“She couldn’t give me a good description other than big, gross, and noisy. It kept shouting”—

  “Hoon?” Wulfric interrupted.

  Eli stopped in his tracks. “Yes, exactly. You were there?”

  “No, but it isn’t the first of its kind. Is Alice okay?” I’d forgotten about her well-being for a moment and felt bad about my lack of empathy.

  “She’s fine. Already back on her way to Potsdam State University for a conference, but—what was it, Carlie?” His face was lined with worry.

  “A giant, um, mushroom person, and we dispatched one ourselves. Dug its way out of the ground, yelled a lot and was faster than any fungi I’ve ever seen. This makes two of them, and Gran told me they’re associated with mummies.”

  “A mummy. She was quite clear about that. I do not think there are things like a flock of mummies,” Wulfric said.

  “Thank you, Viking Professor,” I said, looking up and resisting the urge to stick my tongue out at him.

  “I am here to help,” he replied, serene in his knowledge that he was being a bit of a nitpicker. He’s smug that way.

  “A mummy. Like from the other town. This isn’t the first time I’ve heard of such a thing, but it’s my first brush with something that old, I think.” Eli paused before the door to The Pines. We’d arrived.

  “You found evidence of a mummy, but we never knew where. I’ll assume it was close by, because these mushroom critters are popping out of the ground like moles.” I began running scenarios in my mind where we had to search millions of acres of land to find this creature, and the idea was far from appealing.

  Eli squinted into the sun, thinking. It gave him a youthful look of confusion that was the essence of his personality, and I put a hand on his arm to bring him back to the conversation. When he nodded a conclusion to himself, I knew he was doing to same thing. Considering options. “Why is this mummy causing animated mushrooms to attack cars? And people?”

  “I don’t know,” I told him, because I didn’t.

  “Are you able to triangulate the location of the mummy based on the creatures and where they are found?” Eli asked.

  “Probably not. Mummies aren’t exactly static. They like to move around once they’re awake, and that doesn’t take into account the problem with mummies who have some degree of magic ability. Usually, they’re so old and decrepit, just climbing out of their resting place is at the limits of their abilities, but this one is different. There are ten miles between the attacks, and that tells me we might be dealing with the very worst kind of mummy.”

  “Which is?” Eli asked, thinking that all mummies were equally bad.

  “A new one.”

  “New?” Wulfric asked.

  “Maybe. I’m going to do some research, but there’s no way a mummy could have been here for hundreds of years, I guarantee it.” Eli was adamant.

  “He’s right,” I said. “Because of you.” I took Wulfric's hand, angling my eyes up to his. “There’s no way you would let something like a rampaging mummy slip by. For that matter, can you imagine Bindi permitting giant gross mushroom people tromping around, scaring her friends and yelling like decaying foghorns? She would have cut it apart, or at the very least, her family would have.”

  Bindi was a sprite, a friend, and heavily armed at all times despite being the size of a teacup. Her family, the wee folk, was quite a group, and as a defensive force, they really pack a punch. They lived with Wulfric during his long years in the forest and still came to visit at least once a month.

  “Why don’t we ask her?” Eli said, ever practical.

  “We will do just that. After sunset. And pizza.” With that, I dragged them both by the hand into the restaurant, because there were garlic rolls calling my name and I hate ignoring friends.

  Chapter Four: The Fog of War

  I lay on Wulfric, drawing lazy symbols on his chest in the silver moonlight. The window was open, a cool breeze pushing in, welcome and setting our skin to gooseflesh.

  “What is that one?” he asked, watching my finger sketch over the expanse of his golden skin.

  “A hungry trout,” I said, finishing with a curled flip of my pinky.

  “I think you made that up.” Even in the moonlight, I could see a suspicious cast to his eyes.

  “Don’t. Question. The witch.” I punctuated each word with a gentle poke of his collarbone, eliciting a low rumble of laughter. “But yes. Yes, I did. I was running out of things to draw. It’s your fault, actually.”

  “It is?”

