Date: 2016-07-12 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Paranormal; Fantasy; Paranormal Romance; Romance; Urban Fantasy; Short Stories; dragons; Chick Lit; Shapeshifters
Description: He's on the vacation from hell. She's on her honeymoon with a husband who isn't what he seems. They're both in the wacky world of New York Times bestselling author Katie MacAlister's paranormal Otherworld.On his first day of vacation, Jim ended up naked, alone, and banished to limbo. Things went downhill from there.In a wild ride through Finland with very non-Shakespearean Titania, double-dealing Oberon, and a plethora of militant nymphs bent on revenge, The Perils of Effrijim is loaded with quirky characters, a fast-paced story, and an adorable demon who just wants to be with his beloved.In C
Publisher: Racing Pigeon Productions

THE PERILS OF EFFRIJIM

And Other Stories

Katie MacAlister

Perils of Effrijim was originally published in Death’s Excellent Vacation by Ace, 2010

Cat Got Your Tongue was originally published in My Big Fat Supernatural Honeymoon by St. Martin’s Press, 2007

Excerpt from You Slay Me, published by New American Library in 2004

Excerpt from A Girl’s Guide to Vampires, reissue edition published by Harper Collins in 2010

Copyright © Katie MacAlister, 2003-2016

All rights reserved

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the author  is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

––––––––

Author’s Note

The Perils of Effrijim

Excerpt of You Slay Me

Cat Got Your Tongue

Excerpt of Girl’s Guide to Vampires

Jim’s Blog

My Heart Will Go On and On

Baltic’s Journal

The Dark Ones on Facebook

Other Books by Katie

About Katie

AUTHOR’S NOTE

What you hold in your hot little hands (or hot little e-reader) is a collection of two paranormal short stories, as well as a couple of the mini-short pieces written at the request of my publisher to promote specific books. I’ve gathered these short stories and mini-shorts together to give paranormal fans a visit with old friends, as well as a few laughs. If you’re a new reader to my books...well, consider this a toe-dip into my Otherworld. But fear not! Following each of the two short stories you’ll find the first chapter of the book(s) to which the short relates.

The first short story, The Perils of Effrijim, was written for the Death’s Excellent Vacation anthology, while the second short, Cat Got Your Tongue, was included in the My Big Fat Supernatural Honeymoon anthology.

Following those two short stories is a collection of mini-shorts consisting of an excerpt from Jim’s blog, a quickie to introduce Cora and Alec from Much Ado About Vampires, and a micro short that is Baltic’s Journal. Wrapping up this collection is one of my favorite (albeit super short) pieces, the Dark Ones on Facebook. It was written for the release of In the Company of Vampires, and features fan favorites Viking ghosts. I had so much fun making that up piece that if I didn’t have to write books to support my demanding dogs, I’d spend my days writing up Facebook entries for all my characters.

For readers who are new to my books, I’ve included the first chapters of You Slay Me and A Girl’s Guide to Vampires, books in which Jim (in The Perils of Effrijim) and Joy and Raphael (in Cat Got Your Tongue) were introduced. If you are a regular reader and have already read those books, feel free to wave smugly at the first chapter excerpts and move on to the next piece.

As always, if you enjoy this collection of shorts, feel free to leave a review, drop me a line, or read more.

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The Perils of Effrijim short story was first published in Death’s Excellent Vacation in 2010. Effrijim, who prefers to be called Jim, is a demon who likes to trot around in the form of a (dashing and very handsome) Newfoundland dog, and is known for his love of food, tormenting his demon lord, Aisling Grey, and his undying passion for his Welsh Corgi girlfriend, Cecile. Jim and Aisling first appear in You Slay Me, and can be found in every one of my Dragon Sept novels. A list of all the titles can be found at the end of this book.

THE PERILS OF EFFRIJIM

Chapter One

“Now remember, this is a vacation, not carte blanche for you to run amok and be obnoxious.”

I made a little pout, which let me tell you, ain’t easy when your face is shaped like a Newfoundland dog’s muzzle. Which mine was by dint of the fact that my most magnificent form to date was that of an extremely handsome, debonair, and utterly fabulous Newfie. “Have I ever run amok and been obnoxious?” I asked my demon lord, a kinda clueless Guardian by the name of Aisling Grey.

She lifted her hand and prepared to tick items off her fingers.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” I interrupted before she could get going on what may or may not have been a few unfortunate incidents in my past. “Kiss kiss. Have a nice time on Drake’s yacht. Don’t let the door hit you on the ass on the way out.”

“It’s not too late to send it to the Akasha,” Drake said as he walked past me, a baby carrier in each hand. “You would be able to enjoy our vacation without worrying about whether or not the demon was causing trouble.”

“Hello! ‘The demon,’ as you so rudely referred to me, is standin’ right here!” I gave Drake a look, but he missed it entirely. You’d think that a guy who just happened to be a wyvern, leader of a group of dragons who marched around the earth in human form, would be a little more aware of things, but Drake was like that, always missing my pithy comments and witty repartee. “And Aisling wouldn’t send me to the Akasha. That’s the cruelest thing a demon lord can do to her charming, adorable, and entirely innocent demon, one who, it might be pointed out, was recently praised for actions above and beyond the call of duty with regards to the birthing of the spawn.”

Drake muttered something extremely rude in Hungarian under his breath as he took the spawns out to the car.

“One,” Aisling said, doing that finger-ticking-off thing again. She made mean eyes at me as she did it. “You will cease referring to the twins as ‘the spawn.’ They have names; use them. Two, yes, you were of great assistance when it came to their birth, especially since you had to don human form to do so.”

I made a face. “Man, that was totally sucky. You should have seen the size of my package in human form. It lacked, babe. It just lacked.”

“Two and a half—you will not tell me, in any terms whatsoever, about your genitalia, be it in doggy or human form.”

I rolled my eyes. “Sheesh, Ash, loosen up a bit. I didn’t go into actual measurements or set up a website devoted to it.”

“For which the world is truly grateful.”

“Yeah, well, I’m still peeved at May for making me take that form. Human form is just so boring.”

“May was doing the best she could given a bad situation,” Aisling said, pointing to a suitcase sitting near the door when István, one of Drake’s elite guard, came in from where the car was waiting to take Aisling and Drake to a yacht he’d  hired for a couple of week’s vacation. “Just that one is left, István. Are you and Suzanne set for your trip to New York?”

“Yes, we will leave as soon as Jim is picked up.”

“You make it sound like I have babysitter,” I grumbled, a bit annoyed. “You know, I’m over a thousand years old—I think I can take care of myself for ten days. Just leave me a credit card and the number of the local pizza place, and I’ll have a Mrs. Peel-athon while you’re gone. And maybe a Morgan Fairchild-athon. Rawr.”

“Now there’s a recipe for disaster.” Aisling’s lips thinned as she continued. “Three: you will obey Anastasia. I have formally given her the right to give you orders, and you will respect that, and do as she commands.”

“She just better not let that creepy apprentice of hers around me,” I said, scratching an itchy spot behind my ear. “During that lunch you dragged me to meet Anastasia, that Margarine Chip chick looked like she wanted to gut me.”

“Buttercup is Anastasia’s apprentice, and unused to demons,” she said, her nostrils flaring in that nostril-flaring way she had. “You will be polite and courteous to both of them, do you understand?”

“Yeah, yeah, keep my nose clean, gotcha,” I said, wandering over to my favorite British newspaper, the one with the girls flaunting their bare boobies. “So long as Anastasia takes me to Paris to be with my darling Cecile, we’re all good.”

“Four: while you are visiting Cecile, you will do anything that Amelie asks you, and you will leave when Anastasia says it’s time to leave. You are not to beg Amelie to stay with Cecile. She is a Welsh Corgi. She can survive the nights without you. ”

“I don’t see why I have to spend the nights at a hotel with Anastasia,” I said, tapping my toes on the picture of a particularly busty chick. “It would be easier for everyone if she just dumped me off at Amelie’s and let me have my vacation there, with Cecile, rather than picking me up every night like it was some sort of day care or something.”

“Five,” Aisling said as Drake reappeared at the door, giving her a raised eyebrow. “You will remember that if you step out of line, the Akasha awaits.”

“You wouldn’t really let anyone send me there,” I said, rubbing my head on her leg just to let her know I’d miss her. “There’s no way out of the Akasha unless you’re summoned out, or get a special dispensation from the Sovereign. You don’t know ‘cause you’ve never been there, but it’s hell, Aisling, it’s really hell. Worse, ‘cause Abaddon ain’t that bad once you figure out how to avoid the torture seminars. But the Akasha? Brrr. Bad mojo all around.”

“Just you remember that when Anastasia gets here. Are you all packed?”

I nodded toward the doggy backpack she got me for the visits I made to Paris to hang out with my lovely Cecile, she of the tailless butt, and oh, so suckable ears. Corgies may be low to the ground, but they are the sexiest things on four legs, and my Cecile was particularly snuffleworthy, even if she did get a bit grumpy now and then. “Eh? What?” I realized suddenly Aisling had been droning on about something or other.

“Kincsem, we will be late for the train if you do not leave now,” Drake said, taking her by the arms and steering her toward the door.

“I asked you if you have your cell phone and the phone book with the emergency numbers in your backpack.”

“Yup, all there. And extra drool bibs, that nice bamboo brush, a clean collar, and a two-week supply of Welsh Corgi Fanciers for when Cecile is napping.”

Drake rolled his eyes and pushed Aisling through the door over her protests.

“Be good!” she bellowed as he shoved her into the car.

“Don’t forget to bring me back a present!” I yelled back, and waved goodbye before slamming shut the door and heading straight for Drake’s library and the leather couch they always forbade me to sit on.

That’s where Suzanne found me almost an hour later. “Your substitute Guardian is here,” she said, frowning. “Did Aisling say you could sit on Drake’s nice sofa?”

“What Drake doesn’t know can’t cheese him off,” I said, sauntering out, waiting patiently while Suzanne fetched my backpack.

“Hiya babe,” I said, greeting the white-haired Guardian Aisling’s mentor Nora had dug up to accompany me on my trip to Paris. Anastasia wasn’t really my idea of a babe, her being approximately a million years old (or at least looking like it), but I’m nothing if not Mr. Smooth Moves, and I know how the ladies like a little flattery. I did a quick gender check on her (nose to crotch, just to be polite), then sucked in my gut while Suzanne strapped on the backpack.

“Good afternoon, Effrijim,” Anastasia said, smiling vaguely. I was pleased to see that her weirdo apprentice wasn’t around. “Are you ready to fly to Paris?”

“Been ready all day,” I said, accompanying her to the door. She said goodbye to Suzanne, who waved at me (I gave her hand a quick lick goodbye), and waited for me to go first. “I’m glad to see your uber creepy assistant isn’t here. She really freaks me out, you know? I think she has something against demons in incredibly handsome doggy form ...oh, hi Butterball.”

“My name is Buttercup!” The woman who stood waiting at the limo that Drake had arranged for us (against his will, but Aisling has him wrapped all around her fingers), narrowed her beady little eyes at me. “Can we not just banish the demon, mistress?”

I snickered, about to make a comment about BDSM, but Anastasia’s gentle, elderly voice stopped me. She was a nice old lady, so I didn’t feel right about shocking her with references to stuff like bondage.

“Aisling has assured me that Effrijim will be on its very best behavior, and I’m quite sure that it will be so,” she said, giving me a kind of vague smile as she got into the limo.

“Absotively,” I agreed, shouldering the buttery one aside so I could sit next to Anastasia. “Hey, do you mind if we stop at a McDonald’s on the way to the airport? I didn’t have much lunch and I’m famished.”

“But mistress—” Buttercup started to protest, but it did no good. I flashed her a charming grin before settling back in the seat.

“No, my dear. I know the demon offends you, but consider this a good learning experience. Aisling claims it is harmless and after meeting it, I am in complete agreement.” She flashed a smile my way. “Effrijim is too much of a gentleman to cause trouble, I’m quite sure.”

I straightened up a little, pleased by the gentleman comment. “Damn straight. Although ya know, you can just call me Jim rather than Effrijim. I really don’t use it much ‘cause it’s kinda sissy sounding, don’t you think?”

“Not at all. I think it’s quite distinguished. It suits you,” she said nicely. I rubbed my face on her just because she didn’t think the name was awful (it is, but she didn’t admit that, which wins beaucoup brownie points in my book). “I must admit that I’m a bit curious as to why you chose to adopt the form of a dog when you could have appeared in human form.”

“Don’t get me started on human form,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s awful, just awful. When May—she’s the silver wyvern’s mate, and a really nice chick even if she is a doppelganger—when May made me take up human form a few months ago, everyone laughed at me. I don’t think I’ll ever get over the trauma of that experience.”

“How very odd,” Anastasia said, looking me over. “I can’t imagine preferring a canine form over that of a human, but I’m sure you have your reasons.”

Buttercup looked sour and mean at the same time, but she kept her pie-hole shut for the trip to the airport. Until the plane took off, that is.

“Mistress?” I was curled up on a loveseat that sat along one side of the jet when Buttercup unsnapped herself from a big comfy chair and moved forward to where Anastasia was sitting with a book. “Are you all right? Mistress?”

“What’s wrong with her?” I asked, hitting pause on the DVD I was watching. I slid off the seat and wandered forward, wondering if the old lady was scared of flying or something. I would reassure her that Drake’s pilot was really good, and there was nothing to worry about over a quick trip to Paris.

“Mistress?”

“I think...oh dear, I don’t feel well. Don’t feel well at all,” Anastasia said groggily. “I can’t seem to keep...eyes...”

“You’re having some sort of an attack,” Buttercup said briskly, shaking the old lady by the shoulders. “We will get you to a doctor immediately, but Mistress, the demon! If you are unable to command it, it will do who knows what heinous acts!”

“Hey!” I said, allowing a little blop of slobber to hit her shoe nearest me. “I don’t do heinous! Not when I’m on vacation, anyway!”

“Mistress, you must make an effort!” Buttercup demand.

Anastasia’s eyes fluttered open, the faded blue of them cognizant but obviously sedated. A horrible, nasty suspicion filled me at the sight of her dilated pupils. “The demon...you must take charge.”

“Now, wait a sec,” I said, shoving my head in between them to try to sniff at Anastasia’s breath. It looked to me like she’d been slipped a mickey. “No one needs to take charge of me. I’m a sixth class demon. I’m not really bad. Besides, Aisling would skin me if she found out I did anything bad—”

“I am yours to command, Mistress,” Buttercup said, grabbing me by the collar and hauling me back. “Tell me what you want.”

“No, listen to me—” I started to say, but the old lady’s eyes rolled back in her head as she said softly, “I grant you the authority given to me.”

I stared in horror first at her, then at Buttercup as she straightened up, a victorious smile on her face.

“You drugged her!” I gasped, shocked to my toenails.

“You’ll have a hard time proving that where you’re going,” she said, then waved her hands around in a hokey manner and said quickly, “Effrijim, I command you in the name of my mistress, in the name of your Guardian, and in the name of all that is good and right in the world. I banish your unclean being to the Akasha, where you belong!”

“Noooo!” I wailed halfway through her speech, but it did no good. One second I was standing next to a comatose old lady who thought I was distinguished, and the next I was next to rocky outcropping that jutted up out of a sepia-toned landscape filled with shadows, horror, and endless torment.

Chapter Two

“Welcome to the Akasha. Is this your first time here?” a chirpy voice asked. “Would you like some introductory literature?”

I leaped to my feet and realized right off the bat that something truly horrendous had happened.

“Argh!” I yelled, lifting up my arms and staring with horrified shock at five long fingers at the end of each of the two arms. “I’m in human form again!”

“You certainly are¸” the perky voice said, a tinge of disapproval sounding as it added, “And you seem to have misplaced your clothes—by the love the saints! Don’t do that again!”

I straightened from where I had bent double to look at my feet, turning around to face the person to whom the voice belonged.

A little woman stood in front of me, one hand clapped over her eyes.

“Fires of Abaddon! I got sent to the midget section of the Akasha? I’m in human form in the midget section?”

An irritated look crossed the woman’s face as she lowered her hand. “That term is offensive, and shows archaic and ignorant thinking. We prefer the term ‘little people,’ not that there is a little person section of the Akasha.” She took a deep breath, then slapped another smile on her face, but this one looked awfully brittle. “So long as you promise never to bend over again when I am behind you, I am willing to overlook the fact that you are without clothing. Let’s see, where was I? Oh, yes, here is a pamphlet that details the Akasha, including a brief history, notable members, and what you can expect over the centuries. Since you look confused, I’ll give you a brief overview of the situation: the Akashic Plain, as it is more formally known, is what mortal beings think of as limbo, although in reality it’s much more than that. Beings of both light and dark natures are banished here for eternal punishment without any hope of escape or reprieve.”

I took the pamphlet she shoved at me. It was illustrated with faces of various beings in perpetual torment.

“The Akasha is governed by the Hashmallim, who are kind of a form of Otherworld police, although they are not bound by any rules except those of the Court of Divine Blood. Are you familiar with the Court?”

“I can’t believe that rotten Butterbutt changed me into a human when she banished me. She did it on purpose, I just know she did. Of all the double-dealing...now what am I supposed to do? I can’t stand around like this,” I said, waving my hand toward my torso. A horrible thought struck me. I looked. “Satan’s little imps! My package! It’s...it’s...”

The tiny little woman gave my package due consideration. “Unimpressive is the word that springs immediately to mind, and I use the word ‘springs’ without any innuendo whatsoever.”

“Aw, man! I’m human with a short-changed knapsack!”

“Sir.”

“What? Oh, yeah, I used to be a sprite,” I said. “I’m familiar with the Court. So when did the Akasha get greeters?”

“A few years ago, when it was noticed that many people arrived here without a clue as to what to do next.” She pursed her lips. “Some people appear to be even more clueless than others.”

“Since this is the ultimate place of punishment, I figured suffering untold torments was pretty much the plan of the day,” I said. “This is horrible. I can’t stay like this until Aisling notices that I’m not in Paris. I gotta do something!”

“That is your own concern, sir. I should warn you that there is no way out except through intervention of the Sovereign, and it’s not likely that it will bother itself with something like a sixth class demon, now is it?” She tipped her head on the side as she beamed at me. “Especially not one that insists on prancing about the Akasha in the nude. Enjoy your eternity here. Ta-ta!”

She turned and picked her way through the rocky, jarring landscape until she disappeared behind a particularly jagged piece of rock that thrust upward out of the earth as if it had burst forth by immeasurable forces.

“I’d like to ta your ta, sister,” I muttered. “Great. Just great. My first day on vacation, and I end up in the Akasha, naked, and in friggin’ human form. Good thing I still have my cell phone. I’ll just call Ash up and tell her she has to summon me the h-e-double hockey sticks out of here.”

I picked up my backpack, and had just extricated the cell phone Aisling gave me for my last birthday, when a herd of five fur and leather-clad phantasms suddenly appeared and plowed right into me.

“Hrolf! Look! A naked demon!” One of them stopped long enough to give me the once over. “What’s it got here, then?”

“Hey!” I yelled when the phantasm snatched the cell phone right out of my hand.

“A demon? ‘Ere? Roll ‘im, Runolf,” another of the phantasm said as they continued to move onward.

“Fires of Abaddon! Give that back! And my backpack! Hey!”

Runolf the phantasm—a ghost that’s been banished and has no hope of ever regaining his or her ghostly self back—stopped long enough to jeer at me. “We’re Vikings, demon. We stop for no man! Or...er...demon. Yar!”

“That’s pirate-speak, not Viking-speak, you idiot!” I yelled as I started after him. Here’s the thing, though—phantasms come from ghosts, right? So they aren’t big in the corporeal department to begin with, and once they’ve been phantasmed, they’re even less on the whole “can touch things in the plain of reality” scale. So while they could zoom around the place like a ghostly Viking blight, those of us bound to physical forms had to fight our way through a landscape that brought new meaning to the phrase “cut the your feet to ribbons.” They were out of sight in a matter of a couple of seconds.

“Ow. Ow ow ow. Ow. Son of a sinner! Now I have a rock shard stuck between my toes!”

I sat down and yelped, leaping up immediately. “What the—ass skewers? This is worse than Abaddon!” I moved over to a spot that was mostly free of sharp, rocky spikes, and plopped down to suck on my sore toes. “Man, this is supposed to be my vacation. Not having fun! I wanna go home.”

