Her powers had started to decline in recent years. She found herself needing a wand more and more often, even for the most basic of spells. Charming a broom to sweep the floor used to be a simple snap of her fingers; now it took work. The other day, she'd had to dig out her wand just to get the gum off her shoe. It was sad to see a witch deteriorate like this. In a way, he'd be doing her a favor.

  All this, the assassin knew from his reconnaissance. He was nothing if not meticulous in his research.

  He waited for Tazzie to pass the large oak tree where he was hiding. The oak trees in Mistmoor were five-feet thick and layered with rich browns throughout the trunk. Equally thick, molasses-colored branches sprouted out, dark green leaves growing almost like vines.

  The election was tomorrow. Tazzie was busy fussing with her briefcase. White papers stuck out at all angles. She tried to shove them back in, talking softly to herself as she went.

  "For witch's sake, just stay where I put you,"

  she muttered under breath, obviously frustrated with how things had gone today. Thaddeus Black was still ahead of her in the polls, just slightly, but enough to leave her feeling unsettled.

  Frankly, he thought that she was the better candidate. He even suspected that she would end up beating out Thaddeus in the long run if left to her own devices.

  In some ways, the assassin admired her. A woman in her sixties taking over for the town's mayor, her own husband, after his death. It couldn't have been easy. Her daughter, Kayla, was helping her campaign, but Kayla knew little about campaigning.

  Kayla was an interesting study herself. It was always best to know those closest to your targets, so he'd paid particular attention to her. Especially since she was close to two of the targets. You never knew when it might be necessary to use that information. It must have been an awkward situation for Tazzie's only daughter, helping both her mother and boyfriend campaign for mayor. She had promised to remain neutral, though he could tell she was rooting for her mother. She felt guilty about it, though.

  Kayla's boyfriend, Grayson Redfern, was supportive of her. He reassured her over and over again that it was fine if she supported her mom. He understood. The assassin almost believed he meant it. It was just bad luck that Tazzie and Grayson were both on his target list, though Grayson Redfern's bounty was significantly lower. His employer offered only five thousand apiece for him and Amanda Hollyberry. He wasn't even sure it was worth it. Especially Amanda. She was quite powerful and could do a lot of damage if he wasn't careful.

  Tazzie moved in front of the tree trunk now, her low, practical heels still clanking like they were stilettos. Her eyes were focused on nothing. A daydreamer lost in the night sky.

  He came out from behind the tree just as she passed him. His shoes made no sound. They were slippers on flower petals. He slowly and silently repeated the spell he'd learned especially for her, swirling his pointer finger at his side until a mist had formed. He reached into the pocket where he'd placed his target list and withdrew the stylus. It wasn't a wand. It was lighter and thinner, smaller, and it could do more damage than most wands could in their lifetime.

  He didn't need it; it was just a precaution.

  "Calabra!" he shouted.

  It was just bad timing that at that exact moment, Tazzie Singer decided to bend over and pick a penny off the sidewalk. She muttered to herself as she did it.

  "Find a penny, pick it up, and all day long you'll have good luck." She said it rhythmically, like a song. The bolt of lightning shot right over her back. She stood back up, penny in hand, and placed it tidily into her pocket, smiling. She had no idea of the narrow escape she'd just made.

  That was when the assassin made the first mistake of his career. He let his frustration get the best of him. "Warthogs!" he yelled.

  Tazzie turned around. Their eyes locked. He was wearing a disguise, but he did not like the fact that she had seen him, disguise or not.

  "Oh," she said uncertainly. Her eyes took in the stylus, the hat atop his head, the thick-rimmed lenses covering his eyes. "Oh," she said again.

  "Excuse me, Ma'am," he said, tipping his hat to her, attempting to put her at ease. It did not work. She stepped back, her senses already heightened. He felt the smile he'd forced turn upside down. He lunged for her. She screamed.

  "Give me your money!" he cried, realizing already that he'd failed.

  This was a neighborhood street. A quiet street, not suited to the type of noise now being made. Doors were opening. People were peering out their windows. They were already dialing the sheriff's station. Lincoln Maxwell would be arriving within minutes.

  "Give me your money!" he cried again, louder, making sure everyone heard.

