“It’s not what he says, it’s what he is…Satyrs rut with everything.”

“Not everything,” PJ grumbled.

The undulating moonlight filtered through the sea. A beautiful sight, until the icy grip caressed my spine. A tentacle slithered around my neck, bringing my gaze down where the red coral bloomed like fresh blood upon bone. I reminded myself to breathe.

Ava gazed out the coffee shop window, calculating the years she’d evaded Jovas the goat-bearded satyr. That ended with the clippity-clop of hooves behind her. Calmly, she licked the powdered sugar from her fingers as he greeted her in a gruff voice.

Ava stumbled as time slammed into her. Gentle hands caught her. “I warned you.” The young satyr from the bakery gave her a contemplative smile.

Lights flashed red, yellow then green. Horseless carts growled past. Glass walls rose, high as mountains. Ava’s panic rose. She was in hysterics when a light flickered on to reveal shelves of gold--her favorite kind--fluffy, crusty buns. Panic subsided, and her stomach grumbled. Ava the sneak thief measured coins by the number of buns they bought.

The charging constable waved his billy club at Ava. She’d been hungry and sloppy. Hungry was normal. Sloppy was not. Dodging a horse-drawn cart, she dashed across the cobblestones.

Ava liberated the gentlewoman’s portmanteau and disappeared into the hidey-hole she shared with a cranky tabby. Inside, she tipped the contents on the floor. Twelve engraved coins spilled out. The tabby grumbled.

The creature scrambled back, but she caught a hind leg and dragged it out. Juggling it while avoiding the razor-sharp talons, Sadie spotted a clutch of cerulean-blue eggs nested on top of the sourdough loaf. The drakeling flipped out of her hands, landed on the counter, and scrabbled back into the breadbox. “It built a nest.”

In the small room, a young man lay unconscious atop the scarred wooden table, his leg splayed open, cut from knee to groin. An older man with shaggy muttonchops hunched over him in a blood-stained apron. He made an impatient gesture to Edith then returned to picking bone shards from the meat of the leg.

Circling the abandoned silo, Buford found the door and threw his shoulder against it to bust the latch. Inside, PJ his roommate the satyr ducked under the assault of a flurry of pixies. They dove at him, pinching and biting and snatching $20 bills from his pockets.

The forest sped by in a blur as Travis flew down the road. Moonlight leaked through the tree canopy, creating a mottled view of the asphalt. The motorcycle struck hard. The forest spun. The sky flipped beneath him as Travis became weightless.

On her way to the wizard’s shop, Varysa heard the slap of tiny feet on the wet pavement. A tuft of auburn fur turned the corner, followed by a man in an overcoat. Noticing the door to the shop stood open, she turned down the street to pursue.

Sophie averted her eyes from the grave markers as she passed the cemetery. Memories arose unbidden. Try as she might, she couldn’t help but remember those wild nights, mop-headed boys and girls in tank tops and cutoffs. She’d spent many nights with them in her youth dancing, drinking, smoking. Now, they rested behind that iron gate, or they should.

Buford held a bucket over the hissing pixie. Her skirt was snagged on the bumper of his rusted ’57 Chevy. The tiny creature’s wings fluttered frantically keeping her aloft as she gnashed her teeth at him and struggled to free herself.

I pulled my hands apart, stringing green glowing strands of taffy between them. The children queued up before me, mesmerized. The music from the carnival’s midway played from tiny speakers overhead. The lights of the House of Mirrors sign flashed in succession to my right.

Lyla tucked the Mason jar under her arm and climbed the rickety ladder to the top of the treehouse. Inside, Kyle sat cross-legged behind an overturned cardboard box where he made tick marks in a ledger, “Dragon Hunter’s Society: Members in Training” meticulously written across the top.

A skittering sound startled her, and she peered behind the headboard to find tattered cobwebs filled with the husks of long-dead spiders and their prey. The breath caught in her throat as translucent legs wriggled free of the dried carcasses and bulbous bodies sprung free. The wraiths of a hundred spiders swarmed over the headboard.

PJ scratched at a persistent itch between his antlers as he crouched on his haunches beside his roommates. Underneath the rusted ’57 Chevy, fiery eyes peered back at them. May the half-fae, Buford the mechanic, and PJ the satyr tried to live amicably in the mechanic shop with that menacing hellcat under the truck. But today wasn’t working out so well.

The smoky-gray hellcat sauntered out to observe the situation. Buford, the half-demon mechanic, wiped a greasy hand on his coveralls and squinted into the shop’s rafters. The half-fae, May, stood beside him, hands on hips, wings fluttering anxiously. The mechanical ticking of gears came from above. Glowing LED eyes peered over the rafter.

Sadie curled contentedly on the couch next to the fire when a wild-eyed beast pounced, digging needle-sharp claws into her shoulder, and dumped a headless field mouse onto her lap. “I can hunt for myself,” she growled, then raised her voice, “We agreed. No demon familiars.”

A musical voice answered over kitchen clatter, “It’s not a demon. It’s a kitten.”