Creep was street slang for child molester. For a seven year old, Marten was really sharp.

“What happened to your mommy?”

“I killed her,” Marten said. “When I was born.”

“Would you like a hug?” I held out my arms. “It’s okay if you don’t.”

“I want a hug.” She slid off the chair and hugged me.

I patted her hair. “You didn’t kill her. Sometimes things like that just happen.”

She snuggled closer.

“Let me make another phone call and we’ll cook dinner.”

Marten gave my kitchen a suspicious look. “I looked in your fridge and there was nothing there.”

“I have a secret fridge.”

Her eyes lit up.

I picked up the phone. It was half an hour before five. I bet that Stella was still in the office, and I was right.

“I thought you were coming by. What happened?”

“A hodag.”

“In Atlanta? Are you shitting me?”

“Nope. Big one too.”

“Do you need me to bring you some lemons?”

“No, I’m good. Could you check on a name for me?”

She sighed. “What am I, your secretary?”

“I’ll owe you one.”

“Fine, fine. What’s the name?”

“Darren Argent.”

“Sounds odd enough. At least it’s not John Smith. Who is he?”

“Someone I ran into.”

“Okay. I’ll check it out.”

I said thank you and hung up.

Marten jumped up and down. “Secret fridge?”

“Secret fridge.”

The rain stopped at about nine, and fifteen minutes till ten someone knocked on my door and then rang the bell.

Marten looked up from her spot on the divan. She had eaten an entire steak by herself and two helpings of roasted potatoes. I still couldn’t figure out where it all went. Afterward she settled on the plush cushions. I gave her a book with illustrations of dinosaurs, which didn’t seem to hold her interest. Next was a book about cats, then dogs, and finally we settled on the Encyclopedia of the Ancient World. It had tons of pictures, and she sank right into it.

“I don’t want to go. I want to stay in your secret garden house.”

“It’s not safe for you here.”

Marten flopped on her back and put the book on her face.

“I still see you,” I told her.

“I like you better,” she said.

“I like you, too. When things calm down, you can come and stay with me.”

She lifted the book and gave me a squinty stare. “You promise?”

“I promise.”

The doorbell rang again.

“Come on,” I told her.

She sighed and crawled off the couch, slow enough to make a sloth look like a sprinter. I followed. With great hesitation, Marten meandered down the path heading to the door. One of my ornate metal spheres waited on a narrow pedestal to the right of the path. She reached for it in passing.

“Don’t,” I warned her.

“Why?”

“It’s dangerous.”

She sighed.

“You know this is a secret place,” I told her on the way to the front door. “Don’t tell anyone about it.”

She gave me the side-eye. “I’m not a dummy.”

I opened the door to Sophia dressed in pink bike shorts and a matching pink tank top. Her pale hair was damp, her glasses foggy. I didn’t see a vehicle, so she probably ran here on foot. There were times when being a shapeshifter came in handy.

“Once again, I’m dreadfully sorry.”

“Once again, don’t worry about it. How are the two of you going to get back?”

“My other father is coming to pick us up. Can we wait here? He shouldn’t be long.”

“Of course.”

Sophia came in, demurely sat down in a kitchen chair, and took in my kitchen. Clearly, certain calculations were taking place in her head. I had paid with gold, which didn’t line up with my shabby house.

I waited. She just sat there with a small smile on her face, offering no information and waiting for me to say something. Pure Barabas.

I set the tea to boil and set out three teacups. “I’m curious about something. What do you have against Ascanio Ferara? You had a strong reaction when I said his name.”

Sophia flushed. Embarrassment or crush?

“I didn’t realize. Thank you for making me aware of it. I’ll make a better effort to hide my disgust in the future.”

She was the most serious kid I’d ever met. “But why the disgust?”

“Ascanio Ferara is the devil,” Sophia announced. “One day he’ll get what’s coming to him, and I hope to be there.”

A shadow swooped down on my lawn. I caught a glimpse of crazily large red wings, just before they vanished, and a tall man strode to my front door. Marten sat up and smiled.

A careful knock sounded. I opened the door. Christopher Steed stood outside. He wore a light grey suit that fit him like a glove. Tall, pale, with platinum blond hair, he had one of those refined faces that looked elegant no matter his expression. His sharp eyes locked on me.

You don’t know me. We’ve never met.

He stared at me for five long seconds. “We lost your child. My apologies.”

“Marten is resourceful.”

“I suspect she’s much more than that.”

That made two of us. “Please come in.”

I added another cup to the table. Christopher took the chair next to Marten. She gave him an angelic smile.

“We were talking about Sophia’s disdain for Mr. Ferara.”

“Ah.” Christopher allowed himself a small smile. “By all means, continue.”

“It’s like this,” Sophia said, as I poured tea into the cups. “I have a group of friends.”

I put a jar of honey in front of Christopher and set a small bottle of cream next to it.

“We are a very capable group.”

Christopher hid a smile and added honey to Marten’s tea. She gazed at him like he was the most wonderful person in the world.

“Most of my friends live in the same neighborhood, but one of them, Bea, lives with the Pack, in a Clan House.”

Baby B, Raphael and Andrea’s daughter.