  He had to make this seem like anything other than what it was. A mugging gone wrong. Tazzie Singer yelled, muttering spells and clawing at his face. She stomped on his foot. The low heels she wore were deceptive. There was steel in them, a witch's trick. He felt it crush his toes as she bore down on him.

  The assassin let out a guttural cry, the first of the evening that he hadn't faked. He pushed Tazzie Singer. She pushed him back. He hadn't expected that. He'd thought she would fall over, but she was strong. Feisty.

  "Get away from me!" she demanded.

  He aimed the stylus at her. He had to decide whether he should do it and get it over with, or wait and try again. His employer would not be pleased if she did not die tonight but they would be less pleased if she was killed in the wrong manner. A manner which would lead back to somewhere it shouldn't.

  Tazzie tried to rip the hat off his head, which alarmed him. If she pulled too hard, his toupee might go with it. Once that happened, she would be quick to realize the rest of him was also fake. The nose, the double chin.

  People were on their porches now.

  "Is that Tazzie Singer?"

  "Are you okay, Tazzie?"

  "You need help?"

  They were coming to her aid. Sirens wailed in the distance.

  The assassin ran. It was not retreat; it was smart business. His target had been compromised. He would escape and survive to try again tomorrow. Next time, he would not fail.

  * * *

  CHAPTER ONE

  I woke up feeling groggy. The day before had left me unsettled. I knew the others felt the same way. The election in Mistmoor Point had been postponed. The date to hold it had yet to be determined. Tazzie Singer had been attacked. Mistmoor and Sweetland Cove were both in an uproar. Mayor Thomas had already declared that had anyone listened to him when he wanted to enact his Mayor-for-All Rule, none of this would have happened.

  Aunt Eleanor and Trixie had told me they were going to bed at ten last night, but when I'd gone to use the bathroom at half past eleven, I'd heard them whispering in Eleanor's room.

  "Do you really think someone tried to assassinate Tazzie Singer?" Eleanor asked.

  "I have no idea why they would," Trixie replied. "Tazzie's never hurt a fly. What enemies could she possibly have?"

  "Her husband had enemies and didn't even know it. Look what happened to him."

  "Herbert was killed by a crazy witch, there's no accounting for crazy witches. You know that."

  I'd stood listening at their door until Rocky caught me.

  "Ava is eavesdropping," he said, the wolfhound's voice low. Not a growl, just deep and throaty.

  "Ssh!" I said, flapping my hands at him. "I'm not eavesdropping, I'm just... sleepwalking. Yeah, I'm sleepwalking." I closed my eyes and put my hands out in front of me like a zombie, heading back to my bedroom. I ran smack into the wall and grunted.

  Rocky followed me. Snowball was asleep on my bed, nestled up between my pillows. She was waiting for my return, a furry ball of snow. She lifted her head an inch off the mattress and looked at Rocky as I came in.

  "Your mama must think Rocky is dumb," the wolfhound said and shook his head. I shut my door and an hour later when I opened it again, Rocky was still there. "Hi, Ava," he said cheerfully, wagging his tail. "Rocky is watching you. Rocky knows you like to trick on Eleanor."

  I sighed. "All right, Rocky, you don't have to stand out here to keep an eye on me. Come inside, at least. You can lay on my bed."

  Rocky didn't need asking twice. He jumped onto my bed and curled up at my feet. Snowball stretched out, yawning, and walked over to him. She plopped down beside him and curled up, digging her face into his thick gray fur.

  I fell asleep and when I woke up, both of them were gone. I made my way downstairs, the smell of bacon and eggs sizzling on the stove.

  "Morning," my dad said. "Coffee?"

  "Definitely. I think I might need to stop by Coffee Cove later and get one of those Brass Monkeys Trixie's always ordering."

  A Brass Monkey was, at its core, a vanilla latte, but it was also so much more. It came delivered in a two-liter coffee mug and it was frozen nearly solid. You had to let it thaw for five minutes just so you could drink it. It was Lucy Lockwood's invention. Trixie had challenged her to make something that could keep her up for twelve hours straight, and that's what Lucy had come up with.

