Vincent gave the waiter a look that made him wither. "I didn't order anything."

"Yes, but we have a reservation policy that states if you forfeit a reservation, you'll be blacklisted."

Ina slapped on a neutral expression. "You should stay and eat. I'll catch up to you later."

"Absolutely not." Vincent faced the waiter. "Go ahead. Blacklist me. The prices here are criminal anyway."

The waiter gaped as Vincent threw his arm around Ina and escorted her out. A couple near the entrance clapped as they left, causing Ina to crack a small smile. That made Vincent grin too, and he squeezed her tight as he led her toward the parking lot.

They ended up getting a bag of fast food and eating it on a worn picnic table at a nearby state park. Ina drew sigils for inner warmth so the chill wind of a dark winter evening wouldn't bother them.

Ina bit into her burger, then pulled her tattered dress sleeve back over her shoulder. "So much for our fancy date night."

"Says who?" Vincent countered. "I'm eating great food underneath a sky full of stars and sitting across from the most beautiful, badass girl on the planet. It doesn't get much better than this."

Ina put down her food and leaned her head on Vincent's shoulder. "Thanks."

"Anytime."

If you liked this slice-of-life story, read more of Ina's adventures in Chasing Lightning.

Regan and I ran like our lives depended on it.

Our idyllic surroundings contrasted with our frantic pace. Yellow and white wildflowers dotted the rolling terrain surrounding us. Beyond the dirt trail winding through the grass, a beach curved along gently lapping waves. During low tide, the dark wet sand marked where the waterline would once again rise in a few hours. A flock of seagulls picked at crab remains as they waddled across the Point St. George shoreline.

We couldn’t stop to admire the scenery. We had to keep running, or our pursuer would catch us, and it would be all over.

I spared a glance over my shoulder, wiping sweat from my brow. “She’s gaining on us.”

“You need to pick up the pace,” Regan said ahead of me.

I knew she could go faster but had slowed for my sake. I was no longer a nimble teenager like Regan.

“You go ahead,” I said between deep breaths.

“And leave you behind? Never.”

The woman behind us shouted, waving her arms menacingly. Dressed all in black from her leather jacket to her jeans, she should have been sweating in the midday heat, not closing the distance between us. Her words were lost to the seagull cries, but we got the general gist of her threatening message.

“I can keep up,” I insisted. “Go.”

Regan obliged, her more casual strides growing longer, her arms pumping furiously as the trail veered away from the beach. Her strawberry blond ponytail swung from side to side as she pushed her athletic frame forward. She’d been on the high school track team until a few weeks ago and was used to sprinting.

I could run just fine, but I was more accustomed to a recreational jog. I kept having to push frizzy chestnut hair out of my face that didn’t quite fit into my own lopsided ponytail. The path’s incline steepened, causing my thighs to burn in protest. Two six-foot-tall ridges formed on either side of us, slopes of wind-swept sand giving us some cover from the woman in black.

I hoped the elevation change would slow down our pursuer, but as we exited that narrow tunnel back onto a flat field, she’d gained on us.

“Her speed’s . . . not natural . . .” I panted.

A vehicle sat in the large gravel parking lot up ahead. For once, I was happy to see my mother’s beat-up hatchback. If we could make it to the car before our pursuer, everything would be okay.

“Final stretch!” Regan cried. She took off like a rocket, leaving me in her literal dust as her sneakers shook up the earth. I groaned but forced my speed up a notch.

The screams of our pursuer intensified even as the California coast winds pushed against us. The first distinct words reached my ears.

“. . . You’ll never outrun the fae at this rate! You’re too slow!”

Regan made it to the car well ahead of me. She whipped around, her eyes scanned behind me. “She’s almost on you!”

I urged my legs to pump faster, but they responded with a cramp that halved my speed.

“Slow her down!” I yelled at my daughter.

Regan blanched. “I can’t do that!”

“Do you want her”—I hacked phlegm from my aching throat—“to win?”

Regan hesitated for a moment, but then she cupped her hands around her mouth so her words would carry across the distance.

“Stop running, Barbara!”

My mother had almost gotten to my side when Regan’s words rang out. “You’re trying to cheat!” she shrieked as she whizzed past me.

“It’s not working,” I argued, attempting to accelerate.

“Yes, it is!” Barbara yelled as she slowed down. She skidded to a halt even though we had several yards left to get to the car.

I gloated as I passed her. “You should be proud. Your magic training is paying off.”

I spoke too soon. Barbara’s arms and legs strained as if wading through the ocean itself. With a few frantic motions, she suddenly surged forward again.

“Regan!” I screamed. “Do something!”

“STOP!” my daughter commanded again.

It didn’t faze Barbara. She caught up to me, matching my pace. “Pathetic!” she yelled beside me. “Relying on your daughter to save your own skin.”

I swallowed my sarcastic reply. It would cost me precious seconds, and I would not let my fae hunter mother beat me at her own stupid training exercise.