“At least you have a vacation,” a voice spoke behind me. “I haven’t had any such thing in...oh, it must be seventy years now.”

I peered over my shoulder, eyeing the woman who perched on a rock behind me. “It ain’t much of a vacation, sister. Who’re you?”

“My name is Titania,” the woman said, giving me one of those sultry-eyed once-overs that nymphs were so known for. “You’re naked. You’re a demon and you’re naked.”

“Yeah, and you’re a nymph. I didn’t know they sent you guys to the Akasha. I thought they just ripped off your wings or beat you with your halo if you did something bad.”

She made a face. “You’re thinking of faeries. They are the wicked ones. If I ever catch that bastard, lying, two-timing Oberon, I shall show him that he can’t just throw me away like this. I have rights, too, you know!”

“Titania, huh? What do your friends call you for short? Titty?” I snickered to myself.

She straightened up and gave me a look that would have melted my guts if I weren’t a demon. “They call me Titania!”

“Gotcha. Wait a sec...Oberon? Titania?” I kicked my brain into high and dug through some old memories. “Midsummer’s Night Dream?”

“Pfft.” She examined a rose-tipped fingernail. “That Will Shakespeare got it all wrong. He said I was a faery. As if! He totally dissed us nymphs, and let me tell you, the nymphood was not happy about that.”

“Yeah, I heard you guys can be kind of...eh...militant,” I said, wondering if she wanted to use those long nails to hit all my scritchy spots. Then I remembered I didn’t have scritchy spots. At least, not in this repulsive form. I glared at my package.

“What on earth are you doing?” she asked.

“Glaring at my crotch. A Guardian did this to me,” I said, mourning the loss of my fabulous doggy form.

She, too, stared at my groin. “She has a lot to answer for.”

“You said it. I wish I could do something to pay her back. Hey! Nymphs! You guys are all militant and badass, right? I could have some of your buddies beat up the Guardian who screwed me over.”

“We prefer the term proactive to militant,.” Titania pulled out a nail file and tended to a fingernail. “And if you had spent your life as underestimated and overlooked as we have been, you’d be proactive about making sure people got their facts right, too.”

“I’m a demon,” I answered, carefully sitting down and examining my abused foot. “I am all over underestimated.”

“Anyway, Shakespeare got it all wrong,” she continued. “Oberon isn’t king of the faeries at all. He’s just an advocate for the Court of Divine Blood.”

“Advocate? Like a lawyer?”

“An obscenely vile one, yes.”

“Yeah? So what did you do that you got tossed in here?” I asked.

“Oberon, my former lover, and disgusting lint in the underbelly of the worst sort of beings, decided to dump me, a priestess in the house of Artemis, for a naiad. Can you believe it? He dumped me for a water trollop!” Her expression went from outraged to calculating in a split second. “But he’d just better watch out, because the minute I’m out of here, I’m going to get my pound of flesh.”

“Ew,” I said, wrinkling my nose. “Wait—a human pound of flesh, or meat from, oh, say, the rump of a corn-fed Black Angus cow? Because the latter sounds really good right about now. Especially with a whisky barbecue sauce.”

“If I could just find a way out, I could rally the sisters and we’d have our revenge!”

“On who, Shakespeare? Got news for you, babe. He’s dead.”

“No, not him. Oberon.”

I thought. I always think better sitting down. “Not that I want to rush you, since I’ve got at least ten days before Aisling comes back from her cruise and finds out that witch on two legs drugged her boss just so she could banish me, but I’m a bit confused. I get that boy toy dumped you in here when he was hooking up with a naiad, but how does that translate to you nymphs going to war against him?”

“He’s Oberon,” she said, just like that made sense. When I scrunched up my face in an attempt to figure that out, she added, “He didn’t just have me banished to the Akasha—he had all nymphs banished from the Court in order to curry favor for his own kind.”

“Oh, yeah,” I said, dredging up a memory. “I think I remember reading something about that. You guys got run out of town because you were causing all sorts of trouble.”

“We did nothing of the sort. Oberon just made it look like we did,” she said, leaping to her feet and shaking her fist at the air. “He will pay for that! He will pay for...” Her words suddenly stopped.

I lifted an eyebrow in a move just as smooth as the one Drake makes whenever Aisling says something outrageous.

“You’re a demon,” she said.

“You got that right, baby cakes. Sixth class,” I said, winking. “But if you were interested in hooking up with me, I gotta tell you that I’m in a relationship right now with a Welsh Corgi named Cecile. She has the cutest little fuzzy butt you ever did see.”

She stared at me just like I said something weird.

“You’re a demon,” she repeated. “Thus, you can get me out of here.”

“If I could get anyone out of here, it would be me, because I have a score to settle with a conniving apprentice Guardian, but I can’t, so I won’t.”

“Yes, you can. You’re a creature of Abaddon. You can’t be dictated to by the Court. That means you can get out.”

“The Court doesn’t have any say over me, but I’ve been sent here, in a roundabout way, by my demon lord. I can only get out if she summons me, and she’s not going to know what that witch Butterfat did until she gets back and finds out I’m not with Amelie or Anastasia.”

“There has to be another way!”

“Well, yeah, the Hashmallim guarding the door could let me out, but that’s never happened, so it’s not worth thinking about.”

“Oh!” she said, stamping her foot and pointing to a spot in the distance. “Don’t you dare cross me, demon! I will make your life a living hell if you don’t get me out of here!”

“Look, sister, I just said—”

“Do it!” she bellowed.

Thirty hours later I gave in to her gigantic ongoing hissy fit, and headed over to the circle of Akasha, the center of the whole place, where three Hashmallim stood guard over the entrance. It was an ugly spot, like the rest of the Akasha, nothing but sharp jagged rocks with dead-looking scrubby plants that were the same shade of sepia as the dirt.

“Hi guys,” I said as I got up to the nearest Hashmallim. If you’ve never seen one of these guys, they’re Freak City with a capital Freak. They look like something that Jim Henson would have dreamed up after a night of hitting the opium pipe—tall and gaunt figures draped in black, but not really black, some sort of living black that moved and shifted, and oh yeah—they had no faces. Seriously freaky. “How they hangin’? Er...that’s assuming you have any to hang. So, this nymph named Titania and I were wondering if we could get out of Dodge. She’s got some vengeance thing, and I want to give a trainee Guardian what for.”

The Hashmallim didn’t say anything. He just stood there and stared at me. Kind of. If he’d had eyes he would have been staring me down. Then again, maybe he was looking at my package. “Now, I know you guys have rules and everything, so Titty and I—”

“Don’t call me Titty!” came the echo of a roar that rolled down from a nearby rocky hilltop.

“We are happy to make it worth your while, if you know what I mean,” I said, dropping my voice so the other Hashmallim couldn’t hear. “I’ve got a credit card. Well, OK, it’s actually Aisling’s that she lets me use on TV shopping channels, but still, I know her pin number—I can pull out a wad of cash big enough to choke a behemoth. So what’cha say? Shall we talk turkey?”

The Hashmallim stood there and said nothing. The bastard.

By the time I ran through everything that Titania and I could think of to offer as a bribe—up to and including her sexual favors, and a sweater woven from hair brushed from my gorgeous coat—two hours had passed, and we were still no closer to getting out.

“Look, I don’t want to get tough with you. I will if I have to, but you can trust me on this, it won’t be pretty.”

The Hashmallim remained silent, but it was a mocking kind of silence, the kind that just dared me to try him.

So I did.

It took three days, but eventually, the Hashmallim cried mercy, and opened a rend in the fabric of time and space, shoving Titania and me through it.

“Do not return,” it said in its creepy, wheezy voice, then slammed shut the rend. “And do not ever sing that song again!”

“That was brilliant,” Titania said, her eyes giving me a long, considering look. “I would have never thought that singing the same song for seventy hours straight would be enough to break a Hashmallim, but you did it. What exactly was that song?”

“My Humps. Effective, huh?”

“Extremely so. I thought the last time when you wiggled your butt on the Hashmallim and asked him what he was going to do with his junk that he was going to scream. Well done, demon. Very well done.” She rubbed her hands and looked around the busy city street we had been dumped out on. It was Helsinki (per Titania’s request), and although it was close to midnight, there were a surprising number of people wandering around. Several of them gave me an odd look.

“What’s wrong, you never seen a naked demon?” I asked a woman who stopped and stared.

She looked startled and hurried off.

“OK, I fulfilled my part of our bargain—now it’s your turn. You gotta get me to Paris pronto so I can salvage something of my vacation before Aisling gets back.”

“A nymph always honors her promises,” Titania said, grabbing my wrist and hauling me after her down the sidewalk. “But first, revenge!”

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Chapter Three

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It turns out they have laws in Helsinki about people walking around the city buck naked. Tweny-four hours after I was arrested, Titania bailed me out of jail, and shortly after that we were on a train headed for a small town in the countryside where she assured me her ex would be celebrating

“He always loved this area for juhannus,” she explained as the countryside whizzed past us. It was night, but because of the midnight sun thing that happened in the far north, it wasn’t dark out at all. “We celebrated it here for centuries, so I’m certain he’ll be here. The nymphood is on their way, so we’ll—what’s wrong?”

I squirmed in the seat. “It’s my codpiece. I don’t think it fits.”

She rolled her eyes. “Look, you said you wanted some clothes so you wouldn’t be arrested again, and I got you some clothes. I’m sorry if it’s not what you like, but there’s no time to go shopping for you. We have to get out to the juhannus so we can smite Oberon.”

“Did you have to go shopping at a leather fetish store?” I asked, squirming again so I could adjust the leather thong, that, along with a fishnet tank top and the metal studded codpiece, made up what Titania referred to as clothing. “You couldn’t have gotten me something from the Gap? There wasn’t a Polo store around?”

The look she gave me resembled ones Aisling had been known to send my way. “If you have quite finished, demon, I am trying to explain to you what will happen.”

“You don’t have to, I was eavesdropping when you were on the phone in that leather shop. You called up your nymph buddies, and you intend to blow into your ex’s party and beat the crap out of him. It’s not very complicated.”

“Perhaps not, but it will be delicious,” she said, almost purring. Kind of like how a tiger purrs before it pounces.

“So where does the part come in where you get me to Paris?” I asked, trying to adjust the codpiece. “Man, it’s bad enough I have a sub-standard package. This thing is squashing everything together into one blob. Here, take a look and see if the blood has been cut off to it.”

She held up a hand to stop me from unstrapping the codpiece. “I do not have time to examine your genital blobs. Oberon is a master of manipulation. We must plan our attack down to the smallest detail.”

I sighed and slumped back in the seat, listening with only half my attention as she detailed her plans.

Two hours later we met up in a park with the local nymphs that she had rallied, ready to set off on motorbikes to a campsite located on a small lake in a northern region of Finland.

“Let the world hear of the Nymph Offensive!” one of them called, donning a pair of brass knuckles.

“Nymphs unite! Together we shall challenge Oberon and his fae followers, and show them that we are a force to be reckoned with!” Titania yelled, standing on a box. “We will have vengeance for all those centuries of abuse! At long last, we shall prove our worth! Let there be no quarter for the faeries! They will know once and for all the true glory that is the nymphood!”

The thirty or so nymphs who had managed to get to Finland on a day’s notice yelled their support, shaking their fists and various weapons they had acquired. Some of the nymphs slapped on wrist guards and knuckle protectors; other brandished heavy-duty walking sticks. One waved what looked like a toilet plunger.

“But...” One of the nymphs, the one nearest me, looked at me doubtfully. “But we are not all nymphs.”

All thirty women considered me. If I’d been in my normal form, I would have asked for belly scritches. But somehow, I had a feeling these babes wouldn’t take that request well. I’m perceptive that way.

“Jim is just here because I owe him a boon for my release,” Titania said slowly. “He is not really one of us.”

“The Titster speaks the truth,” I said, nodding. “I’m just here to hang out until she’s creamed her ex, then she’s going to get me to Paris.”

The nymphs frowned at me. I started to edge away. One nymph frowning wasn’t much to think about—thirty of them, armed and annoyed at men in general, were another matter. “Sorry, did I say Titster? I meant her high and gracious nymphness, Titania the Uber.”

“We cannot have a non-nymph in a Nymph Offensive,” one of the chicks said, frowning some more at me.

“Hey, I’m happy to stay back and let you guys kick serious faery butt,” I said, plopping down on the grass. “I’ll just stay here and wait for you guys to get done, ‘K?”

“You must come with us,” Titania said in a huffy voice. “We had a deal. You said you would help me seek my revenge on Oberon. You must do that, or I will not aid you in returning to Paris.”

“Yeah, well,” I twanged my codpiece, “I ain’t no nymph, and if you have a rule that only nymphs can go along to whoop-ass, then it’s not gonna happen.”

“We can make him an honorary nymph,” the frowny chick said.

Titania looked thoughtful as all the other women voiced their approval of this plan. “I don’t see why that wouldn’t work. Although he must change his form into that of a female.”

“No way, sister,” I said, backing up. “I don’t even like human form, but there’s no way in Abaddon you’re going to get me to change into a girl.”

“Why not?” Titania asked, narrowing her eyes as she stalked toward me. “Do you have something against women?”

“Like that’s even possible? It’s just not a good idea for me to take on girl form. ‘Cause if I did, all I’d do is jump up and down and watch my boobs bounce.”

The nymphs stared at me with accusation in their eyes.

“Not like I’ve ever done that or anything,” I added quickly, then cleared my throat. “So! Men. They’re scum, right? Let’s go beat up Ti-Ti’s boyfriend.”

Titania made me ride on her motorcycle after that, in order, she said, to save the nymphs from my lust. They made me an honorary nymph, however, which I hope Aisling never hears about, because my life will be one long pun if she does.

We got the campsite where the faeries were celebrating midsummer an hour or so later. I knew it had to be the right place because not only were there a bunch of bonfires, there were also Renaissance Faire-ish chicks wandering around in long, gauzy dresses, with garlands of flowers in their hair. That, and everyone present was a faery.

“Look at them,” snarled Titania from where the Nymph Offensive was hidden behind several trees circling the lakeside camp spot. “Just look at how they fling themselves around the bonfires as if they, and not we, were beings of the earth!”

“They really do bring new meaning to the word ‘frolic’, don’t they?” I asked, watching the faeries dance like monkeys on crack around the bonfires. “Hey, you can see right through those gauzy dresses when the light is behind them. Hoobah.”

“They think they are chosen because Oberon has had us cast out of grace,” Titania sneered, “but we will not stand for this any more!”

“We are of the earth! We will take back what is ours!” Frowny Nymph said. “We will rule midsummer as we were meant to rule it!”

“There will be no quarter for faeries!” Titania said, accepting a long, thin sword from one of the other nymphs. She held it aloft as if it was a beacon. “We will take no prisoners! We will have no mercy!”

“Babe, just between you and me, I think you’ve seen Lord of the Rings one time too many times,” I said, leaning toward her so everyone wouldn’t overhear. “Viggo, you ain’t. If you want my advice—”

She didn’t. “This is war, my sisters!” she interrupted me, waving her sword toward the innocent faeries tripping the firelight fantastic. “It is them or us! All I ask is that you leave that lying traitor Oberon for me! Nymphhood—arise!”

On that battle cry, the group of women charged forward, causing immediate panic in the frolicking faeries. They ran screaming away from us, hands waving in the air as they raced around like winged Ren-Faire clad chickens, bumping into each other, the air thick with spurts of faery dust.

It was chaos, sheer chaos, and although one of the nymphs shoved a rake in my hand before she charged off, wielding a chunk of garden hose like it was nunchuks, I stayed in the back and tried to keep out of the way of maddened nymphs.

“Nice...er...wings,” I said as one flower-bedecked faery in a translucent gown ran past me screaming at the top of her lungs, a nymph in hot pursuit. I wandered over to where two other nymphs had a male faery pinned, and were taking turns beating him over the head with a bouquet of flowers he’d evidently strapped to his hip (male faeries aren’t, as a rule, the Otherworld’s most manliest men). “Two against one—I like your style,” I told the nymphs, giving them a thumb’s up as I moved past.

It didn’t take long for the nymphs to wreak complete havoc amongst the fae folk. Ten minutes after they charged in, the whole motley gang of faeries were huddled together in one glittery, gauzy group. Muffled sobs and murmurs of comfort were periodically heard, but they gave the nymphs who stood over them, brandishing their weapons, no further problem.

None of them did except the head faery, that is. Titania had squared off with her ex next to the biggest bonfire, a big blond dude with feathered hair and a garland of ivy leaves on his head. “There you are!”

“Titania! My love! My darling! My one true...er...one! How I have missed you!”

“You lying bastard!” Titania said as she marched around him. Two of the nymphs held his arms while she circled him, the sword pointed right at him. He looked worried. “You missed me? You’re the one who had me banished to the Akasha, just so you could screw some watery naiad!”

“That was all a mistake. It was a glamour! Nothing more! She temporarily deranged my mind, but as soon as I came out of it and realized what she had forced me to do, I moved heaven and earth to get you out and back to my arms, my dearest, loveliest Titania.”

“Which explains why you had all nymphs cast out of the Court, eh?” Titania asked making another circuit around him. This time she poked him here and there with the tip of the sword. She didn’t actually draw blood, but he jumped each time the point touched him.

“It was the glamour!” he said, starting to sweat. “I swear to you, I would never have done anything to harm you or your girls—”

The sword poked deep enough into his skin to leave a drop of blood glowing on its tip.

Oberon squawked. “Ladies, I mean ladies! I would never do anything to harm you or your ladies! You know that, my dearest, darling. I live for you, my love. My heart beats for you, only for you. Take my crown, take my wings, take everything away from me—everything but your love.”

“Aw, man, I feel that chili dog I had for dinner coming back on me,” I said, rubbing my belly. “You don’t think you could lay it on a little more thick, do you, bud? I bet another round of you telling Tittles how much you love her would have me refunding.”

Oberon’s eyes flashed at me for a second before he made puppy dog eyes at Titania.

“A glamour, you say.” Titania stopped in front of him, her eyes assessing what she saw.

“It had to be that, my darling, my beauteous one. You know I have devoted my whole life to you.”

I didn’t believe it, but evidently Titania fell for it. She lowered her sword and allowed Oberon to scoop her up in his arms, murmuring all sorts of lovey-dovey crap that anyone with half a mind could tell was total bull.

“I think I really may ralph,” I told the nearest nymph, the one who frowned so much. She looked a bit green around the gills, too. “Hey, Ti! You gonna get me to Paris before you and the Obster there go off to the land of Boinksville?”

“Certainly. Cobs, take the demon to the portal in Helsinki, and see that it’s sent to Paris. Now, Oberon, about the repeal on the ban of nymphs at the Court...”

The pair of them wandered off. “How long do you give that?” I asked the nymph named Cobs as she gestured for me to follow her. The other nymphs were releasing the wad of damp faeries, all of whom twitched whenever one of the nymphs came too close.

“Oberon is a smart man. I doubt if he’ll cross Titania again. Especially after he sees what she’s brought with her,” she said, nodding as another nymph carrying a box ran past us toward Titania.

“Really? Why, what’s in the box?”

She smiled as she swung a leg over her motorcycle. “Wing clippers.”

Chapter Four

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“Paris at last!” I said as I got to my feet. Portalling is never easy on the bones, although most portal companies have wised up and put a stack of padding at the recipient portal, so at least you don’t actually break anything when you arrive. “Ow. Think I pulled my spleen or something. Still, Paris at last! Hold on Cecile, daddy is on his way!”

The chick at the portal company’s desk barely even looked up from her magazine as I gave her a cheery grin before I headed out the door. I stopped on the doorstep, breathing deeply of the diesel-laden, slightly smoggy, damp and mildew-smelling air of Paris that I knew and loved. “Paris at last,” I repeated happily, then took one step down to the street, and was promptly grabbed by a couple of strong-armed thugs, and tossed into the back of an unmarked black van.

“Fires of Abaddon!” I shouted into someone’s armpit. I didn’t see whose until I was rudely shoved backward with a word that the speaker should have been ashamed of. “What the...hey! Don’t I know you?”

“Get off me!” The woman who was on the floor of the van kicked out at me as she got to her feet and took a seat on the bench that ran along one side of the van. “Effrijim! I thought I detected the stench of a demon.”