  “Yes. You have so much skin, I feel like I have to cover you with drawings, even if they’re invisible to everyone. Including me.” I kissed his shoulder and adjusted my toes, one at a time. There’s no limit to how much wiggling it takes for me to get truly comfortable, a fact that he finds exasperating to the point of grunting like an angry warthog. Occasionally. Most of the time, he just wrinkles his face and lets me go about my routine, patient as a stone and just as solid.

  I kind of have a crush on him, even if he does make fun of my hair in the morning.

  “I am glad the window is open. The air is so. . .fresh,” he said, and there was something in his tone that made me look up. His lips were curled in a way that meant he was holding in one of those inscrutable Viking laughs.

  “Spill it, big guy.” I tugged at his hair in mock warning. He stretched languidly, lifting me up like a buoy on the tide, then settled in with a deep sigh.

  “Have I told you how beautiful you are?” His smile broke free, chest vibrating with mirth. He was up to no good.

  “Yes, you have. Repeatedly. Now spill it,” I moved my hand to his stomach, primed with dangerous intent. “Or else the belly button gets it.”

  I’ve seen Wulfric strike down a ghoul with one punch. I’ve seen him outrun a vampire and swim a frozen river while battling a rather nasty werebear. All of those are nothing compared to his discomfort at my finger plunging into the tantalizing recess of his belly button. I don’t have a thing for navels; I have a thing for his because he won’t let me touch it and it drives him crazy. Therefore, I must.

  “Your fascination with my, as you call it, belly button, is uncomfortable. So I will tell you, but only because I fear your determination.” He leaned forward and sniffed me, then withdrew, his face plastered with a polite smile. “You’re a bit, ah, ripe, from the garlic rolls, and I can only hope that Bindi smells the milk before she smells you.”

  “Hey, now, I put fresh cream and honey on the sill, and she should”—

  “Carlie? Are you ill?” A tiny voice from outside. Bindi was hovering in full armor, sword at her tiny hip and hands held out in a shrug.

  “I told you,” Wulfric murmured into my hair, but I was already sitting up.

  “Come in, honored guest, but only after drinking your fill,” I told her. She dove at the little bowls and proceeded to do her best impersonation of a wedding guest drinking at an open bar. While she tipped the bowls up, I took the opportunity to deliver a truly grand stinkeye at Wulfric. “See? I have manners.”

  “Indeed you do, regardless of your dietary side effects. Lets us greet our guest as a unified front, shall we?” He was unduly smug, which meant he thought I would forget both his belly button and his insult. He was probably right.

  “You smell like pizza,” Bindi said, patting her belly with satisfaction as she lowered herself to the sill.

  “Long story, but I’m not sick. Just a lot of garlic.,” I told her.

  She wrinkled her tiny nose, laughing. “Like Unalla, when she broke into the cold truck last year.”

  Unalla was a bear, and the truck was a frozen pizza delivery meant for a concert in town. The driver had gone for coffee, left the door open, and nature took its hilarious course, resulting in a very full bear, a trashed pizza truck, and a lot of hungry concertgoers. The story was good enough that everyone still talked about it, even in the magical world. “I sort of did gorge myself. Fair enough. You are well, friend?” I changed tracks to get her chatting. We had questions, and she might have to travel for answers.

  “I am well, yes, thank you. So is the forest. Very busy. We ready ourselves for the long nights,” she reported. Few beings knew more about the lands around Halfway than Bindistrighe; it was her place of business.

  “We call you because of troubles, friend. There are creatures of the earth, they smell like decay and can harm people. They are not natural. Have you seen them, or heard of them?” I asked her. It was best to give Bindi a broad question and let her run with the answers as she saw fit, as her thoughts could be brittle, and prone to lose focus.

  “Not to the north, but there is trouble to the south. Animals are on the move, but we know not why. I do not sense witchcraft anywhere, but I have not gone south because of rumors.” She placed a finger along her nose, thinking, then grew bright. “I will ask. I will travel. Will that help?”

  “Of course, but only if you are safe,” Wulfric warned. He’d known her for a long time and felt a sense of protectiveness that surpassed a casual friendship. He’d been the steward of their lands for so long, the magical beings of Halfway looked to him as a fixed point.