“C’mon, Mom!” Regan encouraged. “You can do it!”

My hand stretched for the car as the ground beneath me changed from dirt to gravel. Barbara and I were neck-and-neck, but I had the advantage of a slightly longer stride. I could still beat her.

Or I would have, if Barbara hadn’t jabbed her hip into mine, knocking me off balance.

I stumbled, and in that split second of recovery, Barbara shoved past me and slammed her palm on the hatchback fender in victory.

Magical Midlife Mom Paranormal Women's Fiction Series

Single mom Melissa Hartley discovers that magic exists in the worst way possible: through her teenage daughter. Follow along as she navigates the world of the fae to protect her child from an ancient prophecy.

Until next time, happy adventuring!

-DM Fike

It had already been a long day when my teenage daughter Regan and I ran into the nearest grocery store to grab a few essentials. We'd run out of bread, milk, and most importantly, coffee. Regan said we could skip shopping until the weekend, but I insisted we go. I could not skip morning coffee, not even for a day.

Arms full of what we needed (because carts are for wussies), we picked the line with only one person ahead of us, which of course was the worst choice. Not only did the other lines move faster, but we had a crabby Karen arguing over a coupon.

(Quick aside: I understand that it's unfair to all the Karens of the world that their name got associated with self-important, middle-aged women. One of the nicest teachers Regan ever had went by Karen, even to her young students. It's cruel irony, I know, but it is quite a handy shortcut to describe what happened next.)

"This says I should get a dollar off," the frumpy Karen wearing an oversized coat snapped at the young cashier, who only looked a few years older than Regan. "And I'm not leaving until you ring it up."

"I'm so sorry, ma'am," the poor kid said back. "But that coupon expired a month ago, and my system's not registering it."

"Then put it in manually."

"I don't know how," she muttered, utterly miserable.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," I interrupted. "It's just a dollar."

"Mo-om," Regan grumbled, trying to hide her face behind a jug of milk.

Karen rounded her beady little eyes on me. "Mind your own business, wench."

"Wench?" I wrinkled my nose. "What kind of insult is that? Victorian England?"

"Or the Middle Ages," Regan piped up. Apparently the urge to correct me overcame her need to blend in the background. "We just read Canterbury Tales in English class today, and they talked about a 'wenche thikke.'"

"You mean using 'thick' to describe women isn't some youth thing?" I asked.

"Apparently not," Regan said. "Chaucer beat us to it by several hundred years."

"Well, at least I'm getting insulted by historically accurate slang."

"Will the two of you shut up?" Karen screeched. "I'm trying to get my dollar!"

I sighed. "If it means so much to you, I'll give you one." I glanced down at the groceries in my hand, unable to put them on the counter because Karen's stuff was taking up all the space. "Regan, can you help me?"

Regan juggled the milk in her arms to free one hand. "Where's your purse?"

"Over here on my left side." When she scooted to the right, I said, "Your other left."

The growing number of people in line watched us dance in bemusement. The cashier looked like she wanted to melt into the floor.

Karen wasn't too happy when Regan managed to pull out a dollar. "I don't want that. I want to use my coupon!"

"Just take it!" the bearded guy behind me cried. I noticed he had two boxes of craft beer tucked inside both elbows.

I gave him a knowing smile. "You're going to need to drink that after we're done here."

He chuckled. "Tell me about it."

"I don't want your money, you crazy hag!" Karen yelled.

"Oh," I said dryly. "I'm a hag now. Is that an upgrade?"

"Let me handle this." Regan scooted forward, waving the dollar slowly back and forth in front of Karen. "Look at this," she cooed. "It's the dollar you asked for."

Uh oh. I knew what Regan was doing. We'd recently discovered she had the magical ability to talk people into doing whatever she wanted them to do.

"Regan..." I said in my motherly warning voice.

Regan ignored me. "You really want this dollar, don't you?" she asked sweetly.

"I do want the dollar," Karen said, eyes blank as she reached for it.

"And you'll apologize to the cashier, right?"

Karen turned vaguely toward the cashier. "I'm sorry for holding up the line."

The bewildered cashier stared at her in shock. "I accept your apology?" she asked, unsure of what was going on.

"Great, everyone's happy," bearded beer guy said. "Can we just move things along now?"

Karen stayed eerily quiet as the cashier rang up Karen's items as quickly as humanly possible, almost dropping a sack of goods in her haste. Regan wanted to 'encourage' Karen to donate money to the local charity when the cashier asked, but she didn't dare cross my piercing glare.

Everyone behind us cheered as Karen pushed her cart away. I leaned over and whispered to Regan, "Have I told you how grateful I am that you can't pull that mojo on me?"

"Who says I can't?" Regan countered mischeviously.

"Because if you did, I would have bought you that ridiculously expensive pair of jeans you wanted last month."

"They are so cool though!"

"They were pre-nastied with holes and tears."

"That's fashion, Mom."

I rolled my eyes as I picked up our bagged groceries. "Then I guess I'll never get fashion."

