Beast took off, out through the doggie door, and straight to Sean, dancing around his feet and wagging her tail. He bent down to pet her.

I unlocked the latch on the pan and gently eased it up and over the cake. Perfect.

I dropped the springform into the sink, set the coffee pot to brew some decaf, and went outside, just in time to watch the dump truck unload a huge pile of firewood onto our grass. I went to stand next to Sean. He smiled at me and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. I leaned against him and felt him relax.

You made it home, honey. It’s all good.

The driver, a middle-aged heavyset man with a ruddy face and short salt-and-pepper hair, got out and eyeballed it.

“Seven cords,” he told me proudly.

“Looks great,” I told him.

“Your husband didn’t pay for stacking,” the driver reported. “He said he needs the exercise.”

I smiled at Sean. He wasn’t my husband, but there was no reason to point that out. “We’ll take care of it.”

The driver winked at us. “You two are a cute couple. Say, were you a linebacker in high school?”

“Yeah,” Sean lied with a straight face.

He had done all sorts of sports in his childhood, but none through his schools. He was too good and too physically gifted, and his parents wanted to avoid attention. Most of his high school extracurricular activities had been split between several martial arts schools with carefully vetted teachers. He’d had an easier time blending in while in the Army. High school sports prioritized individual achievement and stardom, while the Army emphasized teamwork.

“Thought so,” the driver said. “Well, you folks have a good one.”

“Take care.” Sean raised his hand.

The driver got back into his truck and started down the driveway. The grass around the wood pile shivered.

“Not yet,” Sean said.

The lawn became still.

The dump truck rolled to the end of the driveway, sat there, letting the traffic pass, turned left, and sped down the road.

“Okay,” Sean said. “Take it.”

The lawn split, opening a black pit under the firewood. Gertrude Hunt gulped the whole seven cords in a single swallow, and I felt the impact roll through it. The lawn knitted together, as if zippered. No sign of the wood pile remained.

Sean raised his head, and his lips stretched into a slow, lazy smile. “Mmmm, apple cake.”

Surprising a werewolf with food was a lost cause. “We have a visitor.”

“I know. I smelled her by the garage. What does she want?”

“To talk to you.”

He sighed. “Fine. Let’s get it over with.”

We walked over to the garage. The door slid open. The werewolf woman blinked against the sudden sunlight and saw Sean. Her shoulders straightened. She tossed her hair back with a strategically impatient jerk of her head.

Here comes the speech.