Monsters don’t have indoor voices.
This pearl of wisdom came from my boss at The Creaky Door, Monster Haven’s local potion shop, on my first day of work here. I’d somehow managed to snag the job just a week after moving to this little town. And, at the time, I’d simply smiled and nodded at her warning, too focused on memorizing inventory lists and mastering the ancient cash register to grasp what she really meant.
My boss, Gwen, is a witch who must be pushing ninety, with an encyclopedic knowledge of potions and spells. She’s called Monster Haven home for decades and knows every secret the town holds. And after working here for just over a year, I finally understand what she meant about those voices.
When we first arrived, I thought it odd to call anyone a ‘monster,’ but that was another lesson I learned pretty quickly. It’s a self-coined term the supernaturals use here—a badge of honor for those who don’t blend into human society.
Moving away from Arcanum—the city with a stick up its butt and a population of mostly mages and witches has been a culture shock. Here, it’s pretty normal to see ice giants walking down the street, chatting away with cyclops, berserkers or centaurs just as often as someone that could pass as human.
The atmosphere couldn’t be more different from Arcanum, either. Arcanum gleamed on the surface but rotted at its core. While Monster Haven is cute as hell with quaint cobbled streets, cafes, bakeries, and grooming salons.
“Little Woop! You were right, these worked a treat.” Raf’s booming voice makes me suck in a sharp breath as he plunks several jars onto the counter. “They really helped perk up my pecker.”
I don’t have to force my smile. The Bevan brothers—Raf and his half-brother Cardigan—are shop regulars. They don’t necessarily buy anything, but they do always make a point to stop by for a chat on their way to the gym they own.
They both embody the term ‘monster’ perfectly. Raf has thick black bat-like wings protruding from his sleeveless shirt, a humanoid torso and taloned feet. As a contrast, Cardigan has pure white wings—though I’ve only glimpsed them a few times since he can retract them at will. Both brothers are unreasonably handsome, perpetually grinning, and always delighted to see me. Their visits never fail to boost my mood.
But they are loud. They burst in from the bustling street at full volume, which isn’t ideal when it feels like someone’s taking a rusty saw to the inside of my skull.
Rubbing my temples, I try closing my eyes for a second to see if that helps. But the world still seems too bright, and every sound above a whisper makes me wince.
Cardigan guffaws and then smacks Raf around the back of his head. “Little Woop doesn’t need to know about your pecker, bud.”
“She might want my customer feedback. Let her know that what she’s selling really does the trick.”
I snort and shake my head, instantly regretting the movement.
“How come Luna’s ‘Little Woop’ when everyone’s little to you, big boy?” Gwen calls from her perch on the stool beside the till. She runs a lascivious look up and down both brothers—Raf preens while Cardigan’s cheeks flush pink. “Tell me, since you can see where I can’t, do I need to fire my cleaner?”
I chuckle, since I’m the one who handles everything here—cleaning shelves, stocking inventory, and mixing most of the potions we sell.
“Nah, you’re all good,” Cardigan replies with a raspy laugh.
“Quit distracting us with your flirting, Gwen. I like to watch Little Woop pouring that stuff from the jar and weighing it out. It’s weirdly relaxing.”
Smiling, I grab a fresh jar from the correct shelf and start sorting through its contents so I can do just that.
“Now, what have you got that’ll help us crush the Soggy Bottom Buttfaces? We need something strong to beat them,” Raf asks, scanning the shop like he’s never seen it before.
Gwen cackles beside me, slapping the countertop and I stifle another wince.
“Soggy Bottom Buttfaces?” I echo.
“The Nyes, you mean? Your prank war is still going strong, then?” Gwen asks.
“Yup. They beat us at a tug of war over the river and called us The Re-Molting Brothers—I don’t even molt, so it made no sense. But we need to make them eat their damn words.”
Monster Haven has at least a half dozen silly rivalries like this one. The Nyes are all water sprites and they’ve maintained their prank war with the Bevans for years. Last winter, they took it too far when they covered Main Street in soap. It was all fun and bubbles until it froze overnight and turned the street into a deathtrap.
My vision tunnels and I grip the counter, wondering if I can make it to the backroom without drawing attention. The last thing I need is a vision during work hours.
Too bad I have no control over my magic. Images flicker through my mind like a slideshow.
I See Raf and Cardigan, their wings wrapped around a wingless, dark-haired female. She giggles as they lift her between them.
“Such a perfect little mate.”
Raf lets out a little growl, and I wish I could squeeze my third eye shut to avoid watching him pull her into an open-mouthed, devastating kiss.
“Any suggestions, Little Woop?”
I snap back to reality, clutching the counter until my knuckles whiten. At least the brothers haven’t noticed me zoning out.
“You all right, love?” Gwen asks with a concerned frown.
“Uh, yeah.” I rub my forehead.
“Was it a vision?” She reaches out, patting my hand with her gnarled fingers.
I’m still not used to discussing my Sight in public—or at all—without fear of consequences. Back in Arcanum, having the Sight is outlawed, and I’d spent ten years hiding my powers from everyone except my entirely nuts, entirely non-blood family.