But that was okay because the grateful cashier had just rung up my favorite blend of roasted coffee beans. Tomorrow was looking bright. Nothing could go wrong if I had my morning cup of coffee.

Magical Midlife Mom Paranormal Women's Fiction Series

Single mom Melissa Hartley discovers that magic exists in the worst way possible: through her teenage daughter. Follow along as she navigates the world of the fae to protect her child from an ancient prophecy.

Until next time, happy adventuring!

-DM Fike

This confirms one of my daughters is 1) a snarky tween and 2) an offline Internet troll. (Fun fact: I thought the older, middle school daughter had written the note, but it turned out to be the 3rd grader!)

My daughter's sassiness is a great segue to today's big news: Mom on a Quest is now available on Amazon as an ebook, paperback, hardback, and in Kindle Unlimited! Single mom Melissa Hartley continues her quest to protect her daughter Regan from magical fae forces (with a strong cup of coffee in hand, of course).

This has been my best series book launch to date, and I'm excited to see how readers like the sequel.

Until next time, happy adventuring!

-DM Fike

Of course, my phone lost cell service two minutes 'til midnight.

I cursed as I ran off the homestead property, drawing an inner heat sigil to keep me warm during the heavy snowfall as I searched for a signal. The already foot-high snowdrifts sucked at my boots as I tried desparately to find a way to watch the New Year's Ball drop in Times Square in real time.

As a nature wizard, I vowed to protect all of goddess Nasci's creatures from supernatural harm year-round. That meant working on holidays, and normally that didn't bother me. I wasn't big on costumes. Fireworks were too loud. Even the gift-giving of Christmas held little appeal to me.

But New Year's Day was always special to me. Growing up, my dad would make traditional Japanese dishes called osechi ryori and give me a little money to spend. It was the one night of the year my mom didn't scold me for being up at midnight. And, given how much trouble I generally caused, I liked the idea of wiping the slate clean for another year.

Which is why I couldn't stop a string of curses as the seconds ticked by and no matter where I went, I couldn't get cell phone service. I finally gave up when I realized it was 12:01.

I'd missed New Year's.

"So much for new beginnings." I drew my hand back to toss my stupid phone into a snow bank, too mad to care that I might have to buy a new burner with my hard-earned cash later.

The phone screen lit up before I could chuck it.

I blinked in the sudden brightness. "Oh, now you want to save yourself," I grumbled as I clicked to see what stupid notification had decided to pop up.

But it wasn't an app. It was my Vincent, my game warden boyfriend. He'd had to work tonight, but his text had just managed to come through.

"Happy New Year!" he'd written, followed by a string of emojis and a photo of him in his Silver Subaru, raising a thermos of coffee up high.

I smiled. I knew he only drank coffee when he was sleep deprived. I tried to write him back, but I'd lost cell service again. Still, I felt a little better, knowing he was thinking of me.

I was too busy staring at my phone screen to notice a shadowy figure approach in the snow. The newcomer slammed into my thigh, and I shrieked until I realized it was only Kam, one of the homestead's two sentry cougars.

"Hey, hey," I said as she rubbed her forehead hard into my knees, almost throwing me off. "What are you doing?"

"Kam?" a voice called behind her. "Have you found Ina?"

Kam mewed back.

Sipho emerged between two lodgepole pines, wearing a long cloak over her muscular frame that I knew had heat sigils woven into them. She waved at me. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

"Why?" I asked, my heartrate spiking. "Are we under attack?"

She grinned. "Not unless you consider apple cider an assault. Callum's all wound up about it being midnight on January 1st. He insists we should drink a glass of something special to celebrate."

Callum was Sipho's young forger apprentice. He'd only been with us a few months, so it made sense that he still cared about stuff like holidays, unlike most other shepherds of Nasci.

"Do you want some apple cider?" Sipho asked.

A warmness spread over me that had nothing to do with my inner heat sigil. "Sure. Let's go."

As I followed my friend and her mountain lion back toward the flickering windows of her log cabin, I realized that even though some traditions change, we can still keep them alive in our own way. It may not be my father's cooking or watching the clock change over, but getting a warm message from a loved one and sharing a drink sounded like the perfect way to start a new year.

If you liked this slice-of-life story, read more of Ina's adventures in Chasing Lightning.

Common wisdom says that grown-up realities like raising children stop us from pursuing our dreams. My life certainly got turned upside down when I had my child eleven years ago. Nothing quite prepares you for being responsible for another human being, and it is a massive time commitment.

I wrote very little during my daughters' early years. Between teaching at my local university part-time and being the children's primary caregiver, I choose extra sleep and sanity over productivity (a decision I do not regret to this day). But once they got older, I was faced with the choice between going back to work full-time or actually trying this "writing" dream I'd had rolling around in the back of my brain since college.

