Dear readers, tonight with us is a vet specialising in magical creatures turned reluctant hero. She is here to talk about vampires, werewolves, and manticore poop management.

Tell us a little about where you grew up. What was it like there?

New York City, baby. Born and raised. I’ve been yelled at in ten languages before my morning coffee and once saw a cyclops try to parallel park in Midtown. My mom ditched me when I was a kid—vanished into a cloud of magical smoke or an MLM pyramid scheme, hard to say. I was raised by her sister, Aunt Lydia, who is basically what would happen if Aunt Mame ran a cursed antique shop in SoHo and could hex your ex with a glance. She taught me how to make potions, run a business, and never trust anyone who says “trust me.”

Now, I run a nonprofit called The Bestiary, which rescues magical creatures and gives them a second chance. And thanks to a permanently irritated dimensional witch, my nonprofit is now physically attached to my apartment. The good news: my commute is excellent. The bad news: sometimes a kelpie wanders into the kitchen and eats my cereal.

Did you have any favorite toys as a child?

Most kids have teddy bears or glitter wands. I had a lock-picking kit. Aunt Lydia gave it to me when I was seven. She said, “Sweetheart, your magic’s about as reliable as a goblin accountant, so you’ll need backup.” I also did martial arts, fencing, and the occasional magical beast wrangling camp. You know. Normal childhood.

What do you do now?

Technically, I’m the founder and director of The Bestiary, a rescue and rehab center for legendary beasts. Realistically, I clean up unicorn poop, negotiate with territorial manticores, and rescue abused phoenixes from underground fighting rings.

And okay, fine, sometimes I moonlight as a freelance magical crime consultant. If you call breaking into smuggler hideouts “consulting.”

Also: we accept donations. Like, right now. Seriously. I have a Venmo.

What can you tell us about your latest adventure?

Oh, just your average Tuesday. A vampire detective, very broody, very cheekbones, shows up and hires me to help investigate a dead witch and a suspiciously attractive wolf. My bank account says yes before my brain catches up. Turns out, the wolf isn’t just magical. He’s a werewolf. And not just any werewolf: Kyle. Tall, brooding, and somehow always shirtless. Suspicious, right?

Except… he’s innocent. I can feel it. Which means someone else is framing him—and if I don’t clear his name, the real killer might make me their next ritual sacrifice.

What did you think when the wolf turned into a hot naked man?

Honestly? I screamed, fell off my bed, and threw a slipper at him. In my defense, most people don’t expect their new rescue animal to transform into a very naked man with abs you could crack spells on.

But he looked terrified. And not like a monster. Like someone who had no one left to turn to. So, I decided to help. (Also, I got my slipper back. Eventually.)

What was the scariest part of your adventures?

Hard to pick just one. Let’s see: nearly getting my soul siphoned, Aunt Lydia being kidnapped, almost being murdered by a serial killer…

Also, there was a dream coma situation. Ten out of ten on the nightmare scale.

What’s the worst thing about running a rescue org for magical creatures?

Easy. The poop. There’s so much poop. Normally, we have dimensional wards that launch it into the sun, but when those glitch? It’s a full-on unicorn sewage explosion. Last week, I had to fish a gremlin out of the toilet.

Also, the funding situation. People love magical creatures until you ask them for money. Then it’s all, “Sorry, I already donated to a hedgehog shelter.”

And the best thing?

Watching them heal. Seeing a traumatized Failinis pup learn to trust again. Watching a thunderbird take its first flight after being chained for years. Hearing a kelpie purr. Okay, sort of purr. More like a demonic gurgle, but still… it’s progress.

Tell us about your friends.

Charlene is my ride-or-die glam witch bestie from college. She can charm your eyebrows into double arches and make your thighs look like they belong in a Renaissance sculpture. Dramatic? Yes. Loyal? Always.

Then there’s Raksini, a rakshasa who runs a vampire-nightclub hybrid called The Crimson Pulse. She’s got claws, connections, and killer eyeliner.

And DeShawn. My favorite technomancer. Runs a computer repair shop, has a dark web contact list longer than a troll’s arm, and once hacked a vampire coven’s security system with a hairpin and a grudge.

Any romantic involvements?

Define “involvement.” Does blushing count? Flirting while bleeding out? There may be feelings. Maybe. I’ve got a lot of magical baggage and an apartment full of chaos, so dating’s… tricky.

If someone out there doesn’t mind getting clawed by a chimera on the first date, call me.

Who or what do you really hate?

Anyone who treats magical creatures like they’re weapons, trophies, or pets. Especially traffickers. They’re the worst. I will personally hex their toenails to grow inward and smell like skunk for the rest of eternity.

What’s your favorite drink, color, and relaxing pastime?

I’m a martini girl with a whiskey soul. Like all New Yorkers, Black is the color of choice… since it hides blood, glitter, and regret. When I’m not fighting crime, I like to escape the city and head to Long Island farm stands. Nothing says “self-care” like wine tastings and fresh corn after surviving a kelpie stampede.

What does the future hold?

I want The Bestiary to go global. There are magical creatures in hiding all over the world, and they deserve safety and care. I want to build sanctuaries. Train others. Maybe even stop getting cursed every other weekend.

And who knows? Maybe one day I’ll find out who my father really was. Or at least figure out how to keep a banshee out of the kitchen.

If you weren’t doing this, what would you be doing?

Probably bartending in a dive bar for disillusioned fairies. Or teaching self-defense to other magically-challenged witches. Maybe both. Honestly, I don’t think I was ever not going to end up covered in fur, feathers, and mild trauma.


Evangeline grew up in bustling cities surrounded by diverse cultures, sparking a lifelong fascination with myth and folklore. Now living in New York, she blends the city’s vibrant energy with her passion for exploring the spiritual roots of urban legends and ancient texts, offering a unique perspective that shapes her writing. Her stories are often inspired by her own journey of resilience and transformation. When she’s not crafting tales, Evangeline tends to her mystical witch garden, growing enchanted blooms and herbs with the help of her corgi.

You can find Alicia on the pages of The Witch’s Bestiary, starting with the free novella First Rain.

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