“Oh yeah? A vision?” Cardigan’s eyes spark with interest. “Did it tell you which of us was going to win? Did you see how?”
This is another reason these two are my favorite customers, despite the migraine. They show genuine interest in listening to me. Most people in my life have either dismissed my Sight as nothing or branded me a charlatan.
“No. It was... uh, you guys, actually,” I reply. “I think you’re going to find your mate soon. Both of you.”
A wave of nausea and dizziness rolls through me, and I grip the counter again, swaying on my feet.
“Yeah?” Raf’s face lights up with pure joy. “You’re sure it was us?”
I hesitate before nodding.
He lets out an excited hoot. “We’ll need another batch of your special tea then, please, Little Woop. Gotta make a good impression.”
I snort and duck into the back room to fetch their tea, my legs still shaky.
When I return, the bell above the door tinkles and Raf’s booming voice fills the shop again.
“Big Woop, Little Demon, how’re you both doing?”
I reach the counter just as Cardigan cuffs his brother. “He’s not a Woop, bud. Can’t you smell that?”
“I’m pretty sure that’s your own little monster you’re smelling,” a familiar female voice snarks.
“There’s nothing about my monster that’s little,” Raf replies. “My mate’ll vouch for that, or she will when we find her.”
I chuckle while measuring out the Bevans’ purchases as Gwen cackles at his words.
“That’s five mentions of their dicks in about ten minutes. Pay up, love,” she tells me.
Raf clutches his massive chest. “I knew you believed in me, Little Woop.”
I shake my head with another snort. “I guessed less than five mentions, but I wasn’t expecting the whole mate vision thing.”
“Why is everyone talking about dicks in front of you?” A deep voice rasps. One that’s painfully familiar and sets my insides doing cartwheels.
Rook stands scowling—his default expression—with his shaggy hair a mess, like he’s been raking his hands through it. He gives the Bevans a run for their money in terms of size, and the three of them together take up most of the spare real estate in the shop.
“You know it’s rude to talk about how people smell,” I tell Cardigan, who responds with a mock salute.
“Yes, mom.”
“Dude, she’d be such a MILF,” Raf comments. “But then you’d have to call me daddy. Pretty sure that’d get confusing.”
A vague sputtering rumble comes from Rook’s chest, and I’m fairly sure he’s… growling at the two brothers.
I’m not sure why. Maybe he thinks they’re damaging my delicate sensibilities. He always seems to think I’m someone who could be knocked down by a strong breeze.
But he doesn’t know how I grew up. Who I grew up with.
Not that I know the same about him, either. Our pasts remain a mystery, even after seeing each other every day for the past eight years and living together for most of that time. My stomach clenches at the reminder.
As much as I might want to know everything about his life, he couldn’t be more of a closed book.
“Is everything okay?” I ask him softly. It’s unusual for anyone to visit me at work unless—
“Are the kids all okay?” I amend quickly, my stomach flipping again, adding to the general sense of unease as I suck in a deep breath.
The ‘kids’ are the twins who appeared in our lives a couple of years ago as homeless orphans—both are now fourteen, so not exactly children. The third is Seb, the little brother of one of my sister Silver’s fiancés. He’s just turned eighteen, so not a kid either.
All three currently live with me in my little cottage. When we first moved here, they stayed at our sister Silver’s place with her four fiancés. But her relationships are still in the honeymoon period, and the three kids decided they’d prefer my place. It’s quieter. Less chance of walking in on anything that might scar them mentally.
“About that—” Rook grunts out.
“Come on. We need to get a wriggle on. How long does it take to tell her we won’t be back until late?” Hanna calls from across the shop.
She’s only a couple of years older than Seb, but somehow she never got lumped into the same category as ‘the kids.’ Too wild and untamable. Never quite where you expect her to be or doing what you expect.
She’s my sister as much as Silver is, but Hanna and I couldn’t be more different if we tried. She’s a bolt of pure energy, while I’m more sedate. Reliable. Softer.
About to get walked all over.
She darts over and pokes Rook’s bicep, grinning up at him as he aims his glower at her. He towers over her by at least a foot, his bulk making her look like a pixie in comparison—she’s so small he could probably lift her with a single pinky finger.
“The twins are heading home with Seb. They’re gonna be a little late since they wanted to play cards or something.”
“He’s taking them for ice cream,” Rook corrects her, earning a careless shrug.
“Whatever. We have to head out for a few hours. Might not be back until tonight,” Hanna continues.
I ignore the way my stomach flips, unable to name the emotion I’m feeling. I’d been hoping to head home from work and spend an hour in the garden before crawling into bed to wish my headache away. Instead, I turn my attention to Raf, who’s eavesdropping without a hint of remorse.
I reach up and flick him on the chest. “Nosy.”
Hanna gasps. “Luna!” She lets out a little chortle. “Oh shit. We don’t really have to go, do we? I want to watch what happens in a fight between the Earth Mother and the... bat dude.”
Raf holds up his hands as Cardigan’s tail swishes dangerously close to the glass jars. “Hey, no fighting. Not with our favorite oracle and potion maker.”