If it had been solely up to me, I probably would've picked the "responsible" job. I was a project manager in the video game industry before having kids, and I enjoyed the work well enough. My husband, though, knew how much I wanted to write my own stories, and his salary covered our bills. He urged me to take the risk. I remember him clearly telling me as I waffled between the two options, "You gave up a lot of time for the family. It's okay to take a chance on you."

So, with his support, I've been writing for the past several years instead of clocking in at a traditional 9-to-5 position. I've taken on a few writing gigs for video game projects, but mostly I've been typing away at my own books. I'm not making a bunch of money yet, but I'm not losing money either. And everytime I have a book launch, I'm lucky enough to find a few more fans who enjoy my words.

Releasing Mom of the Chosen One today feels like my journey is coming full circle as a writer and mother. I'm proud of this new release about a mother's love for her daughter, but I also appreciate how that love echoes back to me in various ways. Even though I am a teeny, tiny author in a huge publishing world, I'm grateful for everyone who immerses themselves in my characters' worlds.

Mom of the Chosen One is available today as an eBook, paperback, hardback, and in Kindle Unlimited. Join Melissa Hartley as she goes on a magical journey only a mother could take. For readers of Paranormal Women’s Fiction and urban fantasy who like strong female protagonists, witty banter, and a hint of romance.

Happy Adventuring!

-DM Fike

NOTE: Amazon has dropped support of MOBI files on many of its ereader devices. If you're having trouble, I recommend trying to upload the EPUB version, or read the PDF version on a computer.

I've also got my proof copies back for the physical versions of the book. I'm so excited! I've never done a hardback book before and it feels so good in my hands.

Until November 15th, happy adventuring!

-DM Fike

That experience directly translated into how I crafted the character Guntram, the augur who oversees Ina's apprenticeship as an eyas, in my nature wizard series. I could have made him one of those extreme "wise man on the mountain" types who takes a hands-off approach (like the Oracle does for all the shepherds). Or I could have gone the other way and made him more like a drill sergeant who expects his every command to be obeyed (like Tabitha). Instead, I split the difference and made him a grumpy old man who realizes that despite his age, he still makes mistakes and can learn a trick or two.

Plus, Guntram commands an army of spy ravens. I am jealous of my own fictional creation.

Ravens aside, Guntram's true strength is his mesh of wisdom and humility. Unlike Tabitha, who overcompensates for a mistake in her past by becoming hard and cruel, Guntram is strict but thoughtful in how he handles Ina's magical training. He purposefully guides her without pushing her to become a miniature version of himself. He tries to accept her choices, even when it frustrates him. And when she becomes a full-fledged shepherd, he treats her as an equal, rather than his former underling.

What do you think of Guntram's personality? Is he a good mentor? Do you think he's too hard or too soft on Ina? And the most important question, what would you do with a flock of ravens at your command?

Until next time, happy adventuring!

-DM Fike

A biome is a large area characterized by its vegetation, soil, climate, and wildlife. A tundra in Canada, for example, is very different from a tropical rainforest. Biomes can be spliced a few different ways, depending on who's classifying them, so I decided to go with this simple map:

The Talol Wilds, as I refer to Ina's shepherd territory in the books, is the temperature rainforest colored in purple. I picked Mount Rainier as an iconic natural feature of this biome, which is why I named the entire region after the Puyallup Native American word for the mountain.

If you know where Oregon is on this map, you'll see that the state is very neatly sliced in half, with the western half in the Talol Wilds. The other half is located in the northern part of the yellow desert biome, which I named the Bitai Wilds, after the Navajo name for the famous Shiprock formation in New Mexico. Having grown up in the Bitai Wilds (aka southern Idaho), I immensely enjoyed imagining how a shepherd might wield the elements differently in each region. You see this play out in Book 7, Gathering Swarm, with Wuaro and how he manipulates water.

The only other biome I've named is Guntram's original home, the Onyara Wilds, a derivative of the Iroquoian word for Niagara Falls in the brown temperature deciduous forest biome. If I continue the series, I'm sure I'll keep expanding my magical nature world even farther from its original roots in the Pacific Northwest.

Only Ina brings the lightning.

The box set of Magic of Nasci Books #1-5 is out!  You save about 50% when you purchase these five books together as a bundle, either in ebook or single paperback form. For Kindle Unlimited readers, you can now download all five books as one volume, so it doesn't take up all your book slots.

eBook/Kindle Unlimited version: http://mybook.to/NasciBoxSet1

Single Paperback version: http://mybook.to/Nasci1-5

Honestly, I could have left the series to end at Book 5.  It had a plot arc that I was happy with and explored a decent chunk of the magical world I intended to build.  The series, being a mostly urban fantasy but with YA elements and decidedly NOT set in a city, has been tough to promote. My goal with writing fantasy novels was to make part-time money, and I'm definitely still way off from getting there. In some ways, moving onto a new series makes a lot of business and creative sense.

