The evening sun cast long shadows across Gran's garden, painting the Irish hills in fiery hues. Under the sprawling hazel tree, young Heather meticulously arranged wildflowers and herbs within a faerie ring, her heart pounding with secret excitement. A pretty silver mirror, bought with her father’s car-washing money, gleamed among the offerings.

From inside the cottage, Gran’s Gaelic singing drifted, a comforting sound that barely masked Heather’s growing anxiety. Gran would be furious if she knew. She always destroyed the mushroom rings, warning of pesky faerie enchantments. But this time, Heather had been patient, certain her plan would work.

She wanted to summon a faerie, to be taken to their magical world for just one day and night, free from tricks. Ever since Gran’s tales, Faerie had called to her, a tingling brush against her skin, like an incoming storm. Tonight was Beltane, the night the veil between worlds thinned, her only chance.

As darkness deepened, the stars emerged, and the air grew cold. Heather stared at the empty ring, disappointment welling. Then, a shadow stirred, moving closer, a panting sound filling the air. Her heart leaped. It was here!

“Hello,” she called out, giddy. “Are you a faerie?”

The shadow stepped into the moonlight, revealing jagged fur and golden markings. Bright green eyes met hers, and Heather gasped, stumbling back in terror. It wasn't a faerie. It was a wolf.

“No!” she screamed, just as Gran’s singing cut off abruptly. The cottage door slammed open, and Gran’s voice, sharp with fear, pierced the night. Gran was there, sweeping her into her arms, holding her tight. “You and your master,” Gran commanded the slinking wolf, her eyes glinting violet, “Tell him he can’t have her. None of you can.”