“Ow! No kicking the codpiece! Until I get put back into my normal form, this package is all I have. Anyen? What in the name of Bael’s ten toes are you doing here? I thought you ghedes only hung out in the Caribbean. What are you doing in Paris?”

“What do you think I am doing?” Anyen answered. She was tall and thin, her skin as black as midnight, dressed in a long black coat and wearing black glasses, and possessing a very cool Haitian accent. “I’m here to collect revenants, of course. We’re building an undead army, and it’s impossible to do that in Haiti anymore. Ever since that damned Internet became popular, everyone knows how to protect themselves from us. It’s almost more than a decent, hard-working soul-stealer can bear, let me tell you!”

She sniffled just like she was going to cry, but everyone knew ghedes couldn’t cry. It had something to do with their origins.

“Yeah, well, life’s tough all over. Take mine, for instance,” I said, pulling myself up to the opposite bench. The van we were in had a solid wall between the cargo and driver’s area, but judging by the motion, I gathered we were en route to somewhere. “One minute I’m on vacation, about to see the love of my life, and the next—whammo. It all goes to Abaddon. Who nabbed us, do you know?”

She spat out a word that I figured wasn’t very nice. “That new Venediger. I heard that she was cleaning up Paris, kidnapping innocent beings just because we have dark origins. She has squads of her minions watching the portal shops, abducting anyone she doesn’t deem fit to be in the mortal world. It is outrageous, a violation of my rights, and I shall most definitely be complaining to the Akashic League about it! Only they have the right to hold a ghede, and they would not be so foolish to do so.”

“Oh, the Venediger,” I said, relaxing. “Jovana. No sweat, then. We’re old buds, we are. My demon lord helped put her in power. I’m sure once she knows it’s me her goon squad picked up, she’ll have me released.”

Anyen made a face like she didn’t believe me at all, and said nothing more till we arrived at a hoppin’ nightclub named Goety and Theurgy.

“Ah, G&T,” I said as the two guys who nabbed me hauled me inside the club. Two others emerged to bring Anyen. “Brings back old memories. Hey, there’s a buffet here now? Can we swing by it? I’m starving.”

The bully-boys didn’t stop. They just hauled me past the buffet, past the dance floor, and down a dimly-lit flight of stairs to equally dimly-lit basement.

“Guys? The V is an old buddy of mine. You might want to tell her that it’s me you have, so she doesn’t get too pissed with you when she finds out you’re doing this.”

Neither man said anything.

“Name’s Jim. Well, Effrijim, really, but that’s kinda girly, so I just go with Jim. Jovana knows me.”

They still didn’t say anything. They hauled me across the basement, and without one single word, dumped me into a small room, tossed Anyen in after me, and slammed the door shut.

“I will have your heads for this!” she bellowed as they locked the door. She pounded on it making all sorts of threats, but eventually she stopped and glared at me.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked, kicking aside a cardboard box and plopping down on a dirty-looking cot that sat in the corner. “I didn’t lock us in here.”

“The Venediger is your friend. You said she was.”

“Maybe they’re going up to tell her who I am,” I said, rubbing my sore toes. Box kicking while you’re barefoot isn’t the best of ideas. “Maybe they’ll be back all groveling and with plates of buffet food in an attempt to curry favor with me. Oooh, curry. Devils and demons, am I hungry.”

“That doesn’t help me any,” she said in a rather surly tone. “It is your duty to get me out of here.”

“Sorry, sister, not again. I just went through one big escape scene—I’m not going to do another. Not for a really long time. I don’t think I could stand to sing about my lady lumps one more time.”

Anyen turned her back on me, but only after she lit me up one side and down another. It’s a good thing I’m immortal, or those curses she’d been flinging at me might have done some damage.

“I’m going to die of hunger. I’m going to starve to death. When Aisling finally tracks me down, she’s going to find nothing but a skeleton left,” I complained a good eighteen hours later. “You think this mattress is edible?”

Anyen, who had kicked me off the mattress and claimed it for her own, rolled over just long enough to glare at me. I was about to point out that I would share it with her when the noise of a key in the lock had me leaping to my feet. “Yay, Jovana finally heard I was here and she’s going to let me out! That or they’re going to bring us some food. Either works for me.”

“The Venediger wishes to see you,” one of the bully-boys said as he opened the door.

I blinked in the relatively bright light. “Yeah, I figured she’d want to make her apologies to me in person,” I said, sauntering nonchalantly out of the room. “Can we stop by the buffet first? I’m about to faint with hunger.”

“Effrijim!” Anyen belted out my name so it had the force to send me reeling a few steps. “I will not be left here! You must take me with you!”

I thought for a moment about telling her to suck it up—I am a demon, after all—but I was feeling generous, so I nodded toward her and asked the nearest guard, “Anyen wants to come with. You don’t mind, do you?”

The guard shrugged. “She may come as well, although the Venediger will not be ready for her until tomorrow.”

“Told ya the V was my good friend,” I said to Anyen as she shoved me out of the way, jerking her arm out of the guard’s hand. She stalked in front of me, tossing her head once, and saying merely, “We shall see.”

We weren’t led into the bar proper—which was closed, since it was now early morning—but into one of the back rooms. It was some sort of a conference room, with a long table that had been draped with a black cloth, and three people who stood talking quietly in a small clutch.

“Hey, nice to see ya again,” I said, waving at the woman to whom the other two looked the second I stepped in the door. She was small, well-dressed, and had a pageboy haircut that always made Aisling giggle. “I see you’re still going in for those power suits, huh?”

Jovana, once a mage and now the person in charge of the Otherworld in Europe, aka the Venediger, stared at me as if I had an extra testicle.

“Oh, man, you don’t recognize me, do you? Yeah, the human form is a bit awkward, huh? But it’s really me, Jim. Aisling’s demon. You probably remember me in Newfie form. Big black dog, luxurious coat, package that would do a pony proud. Remember now?”

“Take the sacrifice to the table,” she said, waving toward me before turning her back on me to fuss over something behind her.

“Oooh, breffies?” I said, hurrying forward. “I’m starved...hey! Sacrifice?”

The two burly dudes grabbed me by either arm and jerked me up onto the table. When Jovana turned back toward me, she held a wavy bladed silver dagger in her hand. I had a really awful feeling I knew just what she was planning on doing with it. “Fires of Abaddon! You’re nuts, lady!”

“Silence!” she commanded, and gestured toward one of the flunkies standing against the wall.

A man came forward, pulled out a scroll, and read. “Demon of unknown origins found arriving via portal in the Latin Quarter on Tuesday afternoon.”

“Jim,” I said quickly, eyeing that nasty dagger. “My name is Jim!”

“You are charged with violation of the Roaming Demon Ordinance of 2008.”

“What?” I squawked, trying to squirm out of the two thugs’ grip. “What Roaming Demon Ordinance?”

“In accordance with the laws sanctified by the Venediger, your mortal form will be destroyed, and your being sent back to Abaddon where you belong.”

“You can’t do that!” I yelled, watching as the Venediger nodded and a Guardian came forward, pulling out a gold stick and beginning to scribe a circle around me. “Aisling is going to be really pissed!”

The Guardian paused, looking up. I’d never seen her before, but evidently she’d heard of Ash. “Aisling? Aisling Grey?” she asked.

“Yeah, that’s her. Aisling is my boss.” I craned my neck to glare up at Jovana. “The same person who gave you your job!”

Jovana narrowed her eyes on me for a few seconds. “It is true that Aisling Grey has a demon under her control. But I have heard that the demon’s preferred form is that of a dog.”

“Man alive, doesn’t anyone listen to me?” I complained, trying to pull my arm free.

Jovana nodded to the guard, who let go of me. I yanked my hand free from the other one and sat up, rubbing my wrists. “I just got done telling you that I’m normally in dog form, but another Guardian ordered me into human form because she knew it would tick me off.”

Six pairs of eyes considered me as I slid off the table to my feet. I straightened my codpiece, dusted off my leather thong, and raised an eyebrow while I waited for the apologies to flow.

The Guardian rose from where she’d been kneeling. “If this demon speaks the truth—”

“I may be a lot of things, but I’ve never been a liar,” I said grumpily.

“If it speaks the truth, then I want no part of this,” she continued, putting away her gold stick. “Aisling Grey is one of the most powerful Guardians in the Guardians’ Guild. She is a savant, especially gifted, and someone I do not wish to cross.”

“Anyen will tell you who I am,” I said, waving at the ghede.

She glared back at me.

“Hey, I helped you, now it’s time for you to repay me,” I told her.

“Oh, very well. The demon does not lie. It is Effrijim. I have known it for several centuries,” she said, albeit kinda grudgingly.

“There, see? All’s well,” I said, heading for the door. “I’ll tell Ash you send her love, ‘K? See ya round.”

“Halt!” the Venediger said, and instantly the two guards were in front of the door, their eyes narrow little slits as they frowned at me. “I do not accept this foul thing’s statement.”

“Foul thing!” Anyen said, starting forward. I grabbed her before she could jump the Venediger. “I am not a—”

“Hackles down,” I said softly. “Now isn’t the time unless you want to get us both tossed back into that cell in the basement.”

“That is exactly where you are going,” the Venediger said, putting down the dagger. She looked at it regretfully for a moment before pinning me back with a glare that stripped the hair from my toes. “You will remain there until I can speak with the Guardian Aisling Grey to verify your identity.”

“No way!” I protested. “I’ve got...let me count...man, I’ve only got one day left of my vacation. I’m not going to spend it sitting in that room with a pissed off ghede!”

“Nor will I go back to that squalid little room!” Anyen declared.

“Fine.” Jovana shrugged. “Then we will perform your release ceremony now. There will be no Guardian to object to you being sent back to Abaddon, I trust.”

Anyen’s eyes opened up really wide when the Venediger picked up the dagger again.

“You know what?” I asked Anyen, taking a deep breath and thinking about Cecile’s warm, furry little ears.

“What?” she asked.

“We’re immortal.”

She blinked at me for a second, but that’s all I gave her. I grabbed her arm, lowered my head, and charged the Venediger. She sprang to the side, out of the way, just as I figured she would. Anyen and I kept going through, right past the Venediger, the two others staring at us in surprise, and on through the window that opened onto a small garden.

Anyen was fast on her feet, luckily, and although my chest and arms and legs were cut by the glass as I went through the window, we both landed on our feet, and took off running.

The Venediger’s guards, however, were mortal, and they were less than thrilled about leaping into a mass of broken glass. They were slower getting through the window, and by the time they got to the garden, we were racing down the back alley and freedom.

We split up not long after, Anyen making a snarky remark about me slowing her down.

“You’re welcome,” I yelled after her as she disappeared into the Tuilleries. “Hope you don’t get a really nasty case of zombie rot while you’re raising the dead!”

It took me a couple more hours before I finally lost the guard who persisted in following me, so it wasn’t until afternoon that I staggered exhausted, bleeding, and dirty from a fall into the Seine, through the door of a familiar shop. “Cecile! Baby! I’m here!”

The woman behind the counter at the shop stared at me in stark surprise. “Jim? Is that you?”

“Hiya Amelie. Yeah, it’s me. Where’s Cecile?”

“She...she...” Amelie seemed to be struck speechless because she simply pointed upstairs.

“Thanks. Mind if I use your shower? I had a run in with the Venediger and I’m all ooky with blood and stuff. See you later,” I called as I dashed through the back room, then up the stairs that led to the apartment in which Amelie and Cecile lived.

Cecile was also a bit taken aback by my appearance, her eyes going even more bug-eyed than they normally were when I scooped her up in my arms and kissed her all over her adorable pointy little snout. “My darling, my adorable one! We might only have one day left together, but I will make it a day you won’t forget. I promise I’ll get back to my normal form as soon as possible,” I told her when she tried to squirm out of my hold, her little stubby legs kicking wildly. “This one sucks big time, huh? Don’t worry, my beloved. I’ll soon be your big, handsome Jim again. But first, a shower.”

The sound of voices drifted in to me when I stepped out of the shower, drying myself on one of Amelie’s soft towels. I looked at the codpiece and thong, but decided I just couldn’t wear them any longer. By the time I headed out of Amelie’s bedroom, I realized that I knew the voices.

“—came back early because Drake insisted on seeing the doctor. It turned out to be nothing, of course, just a case of the sniffles.”

“Any illness in infants can be serious,” Drake’s voice rumbled in response. “I was not easy in my mind until the children had been seen by a proper doctor.”

“Anyway, we decided it wasn’t worth hauling the babies back to the yacht, so we figured we’d just swing by and pick up Jim and head back to London. Is it here?”

“Aw, man!” I said, marching in to the room. “You’re early? Fine! Just ruin my plans!”

The silence that greeted my arrival in Amelie’s sunny living room was thick enough to cut with a butter knife.

“Er...” Amelie said, her expression kind of shocked.

“Jim! What on earth are you doing in that form!” Aisling demand, her hands on her hips. “And naked!”

Drake narrowed his green eyes at me and muttered something about knowing better than to leave me on my own.

“It’s not my fault,” I told them both. “You can ask that no good, conniving Guardian why I’m like this.”

“I certainly will,” Aisling said, staring.

Drake slapped his hand over her eyes and glared at me. “Put some clothing on, or I’ll see to it you have nothing left with which to shock Aisling.”

She giggled.

“I don’t want to wear clothing! I want my old form back. Let me change back, Ash. Please.”

“All right, you can change into your normal form,” she said, giggling again. “But I want to hear everything that happened. Only not right now—we had a message from Nora when we got to Drake’s house.”

I sighed with relief as I shifted back to my fabulous Newfoundland form, making a quick check to be sure everything was the way I had left it. “Boy, did I miss you, tail. And package. And four paws. And—”

“Enough,” Drake said, bowing to Amelie. “You will excuse us if we leave in haste. Aisling is anxious to get back to London.”

“Yes, I am. Come on, Jim! There’s work to be done,” Aisling said in her chipper voice as she took Drake’s hand. “Nora said there’s been a huge outbreak of kobolds and imps and all sorts of nasties in the last few days, and she’s overwhelmed and needs our help in cleaning everything up. It’ll be like old times tackling them together, huh?”

“Oh, man,” I said, covering my face with my paws. “Can’t I just sleep here for a couple of days? Cecile and I—”

“Don’t be silly,” she said, cuffing me on the shoulder. “You’ve had ten days together; that’s long enough. Besides, there’s nothing like a bit of action after a nice long, relaxing vacation to get your blood pumping again, now is there?”

EXCERPT FROM YOU SLAY ME

Author’s Note: You Slay Me is the first book in the dragon sept series, and the book in which Jim, hero of the previous short story, was first introduced. Although this book is published by Penguin Random house (and available in print, e-book, and audio form), they’ve kindly given me permission to include the first chapter here for folks who haven’t read the book. If you have already read You Slay Me, feel free to skip over this chapter and move on to the next story.

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Chapter One

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“Ezling.”

“No, it’s Aisling.”

“Azhlee?”

“Aisling. It’s Irish.”

The Orly passport control man glared suspiciously at me over the top of my passport. “Your passport, it says you are American.”

I rallied a smile when I really wanted to scream with frustration. “I am. My mother was Irish, hence the name Aisling.”

He transferred his glare to the passport. “A-sling.”

I tried not to sigh too obviously. I might be brand-spanking-new to the courier business, but instinctively I knew that if I showed the least sign of impatience with being grilled as to the pronunciation of my name, Antoine the passport man would drag out his interrogation. I sweetened my smile, pushed down the worry that something would go wrong with the job, and said very slowly, “It’s pronounced ash-ling.”

“Ash-leen,” Antoine said, his eyes narrowing in concentration.

I nodded. It was close enough.

“Bon, we march forward,” he said, flipping through my passport. “You are five feet and nine inches tall, have grey eyes, are thirty-one years of age, unmarried, and you live in Seattle, state of Washington, America. This is all correct, yes?”

“Yes, except I think of my eyes as being a bit more hazel than grey, but the passport guy said to put grey down. Hazel sounds more exotic, don’t you think?”

Antoine cocked an eyebrow at me, briefly examining the visa that allowed me to act as a courier for Bell & Sons before moving on to the documents for the aquamanile.

I quickly glanced around, Uncle Damian’s strictures on perimeter security echoing in my head. Security is your personal responsibility; your security is not the responsibility of the police, or of the government, or any officials—your first and last line of security is yourself. Be alert and aware of your surroundings. Radiate confidence. Never do anything to indicate you are prey.

Easier said than done, I mused as I eyed the large number of people passing through the airport. Happily, no one was paying any attention to me or the case I held. I breathed a silent sigh of relief and raised my chin, trying to look confident and in control, not at all like a courier in charge of a six-hundred-year-old small golden statue in the shape of a dragon that was worth more than what I had made in the last ten years put together.

Antoine’s gaze flickered to the small black heavy-duty plastic case I clutched tightly in my right hand.  “Do you have the Inventaire Detaillé?”

“Of course.” I passed over the sheets of paper describing in French the gold aquamanile. The document was stamped by the San Francisco French consulate, and included an appraiser’s certificate, as well as a copy of the bill of sale to Madame Aurora Deauxville, citizen of France and resident of Paris.

Antoine’s finger tapped on the top document. “What is this...aquamanile?”

I shifted the case to my left hand, flexing my right fingers, being careful to keep the case out of sight, held between me and the examination table. “An aquamanile is a form of ewer, usually made of metal, used for the ritual washing of hands by a priest or other liturgical person. They were very common in medieval times.”

Antoine’s eyes widened as he stared at the black case. “It is a religious artifact you have?”

I gave him a crooked smile. “Not really. Rumor has it that aquamaniles were sometimes used in...er...dark practices.”

He stared. “Dark practices?”

I took in his raised eyebrows and smiled sympathetically. “Demons,” I said succinctly. “Aquamaniles such as this are said to have been used by powerful mages to raise the demon princes.”

I didn’t think his eyes could open any wider, but at the word demon, they all but popped out of his head. “Demon princes?” he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper.

I shifted the case again and leaned forward, speaking quickly, aware that a faint note of desperation had tinged my voice. “You know, Satan’s big guns. The head honchos of Hell. The demon lords. Anyone can raise a demon, but it takes a special person with special powers to raise a demon lord.”

Antoine blinked.

“Yeah, I know, I think it’s a bit out there, too, but you’d be surprised what people believe. Even so, it’s a fascinating subject. I’ve made quite a study of demons—not that I believe they really exist outside of man’s imagination—and found there are whole cults revolving around the idea of demons and the power they wield over mortals. I heard there’s a group in San Francisco who is trying to get a demon elected into public office. Ha ha, like anyone would notice?”

The blinking stopped. Antoine stared at me with a blank look in his eyes. I decided my little foray into joke-land was probably pushing the Anglo-Franco boundaries. Not to mention that the minutes were ticking by at an alarming rate. “Yeah, well, I don’t guarantee the usefulness of the items, I just deliver them. So, if everything is in order, do you think I could go? I’m supposed to get this aquamanile to its owner at five, and it’s already past three. This is my first job as a courier, you see, and my uncle—he’s my boss—told me that if I screw up this delivery, I’m off the payroll, and since a very stupid judge in California ordered me to pay my ex-husband alimony just because Alan, my ex, is a lazy slob who likes to hang around the beach and ogle the fake-boobed girls rather than get off his surfer ass and work for a living like the rest of us, it’s kind of important that I keep this job, and to keep it means that I have to get the aquamanile to the woman who bought it from Uncle Damian.”

Antoine looked a bit stunned until I nudged the hand that held my documents, then he pursed his lips as he shot me a quelling glare. He nodded toward my case. “You will open it. I must examine the object and ensure it matches the pictures presented.”

I stifled yet another sigh of frustration as I fished the keys out of my neck pouch before unlocking the case. Antoine’s glare turned to an open-mouthed look of wonder as I peeled back the protective foam padding and laid open the soft linen cloth that was wrapped around the aquamanile. “Sacre futur du bordel de Dieu!”

“Yeah, it’s pretty impressive isn’t it?” I looked fondly at the dragon. It was about six inches high, all coiled tail, gleaming scales, and glittering emerald eyes. It was one of the few dragons I’d ever seen depicted without wings.

Antoine reached out to touch the golden dragon, but I quickly wrapped the linen back over it. “Sorry, look but don’t touch. “ His nostrils flared dramatically. I hurried to sooth his ruffled feathers. “Not even the X-ray guys got to touch it. If you’ll take a peek at the appraiser’s valuation of the piece, I think you’ll see why it’s better not to.”

