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“Imelda held out the nightshade. "This plant is both poisonous and medicinal. It can bring death with a touch, and healing when used with knowledge. Every person, like this nightshade, is comme ci, comme ça, like this, like that. Good, bad, poison, remedy. The world isn't divided into heroes and villains, but a spectrum of choices. Learn to discern who wields their poisonous nature, who uses darkness to inflict pain. And more importantly," she softened her voice, "learn to recognize who offers healing, who nurtures, even when carrying shadows.”

“My dearest Evie, For tonight, I offer you a treasure no diamond can match: Eternal devotion, drawn from the deepest heart of the Bayou. They say love that dies violently can never be extinguished, only imprisoned. Eleven ancient specters rise from forgotten graves, and when the Eleven rise, know that their eternal commitment is now bound to you. They are the proof of my unending love. Yours, always and forever, Your Devoted Admirer.”

“It was scary, yes," she conceded, the initial chill of the fear finally dissolving. “But standing here now, knowing the effort, the planning, the sheer theatrical devotion involved... it was also, dare I say it, magnificent, in a way. I’m honestly, truly flattered. You gave me the Halloween of my dreams, even if it nearly sent me to the ER… or a psych ward.”

“Reacting instantly, with a speed born of ingrained instinct and protective love, Declan felt the familiar surge of power coursing through his veins. Skin rippled, bones shifted, and in the blink of an eye, he stood as a magnificent black wolf, fur the color of midnight absorbing the faint light. He lowered his head, a low growl rumbling in his chest, and faced the attacker. He was a shield, a wall of muscle and teeth, ready to defend himself and Elara from the deranged Rougarou, whatever dark force had twisted it into this horrifying parody of its former self. The air crackled with tension, the calm of the bayou replaced by the imminent threat of a brutal and desperate fight.”

“Look, whoever it is must be planning an elaborate countdown to Halloween,” Remy deduced, leaning back in his chair, his eyes bright with amusement. “Thirteen days, thirteen scares. The Rougarou is just the opener. You’ll probably get something lame like ‘Two bats’ tomorrow.”