Page 77

I thought of Sloane’s scent. Pine beneath something clean and strangely sterile, almost too neutral for a shifter who’d spent years traveling. I’d noticed it immediately, though I assumed she used strong scent blockers or had learned to erase traces of herself while moving between territories.

“People change products,” I said.

Karen looked at me. “So you’ve thought about it, too.”

I suppressed the childish urge to roll my eyes. “I have a functioning nose.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And a personal interest.”

“Go criticize the food labels,” I said as I moved another hay bale.

Karen huffed and walked away. She stopped at the dessert table and began rearranging allergy cards I knew Julie had checked three times.

Her concern over Sloane stayed with me for several seconds, but then Trevor came running across the lawn in neon armor, and the sight cleared every serious thought from my head.

His latest creation covered him from shoulders to knees in bright crocheted panels. Pink, green, blue, orange, and yellow yarn formed overlapping sections intended to resemble protective plating. A hood with two floppy horns hung down his back. He had crocheted matching wrist guards, though one had already started unraveling.

I gaped at him, trying my best not to laugh.

Trevor spread both arms. “Behold.”

“What the hell is it?” I asked.

“Dragon armor.”

“It looks flammable.”

“It’s acrylic yarn. And everything is flammable if you try hard enough.”

I shook my head. Five littles followed him, each carrying a toy fire truck, plastic sword, or stuffed dragon.

Trevor pulled the hood over his head. “Tonight, I defend the kingdom.”

A six-year-old girl pointed a plastic fire hose at him. “You’re the dragon.”

Trevor considered this. “Yes. And I defend my treasure.”

“What treasure?” the little asked.

He pointed at the dessert table. “Brownies.”

The children accepted the premise immediately.

For the next several minutes, Trevor stomped across the lawn, roaring as the littles chased him with fire trucks. One child made siren noises. Another shouted instructions that contradicted everyone else’s. Trevor fought bravely until three of them surrounded him and declared he had caught fire.

He froze and then threw himself onto the grass. “The flames!” he cried. “They have breached my defenses!”

The children sprayed him with imaginary water.

Trevor rolled dramatically across the lawn, grabbing his crocheted chest plate. “Tell my crafting supplies I loved them!”

One little climbed onto his back. “You’re dead.”

Trevor went limp.

Another child poked him with a plastic ax.

He opened one eye. “Respect the fallen.”