Chapter One

The ravens had been watching me for at least an hour, their motionless bodies perched on the lowest frond of the palm tree that stands in the courtyard of the Royal Palms apartment building, which I manage for a real estate developer so tight I’m pretty sure he resents passing gas.

The general contractor I knew only as Ramon was trying to explain why the roof above Apartment Nine was leaking even though it had been replaced just a few months before as the result of fire damage that was not entirely my fault.

It was a fine Los Angeles afternoon, as most of them are, with a postcard-blue sky, bright sunshine, and a light spring breeze. Whoodle, my . . . frenemy? . . . was sunning himself by the pool, looking like Male Sunbather from Central Casting and causing the hearts of young people throughout the complex to go pitter-patter.

Whoodle isn’t his real name, as you might have guessed. I don’t go by my real name, either, though I’ve been “Lois Peterson” for so many years I’ve mostly forgotten what it used to be. I’m a native New Yorker, which you can tell from my calm demeanor and heart brimming with love for my fellow humans, and I landed in Los Angeles decades ago because it was as far as I could get from my husband without requiring a passport.

In February I turned seventy-four, despite the best efforts of an unhinged collection of characters I’ve encountered over the last year, including said husband, and I’ve encountered them primarily because I’m the most powerful wizard on the West Coast. Not that this is particularly hard, wizards being scarce everywhere in the world, and it’s a designation I’m not particularly thrilled by, considering the kind of trouble it causes me.

One of the ravens croaked out some kind of complaint and ruffled a feather; otherwise, I would have suspected they were taxidermied specimens of corvus corax and wondered who was pranking me. I gave it the stink eye, and it gave me the stink eye back.

I shook my head and said to Ramon. “Por qué está . . . leaking?” I made a gesture of water pouring down and patted my pockets for my phone and Google Translate.

Ramon said something my Spanish was too elementary to grasp and I wished I’d studied more carefully before embarking on the conversation or at least brought my phone out with me.

“Qué?” I asked.

Fifteen (that is, the young woman who inhabited Apartment Fifteen and whose name I could not immediately call to mind) laughed loudly at something Whoodle said, and I glanced over at them with benign approval. Despite what some tenants allege, I do like the sound of laughter and merriment, just not after ten p.m. on weekdays, eleven on weekends.

That was when Whoodle suddenly shifted to squid.

Fifteen shrieked, “What the fuck?” whereupon Whoodle jumped into the pool and headed for the drain.

Whoodle doesn’t like using the pool drain for quick getaways. The chlorine hurts his eyes. But what else could he do? He was a squid-human shifter and he was starting to lose control over it, like old men and their bladders, although a lot more disconcerting.

Ordinary people, like Fifteen, don’t believe in magic so it freaks them out when they encounter it.

“Que paso?” Ramon asked, turning to look at the pool, his gaze lingering with appreciation on Fifteen, and I said, “No sé. Cuando tú haces, uh, that leak? Esta—I mean esa fuga?”

“Where did he go?” Fifteen shouted. “Did he—? Where did—?”

I broke away from Ramon in order to control the damage. “What are you talking about?” I asked Fifteen.

“William!” she exclaimed.

“William?” Now I was baffled. Who was William?

“He was sitting right there!” She stabbed a finger at the lounge chair near hers.

Aha. Whoodle had finally gotten around to giving a name out to people he met casually. I wasn’t surprised that he chose a name other than “Whoodle” but I had no idea what had prompted him to pick “William.” He didn’t look like a William to me.

“Sure,” I said in my “let’s all calm down voice” that I’ve perfected over the years of managing an apartment complex full of hormonal extraverts. “I saw him, but he just went back to his apartment.”

“He turned into an octopus, then jumped into the pool and disappeared!”

I restrained myself from saying, “I think you mean a squid,” and said instead, “He did what?” channeling Thirty-Three’s histrionic talents (like most of the residents, Thirty-Three is an aspiring actor). “Have you been drinking? Smoking? Look, he’s right there.” I pointed dramatically at the door to his apartment, which I hoped he would open in his human guise to prove he was human, but the door stayed firmly shut.

I sighed and sent a little wind spell in his direction and cracked the door open. “See? William’s right there.”

Finally taking my cue, Whoodle stepped out of his apartment and said, “Did you want me for something, Lois?” He, too, had taken lessons from Thirty-Three.

“No, you’re fine,” I said airily. “She must have been dozing in the sun and had a weird dream.”

“I was not dozing!”

