“Oops.” Twenty-year-old Calvin Weiss wiped a clump of dark hair out of his eyes with one hand while balancing his grandfather’s mystic tome in the other. “That isn’t what I wanted.”
“I keep telling you Cal, it’s long-A on the umlaut and short-A on the tilde. Geez, will you ever get it right? The pudgy racoon reached into Cal’s backpack sitting near the discolored tree trunk and pulled out another beer. Popping the tab, he took a swallow. “That’s better.”
“Not better for me, Tubby. I was supposed to summon the wood Fae out of this tree, not dye it.”


