Unintended Consequences

Plush bats suspended in the front window, check. Jack-o'-lanterns lining the front walk, check. Broomstick propped next to the door, check. Halloween traditions are taken very seriously by the residents of Drexford—especially by its witches.

Dusk was falling. Soon the first trick-or-treaters would arrive at my cottage. I smoothed the folds in my gown. I hadn't needed to change into my witch outfit when I arrived home from the bookshop because I'd been wearing it all day.

Finn told me I looked more like a druid than a witch, but what does a vampire know? My moss-green gown was embossed with spiderwebs and herbs. The jagged edges of the skirt stopped short of my feet to reveal funky bootlets. I eyed the witch hat on the entry table and made a face. Surely just having it there was enough.

My gray tabby Edwina pawed at the brim. She loved to nap underneath it. Reason enough not to wear it. I lifted one edge and she darted inside. Soon only her face was visible. I could tell the kids she was my familiar.

The cottage smelled of cinnamon and allspice. My cookies were wrapped in cellophane and tied with raffia bows. Only one step remained. I stretched out my fingers, drawing in a little aether from the etheric plane, and then waved at the bats. Now their eyes were glowing amber orbs.

The doorbell startled me. The trick-or-treaters were early this year. I hurriedly picked up the basket of cookies and opened the door. The goofy faces of the jack-o'-lanterns smirked at me in the twilight, but where were the kids? As I scanned the shrubbery, listening for giggles, I heard a soft tap, tap at my feet. I looked down to see a wicker basket tucked next to my broomstick. Three large eggs were nestled on a cotton bandana. Cracks appeared on the shells as the taps grew more frantic.

I snatched up the basket and beat a hasty retreat, my heart thumping against my ribs.

I took the foundlings into my bedroom and slammed the door shut. The ostrich-sized eggs were pumpkin-colored with black spots, leading me to suspect a connection to All Hallows' Eve. I cringed at what might await me. No bird in Massachusetts has eggs that large.

I grabbed a towel from the bathroom, spread it over my new comforter, and then placed the basket on the towel. Bits of shell began to be ejected like projectiles. Edwina's plaintive meows to be let into the room would get her nowhere.

A dark slimy claw emerged from one shell. It stretched out as if reaching for me. More claws and long barbed tails quickly followed. I stared horrified at the dark mucous-covered creatures as they struggled to stand up. They looked a little like bats with short curved horns on top of their heads, large leathery wings, and spindly legs. Their large red eyes blinked at me like sleepy owls. As their indigo-black skin dried, it looked as sleek as a dolphin's.

I extended my hand, palm up, and the bravest of the trio clambered onto my arm, cocking its head as if to get a better look at me.

Fishing my cell phone out of my pocket, I pressed the speed dial for Finn.

"Hey, Tess. Whatever this is, can it wait?" he asked. "My band has a gig at the high school bash tonight."

I could hear voices in the background with demands for equipment. Finn owns the local guitar shop. He gives lessons on the side and plays in a band to help make ends meet. Only one other member is a vampire. Finn named the group Night Fangs, stepping right up to the line of the need to hide in plain sight. Witches, vampires, werewolves—we all live harmoniously with humans because they don't believe we exist.

"I'm in crisis mode!" The explorer jumped off my arm to rejoin its fellow fledglings. All three ungainly orphans were now gamboling on my bed as they exercised their wings. At any minute they could take flight. "Someone left me a basket of eggs, and they've hatched into what I don't know. They're already over a foot tall."