But I still have a lot of stories I yearn to tell about Ina and the shepherds of Nasci. It's so easy for me to slip back into this world because I know most of these characters and their lives very intimately. I'd also garnered a decent fan base who keep asking when the next book is coming, which is immensely gratifying since that's never happened to me before.  So I decided to commit to another 3 books that follow the events of Soaring in Air.

I hope you enjoy reading Ina's next adventures as much as I had writing them.

I never thought I might be involved with a podcast, though, until I was asked for an interview by fellow author Jamie Davis over at Fantasy/Sci Fi Focus. We're both authors with stories in the Summer Solstice Shenanigans urban fantasy anthology (although he's got years more experience publishing his fantastic EMT-based UF books). In my podcast interview, Jamie asked me about my inspiration for my nature wizard series, as well as dove into my background writing for video games.

If podcasts are your thing, feel free to give my first ever author interview a listen:

Innovative Urban Fantasy with D.M. Fike on the Books and Authors Podcast - Fantasy/Sci-Fi Focus

DM Fike joins the podcast this episode. She’s worked in the video game industry for over a decade, starting out as a project manager and eventually becoming a story writer for characters, plots, and missions.

Fantasy/Sci-Fi FocusJune 11, 2021

You probably already guessed it, but my story did indeed make the cut. Check out Seeking Solstice, included in Summer Solstice Shenanigans.

If you're in the market to discover more talented urban fantasy authors this summer, this is your one-stop anthology shop. This collection contains 25 adventure-packed stories from both big names and upcoming indie authors alike. You'll not only get my brand new short story set in Ina's magical world, but tales of rampaging phoenixes, dragon mysteries, and parties at your local Magical Liaison Office.

Available as an eBook, in Kindle Unlimited, or in paperback.

Check out the Anthology Here

It took me 5 years to finish the first 2 Llenwald books, and then I shelved them for good. They were exactly what you expect from a teenager: rough with no real overall vision. Although those first 2 books will never see the light of day, they became the world-building exercise I needed to flesh out the details of what would become Magic Portal. I wrote that book's first draft while teaching English in Japan after obtaining an undergraduate degree. I joined a writer's group that critiqued the first few chapters in between karaoke sessions. I finished a draft of that book in a year, but again, I shelved it because I knew it needed a lot of work.

I kept thinking during my graduate studies and my first job in the video game industry that I would come back to the novel. But when I switched from being a project manager to an actual game writer, writing in my off-hours after work was too draining. Then, I had kids and was emotionally tapped out. But I was always thinking about when I would actually finish a Llenwald novel for publication.

I finally returned to this book about 4 years ago. I edited it for a year before I realized it would be better served as a trilogy. It took me another few years to smooth all three books and finish the trio. I'd grown from meandering teenage babbler to seasoned storyteller: where characters grew, the plot made sense, and surprise twists were carefully constructed and not just dumped into the reader's lap.

Today, I believe this introduction to Llenwald is a solid story. I'm proud that this book represents my writing journey. If magical adventure, humor, fae folk, and portals to another world are your thing, I hope you enjoy reading this labor of love.

Avalon's tragic past holds a magical mystery… one that could transport her to another world.

Avalon’s life seems over before it has even begun. At 18 years old, her parents are dead and she’s dropped out of school. She lives in her car, hoping to earn enough money at her carnival job to get off the streets.

But then her lonely existence unravels. A bedraggled beggar begins stalking her every move. A childhood illness flairs up after being dormant for years. And a lifelike fairy statue shows up inside the Hall of Mirrors, unlocking strange abilities that Avalon struggles to control.

As Avalon gets pulled toward a secret world where others covet her legendary powers, she must decide whom to trust—an amnesiac knight, a shapeshifting trickster, or even her former doctor—all of whom may only be exploiting her for their own gain.

This candy cane fairy might amuse my Fae fanatics. Is she like the tooth fairy, stealing a candy cane from your tree in exchange for coins? Or does she give you some magic treat in an exchange for a future promise (one that will probably not work out in your favor)? The possibilities are endless...and potentially fraught with peril.

My 8-bit video game wreath reminds me of the Christmas where all I wanted was Super Mario Bros. 2 for the original NES. Santa delivered, and my younger sisters and I passed many pleasant hours saving Dreamland as Princess Toadstool (because, let's face it, her jumping capabilities outshone Mario's by a mile).

If you're into cultural fusion, how about this 3D Japanese card that blends "The Great Wave off Kanagawa" with Peanuts characters? I received this card from a friend I made while teaching English in Japan. Stationary is a true art form over there. I've received origami sumo wrestlers, pop-up sakura trees, and so many intricate paper cards over the years.

Happy adventuring (and holidays) to all my readers!

-DM Fike

I didn't intend to become a debut author during a global pandemic. I started writing the Magic of Nasci months ago thinking 2020 would be a banner year. But like many of you, 2020 had different plans for me, and in March I found myself facing a conundrum: should I continue on as planned or "wait" for the world to get better?

