Phoenix in My Fortune (A Monster Haven Story Book 6) Read Free Page B

a short commercial break, it was showtime again.
    I called Maurice and got his voicemail.
    “Aloha! You’ve reached Maurice, but you haven’t really reached Maurice, because Maurice is out exploring the ruins of Pompeii or the deepest, darkest jungles of Peru. Leave a message! Soom Soom! Dag dag!”
    I shook my head. So weird. “Maurice, when you get this message, either call me back or come home. He’s here. Time to man the battle stations.”
    I hung up and tried Sara. Her voicemail kicked in before the first ring. “This is Sara. I’m not available right now, so leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
    I smirked. Sara was still Sara. Professional, a little uptight, kind of formal—even if she now sported gold skin, silver hair and metallic, twisted horns. I left a similar message for her. Nothing more I could do but wait. They’d get the message as soon as their walkabout led them close enough to a city to get a signal.
    Back in the living room, Mom’s face was pinched and nervous. She huddled into Darius as if he could protect her from the worst kind of nightmares in existence. I hoped she was right, because what we were up against probably was the worst kind of nightmare in existence.
    I took a deep, cleansing breath. Now was not the time to panic. That time would come later. Much later, if we were lucky.
    I settled into the vacant chair next to Riley, across from Mom. “So.” I smiled, trying to act like none of us were freaking out inside. “How’s the rose garden coming along?”
    Mom sat a little straighter, still leaving no room between herself and the enormous dark-skinned mothman—totally human-looking since the sun hadn’t gone down yet. After sunset, not so much with the human. In his full mothman glory, Darius sprouted dusty wings and lost the majority of his face to a bottomless void. But Mom loved him, so I tried to see past his scariness. Family is family.
    “Oh, Zoey,” Mom said. “The roses are gorgeous. Blooms the size of your head. No exaggeration.” She threaded an arm through Darius’s and sat back, beaming.
    I knew she wasn’t telling a tall tale. We had dryads living in the woods between my house and the cottage. I had no doubt Mom had magical help with Aggie’s garden. No. I had to stop thinking of it as Aggie’s garden. It was Mom’s garden now. And Mom’s gardening skills had always been spectacular.
    We chatted awhile about compost and sunscreen, gluten and anti-frizz hair-care products. In other words, the kinds of things people talked about when they didn’t have a care in the world—or when they were trying to pretend they didn’t.
    Late afternoon rolled around, and nobody felt like eating. We were all a little twitchy, taking turns looking out the window. Finally, I flipped on the television for some noise and happened to catch the news.
    The lead story was about a fourth-grade class from a local school. They’d gone on a field trip to Stinson Beach to study wildlife and coastal ecosystems.
    Six kids were missing. Six. About fifteen minutes from where we were sitting.
    My stomach flipped and my face felt hot with anger. The missing kids couldn’t be a coincidence.
    Live coverage showed the beach crawling with police and rescue workers scouring the area. Tear-stricken parents and teachers stood behind yellow tape, and reporters shoved cameras and mics in some of their faces.
    A devastated teacher with short blond hair and empty eyes answered the newscaster’s questions in flat tones. “No,” she said. “I swear, we had them all together. They didn’t have time to wander off. One minute they were there, and the next they were gone.”
    She burst into tears, and the cameraman had the good taste to return the focus to the reporter.
    The story switched to the studio, where a photo appeared behind the anchor’s head. “This photo was taken minutes before the children went missing, giving police a timeframe from which to work.”
    My