She wiggled her foot. What would they do when the creek dried up? How would the town survive? “The full moon is next week.”
Megan sighed. “It hasn’t reversed flow in the past six months. Can we even call ourselves Shift Creek anymore?”
“It is the official name of the town, and it had that name before the creek got its magic.” Once nothing more than forest and farmland nestled in the Texas Hill Country, the town was founded by a motley crew of shifters. No, not the band. A sleuth of bears, a gaze of raccoons, a clutter of bobcats, and a murder of crows all joined together to live in harmony in Shift Creek.
Back in the 1800s, a powerful warlock blessed the creek, giving it healing powers for supernatural beings. Every full moon, the stream reversed flow, rejuvenating the magic and creating a great marketing gimmick for drawing tourists to the town.
The springs that sourced the creek filled it with tons of minerals and junk that the mundies—AKA humans—thought were good for them, so the townsfolk capitalized on it, creating a spa that catered to both the supes and mundies. The water didn’t do much more for the mundane than any other hot springs would, but for the supes…it was a lifesaver. Literally.
The town prospered for almost two hundred years, until the last ancestors of their beloved warlock moved away, taking their magic with them. Apparently, the blessing spell was contingent on someone from the Rainecourt bloodline living in the town because, when Marcus Rainecourt packed up his kids and skedaddled to New York thirty-something years ago, that was when the trouble started.
Well, not on the exact day. It took several years for the townsfolk to realize there was a problem. With the drought that hit the Hill Country and the construction of a highway a few miles away, the lowering water level seemed like it was due to natural—or mundy—causes in the beginning. They didn’t realize the magical source of the problem until the torrential rains that flooded the area did nothing to restore their namesake creek. And the slew of witches and warlocks they’d called in to revive the spell hadn’t been able to do a damn thing to fix it.
“Has the supe committee had any luck contacting the warlock?” Megan asked.
“Didn’t I tell you? Mr. hoity-toity Marcus, who thought he was too rich and fancy for our town, ticked off the wrong sleuth of bear shifters. Last month, they found him mauled outside his cabin upstate. Something about a spell he gave them going wrong.” Alice leaned her back against a tree trunk and crossed her arms. “We’re looking for his sons now, but they’re MIA.”
And if they were anything like their father, even if the committee could contact them, they’d refuse to help.
“How do people from a family that rich and powerful go MIA?” Megan put her hands on her hips. “You’d think they’d have people. Even their people probably have people.”
“Oh, we’ve spoken to their people. Matthias refuses to return our calls, and Griffin is apparently off the grid in a jungle somewhere.” She chewed her bottom lip and stared at the water.
Alice joined the supe committee two months ago, when the mundies of the town formed their own group to come up with a solution. She joined both groups, actually, acting as a mundy to spy on those who believed the supernatural origin of the creek was merely legend.
“If you do wrangle one of them, and they come here, be sure to let me know.” Megan grinned devilishly. “I’ll be a one-woman welcome committee, if you catch my drift.”
Alice rolled her eyes. “You’re going to catch something one of these days.”
“Don’t be jelly of my social life, babe. You’ll always be my BFF.”
“Trust me, I’m not jelly.” Alice laughed. “Which one do you want to welcome?”
“Either. You know they’re both gorgeous.”
“How would I know that?”
Megan’s mouth fell open. “Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a picture. They’re supernatural celebrities, so they’re all over the internet. They’re so rich, even the mundies know who they are, though they think they’re a family of venture capitalists.” She tugged her phone from her pocket and typed on the screen.
Alice shook her head. “One: people shouldn’t be called celebrities just because they’re rich. That term should be reserved for people with talent.”
“I’m happy to audition either one of them. Look.” Megan shoved the phone in her face.
Alice took it from her, waving it in the air as she spoke. “And two: Even if they were real celebrities, I still wouldn’t be following their lives. I love the art, not the artist.”
“But look.” Megan stilled her hand, and Alice finally took notice of the screen. “That’s Matthias. Doesn’t he have a powerful, don’t eff with me look about him? Very alpha.”
With dark brown hair and icy blue eyes, Matthias Rainecourt looked like a man not to be trifled with. “He probably likes his women dumb and silent. Next.”
“Maybe.” Megan eyed the image. “He does have a coldness about him, doesn’t he? Still hot though.” She swiped the screen. “Griffin is my favorite of the brothers. He’s ruggedly handsome, don’t you think? And he’s always off helping people in third-world countries, so I’d have plenty of time to miss him.”
Griffin had a warmer expression. With softer lips and eyes a slightly darker shade of blue, he looked like he might possess at least an ounce of kindness. Alice made a mental note to focus her search on Griffin. He’d be the one most likely to help them. If they could track him down.
She handed Megan the phone. “Except, when he disappears, he’s really gone. We’ve been trying to contact him for a month.”
“He’ll come back. They always do.” Megan dropped to her knees to rummage through the bushes. “Ah. Here it is.” She pulled out the trap that had ensnared Alice on the farm. “This will make the perfect set of teeth for my bear sculpture.”
Alice fisted her hands on her hips. “We’re not thieves…anymore.”
“My raccoon would beg to differ.”
“You have to return that. We’re salvage artists, remember? We make art from discarded things…not stolen things.”
Megan held the trap to her chest. “He left it outside on the ground. Technically…”
“It’s a trap, Meg. It’s supposed to be outside on the ground. What are you gonna do when Farmer Tucker walks by the shop and sees his stolen trap in a piece of art? What do you think he’s gonna do?”
She shrugged, pouting her lower lip. “Admire my talent and commission his own piece.”
Alice threw her arms in the air, letting them drop at her sides. “He’s going to call the cops.”
Megan huffed. “Fine. I’ll take it back. These things should be illegal, though.”
“Write a letter to your congressman.”
“Maybe I will.”
“Good. I’m gonna call it a night. See you at the shop tomorrow?”
“I’ll be there with bells on.”
“Please. No bells. Just be there.” A few months ago, Alice jokingly said she needed to put a bell on her friend when Megan startled her for the umpteenth time. Meg took it literally and wore a string of the noisy suckers around her neck for a week, jingling all over the place and giving Alice a headache.