I rode through Shiftertown first, the area which had taken the brunt of the damage in the uprising. It had been less than two weeks since the Resistance had finally been driven out of here, so many of the buildings and homes still sported holes in their walls and roofs, and boards covering broken windows. But there were construction crews in the town square, rebuilding the town hall and fixing up the shops. The rubble had been cleared away from the streets, and shifters were walking around openly again. Many faces turned toward me as I passed, and though some gazes were still filled with mistrust and derision, there were others who were cautiously friendly, and even a few that looked happy to see me.

I stopped by Aunt Mafiela’s house, located on Third Street in the wealthier section of Shiftertown, with the intention of inviting her to lunch. I hadn’t seen her since I’d come to warn her about the shifter kidnappings. Though she’d been less than kind to me the last time we’d met face to face, she had sent me a thank-you card after I’d rescued Mika, her granddaughter. Maybe she would actually be amenable to the idea of lunch. Hell, if she was willing to give me information on my father, I’d invite her to the wedding.

You should invite her to the wedding anyway, a voice whispered in my head.

Ugh, I thought to myself as I parked my bike on the curb outside her house. Let’s take things one step at a time, shall we? You haven’t even invited her to lunch yet.

I took a moment to study the house before I walked up the front steps. It was a three-story residence with grey siding, dark purple roof tiling, and matching purple shutters. Normally, it was immaculate, but one of the dormer windows was missing, the hole covered by parchment paper and adhesive, and the front door appeared to have been replaced recently. The neighboring houses also showed minor damage—I guessed the Resistance soldiers had bashed in windows and doors when taking over some of these residences for their own use.

I bet Mafiela was still steaming over the fact that a group of filthy soldiers had been living inside her precious home. Not long ago, the thought would have made me grin, but as I trotted up the front porch steps, I couldn’t help but sympathize with her a little. She’d been through a lot recently.

I lifted the heavy, jaguar-head-shaped knocker and knocked twice, then waited. Bare feet sounded on the steps leading down from the second floor into the lobby, and to my unpleasant surprise, my cousin Melantha answered the door.