Chapter 1
The moment I focused, it snapped into view.
A glistening ethereal barrier arched high above Oakspider Park, curving into a dome that shimmered like light trapped in water. An oakspider acorn dropped from the sky, struck the obstacle with a sharp ping, and bounced harmlessly to the grass.
I tapped the dome, and it rippled beneath my touch, undisturbed by the whirlwind of chaos surrounding it.
Festival workers hammered at half-constructed booths, people rushed about with popcorn and cotton candy carts, and somewhere in the fray—
“Why are you putting that THERE?! Must I do EVERYTHING?!”
I flinched, tugged my oversized cardigan tighter, and ducked my head.
Borda Wrathfell, the organizer of Gumbo Fest and a weather demon, stormed past. Lightning crackled around the gray-streaked frizz of her hair, her fiery fury fully engaged.
“Quick, Pyewacket! Before Borda sees us!” I hissed, gesturing to the constantly shifting symbols swirling over the dome’s surface. “What’s the password Chase gave us?”
Pyewacket’s head popped out of my bag, his ears twitching. My black cat familiar had only one golden eye but that didn’t stop him from glaring at me with the intensity of two.
I hadn’t had time to decorate the Magically Enchanted Travel shop (or MET as it was known) for Darkly’s annual fall Gumbo Festival. No pumpkins, no gourds, not even a lonely chrysanthemum in a planter by the door.
I admit I probably shouldn’t have been taking a break. However, in my defense, I’d been working almost 24/7 preparing all the portals for the arrivals and departures of festivalgoers.
After all, I’m sure Borda would agree that MET travel was the most efficient way for paranormals like me—those tragically cursed with neither wings nor veilshifting abilities—to get around. Which meant keeping the portals running smoothly was basically my sacred duty.
Besides, Shadow Pumpkin Farm was already penciled in for this afternoon’s adventure, so really, I was just being responsible. Until then though? Operation Avoid Borda Wrathfell was my top priority.
And yet, here I was. Right in the middle of enemy territory.
“Fine. Don’t help.” I was used to my temperamental familiar’s hissy fits. This one was brisket-related, specifically, his lack of access to any.
I gazed at the symbols spinning by—pink hearts, yellow moons, orange stars, green clovers, violet eyes…
I reached out and plucked a twirling, vibrant eye from the swirl of symbols.
And in a blink, the entire park transformed.
The festival vanished. Gone were the booths, the throngs of people, and Borda’s festival-induced rage.
Instead, we stood under a perfect sunlit sky on a lush green field, cleared for Hexbee, a favorite sport of the Charming Isles. A sparkling golden border ringed the circular field. Small bleachers stood off to the side and I climbed to the second row and sat.
Pyewacket hopped out of my bag and scowled. “Not even a vending machine in sight.”
I scratched his cranky little head. “Tragedy of the highest order.”
Magic was real, and even now I was still trying to wrap my head around that fact. A few months ago, I’d never heard of Hexbee, let alone believed in wands, witches, or warlocks. Back then, I was a professor and conservator at a university in New York, until my fiancé-slash-boss denied me tenure and handed my office to his newest infatuation. So yes, when I got word that my grandmother had left me our ancestral home and the MET, I was more than ready for a fresh start.
I looked around the stands and a few familiar faces stood out. Clobber Mudkipp, bartender at my favorite restaurant The Green Gator Tavern and a tall and rather handsome goblin, gave me a wave before stepping onto the field.
Zelda Merryman—as sweet as sun tea but cursed with questionable taste in friends—patted my shoulder gently before sliding onto the seat beside me. How Borda had become BFFs with my scheming half-sister Elspeth—you know, the one who crashed my grand opening with a surprise “we’re related!” announcement—and Solara Nova, Darkly’s resident mean girl who’d declared war on me the moment her ex, Keir Bane, started flirting, was honestly beyond me.
