1. Rowan

1

ROWAN

I n hindsight, maybe coming to the crossroads at midnight this time of year wasn't the brightest idea Rowan Burnay ever had. But desperate times and all that. Her headstrong, independent grandmother was being threatened and obstinately forbid Rowan from helping, claiming she could handle it on her own.

Stubborn old goat , she thought with a shake of her head. And she wonders why I've turned out the way I have. That woman raised me. Did she really think I wouldn't find a way to help her? Pfft. She should know better than that.

So, here she was, standing at the center of a Y-shaped crossroads outside of town, her arms wrapped around her waist, trying to ignore the crawling sensation that something watched her from within the surrounding woods.

She'd picked this crossroads on the advice of one of her besties, a practicing witch. According to Eloise, the Y-shape was best when seeking answers while X-shaped crossroads worked better for potions, incantations, and cleansing; and T-shaped crossroads blocked magic. Supposedly. But did it have to be so creepy? She shuddered, inching closer to the warm glow of the camping lantern at her feet.

Technically, she should sit and wait for a curious spirit to come along so she could ask it her question, but she had zero desire to become roadkill because of a late night driver cruising half-asleep down the back roads. Her body didn't have the same spring as when she was in her teens. Surely standing would give her the same results.

Crossroads mythology varied, depending on the source and origin, with no single, clear-cut answer about how exactly to go about activating them. Probably for the best. Too many people didn't realize many of those tales were warnings, magic flowed fast and deep through the planet's ley lines, and monsters lived among them.

In fact, Stonyburn, the small town in the southern Appalachians where she grew up and where her grandmother still lived, was lousy with monsters of all sorts.

And Rowan should know. Since she was little, she'd had the ability to see beneath the glamours those of the non-human persuasion wore to blend in to human society. It was her single magical talent. Because of course, she couldn't have inherited Granny's cool seeker abilities or her late mother's talent with potions. No, she got to see the monsters in all their weird, wonderful, and sometimes scary as hell glory.

These days, she rarely bothered to flex her power. Most monsters were just regular people, doing regular people things, and living their lives. What did it matter if the postal worker was a griffin who nested in a pile of undeliverable mail or the lunch lady was a swamp monster who, despite cheap ingredients, still managed to create healthy, palatable food for elementary school kids?

That's not to say monsters weren't dangerous. The veneer of civility was paper thin on some. Piss them off, and instinct took over. Stonyburn, for all its mountain air, beautiful scenery, and crunchy vibes, had a cozy mystery-level of crime and a solid percentage of that was monster-related.

But not all. Sometimes, the monsters were straight-up human. Like the employees of DownHome Development, a private equity firm masquerading as an urban planning company. CEO Seymour Myles and his company "discovered" Stonyburn, decided it was perfect for their purposes, and set about trying to purchase every house and building they could get their hands on.

They'd fixed their greedy eyes on her grandmother's building, which housed her curiosities shop and her three-bedroom apartment above, as well as the rest of the small businesses that lined Main Street, and they were not shy about employing every underhanded, devious tactic under the sun to "encourage" the owners to sell.

Rowan was not about to let her beloved grandmother fall prey to those vultures. Thus, her midnight jaunt to the crossroads, which one Vera Cannell didn't know about and wouldn't approve of.

Granny might be neck-deep in the area's woo-woo and monster goings-on, but she preferred to keep her granddaughter away from what she considered the more dangerous elements. Rowan loved her, but her overprotective Granny was one of the many reasons she'd escaped to Asheville after art school. It was only about an hour away, but that buffer zone made for better family relations.

Blowing out a sigh, she scuffed the toe of her paint-splattered tennis shoe in the dirt. She hoped she was doing the right thing. Granny steadfastly shut Rowan down every time she tried to help with the situation, wringing a promise from her granddaughter to back off and let her handle Myles and his company's threats on her own. She even threated to disown her if Rowan hired "one of those damnable lawyers". Granny hated lawyers more than silverfish in her precious old books. She claimed not to be concerned about the whole DownHome issue, that it would all work out, but Rowan heard the strain in her voice during their twice-weekly calls.

When Granny dug her heels in like that, she found it best to go along then find a loophole. Requesting aid from a crossroads spirit was the latest — and the last — of a long list of workarounds she'd attempted. She fully admitted there was risk involved. Dabbling with paranormal forces always carried an element of danger. But it wasn't enough to scare her off.

