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  I squeezed between two cowboys and nodded to the bartender, a slender blonde with her hair in a bun and an eighties-band tank.

  “Dirty martini,” I shouted over Patsy Cline and unzipped my metallic blue parka.

  The bartender’s crystalline gaze slid through me, and I shivered. Expression wooden, she grabbed a bottle and began mixing the drink.

  The cowboy on my right nudged me. “Don't take it personally,” he said in a low voice. “That one's an odd duck.”

  “Mary's okay,” I said. Okay for one of the Disappeared. “And she mixes a mean drink, especially the old-fashioned cocktails.” She’d disappeared in the fifties.

  “I can't argue with you there, because I stick with beer.” He winked, tipping back his hat with his bottle. “What brings you here? I'm Roy, by the way.”

  “I'm meeting my boyfriend.” I looked over the crowd again. “You?”

  He edged fractionally backward. “My buddy and I came up for the skiing,” he said, “and we figured we'd stay here, where there’s more going on, than Bear Valley.”

  On the other side of me, his friend laughed. “Maybe we'll catch the Yeti.”

  “Yeti?” I raised a brow.

  “You know,” his buddy said, “like a Bigfoot. The one everyone's talking about.”

  Roy snorted. “Get your terms straight. Yetis are abominable snowmen. Bigfoots are more Pacific Northwest. Not that I believe in any of that,” he said quickly.

  It was the first I'd heard of this, and I leaned closer. “Hold on. Everyone's talking about a Yeti? I mean a Bigfoot?”

  “Some hikers saw it in the woods this morning.” Roy rolled his eyes. “Said it chased them down by something called the Fairy Spring. It was probably a bear.”

  My insides rolled, sluggish. Was this the thing I’d felt in the woods?

  “A headless bear?” his friend asked.

  “Obviously,” Roy drawled, “the hikers aren't the most reliable witnesses.”

  “Wait, you’re saying the Yeti had no head?” My stomach sunk to the sawdust floor. An animal attack. A headless Yeti. Doyle. What were the odds these weren’t connected? “Where did you hear this?”

  Cowboy Roy propped his elbow on the damp bar. “It was in that little local paper – the freebie the hotels give away.”

  I'd been too focused on the article about Alex Mansfield's death this morning to notice. The police were still being cagey about the cause of death. The newspaper had called it a shooting that the sheriff’s department was continuing to investigate. The Sheriff had asked for anyone with information to come forward. As far as I knew, no one had.

  Mary thunked my martini on the bar, and the olives bounced inside the funnel-shaped glass. “You running a tab, Jayce, or want to pay now?”

  I handed her my credit card. “A tab. Brayden should be here any minute.” He was hopelessly prompt. To the cowboys, I said, “Have fun skiing.”

  “Stay away from Bigfoot.” Roy chortled.

  I grabbed the drink and looked around the room. No tables had cleared. The strange couple stared at me.

  Well. There was an easy answer to this problem.

  I wove through the crowd to their table. “Welcome to Doyle.”

  Their eyelids didn’t flicker. The couple’s skin had an odd, perfect sheen that made my skin crawl.

  The man’s nose twitched. “Miss Bonheim, isn’t it?”

  I started. How did he know my name? “Yes, Jayce. Jayce Bonheim. And you are…?”

  “Mr. O’Hare. And this is Mrs. Raven.”

  O’Hare and Raven? Were they cos-players? Because those couldn’t be real names. And what was with this formal Mr. and Mrs. business? Hadn’t they heard they were in California? Centering myself, I sent a gentle, questing touch of magic their way.

  And sensed nothing but beer and sawdust.

  So, either they were normal (ha!), or they were really good and had somehow cloaked their magic. No one had ever managed to do that to me before… that I knew of.

  “What brings you to Antoine’s?” I asked.

  “We’re meeting a… friend,” Mrs. Raven said.

  “From Doyle?”

  “Yes,” she said smoothly.

  Okaaay.

  “We were just discussing the recent animal attack. I don’t suppose the police have found the witnesses?” O’Hare asked.

  “What witnesses?” I asked.

