Chapter 1

1

Tami

Y ou know what I hate most about Christmas? Holiday lights. I'm standing in the garage of my client's house, cursing myself for agreeing to this. Of course, they didn't properly store the lights from last year. It's going to take my whole shift to detangle this mess and wrap it around the tree.

I put a finger to my lips, wondering if I could get away with driving to the dollar store and dropping twenty bucks on a new set. I would’ve wasted the money on a pizza anyway. But then again, this is a wealthy neighborhood; Sally will notice cheap lights from across the room. I sigh, grab the box, and head back into the house to start the detangling process. I glare at Angie, my co-worker on this shift, realizing why she's been so nice to me this week.

It's because she didn't want to do this, spend a day unraveling Christmas lights.

She gives me a wicked grin and turns back to the stove to finish preparing dinner. We're both CNAs, working the afternoon shift in a shared housing unit for the elderly. We take care of Sally, a seventy-year-old retired teacher with dementia, and Julie, a seventy-five-year-old retired nurse who's wheelchair-bound. They share this house as roommates but need round-the-clock care.

It's good money taking on gigs like this, and I love Sally and Julie. They bicker like an old married couple but can't live without each other. It's fun to watch. These lovely women carry so much wisdom, giving Angie and me a few pointers in the love department. They've had their glory days, and their stories are fascinating.

Sadly, in situations like this, the elderly tend to be forgotten, and their families rarely come around. They'll stop by for Christmas, where Angie and I have to force smiles, knowing they don't really care about these wonderful women. They're just doing their good deed for the year.

But that's alright. I've adopted Sally and Julie as my family while I'm employed here. I don't have a family of my own. I grew up in the foster care system, moving from house to house. but I know better than to get too attached. The moment I leave this job, I won't be able to see them anymore. I have Tiffany, my roommate and best friend, but she's got her own demons, and our friendship seems to be slowly falling apart.

Without Sally, Julie, and Angie, I'm all alone. And it doesn't help that I'm struggling in the dating department. I can't seem to find anyone, and I'm starting to wonder if I'm the problem.

“Look on the bright side, Tami. You can spend the day daydreaming while untangling those lights,” Angie teases. I stick my tongue out and give her the finger in response, scowling when I see my chipped nail. I really need to stop working so hard and take better care of myself. I'm starting to fall apart.

She stirs the pot of spaghetti, the aroma filling the kitchen. Angie’s cooking is always top-notch. She dreams of becoming a personal chef, and with her skills, she won’t be in this job much longer. After setting the pot to simmer, she washes her hands and turns on the small TV mounted on the wall.

“Damn, if I had the money,” she mutters, eyes glued to the screen. Another vacation ad.

“Are you ready for the vacation of a lifetime?” the announcer’s voice booms.

Angie grabs a gallon of milk from the fridge, leaning against the counter, her gaze still fixed on the TV. The screen shows stunning winter landscapes, luxurious accommodations, and supernatural beings—all seamlessly integrated into the scenes.

“Welcome to Wintermoon,” the announcer continues, “your ultimate vacation getaway in upper Michigan, where you can mingle with lion shifters, bear shifters, wolf shifters, witches, vampires, and many more supernatural creatures.”

The visuals shift to people snorkeling in a crystal-clear lake, the water so pristine it looks otherworldly. Then, a lavish restaurant where a witch in a flowing gown conjures a flaming dessert, delighting the diners.

“Imagine swimming in crystal-clear lakes, fine dining under the stars, exclusive tours of supernatural areas, and high-class nightclubs where you can party with your favorite shifter,” the announcer’s voice drips with allure.

The scene changes to a vibrant nightclub. A DJ with glowing eyes spins records while a group of werewolf’s dance under pulsating lights. It’s intoxicatingly surreal.

“Wintermoon is a once-in-a-lifetime experience,” the announcer promises. “Book your trip now and create memories that will last forever.”

The commercial fades, and regular programming resumes. A sense of longing still lingers.