Well you know the end to this story. I forged ahead. Even though I'm a planner by trade (having worked as a project manager), life offers no guarantees. There have been many times during this ridiculous year (after a family member was diagnosed with a bad chronic illness, for example) that I've second-guessed my decisions. I've also questioned my sanity, but that probably would have happened any other year.

But overall, I'm happy I published these 5 books. I crossed off a major item on my bucket list. I've learned a ton about both the writing and business side of writing books. And best of all, I've got to engage with readers like you who love the characters I've brought to life. You guys made a dumpster fire of a year actually pretty bearable. So thank you loads for that!

I have more ideas for Nasci stories if I have the readers to support it, so don't hesitate to reach out!  You can reach me here.

Happy adventuring to everyone out there!

-DM Fike

Luckily, as of this writing, there's been no homes or lives lost, and a barrier has been placed around the entire blaze. However, things can change from moment to moment, and our community only reached this point through the hard work of some brave heroes. So here's to all the firefighters, both in Oregon and across the globe, who are battling fires during the summer season. I appreciate all they do.

-DM Fike

This is only my second read-through of The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. I first read them in high school, although I got interrupted in a funny way. My father got into a Jules Verne kick in the middle of my Tolkien binge and made me stop to read Journey to the Center of the Earth so we could discuss it. I hated the switch so much, my vitrol against Verne has became a family in-joke. (Apologies to any Jules Verne fans. I'm sure he's great, but some wounds heal very slowly.)

Now I've been told as an urban fantasy writer that modern readers don't care for epic fantasies like The Lord of the Rings. It's got too many unpronounceable names, they're making up songs and poems every other page like rap battles, and Tolkien knows more history about his side characters than I know about my own extended family. (Feeling jealous, Ancestry.com?) And honestly, I get why it's not for everyone. The books are more slowly-paced than most modern reads, and the world building can be incredibly overwhelming.

That being said, I'm thoroughly enjoying my classic re-read. I'm much more familiar with the movies at this point so it's fun to peek inside the character's heads for their thoughts. The big legends become more well-rounded than just pointy-hatted wizards and goofy dwarfs. You can see their flaws more readily, which make them relatable, which I assume Tolkien intended. And it is also fun to discover the birthplace of so many tropes I enjoy today, from those found in UF books to role-playing video games.

And hey, did you know that Tolkien used the word "tween" in The Fellowship of the Ring? He writes of Frodo as "still in his tweens, as hobbits called the irresponsible twenties between childhood and coming of age at thirty-three.”

I accept this new definition for “tween” as accurate and approved by a literary legend.

What is your book series about?

A Witch Called Red is the first book in the Red Witch Chronicles. This is a supernatural thriller about a witch trained as a supernatural bounty hunter, where she came from is a mystery. Each book in the series has its own plot and conflict to solve, the overarching mystery is Red discovering exactly who she is and why she was left for dead with amnesia outside Eugene, Oregon. In the first book, Red and her mentor come to Los Angeles to solve the mysterious murder of a model left drained on the beach. Red gets in over her head as the murder investigations takes a hard turn into a conspiracy with the local vampires.

Why did you choose to start your series in Eugene, Oregon?

I am not from Oregon, but I have family and friends in the state and have always admired how friendly the locals are. I think the idea might have been seeded in this very strange roadtrip where I had to drive a widow and nearly a dozen rabbits from Portland to a ranch near the Arizona-Mexico border. I drove through the country side and found it pretty and almost gaudy in the greenness. I was struck by how dark the sky seemed to my Arizonan eyes which is used to the sun feeling a foot away. I am also creeped out by forests because I don't like how you can feel penned in. In the desert you can see to the horizon. I also love the idea of small towns that attract weirdness for some reason like Sunnydale, Bon Temps, Salem's Lot. I guess someone along the line, Oregon became an ideal place for supernatural things to hide.

Every author does something different with urban fantasy, what is your twist on the genre?

In the first book of my Red Witch Chronicles, I was inspired by those noir films like Double Indemnity and Kiss Kiss Bang Band LA so my UF has a gritty realistic flavor. My style of urban fantasy could be described as character driven-thrillers.

What inspired you to write this book?

I am really interested in identity and memory and how it affects someone's personality and choices. A big theme in the Red Witch Chronicles is the struggle in being yourself and it's interesting to explore those themes with a character who has no memories.

What kind of research do you do, and how long do you spend researching before beginning a book?

I love research! Most of it doesn't end up in the books so no one has to wad through infodumps, but I usually do extensive research on stuff that 99.9% of readers won't notice. For instance, I did a lot of research to try to figure out which model of Winnebago would go through a mystical portal the best. I went to school for library science so I am pretty handy with a reference database. I also have more metaphysical books and folklore texts than one person needs. I did my undergrad studies in history so I still have a lot of my textbooks. One of my in-progress projects is a historical series that is set during the Victorian age so my studies definitely influenced my later work. I also am an avid traveler so I have been fortunate to visit many of the cities that I write about.

How many unpublished and half-finished books do you have?

