“Aiden has had a very long time to learn how best to deal with Underhill,” I told them.

14

It was Pirate night at our house, and I had, once again, died an ignominious death. So I’d left the vicious cutthroats to their play and gone upstairs to make brownies with the orange oil I’d bought from Izzy’s mom. She was right, they tasted better with the oil than with the extract I’d used before.

I’d buried the walking stick in one of the garden beds near the back door, with Aiden, Jesse, and Adam as witnesses. It seemed like a good resting place for an old object of power, a safe place where pretty things grew. I planted lavender on top of it because I like lavender. Once we replaced the plywood with windows again, I’d be able to see the lavender from the kitchen window when I was doing dishes.

The Tri-Cities was a neutral territory—and none of us really knew what that meant yet. I knew what the fae wanted it to mean, I knew what the pack needed it to mean—but no one knew exactly how it was going to work. Uncle Mike’s was open for business again—but this time it was open to humans and others alike. The local police stations had asked to meet with Adam to discuss what being under the protection of the pack really meant—and what they could expect from the fae. So had the Feds. Adam had made appointments to meet with the police. He was letting the Feds stew. He was still mad about the tracking device on the SUV.

I couldn’t control the Feds, the fae, or the future, but I could bake brownies. I dipped a spoon into the last of the dough and took a bite.

Yes, still good.

“What are you cooking?” asked Aiden, coming up from the basement where he’d been playing computer games. He had only set the house on fire once since we’d returned from Underhill. He’d told me that Underhill promised she could help him stop lighting fires in his sleep. He planned on going for a visit next week to see what she could do.

“Brownies,” I said.

He flinched.

Jesse, who’d come up behind him, laughed. “Not that kind of brownie, dummy. It’s a cross between a cookie and a cake. You’ll like it.” She sniffed. “Smells good.”

“Here,” I said, handing them two plates filled with frosted brownies. When I make brownies on Pirate night, I bake four pans to ensure that there is some left for me. “Take these downstairs.”