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I sauntered across the lawn to where Keith was observing the antics. Why would an aging werewolf be so desperate to become an alpha? Why not go softly into that good night? The lifelong chip on his shoulder must’ve damaged more than his muscles.

“Did you play?” I asked.

“Wasn’t in the mood. Fun to watch, though, until you showed up.”

“It’s strange,” I said. “Neighbors haven’t been acting like themselves lately.”

He indulged me. “How so?”

“Jared doesn’t normally act out like that. He’s one of our most docile residents.”

“Didn’t look very docile to me.”

“That’s what I meant when I said it’s strange.”

“Maybe he’s going through a hard time. People act out for all sorts of reasons. Could even be a medical problem.”

“Could be.”

We stared at each other, each daring the other to make a move. He broke contact first; his gaze flicked over my shoulder.

“Hmm. Looks like an angry mob coming our way. I wonder what that’s about.”

I whipped around. The angry mob consisted of several people from the cornhole tournament, including Jared and Nathan.

“I saw you and Goody Proctor consorting with the devil,” Jared said.

“What?”

“You did something to me back there.” Jared jabbed a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the tournament. “Some kind of witchcraft.”

“Whoa. Slow down. We’re all supernaturals here. That’s why we live in the Neighborhood, remember?”

“Magic is verboten,” Nathan said. “Your rules.”

“I didn’t use magic,” I said, not that I was above that sort of thing. “Even if I did, I’m the director of security.”

“Rules for thee but not for me,” Nathan taunted. “Is that it?”

“Basically, yes.”

“We should burn her at the stake,” Jared proclaimed.

“Hang her!”

“Drown her!”

Keith was somehow whipping them into a frenzy. Mass hysteria would make it easier for him to slip away.

I clapped my hands in an effort to snap them out of it. “Hey, it’s me! Maya August, director of security. I don’t know what your mind is telling you right now, but I’m begging you not to listen.”

Calvin shook his wrinkled fist in my face. “Nobody tells us what to do.”

“Calvin, I know for a fact you have arthritis in both hands. If you punch me, you’re the one who will suffer.”

“Did you hear that?” Calvin shouted. “She threatened me with eternal suffering!”

“This is your doing, isn’t it?” I asked, turning back to Keith, but the werewolf had already fled. Plausible deniability, the slick bastard.