The smell of sizzling sausage patties and biscuits baking in the oven climbed the back stairs and tugged at the Blanchards, luring them from their beds and down to the kitchen. The back door was open in the kitchen allowing the cooler air of summer’s end and autumn’s beginning to drift inside now that it was free of humidity. Yasmine was standing at the stove, oven mitts on her hands, pulling the biscuits from the oven.

  “Breakfast!” Beryl cried. “I am so hungry.”

  Seth plopped down at the table. Looking down to the floor where his bare toes grazed something gritty, he saw a sprinkling of herbs the broom had missed from the potion of a few days ago when they’d last faced Patric.

  “I am so excited to have breakfast again!” Beryl told him as she took a seat herself.

  “I think I’ve managed to master Aunt Artemis’ biscuits,” Yasmine proclaimed, laying the pan before them.

  “Where’s the sausage, where’s the sausage!” Seth demanded.

  “Give me a sec,” Yasmine snapped. “I’m about to bring it. I’m waiting for the last few eggs to fry.”

  “I’m still replenishing from my injuries,” her fiancé said.

  Fable stomped angrily down the back stairs. She’d not been herself since the battle with Patric. Though she could blame no one but herself for becoming involved with him, the family was getting the brunt of her frustration. She settled herself with a thud into her chair and barked, “Where’s my cereal?”

  “We’re out of cereal,” Yasmine answered.

  “But I always have cereal and milk. What good is the milk if I don’t have the cereal to put in it?”

  “Then don’t have milk,” Beryl quipped.

  “If you want cereal,” Yasmine said. “Then you have to write it down on the grocery list. I can’t remember everything.”

  “Aunt Artemis always knew to get my cereal when she went to the store.”

  Olympia, overhearing the exchange, came in from the living room to join the family at the table. “Things are changing around here Fable now that your aunt has to be at the restaurant every day. A wise person learns to adapt.”

  Seth took a look at the plate of eggs making their debut at the table. “I feel like scrambled eggs, not fried. Can you make me some?”

  “No,” Yasmine said. “I can’t. I made fried eggs today.”

  “Fine,” Seth groused. “I’ll make them myself.”

  “Can’t,” she replied. “We’re out of eggs.”

  Seth’s response, “We have chickens in the chicken coups,” didn’t supply him with a desirable outcome. Yasmine quickly pointed out that if he wanted scrambled eggs, he could walk down to the chicken house himself to retrieve a new basket of eggs to scramble.

  “Why didn’t you just get more eggs when you collected these this morning?” he asked.

  “Because I only had time to collect the eggs from the first house. You’ll have to get the others later,” she told him. “I have to go to work. Then I have classes all afternoon.”

  “Why do I have to get the eggs?” Seth cried.

  “Dear Lord, Seth Blanchard,” Yasmine shouted, throwing the spatula at him--missing him and hitting the chair leg instead. “Would you like me to wash your hair for you too before I leave for work!”

  “Geez,” Seth sulked. “You’re in a fun mood.”

  Yasmine shook her fist in his face, “I am only doing the cooking—I am not a hired hand. You do nothing all day but go to the gym and barely attend classes. You can get the damn eggs!”

  “I’m still recovering.” Seth whined. “You seem to keep forgetting I had my arm ripped off a few days ago.”

  “Seth, you were recovered from that by the next day,” Beryl pointed out.

  “Maybe you’re tired for other reasons,” Fable smirked. “I see Yazzy sneaking off back to her room every morning like she hadn’t spent the night in your bed.”

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  “Fable!” Yasmine exclaimed, blushing and looking at their grandmother.

  “Don’t be embarrassed my Dear,” Olympia laughed. “I certainly do not begrudge you test driving the car before you buy it—as long as you still buy it on Halloween.”

  “Hecate!” Seth said turning red.

  Much more work was going into the preparations for the grand re-opening of The Cobblestone than Artemis had expected. The kitchen needed two new Hobart dishwashing machines, the exhaust fan above the open pit grill needed replacing, not to mention the new fabrics for the chairs and tablecloths and the floors had chinks here and there requiring fresh mortar. Amid overseeing the touch ups around the place, Artemis was also familiarizing herself with her new staff and learning the already established routines and protocols in place for daily operations. She wanted the staff to know that she had no plans to upheave their way of doing things or making any big changes to a workplace which already ran smoothly.

