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Chapter One

“H ey! There’s my pretty-pretty princess!”

My daughter, Olivia, rushed across the shiny gymnasium floor of her school to her auntie Nina, throwing her arms around the vampire’s legs.

Nina squatted and scooped her up, planting kisses on her tiny cheeks.

“Look, Auntie Nina! I made cupcakes! Cupcakes! Cupcakes! Cuuupcaaakes!” my sweet girl bellowed at the top of her itty-bitty lungs, her chocolate curls dancing in the winter sun when she tipped her head back and yelped for all to hear.

No one was as excited about this school bake sale as my Olivia.

Nina gave her a playful poke in her tummy. “You did, Miss Ma’am, and now you’re breaking Auntie Nina’s eardrums.”

Olivia was my expressive child. Dramatic, theatrical, excited about everything—little, big, made no difference to my baby. Everything was to be celebrated. She was larger than life and nothing like myself or her father when we were children, but her exuberance, her zest for being alive, made my life a brighter existence.

Nina called Olivia her little jalapeno. Hot and spicy, like a real kick in the pants.

Olivia planted return kisses on her auntie’s cheeks, squeezing Nina’s neck until her heart-shaped face turned pink from the effort. Then she bracketed my beautiful friend’s face. “I love you so much! Thank you for coming to the bake sale. Mommy said you would, even if you can’t eat cupcakes. But you would if you could, right?”

Nina smiled at Olivia, love in her eyes, giving one of the multicolored ribbons around her pigtails a tweak. “You bet I would. I’d eat ’em all up. Gobble, gobble, gobble!” she said, blowing raspberries against Olivia’s neck, making her giggle hysterically.

I’m so grateful for my BFFs Nina and Marty. I’d been a bit panicked when they’d texted to see if I wanted to have breakfast with them earlier this morning, and maybe do a little shopping until I had to pick up my children from school.

When they’d heard the president of the PTA, Neerie Lincoln (aka my PTA nemesis), didn’t show up for the most important bake sale of the year—the bake sale where we raised money to put on the winter carnival for next year—they’d dropped everything to come and help me.

Yes. I’m a PTA member. I’m sure it comes as no surprise to anyone, but I love being involved in my children’s lives. However, I usually acted as secondhand man, I didn’t run the show.

As if Neerie Lincoln would ever let anyone else take charge, anyway. She was, as some called her, a Karen.

I don’t necessarily approve of using a perfectly good name to describe someone who makes regular visits to the principal’s office to complain about the most innocuous of offences, but as Nina said, if the shoe fits…

And it fit Mrs. Lincoln like a glove. If anyone could set my teeth on edge, it was Neerie. She was so difficult, Nina often asked me if I wanted her to wrap Neerie’s signature high pony around her neck and squeeze tight.

She made everything about how valuable she was to us.

Anyway, Neerie, at the height of the Paranormal School for the Gifted bake sale, was a no-show. No one appeared to be able to reach her today, and her daughter, Tamlin, couldn’t provide any information as to her whereabouts. Her aunt Naida had dropped her off at school this morning when the doors opened and sped away without explanation, declaring she’d be back in a bit.

Of course, the onus to take over everything—from the organization of where each donated item went on the tables (don’t get me started on how cranky Elsa Franks could be if her Bundt cakes didn’t get center stage) to the handling of money—was left to me.

Me , who had zero clue where to start because Neerie used me as more of her gopher than anything else. She had zero interest in any of the fundraising ideas I’d presented. It was Neerie’s way or the highway.

Thankfully, my BFFs sensed my panic in my return text and came to my rescue. We were between investigation and OOPS jobs, due to how quiet things had been as of late, though during that downtime we were still trying to learn more about being better investigators.

And right now, I was relieved we were on a mini-break, because never was I so glad to see two people with a little time on their hands in my life as I was Nina and Marty.

Well, maybe that’s a stretch. We’ve been in far worse situations (see Nina coming close to death and my almost drowning) than an errant PTA president shirking her duties, but I was a bit frazzled until they arrived.

