Fifteen minutes later, I pulled onto Michaels Drive, so-named because Michaels were the only residents on the cul-de-sac. The majority of shapeshifters, at least in small towns and cities, lived in clans. We called ourselves "clans" rather than "packs" because not all of us turned into wolves. While it was true that wolves made up the majority of shapeshifter families in America, there was no shortage of big cats, coyotes, bears and foxes.

Being a part of a clan granted you safety, security and a pretty good lawyer. Even if someone didn't live on clan land, they usually belonged to one.

A total of twenty houses were on the street, all in various stages of renovation. Unlike normal people, we stayed close to our families, forming groups of three generations or more. It wasn't unusual at all for parents to build their kids a cottage in their (albeit big) backyard.

My grandparents lived in the biggest house, as benefiting my grandfather's position as clan leader. It was also the oldest residence on the street, dating as far back as the settling of Streamfield in 1688.

Originally built by my English Michaels ancestors as a farmhouse, it had been updated and expanded almost every century like clockwork. Currently, my grandparents occupied the center portion of the house, while my paternal aunt and her family lived to the right. Our section was on the left. Each of the three parts was its own separate residence, complete with kitchen, living room, and several bedrooms and bathrooms. We even cordoned off the massive basement, but left the doors open in case of emergencies.

I pulled into the large, shared driveway and parked my car behind Dad's big black pickup. To the far right of the Clan House, a gravel road sloped downwards into what had once been farmland. A bright red arrow pointed down the lane, just below a sign proclaiming "Michaels Customs".

As I got out of the car, I could see several vehicles parked near the office/show room—more than could be found on any normal day of operation. One of them was a cruiser. Shouldering my purse, I trekked down the road. In the distance, the workshop loomed; although it was after business hours, the buzz of saws and drone of planers was still audible.

The office door was unlocked and I yanked it open. "I'm here!" I called out. The reception area, where I normally sat, was dark, illuminated only by the small, bendable light over my desk.

"In here, Aly!" My father's voice drifted down the hall.

Pausing, I took note of several messages scattered across the desk, sighed, and ambled towards the back of the building. A group of thirteen people—mostly black-haired, purple-eyed shifters—sat around a large oak conference table. Each face was familiar and expected—except one: my sixteen-year-old cousin, Rachael. Why is she here? Judging by the look on my aunt's face, she was less than pleased about the whole situation.

I didn't doubt that my cousin had somehow weaseled her way into an adults-only meeting. Rachael didn't like missing out on "cool stuff" and did all that she could to ensure she was part of it.

At the head of the table, seated next to my grandfather, was Laura's brother John Merrickson. Bald as a cue-ball and broad as a barn, Detective Merrickson could scare the piss out of practically anyone with a simple glance. He looked up when I entered, all seriousness and duty. Suddenly, I felt as if I had entered class late.

"Sit next to Mom, Aly," Dad said, waving to me.

I didn't need to be told twice. I scurried to an open chair next to my mother and plunked down with a enough force for the chair to bounce.

"Here," I said to my mother, sliding her the change and receipt for the package.

"Not now," she murmured, covering the items with one hand.

O-kay, I muttered to myself, slumping in the chair.

"Is everyone here?" Detective Merrickson asked, looking around the table. My grandfather nodded. "Good." Leaning forward, the cop folded his hands. "What I'm about to tell you must be kept in strictest confidence. Is that understood?" he said, looking pointedly at Rachael.

True to form, Rachael flashed Detective Merrickson a grin and two thumbs'-up. Auntie Kristi grabbed her by the upper arm and pulled her in for a quick talk. Rachael frowned, rolled her eyes, but nodded.

"Now that that's settled, here's the deal: We've hit an impasse in the Grabowski case." The detective sighed and spread his hands out along the table.

My ears pricked at the change in the detective's tone. I didn't know him very well, despite being Richard's in-law, but from what my brother said, John Merrickson didn't easily crack. Was he implying that Jimmy Grabowski was in real danger?

