Cedar Creek's atmosphere had morphed into something out of a Grimm tale. Fog curled around street lamps like ghostly tendrils, the once bright colors of storefronts faded to muted tones as if the sun itself had lost its vigor. People laughed a little too loudly, smiles plastered on faces with an edge of hysteria. It was like we were all on some collective acid trip, pretending the world hadn't almost ended with zombies and rogue wolves.
The feeling wasn't helped by Angelo Shadowvale's presence. He flitted around town, his silver hair catching moonbeams and his laughter mingling with the wind. There was something about him that scratched at my memory, like a woman's faint laughter from a dream I couldn't quite remember, or the smell of lavender that lingered long after he'd passed by. And
