The good news was that Casimir was confident that he had charms and protection spells in stock to deter any manner of predatory fey. The bad news was that he didn’t know anything about Night Hags in particular and could neither confirm nor deny their actual existence.

“Sorry, dahling,” he apologized. “I’ve known more than my fair share of hags, but not this kind.”

I smiled. “That’s okay. I’ve got other resources. Thanks for taking care of the Evanses.”

He blew me a kiss over the phone. “Anytime, Miss Daisy.”

I tried calling Lurine, the resource I had in mind. When my call went to voice mail, I decided to drive over to her place anyway. I’d known Lurine since I was scarce out of diapers—she used to babysit for me when she lived two doors down from Mom and me in Sedgewick Estate—and I figured there was a good chance she was already up too, and simply not answering her phone. Of course, given the cold weather, there was an equal chance that she’d been asleep for several days. Lurine’s schedule didn’t exactly conform to mortal circadian rhythms.

Either way, it was worth a try.

Lurine’s mansion out on Lakeshore Drive was a far cry from the mobile home she’d lived in when I was growing up. The sky was just beginning to pale in the east as I pulled up to the gated drive and pressed the button on the intercom.

“Yes?”

“Hi, Edgerton,” I greeted her trusty and discreet butler or manservant or whatever the hell he was called. “It’s Daisy Johanssen. Is, um, Ms. Hollister available?”

There was a pause. “Ms. Hollister is enjoying a swim.”

“She’s in the pool?” I didn’t know why that would matter. I’d spent plenty of time poolside with Lurine. Never in November, mind you, but she could afford to keep her pool heated year-round. “Can you ask her if she’d mind if I stopped by?”

“I’m sure she would be delighted,” he said in a formal tone. “But I’m afraid Ms. Hollister isn’t in the pool.”

Oh.

“Thanks, Edgerton,” I said.

I put the Honda in park and got out, slinging my messenger bag across my chest. Lurine’s place was on the east side of the road, situated inland in the woods and safely away from the eroding bluffs, but her property came with lakefront access. On the west side of Lakeshore Drive, a long zigzagging wooden staircase broken up by a series of platforms led to the beach below.

I crossed the road, turned up the collar on my black leather motorcycle jacket, and began the long descent, taking care on the sleet-slick steps. The wind was bone-chillingly cold, but at least it appeared to be driving away the clouds. Lake Michigan’s iron-gray surface was ruffled with wavelets. I couldn’t begin to imagine swimming in it on a cold November day, but then, I wasn’t a lamia.

Halfway down, a distant glimmer of green and gold and blue caught my eye. I paused on one of the platforms to take in the scene.

Lurine was swimming some fifty yards from the shore, undulating coils gleaming with rainbow hues whenever they broke the surface. Pale, silvery forms darted around her—naiads or undines or nixies; I couldn’t tell at this distance.

Whatever they were, it was an incredible sight. As the sun rose above the tree line behind me, laying a shining golden path on the gray water, Lurine and her coterie of water elementals surfaced to greet it with a burst of song, a shimmering chorus that made me shiver to the bone with its unearthly beauty.

The bell-like notes hung in the morning air after they finished, fading slowly, until an aching sense of loss filled me. I found my feet moving unbidden, carrying me down the slippery stairs with reckless abandon.

Alas, the water elementals scattered, dispersing in silver flashes.

“Wait!” I cried out in despair. “Don’t go!”

Out in the lake, Lurine cocked her head. “Daisy? Is that you?”

“Yeah! I’m coming!” I called to her, crossing the expanse of driftwood-strewn sand.

“Oh, for God’s sake. Stay where you are, cupcake.” Lurine plunged beneath the water, arrowing for the shore.

Ignoring her order, I kept going. I didn’t have a single thought in my head beyond an overwhelming desire to hear those glorious voices again. I was knee-deep in Lake Michigan when Lurine surfaced a few yards away, water streaming from her golden hair and naked human torso.

“Okey-dokey, baby girl.” The coils of her tail encircled my waist, plucking me out of the frigid water. “Snap out of it.”

“I just—” I blinked. “Whoa. Did I just walk into the lake?”

“Mm-hmm.” Lurine looked amused. “Now you know why thousands of sailors have plunged to their watery doom over the years.” She gave me an affectionate squeeze, those sleek, muscular coils capable of crushing a grown man to death contracting around my waist with suggestive intimacy. “You should be more careful, cupcake.”

“Lurine!” I protested. “Put me down, will you?”

She stroked my cheek with the tip of her tail. “Aw, you’re blushing! That’s just adorable.”

Okay, so there are probably plenty of people in the world who have a little bit of a crush on their ex-babysitters—yes, fine, I’m willing to admit it—but I might be the only one whose attraction is only operative when said ex-babysitter is in the form of a millennia-old mythological creature whose lower half looks like the love child of an anaconda and a rainbow.