The Goliath horse drew back its top lip, exposing great square teeth that appeared to Nat the size of small gravestones. Then it tossed its head and exhaled gusts of hot air down its nostrils, blowing both Nat’s and Woody’s hair back from their foreheads. It lowered its head down to Nat’s level and blew its nose, leaving bright green skid marks on his white T-shirt. Nat and Woody burst out laughing in delighted disgust.

Still giggling weakly, they reached the huge, studded front door. Nat reached for the old-fashioned bellpull. As his hand touched the rope, the door swung open suddenly, making him jump.

They felt like they’d traveled back in time. The woman who stood in the doorway smiling at the boys, her lovely heart-shaped face framed with masses of long, spirally hair the color of old gold, was dressed in a kind of medieval frock. The only clue she was actually living in the twenty-first century was her bright green nail polish, which exactly matched the color of her eyes. She didn’t seem in the least bit surprised to see them, and opened the door wider, smiling first at Nat, then Woody. She spoke, her pleasant voice welcoming and warm.

“Hey, boys,” she said. “Crescent told me to expect visitors.”

“Oh, wow,” breathed Nat, “did she contact you by magic?”

“No, she called me on her cell phone,” said Iona, her smile fading a little.

Sensing they had started off on the wrong foot by mentioning magic so early in their acquaintance, Nat tried to make amends. “This is Woody,” he said politely. “We’ve come for your werewolf talk.”

Iona held out her arms as if in welcome. Nat watched in amazement as Woody bounded over to Iona, grabbed hold of her, and proceeded to rub his head vigorously against hers, almost knocking her off her feet.

Nat was beside himself with embarrassment. “You’re supposed to just shake hands,” he hissed, red-faced.

“It’s fine.” Iona smiled, smoothing her hair. “I’m honored; it shows that he trusts me.”

Then she looked at Nat closely, her green eyes bright. “Nathaniel, isn’t it?” She didn’t wait for his reply. “You know, werewolf is a term rarely used nowadays. It isn’t really politically correct to call any self-respecting shape-shifter a were- anything. You should really call them lycans, which is short for lycanthropes.”

Nat swallowed, feeling young and silly.

“Don’t worry, Nathaniel,” Iona continued, still smiling warmly. “You can’t be expected to know everything; that’s why you’ve come, yes?”

Nat nodded politely. He supposed being called Nathaniel was better than Natalie.

Iona stood back to allow them through the ancient door.

“Come on in, you two.” She smiled encouragingly. “We have an awful lot to get through.”