She had to protect her grandmother, and this was her last shot before telling Granny to suck it up, hiring her a lawyer, and suffering the consequences.

While the nocturnal critters rustled in the undergrowth and sang their mating songs to the waxing moon overhead, she did some box breathing to calm the nervous prickles breaking out all over her body. The coins for her offering weighed heavily in the pocket of her jeans, and she resisted pulling them out and giving them a jangle to break the stillness of the night.

"Relax," she told herself. "You've done your research. It'll be fine."

A number of cultures had stories about crossroads, the most famous being the Faustian bargain, where a petitioner dealt away their soul to get what they wanted. Modern culture liked "the selling your soul" type stories and the dramatic appeal of them.

As a liminal space and a threshold, the crossroads made it easy for people to get lost or to make poor choices. However, most cultural lore portrayed the crossroads more as a cleansing space, useful for sweeping away evil, confusing a spirit or fae creature, learning a skill, or creating powerful potions.

In this case, Rowan, with the help of her bestie, focused on the myth that resonated — summon a crossroads spirit, ask it a question, and pay in coin to close the bargain. Simple and straightforward.

Hopefully.

Shifting her weight from one leg to the other, gravel crunching beneath her feet, she thought about her question. As much as she wanted to ask how to rid Granny and the town of Seymour Myles and his private equity firm, that could lead down a darker path than she was willing to follow. She decided to focus on how to help her grandmother and, by extension, Stonyburn.

The waiting made her antsy. She pulled out her phone to check the time. Dead. Awesome. Her nape prickled. She was more than ready to wrap this up.

"Um, hello? Petitioner here," she said into the dark, the candles she'd placed at cardinal points flickering in a nonexistent wind. "Are you ready to answer my question?" Honestly, it was might be better if nothing showed. She'd give it five more minutes before writing the entire night off. Tucking her phone into her back pocket, she ran her hands over her thighs, the worn denim soft under her palms. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea."

"You can say that again," a deep voice grumbled. A monster with flame-red skin and curling onyx horns that glinted in the candlelight stepped out of the night, joining her at the center of the crossroads. Shadows followed, pooling around the edges of the circle she'd laid.

Her entire body froze in response to the predator in front of her. Demon , a little voice whispered in the back of her mind. It took some more box breathing for her muscles to unclench and function again. You're okay. It'll all work out , she told herself, hoping to manifest it as truth.

Her brain frantically flipped through her mental list of monsters before she landed on the right reference page. Beyond media and religious portrayals, any factual information on them was scarce. Not surprising. According to the info she had, they were insular creatures, preferring to remain in their corner of the Underworld, only venturing Earthside when absolutely necessary.

So why was there a demon at her crossroads? And why had he answered her call, rather than the spirit she'd petitioned? Hell, she'd take Baba Yaga, the legendary and super-scary Slavic witch who loved her a good crossroads, over a demon.

She swallowed hard, regretting her decision to come here. Should have hired a damn lawyer and managed the fallout , she thought, licking her dry lips.

The demon loomed over her, almost a foot taller than her respectable height of five-foot-eight. With broad shoulders and long limbs, he had a competitive swimmer's build, all sleek, lean muscle made for cutting through the water. Shining black horns curled over wavy black hair that tumbled over his forehead and glowing blue eyes pinned her in place like a mouse trapped beneath a cat's paw.

The demon looked like he'd just left a long boardroom meeting, dressed in charcoal gray pants, polished black oxfords, and a crisp white button-up, its three top buttons undone, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The tendons in his forearms flexed as he shifted his stance, the tattooed flames leaping and flickering over the skin of his right arm.

Rowan felt an unexpected flutter in her belly.

Gathering her scattered thoughts, she rolled her shoulders to release some of the tension there. "You weren't who I was expecting." She rolled her eyes at herself. Way to state the obvious, Ro .

He grunted, folding his arms over his chest, his muscles flexing. Impatience radiated from him in waves. "You summoned me. Let's make a deal."

A sharp jolt of worry shot through her. Well, hell. Coming here really, truly wasn't a good idea. I am in no way, shape, or form prepared to make a deal with a crossroads demon. I just want an answer to my question. She cursed, trying to think of how best to extricate herself from the whole situation. "No, I summoned a spirit."

"Well, you got me instead." The demon flashed her a sharp-toothed grin. "Lucky you."