  “I will be safe, and if it is not,” she smiled, a bright crescent in the gloom. In a lightning motion, she drew and cut the air with her sword, then slid it into the scabbard without hesitation. “I will make it so.”

  Chapter Five: Cellar Dweller

  One day later, I stood at the top of my cellar stairs, watching the waxing moon rise through the kitchen window. Wulfric snored lightly on the couch, Gus on his chest adding a deep, smug purr of satisfaction at snagging his illicit perch. Since Gus weighs twenty-five pounds, he has to sleep on my hip, otherwise, I would suffer Death By Maine Coon Cat were he to spend the night compressing my lungs.

  To be clear, there are cats, and then there’s Gus. He’s a feline version of Wulfric; enormous, toasty, and difficult to move once he falls asleep. I blew them a silent kiss and turned to face the door, opening it on silent hinges I kept well-oiled and free of rust.

  I placed a toe on the top step, looking down into the familiar darkness below. I love my cellar and could not be the witch I am without its cool, welcoming space. The ceiling is low, the floor is packed dirt, and the stone walls lean inward slightly with the pressure of time and gravity. The air is flavored with herbs and dust, rich in my lungs every time I step into my sanctum where I braid magic, will, and the power of McEwan women flowing through my veins.

  With a familiar motion, I descended the heavy wooden stairs, barefoot and breathing deeply, clearing my mind for the work that waited ahead.

  When I cut my eyes to the right, I knew I wasn’t alone, and there was only one thing to do.

  “Hi, Gary,” I said to the darkness just above my grimoire, its heavy cover closed and speckled with dust. It had been two weeks since I’d been down here, and I needed to tidy up.

  Gary and I have an understanding. He lives in my basement, and I try not to scream when he jumps around. In his own way, he’s really cute, but he’s also fuzzy, fast, and a spider. You might think that witches are natural allies with spiders.

  You would be wrong.

  Our state of detente is working out nicely, as Gary has stopped leaping around whenever I visit the cellar. He sort of sits and watches me—with all eight eyes—as I go about my ministrations for spellcasting. It’s a lot less weird than you might think, given the fact that Gary’s small but vibrant presence helps me to focus on things, like not jumping straight up in the air, or flailing about like I’m on fire.

  Our relationship is a work in progress, but I’m optimistic. As for Gary, I don’t know. He doesn’t speak English, and I don’t speak spider.

  That doesn’t mean I don’t speak to him. “I’m going to open the grimoire, and it might get a little intense around here. I’d take five if I were you. See the sights. Visit the window, maybe even check out the leaves along the sidewalk.”

  Gary leapt away, vanishing in a flurry of fuzz and legs. After my heart rate dropped below a thousand, I opened my grimoire and began the complex process of clearing my mind. In small steps, I peeled back our natural resistance, entering a state of calm and letting the warmth of my own power wash over me like a gentle wave.

  The table was rough under my fingertips; the book heavy, the pages thick with craft and care. I placed my chosen tools along the open table space, letting each item rest with intent. A piece of mirror, the edges worn smooth by a creek went next to a hollow walnut, the secret chambers curled and papery. In succession, I lowered a small candle, a pheasant’s feather, lurid green and iridescent, and then something to aid my thoughts in their journeys.

  I pinched the dried wing of a dragonfly, elegant and brittle, but still so beautiful I felt a pang of regret at reducing it to so many shattered panes, but I did, and it became what it was always meant to be.

  My breath went out, but my thoughts went inward. They traveled swift and true, past a point of light held in recess from all that the world thinks I am, in a place where Wulfric can only glimpse. Even then, he can only see me there when we’re attuned in each other’s arms, safe in the harbor where souls can be their truest selves. It was here, in that point, that I let my mind go, and then leave, seeking a path between to places that was neither real nor real, but nothing.

  Mrowt? Gus stared at me, head tilted in the slow way of smug things, then he yawned, tried to rub his face against me, and pulled back, flicking an ear in mild anger.

