Page 47 of Summer L.A.W.

Victoria set a hand on her hip. “So, let me summarize: our resident mermaid whisperer accidentally calls her boyfriend into a magical danger zone, and we’re what—hosting brunch?”

“Joell and Lioness went to intercept him,” Sahara said.

“Good. Because if that man gets himself vaporized on the front lawn before sunrise, I’m not cleaning it up. I’m off to the kitchen for an extra-large mug of coffee.”

Rayna smirked. “You heard her, Sahara. Add ‘corpse disposal’ to the chore wheel.”

Sahara muttered something in ancient Egyptian. Handy, since no one else spoke it, especially when she wanted to insult them without injury.

The mansion gave a low, answering rumble, as if it shared their exasperation.

Magda shot them all a look. “Enough jokes. The ley lines are active, and the wards are shifting. He’s close.”

Rayna sighed, rubbing her eyes. “Then let’s make sure he has something to come home to.”

Outside, thunder rolled again. The windows trembled in their frames. Crystal had the horrible feeling that something was using Mason to surf its way in.

13

The fog around Mason thickened until the world shrank to the space of his own breathing. He couldn’t see the mansion anymore, just the faint golden glow bleeding through the mist. The compass in his hand pulsed like a living thing, and every throb vibrated through his bones.

Something moved to his left. He glimpsed a darker shadow inside the gray. His instincts fired. He turned, weight balanced, the soldier in him ready to swing first and apologize later.

“Stand down, sailor.” Joell’s voice cut through the haze like a drill sergeant. A figure stepped into view, her outline solidifying as the fog retreated from her. She wore black jeans and a long coat that looked like it could double as armor. “You’re lucky the wards recognized your DNA. Another ten seconds, and you’d be vapor.”

Lioness appeared behind her, sketchbook tucked under one arm. “Would’ve made an interesting illustration, though. I could title it, Man vs. Ward: The Final Fry.”

“Not helping,” Joell said.

Mason exhaled, lowering his hands. “Good to see you too.”

“Not really,” Joell said. “You just tore a hole through an active ley line.”

“Didn’t mean to. My GPS broke.”

“Funny. I thought you used the compass.”

He held it up. The glow had faded to a dull shimmer, the needle trembling in tiny, frantic motions. “Yeah. This thing dragged me here.”

Lioness leaned closer, squinting. “That’s not navigation. That’s the Sea Witch’s obsession.” She flipped her sketchbook so he could see: a rough drawing of the compass surrounded by ripples that looked uncomfortably like waves. “It’s been pinging the mansion since midnight.”

“Then it’s working,” Mason said. “Crystal’s here, isn’t she?”

Joell’s expression tightened. “She’s alive. Barely conscious.”

The fog around them shifted, swirling faster. A low hum vibrated up from the ground, deep and rhythmic. The mansion loomed into view again, massive and glowing from within.

Lioness glanced toward the tree line. “Uh… Joell?”

“What now?”

“The fog’s moving in the wrong direction.”

It was true. Instead of drifting outward, it was being pulled inward, toward the house. The air thickened with the scent of salt.

Joell’s gaze snapped to Mason. “What did you bring with you?”

“I don’t know.” His voice was low and steady. “But I had the feeling something was following me.”