  It was a big relief to Artemis when Carol Saunders, the restaurant manager, met her with positivity and an open mind toward the new owner. Carol was going to be indispensable if Artemis had any hope of transitioning the place under new ownership without frightening off staff and customers. In the days since Artemis stepped into the place, Carol was at her side day and night helping her acclimate. Carol knew all the suppliers and made the appropriate introductions. Carol knew the restaurant’s menu as to what worked and what didn’t. She was also welcoming to Artemis’ ideas. Carol even had a friend on the state board and was currently paving the way for a new liquor license. The two were becoming fast friends as they plowed ahead day after day readying things for the opening.

  The two women were deep into a discussion on how to best incorporate Artemis’ dishes into the menu when Demitra walked into the office. Carol took her cue to leave, giving the sisters a few minutes’ privacy.

  “How is everything going?” Demitra asked.

  “Look at all these papers and you tell me?” Artemis said. “Recipes from the last ten years of this place. Some are good, some not so much. I plan to take some of these home tonight and see if there are ways I can spruce them up and introduce back onto the menu later.”

  “What about your own creations?” Demitra inquired.

  “Oh, I’ve already added about ten of my things to the menu. That is enough for now. We have to slowly adjust the clientele to my cooking.” Artemis changed the subject. “So, any word from Charlie about Patric’s whereabouts?”

  “None,” Demitra said. “He’s on the lookout for him, and the police have accepted Patric as the killer at large, so the mystery is solved. But Charlie isn’t really going to too much trouble to find him. It’s mostly perfunctory for the papers and police force. Charlie understands now what he is dealing with is supernatural. Even if they found Patric, the police can’t stop him.”

  “That was a terrific idea you had, Dee. Having Seth mount those security cameras. I bet it was easier to convince Charlie what we are dealing with by showing him the battle footage.”

  “He was shocked at first,” Demitra reflected. “It’s scary to see, especially if you’ve never believed in such nightmarish creatures. But now he knows what Daihmler is dealing with, and he knows it’s best to leave Patric to us.”

  “Yeah, well, we aren’t doing a really good job finding him ourselves.”

  “I don’t think we need to find him,” Demitra pointed out. “He made it very clear that he will come to us when he’s ready. Our job is to be better prepared to stop him.”

  “We have no idea how to do that,” Artemis admitted.

  “Yes, we do,” Demitra contradicted. “We are much more informed now as to his strength and his outreach. He came with reinforcements last time. We weren’t prepared for that, yet we managed to defeat them. Next time we will be over prepared for whatever arsenal he comes supplied with.”

  “Since there haven’t been any murders since that battle at the house, I wonder if he’s even still in town.”

  “I don’t know,” Demitra admitted. “Charlie is keeping watch on surrounding communities, but so far everything seems pretty stable. There was one questionable death in Oneonta, but police there said it was a mountain lion. There was also a witness that saw a mountain lion a few days before in the general area. So, we just can’t be sure.”

  “Or perhaps Patric is hiding his kills a little better now,” Artemis suggested. “I somehow doubt he’s gone too far from Daihmler. I just wish I knew why he was waiting so long to stage his next attack.”

  “I’m hoping that fear is the reason,” Demitra replied. “He didn’t anticipate running into a coven of witches that were going to find him out. Maybe he talked a good talk but in reality has realized he can’t win against us. Maybe he moved on.”

  “He didn’t seem like the type to move on,” her sister pointed out. “His infatuation with Fable seems premeditated to me. He had a plan all along. We just don’t know what it is yet. But at least we stopped him from hurting Fable. She seems to be coping rather well in this aftermath. Granted I haven’t been home much in the last few days, but when I’ve seen her, she acts like she’s doing all right.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Demitra frowned. “She’s holding something in. This has troubled her more than she lets on. I think it is safe to say he held some sort of hold on her even she doesn’t quite comprehend yet. And he will try again to come after her. You heard him when he said we’d stolen something from him. He will come back for her. That’s when we stop him.”

  Artemis pressed her lips together tightly and shook her head. “I’m not so sure he meant Fable when he said we’d stolen something from him. If he had meant Fable, he’d have said Fable.”

  Demitra was perplexed. “What else could he have meant? What could the Blanchard family have stolen from him? Everything we have we’ve owned for generations—except this restaurant.”

  Artemis stared out of the windows at the Black Warrior drifting past. “None of us know anything about this Patric person. Who is he? Where does he really come from? Why is he here? Who is this sister we have no trace of? For all we know, he could be an Obreiggon.”

  “An Obreiggon?”

  “Or a D’Angelo,” Artemis added.

  “I know Atheidrelle hates us, but enough to unleash a werewolf on us?”

  “I’m just saying, we should be prepared for any surprises.”