The forest was fragrant in that woody, musky way that reminded him of his childhood. It had been years since he last visited the cabin. He rustled through his pocket to find the keys. August 1999. The summer he earned his least favorite nickname.

Jefferson repeated the lines of the spell. “Omimum doridor. Omimum doridorrrr.” Outside, a flash. A hum. A door bell. “JEFF!” his mother called up the stairs. “Come down sweetie, there’s a girl at the door here to see you!”