“Mom?” A small hand tugged at my skirt.

I looked down to find my son Sam, my oldest. His pale green face looking up at me with a seriousness that made him appear eighty instead of his actual eight.

Half zombie, half human, recently tested for the paranormal version of Mensa due to his high academic achievements, defines my precious boy. The only zombie here at the school—and one of very few zombies in the world with a fully functioning brain, due to his half-human nature—Sam had been the beginning of my journey into motherhood.

We adopted him when he was an infant and quickly became embroiled in a fight to keep him safe from some dark forces I almost can’t speak of to this day.

I ran my fingers over the frown wrinkles on his forehead. My sweet boy, as opposed to his sister, took things very seriously. He was all logic and statistics—at eight, mind you.

We hear, from his biological mother’s best friend, Sal, someone we consider part of our family, that Sam’s mother, while funny and friendly, was also quite logical and very good with numbers. Sam’s aunt Sal told him stories about her all the time, and we treasure our time with her. In all ways possible, we honor his biological mother Samantha’s memory.

Her death had been a tragedy, but the sacrifice she’d made so her son would be safe lived in my heart every day.

I smiled at him, that warm feeling each time I saw him settling in my belly. “What’s up, Sunshine?”

He rolled his eight-year-old eyes and whispered, “Don’t call me that in front of everyone, Mom. It makes me sound like a baby.”

I bent at the waist, still in disbelief that we were already at the stage where I embarrassed him. With a salute, I said, “Aye-Aye, Captain. What can I do ya for, matey?”

He giggled, reminding me there was still some little boy in there somewhere. “The cupcakes are with the scones. They shouldn’t be with the pastries because they’re sweet, not savory. Mrs. Lincoln would have a fit if she could see.”

Marty, who’d been busy arranging the cookies for me, threw her hand over her forehead in dramatic fashion. “Oh no! The horror! How will we ever keep the sweet from infecting the savory?” she teased on a giggle, winking at him.

Sam held up a hand, his face somber. “This is one of those lessons in lightening up, isn’t it, Aunt Marty?”

She wagged a finger at him with a playfully admonishing expression, her blue eyes dancing. “Oh no, mister, I don’t teach lessons. Nuh-uh. I bring sweet treats and play Nintendo. I’m the fun aunt, remember?”

Nina scoffed at that, scruffing Sam’s hair with her palm. “As if. Tell Auntie Marty who the fun aunt really is.”

Now Sam really laughed, a deep, hearty chuckle, his eyes crinkling behind his glasses. He doesn’t need glasses, by the by. My Sam just thinks they make him look more like a bioengineer than a silly eight-year-old, and above all else, he doesn’t want to look silly.

He shook his dark head at Nina, readjusting his school uniform jacket. “Nope. You’re not going to make me choose between you. That can lead to resentment and jealousy I want no part of. It’s messy business.”

I couldn’t keep a straight face. I burst out in full-on laughter. Honestly, I don’t know where he comes up with this stuff, but he loves to learn and loves to read.

We, of course, monitor his intake of all media, social and otherwise, but his most recent checkup probably won’t be the last time I catch him reading a Psychology Now magazine at the doctor’s office.

Nina and Marty gathered him up in a hug. “We’d never make you choose between us, buddy,” Nina said. “Now show me where the offensive sweet is with the savory and I’ll make the bad cupcakes go away.”

Sam hugged them both hard. While my son was a somber, serious little fellow, he was also quite affectionate and he loved his aunties. “Thanks, Aunt Nina.” He grabbed her hand and dragged her to where the offense was occurring.

I gave Marty an impulsive hug as the crowd in the gymnasium grew and people poured into the space. “Thank you for coming to help out. I don’t know what I would have done if Nina hadn’t taken the reins and quieted all those hysterical PTA members.”