He glanced at the appraiser’s sheet and swore under his breath before brandishing his stamp on my passport and the dragon’s documents. “All is in order. You may continue.”

I closed up the case, locked it, and tucked the keys back into my neck pouch, giving Antoine a cheery smile as I slung the bag containing my clothing onto my shoulder. “Thanks.”

“One moment—” he said, stopping me with an upraised hand. I held my breath, worried he was going to insist on something that would keep me from making my appointment with Madame Deauxville. It would be just my luck that Antoine would decide I needed a full body search.

I tried to look innocent and friendly and not in the least like someone who would smuggle something into the country in a convenient body cavity. “Hmm?”

He glanced around quickly, then stepped closer to me, his voice dropping. “You are an expert in demons but you do not believe in them?”

I shook my head, not wishing to get into a philosophical conversation while the clock was ticking. “I’m not really an expert, I’ve just studied a few medieval texts about them.”

“Demons are very bad.”

I shrugged, and edged sideways. “Not really. According to the texts I’ve read, they’re actually rather stupid. I think people fear the thought of them because they don’t know how to control them.”

He leaned closer, the stale odor of cigarette smoke clinging to him, making my nose wrinkle. “And you don’t fear them?”

I shook my head again, edging even further away.

His dark eyes lit for a moment with a deep red light, making him suddenly look a whole lot more ominous than a simple customs inspector. “You should,” he said, then turned away, gesturing the next person in line to his table.

“Hoo, I guess there’re weirdoes all over the world,” I mumbled to myself as I pushed my way through the crowd toward the exit, careful to keep both hands on the handle of the black case. My clothing and personal items I could afford to lose, but this job was last chance—my only chance of getting ahead since the dot.com I owned went belly up. If I messed this up, I’d be jobless again. With no unemployment benefits left, and a beach bum to support, I had to have work, something that would allow me to live while paying Alan the huge wad of money the court decided I owed him.

Men. Bah!

It took me another fifteen minutes to figure out the signs in the airport concourses and find where the taxis were. Beth, Uncle Damian’s secretary, said Orly had signs in English, but Beth lied—not only was there no English, nothing I saw written on the signs matched the handy little phrases in the French for Francophobes book I had bought to get me through the next day and a half.

”Um...bonjour,” I said to a bored-looking taxi driver who stood leaning on his car, picking at his teeth. “Parlez-vous Anglais?”

“Non,” he said without stopping the teeth picking.

“Oh. Um. Do you know if any of the other taxi drivers parlez Anglais? Knowez-vous if le taxi drivers parlez Anglais?”

He gave me a look that should have shamed me, but I was beyond being ashamed of going to France without knowing a single word of French except what I found in the guidebook. I had a job to do, I just wanted it done.

“Look, I’m doing the best I can, OK? I want to go to the Rue...oh, just a sec, let me look in the book...” I hugged the black case to my chest with one arm while I rooted around in my bag for the French guide. “Je veux aller à la Rue Sang d'Innocents.“

The taxi driver stopped picking his teeth to grimace. “That is the worst French I have ever heard, and I have heard much bad French.”

“You do speak English!” I said, slamming my guide shut. “You said you didn’t! And I can’t help it if what I said was wrong, that’s what the book said.”

“It wasn’t much wrong, but your accent...” he shuddered delicately, then with a sweeping bow, opened the door to his taxi. “Very well, I will take you to the Rue Sang d'Innocents, but it will cost you.”

“How much?” I asked as I slid into the back seat, still clutching my case. I had the euros Uncle Damian had given me, but I knew they were only enough to cover my hotel bill for the night, two meals, and minor incidentals like the taxi rides.

The taxi driver tossed my bag into the other side and got into the front seat. “The journey will cost you thirty-six euros, but the ride will cost you more.”

“Huh?”

He smiled at me in his rear view mirror. “By the time we arrive at the Rue Sang d'Innocents, you will know how to say three things in French. With those three things, you will be able to go anywhere in Paris.”

I agreed to his terms, and since I was early for my appointment with Madame Deauxville, had him wait for me while I ran into the hotel where Beth had booked me. I checked in, dropped my bag on the bed, pulled a comb through my curls so I looked less like a crazed woman and more like a professional courier, and dashed back downstairs to where Rene and his taxi were waiting for me.

At five minutes to five the taxi pulled up next to a six story cream-colored building with high arched doorways and windows graced by intricate black metal grills.

“Wow,” I breathed as I leaned out of the window to peer up at the house. “What a gorgeous building. It looks so...French!”

Rene reached backwards through his window and opened my door. I grabbed my things and got out onto the cobblestone street, my mouth still hanging open as I stared up at the house.

“You see that all the houses here are old mansions. It is a very exclusive neighborhood. Ile Saint-Louis itself is only six blocks long and two blocks wide. And now, you will pay me exactly thirty-six euros, and recite for me please the phrases I have taught you.”

I dragged my eyes off the house and smiled as I handed Rene his money. “If someone annoys me, I say voulez-vous cesser de me cracher dessus pendant que vous parlez.”

“Will you stop spitting on me while you are speaking,” Rene translated with a nod.

“And if I need help with anything, I say j'ai une grenouille dans mon bidet.”

“I have a frog in my bidet. Yes, very good. And the last one?”

“The last I should reserve for any guy who hits on me when I don’t want him to—t'as une tête a faire sauter les plaques d'egouts.”

“You have a face that would blow off the cover of a manhole. Oui, tres bon. You will do. And for your meeting with the important lady, bon chance, eh?”

“Thanks, Rene. I appreciate the lessons. You just never know when you need to tell someone there’s an amphibian in your bidet.”

“One moment, I have something for you.” He rustled around in a small brown bag for a moment, then pulled out a battered card and handed it to me with the air of someone presenting an object of great value. “I am available for hire as a driver. You pay me, I drive you around Paris, show you all of the sites you must see. You can call me on my mobile number anytime.”

“Thanks. I don’t know that I’ll be in Paris long enough for a chauffeur to drive me around, but if I ever need a driver, you’ll be the one I call.” I saluted him with the card, then tucked it away in my neck pouch.

He drove off with a friendly wave and a faint puff of black exhaust. I turned back to the impressive building, squared my shoulders, and after a quick look around to make sure no one was watching me, stepped into the doorway to press the buzzer labeled Deauxville.

“I am confident,” I muttered to myself. “I am a professional. I know exactly what I am doing. I am not at all freaked out by being in a different country where the only thing I know how to do is complain about frogs and insult people. I am a cool, calm, and collected. I am...not being answered.”

I buzzed again. Nothing happened. A quick glance at my watch confirmed that I was two minutes early. Surely Madame Deauxville was in?

I buzzed once more, leaning on the buzzer this time. I tried putting my ear to the door, but couldn’t hear anything. A glance at the window showed me why—the walls of the building looked to be at least three feet thick.

“Well, hell,” I swore, stepping back so I could look up at the building. I knew from the instructions Uncle Damian had given me that Madame Deauxville was on the second floor. The red and cream drapes visible through the slightly opened windows didn’t move at all. Nothing moved anywhere on the second floor...or on any of the floors, for that matter. Since it was a pleasant June evening, I expected people to be arriving home, bustling around doing their evening shopping, strolling down the street, gazing upon the Seine, etc., but there was no movement at all in the house.

I looked down the street, the hairs on the back of my neck slowly standing on end. There was no movement on the street either. No people, no cars, no birds...nothing. Not even a flower bobbed in the slight breeze from the river. I looked behind me. The cross street was the Rue Saint-Louis en l'Ile, a busy street with stores and restaurants, and lots of shops. It had taken Rene ten minutes to navigate a couple of blocks because the traffic and shoppers were so dense, but where I stood the noise of said traffic and shoppers was oddly filtered, as if the whole of Rue Sang d'Innocents was swathed in cotton wool, leaving it an oasis of stillness and silence in a city known for its liveliness.

“The word creepy doesn’t even begin to cover the situation,” I said aloud, just to hear something. Unease rippled through me as I held my case tightly, giving Madame Deauxville’s bell one more long ring. The skin on the back of my neck tightened even more as I noticed that the door to the building wasn’t shut properly.

“Someone must have been in a rush to leave this morning,” I told the door, trying to tamp down on the major case of the willies the silent street was giving me. “Someone was just late for work, and they didn’t quite close the door. That’s all. There’s nothing foreboding in a door that hasn’t been shut all the way. There’s nothing eerie in that at all. There’s nothing creepy about a street...oh, blast. Hello?” I pushed the door open and took a step into a tiny hall. The entrance narrowed into a dark passage beyond a brown-paneled stairway that led upwards. “Anyone here? I’m looking for Madame Deauxville. Hellooooooo?”

I expected the last notes of my hello to echo up the stairwell, but strangely, my words were muffled, as if they had been absorbed into the walls, filtered by the same strange effect that kept the street outside as quiet as a tomb.

“I would have to think of a tomb,” I grumbled to myself as I carefully closed the door behind me, turning to start up the stairs to the second floor.  “There are times when it absolutely does not pay to have a good imagination.”

There were two doors in the tiny hall stretching the length of the second-floor stairs. One bore a silver plate with the word Deauxville written on it in a fancy script that screamed expensive. The other door, I assumed, was a second entrance to the apartment. I stepped up to the main door, one arm holding the case tight to my chest, the other upraised to knock. Just as my knuckles were about to touch the glossy oak of the door, a wave of dread and foreboding, a sense of something being very, very wrong swept over me. The sensation was so strong I stepped backwards until the coolness of the paneling seeped through the thin cotton of my dress. I clutched the case and struggled to breathe, my chest tight with dread. The feeling of unease that had set in as soon as Rene left swelled into something much more frightening, leaving me with goose bumps on my arms, and a warning voice in my head shrieking at me to leave the building that very second, if not sooner.

Something horrible had been in that apartment. Something...unnatural.

“I am confident,” I ground out through my teeth, and forced my feet forward to the door. “It’s just an eccentric collector, nothing evil. There is nothing to be afraid of. I am a professional. I can do this.”

The door swung open at the first brush of my hand against it.

I stood frozen in the doorway, the skin on my back crawling with horror as I looked down the short hall into what must be the living room of the apartment. Tiny little motes of dust danced lazily in the late afternoon sunshine that streamed through the tall floor-to-ceiling arched windows, spilling in a ruby pool on a carpet of deeper red. A bouquet of fresh flowers sat on an antique table between two of the windows, the sharp scent of them detectable even from where I stood. The ceilings were high, cream-colored to compliment the robin’s egg blue walls, the edges scalloped with intricate molding. Along one wall I could see a highly polished antique desk, with a red upholstered matching chair sitting before it at an angle, as if its occupant had arisen just a moment before.

Everything was lovely, beautiful, expensive, just exactly what I expected in the apartment of a rich woman who lived in an exclusive area of Paris.

Everything except the body, that is. Suspended from a chandelier, a woman’s body was doubled over, hanging from her hands tied behind her back, her body swinging slightly above a black circle of ash that had been drawn on the lovely red carpet, a circle inscribed with twelve symbols. The dead woman was Madame Deauxville, of that I was sure.

“J'ai une grenouille dans mon bidet,” I said, and wished fervently that the worst of my problems were frogs.

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MORE ABOUT THE BOOK

Cat Got Your Tongue was written for the My Big Fat Supernatural Honeymoon anthology, and featured two characters from my Dark Ones Series. The story plot came about when readers of A Girl’s Guide to Vampires, and Sex and the Single Vampire noticed just how skittish one of the characters, Raphael St. John, was whenever someone mentioned his golden eyes. Readers were convinced that Something Was Up, and I was only too happy to oblige them by writing the story of just why Raphael got a bit weird when paranormal things were mentioned.

CAT GOT YOUR TONGUE?

Chapter One

“It wasn’t until the seventeenth century, though, that life at Fyfe Castle took a dark turn.”

“It did?” I glanced around the room. It was pretty dark even though the sun hadn’t yet set, shadows seemingly smudged into the vast grey stone walls of the castle. Narrow window slits reluctantly allowed thin rays of Scottish sunlight to shoulder its way into the passage, but provided less illumination than the somewhat tattered electric candles which had been screwed into the stone wall. “Darker than this, you mean?”

The woman leading the way paused to look over her shoulder, her eyebrows raised. To be honest, I was encouraging her to talk just because her lilting Scottish accent sounded so delicious to my American ears. “Castle Fyfe has always had a dark and mysterious past. But when the seventh laird took ownership, all who lived here learned what fear truly was. He had a terrible temper, did Alec Summerton...Sir Alec he was then, later the earl of Seaton.”

“That’s the ghost you mentioned earlier?” I asked, waggling my eyebrows (this always makes me think of Groucho Marx, and while it works well for him, it’s very jarring when a woman tries it.)  and tossing a lascivious grin to the man behind me.

Raphael rolled his eyes (this is one of those phrases that’s become rather awkward from overuse), and hoisted up the two suitcases, following as Fiona the castle hotelier started up the famed Fyfe staircase.

“Oh, no, the ghost isn’t Sir Alec, although some say he does haunt the lower levels of the castle. Mind the ceiling just here, won’t you, Mr. St. John? It’s been the bane of many a tall man such as yourself. No, it isn’t Sir Alec who is the best known ghost here, Mrs. St. John—it’s his wife, Lily Summerton.”

Raphael ducked to avoid a low beam as we marched up the stone staircase. Although I wasn’t as tall as he was, at roughly six feet in height, even I had to bob my head to get through without braining myself. “Don’t tell me—she’s the Grey Lady?”

“Green, not grey,” Fiona answered with a roll of her Rs. She paused and gestured vaguely around. “This staircase was built in the early seventeen hundreds, in case you were wondering. It’s known throughout Scotland as the finest example of its kind.”

“I can see why.” I waited until she continued up the stairs before waggling my eyebrows again at my husband. It had been a long train ride up to Scotland, and I was anxious to get to our room. “So, this ghost haunts the room we’re staying in? Does she do anything in particular, or just float around and wring her hands while moaning about her lost love?”

“On the contrary—she says nothing, just appears briefly before people, gives them a searching glance, then sighs sadly, as if disappointed, and disappears into nothing.”

“Sounds like a typical moody woman,” Raphael muttered.

“Hush, male of the species. This is all very fascinating,” I said, hoping Fiona would continue.

“Here’s your suite.” She threw open a modern-looking wooden door and escorted us into a bright room. “This was the laird’s private suite. The later lairds, that is. It used to be Lily Summerton’s room, in fact. The original laird’s room was on the floor below -, but later lairds had the room  moved up after Sir Alec died. When the last Lord Seaton bequeathed the castle to the National Trust, it was decided to make his rooms available to the public. You’ll have all the privacy you want, since these are the only rooms we let. The caretaker will be here, though, in case of emergency. His office is just off the tearoom, on the ground floor. The toilet is through that door. This is the sitting room, and to the right is the bedroom. I’ll just make sure everything is proper...”

“Wow,” I said, wide-eyed as I took in the heady scent of beeswax and antiques. The room was furnished as if the owner of a hundred years past had just stepped out of the room, with a few discreet nods to technology.

“Very nice,” Raphael said, setting down the suitcases. “Worthy of a honeymoon?”

“Oh, yes. You think this stuff is real?” I asked in a low voice as I ran my fingers along the back of a rosewood settee upholstered in blue and green crushed velvet.

“At the prices they’re charging? They’d better be.”

“Good thing we decided to leave the kidlet with Roxy, then. I’d hate to see what Zoe could do to this lovely room. Maybe I should just call to check—”

Raphael stopped me before I could pull my cell phone from my purse. “You called half an hour ago, Joy. I can’t imagine that even Zoe could get into trouble that quickly.”

I raised an eyebrow.

His lips curved in a rueful smile. “Well, all right, I can imagine it, but I’m sure Roxy has her well bribed with all sorts of sweets and promises of visits to the zoo for her to be behaving badly.”

“I suppose,” I said slowly, quelling maternal worry.

“You’re acting more like a worried mum than a blushing bride,” my husband said.

“That’s because I’ve been a mother for two years and a bride for less than a day. I know, I know, it’s just separation anxiety, and it’s perfectly normal. I’ve already had the lecture from Roxy, Bob. You don’t need to fire one up as well.”

“Bob?” Fiona emerged from the bedroom, frowning as she glanced at a card in her hand. “Has there been a mistake somewhere? I had you down as Mr. and Mrs. Raphael St. John, here for a honeymoon visit of a week. Is that not right?”

“Yes, it’s right," I said, laughing a little as I grabbed my suitcase and took it into the bedroom. I whistled at the sight of the giant four-poster bed, determined to put my worry behind me.

“Bob is a nickname,” Raphael told her. “Joy’s a bit rattled because it’s our first time away from our daughter. She’s just two years old.”

Fiona tsked and bustled around the room, chattering about children before pausing next to a large double-glazed window. “You asked about the Green Lady, Mrs. St. John. It is indeed here she makes her appearance...but not in the room, you understand. It’s there, just outside the window, that her tortured face can be seen, as if judging those within the room.”

“Oooh! Bob, a tortured ghost!”

Raphael gave me a long-suffering look.

“Do you not believe in ghosts, then, Mr. St. John?” Fiona asked, her voice kind as she patted him on the arm. “Don’t be ashamed if you’re not a believer. It's the way with many men, I know.”

Raphael had difficulty in keeping his expression pleasant. Despite our experiences to the contrary, he clung desperately to the belief that the world had gone temporarily insane, and any minute now life as he previously knew it would regain the upper hand, allowing him to forget that things like ghosties and ghoulies really existed.

“My husband a bit of a skeptic,” I said, taking pity on him. “But I’m dying to know about this tortured ghost. What happened to her? Was she married? Is she one of those bride ghosts who appear to newly-married women? I wonder if she’ll show up for me, even though Raphael and I have been together for three years.”

“About that, I cannot say. But this I can tell you—for a time, Lily and Sir Alec were happy, but she gave him a daughter rather than a son, and it wasn’t long before he was casting his eye elsewhere.”

“The dog!” I said, sitting on the edge of the bed as Raphael gave me another long-suffering look. He took out his shaving bag and disappeared into the bathroom. “What happened to her?”

“Well, it wasn’t long after the birth of her daughter that Lily mysteriously disappeared. Sir Alec gave out that she’d gone to the seaside to recover, but no one believed such a tale. They heard the cries in the night, you see. They heard her sobbing and begging for help, and they knew what had happened.”

“Walled up alive?” I asked, a prickle of goose bumps making me rub my arms.

“Like as not. He’d shut her up in the upper room of the black tower—it’s gone now, but it stood in the northwest corner of the castle. No one was allowed near it, and Sir Alec claimed Lady Lily took the keys in with her, and sealed the only entrance. For two weeks the servants in the castle heard her cries and pleas. For two weeks, she lived, but at last the devil had his way, and she fell silent.”

“Oh my god! How horrible! He really was a nasty customer. What an evil thing to do to someone.”

“It was indeed. Sometime during the night after she died, he spirited her body away, announcing a fortnight later that she’d drowned herself in the sea. And what did he do then but wed Grizel Adams, a widow from the village he’d been consorting with.”

“Callous, murdering bastard,” I muttered.

“That he was. On their wedding night, Sir Alec and his new bride lay together in Lily’s bed. But they didn’t get any sleep.”

“Randy little bugger, was he?”

Fiona shook her head. “No, It wasn’t the wedding night activities which kept them up—all night the two of them heard horrible scratching sounds, but though Sir Alec had all the lamps lit, nothing could be seen in the room. In the morning though...” She smiled.

“What?” I asked, thoroughly engrossed in the story.

“Do you see that window?” she asked, nodding toward it.

“Yeah.” I got up and walked over to it. “Lily appeared outside it? She was scratching on the glass?”

“No. Open it up and tell me what you see.”

Another little shiver of goose bumps rippled down my flesh as I opened the window and looked down. We were on the third floor of the castle, smack dab in the middle of the wall. “Well, it’s a nasty drop. I can’t imagine there’s any way someone could get up here—there’s no ledge, and the closest pipe is about fifteen feet away. Is that what you wanted me to see?”

“Look at the casement.”

I squinted at the cream-colored stone. Someone had carved something just beyond the glass. It was upside down and somewhat blurred with age, but the words “Lily Summerton” were chipped neatly into the casement. “Oh wow. She carved her name?”

“That she did. And if you can tell me how anyone could do that in this spot, well, I’d certainly like to know.”