  He waved his plump hand. “I misspoke. I meant to say, they haven’t found any witnesses. To the… animal attack?”

  Had I imagined the stress he’d laid on the words, animal attack? “Not that I know of,” I said. Behind my back, I sent another soft push of magic into the crowd and visualized an empty table, preferably one far from O’Hare and Raven.

  “Of course,” O’Hare said, “in a town like this, I don’t imagine the animal will soon be caught.”

  “Mr. O’Hare,” Mrs. Raven said warningly.

  “Town like what?” I asked.

  “Small.” Mrs. Steinberg cracked her cane upon the table, and their beer mugs jumped.

  So did I.

  Mrs. Raven and Mr. O’Hare, however, remained still as stone.

  “Starting this shindig without me?” Glowering, the old lady unwound the thick scarf from the neck of her black wool coat. “That’s against the rules, isn’t it?”

  “We were waiting for you,” Mrs. Raven said.

  An older couple rose from a table in the center of the room and ambled toward the batwing doors. The round table was closer to O’Hare and Raven than I liked, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. “I’d better grab that. Enjoy your evening.”

  Relieved to escape, I scooted into one of the empty chairs, my back to Mrs. Steinberg and the mysterious couple. I shifted abandoned drinks to the far side of the table.

  Ignoring the burning sensation between my shoulder blades, I took a gulp of my martini and checked my phone. Where was Brayden? He was never late.

  Stay away from Bigfoot.

  I shook myself. Brayden hadn’t been attacked by an animal or a Yeti. He was probably just delayed. I rotated my martini glass in a nervous circle.

  A zaftig woman in a flirty black dress started up a line dance. And since I'd come here to have fun, and O’Hare and Raven were still staring in spite of Mrs. Steinberg’s presence, I joined the crowd.

  A couple's dance started up.

  Henry, a seventy-something in a Jack Daniels shirt appeared at my side. “Ma’am.” He tipped his black cowboy hat. Henry knew every single line dance – it was his septuagenarian super power.

  I grinned and took his gnarled hand.

  Henry and I whirled and two-stepped and laughed through my mis-steps. But I couldn't stop wondering about what had happened to Brayden. I didn't need him to have a good time, but we always met at Antoine's on Friday nights.

  When Roy asked me to dance, I agreed too. It felt good to be the focus of random male attention again, even if it was innocent.

  The dance ended, and I swooped on my drink and gulped it down, panting. “Whoo!” I fanned myself.

  “Another?” Roy asked.

  I nodded.

  We returned to the bar and ordered. I braced my elbows on the shiny wood and waited for my drink.

  “Mary!” A teenage boy with thick brown hair and a Niners jersey leaned across the bar and waved to her. “Beer.”

  Impassive, she set down Roy’s beer. “You're putting me in a bad place, David.”

  He smirked. “You want to see my license?”

  “No inspector's going to believe that license,” the bartender said.

  The teen shrugged. “That's not my problem. DNA doesn't lie. We both know how old I am.”

  “Hey, kid,” Roy said, “This bar could lose its liquor license if it serves you.”

  I shifted. David was one of the Disappeared. He might look like a sullen teen, but he was Brayden's age, in his late thirties.

  David
shot the cowboy a hostile look. Motioning to Mary, he walked around the crowd to the far end of the bar.

  She walked to him, and they spoke rapidly, their heads close across the bar.

  “That's ballsy,” Roy said. “Think she needs help?” He nodded toward the bartender.

  “No,” I said. “Mary can handle him.”

  The owner, Antoine, emerged from a back room. His face, the color and texture of old bark, turned impassive. He said something to Mary.

  She shook her head and returned to mixing my martini.

  David scowled. Head lowered, he pushed through the crowd toward the front doors and plowed into Eclectus Hood.

  The Mansfields’ lawyer had discarded his suit jacket, his cuffs rolled to his elbows. He started to say something to the teenager, then stiffened.

  Interesting. All sorts of weird things were happening at Antoine’s tonight, and that meant I needed to pay attention. Eclectus had known Alex Mansfield – he might know why someone had wanted him dead.