“Well, there he is. Not a . . . what did you say?”

“Octopus!”

“You can see he’s not an octopus.”

“Octopus!” Whoodle yelped. “Octopus!”

“She’s imagining things.” I gave him a quelling look.

“Right!” Whoodle said quickly. “I’m not at all a cephalopod of unusual intelligence and fine emotional—”

“So I guess everything is A-OK,” I said loudly.

Fifteen said, “I saw what I saw,” and I replied in my most compassionate tone, “Sure, dear. Bless your heart.” Whoodle shrugged at me and closed the door and I turned back to Ramon, who was watching the exchange with a raised brow. He didn’t ask about it. Presumably he recognized my Spanish wasn’t up to explaining.

I waved it all away with that magical word: “Tenants.”

“Inquilinos,” he confirmed with a knowing smile.

Then I recommenced my attempt to convey my concerns and expectations regarding the leaking roof.

The drama at the pool didn’t fluster the ravens, even though ravens generally fly away whenever anyone other than themselves makes a ruckus. But this pair stayed put, watching me, swaying as the breeze ruffled through the leaves. Even just that, using the palm frond like a surf board, was unnatural. Ravens don’t normally do that. They don’t especially like palm trees as perches and spend a lot of time flapping their wings and hopping along the fronds, trying to get a purchase.

Of course I wondered who was watching me. Some wizard was probably along for the ride, either steering the ravens’ actions and seeing the world through corvid eyes in the moment or else expecting them to report back at some later time. Both scenarios were possible and both require a lot of magical ability to do, though I don’t use either technique myself because animals can’t give consent.

I’ve long since had my fill of people who think they can do whatever they want with whatever, or whoever, they want just because they want to. I don’t draw a lot of lines in the sand because I’m old and have had to cross most of mine at one time or another, but I had no interest in becoming the person for whom the ends justify the means.

Ramon made promises he would never keep about the speediness and quality with which his crew would tackle the repairs. I didn’t challenge him. I couldn’t remember the Spanish word for subfloor, as in “Remember that time you didn’t level the subfloor before installing the laminate,” so I let it go. He went back to his pickup and I went back to my apartment.

The ravens followed my progress across the courtyard with beady-eyed interest. I closed my apartment door in their faces (so to speak) and asked Sassafras, “Who uses ravens to spy on people around here?”

Sassafras is the resident demon (he lives in a Roomba for reasons that made sense at the time), and I used to think he’d help me learn to be a better wizard, like Google but for the arcane and mystical.

Ha.

Sassafras didn’t answer until I smacked him, or rather I smacked the Roomba within which I had invested his essence. I used my cane to effect this assault, since I wasn’t steady enough on my feet to kick him. That unsteadiness wasn’t because I was old or at least not only because I was old but also because I was nearly blown to bits a couple of months ago and full recuperation takes a while, especially at my age.

Sassafras feigned having been asleep, making a big production of snorting awake, beeping loudly and flashing bright lights to bolster his story. Disembodied demons don’t sleep, though. Sometimes I suspect he takes lessons from Thirty-Three, too.

“Answer me.” I gave the Roomba another poke with the cane.

“As you know, Lois, I live to serve,” he lied.

“Ravens,” I said. “Do we know of any sorcerers who use ravens?”

I don’t know why I chose the word “sorcerer” when I usually use the word “wizard” to refer to humans in possession of magical talent (I call myself a “mage” to distinguish myself from wizards, wanting no part of them). A sorcerer is basically a wizard who summons demons to participate in their magical activities. However much I avoid associating with wizards, it goes double for sorcerers.

“We?” Sassafras said. “I’m afraid I have no idea what happens in your brain. It is possible for a demon to unite its powers with a wizard’s, and then one might properly use ‘we’ to—”

“Can it,” I said. “I’m not going to be seduced into an unholy alliance with you. Tell me about the ravens.”

“Ravens?” he inquired. “Ravens, ravens, ravens.”

“Big black birds that hold grudges?”

“Thank you, I know what a raven is. I’m just trying to think.”

I gave him a minute to think. Then he said, “Use ravens?”

Sometimes he likes to draw it out, either glorying in the idea that I need his help or else bored by his confinement. Possibly both.

“You know, as sentries or to keep an eye on people.”

“You’ve been watching Lord of the Rings again,” he accused.

Sometimes he likes to make it clear that I’m not at all like the other wizards to whom he has loaned his magic (he never uses the word “mage” to refer to me, despite my requesting that he do so, and that tells you everything you need to know about our relationship).

