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“The gangs are up there.” Bolin waved the water gun toward the tree. “Snickering at me.”

“Birds hang out in flocks, not gangs, and that’s called chirping.”

“That’showthey snicker.” He raised his voice to add, “After theypoopall over your SUV.”

“It’s a lot shinier than the other cars in the lot.” I waved toward my pick-up truck in the staff spot next to his overpriced behemoth of a vehicle. The factory paint had lost its sheen, if there had everbeena sheen, a long time ago.

“Thus making it appealing topoopon?” Bolin sprayed water into the trees again. By the time it reached the upper branches, it lacked any force, and the remaining birds didn’t bother moving. “It’s happening every day I work here.”

“I don’t think your activities are illegal, per se, but they seem odd for a druid.” I waved to the water gun. “Would your father approve?”

“My father is able to park in a garage like a civilized person, sohiscar doesn’t get spattered. Besides, he’s not a druid, and neither am I. We just dabble. Grandfather was the druid.”

“Wouldhehave approved of such activities?”

Bolin sighed and lowered the water gun. “No.”

“I’m surprised the birds pester you. Usually animals can sense the magic in the blood of one with paranormal genes.” Even I’d been able to feel a bit of Bolin’s power when I’d still been taking the potion that had dulled my senses. Now, it was easier for me to identify that he had the ability to use magic and even that it was druidic magic.

“They don’t botherme. Just my car.”

“Maybe it’s their way of saying you don’t have a sufficiently druidic mode of transportation.” My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out.

“Cars in general aren’t druidic. Unless you mean I should get a Subaru Forester or something.” His nose crinkled. “Those are very… pedestrian.”

“You mean affordable to the average person?” The number had a local area code, but I didn’t recognize it and debated whether to answer.

Bolin wrinkled his nose again.

“I’ll take that as a yes. A druid probably shouldn’t have a car at all. Maybe you can ride a reindeer to work.”

“Hilarious.”

“I’m just saying, you never see a reindeer with bird poop on its antlers.” The phone stopped ringing, and an alert came up, saying the caller was leaving a voicemail. “Why don’t you spray and squeegee my truck while you’re there? I think washing the boss’s car is in the job description for an intern.”

Bolin looked balefully at me, but it was unclear if it was because I’d asked him to do menial work or I wasn’t sympathetic enough to his plight. Maybe I should have been since I’d had to pressure wash the walkways around the complex more than once. A number of tenants hung feeders on their little patios and balconies, so birds nested in the surrounding trees by the hundreds. They did tend to leave droppings everywhere.

As I headed for the office, I tapped the recording to play the voice mail.

“Aunt Luna?” a woman with a young voice asked. “Are you there?”

It sounded like my niece, Jasmine. She was the one who’d scared away my original alchemist to ensure I couldn’t get potions and would have to face the world—and its dangers—with the power of the werewolf fully intact.

“Call me back, please,” Jasmine continued. “Someone came on your mom’s property last night and attacked her and wounded several pack members. I’m not sure if Emilio is going to make it.”

I gaped at the phone. Who’d attacked my seventy-year-old mother? And Emilio, the salami-loving werewolf who thought I wasokay, despite what my cousins had said about me? He was a goofy innocent-seeming guy, and I’d liked him right away. And Mom… Well, who would attack an old woman? She still had power, but she was dying. She wasn’t a threat.

When I called, Jasmine answered right away.

“Luna,” she blurted with relief.

“Sorry, I didn’t recognize your number. Is Mom okay? Where are you?”

“Yeah, she said the bullet only grazed her.”

“Bullet?”

Someone walked past with a dog, and I waved, then hurried to shut myself in the office so the conversation would be private.