Marty laughed, hugging me back, the scent of her pear and cucumber perfume sweet in my nose. “She does have a way with her penchant for violence, doesn’t she? It almost always works. I’ve never seen so many women fall in line so quickly. In fear, mind you, but fall they did.”

I grinned. My Nina, she was a blessing and a curse, but she was our blessing. “She definitely got the job done, and I couldn’t have done this if you hadn’t taken over the organization of the tables and helped get the credit card scanner working. I’m pathetic when it comes to technology.”

Marty flapped a hand at me, her long blonde hair gleaming in the winter sunlight pouring into the gym. “No worries. Now where is Neerie, who’s supposed to be running the show? She’s fae, right?”

That Neerie was. A petite little pixie of a fairy with a gamine face, shiny sandy-blonde hair and pointed ears. She always wore the most adorable clothes, whatever happened to be the height of fashion, and she was a total terror.

I nodded. “She is. Though that doesn’t explain why she didn’t show up for her duties as president of the PTA.”

Marty shrugged, rearranging a plate of donuts. I watched her struggle not to snatch one because she was watching her weight—which was ridiculous. Her weight was perfect. “Maybe she just didn’t feel like coming today. Fae can be persnickety, remember? Depends on her breed. If we learned anything, we learned that much from our journey with Prim.”

That was a fact. Primrose was one of our more recent clients from OOPS, now a dear member of our extended framily. We’d learned exactly how persnickety some fae could be during that case, and while I wasn’t sure what breed of fae Neerie was, persnickety was a hyphen on her name.

Still, I wasn’t so sure, finnicky or not, she’d miss the chance to show us all who was the queen bee of the school for the paranormal and gifted. Neerie loved wielding her power and lording over our heads all the hard work and dedication she put into the PTA.

I don’t like to speak ill of the missing-in-action, but only death could keep Neerie from an event for the PTA.

“Neerie is nothing if not difficult, but this isn’t like her at all, Marty. She doesn’t give a hoot how much gossip surrounds her Gestapo-like tactics or how much the other mothers resent her for playing high and mighty, her mission is to rule the school. She’d be here even if someone cropped her head off. She’d simply grow another one. Nothing would stop her from being here, especially because it’s such an important event.”

Marty looked at me, confused. “It’s a bake sale, Wanda. Not a sale on directions to the fountain of youth.”

I snickered at my friend as I looked around at the gym, now full to capacity with a variety of very large paranormals. “While that’s true, as you can see from the crowd we’ve drawn, it’s a big part of what helps pay for the winter carnival. Never underestimate the appetite of werewolves and ogres. They know how to pack it away and they’re willing to pay a hefty price for it.”

Marty crossed her arms over her shrug denim jacket. “Huh. Then maybe she had a late night out with a new man?”

I scoffed again. “I don’t care if aliens invaded earth. And believe me, Neerie isn’t only a control freak, she’s a conspiracy theory nut, too, but even little green men wouldn’t have kept her from this bake sale, Marty.”

Neerie all but wore a tinfoil hat. Since her divorce from a wealthy gargoyle, she’d become a little unhinged. More so than usual. From the moon landing was fake to Prince Charles was a vampire because, apparently, he’s related to Vlad the Impaler, she knew every last kooky theory going.

I’d heard from some who’d once been part of her inner circle that she’d fallen down the rabbit hole, joined groups with like minds, but I didn’t necessarily listen to gossip and I tried never to participate.

Marty rubbed my arm in sympathy. “Let’s worry about why she left the cat holding the bag later and sell some baked goods, so we can give these kids a winter carnival they’ll never forget.”

So far, everything was going according to Neerie’s plans. If I shut out her constant jabber about banning books and what was allegedly going on with the school board and her belief they worked for the Illuminati, I didn’t ignore how she handled school events. I’d paid attention, and it was paying off.

As I looked out over the gym with its dozens of tables stocked full of baked goods, as people milled about, chatting, smiling, enjoying a sweet treat, I felt good about picking up Neerie’s pieces.

