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The headless corpse of a chupacabra lay in the mulch below the lion topiary. “Third time this month,” grumbled Tom the gardener, prodding at the thing with his foot as he wiped the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief.

“But what about all this? Your ranch, your dream of running a Christmas-themed coffee shop right here in a small New Mexico town? And what about the people of Elephant Butte?”

Gn’thiv smirked at the image carved into the face of the stone monument. He often marveled at what ancient beings would do to protect their treasures.

Lunette imagined the sound of the metal spade swooshing down. She imagined their wails and it made her smile, made her hand hurt less.