Ilona Andrews

"You may call me Dr. Doolittle," he said. "I've sailed through the night and day, in and out of weeks, to where the wild things are and now I'm their private physician."

“Yeah. Rambo called, he wants his bandana back.”

“This Rambo, he a friend of yours?”

“Who’s Rambo?” Julie asked

Her face fell. “You’re not my mom. You can’t tell me what to do,” she said finally, but her tone signaled the end of the argument.

“I’m a substitute mom,” I told her.

“You’re more like a crazy aunt who only gets called when somebody needs bailing out of jail,” Derek said

Er. I was sitting atop the Beast Lord in my underwear, holding a knife to his throat. What the hell was my next move?

“When I’m with him, I can feel myself getting better. It’s like he’s picking up broken pieces of me and putting me back together, and I don’t even know how he’s doing it. We never talk about it. We don’t go to therapy. He just loves me and that’s enough.”

“He said he’s coming with us. I thought that was your idea.”

“What?”

“He said it was decided.”

“It is.” Doolittle came up the ladder. “I decided it.”

“He killed a man,” Mom said.

“He was framed,” Grandma Frida said.

“You don’t even know the story,” Mom said.

Grandma shrugged. “Framed. A man that pretty can’t be a murderer.”

Mother stared at her.

“Penelope, I’m seventy-two years old. You let me enjoy my fantasy.”

“Go Grandma.” Arabella pumped her fist in the air.

Why couldn’t I find someone like that? Why couldn’t he be my guy? If he ever talked to me, I probably wouldn’t be able to string words together into a sentence.

The man was looking at me.

“You will try.”