Mrs. Goodfellow, Sam’s social studies teacher, approached me, her expression hesitant. She looked as though something was troubling her.

And just when everything was going so smoothly.

As she passed under the basketball hoop, I smoothed my skirt and ran a hand over my updo. I don’t know what it is about a teacher, maybe I still felt they held a position of authority, but I always wanted to make sure I was presentable.

A nun with a ruler and a surly expression can scar you for life.

But everyone loved Mrs. Goodfellow. Tizzy Goodfellow was an elf, an ancient by most standards, and about as adorable and as far from the opposite of the cranky nuns who’d taught me in school.

Sam adored her and her use of magic to teach the children about nature and various types of birds, with whom she communicated regularly, enchanting her students no end.

As she held out a hand to me, her lively eyes—eyes that usually danced—were clouded. “Mrs. Jefferson,” she said, her voice tinkling like a wind chime.

I smiled warmly. “Mrs. Goodfellow, it’s so good to see you. How are you?”

She gripped my hand in her aging one, her pointed ears wiggling frantically. I have to tell you, when I see the paranormal in their element, when humans are nowhere around, it still tickles me pink to see their behaviors unhidden from prying eyes—to see them where they can be their true selves.

It was a shock at first, mind you, when I’d been exposed to what a human would surely call frightening. Fangs, shifts, wings, scales…you name it, I’d seen it.

But since settling into my role as a halfsie, I appreciated when I was allowed to let my paranormal flag fly.

She patted my hand as though consoling me for something I was unaware of. “Oh, I’m fine, dear. Just fine. May we speak privately?”

“Of course. Let me get someone to help monitor and I’ll be right with you.”

She smiled and pointed to the hall outside the gym, flitting away, her petite frame almost dancing as she went.

I looked around for Solange Martin, another PTA member, and waved her down. “Could you man the battlefield? I have to have a quick word with Mrs. Goodfellow.”

Solange was one of the younger mothers on the PTA, a sweet, gentle cougar-shifter single mom, and positively terrified of Neerie. She’d only just joined the PTA and she tried so hard to fit in. A people-pleaser extraordinaire, she was taken advantage of more often than not and it infuriated me no end.

“Is everything okay?” she asked, her dewy skin radiant under the sun, now pouring into the middle of the gym from the windows above the bleachers with gusto.

I smiled gratefully, giving her arm a squeeze. “Everything’s fine, Solange. Fret not. I’ll just be a sec.”

I made my exit before she could ask any more questions. The poor thing was so insecure, always worried she’d done something wrong—no matter the situation.

Pushing open the door of the gym, I met Mrs. Goodfellow in the hallway by a row of lockers, where she waited with Neerie’s sister, Naida. The latter was pacing and wringing her hands, very unlike her. I’d only met her once or twice, but of the two sisters, she was the lesser of both evils.

“Mrs. Goodfellow, how can I help you?”

Her expression grew worried, her eyes almost fearful. “It’s Mrs. Lincoln. I told Naida maybe we should talk to you. I know you have a detective agency, and this feels like something you might be able to help with.”

I looked to Naida, so similar in looks to Neerie with her darting green eyes, small features and hands like tiny bird’s wings, always flitting in expressive gestures.

I frowned at the state she was in. Her rosy cheeks were tearstained, her eyes swollen, her gamine face pale. “What’s going on, Naida?”

Leaning into me, almost as though she were afraid to tell me out loud, she whispered, “Neerie is missing!”

I blinked at her, automatically sensing something was awry. Her scent was a riot of different emotions. Fear. Panic. Worry. “Missing? For how long?”

Naida gripped my hands in her trembling palms. “Almost two days now! I don’t know what to do, but Mrs. Goodfellow said you could help. I’ll pay whatever you want, just please help me find my sister!”

I fought a sigh. Help find my PTA nemesis? The woman who treated me like her servant and spit on every idea I had?

Ugh.

Be a detective, they said. It’ll be fun, they said.

See me have all the fun.