Everyone knew Zelda was too good for them. It’s a shame she didn’t know it.
The rest of the spectators were undoubtedly wolf shifters, their sharp eyes watching the game with relaxed amusement.
A familiar blur of red ponytail streaked toward me as Jessamin Wilde, close friend and hearth fairy, hopped onto the bench beside me, still slightly out of breath from the game.
“Hi y’all,” she said, tugging her water bottle from beneath the bench. “Did you have any trouble getting onto the plane, Win?”
Pye sidestepped me and curled up in her lap with a huff.
“Hey, Jess. Nope. None at all.” I smiled, searching for Keir, alpha of the Silverfangs, the local wolf shifter clan, and my…well, I wasn’t actually sure what he was.
Then my brain caught up to her wording. “Wait. I stepped onto another plane?”
Zelda nodded, eyes bright. “Sorcerers can manipulate elements and time. They can literally tear open the fabric of reality and create a new space. This one is just an empty version of Oakspider Park.”
I let that sink in for a moment. “That’s…a rather powerful ability.”
Jess nodded. “Chase is a rather powerful sorcerer.”
Zelda nodded. “It’s a good thing he’s full of heart.”
I snorted. “He’s full of something, but I wouldn’t call it heart.”
We shared a good laugh before I turned my attention back to the playing field, scanning for Keir—
—and found him instantly.
On the far edges of the circle, Keir stood in shorts and a tank top, his ridiculously fine muscles and the dark intricate ink winding over them on full display. I tore my gaze away and tried to make sense of the bedlam taking place before me.
Four large spectral hoops spun lazily in the air—two red, two blue—positioned at equal intervals around the playing circle. Every so often, the hexdisc—glimmering like a shard of enchanted light—streaked across the sky, only to vanish behind another player.
I frowned. “Okay, can someone please explain this game to me?”
A voice leaned in close from behind us. “Sure.”
I turned to find a ruggedly handsome man with long blond hair and deep green eyes leaning between Jess and me, flashing an easy-going grin.
“Talmadge Prescott. But everyone calls me Tal.”
With a dramatic flourish, he tossed his hair over one shoulder, tucked a stray lock behind his ear, and pointed.
“See the four hoops? Red is Chase’s team, blue is the winners—I’m sorry, the shifters.”
I laughed and my eyes followed his gesture, taking in the field before giving a quiet nod.
“The goal,” he said, “is to get the hexdisc through your team’s hoops. Bonus points if you can score successively between the two goals in a row. Sounds easy, right?” He grinned. “But—”
“Let me guess. Magic,” I said, watching the field as Chase clapped his hands together and the blue hoops began spinning at warp speed.
Tal snapped his fingers. “Exactly! Every player can use their magical abilities to block, pass, or score. That’s what makes it fun.”
He turned to Jess and smiled.
I looked back at the playing field. Keir stood in the middle of the circle. The golden glow of afternoon light caught the edge of his roguish smile as he pointed a thumb to his chest and then made a fist.
I laughed. “Shifters are winning, I take it.”
Jess stretched out her legs with a groan. “Every time. They’re just too fast and too strong.”
A sharp whistle blast echoed across the field and the shifters groaned.
I looked around for a referee but saw no one.
Jess nudged me. “It’s magically refereed. No bias. No cheating—” she hesitated “—mostly.”
Tal’s deep voice rumbled behind us again. “Guarantees fair play, but it doesn’t stop the whining.”
We watched the play in companionable silence for a few more minutes. I still couldn’t make sense of the rules though. I was just about to give up and face the wrath of Borda when Tal cocked his head and smiled. “So, you’re Keir’s girlfriend,” he said. “Was beginning to think you didn’t exist.”
“It’s nice to finally meet you, Win.” He winked. “Tell Keir to bring you to the Cairns sometime.”
I muttered something vaguely polite in return, but my brain was short-circuiting over one very, very important word.
