My tail twitched again, this time in a predatory reflex. “Hang on. I’ll be right back.”

I followed the little girls behind the curve of the ornamental hedge, catching them just as the one was handing her doll to the other.

“Don’t take that, sweetheart,” I said to the girl in gingham. “That’s not a nice doll.”

She gave me a confused look.

“We were only playing!” the blonde said in a sweet, piping voice. She had pink, rosy cheeks and blue eyes set in a heart-shaped face.

It takes an effort of will to see through a glamour, and not everyone can do it, but I can. The angelic-looking child before me turned into a milkweed fairy, all sharp-angled features and tip-tilted eyes, a halo of silvery fluff floating around its head, tattered, translucent wings springing from its shoulder blades. The baby doll it clutched had become a ripe milkweed pod oozing sticky white sap. I held up my ID. “Play somewhere else.”

The fairy hissed at me, baring a mouthful of needle-sharp teeth. “Thou hast no authority over me! I do not yield to a piece of plastic!”

“No?” I held up my other hand, my left hand, palm outward, displaying the rune written there, invisible to mundane eyes but plain as day to a fairy’s. “How about this?”

The fairy recoiled, but held its ground. “Hel should never have granted an ill-gotten half-breed such license!”

For the record, that’s Hel the Norse goddess of the dead, unrelated to the hell from whence my father came. Ironic, I know. An eldritch community needs a functioning underworld to exist, which makes Hel the number one supernatural authority in town. And I just happen to be her agent.

“But she did.” Anger stirred in me, and this time I let it rise, molten hot and delicious. I could feel the pressure building against my eardrums. On the other side of the hedge, someone let out a startled yelp as a bottle of soda popped its lid. The scent of ozone hung in the air, and electricity lifted my hair. I bared my own teeth in a smile, my tail twitching violently beneath the skirt of my sundress. And since you’re probably wondering, no, I don’t wear panties. “Do you yield?”

With another hiss, the milkweed fairy vanished.

The little mortal girl in the gingham dress burst into tears.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” Reaching down, I took her hand and let my anger drain away. “What’s your name?”

She sniffled. “Shawna.”

“That’s very pretty.” I smiled at her. “Okay, Shawna. Let’s go find your mom and dad, shall we?”