  I slid from my barstool. “I'll be right back,” I told the cowboy.

  David's nostrils flared. He straightened, his chest thrusting outward, his fists clenching.

  “That kid is trouble,” Roy muttered.

  So was I. I edged through the dancers and toward the two men.

  The batwing doors swung open. A diminutive, middle-aged woman in a pink tulip skirt and matching shimmery velvet jacket walked in.

  I drew in a breath. It was David’s sister, Angela. I guessed her outfit was from the boutique she owned. It was one of my favorites because it had things a coffeeshop owner could afford. It was where I’d bought the blue, high-heeled boots I hadn’t been able to resist wearing to work today.

  Beneath the brass, overhead lamps, her near-black hair shimmered with a hint of red. Her gaze landed on her brother and the lawyer. “David!” Her thin shoulders slumped with relief. “I thought you might be here.”

  I edged closer.

  The teen folded his arms and adopted a bored look. “So you had to chase after me?”

  She canted her head and smiled up at the lawyer. “Eclectus, how nice to see you again.”

  “Are you kidding me?” David exploded, his handsome face contorting. “You know what he did!”

  “No,” she said coolly. “I don't, and neither do you, and over twenty years have passed. And if you really want a drink—”

  “I don't want a drink. I came to see Mary,” he frowned at the sawdust floor.

  Eclectus frantically looked everywhere but at David. “Well, I guess I'll leave you two. Take care of yourself, Angela.” Gaze fixed on the bar, the lawyer patted her arm and ducked into the crowd.

  “This is a small town,” Angela said to her brother. “We need to get along.”

  “What do you know about getting along?” he snapped.

  Her shoulders sagged. “Oh, David.”

  He stormed from the bar, the batwing doors flapping behind him.

  Angela looked away, and her gaze met mine. She smiled weakly. “Hi, Jayce. I guess you heard that.”

  “A little,” I admitted. “How's David handling things?” Like returning after twenty-plus years in fairyland.

  She shook her head, her delicate gold earrings swinging. “Sometimes I wonder if he really is my brother.” Her voice caught. “He's so… He's not the boy I remembered.”

  “How are you handling things?” I asked more gently.

  “The shop keeps me busy, and that's the way I like it. I don't know what to do for David. He's such a lost soul. Sometimes I think I just make things worse.”

  “I'm sure you're not.” My heart twisted with sympathy. Poor David – out of time and looking twenty years younger than his true age. His friends were grown. His parents were dead. And Angela, coping with the sudden reappearance of a teenage brother she'd long thought was dead. She'd become a mother and sister all at once.

  She rubbed her arms. “I'd better go after my brother. Nice seeing you, Jayce.”

  “Take care.” I watched her leave, then retrieved my drink from the bar. Suddenly too beat for small talk or snooping, I excused myself. My table had remained magically vacant, and I made my way to the tiny oasis.

  I dropped into the chair and speared an olive with the miniature plastic sword. Karin had been right about Doyle in one way — the effects of the fairy curse hadn't ended with the curse itself. They rippled onward and outward as the victims struggled to pick up the broken fragments of their lives.

  “Jayce,” a beloved masculine voice rumbled, and my heart jumped.

  Brayden pulled back the chair opposite and sat. “Sorry, I'm late.”

  I smiled, relieved. But there was no answering flicker of gladness in his emerald eyes, and something shrank inside me. “Where have you been?” I asked lightly. “Hey, what happened here?” I touched the sleeve of his plaid shirt, where a piece had been torn free.

  “What?” He lifted his arm and frowning, peered at the tear. “I don’t know. Why, are you offering to repair it?”

  “You’re talking to the wrong sister. You know sewing and me don’t get along.”

  “To answer your question, I was with Maya.” He signaled to a waitress. “She was worried she'd have to replace the banister on that big front staircase, but she just needs to replace a few balusters. I got caught up in the work, and everything took longer than I’d expected.”

  I swallowed the painful lump that had materialized in my throat. He’d made me wait for another woman? And what about Terry? “The light over my door works.”

  He grinned. “It had better.”

