Kids Say the Darndest Things
The first victim's address is a small, two-story home in a subdivision where all the houses are copies and pastes of each other.
It's a quiet neighborhood. Penelope's yellow Jeep stands out among the subdued hues of sedans, minivans, and large SUVs.
The most terrifying thing in the neighborhood is the children riding their bikes, without a single adult outside to watch them. No stray vampires. No evidence of creatures. Not a single shimmer or glimmer in the air to warn of any magical auras in the area.
Not a single activated wardstone.
"Isn't this supposed to be a crime scene?" Penelope mutters, pulling into the driveway.
"There's a for sale sign. They must have finished their investigations." But even when a house is put up for sale, they don't take the wardstones.
Maybe they've deactivated them?