I knew from my conversations with Shelby when we first started dating that I wasn’t her first serious boyfriend—far from it. She’d dated more than I had, mostly while she was away at school. That apparently didn’t jibe with Riley’s understanding of his own daughter. I decided it wasn’t my place to bring up things she might not want finding their way back to her parents, and just shrugged. “He has three daughters. Maybe he needs to get used to the idea that they’re going to date eventually.”

“He was better about it before Jack died and made Shelby her father’s heir,” said Cooper. “People get protective of the things they love once they realize those things can be lost.”

“Yeah. I know.” The conversation was getting uncomfortable, and I felt very exposed having it in the middle of the road. I walked past him, into the medical station. As I had expected, Cooper followed me, shutting the door behind himself.

It was a small room, more of a glorified shed than anything else, but every inch of space had been used to the best of its abilities by whomever had overseen the conversion of the original structure into a fully equipped veterinary office. Shelves lined the walls, glass-fronted and stocked with common medicines, first aid supplies, and what looked like a surgical kit. An operating table was pushed up against one counter, where it could be moved as necessary, and there was a small wet station, complete with sink and what looked like a chemical shower.

“Water runs from a tank, not a pipe, so only use what you need,” said Cooper, moving to raise the shades on the two small windows. “We have it refilled after people need to use this facility, but that’s not going to be any help if your hands need washing and you’ve already sent all the wash water off down the drain.”

“Good to know.” I hoisted my go bag onto the operating table and began carefully unpacking it. I could have moved faster, but I wanted to be sure none of the seals had been broken and none of the potentially hazardous materials had managed to mix together. Piece by piece, the results of a thousand years of scientific progress and folk medicine appeared on the gleaming stainless steel.

Dried aconite. Powdered silver nitrate. Liquid mercury, heavy and poisonously lovely. A jar of rowan ash, burnt so fine that it looked almost volcanic. Another jar, this one filled with unicorn water. There were no unicorns in Australia; unless they had a native purifier I didn’t know about, I was going to need to measure what I had down to the drop.

“You’re going to tell me what all these things are, yeah?” asked Cooper. His dog had followed him inside; its pointed black ears appeared above the edge of the table, quivering as it listened to the noises I was making.

“I’ll walk you through the whole process,” I promised. “What’s your dog’s name?”

“Jett,” said Cooper. He smiled down at the dog, an expression of absolute fondness on his face. “She’s my good girl, aren’t you, Jett?”

Jett emitted that high, piercing bark again, as if to say that yes, she was absolutely a good girl, and she didn’t understand why it was even being questioned. There should be no room for debate. In the Good Girl Olympics, Jett was clearly taking home the gold, and might be shooting to bring back the silver and the bronze as well, just for the sake of having a complete set.

“Well, I think she’s lovely, and I hate to ask, but is she all right with loud noises and strange smells? This stuff isn’t exactly what I’d call sunshine and roses when it’s being mixed.”

Cooper’s look of fondness twisted into a scowl—although oddly, it didn’t come with a renewed freeze. Apparently, he couldn’t go completely cold while he was talking about his dog, even if the topic at hand was “do we need to put her outside.” “She’s come with me to the range,” he said. “If she can sit through a bunch of men shooting holes in things not ten yards away, she’ll be fine for whatever witch’s brew you’re planning to make.”

“All right,” I said. I picked up the jar of dried aconite, frowning at it, before looking back up at Cooper. “You said imported aconite had gone endemic in this country. Is there any chance we could find some growing near here? The tincture will work a lot better if I can make it with fresh flowers, rather than relying on the dried stuff.”

“Yeah, this is good country for the nasty weeds. I’ve seen them growing near here. Pretty sure I can shake us out a patch pretty quick.” Cooper stooped to pat Jett on the head. “You’re going to stay here, girl, and guard this place for us? We’ll be back to you shortly.”

Jett barked again, presumably agreeing to stay and guard, or maybe just acknowledging that her human was making sounds with his flappy face hole. It was difficult to tell, with dogs. I’d never had the experience that might have made it easier.

“There’s some nasty stuff in the wood around here,” Cooper explained, straightening up again. “This is bunyip territory. Better if she stays behind where she won’t get eaten.”

“Ah,” I said, stretching out the syllable until it was several times its original length. “Shelby didn’t say anything about there being bunyip around here.”

“She probably didn’t think of it.” Cooper started for the door. “Do you say something when there’s a possibility of bears in the area? Or d’you just assume that everyone knows bears are a thing that can happen, and will plan accordingly?”

I slung my now-empty bag over my shoulder before snagging a pair of latex gloves from the box I’d brought with me and stuffing them into my pocket. It would be best if I didn’t touch the plants with my bare hands. “Actually, yes, I would say something like ‘there may be bears here.’ Bears are not a pleasant surprise for most people.”

“Most people are pretty damn dull.” Cooper opened the door and stepped outside. Jett moved to follow. He clucked his tongue and pointed to the corner. To my surprise, the little black dog stopped immediately, her head drooping, and gave him one last plaintive look before she slunk back to the indicated spot on the floor and lay down, curling so that her nose was pointing straight at her deceitful deserter of a master.

“I can’t argue with that,” I said, and followed him out.

Walking into the woods of Australia was no more or less alien than walking into the woods of Ohio had been when I was trying to adjust to the differences between oaks and alders and the evergreens of home. This forest consisted of eucalyptus, and of trees I didn’t recognize, but the theory was the same. The forest floor was a mass of fallen leaves, decaying bark, and unusual bushes, some of which were infested with large, spade-shaped beetles. Something rustled in the brush to one side. I fought the impulse, ingrained in me since birth, to find out what it was. With my luck, it would be some sort of large and extremely venomous snake—and while that would normally be my equivalent of Christmas, I didn’t want to explain to the Tanners why I’d gone and gotten myself bitten on my second day in the country. The black snakes and taipans would have to wait a little longer.