It’s been my experience that most people who possess magic are assholes. A fair number of them only think they possess magic, which makes them also delusional, and some of them really go for the gold and become delusional assholes. In other words, I am A-OK with not being like any other wizard my pet demon has known.

“If I’d been watching Lord of the Rings, you’d know it,” I said. “You live in my apartment.”

“You could have caught it in Twenty. You dislike watching it in front of me.”

“That’s because you’re a Sauron fanboy. I prefer my life to be evil-free.”

He chuckled, not in the bwa-ha-ha way of evil masterminds everywhere but in a patronizing manner that was more annoying. “It’s not evil if—”

“You’re saying you don’t know the answer,” I said, speaking over his attempt to seduce me to do his will.

“You’re the wizard,” he began and I rolled my eyes and switched him off, which he tried to prevent by scuttling around the room and darting under the sofa but I dug him out with my cane. Anyway, that was the problem with Sassafras, I kept thinking he’d be of use someday and then he never was.

Rose, the dog-were who was the reason I’d gotten tangled up with wizards, sorcerers, and demons in the first place (believe me, I had no intention of ever using my magic until she came along), trotted out of the bedroom. She yawned widely, observed my interaction with the Roomba for a moment, then found the sunny spot under the window.

When you’re a golden Labrador, every day needs about twenty nice long naps. I didn’t ask her about the ravens because it wasn’t the kind of thing she’d know whereas if you were interested in learning when Eighteen had a fight with his girlfriend or who was cooking steak, she was the one to call on. Unlike Sassafras, she was willing to share her knowledge with me and never tried to get me to sell out my soul in return.

Rose is a dog-were in the same way Whoodle is a squid-were; they started off as animals and then through the application of a magical transformation process became animal-weres—shifters, as they’re often called in the literature.

I’d kinda gotten used to having her around the place, even though I’d lived alone for more decades than most people have been alive. It wasn’t like I looked forward to her wet nose in my ear every morning but I would have noticed if it wasn’t there.

I bent and gave her a pat on the head as I went by and she swished her tail. She was spending more time in her dog aspect than in her human one these days, which was okay by me except management didn’t allow pets on the property and she kept forgetting to change back to human when any non-shifters were around. The other day she scratched at the door to be let out and was very confused when I told her to use the toilet.

I knew I needed to figure out what to do about the breakdown of the enchantment that my late, unlamented husband had used to turn a number of unsuspecting animals into animal-weres, but I didn’t know what could be done. Sassafras insisted that though it was a demon-assisted spell, he couldn’t undo it, a position he had held from the beginning, even before I’d stuck him in the Roomba. He didn’t even try to make me believe that if I joined my powers with his we could fix it. So I was pretty sure he was telling the truth.

He did say that if I released him from the Roomba and we joined our powers together, we could create them as animal-weres anew, but (a) that wasn’t what any of them wanted, as far as I knew and (b) I couldn’t get him out of the Roomba even if I wanted to and (c) I had no intention of uniting my powers with a demon’s in order to perform the spell because I like my soul right where it is, thank you very much. You don’t have to lose your soul to unite your powers with a demon’s but good luck hanging on to it.

Mostly I was worried that the breakdown of the spell wouldn’t merely cause the animal-weres to revert to their animal selves but might instead kill them. I mean, that’s what happens to you and me when the life force wears out.

That reminded me of Whoodle and his unintentional shift to squid. I knew it would be bothering him. Was it something we should talk about? I didn’t want to because I’m not comfortable talking about difficult things. That right there was how I knew I had to. My emotional intelligence isn’t all that great but at least I know it isn’t all that great.

I told Rose I was going to check on Whoodle and that I’d be back in a few minutes, then went out again and crossed the courtyard to Twenty. Twenty is one of two one-bedroom apartments in the complex, the other one being mine. The rest are furnished studios, about equally divided between people on their way up and people on their way down.

The three animal-weres who were not Rose lived in Twenty. They included Petey (a rabbit-were), Whoodle (whom you’ve met), and Beyok (a bear-were). They were my obligation in the sense that there was no one else around to take care of them. How that happened is basic life math. At some point in everyone’s life there comes a time when something that isn’t your fault becomes your responsibility and you’re either the person who steps up or you’re the person who doesn’t, and you have to live with that choice for the rest of your life.

Granted, the rest of my life might not be all that long, but I’d like to have a good self-image while I’m living it.