I looked around the outer edge of the castle wall. Without some sort of a ladder or scaffolding, such a thing would be impossible.

“Very creepy.”

“The Green Lady had her revenge, some said,” Fiona continued, a prim set to her mouth. “For it was not but a month after Sir Alec married the widow Grizel that they both died when their carriage overturned. Snapped their necks, they did.”

“How tragic. Makes you wonder, though, doesn’t it?”

“Are you done with your ghost talk?” Raphael asked as he reentered the room.

“Yeah, but you should have stayed to hear it. It’s really interesting,” I said, giving the carved name one last look before closing the window.

“I’m sure I’ll survive. Is it possible to have breakfast in our rooms rather than the restaurant?” he asked Fiona.

“Yes, but your food will bound to be cold by the time it’s brought all the way up here,” she answered.

He grinned and took the room key from her, herding her toward the door. “We’ll survive.”

Fiona melted before his grin, and although clearly desirous of telling us more about the castle’s history, confined herself to wishing us a pleasant evening. In less time than it took to say the word “honeymoon,” Raphael dashed across the room, stripped off his clothes, and pounced on me...

“At last, we are alone,” he said with an atrocious French accent.

I blinked up at him a couple of times.

He kissed the tip of my nose, and cocked one eyebrow. “The accent too much for you sweetheart? You look somewhat stunned.”

“Yes, it was awful, and besides, I think your English accent is the sexiest thing on earth. But it’s not that...” Loath as I was to pry myself from his arms, I did just that to sit up and look from him to the entrance to the suite. “How did you do that?”

“Do what?” he asked, pulling me back so he could nibble on my neck.

I shivered at the touch, thought about dismissing my confusion, but decided there were more pressing issues. “Bob, you know just how much I’ve been looking forward to this honeymoon—”

“Oh, yes. I believe the fact that you almost ravished me on the train coming up here brought that to my attention. And you will notice that whereas I objected to our enacting upon our wedding night in the coach of the Edinburgh Express, I am now agreeable to the whole idea, and you may commence with your planned ravishing of my manly self.”

“Mmm hmm,” I said, squinting at the door to the suite as I judged its distance.

Raphael’s face suddenly filled my vision. His lovely amber eyes were narrowed with suspicion. “You are not ravishing me. You’ve talked of nothing for the last four hours. Why are you not ravishing me? Is it Zoe? Are you still worried—”

“No, it’s not the baby. It’s...well...how did you run from the door to the suite all the way in the other room, to here, without me seeing you move? Not to mention taking off your clothes while you were doing it.”

Raphael turned to consider the door at which I was pointing. “What are you talking about?”

“I didn’t see you move. One minute you were there, smiling your very best smile for Fiona and making her go all swoony, and the next minute you were naked and pouncing on me. I didn’t see you move in between the two actions.”

“You were just too busy ogling my chest and imagining the many and varied things you’d like to do to me. With whipped cream.”

“Do we have any whipped cream?” I asked, distracted for a moment.

He shook his head. “But I’ll get some if you want it.”

“Well...” I didn’t have an opportunity to say more. Once again I seemed to be suffering from an odd sort of time loss. As the word left my lips, he was looming over me, his eyes alight with a familiar albeit exciting glint; half a second later the door to the suite slammed shut, his discarded clothes having vanished somewhere along the way.

“Bob? I didn’t mean right now...oh, hell. Honest to Pete, men! Sometimes they’re just...just...“

“Treacherous? Vile? Whoremongering? No, I have it—murderous, evil bastards who deserve to spend eternity in pox-riddled, pustule-filled, eternal, endless torment!” a voice said from the window.

I fell off the bed spinning around to look behind me.

“Oh dear, did I startle you? I’m so sorry. I just thought I’d take the opportunity while that male is out of the way.” A woman, dressed in period Elizabethan garb complete with green and gold-patterned flat-fronted corset, long row of beads, and tiny neck ruff, strode forward and grabbed my hand, hauling me to my feet.  “So sorry. Not hurt? Excellent. I’m Lily Summerton. I’m so very glad to see you! You have no idea how long I’ve waited for someone to help me.”

“Lily...Summerton?” I asked, gazing with open-mouthed astonishment. “You’re...you’re...”

“The fabled Green Lady of Fyfe Castle, yes,” she said, preening just a little as she patted her hair.

“I see. Hello. I’m Joy Randall...er...Joy St. John. You’re...a ghost?”

“Yes, of course! I couldn’t very well be the Green Lady if I wasn’t one, now could I?”

“I suppose not.”

“And you’re a Beloved.”

“Well, kind of. Not really. That is, I am and I’m not,” I said hurriedly. “We don’t actually mention the whole Beloved thing very much.”

“You don’t?”

“My husband gets a little bit testy when he’s reminded that I was born to be the soul mate of someone else, especially when that someone is a vampire, although why he gets quite so upset is beyond me. Everything worked out wonderfully. I think it’s just a territorial male thing, to be honest,” I said, giving her a little smile.

She pursed her lips for a moment, looked like she was going to ask a question, then shook her head. “Where is your Dark One? That male who was just here certainly isn’t he—everyone knows therians can’t be Dark Ones—and I desperately need the latter. Could you summon him, please?”

“Er...” I glanced toward the door and wondered if I yelled loudly enough, if Raphael would hear me before he left the castle.

“Oh, it won’t take long, I assure you,” she said with a kind pat of my hands. “A half an hour at most, I promise, and then you can get back to your man. Surely you can see your way clear to helping me?”

“I’m not quite sure what it is you want me to do,” I said slowly, edging toward the door.

“Oh, didn’t I mention that? My memory has been shocking the last few hundred years. It’s quite simple, really,” she said with a bright smile. “I’d like you to curse my husband to eternal torment. I won’t be able to rest until you do so.”

Chapter Two

“Sorry, sweetheart—no whipped cream. The gift shop was just closing up, but I did manage to get this before the girl left.” Raphael held up a jar of clotted cream. “I know it’s not the same, but perhaps you can imagine it’s whipped cream. Erm...why are you still dressed? Why aren’t you waiting for me naked and warm, in bed? And why are you wearing an expression of a woman who is annoyed, rather than one who is about to be pleasured from the top of her adorable head to the tips of her delectable toes?”

“—very nice, although to give the bastard credit, Alec was ahead of time so far as having a privy indoors. He had one in his bedchamber which admittedly wasn’t terribly pleasant on warm summer days, but as I spent so little time in his room...oh. The male is back.” Lily emerged from the bathroom, where she had been admiring the plumbing. She turned a cold, hard face to Raphael, her eyes narrowing for a moment. “Have we met? No, that’s silly, we couldn’t have. Still, you look somewhat familiar...”

“Who the hell is this?” he asked, waving the jar of clotted cream toward her. He checked, and added, “What the hell is this?”

“I could swear...” She shook her head at herself. “My imagination has been running wild of late. My name is Lily Summerton. You may refer to me as Lady Summerton. This, I take it, is your husband?”

“Lily Summerton?” Raphael repeated, suspicion rife in his voice. “A...a...”

“A ghost, yes, I’m afraid she is.” I slid off the bed and twined my fingers through his.

“Oh, hell, this is Christian’s doing, isn’t it?” he demanded.

“Is Christian your Dark One?” Lily asked me, ignoring Raphael.

“He’s not her Dark One. He’s got a perfectly good wife of his own! Who’s going to be a widow if he doesn’t keep his paws to himself—”

“Bob, calm down. Christian didn’t set this up. It’s just coincidence that we found a castle that was really and truly haunted.”

He turned to me, his eyes a bit wild looking. “You know how I feel about all this sort of thing.”

“I know,” I said, squeezing his fingers again. “You don’t like vampires or ghosts or anything of that ilk. But it seems that Lily has a task that must be performed before she can rest, and she’s picked us to do it.”

“No,” he said, his expression darkening. “This is our honeymoon. We’re not going to get involved with any more of your crackpot woo-woo friends.”

“Crackpot!” Lily gasped.

“Sweety, I don’t think we have much of a choice,” I said, pulling Raphael aside.

He glared at Lily. She glared right back at him, her arms crossed over her chest.

“We certainly do. We’ll ring up Allie and have her do whatever it is she does to ghosts to get rid of them. I’ll be damned if I let anyone ruin our honeymoon.”

“She said she will haunt us if we don’t help,” I whispered, sending Lily what I hoped was a confident smile. “She said if we don’t take care of a little situation concerning her mortal life, she won’t give us a moment’s peace.”

“We’ll leave, then,” Raphael said loudly, hitching up his glare a notch or two. “We’ll find somewhere else to stay.”

“I’ll find you,” Lily answered unconcernedly as she examined her fingernails. “You can’t hide from me, you know. No matter where you go, I’ll find you. If you won’t give me the peace I desire, then so shall you have none.”

“Why us?” Raphael roared, seeing, as I knew he would, the inevitability of the situation.

“Your wife is a Beloved. She’s the first one to come to Fyfe Castle who had the ability to help me. Now, if you’re done wasting time, perhaps we can get underway?” She evidently saw the objection Raphael was about to make because she added quickly, “I have told your wife it will take only a half hour to do my bidding, after which I will happily leave you in peace.”

Raphael grumbled a few things to himself, but both Lily and I thought it was best to ignore them.

“We would be happy to help you, but I’m afraid a cursing is out of the question. Not only am I opposed to cursing someone I don’t know, but even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t know how to go about doing it,” I said.

Lily’s gaze rested on Raphael for a moment. “A curse can only be cast by someone of dark origins. Most people use demons, but Dark Ones are an acceptable substitute, since they themselves are more or less cursed. Your man seems to get upset when I mention your Dark One. Why is that?”

“It’s a long story, but basically, somewhere some wires were crossed because I was born a Beloved to a very nice man named Christian, but Raphael was the man I was meant to end up with.” I gave Raphael a kiss on the chin.

His eyes flashed for a moment, before they narrowed again on Lily. “Not to mention the fact that Christian found a woman who wasn’t born his Beloved, but she turned out to fill that role, so Joy has nothing whatsoever to do with him.”

“Well, how are you going to curse Alec if you don’t have a Dark One?” Lily asked, her hands fluttering in an agitated manner. “I must have reparation! I will never find my peace without it!”

“I’m sorry, but a curse is out,” I said, feeling badly that we couldn’t help the distraught ghost.

“So you might as well just run along and let us enjoy our honeymoon,” Raphael said with an absolute dearth of tact.

“Bob!”

“What?”

I nodded toward Lily, who was now pacing back and forth, muttering to herself. “We have to help her.”

“Says who?”

“Says me! We were clearly meant to help her. She said herself that we were the only ones who could do it.”

Raphael grumbled again.

I put a hand on his sleeve and batted my lashes at him. “I couldn’t possibly relax enough to enjoy clotted cream knowing there was a ghost around whom it was in my power to help.”

His lips thinned. “You don’t play fair, do you?”

“Never have, sweety.”

“Very well.” He heaved a heavy sigh and turned back to face Lily. “Right. The cursing aside, what is it you want us to do?”

“He must be destroyed. That is the only way I can have rest,” Lily insisted as she continued to pace. “But how to do it, that is the problem. Oh!”

“That sounds hopeful. You thought of something?” I asked.

“I’m a lackwit,” she said, slapping her forehead. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of this first, but it’s better, so much better than just a cursing!”

“Oh?” I asked, suddenly wary. “If it’s anything involving a demon—”

“No, no, I’ve given up on the curse idea. I have a much better one! You will destroy the stone!”

“The stone? What stone?” Raphael asked.

She stopped pacing to face us, an earnest expression on her face. “There were three stones bound to Fyfe Castle: the castle stone, representing the castle itself. That was placed into the wall of the foundation itself, so it will not be destroyed unless the castle is razed. The second was the lady’s stone, which signified the lady of the castle. That stone Alec says was lost, but I’m not sure he didn’t destroy it himself—he certainly wasn’t above such an act to ensure that the women of Fyfe have naught but ill luck. The third stone, the laird’s stone, is in the Stone Room. That is what you must do.”

“Er...what, exactly?” I asked, confused.

“Destroy the stone, naturally!” she answered, rubbing her hands together with much pleasure. “It’s only fitting! Just as Alec destroyed the lady’s stone, thereby damning all ladies of the family, so now must you destroy the laird’s stone. It will affect not only Alec, but all his descendants as well—a just punishment, don’t you think, for a man who killed his own wife for bearing him a daughter?”

“To be honest, I don’t think that’s very fair,” I said slowly, and to my surprise, Raphael interrupted me.

“We’ll do it. Where’s this laird’s stone kept?”

Lily shrugged. “That I do not know. Alec would never tell me the location of the Stone Room. There was some curse on the men to keep them away from it...you’ll have to ask him for that information.”

“But—” I started to protest.

Raphael clamped a hand over my mouth, and hustled me out of the room before I could say anything.

“Don’t let Alec bully you!” Lily called from the bedroom. “Be firm with him!”

“Why all of a sudden are you so hot and bothered to help her?” I asked a moment later as we hurried down the hall.

“It’s like you said—the sooner we help her, the sooner she’ll go away and leave us alone to enjoy our clotted creamapalooza. Where did she say we’d find her husband?”

“The long gallery, which is evidently on the ground floor, or the stable yard, or possibly the dining hall. But sweety, we can’t destroy the laird’s stone, not if it will affect a bunch of innocent people!”

“Who says it will?” Raphael flashed a quick grin. “Fiona said the family line had died out, so there won’t be any descendants to harm, in addition to which, I don’t believe at all that a stone has anything to do with people’s health and happiness. So we’ll just find this stone, drop it into the moat, tell her the job is done, and our way will be clear to enjoying our honeymoon.”

“I don’t know. I don’t think it’s going to be a good idea to mess with something so historic,” I said.

“You worry too much. Everyone concerned is dead already, aren’t they? It’s not like there’s anything we can do to hurt them now.”

I held my tongue, but I wasn’t so sure on that subject. Allie, a woman who had made her living summoning and releasing ghosts before she met Christian the sexy vampire, had told me that ghosts could be bound to a spot, but since Lily and assumedly her husband were already stuck at the castle, it didn’t seem like breaking a stone would change their status.

“I don’t see why she couldn’t come with us to find him,” Raphael muttered as we hurried down the pinwheel stone staircase.

“She said she doesn’t go down where her husband roams. I can’t say I blame her, given what he did to her. Have you ever heard of the word ‘therian’? As applied toward a person, that is?”

“Therian?” Raphael thought for a moment before shaking his head. “It’s Greek for wild animal. I can’t imagine it being applied to a person—good lord!”

A woman’s scream rent the night, coming from the floor below us. Raphael dropped my hand and dashed down the stairs. I hurried after him, slipped on the highly polished wooden floor, and ended up falling against him where he stood in the middle of a long hallway, his hands on his hips. Despite the fact that my mother describes me as being built like a brick house, Raphael didn’t budge when I slammed into him.

“Who is it?” I asked, collecting myself enough to peer around him.

His indignant snort told me everything I needed to know. A moment later, a woman’s scream echoed down the long passage, but this time, it was followed by feminine giggles and, “Stop it! Ye’re goin’ to make me wet myself if ye keep ticklin’ me that way! Alec, stop! Nay, ye mustn’t!”

Although the hallway was lit with night lights at either end, there was sufficient illumination from outside to highlight the two nearly translucent figures that came down the hallway toward us. In the lead was a woman with her skirts hitched up and breasts almost wholly out of her corset, her hair tousled halfway out of her French hood, and bare legs flashing as she barreled down on us. In close pursuit was a bearded man clad in a flapping linen shirt, and pair of breeches. “Run from me, will ye, ye lusty vixen? Ye’ll not be escapin’ me that easily!”

The look on Raphael’s face was not welcoming, but it was no cause for the woman racing toward us to shriek loud enough to wake the dead. So to speak.

“Lord bless me!” she gasped as she caught sight of us. She came to an immediate stop, her hands on her cheeks for a moment before squeaking and hurriedly rearranging her breasts back into her corset. “Hsst! Alec! We’re havin’ visitors!”

“Aye, I see them.” The ghost who was evidently Lily’s husband cleared his throat, puffed out his chest, and strode toward us in a haughty manner. “I am Lord Summerton. By what right do you come to my home and ogle my wife?”

“I have my own wife to ogle, thank you,” Raphael said stiffly. “Perhaps if you kept yours confined rather than let her run the hallways half naked—”

Sir Alec had been in a stretch of shadow, but as he stopped in front of us, he was lit by both the outside light shining through the window, and the slightly orange glow of a security night light.

My jaw dropped as I got a good look at Sir Alec. “Holy moses! Raphael, do you see that?”

“By the saints!” Sir Alec said at the same time, his eyes wide as he stared at Raphael.

“Ooh,” breathed the disheveled woman. She looked from one man to the other. “’Tis like seein’ twins!”

“My boy!” Sir Alec shouted, enveloping Raphael in a bear hug.

Chapter Three

“Erm...” Raphael was obviously too disconcerted by the fact that he was being hugged by an Elizabethan ghost to rally much along conversational lines. “Do I know you?”

“Ye’re the very image of me when I was a lad,” Sir Alec answered. “Ye can be no other but the spawn of my loins!”

“Didn’t you say you had Scottish ancestry?” I asked Raphael as I continued to marvel at the ghost. He had a beard, but it was close-cropped enough to make out the shape of his jaw. He had the same stubborn chin as Raphael, the same strong jaw, wide brow, and brown curly hair. Even their eyes were the same, a tawny amber that I knew could glow with molten heat, or glitter with cold intent.

“Yes, but way back. My mother’s family. They weren’t named Summerton, though.”

“Ye’ve the look of me! Of course ye’re my kin!” Sir Alec crowed, giving Raphael another hug. “Grizel, ‘tis one of my descendants, come back to the ancestral home!”

“How d’ye do,” the woman answered, bobbing a little curtsey at us. “Pleasure to meet ye.”

“You, I take it, are Sir Alec’s second wife?” I asked. Grizel nodded, a faint blush visible on her cheeks despite the dim light and her transparency. I eyed her curiously, expecting to see a much harsher woman, the type who wouldn’t mind coming between a man and his wife. But this woman was fresh-faced, bearing an air of innocence that made me wonder if Lily had told me everything.

“This lovely is Grizel, the light of my heart,” Sir Alec said proudly, wrapping his arm around her and hauling her up to his side. “She’s not related to ye, though, more’s the pity. I only had one brat, and she was off the she-witch who was my first wife.”

His expression turned sour as he spoke. Grizel elbowed him, whispering, “’Tis not fittin’ to speak ill of the dead, husband.”

Sir Alec suddenly grinned, making my knees wobble for a moment so similar a sight was it. “That’d be us as well, ye daft hen!”

“Oh, aye,” she giggled. “I’m ever forgettin’ that.”

“She’s soft on the eye, but a bit light in the head,” Sir Alec said fondly, giving his wife a squeeze to take the sting out of the comment. “Now then, ye’ll be wantin’ to have a tour of the castle, won’t ye? I’ll be happy to show it all to ye...all but the Stone Room.”

“Oh?” Raphael and I exchanged glances. I cleared my throat. “Er...why not the Stone Room?”

Sir Alec shot me a sharp look. “The laird’s stone is there. The stone was cursed centuries ago, and so long as it’s kept in peace, so will be the happiness of the men of Fyfe.”

“But we’re not from Fyfe,” I argued.

“He’s the spittin’ image of me!” Alec said, nodding toward Raphael. “I cannot allow him into the stone room. ‘Twould be a great danger.”

“How so?” I asked, as we started down the hall.

“’Tis the curse, lass. The Thane of Fyfe shadowed be, thrice around the stone bound; in its light, the devil can see, and the beast within be found.”

“What does that mean?” Raphael asked, frowning as he tried to puzzle it out.

“Any man of Fyfe who sets his hands upon the stone will be forever changed,” Alec answered with a meaningful look.

“Oh? What about the women?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Only the lady’s stone affects them, and even if the laird’s stone would, they don’t know where the Stone Room is. It’s a secret room, ye ken, its location told only to the ruling master of Fyfe and his heir.”

“I know where it is,” Grizel said suddenly.

“Ye’re daft woman. Ye don’t.”

“I do,” she insisted. “I saw you go into it from the privy not long after we were wed. You counted five stones up from the floor, five stones over from the door, and five stones in from the corner. The back wall of the privy swung open, and you disappeared into it. I was going to tease you about it when you came back out, but that was last I saw of you until...”