God.

Glancing around the table, I sat up straight in my chair.

"Any dog we bring to the crime scene is scared shitless. They simply refuse to track. A couple of them broke their leads and took several hours to find."

"Did someone lay a spell to mess with them?" my father inquired.

"We thought about that, but the witches insisted that no such spells had been cast. They suggested that someone was employing high-level magic to mask the boy's whereabouts. We were told to get in touch with the Master Sorcerer's office." The detective grimaced and shook his head. "But by the time that message gets passed up the chain, the boy could be dead."

I glanced over at Mom, only to see fear in her eyes—a deep, visceral dread that only parents could experience. Reaching out, I patted her shoulder and was rewarded with a small, tight smile.

"What do you think it is?" Grandpa asked.

Detective Merrickson paused and looked at my grandfather. All the stubbornness melted away to reveal a man struggling to find answers. "Honestly, Alan, I have no clue. That's why I'm here. We're at our wits' end with this case. I was hoping that a couple of you would be able to pick up where the dogs and witches failed."

Grandpa frowned, conflicting emotions playing across his face. "John, you know that I want this boy found as quickly as possible, but I don't know if we can spare anyone. I've got five shed orders to complete, as well as several smaller projects ..." He glanced around the table; each one of us, even Rachael, worked in some capacity for the family business.

Detective Merrickson face fell, but he quickly recovered, sliding the mask of a hardened cop back on. "I understand."

I stared at the table top, thoughts churning. This ... this just wasn't right. If we had the ability to bring the boy back, why shouldn't we? Something deep and visceral gripped my heart and before I knew it, I blurted out, "Grandpa, I can do it."

My grandfather looked over at me, greying black eyebrows drawing together. His mouth opened, but I jumped in before he could speak, words spilling out in haste. "Mom or Auntie Kristi can fill in for me in reception, couldn't they? Or one of the other cousins." Across the table, Lucas and Wyatt, Rachael's older brothers, held up their hands in near-synchronicity as if to say, Don't you dare suggest us.

I glared at them, cat to wolf. God forbid one of them spend a day answering the phone.

"Me, too!" Rachael exclaimed, pounding her fist on the table. "I want to help."

"Sit down!" Uncle Joe growled, wolf-like. Rachael flinched.

"You have school," Auntie Kristi told her firmly.

Rachael slumped in her chair, then her eyes lit up. Just like that, my cousin found another trail to explore. "But it's Friday," she pressed, pleading. "I'll do all of my homework tonight. I promise!"

"Mom?" I asked, looking to my parents for confirmation while my aunt, uncle, and cousin argued.

A small, proud smile creased my mother's face. "I can fill in for you."

Sighing, Dad ran a hand through his thick black hair. "I'll go, too, if you can spare me for the weekend. We really should help them find the boy, Dad," he added as my grandfather hesitated.

But it was my grandmother who stepped in. Everyone knew that if you wanted to sway Grandpa to your side, you went to Nana first. "Let them go, Alan," she said, laying a hand on Grandpa's corded arm. "They might be the boy's only hope."

"Joy ..."

"Alan," Nana repeated firmly.

He closed his eyes briefly, then acquiesced. "You're right," Grandpa said softly.

"And me?" Rachael demanded, breaking away from the argument with her parents. "Can I go, too?"

Auntie Kristi sighed, rolling her eyes towards the ceiling. Uncle Joe remained silent. If Grandpa allowed it, they couldn't say no. He was the clan leader, after all.

Grandpa pointed a stern finger at Rachael. "All of your homework had best be done by tonight," he told her. "If it's not, then there's no way you are going. Am I clear?"

Rachael practically bounced in her chair. I had to duck my head to hide a smile. "Yes! Yes, Grandpa! I promise it will! Thank you!"

Grandpa turned to Detective Merrickson. "Will three do, John?"

"I would have been happy with one," was all he said.