Hanna gapes at him and Rook lets out another stifled growl.
I guess I’ve surprised them by... having friends? Or at least friends outside our little mishmashed family group.
“I’ll pick up the twins from school tomorrow and bring breakfast in the morning,” Rook says.
“No need.” I scrub at my face, fighting the urge to rub my aching temples. Recently, Rook and Hanna seem to bring out my inner frazzled soccer mom. It never used to be like this, with them canceling plans because of their mysterious trips doing who knows what.
I don’t know exactly what their relationship is. Whether it’s ever gone beyond being strictly platonic. They’re not affectionate in public, but Rook’s even more protective of Hanna than anyone else—and that’s saying something.
I guess we’ve all made assumptions about them. For some reason, that makes my stomach flip over again, and I take a sip of my cooling tea.
“No strip poker tonight, then?” Raf says. “I guess we can raincheck, again.”
I roll my eyes, a soft smile playing at my lips.
“No strip anything,” I reply. “But the girls might play cards with you, if you ask them nicely.”
“Ah, no. Your brother gives me the heebie-jeebies.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Which one?”
“All of them. Not so much the frozen one, more the vamp and the angry one who looks like he’d like to make a stew out of my innards,” Cardigan replies.
“Shame,” I reply. “They all speak so highly of you.”
He’s talking about Zeph and Dante, two more of Silver’s fiancés—my soon-to-be brother-in-laws, even though Silver and I aren’t related by law or blood. None of us are. But our little hodgepodge family keeps extending as we add more members.
Rook’s looking at me like he doesn’t know me, and Hanna’s got a wicked grin on her face.
“The frozen one’s got a stellar poker face, though,” Raf replies, prompting another shocked gasp from Hanna and a snorted giggle from me.
He’s not actually joking. The brothers have been to my cottage while Ember was there, and we all played cards together since the twins insist it’s important to include Ember in normal things.
After getting involved with some shady vampires back in Arcanum, Ember has been trapped as a living statue for over a year.
And none of us have any idea how to free him from wherever he’s trapped.
His hair and fingernails don’t grow. He doesn’t develop sores from sitting in one position. He barely seems to breathe. It’s almost like he’s frozen in time, though Silver and Fabian insist his heart still beats, just sluggishly, like he’s caught in a deep sleep.
It’s as if someone locked him in ice and he hasn’t been able to thaw.
“I’m sure Ember would let you win at cards, if you asked nicely,” I tell Raf with a smile, ignoring Rook’s narrow-eyed gaze.
Ember can use the light-hearted energy the Bevan brothers bring into any room. The twins are convinced he can hear everything we say, even without evidence. I’ve been doing my best to act normal, transporting him between my cottage and Silver’s house so he doesn’t go stir crazy.
He stays at my place more often than not, though. If he can hear, I don’t want to subject him to the sounds of Silver and her harem when they think no one’s listening.
Whatever Ember might have done, no one deserves that.
The bell jingles again and someone struggles to squeeze into the shop past the bulky forms of both Bevan brothers and Rook.
“Woah, it must be my lucky day.”
I try to peer over Cardigan’s shoulder to see who the voice belongs to. It sounds vaguely familiar, but I can’t place it without a face.
Then my vision tunnels again and the shop disappears as another vision hits me like a slap to the face, leaving me gasping for breath.
I See a stack of cards—some regular face cards, others tattered and borrowed from a Tarot deck. Three Jacks, two Queens, the Tower, the Moon, the reversed Two of Cups. I scramble to remember them all, to make sense of their meaning.
A bird’s wing brushes past my cheek, leaving a freezing trail in its wake. The vision morphs into a world filled with fog. I can barely tell which way is up or if I’m inside or outside. It’s disorienting, discombobulating, and my heart pounds out of my chest. I can hear my own heaving breaths and little else as I stumble forward.
Voices draw me closer, and I make out two figures in the murk. Silver is holding hands with Dante as they wander along, stumbling occasionally as they step into knee-deep water.
“This is stupid. I can’t see where the hell I’m going.” Silver’s voice echoes like she’s speaking from inside a crypt.
“I’m not doing much better than you, angel,” Dante replies.
Then I take a step and my foot meets water instead of solid ground. I careen forward, falling into a frozen pool that swallows me whole and I thrash in the darkness as bubbles surround me, but I can’t tell which way is up.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
All I can hear is a deep, rhythmic pounding.
And I can feel it, feel that something’s—
My vision whitens and I’m back in The Creaky Door, my head and heart both pounding out a sickening rhythm.
I shake my head, trying to dislodge the leftover feelings from my vision, trying to make sense of what I Saw and felt, but I’m struggling.
Sometimes the visions are easy to interpret. But often, they’re like this—a confusing mixture of noise and images and feelings. Especially recently, it feels like I’m losing all control over them.
I wonder if things would be different if I’d had proper training, or hadn’t spent so long hiding my powers, whether I’d be better at understanding the more cryptic ones.
Too bad. All I can go by is the tangled ball of dread and pain still lodged in my gut.
I can’t tell what the vision means.
But I do know something is coming our way.