The bleachers suddenly exploded with sound as the shifters pounded the wooden boards and whooped their approval. Apparently, the wolves had scored again.
“Watch Keir.” Tal gestured toward the game. “He leaps easily twenty feet into the air. And he’s so fast, half the time the other team can’t even track him.”
Right on cue, one of the shifters launched the hexdisc high into the air. It arced toward the goal, but veered slightly off-course—
And then, in the span of a heartbeat, Keir sprang upward, twisting mid-air like a wolf in flight, catching the disc with one powerful hand before redirecting it through the hoop. The entire move lasted seconds—a perfect, fluid motion, raw power and grace combined.
I stared, awestruck. “He’s amazing,” I murmured.
As if he could sense my gaze, Keir turned his head. His brown eyes locked onto mine.
The noise of the crowd faded. For a long moment, he just looked at me, the corner of his mouth curving into the faintest smile. Something inside me tightened, then softened.
Before I could spiral any further, the whistle shrieked again, announcing the end of the round—or quarter—or whatever Hexbee used for timekeeping.
Keir jogged toward the bleachers, grabbed a towel and a bottle of water, and then—without hesitation—hopped up beside me.
“I’m glad you came.” His voice was low, warm. He pressed a quick kiss to my lips before pulling back. “Sorry for the sweat.”
Even after running around the field, he still smelled amazing—fresh pine and warm spices, like nutmeg and cinnamon—like Keir.
Tzazi Strangeland, close friend, lawyer, and badass vampire, plopped onto the bench below me, guzzling water. “We would’ve had that round if Chase hadn’t fallen on his arse during the last play.”
Chase Abernathy-Wyatt strolled over with his partner Lorenzo de Zavala trailing behind—Ren to those of us who didn’t have time for fancy first names—still gleaming with post-match sweat.
Chase cut quite the figure even in defeat. He was the first soul I’d encountered when I’d stepped off that rickety airboat onto Darkly’s weathered dock, all designer luggage and wounded pride. Tall and golden-bronzed, this sorcerer never met a crisp linen suit he couldn’t make look effortless, though I’d heard whispers that his magic packed considerably more punch than his laid-back bourbon-and-Sazerac aesthetic suggested.
Ren, trailing a step behind, couldn’t have been more different if he’d tried. Where Chase was all pressed cotton and smooth charm, Ren kept things simple—faded jeans, soft tees, and that sweep of sleek black hair that always seemed to catch the light just right. Quiet where Chase was bold, Ren possessed the kind of gentle, intuitive nature that made him our group’s emotional anchor, reading between the lines when the rest of us were too stubborn or too proud to say what we really meant.
Chase waggled a finger at Tzazi. “If the Silverfangs hadn’t cheated, we would’ve had that one.”
Quinn Ainsley, Keir’s beta, a tall, dark-skinned woman, chuckled, her voluminous afro softly bouncing with her mirth. “If you call ‘playing better than you’ cheating, Chase,” she teased, “then, yeah, we cheated.”
Ren chuckled, slinging a towel over his shoulders. “Hard to argue with facts.”
“Whatever,” Chase harrumphed and sat down on the bottom bench. “Everyone knows I’m right.”
He grabbed Tzazi’s water bottle and took a large gulp.
She grabbed it back and slung an arm around his shoulder. “The terror that is your ego.”
He tossed her arm off, cocked his head, and grinned. “Ah, but darling, my ego isn’t a terror. It’s a well-earned legend.”
His smirk faded slightly, a flicker of unease passing over his face. “Speaking of terror… Last night, as I was leaving the salon, a swamp phantasm appeared clear out of nowhere. Scared the sin right outta me.”
The warm buzz of friendly banter dimmed as a hush settled over the group, Chase’s uncharacteristic seriousness drawing everyone’s attention.
Even Pye’s head popped up and he moved over to my lap and sat, posture rigid.