Beyok was the only one of them who was gainfully employed. She worked as a bouncer at a bar in Venice (the city in Southern California, not the one in Italy). Whoodle and Petey, on the other hand, lived off money I’d taken from Craig (my aforementioned husband) after he no longer had any need for it. I considered it a kind of child support, given that he was the wizard who’d made the animal-weres in the first place. That right there tells you everything you need to know about him. And about wizards.

It was Beyok who answered the door at my knock, letting it come open a full inch and applying one golden-brown eye to the crack. I don’t know what she thinks might come through the door that she couldn’t take on but I have the delicacy not to ask.

“Is Whoodle all right?”

The door creaked open another few inches—well, it didn’t creak, I keep on top of maintenance, but it would have creaked if Beyok had had any say in the matter.

For a minute I was afraid she was reluctant to let me in because she was in her bear aspect and she was not particularly sociable as a grizzly, but she wasn’t, she was fully human or I should say fully human-appearing. I edged in through the ungenerous opening and palmed the door shut behind me.

Whoodle was in his aquarium, crowded into a corner. The water was dark with squid ink. Petey was huddled under the sofa in his rabbit form, shaking.

“So that’s how Whoodle is,” Beyok said.

In their human aspects, Petey and Whoodle had a romantic relationship that I had every reason to believe was exclusive but I try not to pry into other people’s lives unless I have no other choice and I can’t get someone else to do it.

I eyed the fish tank. “What happened?”

“He’s having trouble shifting back to human,” Beyok said.

“He was human ten minutes ago.”

“I know, I know. I heard him come up the sink and land on the linoleum in the kitchen. I told him he had to shift to human and go back out and pretend that everything was normal.”

“Thank you. And then he just . . . shifted to squid again?”

“Yes, right in the middle of The View.”

“I’m not following.”

“I mean after he shifted to human, I went into the bedroom to watch the show, since these two make remarks, so when he unintentionally shifted to squid again, I didn’t notice him flopping around on the carpet, trying to breathe.”

“And where was Petey?”

“Standing right there. Petey’s been watching too much Hallmark Movie Channel and tried to kiss Whoodle to, uh, awaken his human aspect.”

I could see how well that went. “Uh-huh.” I figured now was not a good time to have a heart-to-heart with Whoodle about how he was feeling about losing control over the shifting process. Any excuse to avoid doing emotional labor is fine by me.

“Then Whoodle’s defense mechanism kicked in, which . . . startled Petey.”

“And made him feel emotionally bereft,” I said, noticing the cleaning supplies on the coffee table. “Squid ink and rabbit poop everywhere.”

“And neither of them will turn back in order to give me a hand.”

I took the cue and helped her finish cleaning up. After she returned from dumping the trash I asked her how she was feeling and she grunted. I have a similar capacity for being emotionally transparent with others so I understood.

By then I had forgotten about the ravens.

I remembered just as soon as I walked back out into the courtyard to head home. One of them cawed at me and flapped its wings. I gave it the middle finger and kept on going. I figured if it was a wizard, message received; if it was just a raven, who cared?

“What are you doing, Lois?”

I turned. Beyok was still standing at the door to her apartment, but this time it wasn’t open just a crack, it was open a full foot and she was frowning at me.

“The ravens are watching me!” I stabbed a finger in their general direction and I swear one of them shifted and pooped right in front of me as a way to express itself.

Beyok came out of the apartment and padded across the courtyard in her bare feet. Part of the shifting spell gives them the illusion that they’re wearing clothes, because Craig . . . never mind. He had plans and that was part of the plan. I hoped her lack of footwear didn’t mean that soon she’d start wandering around without any clothes on. I mean, I know the clothes she does wear are just an illusion, and that certainly saves on the old clothing budget, but it was another problem my life did not need.

She peered up at the trees and the one raven immediately stopped pooping and froze.

“Some wizard’s watching me,” I said. “Or that’s my take on the matter.”

She crouched down and poked a finger in the mulch below the tree, lifted a raven’s feather free.

“I don’t think they’re illusions,” I said. “And I’m pretty sure they’re not shifters. Someone is just along for the ride.”

Feather in hand, she looked back up at the ravens and lifted a lip. Her growl was very faint but the birds went flapping away, wheeling and arguing far above the reach of mammal-kind.

“Thanks, I guess,” I said.

“You’re welcome,” she said, staring up at the sky.

I walked back into my apartment, heated up a can of tomato soup, and was about to sit down with it and watch the news when Fourteen texted me about the wolf.