“Yes, hello?”

“Dr. Bimm. It’s—”

“Lara and Sean.”

“And the fornicator to be named later,” Sean began, but Lara whipped a soft pillow at him, which hit right between the eyes, and the resulting dust cloud incapacitated him for several seconds.

Lara raised her voice to be heard over his wheezing. “Dr. Bimm?”

“What is it, Lara?” Dr. Fredrika Bimm, her generation’s Cousteau, had a phone manner identical to her manner in person: brisk and borderline unfriendly. “Someone giving you trouble already? What’s it been, thirty hours?”

“Unbelievable,” she muttered. She described the bat and the fish and the condition both had been left in. “So my questions are—”

“Are the Undersea Folk, aka Mermaids on Parade, sending the Wyndham Pack a message in a deliberately vague, careless, and sloppy way?”

Somewhat taken aback, it took Lara a few seconds to respond. Funny how hearing my dad deal with Dr. Fred was funny as hell. Actually having to deal with her, less so. “No, I was concerned you—”

“Because we’re not. The Undersea Folk have nothing—not one single thing—to fear from your Pack. And if we did, we’d send a message you would find unmistakable in its threat.”

“Well, that’s good.” I guess. She thought about it, then mentally shrugged and asked, “Why not?”

“First, our territory is about fifty thousand times the size of yours. Second, we’ve got corresponding population to match. Third, the Folk have two-thirds of the ocean to wander in; the Pack has . . . Cape Cod. Which is sinking. Into the ocean.”

Silence. Even Sean had lost his smile.

“Fourth, even if Orleans and Barnstable and Yarmouth don’t become Atlantis II, III, and IV, you’re losing more territory each year and will eventually have to make nicey-nice—more so than your father already has—with the Folk. Or declare war, which you’ll lose, so you’ll have to play nice. I’m not sure about the vampires, but you can be sure they’re wondering about it, even if Betsy thinks you’re just too, too adorable to take seriously yet.

“Fifth, if I had a problem with you, Lara, you’d know it. Your family would know it. My family would know it. There would be no puzzled ruminations followed by vague phone calls to fish, no pun intended. You would know, and you and I would work out our problem, or we wouldn’t.”

“You’re welcome to my home anytime to work out anything you like,” Lara said pleasantly, ears pricked forward. Thinking: Come on, come on, come on. Thinking, An actual fight would be terrific as opposed to ruminating followed by phone calls. She’d come and we’d go; she’d likely get a few licks in and then I’d eat her cold, cold heart, problem solved. “Really, Dr. Bimm. Anytime.”

Fred chuckled, a short sound full of warm humor—the only warmth she’d shown during the conversation so far. “No chance, Lara. You like to fight. I think you need to; I think you’re almost as bad as the humans that way. You’ll always be better at it than me because you like it, and I don’t. You might actually get the upper hand, and that would be inconvenient for me.”

“We sure don’t want to inconvenience you, Dr. Bimm.”

“Fred, for God’s sake, I’ve been telling you to call me Fred for over a decade. Lara, it’s not us—I think I’ve made that clear—”

“As clear as the clearest piece of glass in the clearest window in the world,” Sean added.

“Shush, boy. As I said, it’s not us—but if you’re in trouble, if people are moving against the power shift already, the kids and I can be there in six hours.”

A good trick, from the bottom of the Caspian Sea. But Lara knew she meant it. Dr. Bimm got off on pretending she didn’t give a shit, while secretly giving a shit. Not one of my parents’ friends are normal. This is significant, probably.

“I shouldn’t care what you guys are doing on your puny little sand bars, but I do. It’s one of my many flaws,” Dr. Bimm admitted. “Do you need help holding one of your puny little sand bars?”

Aww. I may cry with gratitude. “We can handle it,” she replied, looking at Jack, who’d been listening to the entire thing with an expression made up of astonishment, irritation, and admiration. “But if not, you’ll be the . . . thirtieth or fortieth person I’ll call.”

“Ouch,” the mermaid said with mild reproach. “End.”

“Dammit,” Lara muttered, slumping back in her seat.

“Now you know how poor Queen Betsy feels when you hang up on her.” Funny how, though there were no phones anymore, the phone slang persisted. Nobody really dialed anyone, either, but they sure said they did.

“That’s not all I know. It’s good they’re not having any trouble on their end. But it doesn’t help us figure out what’s going on here.”

