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locked the door
behind us. “It’s safe now. Let’s get you packed, my angel. It’s not safe here,
and every minute it gets more dangerous.”
    Bewildered, I followed him up the stairs with Bernice beside me
and a silent Marcus trailing behind.
    “Did Chilford say ‘werewolf’?” I asked.
    Bernice made a pained face. “You live with a closet monster and
the existence of werewolves is where you draw the line on what’s
believable?”
    “Well, no, I just thought... I don’t know what I thought. Why
are we leaving in such a hurry?” The tension from the people around me skittered
across my shoulders and made me itchy. But I didn’t share their unease. The most
I could muster was curiosity and a little irritation at not knowing what was
going on.
    “
We’re
not,” Marcus said from a step behind me.
“
You.
Wiggy will get you home fast. We’re staying here till the
meeting is over.”
    Wiggy opened the door to my room with his master key, and I
stepped inside. My suitcase was already packed and laying on the bed. Wiggy
frowned. “Did you know you were leaving?”
    “Nope.” I shrugged. “I guess the gremlins got wind of what was
going on.” I glanced around the room and saw nothing unusual. “Thank you, guys!”
I said to the walls. I paused, hoping they’d come out to say goodbye. I turned
away, disappointed.
    Wiggy grabbed my suitcase. “Well, come on, then. Let’s get you
home.” He held his hand out to me, and I took it.
    “I should probably go to the bathroom before we leave—” A sound
like a speeding train shook me, and a strong wind gusted around us, interrupting
my sentence. It stopped a few seconds later. “—for the airport.”
    I let go of Wiggy’s hand, my eyes wide with surprise.
    Maurice’s eyes were wider.
    I was standing in the middle of my kitchen.

Chapter Three
    Maurice was up from the table in seconds—putting milk on the stove to warm for cocoa and tossing flour and other ingredients into a bowl to bake us something.
    Maurice always baked when he was worried. It had taken me awhile to figure that out after he’d moved in.
    “I’d best be off, poppit,” Wiggy said. “You take care of yourself, yeah?”
    “No, wait. Stay for awhile. Maurice is making us something to eat.” I pulled a chair out for him and gave a hopeful smile.
    Wiggy checked his watch, then glanced around. “For a few minutes, then. But not too long. I should be getting back.”
    A few minutes turned into an hour or so, since it takes time to bake cinnamon scones, even for someone as quick as Maurice. You can’t speed up heat.
    Wiggy explained to us that he was a sylph—a wind elemental. He worked for the British equivalent of our Board of Hidden Affairs as an extra set of eyes and ears in the bar, and in extreme emergencies, such as today, transported people to safe locations using his wind powers.
    “I would have tossed that wanker, Marcus, out the door the way he was on you last night, but there weren’t nothing I could do about it. I knew he was testing you. I didn’t have to like it, though.” He scowled—an unnatural expression on a face that appeared to wear a smile even when serious.
    I patted his hand. “I’m glad to know you had my back anyway. If it had been real, you’d have taken care of it. Thanks.”
    He shrugged and sipped his cocoa. “I still don’t like him.”
    I bit into a warm scone. “Neither do I.”
    “What do you reckon they’ll do about this werewolf situation?”
    Up until this point, Maurice had been quiet, listening to us talk. He straightened, his enormous, pointed ears looking somehow larger. “Werewolves? We have a werewolf situation?”
    “Just the one,” I said. “As far as we know.”
    He shook his head. “Zoey, that’s not good.”
    Wiggy nodded. “He’s right. Werewolves are a bloody nuisance.”
    Maurice scratched the tip of one ear, a thoughtful look on his face. “The last time I heard about a werewolf crossing into our world was back in