  Sheriff Knoxx knocked on our door just as my dad set a plate down in front of me. I was way behind with my mood extracts at the bakery and hoping to catch up this morning. I figured that with Colt in Mistmoor Point the whole day helping Sheriff Lincoln Maxwell, it would give me the opportunity that I needed. I could get a lot done.

  "Hi, Zane," Eleanor said, smiling as he came in. She always smiled when he was around. Their wedding was just around the corner now, less than a month. I hoped this new predicament with Mistmoor's mayoral election didn't put a tarnish on their plans. Eleanor would be heartbroken if they had to postpone.

  "Hi," he said, kissing her cheek and taking a seat at the table. He'd come such a long way from when I'd first met him. He used to be suspicious, sullen, moody. Now... well, he was still all those things, but he was also surprisingly happy a lot of the time. All because of Aunt Eleanor.

  "Any luck with that assassin's list?" I asked him. He shook his head, his face scruffy for the first time since I could remember. He normally went clean shaven.

  "Not yet. Lincoln Maxwell and I went over it with a microscope. No fingerprints, no hairs. Whoever dropped it knows how to cover their tracks."

  "Not as well as they might think," my dad said. "After all, they dropped a pretty important clue. What kind of professional assassin drops their hit list, anyway?"

  Sheriff Knoxx grunted. "True, but Tazzie and the witnesses said it seemed like a robbery that took a wrong turn. He tried to grab her purse, told her to give up her money. That sort of thing."

  "So, what makes you so sure it wasn't just that, then?" Trixie asked. "A simple robbery?"

  "The list," Sheriff Knoxx repeated. "It doesn't make sense unless it's a hit."

  He'd shown the list to us yesterday when Sheriff Maxwell came by from Mistmoor, asking for his help. Four names, all mayoral candidates.

  1. Thaddeus Black $25,000

  2. Tazzie Singer $20,000

  3. Grayson Redfern $5,000

  4. Amanda Hollyberry $5,000

  On the back were the addresses of each of the four candidates and the date of the election. Had it gone as planned, Thaddeus Black was the predicted winner, though Tazzie was putting up a solid fight. As it was, the election had been postponed, the fear that the candidates were not safe gripping Mistmoor's public.

  "If it hadn't been for that list," Sheriff Knoxx said, "Lincoln probably would have bought the robbery story. It was pure luck that he found it when he did, just lying in the dirt. Another few minutes and it probably would have blown away. None the wiser."

  "How's Colt?" I asked.

  Colt Hudson had gone with Sheriff Knoxx to Mistmoor. Lincoln didn't object since he felt he needed all the help he could get. I didn't object either, how could I? Colt was my boyfriend, not my husband. Even then I would never have told him not to go. Still, the sheriff had seen him more in the last two days than I had. I was a little jealous.

  "Fine, worried about his dad. The sentencing is coming up. He wants to be there for it. His mom said she'd go if he can't make it."

  "I can go, too," I said. Why hadn't I thought of that? Colt's dad had saved my life. The least I could do was be there for him when the Council on Magic and Human Affairs came back with their verdict. I was still sending good vibes Russell Hudson's way. He'd made some mistakes, sure, but I thought he'd already paid the price for them. Getting turned into a vampire was never easy.

  "It won't help," Sheriff Knoxx said matter-of-factly. "It's not as though Dean Lampton is going to change his mind just because more people show up. Russell's strong, he can take it, whatever it is."

  "You don't think it will be execution, do you?"

  There'd been a lot of talk around town since Sweetland Cove residents discovered that there were rogue vampires in their midst. Melbourne was still hiding out in his house, unable to face the looks from the townspeople. Faking your death had a tendency to make people give you strange looks. Melbourne had wisely decided to leave his shop, Coffee Cove, in William Carney's capable hands for now. William had run it while Melbourne was gone, and he'd done a good job. Melbourne would return to it when he was ready.

  "No," Sheriff Knoxx said, "I don't think execution is even on the table. If Colt's father hadn't saved your life, then maybe, but not now." His brow crinkled. "Technically, Russ didn't even kill anyone, Vlaski Ambrose did. He's the one who got Rachel Sessler and attacked Dean Lampton. I'm not sure that Russ actually did anything wrong, other than running with a bad crowd."

