Fatal Circle

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Shannon & Co.

For reading and sharing baked goods. Yum!

Tour du Jour Thanks

Scollard. You always have answers.

Reverent Gratitude

For the Many-named Muse. You still rock.

Extra Thanks

To the copyeditors, reviewers, and bloggers and tweeters.

To Jolly Rancher because your Hot Cinnamon candy is inspiring. And to Zocalo for excellent food and service.

My living room clock read two-forty-six A.M. It was no longer Hallowe’en night, but All Hallows’ Day. Or, as some called it, All Saints’ Day. But it was no saint who held me in his arms—it was a waerewolf.

“I think you’d like my apartment, Red.” Red. That’s me. Persephone Alcmedi to the rest of the world. Seph to some. Red only to Johnny, my not-exactly-Big-Bad-waerewolf. “It has that open-living concept.”

I wasn’t fooled. “It’s a glorified dorm room, isn’t it?”

“If by ‘glorified,’ you mean it has a private bathroom, then yes.” Johnny sniffed, affecting annoyance. “Something I sacrificed when I moved in here.”

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