I groan, returning to my task. We both know we’ll never afford Wintermoon. That place is for the wealthy. I’m more likely to meet a supernatural in Downtown Detroit.

“I’m going to take my girls there one day,” Angie says, hope in her eyes. She often talks about getting a chef position on the tourist island.

It’s hard to believe it’s been only ten years since supernaturals emerged after the pandemic. Their arrival uncovered centuries of hidden lore. Ancient texts, guarded by supernaturals, are kept in Wintermoon, and the lore on human territory is only rumors and speculation online.

Wintermoon’s creatures keep to themselves, venturing out only for business. They’ve turned the Upper Peninsula and surrounding islands into their domain, with Mackinac Island as a tourist destination. They have a treaty with our government to prevent war—one I doubt humans would win.

I don't follow much of the lore, just bits and pieces. What I do know is their law about claiming fated mates. Government officials worldwide signed a treaty never to break it.

According to their Goddess Fate, every supernatural has a fated mate. You can't take a mate from a mate. Fate won't allow it. When a supernatural finds their fated mate, you get dragged off to Wintermoon, whether you like it or not, and no law enforcement will intervene.

Angie pours herself a glass of milk and chuckles as she takes a sip. I already know what she's thinking.

“What I'd give for one of those big shifters to pack up me and my kids and haul my ass off to Wintermoon. You know they worship their women there, right?” I roll my eyes and focus on untangling the lights.

Sure, I've heard the rumors, but I've also heard the horror stories. The humans they claim disappear into Wintermoon and are never seen again. You're basically a prisoner to those creatures. Is that really a way to live? At least I have a choice here... for now.

I don't know what's happening with my government, but women's rights are slowly fading away, one Supreme Court case after another. The hostility of men and the rise of misogyny are starting to scare me. I don't know what that means for me, but I know it's not good.

As much as I don't want to admit it, Angie has a point. She doesn't like it here. Would I rather be stuck dealing with this dating pool or be fated to a supernatural who will ensure I'm provided for and protected? I don't believe in love. I don't think love gets you anywhere in this world. If it did, why would my mother be so quick to give me up to the system? I look up at the television screen, relieved to see a movie trailer. I desperately need something to pull me from my thoughts.

There's always something about seeing those ads for Wintermoon that puts me in a slump. Maybe it's because I live in southeastern Michigan, and I know I'll never see Wintermoon, Mackinac Island, or any of the surrounding small islands the supernaturals now occupy. Mackinac Island is the only space reserved for humans, but unless you find employment there, this destination is solely reserved for the rich. A one-day entry ticket alone is five thousand dollars. Who has that kind of money?

I've seen people go bankrupt just to take the once-in-a-lifetime trip. This place has practically put Disney World out of business, as it's a real place where dreams come true. I'm just a CNA. With my income and the rising cost of living, I'm sharing an apartment with my best friend Tiffany and barely saving.

“Are you still buying lottery tickets?” I ask.

I watch Angie as she eagerly nods in response to my question.

“You know I am!” she shouts back, her enthusiasm unmistakable. I can only sigh in response.

I think I’ve bought maybe two lottery tickets in my life. The odds of winning are like hitting the mega millions jackpot. Everyone buys these tickets, and the winning ratio is even worse since it's open to the entire world. Wintermoon has a weekly lottery, offering two winners an all-expenses-paid trip to the Island. Each ticket costs five dollars, and they announce the numbers on Sundays. I stopped trying; it feels like throwing money away.

Angie murmurs, “One day, Tami. One day I’m going to get on that Island and finally be free,” her eyes glued to the television screen. I smile at her, amused by her daydreaming.

Living on Wintermoon means escaping the laws of the human world. It's said to be a peaceful place, but they don't let just anyone in. Mackinac Island offers humans a taste of their paradise, but those who get to live permanently on Wintermoon are rumored to experience true peace and serenity—like the Garden of Eden.

What a life that must be!