Page 1

1

Teenagers Are Velociraptors

Harlow “Harry” Pierce caught a hex, and not one of the insignificant varieties where you reached for Clearasil pimple patches and hoped your new concealer really did cover it all . No, luck and Harry were not best friends nor acquaintances. At this point she’d take frenemies with benefits over the cold, hard reality.

This curse wielder meant business, throwing her off-kilter by messing with her commutes all week and then knocking her to the ground with a double whammy—getting fired from the company she’d built and surviving a horrific case of food poisoning. You’d think being sacked while puking your guts out would’ve delighted any ill-wisher, but nope.

Lulled into a false sense of security, she didn’t see the third clobbering until, after a quick sprint to the mailroom, she stood—dressed in her Wolf Girl Gone Wild summer pj’s—in the hallway outside her locked apartment door and realized the teenager who was supposed to be serving a grounding sentence in her bedroom was MIA.

But not for long.

Leaving the subway, Harry turned the corner of Lafayette Street and headed up Broome, her thick-soled wolf slippers protecting her from both the hot New York City summer sidewalk and its questionable puddles. Even in the SoHo neighborhood, no one balked at her choice of evening wear or the magical compass lighting her palm as she used her descry magics to track down a soon-to-be even more grounded sixteen-year-old.

Descry abilities didn’t come in handy often. Lost necklace here. Misplaced vibrator there. In the case of her professional organization business, her meager magics helped turn overcrowded and nonfunctional rooms into blissfully efficient spaces. But that was before she’d gotten the board boot that afternoon. Now, most of her magical usage would come from being the guardian of a surly teenager whose life goal was tripling Harry’s gray hair count before she hit thirty-five.

Harry’s palm flared brightly a second before the light flickered and petered out. Unease twisted her stomach into knots as she glanced up at a nondescript redbrick building. Blackened windows that hadn’t seen a squeegee’s damp side in goddess knows how long made it impossible to peer inside, and a precariously dangling sign hung over an aged green door, the only indication that the place hadn’t been abandoned eons ago.

A Demon’s Promise. Brokering Agency.

“Oh, I don’t think so.” She yanked open the door to the demon-brokering company, her earlier unease morphing into angry determination as she drilled the demon behind the counter with a hard glare. “Back away from the kid. Right now.”

Two heads swiveled her way.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Grace released her signature annoyed huff, shoulders slumping.

“Can I help you?” The Quell demon’s reptilian eyes flickered as he studied Harry with wary interest.

“No, but I can help you by giving you five seconds to throw away that contract before I call the Supernatural authorities. She won’t be needing it,” Harry snapped.

Grace glared at her, the teen’s staple facial expression right up there with the exaggerated eye roll and snort of derision. “What are you doing here?”

“Preventing you from doing something that you can’t take back. Making a Demon’s Promise will bring nothing but problems.”

“So, in other words, nothing will have changed.”

The supernatural behind the counter cleared his throat. “If I may interrupt…”

“You may not,” Harry and Grace said in unison.

Harry summoned her best mom glare, which was admittedly pretty damn weak, considering she’d only had a year’s worth of practice, and propped her hands on her ample hips. “I don’t know what kind of shifty operation you’re running here, buddy, but—”

“I operate a legitimate business.” He puffed out his barrel chest, the move thinning his nearly see-through shirt. “I don’t need to resort to shifty operations.”

“What’s so legitimate about signing a minor to a Demon’s Promise? Because the last time I checked, it was punishable by a lifetime sentence in the sulfur pits of Hell.”

The older demon’s red-scaled face paled to a dark pink. “I—I didn’t know.”

“And now you do. So, what will it be?” She held up her phone, careful not to show the blank screen. She’d gotten a low-battery warning the second she’d left the subway station, and the damn thing was as dead as her dating life, but that was on a need-to-know basis. “Am I calling the authorities, or will you be warming up your shredder?”

The demon snatched the contract laid out in front of Grace and, with a parting stink eye, hustled through a beaded curtain and into a back room. Harry waited for the following door slam before she turned to a feral teen.

“I can’t believe you just did that!” Grace accused angrily.

“And I can’t believe you even entertained this as an option! What the hell were you thinking… or were you even thinking at all?”

“He said he could help.”

“He’d say anything if it got your signature on that paper, Gracie, and Supernatural Law or not, once it was there, there wouldn’t have been anything we could’ve done to remove it.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that it’s Grace ? Not Gracie. Or Gracie Lou. G-R-A-C-E.”

Twelve dozen. Fifty. Truthfully, it didn’t matter how many reminders she got, Grace would always be the three-year-old toddler Harry had met when she answered an ad for a roommate thirteen years ago.

Harry pointed to the door. “Let’s go. We’ll talk about this more when we get home.”

Grace flicked her gaze over her outfit, landing last on her wolf-paw-clad feet. “I am not walking next to you when you’re wearing that.”