  “Thank you for that. I have to admit, it felt better coming home with that light on.”

  “I just want you to be safe.”

  I bit back my usual response. Safe is boring. “Where’s Terry?”

  He glanced into the crowd. “Ah, she was tired.”

  In other words, she didn’t want to come tonight. I guess I couldn’t blame her. Casually, I leaned back in my chair and raised a brow. “So, are you going to help Maya rebuild her banister?”

  “No. She needs someone who can replicate the existing balusters, and I don't have the time or tools for that.” Not quite meeting my gaze, he rambled on about newel posts and Victorian architecture. And even though that night we danced close, laughing, something split inside me.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Twenty pounds of cat thudded onto my chest. I wheezed, gasping, and Picatrix purred with satisfaction. The ebony cat meowed, her whiskers tickling my cheek.

  Huffing out a groan, I squinted at the gray light pouring through the skylight. I shoved Picatrix off me and rolled over, burrowing deeper into the covers. My hand groped across the sheets for Brayden. “Mm…”

  The cat pawed at my head.

  “Stop it,” I grumped, remembering that Brayden had an early morning shift today, the poor guy. Weekends were always days off for me, but his shifts as an EMT were more erratic.

  I smiled and stretched, remembering our night together. Whatever weird insecurity had grabbed hold of me at the bar last night had been overblown. I, party girl Jayce Bonheim, was not insecure. It had only been the strangeness of the night that had thrown me off kilter.

  Get over it. My… whatever it was, was nothing compared to what Terry must be feeling.

  If she’d come to Antoine’s last night, could we have made things work?

  Watery morning sunlight puddled on my pink and yellow coverlet. Yawning, I slithered from my warm sheets. I stumbled over a throw pillow and a discarded pair of blue boots and shivered into a red silk robe.

  The cat danced around my bare feet as I poured kibble into her bowl.

  “Bon appetit.”

  Crunching sounds echoed off the kitchen cabinets.

  I ambled to my tiny bathroom, showered, put on my makeup, and cast my morning glamour spell. Glamour spells were basically the reverse of cloaking spells. They subtly altered other’s per
ceptions. I don’t think the spell changed me much, but casting a morning glamour was as second-nature to me as swiping on mascara. In the mirror, I checked my outfit: tight jeans with torn knees and an off-the-shoulder, soft as sin, chunky gray sweater.

  Picatrix watched from a window perch, her ebony tail twitching, while I tugged on a pair of fleece-lined suede boots. A free weekend stretched before me. I was so not going to spend it at home.

  My blood hummed with an indefinable something that told me things were happening. Foolish me, I didn’t care if those happenings were bad or good.

  I strolled down Main Street and ignored the late autumn chill that shivered my bare shoulders. Tourists peered into the windows of the old-west buildings. I paused to admire the false fronts decorated with fake snow and shiny ornaments.

  From a kiosk, I picked up a local paper and sauntered into my favorite brunch spot, Alchemy. My shoulders tightened defensively, and I realized I was scanning the room for Terry.

  I hadn’t seen much of her, but I could feel her presence here in Doyle. Her hurt and her anger seemed to buzz against my aura now, setting my teeth on edge.

  Karin said casting curses was frighteningly easy. People did it all the time, holding onto anger against people they knew and people they didn’t, sending malicious energy their way. Was that what I was feeling from Terry?

  I made a gesture, feeling my aura heat, purging itself of any negative attachments. My muscles relaxed, and I blew out a breath, feeling better. This wasn’t Terry’s fault.

  I claimed a window table and twenty minutes later, I tucked into a brunch of huevos rancheros and mimosas. People complain about modern life, but you can't beat the food.

  Finally, I sighed, satisfied, and slouched back in my metal chair, a cup of tea hovering beneath my lips.

  Across the street, a stand of aspens blazed gold beside a ramshackle stone barn. A man in Nordic ski gear ambled past my window. He caught my eye and winked, and I smiled back, unable to help myself.

  I closed my eyes, enjoying the tea’s peppermint scent. A gentle warmth brushed the edges of my awareness.

  I started, my eyes blinking open.