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With a satiated stomach, I was able to think more clearly. By now, word would’ve spread about Ezra Kline and his machete, which meant Neighbors would be analyzing the incident from every angle, including the origin of the weapon. I wanted to have answers for them sooner rather than later, especially before Justine started blowing up my phone.

Inspiration struck as I rinsed the smell of tuna off my plate. Chad Phillips had a collection of antique weapons he’d been forced to sell before he was allowed to move to Evermore. The weremuskrat had been furious and even hired a lawyer to write angry letters to the HOA on his behalf, all to no avail. What if he’d managed to sneak a few pieces onto the island?

Chad’s favorite hangout was Sinkhole, designed to resemble a dive bar for the Neighbors who missed their shoddy watering holes on the mainland. Sinkhole had all the accoutrements of a standard dive bar—darts, pool table, jukebox. The HOA drew the line at a sticky floor, however. They took health and safety rules very seriously.

“Afternoon, Maya,” the bartender greeted me. Garrett was one of the dozen or so humans who’d chosen a life on the island among the supernaturals. He’d worked for twenty years in an actual dive bar in Texas and considered Sinkhole a massive upgrade.

I slid onto a wooden bar stool that was every bit as uncomfortable as it looked. “How’s it going?”

“Can’t complain. What can I get for you?”

I ordered a tonic with lime. I wasn’t a big drinker at any hour, but certainly not at two o’clock in the afternoon. Some Neighbors treated their retirement years like a permanent vacation. I had neither the interest nor the liver for that lifestyle.

“Is it true someone got attacked by a broadsword?” he asked, setting a coaster and a beverage napkin in front of me.

“The only thing that got attacked was a golf ball and a couple of bushes.” I scooped a handful of nuts from the bowl and dumped them into my mouth.

“Was it actually a broadsword?”

“Machete.”

He winced. “That could’ve gone south quickly. Glad you were on top of it.”

“It was Penny, actually. She answered the call.”

“The new you? That’s cool.” He filled a glass with tonic water and tossed a lime on top. “Anything else?”

I lowered my voice. “Don’t look if he is, but is Chad Phillips here?”

Garrett kept his eyes on me. “Your three o’clock.”

“The group of four?” He nodded.

“Thanks.” I’d noticed them out of the corner of my eye when I entered, but I didn’t want to appear to be on the hunt for anybody.

I stayed where I was and listened for key words. Ezra was an easy one—hard to mistake it for another word. A table behind me and to my left seemed to be discussing climate change. Chad’s group spoke in a rush of whispers, hunched over the table. I switched to the adjacent stool, then the next one, sliding my glass along the counter with me.

“If you’re trying to be inconspicuous, you’re failing miserably,” a gravelly voice said.

I turned to smile at Chad. “Am I?”

He waved me over. “Might as well join us if you want to hear what we’re saying.”

I wasted no time pulling up a chair. “Sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear you talking about Ezra.”

“Poor dear,” the blue-haired woman said. “I suppose it happens to all of us eventually.”

“Not necessarily,” Chad scoffed. “I intend to die with all my faculties firmly intact.”

“I don’t think we get to decide that,” she replied.

“We’re not human,” the second woman said. “We shouldn’t be dealing with human problems.”

“Dementia isn’t a uniquely human problem,” I replied. “Animals can suffer from dementia too. Dogs, cats, nonhuman primates⁠—”

“I’d like to know where our boy got himself a machete,” Chad said, more interested in the supply than the science.

That was my cue. “So would I. The Neighborhood is a weapons-free zone.” I resisted the urge to add, “as you well know.”