“Why? Embarrassing? Good. Then I’ll stick real close to your side so there’s not a doubt in people’s minds that we’re together. After all, if you’d been in your room, where you were supposed to be, then I wouldn’t have trekked across town wearing my pj’s.” She pointed to the door again. “Now move it before I decide that belting out ‘Hungry Like the Wolf’ is a good way to pass time on our commute home.”

Grace’s dark eyes narrowed. “Even you wouldn’t be that embarrassing.”

“Oh yeah? Move it, kiddo. Or I’ll make sure we take the long way home for shits and giggles.” Harry rose to the challenge, mentally apologizing to the poor people about to suffer through her singing voice.

This time, on their commute back to Brooklyn Heights, she got a few looks and led two different sing-alongs, one on the R train, where Grace looked prepped to hurl herself out the nearest emergency window. Through it all, Harry mentally formulated a plan and a speech, and hoped like hell she didn’t say something stupid.

In all reality, she didn’t need to be hexed to put her wolf-slippered foot in her mouth. Unlike parenting, that came naturally, even more so when dealing with a teenager whose inner supernatural decided it was no longer content remaining confined in its human skin suit. Mystery genetics aside, her best friend, Cassie, made the parenting thing look so damn easy, which was one reason why Harry agreed to becoming Grace’s temporary guardian while Cassie attempted to track down her one and only one-night stand and demand answers.

They’d hoped for it to take a month, and then one month turned into two, then two morphed into six. Now at over a year, Harry mourned the loss of her Cool Aunt Harry title and warily accepted the hostile attitude, frequent eye rolls, and annoyed snorts that came with her new one…

Teenage Fun-Killer.

Never show weakness. Cassie’s parting words echoed in her head. Teenagers are like velociraptors. When they smell blood, they go in the for the kill.

Harry stopped singing Duran Duran while Grace keyed them into their apartment, and the second they stepped into their cozy two bedroom and closed the door, the teenager beelined to her room.

“We need to talk about what happened.” Harry firmed her voice and crossed her fingers it didn’t waver.

Grace pointed to her ears. “Can’t hear you. I’m listening to music. Something recorded this century.”

Harry called on her magic—and the green earbud—and magically plucked the device from Grace’s left ear. “Pink will still be around a few minutes from now and then you can go back to ignoring me. But first, we talk and have an actual conversation.”

Goddess. Her mother’s words somehow transported through time and space—and from her parents’ archaeological dig six thousand miles away—and flew out her mouth. She’d be so damn proud.

A soft, golden spark flickered in the teen’s usually dark brown eyes, a sign her inner supernatural was rising close to the surface. “Pink is more your speed. And I’m listening to music so I don’t have to carry on a conversation with you.”

“First, do not use my love for Pink as a negative personality trait. It’s uncalled for and downright rude. Not to mention a bit hurtful.”

“And second?” Grace cocked her hip. “If there’s a first, that means there’s a second.”

Smart teenage smart-ass. “I’m still thinking one up.”

Harry’s gaze drifted over to today’s mail sitting on the kitchen table and the very distinct manila envelope on top… and not where she’d left it.

Things slowly clicked into place.

She’d received notification from Grace’s school that afternoon, the principal officially extending her suspension indefinitely. Accidentally set fire to one chem lab and they got their knickers in a twist… but add that infraction to the list of others and they had a tiny leg on which to stand. A thin flamingo leg, but a leg nonetheless.

Ignoring the pit of uncertainty churning in her stomach, Harry lifted her chin. “We’re not giving up, Grace. And maybe homeschooling isn’t such a bad idea while—”

“I’m lighting things on fire?” The teenager lifted a dark eyebrow, her tone laced heavily with sarcasm.

“While we consider all our options.”

“We have no more options, Harry. Especially now that my name is probably blacklisted by every Promise broker in the tristate area.”

“ That was never an option and it never will be.” Harry pushed a hopeful smile onto her face. “I requested a meeting with Alpha Cho, from the Salem, Massachusetts, pack, and once I get word, we can—”

“Go on another road trip for no reason. Great.” Grace rolled her eyes, plucking her earbud from Harry’s hand. “What makes you think they can help when all the others before them couldn’t? Or the covens before them? We’ve road-tripped to dozens of supernatural groups all over the Eastern Seaboard, and they’ve all shrugged their shoulders and sent us on our merry way.”

“Not all . The coven out of Vermont gave us our third verification that we are dealing with an inner shifter. There’s someone out there who can help. We just haven’t found them yet,” Harry stated adamantly.

“Well, it’s their turn to seek, because I’m getting damn tired of it.” Grace turned to the short hall that led to her room, each step stealing another ounce of moisture from Harry’s mouth.