  The doorbell rang and the sheriff shot an irritated glance in its direction, as if it whoever it was had rung it just to antagonize him. "Don't bother," he said, stopping me before I got up. "It's Otis. I'm developing a sixth sense about him and that skunk of his."

  "I think Tadpole is sweet," Eleanor said.

  "Me, too," Trixie agreed, clinking her spoon against her cup.

  My father and I remained silent on the issue. Sheriff Knoxx opened the door, holding his hand up, a flesh and blood stop sign. He was trying to prevent Otis from entering our home. Tadpole was perched on his shoulder. He looked eagerly around at our interior. His eyes spotted Snowball on the stairs. Snowy stopped, paused, and cocked her head to the side.

  "Snowball does not recognize that species of cat," she said.

  I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing.

  "Tadpole's not a cat, Snowy, he's a skunk."

  Snowball shrugged and walked on to her food dish, disinterested in anything except her tuna.

  Otis was hopping from one foot to the other, more nervous than usual. "Sheriff, a call just came in from Colt, I mean Detective Hudson. He said he tried reaching you on the radio but you didn't answer."

  Sheriff Knoxx pulled the radio from his belt and pushed the button. The static that usually rolled out of it was non-existent.

  "Warthogs," he muttered, "it must be broken. Maybe the batteries..."

  "SHERIFF!" Otis yelled. His voice, generally soft spoken, actually filled the room. I'd never heard him so loud. Everyone stopped talking. Otis finally busted past Sheriff Knoxx and started pacing in our kitchen.

  "I'm sorry, but I think you're all gonna want to hear this," Otis breathed. Tadpole nudged his nose against Otis’ cheek, urging him to get on with it. "Colt says you need to get back to Mistmoor right away, Sheriff. They found a body."

  "A body?" I asked, looking at my aunts. My dad's hand paused on the coffee pot.

  "That's right. A dead body," Otis continued, as if we hadn't understood.

  "Otis, whose body is it?" Sheriff Knoxx asked.

  "That's the thing, Sheriff. It's yours!"

  * * *

  CHAPTER TWO

  Sheriff Knoxx pinched his face up like he didn't understand what Otis had just told him. I wasn't sure I'd heard right either.

  "My body?" Sheriff Knoxx asked. Otis nodded. The sheriff was clearly having trouble wrapping his head around that. We all were.

  "I don't understand, Otis. How can it be my body? I'm right here."

  Eleanor's face went pale. She jumped from her chair and grabbed hold of Sheriff Knoxx as if he were a balloon about to float away.

  "Don't worry," he told her. "I assure you, I'm not dead." He squeezed her hand reassuringly. That didn't stop her from hugging him so tight he started to turn blue.

  "It's a sign," she said. "A bad omen."

  "Eleanor, we're getting married in less than a month and nothing is going to happen to me. All right? I promise."

  Eleanor only gripped him tighter, until he turned a dangerous shade of purple. "If anything happens to you—"

  "It won't."

  "But if it does... I'm going with you. To Mistmoor."

  "Eleanor, this is police business."

  "I don't care. I'm going." She ran out the door and got into his police cruiser before he could stop her. His shoulders hunched forward; he knew when he'd been beaten. "All right," he said, more to himself than anyone else. "She wins."

  "You better get used to it if you're getting married," my dad told him. "You might not know it yet, but your wife is never wrong. The faster you learn that, the happier you'll be."

  Trixie and my dad didn't like the idea of Eleanor going to Mistmoor alone. It wasn't that long ago that Mistmoor had threatened to go to war with Sweetland Cove, all because of some obscure, ancient rule that Sweetland's own Mayor Thomas had found in some old law books.

  The general consensus in town was that Mayor Thomas had been drunk on power, wanting to rule over all of Heavenly Haven, not just Sweetland Cove. It had taken the last-minute intervention of Dean Lampton to settle things between us but tensions were still high. Mistmoor didn't trust us, not that they ever had. We didn't trust them, not that we ever would. Mayor Thomas had suffered the loss of some popularity points since then. No one had wanted to go to war. The fact that he was willing to do so just for his own personal gain left Sweetland Cove unsettled.