Grizel’s smile faded as she looked away, her fingers fretting the material of her skirt.

“’Tis all right, lass. We died together, and we’ll stay together for all eternity,” Sir Alec said, his voice gruff as he comforted his wife.

Raphael exchanged another glance with me. I could see he was as hesitant as I was about the whole thing. “I think we’ll take a rain check on the tour of the castle, if you don’t mind,” I told the two ghosts.

Sir Alec looked crestfallen until Raphael told him we were on our honeymoon.

“Oh, then ye’ll be wantin’ a bit of privacy,” he said with a wink. “Grizel and I are still on ours, as well. It’s goin’ on for five hundred years now, but she’s still as saucy as a minx! Ye go and have a wee cuddle with yer wife, and I’ll be doin’ the same. Come here, ye red-headed Eve!”

“Ye’ll naught catch me until I say ye can!” Grizel squealed and leaped away, racing down the hall into the shadows, a grinning Sir Alec in pursuit.

I looked at Raphael. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Probably. Where did Fiona say the old laird’s quarters were?”

“Somewhere on this floor. I’d guess below our rooms. But Raphael...” I bit my lip, hesitant to put into words a worry that had nagged me ever since I’d spoken with Lily.

“You don’t want to destroy the stone,” Raphael said, trying the door to one of the rooms. It was locked. He moved on to the next one. “I figured you wouldn’t.”

“No, it’s not that. That is, yes, that’s part of it—Fiona may have said that there was no family living, but they obviously missed your side of the family.”

He shook his head and tried another door. “I told you—my Scottish ancestry is quite small, a great-times-ten grandmother, or something like that. Even if she was someone related to Sir Alec, by now the ancestry has been diluted with good old English stock.”

“Sweety, you look just like him,” I said, pointing out the obvious. “No wonder Lady Lily thought she recognized you. I wish she’d told us it was her husband you resembled, but I guess if she hadn’t seen him in several hundred years, she probably forgot just what he looked like.”

“It doesn’t matter. This situation is due to genetic coincidence, nothing more. Ah, this one is open.” He stuck his head into a room, reaching around for a light switch. Dim light flooded a room empty of all furniture, but containing several boxes of what appeared to be dry goods for the restaurant located on the main floor. “This looks promising. Where would the privy be, do you think?”

“Lily said there was one connected to the bedroom. You aren’t seriously thinking of destroying the stone, are you? I know we told Lily we were going to, but that’s before we met Alec and Grizel. He doesn’t seem at all like the sort of person to cold-bloodedly murder his wife. Not to mention I’m more than a little bit concerned about what destroying it might do to you.”

“I’ll be perfectly safe, sweetheart. Do you see anything that looks like a privy?”

With much foreboding, I pointed toward a small alcove off the main room. As privy’s went, this one was fairly small, more a tiny little closet with a long open shaft in the center of the floor. A board had been laid across it for safety purposes, which Raphael skirted as he squatted next to the back of the stone wall. “Five up, five in, five over,” he murmured to himself as he tapped on stones. One of them made a dullish sound, which turned into a low rumble when he put all his weight into pressing on it. “Et voila! Your secret passage, milady.”

The air that swirled out of the passage around us didn’t smell foul or unclean, but my nerves were still all on end. “I doubt there are lights down there.”

“Stay here,” Raphael ordered as he got to his feet. “I’ll get a torch from the car.”

I used the time it took him to run down to the car and back to form plausible arguments why he shouldn’t go into the passage, but they fell on deaf ears.

“I’ll be fine,” he said firmly, giving me a pat on the behind as he shoved one of the boxes from the main room into the doorway to keep it open. He switched on a powerful flashlight, the light showing dark stone steps eerily leading down to inky blackness.

“I don’t suppose you’d consider letting me go first?”

The look he gave me spoke volumes.

“All right, but don’t say I didn’t warn you when this curse or whatever it is bites you on the butt.”

“You’re the only one I allow to do that,” he said with a leer before doubling over to get through the four foot high doorway. “Besides, I don’t believe in centuries-old curses.”

I grabbed the back of his shirt and followed. “You believe in vampires.”

“I would prefer not to.”

“And ghosts.”

“Again, not by choice.”

“And werewolves and imps and all other sorts of things we’ve seen.”

An indignant snort was my answer to that. “I may be forced to believe in vampires and ghosts, but that doesn’t mean I buy into every supernatural idea out there. People do not turn into wolves, Joy. It’s physically impossible.”

“Uh huh. Watch your—ow. Sorry.”

Raphael rubbed his forehead where it had hit a low overhanging stone. The staircase we were on was a miniature version of the grand staircase, a narrow stone spiral that seemed to go on forever. “I think this is the bottom,” Raphael said as he moved a few steps forward. The light pooled around an iron-banded wooden door.

“Bob, wait,” I said, grabbing his arm as he was about to open the door. “We can’t just up and destroy the stone and Sir Alec. It’s cruel.”

“Cruel? Didn’t he starve his wife to death?”

“Yes, but...well, after meeting him, I’m not too sure about that. I think we should talk to Lily again. Maybe things weren’t quite as she remembered.”

His lips were warm on mine as he gave me a swift kiss. “Let’s take a look at this famed laird’s stone. If it’s small enough to move, perhaps we can just hide the thing, and tell Lily it’s gone.”

“I don’t see what good that will do, but it’s better than nothing,” I grumbled.

He laughed and slid back a solid slab of wood which barred the door, swinging it open. It had suitably creepy squeaking hinges, but nothing rushed out of the room at us when Raphael shone his light inside.

“Rats?” I asked, peering over his shoulder.

“Not that I can see. It’s just a small, empty room.”

And so it was. There was a slight musty odor, but as Raphael said, it was a small, empty stone chamber.

Empty except for a plinth, upon which sat a greeny-grey chunk of stone approximately the size and shape of a  large wheel of cheese. “That’s gotta be it,” I said, eyeing the stone carefully as Raphael shone the light on it.

“I’d say so. Hold this while I see how heavy it is.”

“Sweety—” I started to say, but my words stopped as Raphael reached out to grab the stone. A blinding flash of light startled me into screaming and dropping the flashlight, which promptly went out. I scrabbled around on the floor until I found it again, quickly switching it on. “Oh, my God, what was that? Are you all right?”

I shown the light to where Raphael had been standing, my jaw dropping as I blinked in absolute stupefaction at the thing that stood in his place.

A lion, golden, tawny-eyed, complete with mane, fuzzy ears, and an almost comical expression of utter disbelief, stared back at me.

Chapter Four

“Oh my God,” I said, my skin crawling as I reached out to touch the tip of the lion’s nose. His eyes crossed as he followed the movement of my hand. “Oh my God! I knew it! I knew something like this would happen if you tried to destroy the stone! OH MY GOD! You’re a werewolf!”

The Raphael lion rolled its familiar amber eyes and opened its mouth as if it would speak. All that came out was a guttural grunt.

“All right then, you’re a werelion! Same difference, Bob! Oh, my God, what are we going to do?”

Frustration filled Raphael’s feline eyes as he made the same guttural noise a couple more times.

“Don’t swear, sweety. We’ll figure something out,” I said, patting him on the top of his furry head. “That’s what that beast within bit from that curse must have meant. That’s all fine and well, but I am not going to spend my honeymoon with an animal. Let’s go find Sir Alec and see what he has to say about this. It’s his stone, maybe he knows of a way to break this transformation.”

Raphael didn’t object when I hefted the stone and marched toward the stairs, although he did give the back of my hand a swift lick with his bristly tongue.

By the time we made our way back to the first floor hallway where Sir Alec and Grizel had been romping, it was obvious that a shouting match was going on.

“How dare you! I’ll go anywhere in this castle that I please, and you cannot stop me!”

“Ye’re confined to the upstairs. Grizel and I have the lower floors. That’s how it’s always been, and that’s how it’ll ever be!” Sir Alec roared.

Lily didn’t appear to be threatened despite the fact she was staring her murderer in the face. “I came down to see that you don’t harm that dear Beloved and the one who I see now is some relation of yours, the poor man. And don’t you threaten me, you murderous whoreson! You were a horrible husband when you were alive, and you’re a worse one now that you’re dead! Running around the castle flaunting your trollop in that manner. Have you no shame? No sense of dignity?”

“Now there’s a pot callin’ the kettle black,” Sir Alec yelled. “Ye had yer skirts up for any man who caught yer eye!”

Lily gasped. “Oh! I did not!”

Sir Alec leaned forward, all three of them so obviously focused on the argument they didn’t notice our approach. “I’ve three words to say to that: Sir Roderick Langton.”

Lily opened her mouth to protest, but quickly snapped her teeth closed.

“Aye, I thought that would shut ye up,” Sir Alec answered with satisfaction. “Ye can’t be throwing out accusations about Grizel and me when ye were up to the very same thing with that pasty-faced bastard.”

“Roddy wasn’t a bastard! He loved me! He wanted to take me away from your cruelties!”

“Cruelties!” snorted Sir Alec.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but there’s a situation I’m going to need your help with,” I said, plopping the stone down onto the nearest table.

“Just a minute, lass,” Sir Alec told me without glancing our way. “I’ve taken enough from this she-devil. It’s time she face the truth rather than the pack of lives she preferred to believe. Was it cruelty, then, to give ye everything ye wanted? Ye had the finest cloth, jewels, the best of my bloodstock—”

“Trivial things,” Lily yelled, waving her hands. “You thought to buy my affections with your gold! I saw through that in an instant though. I knew what sort of man you were—a murderer, a thief who would steal his own wife’s jewels to give to another. You drove me to Roddy’s arms! You and your damned harlot!”

“I realize that this is a heated subject, but I really do have an emergency on my hands here, and I’d appreciate a little help,” I said, but the three ghosts ignored me.

“Ye’ll not be talking about my Grizel that way!” Sir Alec shouted back at Lily. “She’s worth a whole castle full of the likes of ye, not that ye’d know how a proper wife behaved, lockin’ yerself away in the tower as ye did for months on end! And as for yer precious jewels—ye’ll be needing to talk to Sir Roderick about them.”

Lily gasped again, her eyes blazing. “How dare you impugn his name! He was a saint! A god among men! You were not fit to lick his boots!”

Despite the urgency of the situation with Raphael, I was oddly drawn into the argument. “Wait a sec—did you just say that Lily locked herself into the tower? I thought...er...well, I thought you did that because she had a daughter instead of a son?”

Lily lifted her chin and looked away. Sir Alec shot his first wife a nasty look. “Oh, aye, that’s what she wanted everyone to think. But the truth is different from legend, isn’t it, Lily? Go on and tell this lass how ye locked yerself in the tower in a fit of temper. Tell her how ye had that ball-less whoreson bringin’ ye food and wine on the sly, while ye let everything think ye were up there starvin’. Ye tell her that, and I’ll tell her how Sir Roderick disappeared once he finally got his hands on yer jewels and gold, and how yer own stubbornness kept ye in the tower rather than admit what had happened.”

Raphael bumped my hand with his nose.

“Just a sec, sweety. I think we’re finally getting to the truth,” I murmured to him.

“He didn’t disappear!” Lily bellowed. “You killed him! Just as you killed me!”

“I did nothing of the kind! He strung ye along as long as it took to get the key to yer strongboxes, then he up and left ye to starve to death in yer tower. Ye have no one but yerself to blame!”

Raphael bumped my hand again. Absently, I patted him on his head, relieved to know that my gut instinct about Alec hadn’t been far off. But how were we to resolve the situation?

“You killed me!” she repeated, and was about to fly at Sir Alec when Raphael had evidently had enough. He tossed up his head and let loose with a roar that came close to shaking the windows. The three ghosts spun around in unison and stared at Raphael.

“Ah, lad,” Sir Alec said, shaking his head. “Ye just had to see the stone, didn’t ye? And now ye’ll pay the price for yer curiosity.”

“We are not amused,” I said loudly, leveling a stern look at Sir Alec as I pointed to Raphael. “This is our honeymoon. That is my husband. He is a lion. Which of those three statements does not belong?”

The three ghosts blinked at me.

I took a deep breath. “I want him changed back, and I want him changed back right now!”

“’Tis nothing to do with me,” Sir Alec shrugged. “He did it himself. I warned him not to go into the Stone Room.”

“You didn’t say there was a chance he would be changed into an animal!” I yelled, overcome with frustration. “How the hell did it happen anyway? All he did was pick up the stone!”

“I told ye that’s all it would take. The men of Fyfe were cursed long ago, ye ken. Cursed to be therianthropes—to change into animals—when they touch the laird’s stone. Yon laddy ...well, ye can see what happened. He’s a very nice lookin’ lion, though, don’t ye think Grizel?”

“Very nice,” she agreed quickly. “Just like a great big kitty. Does he purr if you stroke him?”

Raphael growled low in his throat. I patted him again. “Calm down, sweety. We’ll get this figured out.” I took a deep breath and skewered Sir Alec with a look that would have scared the crap out of a mortal man. “Given the evidence before us, I’m willing to accept the story about the stone. You have yet, however, to tell me what it is we need to do to get Raphael back.”

Sir Alec shrugged. “He must learn how to shift back to human form by himself.”

“Well, surely you can give him some help!” I said, clutching my hands together to keep from shaking the annoying ghost. “You must have some experience with this!”

“Nay, none,” he said, shaking his head.

“But...but...it’s your stone!”

“Aye, and the men of Fyfe were well warned not to go near it. None of us did,” he said with irritating righteousness.

I stared at him in outright surprise. “Do you mean to say that you have this horrible stone in the castle, one that can turn any male family member into an animal if he so much as touches the damned thing, and no one ever did so?”

“Aye, that’s what I’m tellin’ ye. We had the warning, ye see. We knew that to touch it would bring down the curse upon our heads.”

I turned to consider the stone. “Then what are we going to do? If we put it back, will it change Raphael back?”

“I’m afraid not, lass. He’s therian, ye see. All of us men of Fyfe are, but only those who touch the stone trigger the change.”

I looked at my husband. His eyes peered back at me, filled with a heart-twisting mixture of hope, trust, and sadness. “Don’t worry, I won’t let you stay this way. We just need to think...there has to be an answer. If there’s one thing I’ve learned the last few years, it’s that nothing is absolute.”

“We’d help ye if we could,” Sir Alec said, pulling Grizel to his side. “But I’m afraid that there’s no solution. It’s as the curse says: The Thane of Fyfe shadowed be, thrice around the stone bound;  in its light, the devil can see, and the beast within be found.”

“Thrice around the stone bound,” I murmured, eyeing the stone. “I wonder...Bob?”

Raphael looked thoughtful for a moment, clearly thinking the same thing I was. His head jerked up and down in an awkward acknowledgement.

“Are you sure?” I asked, my heart weeping at the sight of his eyes, so familiar, so human, bound in a body that was nothing more than a furry prison.

He nodded again.

“Right. Here goes nothing.” I picked up the stone, grunting a little at its weight as I lifted it over my head.

“What are ye doin’?” Sir Alec yelled, leaping toward me.

I lowered the stone and took a couple of steps back, just in case he had any funny ideas about trying to snatch it from me. “The curse revolves around the stone. You guys have been protecting it all these centuries, believing it made you happy.”

“Aye, it has! So long as the laird’s stone is safe, all will be well.”

“The laird’s stone, the laird’s stone,” Lily muttered before jabbing a finger in Sir Alec’s direction. “Ask him what he’s done to the lady’s stone!”

Sir Alec looked abashed for a moment.

“He destroyed it, that’s what he did!” she crowed. “He couldn’t stand to see me happy, and he destroyed it, damning all women in the family to eternal sorrow!”

“I didn’t even know ye, ye daft woman!” Sir Alec answered. “I dropped it down the privy when I was a lad!”

I raised an eyebrow.

He cleared his throat, embarrassment plainly written on his face. “’Twas an accident. I didn’t know it was the lady’s stone. I used to play in the passage leading to the stone room. I never touched the laird’s stone—even then I knew what repercussions that would have—” he said, looking at Raphael. “But the lady’s stone was different. It was smaller, and pretty. I used to carry it about with me, and it...er...well, it was dropped into the privy by mistake.”

“A likely tale,” Lily snorted.

“What happened after that?” I asked, glancing from the stone in my arms to Raphael.

His eyes pleaded with me to do something.

“What do ye mean?”

“Was there any repercussion for destroying the lady’s stone? Did something happen to your mother?”

“Nothing happened to her, although she proper tanned my arse for playing in the privy,” he said with a rueful grin as he rubbed his behind.

I smiled at him. “I’m sure you deserved it.”

“Aye, but that didn’t make it any easier to—nooo!”

I lifted the stone as high over my head as I could, and slammed it back down toward the solid marble floor. A shock wave knocked me back off my feet, against Raphael. We fell to the ground in a tangle of human and lion limbs, the explosion as the stone shattered into a thousand pieces echoing painfully along the hall. Beneath us, the ground trembled for a moment, easing as the horrible sound faded into nothing.

A dense cloud of dust choked the air, making me cough as I pushed my hair out of my face and sat up.

“Bob!” I yelled in delight as I flung myself on a familiar, man-shaped form.

“Blessed Virgin, what have ye done?” Sir Alec asked, his figure barely visible in the dense, dusty air. He helped Grizel to her feet, ignoring the nasty look Lily shot him as she rose from where she’d been knocked back.

Sir Alec stood looking at the pile of rubble that was formerly the laird’s stone.

“I broke the damned curse,” I said, hugging Raphael.

“But...but ye have destroyed the stone! Ye’ve destroyed the happiness of the lairds!”

“You don’t deserve happiness, you murdering, adulterous blackguard!” Lily growled as she dusted herself off. She turned to face us, giving a regal nod of her head. “You’ve done as I asked; you’ve destroyed the stone. I will be at peace now.”

“I hate to say this, but that wasn’t why I destroyed it,” I said as Raphael helped me up. “You OK, sweety?”

“Yes, thanks to you.” He kissed me, his eyes hot with love and desire.

“Ye broke my stone!” Sir Alec wailed, dropping to his knees before the pile of rubble. “Ye’ve ruined my chance of happiness!”

“Pfft,” I said. “I don’t know why someone didn’t think of destroying the stone earlier to break the were-kitty curse, but I assume it’s because you’ve had it drummed into your heads that no one must go near it or touch it in order to be happy. Well, I’ve always been a firm believer in people making their own destinies, and their own happiness. You and Grizel seem to be pretty happy as you are, and nothing can change that.”

“She’s right, love,” Grizel said, putting a hand on her husband’s shoulder. “We’re still here, and we still have each other. What more could make us happy?”

“Oh, for mercy’s sake,” Lily said, rolling her eyes as she picked her way across the dirt and rock-strewn floor. “Now that I have been avenged, I can move on and find Roddy. I have a few questions to put to him about what happened to my jewels...”

Lily’s form shimmered as it disappeared into the wall.

“Alec?” Grizel asked, prodding him.

“Eh? Oh, aye, I suppose ye’re right,” he said, sighing as he brushed dust from his hands and stood up. “But I still think it’s a tragedy the stone is gone.”

“Cheer up,” I said, wrapping my arms around Raphael’s waist and biting his chin. “You still have the castle stone, right? One out of three isn’t too bad.”

“Aye, I suppose. Unless ye’ll be wantin’ to see that, too,” he said with a barbed look.

“I swear I’ll keep Joy away from any other stones,” Raphael promised.

Alec grunted acknowledgement.

Grizel smiled winsomely at her husband. “Come, love. We’ll go back to the stable yard, and ye can be the stable lad, and I’ll be the goose girl. Ye know how ye love to play stable lad.”

A lascivious light dawned in Sir Alec’s eyes as he turned away from the stone. “Would ye be the dairy maid instead of the goose girl?”

“Perhaps,” Grizel said with a coy arch to her brows, and encouraging twitch of her skirt.

“Ah, lass, ye do know how to stoke my fire,” Sir Alec said, lunging for her. She squealed and took off down the hallway.

Sir Alec started after her, pausing to look back at us. “What are ye waitin’ for, lad? It’s yer weddin’ night, and ye’re back to yer manly form. Go pleasure yer wife!”

“That’s the smartest thing you’ve said all night,” Raphael said, scooping me up in his arms, and carrying me up the stone staircase.

“I agree completely,” I said, kissing his jawline. “And since I’m so accommodating, would you like to get the ‘I told you so’ out of the way now, or later?”

