Sally pulls off her ball cap and rakes a hand through her messy blond hair. Her face is all sharp angles, like she only eats protein, and as much as I’d like to say she’s ugly, Sally’s the kind of pretty that’s enviable.
She snickers. “My unis like it, too. There’s no law that says I can’t give the unicorns the same feed.”
I glance up at the pasture full of unicorns—beautiful, majestic creatures that are as awesome in person as they are in fairy tales, even if they aren’t born with magic anymore. Even powerless, they’re still more popular as pets than piggycorns.
I should know. Sally mentions it every time I see her.
I’m surprised she doesn’t say it now.
“You gotta get these piggycorns out of here, Rowe. I’ve got a family coming to pick out their uni in an hour. If they see these nasty swine, they’ll turn and leave. No one buys stupid piggies anymore—not since the price of unicorns came down.”
Oh, wait. I spoke too soon. There she went, getting in her dig. And it’s barely even six a.m.
But she’s right. It used to be that everyone wanted a piggycorn for a pet. They’re very doglike in demeanor—friendly, lovable. They’re the perfect companion animal. Or at least, they were, back in the early days, when magic still flourished in our town. But now the magic is gone, having up and left for reasons unknown, and as the luster faded, so, too, did interest in piggycorns.
I move to fix the trough, but she waves me off. “I’ll do it. You’ll probably just break it worse.” When I scoff, she adds, “All you’re doing is catching flies with your mouth hanging open like that, when you should be catching swine and vacating my property.”
“Fine, I’ll get them out of Your Highness’s way,” I say, snatching the ball cap from her head.
“What’re you doing? Give me back my hat.”
I grin at her. “You said you wanted the piggycorns gone. Well, I’m getting them gone, Sally. You never said how, and seeing that you have their favorite food, I need some of it so that they’ll come with me.”
I fill the hat with feed and push it under the piggies’ noses. “Come on, y’all. Let’s go. We know when we’re not wanted.”
They slowly start to follow, tails swishing, grunts of happiness filling the air.
Sally sneers. “Never mind. Keep the hat. I’ve already taken something of yours, anyway.”
Her eyes slide to the mammoth red Tundra stationed in the driveway. My heartpound-pound-poundsagainst my chest at what she’s implying.
She doesn’t mean the truck. Sally’s referring to its owner, Luke.
I force myself to smile tightly. “You’ll find your hat in the mailbox. Unlike you, Sally, I don’t steal other people’s property.”
Her jaw drops as I lead the piggycorns off.
So yes, piggycorns. It’s a creature that is exactly what it sounds like: a pig with a unicorn horn. They’re small, about the size of a pug, and are also adorable. Many people love them—except for Sally. The only thing she loves is money and unicorns. Maybe money more.
Definitely money more.
The pigs understand we’re going home, and they prance out in front of me, crossing the road as they head toward the farm.
Sally calls out, “Hey, Rowe!”
I turn to see her standing on top of the hill, fists on her hips, lips twisted diabolically.
“Won’t be long until I don’t have to worry about you and those stupid piggycorns much longer anyway.”
Then she smirks and storms off, the shotgun tucked under her arm.
What is she talking about?
I’m about to call her back when the sound of screeching tires grabs me by the throat. A murder of crows lifts from an oak tree as I turn around, just in time to see a black SUV heading straight for my pigs.
