A month ago, I thought magic only existed in storybooks. But reality is stranger than fiction. Just ask the bear in my kitchen or the corpse bird who keeps talking to me. I’m a middle-aged magical timebomb with no idea how many people I’ll take down with me when I explode. The bite on my shoulder should have turned me into a zombie a month ago. There is no cure. Acceptance means death, but I intend to live. I’ll slap some paste on my wound, pick up some antibiotics, and figure out a way to keep my animal shelter from shutting down. Everything’s totally under control….