Time was up, and it fucking hurt Harry to swallow the fully formed lump in her throat. “My aunt Nora invited us to come live with her… and I think we need to go.”

Grace spun, her dark eyes wide. “The aunt Nora who lives in Bumblefuck, Colorado?”

Harry shot her an unamused look. “That would be Fates Haven , Colorado, and you may want to curb that sailor mouth around Nora.”

“So you’ve already decided that we’re going? No ‘conversation’ about it? No making a pro and con list? Harry makes the decision and that’s how it is? What about your job? And Mom?”

“My job is no longer an issue and your mom and I talked about the possibility of Colorado the last time she checked in.” Which was almost a month ago… not that Harry was counting.

It turned out finding Taylor Swift tickets was easier for Cassie than tracking an almost-nameless supernatural with a love for old rock music and living off-grid.

Grace snortled. “Great. Then it was just me left in the dark. Even better.”

“Look, I didn’t tell Aunt Nora yes for certain, but I think it’s something we should seriously consider.”

Tiny embers sparked from Grace’s fingertips, quickly turning to a steady blue-and-pink pulsing flame. Grace and Harry had learned a while back that her fire didn’t hurt Grace, but the toll it took on her surroundings was an entirely different story.

“Ugh. Why does this keep happening ?” Grace growled.

Harry kept her voice soft and calm. “Remember the breathing exercises that the Savannah Coven taught you. In for four. Hold. Out for six.”

“It’s not working.” Grace glanced at her fully fire-encompassed hands with panicked, golden-speckled eyes. “It’s growing. It keeps getting bigger!”

“Look at me, not your hands,” Harry demanded gently, stepping forward. “Breathe.”

“Stay back. I don’t want to hurt you.” Grace took a hasty step toward the window, her chest heaving with quick, heavy breaths. “See. This is why I went to Demon’s Promise. I need them to take this away before I hurt someone… or worse.”

“Honey, they can’t take this away. You need to breathe, and let me help you.” Harry reached for her, but the teen snapped back, her fire-laden hands getting too close to the nearby curtain.

A single fiery ember danced through the short space and landed on the thick cotton material. Harry watched in horrified fascination as that one spark transformed into a full-fledged flame, lighting the entire window treatment faster than any witch could say hocus-pocus.

Grace’s startled cry jolted Harry into action seconds before the smoke alarm wailed overhead. By the time she dug through the kitchen’s under-the-sink cabinet and returned with the fire extinguisher, the fire had jumped from one window drape to the next.

“Stay back.” She pulled a frightened—and now flameless—teenager away from the growing fire, and tugged the pin.

In less than ten seconds, a thick white mist coated their entire apartment, but Harry used every last bit of it, making it look like it had snowed indoors before calling it quits.

Five minutes later, and holding an eviction notice to prove her landlord hadn’t issued an empty threat when he’d spewed “third strike—or fire in your case—in a week, and you’re out,” she plugged her dead cell phone into a charger and had her first call connecting.

“Hey, Aunt Nora.” Keeping one eye on the too-quiet sixteen-year-old three feet away, Harry let out a resigned sigh at the older woman’s gentle greeting. “Is that offer to come home still good?”

“That offer never expires, dear.” The older witch’s familiar, melodic voice brought tears to Harry’s eyes. “Bring yourself and my new niece to mix one cup of water, one cup of mayonnaise, and a teaspoon of vanilla.”

Harry blinked, trying to connect the nonsensical words when she realized…

The Witch’s Oath.

The one she’d had Nora swear before Harry had left Fates Haven. The one that prevented Nora from sharing anything about Fates Haven or its inhabitants with Harry, instead, belting out random recipes.

Nora sighed, her frustration with the oath palpable even over the phone. “If you’re coming home to chocolate mayonnaise cake, maybe we can reevaluate this little oath thing, yeah?”

Harry grimaced. “Maybe.”

“There’s healing to be had, Harlow Pierce, and the blending of the cocoa and sugar will be here to help.”

“We’ll see you in a few days.” Harry swallowed her forming ball of emotions. “And, Nora?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Let’s keep this low-key, okay? No one-page ads in the Haven Herald . No streamers.”

“Fine, but a parade is still an option, right?”

“Uh, no.”

Nora went a bit too quiet.

“Aunt Nora?” Harry prodded.

“Hm?”

“I mean it. No fanfare.”

“Yes, dear. I understand… but you realize that chocolate mayonnaise cake is still chocolate mayonnaise cake, yes?”

Harry sighed. There was no way she could forget. “I know.”

Nora didn’t need an ad in the town paper, to hit up a party supply store, or organize a parade for Fates Haven citizens to find out the Runaway Pierce Witch was back in town. The shifters would quickly sniff her out. The witches would sense her magic. And the vampires would see her miles before she crossed the borders into the supernatural Denver suburb.

And that was if the seers didn’t already see her coming.