“Bat, fish. I suppose you’ve already thought of this,” Jack said, standing, walking around Lara’s chair, and leaning down to rub the tension out of her shoulders. “But perhaps a guard for the kitchen steps. All the steps?”

“Of course I’ve thought of that,” she lied, and his shoulder rub turned into a pinch. She yelped and slapped his hand. “All right, busted, I haven’t. But, yes, absolutely. I’ll watch the damned kitchen steps myself as many nights as I—”

Her brother cut her off. “You’re not thinking like a boss, Lara. You’ve got people to do that stuff. Dad wouldn’t stand guard. But he’d make sure it got done.”

“True enough.” She thought another few seconds. “If the theory is our ‘pets’ are in danger, what’s after the bat and the fish? Would humans count?”

The three young people all looked at each other, and Lara knew in that moment they were afraid, too. “Look, Mom is with Dad.” Sean’s voice cracked in his anxiety, and he cleared his throat and continued, stronger: “She’s safe. Even if she was alone, nobody could roll up on her. But, yeah, maybe that’s where these cowardly fucks are going. So we definitely need to post watches tonight. Nobody needs to trip over a dead body in the morning.”

“All right, that’s good. The folks are due back by sundown anyway, so I’ll brief them about what’s been going on, and Sean’s theories.” She shot her brother a look of pure gratitude. “Have I mentioned how glad I am you blew off the Boston trip?”

“And how am I repaid? With bacon rape. I think we’d better starting looking around before tonight. I’ll go down and ask the kitchen gang who’s been running around here—any strangers—like that. Oh, and check for a dead body on the steps while I’m at it. After I get a sandwich.”

He left and Jack bent and dropped a kiss to the top of her head. “Insatiable,” she remarked to no one in particular.

“Well, I thought it would be in poor taste to seduce you in front of your brother again.”

“You’ve got it backward; I was the one who put my gear in Seduce.” She wasn’t in the mood for love-banter—and she was awful at it during the best of times—and got to her feet and began to walk around the game room, circling the pool table and occasionally picking up balls and clicking them together before dropping them back on the felt. Jack sat in her chair, and watched. “Y’know, Dad had straightforward challenges to his authority. Fights, people trying to murder him—there’s no gray area there, nothing to ponder. You fight and the winner is the winner. The end.”

“The good old days,” Jack agreed, and she knew he was trying not to laugh.

“I know how that sounds.” She managed a half smile. “Dumb thing to wish for, or envy, huh?”

“You’re too hard on yourself—and always have been. Even when I only had cameos in your life, that much was obvious. My father says you and yours are the same—you only fear being caught in a mistake.”

“And being caught by Sean during sexual shenanigans.”

“I now fear that, too,” he replied so solemnly she snickered. “I’ll watch the steps, Lara. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Oh?” She was a little startled at the topic change, then realized it wasn’t a change at all. “What are you talking about, the first time?”

“The reason we didn’t pay tribute yesterday, officially meet our new leader. We were here, prowling the property,” he told her. “Your father told mine when he left for Boston. My father and I kept watch all around, all day and all night. Once that first twenty-four hours was up, with no obvious trouble, we let off the watch.” He rubbed his forehead. “That was our mistake—looking for obvious trouble. A Challenger wanting to eat your heart. A declaration of war. Nothing like what happened yesterday morning and today. So no one saw who left the fish.”

Lara nearly squirmed with dueling emotions: That’s so sweet, you chauvinist dolts! “Well, thank you. I think. That was very . . .” Condescending? Thoughtful? Annoying? Wonderful?

Before she could cough up something not completely insulting, he added, “My mother was also standing by.”

Lara nearly vomited in terror. Morgan LeFay’s odd sorceries were nightmarish even when she was on your side. Not that Sara Gardner was Morgan LeFay. She was the reincarnation of Morgan LeFay. Instead of magic, she had luck. All the time.

Low on cash? Sara could buy a lottery ticket and win.

Bad guy shooting at her? The gun would jam and the bolt would blow back and through the shooter’s brain. Or the floor he’d been standing on would crumble beneath him and he’d fall screaming to his death. Or his left ventricle would blow like a spare tire and he’d drop dead with blood in his mouth.

Sara couldn’t control it, that was the terrifying thing. Her magic, her luck, was unquantifiable and unpredictable and unconscious. So Sara might take a dislike to you and then . . . oops! Your cat got run over.