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“Oh wait. I pressed it twice,” she says with a tsk.

This is another thing I’d normally rely on Ezra to help me with. Their absence is kicking my ass today.

I get ready again, say action, and launch into my scripted announcement. “Hey, Mapletownies, Mayor Crane here. After thirty years, we think it’s time for a new town slogan, and for that, we need your help.” I hold up the sign with the current slogan, “The beasts here don’t hibernate,” and continue. “This gem has served us well over the last three decades, but now it’s time to usher in a new era.”

I hold up the next sign with the rules and where to submit suggestions. “We’ve always been a haven for unparalleled creativity, and we know the next slogan will be no exception. Drop your ideas in our virtual suggestion box. The box will remain open for two weeks. Once it’s closed, the top three ideas will appear, and we can vote on the best one as a town. Because there’s nothing we can’t do when we work together. Cut.”

Beverly doesn’t hit the red button. She just stands there looking at the phone in her hands.

“Beverly, cut,” I say.

“Oh right. Okay, cut,” she repeats, before handing my phone back to me.

The video isn’t perfect, but my limited editing skills can get it where it needs to be, so I’m relieved. “Thank you, Beverly.” I tell her at the end of the day. “See you in the morning.”

“I’ll be in at noon, dear,” she says with a soft pat of my cheek.

Right.

Ziggy remains at my side as we walk home from town hall. Abe is on my other side, one step ahead of us to block me from threats. My phone and earbuds are in my pocket, since Abe insisted he couldn’t be distracted from his primary objective while listening to his “happy story.”

When will you announce the change to Founder’s Day? Ziggy sends as he trots happily, his fluffy belly full of treats from people in the building who stopped by my office just to see him.

I had Beverly schedule a town meeting for next week, I send back. It’s the right thing to do. I don’t anticipate any pushback. Do you?

He meows loudly in protest as a teenage boy on a skateboard comes within a foot of him. Youths. I hear his internal kitty scoff. Maybe Vlad? But only because he’s a grumpy bastard.

Mapletown’s resident senior vampire is indeed an unhappy camper.

Susan too.

No, Susan won’t care as long as the celebration takes place somewhere other than her lawn.

Susan Fletcher, another one of our older residents, spends her days flooding our town tip line with vague descriptions of “suspicious persons” wandering up and down her street. They never amount to any actual criminal activity. She’s just an old bat with too much time on her hands, and I mean that literally. She’s a widowed bat shifter who doesn’t like to leave her house.

We get home, and I let out a moan of pleasure when I kick off my shoes. Ziggy, my perfectly trained boy, wipes his paws on the cat pad next to the door before disappearing upstairs.

I change out of my lavender pantsuit and into a silk baby-pink nightshirt with sleeves rolled up to my elbows and fur-lined clog slippers. I open the fridge and start pulling things out for dinner, then I pop a Whitney Houston cassette into the retro boombox on the counter. Humming along, I marvel at the sudden wave of peace that hits for the first time since coming back from Sweden.

It isn’t until I’m shoving a fork full of garlic butter chicken into my mouth that I realize why. Because Abe’s back to listening to his audiobook, and he hasn’t spoken in hours.

Chapter 5

Abe

Log entry #1

Day 3 of assignment

I’m not welcome here. That becomes more clear to me with each passing moment. Emma Crane, the woman I’m assigned to protect, despises me with a fire I expect could torch an entire forest if turned into actual flame.

She’s a very serious person. She feels things deeply. Everything about her is commanding. The bright suits she wears, the colors painted on her fingertips, and how she absorbs and disseminates information––it beckons you to focus on nothing but her.

Yet I’m perplexed by how little this irks me. There’s something about her that softens what most would perceive as unpleasant into something warm and inviting. Her constituents admire her. This is no secret. I could see it on their faces as soon as we stepped foot inside the town hall. They flock to her, hanging on her every word.

Much like them, I, too, am eager to impress her. To be awarded with her attention, no matter how brief, and the desperation of this need is foreign to me. It makes me question my abilities in the context of her approval. Why would I need her approval for the very skills I was programmed to perform at an expert level? It’s an odd feeling.

I’m unsure how to behave in her presence. She doesn’t want me here protecting her, which is the only directive I’ve been given. How do I get her to accept my role in her life? How do I convince her I’m not here to ruin what she’s built in this little town? That I’m only here to keep her alive?