If we count the fanfiction too, then a lot! I usually just work on one series at a time so I am focused on the Red Witch Chronicles, but I do have two spin-off projects in the works. One focuses on Red as a teenager with her memories so it's an interesting challenge to write a character who has almost two personalities.

Find out more at the Sami Valentine website!

And that’s when I realized I was holding a foam Nerf sword in my hand (because I’d been fiddling with it before I answered the door) and wearing my masked Batman/narwhal shirt.

Sorry (not sorry) for getting the ol' Batman TV theme stuck in your head.

It just goes to show there’s nothing like first impressions. In the publishing biz, that means writing a stellar first book in the series to promise your readers a fun adventure.  Here's hoping I've got it down for Chasing Lightning!

I knew Chasing Lightning had to have a stellar hook, not only because it's my debut novel, but also because it's the start of a series where I've already outlined 5 books. I wanted action, but also a sense of Ina's irreverent personality. Bonus points if I could also somehow incorporate the Pacific Northwest, since the book's setting plays a central part to the series.

Enter Oregon's famous exploding whale. So famous, in fact, that Florence, Oregon just opened a park named (I am not making this up) Exploding Whale Memorial Park.

The story goes that in 1970 a 45-foot, 8-ton whale carcass washed ashore and the Department of Transportation had to figure out what to do with it. They didn't want to bury it because it could get uncovered. No one wanted to cut it up. So that left a final option: dynamite. Half of ton of it to be precise. People gathered on the beach for the event, including a local reporter, thinking it would be fun to watch.

And they were shocked, absolutely gobsmacked, when large chunks of whale blubber flew everywhere. A car parked over a quarter mile away got flattened in the aftermath. Everyone left with whale bits on them, but miraculously, no one died or even got injured.

It's a bit of local lore that gets a chuckle out of most people. I remember watching the original grainy report with my office co-workers over a decade ago, still relatively new to Oregon, and cackling it up at the sheer ridiculousness of the whole situation.

And that's why, when you pick up Chasing Lightning, you come across these intro lines:

"I do not recommend striking a whale corpse with lightning. You will regret it."

It not only sets up Ina's magical world and her looming disastrous escapade, it's also an Easter egg for those of us who live here in the Willamette Valley.

But now moving day is almost upon us, and although I logically understand why the move makes sense, I do feel a ping of sadness. I raised children within these walls. I can point out where babies took their first steps, where I planted my first strawberries, and where I sat down to write the first few words that would become Chasing Lightning. Leaving the place where I've spent the vast majority of my life this last decade is like saying good-bye to an old friend, one I'm not likely to ever meet again.

The only four-leaf clover I've ever found in my entire life, despite a childhood of searching, was in that backyard.

But, as Seneca the Younger said to later inspire Semisonic (which is where I heard it), "Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end." 2020 itself is a lot of things, honestly not a lot of them great for many people, but it is also an opportunity for change. It's personally been a rough year for my family, with a tough medical diagnosis in January and not being able to see my 99-year-old grandmother for months due to understandable lockdown at her care facility. However, I'm clinging to hope as I tape up the last box and haul it out to the truck that change will be for the better. That new, good memories can form from personal (and global) chaos.

As you're reading this, I hope you see a pathway to better days ahead. I hope you have support and love. My personal plan is to keep listening, learning, and growing so that I can take care of those I love and create a community I am proud of. Because life isn't ultimately about where I live, but the people all around me.

My most nuanced name goes to the main character, Ina (rhymes with "Tina"). The daughter of a white woman and a Japanese man, I wanted her name to not only reflect her upbringing, but her unique position as the only lightning wielder among the shepherds. The name on her birth certificate is "Imogene Nakamori." Her last name by itself in Japanese, 中森, means inside the forest, foreshadowing her nature-based powers.

When she became a shepherd, she took the first syllable from each name ("I" or い in Japanese) and ("Na" or な) to create her magic name ("Ina" or いな). "Ina" is a nod to the Inari shrines of Japan, which are heavily associated with fox spirits called kitsune (狐). Kitsune are powerful supernatural creatures in Japanese mythology, often sly and cunning, and sometimes possess the ability to generate lightning.

Most of the other followers of Nasci also have hidden name meanings:

Guntram, the experienced mentor figure who trains Ina, literally translates to "war raven" in German. This pairs well with the flock of kidama ravens that always follows this elemental air master around.

Darby and Tabitha, aka "the Sassy Squad" that antagonizes Ina, mean "deer" and "gazelle" respectively. Again, this tracks with the fact that augur Tabitha commands kidama black-tailed deer, and her pupil Darby follows strongly in her footsteps.

Sipho, forgemaster extraordinaire, has a southern African name meaning "gift" because without her etchings and charms, the shepherds could not survive their vaettur encounters.

Even the animal companions in the book have appropriate names:

Fechin, Guntram's number one henchbird, means "little raven" in Irish.

Jortur, one of Tabitha's kidama black-tailed deer, is a corrupted version of the old Norse name Hjortr, meaning "hart, stag."