“I’d like to forget the whole blasted evening,” he growled, pushing open the door to our suite.

“I’m sure you would, but I have to say—you made a very sexy lion.”

“That’s all over with now. It won’t happen again,” he said, setting me on my feet as he locked the door.

“I wonder...” I nibble my lip as I went into the bedroom.

“You wonder what? How long it will take me to have you screaming with ecstasy?”

“No, I know that’s a given,” I said as he followed me into the room. Before I could say anything else, his clothes were off and he was stalking toward me, a hungry, predatory look in his eyes that left me shivering with delight. “I was going to say I wonder if you coming to Fyfe brought forth previously hidden therianthrope tendencies, but I think I have my answer.”

“I am not an animal,” he growled, the sound starting deep in his chest, rolling outwards with a rumble that sounded remarkably like a lion’s.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I said, giggling when he pounced on me, sending us both falling back onto the bed. “I think I might like having the beast within you released.”

He growled again, nibbling my neck as he peeled off my shirt.

“What a honeymoon this is going to be,” I sighed happily. “ I can’t wait to see what happens at the end of the week.”

“End of the week?” Raphael asked, removing my bra. His eyes lit as he swooped down to nibble various and sundry exposed parts. “What happens at the end of the week?”

“Full moon, sweety. Full moon!”

EXCERPT FROM A GIRL’S GUIDE TO VAMPIRES

Author’s note: Like the first chapter of You Slay Me, I’ve received permission from Harper Collins to include this chapter of A Girl’s Guide to Vampires, the first in my Dark Ones series, and the book in which Joy and Raphael from Cat Got Your Tongue meet and fall madly in love. If you’re familiar with Girl’s Guide, you may zip past it to the rest of the book. If you want to read more, it’s available in print, e-book, and audio formats.

Chapter One

"Gin makes me brilliant."

"No, Joy, you just think gin makes you brilliant. Gin makes you sotted. Chocolate makes you brilliant."

I looked at the reflection in the French door of the dark-haired woman sitting next to me in a circle of lit candles, and shook my head with a solemnity that I hoped belied the aforementioned sottedness. My reflection shook her head as if to warn me. I decided to heed the warning, and carefully set down my glass. "Chocolate has many powers, most notably in the area of adding heft to my hips, but gin, in fact, makes me brilliant."

Our companion drifted around the room lighting more scented candles, pausing to raise her eyebrows at the sight of our mutual friend snorting with laughter into her vodka martini.

“No more libations of a vodka nature for you, Roxanne,” Miranda warned before lighting one last candle and dropping down onto a taupe and green leaf print rug across from us. "The Goddess doesn’t grant her blessings upon those who are soused. Joy, what is it you are being brilliant about?"

I plucked the lime wedge from my gin and tonic and sucked the gin-soaked meaty pulp from it, mentally bemoaning my Amazonian stature as Miranda, with the grace of a gazelle who had been taking ballet lessons since birth, pulled her long, slender legs into a lotus position. I gave a moment over to damning the Viking genes that left me towering over most women, and many men. “This plan of Roxy’s to find us a pair of dishy guys. I’ve decided, after much due consideration and many, many brilliant gin-inspired thoughts, to allow you to make my case before your Goddess. If she’d like to point me in the direction of a guy who is the perfect embodiment of everything manly and good, well then, it behooves me to listen. There, in a nutshell, is my brilliance.”

Roxanne snorted into her drink again. “In other words, you’ve broken up with Bradley again.”

I shrugged. My on-again, off-again boyfriend had lots of good points, qualities like devotion, patience, and a sunny, optimistic nature. “The problem with Bradley is that he’s just not the one—the man who makes my heart race just be being near him, the man who makes me believe in wonderful things like falling in love at first sight. He’s just...Bradley.”

“That’s just my point, Joy! You’re so stuck in your ways that you can’t even be bothered to look for a man you deserve, not old stick-in-the-mud Bradley Barlow who wouldn’t know excitement if it bit him dead center on the ass.”

I couldn’t help but bristle at the judgmental tone in her voice. I’ve known Roxy since we were in kindergarten, but that didn’t mean she could get away with every snide comment she felt like launching in my direction. “You should speak, Miss Still a Virgin at Twenty-Four. What you know about relationships with men could be written on the head of a vibrator.”

She spewed martini out her nose.

"Can't take you anywhere, can I?" I said, mopping up the spewed vodka. It had sprayed out all over her jeans and the lovely hardwood floor we were sitting on.

"Geez Louise," she gasped, hacking and wheezing and blowing her nose. She took the cloth Miranda silently offered, mopping up her t-shirt before glaring at me with red-rimmed eyes. "Don't do that to me again!"

"Sorry. It was the gin talking. Told you it makes me brilliant."

“So that's what you call it?"

I stuck my tongue out at her.

She turned her glare up a notch. "As for what I was saying when you so rudely brought up the subject of sexual aids, not that I have one or need one or ever expect to utilize one, unlike some people I could mention, I'd like to point out that with regards to men, I have the good taste to save myself for someone really meaningful." She paused to blow her nose again. "I hope you notice the contrast between my actions—responsible yet hopeful realism regarding the man destined to be my future husband—and yourself, who has settled for a guy who can’t give you anything more than a good fu—”

“Ladies!” Miranda shrieked, cutting Roxy off cold. We both looked at her. She glared back at us. “I refuse to help you if you argue with each other. Honestly, how you two can call each other best friend is beyond me, but regardless of that, I won’t have dissention in my house. The Goddess is not in charity with feelings of pettiness and ill will, Roxanne, and since you asked for the Goddess’s help, you should be prepared to approach her in a penitential manner with a pure heart and unblemished soul.”

I directed a smug smile at Roxy. She ignored me and fought to wipe the stubborn-as-a-mule look from her face. “Sorry,” she mumbled, clasping her hands and staring down at them in a close approximation of demureness and penitence.

“The same goes for you, as well,” Miranda frowned at me. I widened my eyes and tried to look innocent of all wrongdoings, but it was hard to even think of muddying the truth when Miranda’s eerie light grey eyes settled on me.

“I didn’t come here desperate for you to find me a man,” I pointed out with as much dignity as possible. “Roxy begged me to come.”

“I did not!” she snapped, her expression no longer demure. “I simply said that if Bradley was the best you could do for yourself, it wouldn’t hurt to have the Goddess look around and see if she couldn’t find someone a little better. That’s hardly begging. Lord above, I’d think you’d be grateful for this chance to find what most people don’t ever have a chance to find—their true soul mate.”

I opened my mouth to dispute her statement, but caught sight of an extremely fat black cat with white whiskers and one white paw as he uncurled himself from an adjacent cushioned wicker chair. I held out a lime-scented hand, but the cat, with disdain that would do a king proud, gave me the equivalent to a cat sneer and waddled over to plop himself down before Miranda.

“Whatever,” I shrugged off my friend's comments, figuring the evening would go faster if I kept my skepticism to myself. I didn’t really believe in all of the hocus-pocus that Miranda claimed to tap into with her spells and invocations to the Goddess, but then, there were a few things that had happened in her presence that I couldn’t easily explain. Roxy swallowed it all, though, and despite what she said, she had asked me to sit with her for support. I figured it was the least I could do for someone who'd been with me through good times and bad. “Miranda, don’t you think it’s time to put Davide on a diet? He’s almost as big as the Rottweiler that lives down the street from me.”

“We are ready to begin.” Miranda glared me into silence, sent Roxy a warning look to keep her quiet as well, then closed her eyes and began to breath deeply, humming a soft little tuneless hum. A gentle breeze swept in through a nearby window, pushing before it the familiar scent of the herbs Miranda used in her invocation candles. A bit guiltily, I remembered that I was supposed to be making my mind open and responsive, and spent a few moments doing a spot of breathing and humming myself, until I got tired of squashing all the little thoughts that kept popping into my head when it was supposed to be an unpainted canvas just waiting for fate’s bold brushstrokes. Or whatever it was that Roxy had read from Miranda’s instructions. I couldn’t quite remember, that part of the conversation being in the pre-gin and tonic part of the evening. Instead I looked back at Davide, now engaged in doing a hearty round of personal hygiene on his rear legs.

"It really is funny that you should have a black cat."

Roxy, who had been emulating Miranda, cracked an eye open and rolled it toward Davide. “Why is it funny she has a black cat?”

Miranda continued a soft hum of indistinguishable words, swaying slightly from side to side as her voice rose and fell fluidly in the evening air. I raised my voice a little so I could be heard over the Call to the Goddess. "Because she’s a witch, idget. I wouldn't think most witches would want a black cat, but you have to admit Davide fits the role of familiar perfectly."

The hum became a bit more pronounced, although Miranda kept her eyes firmly closed.

Roxy sent a worried little glance to her, then leaned close and whispered, “I don’t think they like the word ‘witch’ any more, Joy. Wiccan is what you’re supposed to call them now.”

I whispered back to her, ”Why? What’s wrong with ‘witch’?”

Joy sat up straight again and closed her eyes. “Not PC,” she hissed out of the side of her mouth. “Besides, Wiccans are more in touch with nature. Can’t you feel the power in her Summoning?”

I looked around me at the Circle of Knowledge Miranda had laid out around the two of us, and felt a little shiver of excitement ripple down my back. I may be a skeptic, but I wasn’t a boob. There was something in the air, an electric charge that had the fine hairs on my arms waving around. I reminded myself that it wasn’t everyone Miranda practiced her magic for, and tried to look grateful.

“It’s a bit nerve-wracking, this,” I muttered a few minutes later to Roxy in a soft voice so as not to disturb Miranda as she was Communing with the Goddess. I fished out a piece of ice from my drink and popped it in my mouth. “Not that I think it’ll work with me, but still, it is a bit nervy just sitting here waiting for a spirit on high to flash me the curriculum vitae of the love of my life.”

“It’s time you got a little proactive with your love life,” Roxy muttered back at me. “I may still be a virgin, but at least I’m trying to find Mr. Wonderful. You don’t even go on any dates. How do you expect to find the heavenly bliss of the man nature created just for you if you won’t even look for him?”

“Well,” I said around the crunching of ice, “there is Bradley.”

“That’s not heavenly bliss, Joyful,” Roxy smiled, taking the sting out of her comment with the use of my childhood nickname. “That’s purgatory.”

“You have a point,” I conceded, grimacing at the sight of Davide as he turned his attention to his rectal area. I fervently hoped it wasn't a comment on the success of Miranda's foreseeing. “Although it’s not like I haven’t tried or anything, God knows I have, but you know what the single scene is like out there—it’s blood tests and background checks and references and ‘Please pee in this cup before we go on a date’ screenings, all clinical and stripped bare of any romance.”

“True,” Roxy nodded.

“Whatever happened to good old fashioned falling in love at first sight? That’s what all I ask for, a little romance and candlelight and staring meaningfully into each others’ eyes, knowing you’ve met your perfect mate the second you see him."

"Too many creeps out there these days," Roxy replied. "Love at first sight has been replaced by a comprehensive credit check."

Miranda’s soft hum took on a decidedly a strident tone. I listened for a moment to the murmured words, but could make nothing out of them.

“Shhh,” I pinched Roxy. “You’re going to blow your chances with the Goddess if you keep flapping your lips when you’re supposed to be concentrating.”

“You’re the one who’s supposed to be concentrating,” Roxy pinched me back. “I already know what qualities I want in my perfect man. I bet you haven’t thought about what you want in a man at all.”

“Both of you are supposed to be concentrating,” Miranda intoned between hums.

Roxy and I looked guiltily at one another.

"It really is sweet of you to spend your evening on this, since you had to close your shop for the ritual cleansing and all,” Roxy smiled.

I nodded.

“You're a true friend, Miranda. I hope you know I wouldn't have asked you to go to all this work if it hadn't been an emergency, but what with that date last night with Mr. Octopus Hands, well, a girl just has to do something when she hits the 250th date mark with nary a boyfriend in sight to show for her trouble. And, of course, Joy needs all the help she can get."

“Hey!” I glared at Roxy. She just grinned back at me.

“In fact, I’ve been worried about her for some time. She’s got a dead-end job, an ex-boyfriend who could bore an ice cube, and has no interests outside the library. If we don’t take matters into our own hands, she’ll end up single and chaste the rest of her life, living in a small pink house with thirty-seven cats all named Kevin, with no one to talk to but her successful, happy, cat-less friends.”

“You’re delusional,” I said with great dignity. “And for the record, you have the same dead-end job I have.”

“So if you don’t see her soul mate in the immediate future,” Roxy continued, ignoring my interruption, "I for one would appreciate it if you would lie and say you did. She’s desperate, if you know what I mean.”

And lonely. I was willing to admit that. Very lonely. I swirled the ice in my glass around and reflected on my loneliness. “I’m not desperate, Rox, I’m just...available.”

“Well, there’s always Germany if we can’t find nice American men.”

Miranda opened her eyes to look a question at Roxy.

“Germany,” I reminded her. “Roxy and I are part of the team going to the Frankfurt Book Festival. I have to admit, I wouldn’t mind one of those dishy blonde German men. You think some of them might be wearing lederhosen? Hubba hubba!"

Miranda opened her mouth to say something, thought better of it and shook her head. She continued the soft chanting, a prayer according to the cheat sheet Roxy had given me earlier, to the Goddess for strength and enlightenment.

I flicked ice chips at Davide for a few minutes until Miranda opened her eyes and pinned me back with a look that could strip the stripes off a tiger. “Now is the time for both of you to focus your attention on envisioning your ideal man. You must open yourself to the image engraved on your heart and your soul. Focus on that image, allowing it fill your awareness, narrowing your thoughts until they are made up only of him.”

"Oooh, goody, fantasy time!" I rubbed my hands together and thought of the ideal man made up of the better parts of Colin Firth, Alan Rickman, and Oded Fehr, all rolled into one luscious, droolworthy package.

“Dibs I go first!” Roxy said quickly. I made mean eyes at her. When Miranda sighed and nodded, Roxy sat up as tall as a person who barely tops five feet could, closed her eyes, and started ticking items off her fingers. “OK, here’s my order: someone not too tall, that is important point number one. Lord knows I’ve been on enough dates with tall men. Do you know how disconcerting it is to find yourself staring a man straight in the nipples? I’d like someone of medium height, please. And just to make things easier on you, I won’t be picky about hair color or eye color, or even how handsome the man is, as long as he has really nice hands, knows how to cook, and wants lots and lots of children.”

Miranda smiled as she got to her feet and began sprinkling rose petals around the Circle, still chanting, pausing to make gestures of protection to the four compass points.

“And he’s got to have a good sense of humor. I’m afraid that is a must-have, and I’ll have to return any prospects who turn out to be humorless. Life is simply too short to be stuck with a guy who can’t get down and get silly once in a while.”

“I understand. Joy?”

I glared at my friend. “Geez, Rox, leave something for the rest of us to work with, will you?”

She smirked at me. Miranda cocked an eyebrow in such a manner that I immediately cleared my mind and tried to picture the perfect man.

“Um, well, tall, dark, and handsome goes without saying. Roxy was right about one thing, a sense of humor is good, I’d like a man who likes to laugh."

Roxy rolled her eyes.

"And...um...well...I’d...um... like someone who’s nice to animals."

“Bo-ring!”

"And one who likes to read.”

"So in other words, you want Beaver Cleaver's dad?"

I ignored Roxy's comments, deciding if I was going to do this, I might as well do it right. I thought for a long moment about what I wanted in a man, what I really wanted, what secret desires were hidden deep within me. Slowly, out of the everyday confusion of my mind, an image wavered before me, growing solid as the gentle herb-scented night breeze washed over me. With the brightening image came the words, hesitant and charged with a strange emotion, as if it wasn't really me speaking. "He will send shivers of delight down my spine with the dark cloak of intrigue wrapped around him. He will captivate me, fascinate me, fold me into the air of mystery and adventure that surrounds him, making my blood sing with desire. He will need me, depend on me, trust me where he has trusted no other. He will light my dark hours, and his love will shine as a beacon that will guide me through the most twisted of paths. He is my strength, my faith,  and I will not really begin to live until I know his heart is mine."

“Ooooh," Roxy breathed. "That is so romantic. You should write that down."

I blinked as the image in my mind turned to mist and evaporated. I felt a bit dizzy, like I'd been turning somersaults down a long hill. I was more than a little bit weirded out by the whole thing until I remembered the gin and tonics I'd been sipping on. Although alcohol had never triggered that sort of a vision before, there was a first time for everything.

"I want all that on my list, too!”

“Too late, it’s mine,” I told Roxy with a dazed grin. She punched me in the arm.

“Is that all?” Miranda asked us both, completing the circle and returning to her spot.

“It is for me since old greedy-guts there won’t share the good stuff on her list,” Roxy said huffily.

I ran down my mental checklist. Yup, it was all there, all but one last item...

"I have one more," I said.

Miranda paused in the act of lighting the large candle sitting before her.

“Big private parts,” I told them both. “That’s important, don’t you think? I mean, size does matter, no matter what they say, right? And since we are talking the man for me, my soul mate, he’ll be the only one I sleep with for the rest of my life, so I think he should have really nice personal equipment. Something memorable. The phrase 'hung like a horse' comes to mind.”

“Joy Martine Randall!” Roxy choked.

I made an innocent little moue at her. “What’s wrong? Mad you didn’t think of it first?”

Her hazel eyes flashed a warning at me. I cackled. She was mad I had beaten her to big genitals.

Miranda gave me a look of martyrdom that had me biting back my cackle to a more seemly giggle. “OK, you don’t have to include that last item on the official request list. I can live with a man with regular set of  dangly bits as long as the rest of the items are there. As long as he meets the other requirements, I’ll be happy.”

Miranda sighed and shook her head. “You’re so flippant, both of you, I don’t know how you expect me to help you find the man you are searching for if all you’re thinking of is the size of his crotch and whether or not he’s likely to laugh at your jokes. This is serious; the power of the Goddess is nothing to be taken lightly. You should be reaching out with your heart and soul to find this man, not parroting the silly ideas you’ve soaked up from those romances you both read.”

Roxy and I instantly united in a solid front against her condemnation of our beloved romances.

“They aren’t silly or horrible, romances are upbeat and fun to read," my bosom buddy protested.

"Yeah," I added, flipping another ice chip at Davide. He gave me an open-mouthed silent hiss that raised the hairs on the back of my neck. Skeptic I might be, there was no reason to be stupid and tempt powers I wasn't sure didn't exist.

Miranda stilled. "What about those vampire books you are both addicted to?"

Something in the air between us thickened. I wondered if an electrical storm was on its way. "What about them?" I asked.

"They're dangerous."

"Dangerous? How can books be dangerous? They’re just a series of stories about heroes who happen to be vampires, Miranda. It's not like they advocate the drinking of blood or anything."

"Some people," she said to me, without taking her gaze off of Roxy, "believe them to be a guide to their fate."

I looked between her and Roxy. The latter was sitting quietly, picking at the leather thong on her sandal, not meeting our eyes.

"Some people believe every word written in them to be the truth."

I shook my head. "No one really believes in the Book of Secrets' Dark Ones," I told Miranda. "They're just really dark, broody heroes that turn a lot of women on, myself included, I'm not too horribly embarrassed to say. Just because we like the stories doesn't mean we believe that vampires really exist."

"I do," came a soft voice.

I stared at my friend of nineteen years.

"I do," she said louder, with more confidence, an obstinate set to her jaw that I knew well. "I believe they really exist. C. J. Dante, the author of the Book of Secrets series has done extensive research in the Moravian Highlands, the area the Dark Ones live. He even moved there so he could be closer to them, so he could study them and learn their ways. I believe they exist."

She must have felt the weight of two sets of disbelieving eyes, because she hiked her chin up even higher. "Well, I do!"

"Roxy..." I shook my head. "Honey, I know it's a tempting thought to believe that such things really exist, but come on! Vampires? Men who drink blood and burn up in the sun and wander around all tormented and angsting because they haven't found the right woman to save their soul? I'll admit some of the guys you've dated might meet a few of those qualifications, but we're going to have to a have a long, long talk if you're going to start believing in ghosties and goulies and things that go bump in the night."

I had forgotten in whose house I was sitting.

"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy," Miranda said quietly.

"Yeah, but I don't think Shakespeare had Moravian Dark Ones in mind when he wrote that," I argued.

