The Keepers. Heather Graham

Caitlin said.

      Fiona nodded. She had been born with the sign of the bat, a tiny birthmark at the base of her spine. Caitlin had been born with the sign of the mist, shapeshifting. She loved her sister’s birthmark, which was magical, changing continuously, though most who saw it thought it a trick of the eye.

      Shauna bore the mark of the werewolf Keeper, the wolf, howling at the moon. No tattoo artist had ever created a work of such perfection.

      Their friends had marveled at the marks on those rare occasions when they’d been revealed by a low-cut bathing suit. They hadn’t tried to hide them, had merely shrugged them off, leaving their friends to wonder how and when they’d come by them.

      Before Fiona could reply, Shauna popped up behind Caitlin.