A chill traveled up my spine. “What’s a swamp phantasm?”
Jaime Mayór, tall, lanky, with a mop of ginger hair and a scatter of freckles, spoke up. His voice was even, but there was a weight to it. “They’re shadowy creatures that live in swamps and bayous. They usually keep to the deep, uninhabited places, but if one showed itself in town…” He let out a slow breath, clearly unsettled. “Was it inside the shop?”
“Good lord, no,” Chase said. “Just outside clinging to the shadows next to the window. One second, I was locking up, the next, there it was.” He shook his head. “Didn’t move. Just stood there looking at me.” He drummed his fingers on his knee, a nervous habit of his, before adding, “I reached my hand back inside and flipped on every light. I’ll be keeping them all on from now on.”
Tal, lounging next to Jess, frowned. “We’ve seen a few near the Cairns lately. Which is strange, of course, since we’re nowhere near the swamps.”
Pye tapped me with a paw. “How often? Where exactly?”
“Pye wants to know where and when,” I said to Tal.
Tal shrugged. “A handful of times in the past month. Usually lurking just outside the perimeter, near the treeline.”
Quinn blew out a breath, rubbing the back of her neck. “Imps too.”
The wind shifted, rustling the trees lining the field, a whisper of movement that felt heavier than the usual autumn breeze. A few of the shifters glanced at each other, their casual posture tightening just a fraction.
Keir draped an arm over my shoulders, his Scottish lilt a warm, steady reassurance. “Whatever’s stirrin’, love, we’ll handle it.”
His casual confidence didn’t quite erase the unease creeping along my skin, but I leaned into him anyway, letting the steady thrum of his presence chase away the shadows clinging to my thoughts.
A harsh whistle sounded, and the players jumped up from the stands. Keir’s hand lingered on my leg for a second before he flashed a smile and joined his team.
Tzazi set her water bottle down next to me, fished out a set of keys from her windbreaker pocket and handed them to me. “The Jeep’s parked in front of the law firm when you’re ready to head to Patch’s farm.”
“Perfect. Thanks, Tzazi.”
My only ride since moving to Darkly Island was a mint-condition Schwinn I’d found in my grandmother’s shed. Beautiful, yes. Practical for hauling a load of pumpkins? Not so much.
“His name is Patch Priddyholm,” Tzazi continued. “Maman says he’s expecting you.”
“You sittin’ out, sugah?” Chase asked me as Tzazi and the other players thundered onto the field.
“I think it’s best I just watch today,” I said. “Maybe I’ll try it next time.”
Chase nodded and shouted as he ran out onto the playing field. “I’m coming for you, Bane.”
Keir cupped a hand to his ear, grinning. “What’s that now? Speak up, lad, I cannae hear yeh.”
“I said I’m coming for you!” Chase yelled.
Keir smirked. “Ach, sorry, still nothing. Must be the sound of the scoreboard ticking up our points.”
Chase shot the finger at him as a disc suddenly appeared in the air before him. He grabbed it, mumbled a few words, and with a flick of his wrist, released it into the air.
“Goodness, they’re silly.” I laughed at their taunting.
“I know, right? Men and sports,” Jess replied as her eyes swept to somewhere over my shoulder probably in the direction of a shifter with blond hair.
After the game (shifters won), Keir walked me to the MET, his hand warm against mine. He turned me toward him, his fingers grazing my chin.
“I better get going,” I said, though I didn’t especially want to. “I have an afternoon date with a very successful pumpkin farmer.”
Keir kissed me, slow and deep, before pulling back. “Aye? So that’s what impresses yeh? Successful pumpkin farmers? I’ll need to file that away for later.” He took a few steps and then turned. “See yeh the night, then?”
“Definitely.” I made a mental note to stop at Bosada’s Grocery on the way home and grab some wine.
I tossed Tzazi’s keys into the air and caught them. Time to see a man about a pumpkin!
Buy it now!