  “I’m not here. I am close, though,” I said into the Everafter, and he heard me, eyes rounding with feline surprise. He looked over his shoulder to the basement door, and I knew I’d reached him in thought only from my place in the cellar. Success. I drew back through the place that was no place at all, opening my eyes to see a ghostly hand scrawl the spell in my grimoire. The magic landed pure and true, flowing through me and Gran and all of us before to render itself in looping, spidery script that captured a sense of motion and grace with each flowing letter.

  “It’s done.” I sat down hard, teeth clacking together as my body paid the price for what my mind gained, and in the gloom and the dust, I smiled.

  Chapter Six: Training Day

  “Hello?” I asked the stranger standing at my grill. He was nearly as tall as Wulfric, about a hundred pounds lighter, and curly brown hair that struggled to cover his enormous ears. His nose was long, smile huge, and there was a gap between his teeth that gave him the air of a guy who might like to whistle real loud if given the chance. I liked him immediately, even if I didn’t understand why he wore an apron in my kitchen.

  “Dub. The new guy.” His smile grew wider, and he stuck out a long hand in greeting. He was ropy. That was it. Long and ropy, like someone who could eat forever and not get full.

  “Dub?” I asked, shaking his hand. I didn’t recall interviewing anyone, so I tapped my head with a finger to see if I was having a stroke. I was not. All I felt was a wild lock of hair that sprang back defiantly.

  “Double Wasilowski, but I go by Dub. Saves time. I like saving time.”

  “Hiya. Um, who hired you?” I asked, reaching for my apron while watching him. It was before opening, the sky still dark and birds just beginning to wake, yet here he was, inside the diner and clearly getting ready to work.

  “I’m not really sure,” he said, leaning against the counter. “I interviewed with everyone, it seems like, but Louis and Pat both called to tell me when to show up. So here I am.”

  I made a note to ask about it, but none of my senses said he was anything other than a tall, skinny guy who was now a part-time cook at the diner. I could use the help, and he had a comfortable air about him there in the kitchen. That boded well, until I noticed something missing.

  “Glad to have you aboard, Dub, but I have a question, and I want you to answer me honestly, okay?” I turned to face him, surveying the counter, the make table, every flat surface. I sniffed the air, then pinned him with a gaze born of dread and wonder. “Where’s your coffee cup?

  “Oh, I don’t drink coffee, I wake up like this. Caffeine isn’t really my thing,” he said without a trace of dishonesty. The sacrilege hung in the air between us as I tried to process what I was seeing. No coffee cup. No coffee brewing. No grand, rich scent of dark beans hanging in the air, signaling that steaming hot brew was ready and waiting in a cup the size of a kiddie pool.

  My temptation was to shoot him with every spell in my arsenal, but I held back as the horror of his natural effervescence washed over me. He was. . .one of them. A not-zombie, a person of such impossible construction as to be in four dimensions at once.

  A morning person.

  “I’m going to need a moment,” I told him.

  “I get that a lot.” His grin was wry; his admission, weary.

  “Were you army? Navy? A dairy farmer?” I asked, moving in swift, decisive gestures to put coffee brewing. There was no reason to endure such a conversation in my natural fugue state.

  “Nope. Coast Guard, but only for six years. I don’t have nightmares, or insomnia, or anything like that. What I have is a secret weapon,” he said with the air of someone reading from a sacred scroll.

  “Care to share?” My cheater cup was nearly full, so I slid it out, daintily, then replaced it with the pot. The coffeemaker didn’t miss a beat. Neither did Dub.

  “Carbs.”

  “Carbs? That’s it?” I asked, sipping carefully and watching him with the beginnings of a stinkeye. “I expected something more. You’re sure? Carbs just make me sleepy and full after a brief, joyful burst of sugar high. It’s science, Dub.”

  He held up a skinny finger. “That’s where you’re wrong. I don’t just eat carbs. I overcarb.” He nodded like a conspiratorial judge.

  “You mean you ignore basic science and eat as many waffles as you want? Do you have a tapeworm? Because if so, eww. And if not, eww. You’re not only naturally effervescent, you’re suspiciously thin. Both are reasons enough for, um,” I waved my hand in a vague, menacing fashion.