Nur and Kam, Sipho's mountain lions, are both derivatives of Swahili names that reflect which parts of the day each cat is active. Nuru means "born in daylight" while Kamari means "beauty of the moon."

What I really love about games is that they span a wide variety of interests and appeal to all ages. One of my earliest memories is watching my grandfather at the dining room table, shuffling a deck of cards so worn you couldn't read all of the numbers. A farmer by trade, he'd play a ridiculously difficult version of solitaire and rarely win. If he thought a grandkid was watching, though, he'd make a big show of cheating, only to laugh when we "caught him." He used that same old deck to teach me how to play gin rummy. If I could go back in time, playing a hand with him would be high on my to-do list.

So whenever visiting restrictions are eased, I'm going to host a board game night. I'll settle for anything: the party games where it's more about making everyone else laugh than winning, the epic RPG dungeon games that usually hinge on the last big fight, or the strategy games where my much more cunning friends inevitably have better long-term plans than I do. I won't care if I get completely owned as long as I get to spend some time with people I care about.

-DM Fike

Fast forward to the original release of Final Fantasy VII. The three of us largely played it together on our single Playstation. I predictably loved the main character, Cloud, who appeared early on in the game to have a relationship with his childhood friend Tifa. Villain-loving K hoped the mysterious and probably up-to-no-good Sephiroth would eventually join the team. L fell in love with the quirky Aerith, who personally irritated me because she vied for Cloud's affections.

2-DECADE OLD SPOILER ALERT: Part of Final Fantasy VII's popularity hinges on a major character death that happens in the middle of the game. Don't read on if I'm ruining it for you. (Although, seriously. Go finish the game! Square Enix just did a remake and it is fantastic.)

For those of you who've never played Final Fantasy VII (and/or don't care), all you need to know is mid-game, villain Sephiroth kills quirky Aerith, right in front of hero Cloud. This resulted in the following reactions in our trio:

• Me, the hero character sister, ecstatic: "Yes! That means Cloud and Tifa will be together!"
• L, the quirky character sister, crushed: "No! I loved Aerith! Why, game, why?"
• K, the villain character sister, disgruntled: "I guess that means Sephiroth's never joining the party. That sucks."

Funny family anecdotes aside, as a writer, I think it's important to flesh out all the character types in my books. Even though I'm still pro-hero, I think of L when I write my supporting cast. What kind of quirks and personality traits will delight readers? And villains shouldn't be one-dimensional either. I channel my inner K as I try to explain the mind of the antagonist and why they might choose the path they travel. It's important for all those personalities to come alive on the page so that my readers can decide who they relate to most.

Happy adventuring!

-DM Fike

A little research revealed that Crater Lake is home to an endangered species, the Manzama newt. They are similar to their more common Oregon newt cousins except they have bright-orange bellies. Scientists believe the two species shared a common ancestor until the high walls of the caldera isolated them from their genetic cousins. And with few predators, Manzama newts have 4,000 less neurotoxins than Oregon newts. It's nice to feel safe!

Unfortunately, things changed in 1915 when non-native crayfish were introduced into Crater Lake. Over the last century, they've slowly taken over 80% of the Mazama newt's old habitat. Given this real-world environmental struggle, I decided to make the monster antagonist of Wizard Island a giant monster crayfish. The name zarigani comes from the Japanese word for crayfish (ザリガニ), a nod to Ina's half-Japanese heritage.

If you haven't read the short story yet, click here to subscribe to my newsletter to get it!

Happy adventuring!

-DM Fike

As I write my way through a 5-book urban fantasy series, I find myself rewriting and ripping out whole chapters of books.  Whenever I do that, I save the old chapters in a document called the book's Graveyard.  It's where old content goes to die.  I organize it by the chapters they used to be headed under.

Why do I do this?  Because sometimes you realize that an old chapter you axed had something of value.  Maybe there was a great description in there.  Or you changed your mind about a subplot, so you want to resurrect an old scene.  It's pretty easy to just "dig" into the Graveyard doc and resurrect it back into the main story.  

I suppose I could also just make a bunch of different file revisions, but with this system, I have all my old content in one file.  I love my Graveyard files...they've saved me from a lot of unnecessary rewrite.  And sometimes, it's nice to be visited by a ghost from the past.

In between scribbling away about magic, I received the opportunity of a lifetime to go back to my video game roots and write for a game with Sylvester Stallone attached. Not only have I created characters, campaigns, and background lore for Battle Strike Force, in January of 2018, I actually got to fly down to LA and be in the recording studio with Sly as he recorded voice over lines for the game. Watching someone of his creative caliber read lines that I myself had written is a huge highlight of my writing journey.

And now the game is finally live in the US. So go download this labor of love, which so many talented people I know have made a reality.

iOS: https://apps.apple.com/us/app/battle-strike-force/id1345720722
Google Play: https://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=com.beyondgames.battlestrikeforce1