England, 2025
“Dear, that wolf is in the garden again!” Mum calls.
A smile lifts the corners of my mouth. Beyond my alchemy shed, the spring morning is bright, blue, and gorgeous. I love my flat in New York City, but I’ll never tire of the English countryside.
“Leave him be,” I shout back without taking time to consider. If he meant any harm, he’d have acted last week when Dad first glimpsed him. He’s hardly subtle. That gray and white coat sticks out at night like a ninja in an orange jumpsuit.
I grind up the dried chamomile and dump it into a jar. I’ve got the chamomile and all the other ingredients the recipe calls for. All but one.
The petals of a lunar flower. I’ve reached out to botanists in what feels like every corner of the globe, but none of them knew where to find the elusive blossoms. Some even speculated they’d gone extinct.
I’m so close to creating my magnum opus. This potion could change the lives of so many in the paranormal community, and only for the better. If I could just find the bloody flower!
“Sulking does not befit you!”There’s a tugging on my apron. Truffles, my boar familiar, snorts at me. The golden torc around her neck glows bright against her coarse dark hair. Just being near her makes the magic in my soul stir in response.
“Ugh. Don’t tell me I’m getting wrinkles.” I rub my forehead.
“Crisps packets have fewer,”she says.
I slam my recipe book shut. “That’s it. I’m making bacon out of you.”
“Try it, bitch.”
Of course, I wouldn’t dream of such a thing. Truffles has been my familiar since I was a boy only just beginning to grasp my magical powers. I hang up my apron and step out into the sunlight. My back cracks when I stretch. I must have been hunched over that book for a while.
Truffles sniffs at the ground, foraging for leaves to eat.“Patty wished to see you.”
“Nan? Did she say what for?”
“Dunno. She just asked me to fetch you from that abysmal little shack of yours.”
“She did not say that. Nan loves my cute little shack.” Reaching down, I twirl her tail, laughing when she stomps her hooves impatiently. Truffles sets off at a brisk pace across the garden. It’s about ten minutes from the shack to Nan’s garden.
The massive estate my family has called home for generations has everything a coven of witches could ever want. It’s secluded and away from the hustle and bustle of London with libraries full of grimoires containing the knowledge of our ancestors, and my favorite spot, Nan’s sprawling greenhouse. I love to while away the hours with Nan in her greenhouse, learning about the alchemical properties of every plant.
Truffles leads me past our family’s shrine to Freya, the Norse goddess of fertility, war, and magic, among many other things. Falcon feathers have been left on the altar. I touch the torc around my neck in silent gratitude to the goddess and her gifts. When Truffles stops, I almost trip over her. She looks toward the woods, ears and snout twitching.
“What is it?”
“Wolf,”she answers with disdain.
Within my soul, my magic stirs like ripples in a lake, reaching, reaching. I don’t have to search for him. With no effort at all, my eyes find the yellow gaze of the wolf within the trees. Our eyes meet, and my feet itch to move toward him.
Go to him,my magic whispers.He is ours.
I won’t.
He means nothing to me.
Not after what he did.
“Ignore him,” I say. “He’s not even supposed to be here.”
“You should report him to the Council,”Truffles huffs, prancing ahead.
She isn’t wrong. As an enforcer for the Time Traveler Agency, it is within my jurisdiction to ensure no one violates traveler law. Namely, never travel without authorization from the Council of Traveler Affairs. Time travel and the existence of the paranormal community are secrets that must be safe-guarded.
Gunnar never received proper documentation for time travel. His being here, especially in his shifted form, is a direct violation of traveler law. I should report him. I should… but…
