Gunter turned fully to face Robbie, his expression serious. “When are you going to look for another housekeeper?”

Robbie shook his head. “Word’s out about you hoodlums. I couldn’t offer enough money to bring another woman here.”

“We’ve learned our lesson,” Gunter said. “If it will save us from your cooking and doing our own laundry, we’ll treat her like the queen herself.”

“I’ll be sure to put that in the ad,” Robbie said, turning at the sound of a cane tapping a hurried rhythm on gravel.

Gunter turned, too. And seeing Father Daar walking down the driveway from the woods, the boy spun on his heel and sprinted for the house.

It took all of Robbie’s willpower not to do the same.

“I’m wanting a word with you, Robbie,” Daar said, using his cane to scatter the chickens.

“I need your help on a matter.”

“If this is about your well pump, I’ve already ordered a new one,” Robbie said, hoping to forestall the old priest who lived in a cabin halfway up TarStone Mountain. “It’ll be in tomorrow, and the boys and I will install it after school.”

Daar was shaking his head. “I’m not here about the pump.” He stepped closer and lowered his voice when Rick came rushing out of the house. “It’s a bit more important than that.”

“Peter overstuffed the dryer again and started a fire!” Rick shouted from the porch.

“Where’s the extinguisher?”

Robbie bolted for the house, leaving the priest in a flurry of flapping hens. This was all he needed, for his mother’s old homestead—which had survived four generations of Sutters—to be burned to the ground by a fifteen-year-old delinquent who thought household appliances were really demons trying to suck him into the nether-world.

This was the second fire Peter had started this month. Three weeks ago, it had been the toaster, along with the curtains, and part of one cupboard that had gone up in flames.

They still hadn’t gotten the smell out of the house.

Robbie grabbed the fire extinguisher hanging on a peg not two feet behind Rick, ran into the laundry room, and doused the flames already spreading up the wall.

Stepping back into the kitchen, wiping powder off his face, Robbie scanned the group of wide-eyed young men staring at him as if he held their fates in his hand. Which he did.

Four boys, all wards of the state, all in his care for the last eight months. Well, except for Gunter. Gunter had been liberated on his eighteenth birthday six weeks ago, but the boy seemed in no hurry to leave.

That was fine with Robbie. For as long as it took Gunter to get a toehold on life, he would have a home here.

Much to Judge Bailey’s dismay.

Bailey did not care to see the other three boys, especially fifteen-year-old Peter, living under the same roof with a known brawler who was nefarious in three county courtrooms and assorted detention centers. Hence today’s meeting.

“You moron!” Rick said, punching Peter in the arm. “Are youtrying to get us sent back to foster care?”

“What in hell isthis place?” Peter growled, rubbing his arm and glaring at his older brother.

“This ain’t no foster home,” Rick snapped. “And it’s a hell of a lot better than the detention center. Dammit, I’m not leaving here because of you,” he said, moving to punch him again.

Robbie caught Rick’s fist in his own. “Nobody is going anywhere but to school,” he said softly. “If the house burns down, we’ll live in the barn. You’re all staying here until you decide you’d rather be someplace else.”

“It would be easier if you’d just hire a new housekeeper,” Cody said, pulling his burning toast from the shiny new toaster.

“We’d have a housekeeper if you hadn’t run off the last three,” Robbie reminded him.

“None of them had a sense of humor,” Cody said with a snort, scraping the black off his toast into the sink.

“I’ll be sure to put that in the ad,” Robbie said, setting the empty fire extinguisher by the door to take to town and refill again. He headed into the downstairs bathroom to wash his face and hands. “You boys have to take the school bus today,” he said through the open door. “Gunter, take the pickup to work.” He stepped back out of the bathroom, wiping his hands on his shirttail because he couldn’t find a towel. “And don’t go anywhere but to work and back,” he warned, giving the youth a level stare. “And don’t make me sorry for letting you miss school,” he added quietly.

“How come Gunter isn’t going to school?” Peter asked.

“Because I already learned how to run a dryer and a toaster without starting a fire,”

Gunter told him.

“Where? In home ec?”

It took only a threatening step forward from Robbie to stop Gunter’s advance on Peter and a warning growl to get all four boys moving toward the door.

“ ’Morning, Father,” Cody said around a mouthful of toast as he stepped aside to let the priest in the house.

“ ’Morning, Father,” Gunter mumbled as he squeezed by.

“ ’Morning, Father,” both Rick and Peter said as they rushed out to the safety of the yard.

Daar gave each of them a silent glare as they strode past.

Robbie couldn’t help but smile. For the last eight months, the old priest had used sheer terror to bully the boys into respecting him. Daar had given them a piercing glare upon their arrival, pointed his cherrywood cane at them, explained he was really a wizard, and warned that if they didn’t act civil around him, he’d turn them all into dung beetles with his powerful staff.

They’d nodded respectfully, only to roll their eyes at each other once they turned away, apparently deciding to humor the obviously crazy old man.

Robbie wondered what their reaction would be if they knew Daar reallywas a wizard?

His full name was Pendaär, and besides turning delinquents into dung beetles, the ancientdrùidh was also capable of bringing ten Highland warriors eight hundred years forward through time. Robbie knew this because his father, Michael MacBain, had been born in twelfth-century Scotland. So had Robbie’s uncle Greylen MacKeage, along with Morgan, Ian, and Callum MacKeage.

And since providence had seen fit to gift Robbie with the powers of guardianship over his two clans, the warriors had happily dropped Daar’s care onto his capable shoulders about five years ago, after many lectures that Robbie not believeanything the old priest told him. It had been a long five years, with innumerable escapades that could have turned into disasters but for Robbie’s vigilance.

“About my little matter,” Daar said, waving a hand through the lingering smoke as he made his way to the kitchen table.

“I’m afraid it will have to wait,” Robbie said, going over to the counter and pouring them both a cup of coffee. “My day just filled up. I now have to buy a clothes dryer on my way to see Judge Bailey.”

Daar snorted and thumped his cane on the floor. “I could take care of that old hag if you’

d let me.”

“Martha Bailey is not old and she’s not a hag,” Robbie told him, setting a cup of coffee in front of him. “She’s only doing her job.” He took a seat at the table. “And our deal is you don’t mess with the magic if you want to stay living on TarStone Mountain.”

Daar harrumphed, took a sip of his coffee, and shuddered in disgust before taking another sip.

Robbie took a sip of his own coffee, stood up, dumped it down the sink, and went to the fridge to look for some juice.

“My matter can’t wait,” Daar said. “The vernal equinox is tomorrow.”

Robbie stilled, the fine hairs on the back of his neck rising in alarm. He slowly straightened from peering into the fridge and looked at the priest. “What’s so important about the vernal equinox?”

“All the planets will be lined up just right.”

“Right for what?”

“To fix this little problem we have.”

It was the “we” that most alarmed Robbie. Daar’s little problems had a way of becoming huge headaches for Robbie, and when “we” was attached, it usually meant a full-blown migraine.