“What is this place?” I asked with wonder, climbing up a weathered old rope ladder and peaking my head through into the spacious tree house that looked out over the farmhouse from the hillside.

  “My old secret hideout,” Denaux said, dusting off the photo book that he brought back from the house and setting it on a rickety old table. “My Pa helped me build it.”

  “It's...” I breathed in, taking in the shocking magnitude of its size, “It's impressive.”

  “You ain't the first person to say that about my big piece O' wood,” Denaux chuckled, slapping his knee.

  “Ew, gross,” I said. “I should've left you back down there.”

  “But chère, who would make you laugh?”

  “That's a good point, we really should find someone who can do that.”

  “Chère!” He laughed.

  I leaned on a creaky board that loosened as I sat up. “Please don't tell me you have magazines hidden underneath here.”

  “I wouldn't call 'Playgirl' just a magazine, more like sophisticated periodicals.”

  I couldn't help but crack a smile, as I shook my head.

  “Every hero needs their secret lair,” Denaux added solemnly. “I've grown out of it a bit and built my own with The Cat's Cradle, but it's nice to know something is still standing that we built together.”

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Hey,” I rested a hand on his leg, “your parents built you, and you're still standing.”

  A smile crossed his face. “You sure do got a way with words, chère."

  “Not sure I'd go that far,” I said, “but I got a way with hands,” I continued, pulling out the vial from the farmhouse vines.

  “You plucked that off the zombies down there?”

  “That's right, squeezing out from a sapping,” I held it up, inspecting it under what little moonlight cut through the trees and the largely torn open roof. “What do you think it is?”

  “That's the question of the hour,” Denaux said, stepping away from his photo book and peering closely at the vial.

  I popped open the top and let him have a look inside.

  “Perrault's been building an army, scooping up land, and now he's harvesting. Whatever it is, it sure ain't good.”

  “Don't we have some type of lab or something?”

  Denaux forced his hands on his hips and raised his brow. “Chère.”

  “You're the one who's doing all this secret lair superhero talk!”

  “I run a club, chère, not a science lab.”

  “Perhaps,” a huge shadow eclipsed the moon overhead, as a booming voice bellowed above us. “I can be of assistance in that area.” The bloodied frame of the werewolf himself, Isaac Brimstone, came into focus, his matted fur stained red and black.

  Immediately, my heart strings tugged, but I wasn't sure why. “Are you hurt?”

  “My blood, this is not. I could add some more to the palette,” he continued, “If I'm not pleased with this talk.”

  “Why are you so opposed to working as a team?” I hissed.

  “I work best alone...”

  “What about your family?” I huffed.

  “What about my family,” his teeth gnashed together.

  “We know all about them,” I pulled out his bracelet and tossed it on the floor.

  “You don't know anything about my family, you petulant child.”

  “Before everyone gets too heated,” Denaux stepped in between us, “maybe we should talk about a partnership for the time being. You said something about having access to a lab? See what we have to offer before cutting us out. Might realize that ya need us.”

  Isaac's eyes rolled back and forth between us. “Give me the vial.”

  “That,” I put my foot down, “I won't do. Give us a location.”

  “I could just take it from you.”

  “And risk me breaking it, I think not.”

  Isaac exhaled in frustration. “You know all about me, then come find me tomorrow...and don't dare wake me early.”

  “That, we can do,” Denaux said, nodding his head profusely.

  Isaac glared intently, and I met his gaze in turn, before he turned his back on us, growling. “Do not disappoint me.”