“Thanks. You look… less haunted than last time.”
Keegan snorted. “That’s because I am.”
She nodded, accepting that without further comment, because my daughter had lived long enough adjacent to magic this year to know when not to ask follow-up questions.
“Okay,” Celeste said, shifting her bag and clearing her throat. “Before anyone panics, I should probably explain why I’m not alone.”
Every instinct I had went rigid.
She stepped to the side.
Something round and brownish green occupied the stone step behind her.
It croaked.
I stared.
It was a toad.
Not a cute, jewel-toned fairy toad. Not a whimsical forest creature with personality sparkles. This was asubstantialtoad. Wide. Heavy. Mottled green and brown. It sat there with the unmistakable posture of something that expected to beacknowledged and had already decided it was unimpressed. Its droopy eyes and extra-wide grin reminded me of someone.
“Oh,” I said faintly.
Keegan made a sound beside me that he very quickly turned into a cough.
Celeste winced. “I told him not to follow me.”
I looked at the toad.
I looked at my daughter.
I looked back at the toad.
And my stomach dropped straight through the stone steps.
“No,” I whispered. “No…no…no.”
The toad turned its head.
It frowned.
I knew that frown.
“Oh stars,” I breathed. “That’s your father.”
Celeste squeezed her eyes shut. “I was hoping you wouldn’t recognize him immediately.”
My heart kicked into a panicked sprint. “Okay. Okay. This is not…this is not something I did. I would remember turning your father into a toad.”
The toad croaked indignantly.
“Iwould,” I insisted.
Twobble popped up at my elbow. “Ribbit.”
“Ribbit yourself. That’s my ex-husband,” I said in shock.
Twobble’s face lit up. “Wow. He’s not really a looker, is he?”
