Magic Tides (Kate Daniels: Wilmington Years Book 1)

MAGIC TIDES KATE DANIELS: WILMINGTON YEARS BOOK 1 ILONA ANDREWS This ebook is licensed to you for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be sold, shared, or given away. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the writer’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Magic Tides Copyright © 2023 by Ilona Andrews Ebook ISBN: 9781641972512 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this work may be used, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without prior permission in writing from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. NYLA Publishing 121 W. 27th St, Suite 1201, NY 10001, New York. http://www.nyliterary.com CONTENTS Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Acknowledgments Also by Ilona Andrews About the Author 1 Kate Ms. Vigue adjusted her bright red glasses and peered at me from her perch on the sofa in our second living room. We were in the middle of renovations, and the second living room was one of the four functional rooms in the entire place. Ms. Vigue was in her early fifties, with lightly tanned skin and ash-blond hair cropped short and brushed back from her face. Her eyes behind the lenses were either gray or pale blue. She wore a silky green blouse with a light gray skirt and looked put together enough to attend a business brunch. I wore a pair of old shorts and a paint-stained tank top over a sports bra, because I had been painting one of the spare bedrooms when Ms. Vigue arrived unannounced. I’d pulled my brown hair into a bun and pinned it in place with an old bandana to minimize the paint exposure, and since that side of the house had neither fans nor any other way of cooling, I smelled like a lumberjack after a long day at work. Making a great first impression on a school administrator—check. We smiled at each other. Ms. Vigue was doing her best to appear approachable, while I did my best to appear harmless. We were both lying as hard as we could. Making small talk was not among my few virtues. “I was under the impression that we were already done with admissions. You sent us the acceptance letter.” Which was part of the reason we moved here and got stuck in renovation hell. “You are correct.” Ms. Vigue offered me a quick, humorless smile. “Our school is unique.” You could say that again. It was so unique, it cost an arm and a leg. We jumped through two months’ worth of hoops and paperwork just for the privilege of an interview, and then spent another month waiting for their decision. They came highly recommended, but I was done with their nonsense. “We like to think of our student body as being truly representative of the diverse world we live in.” Ms. Vigue slid into her speech mode. It probably worked wonders on trustees and alumni during their fundraising. “It’s a special place where students of different backgrounds come together. This interview will help us to better understand your child’s needs and enable us to ensure their safety and help them thrive in our vibrant community.” Aha. This wasn’t a get-to-know-you visit. This was a threat assessment. We already went through that during admissions. Why was she yanking our chain again? I smiled. Curran and I had agreed to maintain a low profile after moving. Think normal suburban thoughts. How hard could this be, right? We were just a small family renovating our new home. “Of course, my husband and I will answer any reasonable questions. Please feel free to ask.” She took out a leather folder, unzipped it, and checked the contents. “You’ve been recommended by one of our patrons. How do you know Dr. Cole?” Telling her that Doolittle had patched me up far too many times to count would just derail the conversation. “He was our family doctor. He delivered Conlan and treated him frequently over the years. We consider him a family friend.” Ms. Vigue nodded and made a note in her folder. “Your son’s assessment scores are quite remarkable.” Was this a compliment? If I took it as a compliment, she wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. “Thank you.” “Our school’s reputation ensures that we get the most outstanding applicants. Your son will be among his intellectual peers.” That would be a tall order, but I didn’t need him to find his intellectual equals. I just needed him to learn to act like a person and interact with other children without the weight of his identity dragging him down. “It’s my understanding that your child is a shapeshifter.” Here we go. “Yes.” “What is the nature of his beast?” I smiled even sweeter. “That’s a highly illegal question, Ms. Vigue. The nature of one’s beast is confidential and cannot be used as basis for discrimination by any educational institution in this country.” I knew this because my husband had dumped massive amounts of money and effort into lobbying for those laws to be passed before we had met. Ms. Vigue pushed her glasses up her nose with her middle finger. Aha. Screw you too. “Would you like me to cite the relevant federal and state statutes protecting shapeshifter rights, or can we skip the formalities?” “Of course, we cannot compel you to release that information. However…” “Your next words will determine what I tell Dr. Cole tonight when he calls to check how we are settling in. And he will call. He is very thoughtful and thorough. I’m sure he and his seven thousand associates will take a dim view of your school attempting to discriminate against a shapeshifter child.” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re going to