If a predator was stalking me, he’d be able to get damn close before I clocked him. That’s dangerous.

I was always happy to leave after my mother had her cup of tea and chat with the crone. After I shifted the first time, she didn’t bring me with her anymore, and that was fine by me.

The crone disrupts my reminiscences by setting a plate with cookies in front of me. Oatmeal. Same as I remember.

She raises a gray eyebrow. “Your favorite, weren’t they?”

I nod.

“What did my mother come here for?” We always left with a small brown bag. I had a child’s lack of curiosity....