She just looked at me with light, light grey eyes that reminded me of a full moon at its brightest. Her belief in things that I doubted made me uncomfortably aware of just what I was doing sitting in a circle of candles. "Look, why don't we get on with this. Dr. Miller wants me to re-catalog the entire biology collection before we leave for Germany, and I'd like to get some sleep before I face a bunch of books on fungi and spores and mildew in the morning."

"No," Roxy said stubbornly. "I want to hear why Miranda believes in the good powers she uses, but won't admit the possibility of a darker side of the same power."

Miranda shook her head, her red curls a riot of crimson and gold in the candlelight. "I never said I don't believe in a dark power, Roxanne. I do, most profoundly. There are things I have seen that I hope I never see again, but that type of danger is not what I'm speaking about. I'm talking about the power of a persuasion, the intent of the author who includes in his fiction ideas dangerous to your soul."

“Dante writes them as fiction, true,” Roxy argued, “but all of his followers know the stories are based on truths he has uncovered during his research. You should see the websites devoted to the genealogies of the people Dante has written about—”

“They’re romances for the masses, glorifying the cult of bloodsucking killers.“

“Oh!” Roxy stormed, leaping up. I reached out to grab the back of her leg, but she sidestepped quickly until she was almost out of the circle. “Bloodsucking killers? I’ll have you know that every single Dark One is tormented, very, very tormented by the horrible truth of his life, and none of them kill people. They just borrow a little blood now and again. I don’t see what’s so wrong about that!”

“Roxanne, if you don’t sit back down, you will break the Circle of Truth, and the Invocation will be useless.”

She sat down with a hrmph. “Take it back, Miranda.”

“This Dante is guilty of brainwashing you, of seducing innocents like yourself into thinking the darkness found in men's souls is something to be tampered with...”

"Luke, beware the dark side," I intoned in my best Obi Wan Kenobi voice.

Both women turned astonished faces at me. I gave them a weak smile and held up my hands. "Sorry, I thought it was funny. You know, Miranda, I don't mean to be picky, but some of what you believe could be thought to be a bit...well, out there."

She raised an eyebrow. "My beliefs are not the point—it is the silliness of these books, these novels that you and others insist on believing are real that I'm concerned about."

"I don't believe they're real," I said at the same time Roxy muttered, "They're a lot more real than some things I can name."

"Only the foolish meddle in the darkness in men's souls," Miranda warned.

"Dark Ones are not really evil, they just look that way!" Roxy snapped back.

They glared at each other until I decided to mellow them both out.

"Would you two lighten up a bit? You're giving me the creeps with all this talk about the dark power of men's souls and stuff."

Miranda was shaking her head again, even before I stopped speaking. "The dark power within each of us is nothing to joke about, Joy."

"Right. Sorry. So why don't we agree to disagree?" I asked, gesturing between the two of them. "Roxy will continue to believe that there are actual Moravian Dark Ones wandering around looking for women to save their souls, and you'll continue to believe that famed author C. J. Dante is a nutball bent on world domination by brainwashing millions of frustrated housewives. K? Are we all happy now?"

"I won't be until she takes back what she said about the Dark Ones!"

Miranda sighed as she reinforced the bounds of the circle. “Very well, I take it back. They’re harmless little books that give you and millions of others pleasure, and as long as you realize they are fiction, completely fiction, and not a guidebook to exploring the dark forces within, I will withdraw my objections.”

I figured that was as much as an apology as she was going to give. Roxy evidently decided the same because she nodded.

“I want to warn you both, though,” Miranda added as she shook a long, elegant finger at us, “that those who play with fire should expect to be consumed by it.”

"Consumed by the fire of passion," I grinned at her as I fingered the ice that was left in my glass. "Sounds like something from one of Dante's books! I'm willing to bet there are worse ways to go, huh?"

Davide gave me another silent hiss.

MORE INFO ABOUT THE BOOK

Jim’s Blog was a promotional piece written for the publication of the fourth Aisling Grey novel, Holy Smokes, and featured Jim writing to his beloved Welsh Corgi girlfriend, Cecile. Penguin Putnam liked authors to write a short piece for readers when their new books were released, usually taking the form of a Dear Reader letter. I disliked doing those letters, so I tried my best to give readers something unique to read instead. What follows is Jim’s take on life in the madhouse that was Aisling’s life.

PERSONAL CORRESPONDENCE AND BLOG

OF EFFRIJIM, DEMON SIXTH CLASS

––––––––

To: Amelie@grimoirefrancais.com

From: demonsdoitbetter@dragonsepts.com

Subject: My love!

Dearest Cecile,

I long to suck your ears, my darling. The silky smoothness of them, the piquant taste of the furry tips, the sensual little shiver you do when I engulf them in my mouth...I yearn for you, my sweet love. Do you yearn for me, too?

Slurps and sniffs,

Jim

––––––––

To: demonsdoitbetter@dragonsepts.com

From: AGrey@dragonsepts.com

Subject: Re: My love!

Jim:

For the fifth time in a week, will you PLEASE check your address book? I’m tired of getting these canine quasi-pornographic e-mails because something is messed up in your address book and they’re going to me instead of Amelie.

Aisling

PS—that’s just sick that you make Amelie read those aloud to Cecile. Have you no shame?

––––––––

To: Amelie@grimoirefrancais.com

From: demonsdoitbetter@dragonsepts.com

Subject: My love, Part Deux

Dearest Cecile:

How do I love thee? Shall I count the ways? I love the way your butt waddles when you walk. I love the grunts you make when you get to your feet after a long evening of cuddling with yours truly. I love it when we go for walkies, and you let me have the good poop spot. In other words, I love thee to the depth and breadth of my heart. Or something poetic like that.

Longing to sniff your butt,

Jim

––––––––

To: demonsdoitbetter@dragonsepts.com

From: AGrey@dragonsepts.com

Subject: Re: My love, Part Deux

Jim:

You don’t have a heart. Fix the address book. NOW!

Aisling

––––––––

To: Amelie@grimoirefrancais.com

From: demonsdoitbetter@dragonsepts.com

Subject: Adorable one!

My beloved, scrumdillyicious Cecile:

I have written three haikus for you in celebration of our eternal love.

You walk under me

With your tiny little legs

I drool on your head.

A tail-less butt wags.

It entices, arouses.

Come to daddy now!

I love you so much.

There is nothing I love more.

Oh, look! Dinner time!

Ever thine,

Jim

––––––––

To: demonsdoitbetter@dragonsepts.com

From: AGrey@dragonsepts.com

Subject: Knock it off!

Effrijim, I order you to examine your address book and remove my name from it! Immediately!

A very annoyed demon lord

––––––––

To: Amelie@grimoirefrancais.com

From: demonsdoitbetter@dragonsepts.com

Subject: Demon lords are so overrated.

Cecile o’ the ears:

Aisling is off her rocker. Yeah, again. I know it just seems like it was yesterday that she was completely gaga—oh, wait, it was just yesterday—but at this point, she’s several onions short of a tuna salad.

First, she got all bent out of shape over a couple of misdirected e-mails. Then, this morning, this little conversation took place:

[Scene—living room. I had the sunny spot on the couch, and possession of the Sunday papers. Life was good.]

Aisling came into the room, followed by that butt-kissing demon Tracy who was yammering away about being the acting Venediger—that’s the head honcho of the Paris Otherworld.

“But my lord,” Tracy said, trying to foist a clipboard on Aisling. “You said I only had to be Venediger for a day or two, until the citizens of Paris rose up and elected one themselves. It has been three weeks now. Three weeks! I cannot possibly do justice to your lordship’s business and be Venediger as well. I beg you, please find someone else to do the job.”

“I told you yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before the day before yesterday that I was doing everything I could to de-Venediger you, but until things settle down in Paris, you’re just going to have cope.”

“But my lord—” Tracy said in one of those annoying whining voices that I knew grated on Ash’s nerves.

“Look!” she snapped, whirling around from where she was gathering up her cell phone and purse and keys and stuff from where she’d strewn it around the room (and she has the nerve to call me a slob!). “I am doing the best I can, OK? But it’s not a bowl of kumquats for me, either!”

“Cherries,” I corrected her, smirking to myself at the frustrated look on Tracy’s face. I just know it wants my job. Ha! Fat chance it’ll get it from me! Aisling is devoted to me.

“You!” she snarled, spinning around to point a finger at me. “How many times do I have to tell you? That’s Drake’s antique couch, and your shedding butt is not allowed on it. Get off it now, or I’ll send you to work in the demon software factory! Pronto!”

“Crikey, keep your grimoire on. It’s just a few hairs,” I said with much dignity as I withdrew from the couch onto the dog bed she insists I use. Like I’m an animal or something! Sheesh!

“I understand that your lordship is having a difficult time adjusting to being a prince of Abaddon, but I, too, am having problems. The amount of stress I’m under having to do both jobs with which you’ve saddled me—” Tracy started to say.

“Stress!” Aisling shrieked. I mean, a real shriek, the kind that is so high and screechy, it makes you squint your eyes when it pierces your eardrums. “STRESS! You think you’ve got stress?”

Tracy started backing up when she stalked toward it. I have to say, I felt a bit sorry for the demon—Ash’s eyes are bad enough under normal situations, but when she’s all wigged out, they are positively creepy.

“I...I...” Tracy stammered.

“You only have two measly little jobs! Try being a demon lord, a wvyern’s mate, a Guardian, and a prince of Abaddon all at the same time if you want to know what stress is!” she snapped, still walking forward toward the demon.

“I understand, but—”

“Try being proscribed, just a hair’s breadth away from eternally damned for a little stress,” she continued, backing Tracy into a corner.

The demon looked around nervously, licking its lips. I snickered to myself, but quietly, ‘cause there was no way in Abaddon I wanted to draw Aisling’s attention to myself.

“You think you’re stressed?” She snatched the clipboard from the demon, scrawled her name on the top piece of paper, and slapped it back across Tracy’s chest. “I’m mated to the wrong friggin’ dragon! Now there’s some stress!”

“Yes, but—”

She took a deep breath. I slid off the dog bed and went to stand behind the couch. Not to hide, you understand. But dark power started to glow in a corona around Aisling, and that’s never a good sign.

“And on top of it all, as if all of that wasn’t enough to give a girl an ulcer, I have a wedding to plan.”

“A wedding?” Tracy squeaked, pressed so tightly against the wall, its body started to flatten. “Yours? Con-congratulations.”

“Thank you!” Aisling leaned forward, her face in the demon’s, her weird white eyes glowing with vivid intensity. “But even that I could cope with. No, it’s the other part, the truly frightening event, the thing so horrific that I can’t sleep at night, I can’t eat, I can’t enjoy Drake’s fabulous body. It’s so completely terrifying, I’m ready to throw in everything and run away to live in a cave in the deepest, darkest reaches of Tibet.”

Tracy’s mouth dropped open for a second. It swallowed hard a couple of times before it finally got out in a hoarse, frightened whisper, “Fires of Abaddon—what is it that’s happening?”

Aisling stood up straight, a look of martyred, hopeless doom etched deep upon her features as a little tremor shook her body. “My family is coming for the wedding.”

Tracy fainted dead away. Aisling struck one final dramatic pose, then gathered up her things, told me I’d better not pee on the back of the couch (geesh, you have one little error in judgment, and they never let you forget it), and stormed off to inflict herself on some poor innocent at Hannah’s House of Bridal Joy.

And so you see, my beloved and adorable one, just how bad things are here. Ash is running around like a hell hound with its head lopped off trying to get ready for this wedding and her family’s visit, Drake is being all manly and bossy like he normally is, and me...well, I’m a bit lonely. I miss Nora, since she can’t come by any more because of Aisling being proscribed and all. I miss taking walks with Aisling—István or Pál goes out with me now, ever since one of the red dragons tried to do me in with a hacksaw. I miss yacking with Rene—he’s gone back home to take care of his own family. But most of all, I miss seeing you wiggle. I just hope this wedding business is over soon, so life can settle down to normal again. Or as normal as it gets around here, which, admittedly, doesn’t really follow the definition of the word.

Mucho lickies, babycakes.

Your everlovin’,

Jim

My Heart Will Go On and On was written at the request of Penguin for the release of Much Ado About Vampires. It explained a bit about why Cora knew who Alec was, and why she reacted as she did. After a bit of discussion, Penguin actually tucked this short story into the main book, but I’m including it here for folks who haven’t dipped into that book (or any of the vampire books).

My Heart Will Go On and On

Monday

6pm

“What do you see, Corazon?”

“Um. Mud.” I sensed the hypnotherapist’s disapproval of my answer, and qualified it. “Well, mud and grass and stuff like that. But mostly just mud.”

“Are you sure she’s under?” Patsy asked, her voice sounding dubious. “She doesn’t look hypnotized to me. CORA! Can you hear me?”

“I’d have to be five miles away not to hear you,” I said, cracking open an eye and peering at her from where I lay prone the couch. “I’m hypnotized, you idiot, not deaf.”

“Is she supposed to know she’s hypnotized?” Terri asked, sitting on the floor across from me, watching with bright, interested eyes. “That doesn’t negate the regression, does it?”

“Hypnotism isn’t a magical state of unknowing,” Barbara the hypnotherapist answered. “She is simply relaxed, in touch with her true inner spirit, and has opened up her mind to the many memories of lifetimes past. I assure you that she is properly hypnotized.”

“Let me get a pin and poke her with it,” Patsy said, bustling over to a bookcase crammed full of books and various other items. “If she reacts, we’ll know she’s faking it.”

“No one is poking me with anything!” I shot my friend a quelling look.

“Please, ladies,” Barbara said with a glance at her watch. Poor woman, I felt for her doing personal regressions at Barbara’s yearly “Girl’s Night In” party. Luckily, there were only three of us this year. “We have limited time. Corazon is in a light trance, also referred to as an alpha state. Through that, she has tapped into her higher self, her true Infinite Being, a state in which she is free to bypass the boundaries of time.”

“Yeah. Bypassing all that stuff,” I said, giving my friend a smirk. “So sit back and watch the show. What do I do now, Barbara?”

“Look around you. Examine your surroundings. Tell us what you see, what you feel.”

“I see mud. I feel mud.”

“There has to be more to her past life than mud, surely,” Terri said, reaching for the bowl of popcorn.

“Are there any buildings or other structures around to give you an idea of what year you are reliving?” Barbara asked.

“Um...nothing on the left side other than a bunch of forest. I seem to be standing on a dirt path of some sort. Let me walk to the top of this little hill—oh! Wow! There’s a town down below. And it looks like there’s a castle way up on a tall cliff in the distance. Lots of tiny little people are running around in some fields outside of the town. Cool! It’s like a medieval village or something. Think I’ll go down to say hi.”

“Excellent,” Barbara said, adjusting the video camera she was using to record the session. “Now tell me, how do you feel?”

“Well...” I examined the scene my mind had created, whether it was from a past life, or just a fertile imagination, I had no way of knowing. “I’m kind of hungry. No, really hungry. Kind of an intense hunger, throbbing inside me. Oh great, I’m a peasant, aren’t I? I’m a poor starving peasant who stands around in mud. Lovely.”

“We are not here to make judgments on our past selves,” Barbara said primly.

“Geesh, Cora,” Patsy said, looking disgusted. “Terri turned out to be Cleopatra’s personal maid, and I was one of Caesar’s concubines. You’re letting down the team, here. The least you could do is be a medieval princess in a big hat or something.”

I looked closer at my mind-self. “I have shoes on. Peasants didn’t wear shoes, did they?”

“Some did, I’m sure,” Terri said, stuffing a handful of popcorn into her mouth as she watched my past life regression.

“Can you walk to the town?” Barbara asked, moving a light slightly so it was off my face. “Perhaps we can find out who you are.”

“Yeah. I’m going down the hill now. Hey, watch where you’re—oh my god. Oh my god! OMIGOD!”

“What? What’s happened?” Barbara asked, looking worried.

“A woman with an ox cart just ran me over.”

“What?” Patsy shrieked.

“She ran me over. Her oxen were running amok or something. They just came barreling down the hill behind me and ran right over the top of me. Holy Swiss on rye! Now the oxen are trampling me, and the lady in the cart is screaming and—jehosophat! My head just came off! It just came right off! Ack!”

Terri sat staring at me, her eyes huge, a handful of popcorn frozen just beyond her mouth as she gawked.

“Oh, my. I don’t—I’ve never had anyone die during a regression,” Barbara said, looking more worried. “I’m not quite sure how to proceed.”

“You’re...decapitated?” Patsy asked, looking as stunned as I felt, staring down at the gruesome scene. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure, Pats. My head’s separated from my body, which is covered in ox hoof prints. A wheel went over my neck, I think. It...urgh. That’s just really gross. Why the hell do I get the reincarnations where I’m killed by two bulls and a cart? Why can’t I be Cleopatra’s concubine?”

“Personal maid, not concubine,” Terri corrected, stuffing the popcorn into her mouth and chewed frantically. “Are you absolutely certain you’re dead? Maybe it looks worse than it is.”

I shot her a look before relaxing back on the pillow. “My head is three feet away from my body. I think that’s pretty good indicator of death—good god! Now what’s she doing?”

“The ox?” Patsy asked.

“No, the driver. She’s not doing what I think she’s doing, is she?”

“I don’t know,” Terri said, scooting closer, as if that would let her peer into my mind.

“This is very unusual,” Barbara muttered to herself, checking her digital camera. “We should document it. Yes. Documentation is good.”

“What’s the lady doing?” Patsy said, sitting on the couch next to my feet.

“She’s trying to stick my head back on to my body. Lady, that’s not going to do any good. No, you can’t tie it on, either. Ha. Told you so. Oh, don’t drop me in the mud! Sheesh! Like I wasn’t muddy enough? What a butterfingers. Now she’s chasing the oxen, who just bolted for a field. Oh, no, she’s coming back. Her arms are waving around like she’s yelling, only I can’t hear anything. It must be the shock of having my head severed by a cart wheel.”

“This is just too surreal,” Terri said. “Do you think she purposely ran you down?”

“I don’t think so. She seems kind of goofy. She just tripped over my leg and fell onto my head. Oh man! I think she broke my nose! God almighty, this is like some sort of horrible Marx Brothers meets Leatherface sort of movie. Holy runaway oxen, Batman!”

“What?” Terri and Patsy asked at the same time.

“She’s doing something. Something weird.”

“Oh my god—is she making love to your lifeless corpse?” Terri asked. “I saw a show on HBO about that!”

“No, she’s not molesting me. She’s standing above me waving her hands around and chanting or something. What the—she’s like—hoo!”

“Don’t get upset,” Barbara said, taking copious notes. “You are in no personal danger. Just describe what you’re seeing calmly, and in detail.”

“I don’t know about you, but I consider a decapitation and barbeque as some sort of personal danger,” I said, watching the scene in my mind’s eye with stunned disbelief.

“Barbeque?” Patsy asked. “Someone’s roasting a pig or something?”

“No. The ox lady waved her hands around, and all of a sudden this silver light was there, all over my body, singeing it around the edges. Oh great. Here comes someone. Hey, you, mister, would you stop the lady from doing the light thing? She’s burnt off half of my hair.”

“This is the most bizarre thing I’ve ever heard,” Terri told Patsy. “You have the best parties!”

“It’s all in the planning,” Patsy said modestly. “What’s going on now, Cora?”

“The guy just saw me. He did a little stagger to the side. I think it’s because the lady tried to hide my head behind her, and my ear flew off and landed at his feet. Now he’s picking it up. He’s yelling at her. She’s pointing to the oxen in the field, but he looks really pissed. Yeah, you tell her, mister. She has no right driving if she can’t handle her cows.”

“This would make a great film,” Patsy said, looking thoughtful. “I wonder if we could write a screenplay? We could make millions.”

“Well, now the guy has my head, and he’s shaking it at the lady, still yelling at her. Woops. Chunk of hair came loose. My head is bouncing down the hill. Guy and lady are chasing it. Hee hee hee. OK, that’s really funny in a horrible sort of way. Ah. Good for you, sir. He caught me again, and now he’s taking me back to my body, hauling the ox lady with him. Whoa! Whoa, whoa, whoa!”

“Did he drop your head again?” Terri asked, offering me the bowl of popcorn. I shook my head.

“No, he just...holy shit! I want out of here! Take me out of this dream or whatever it is! Wake me up!”

“Remain calm,” Barbara said in a soothing voice. “The images you see are in the past, and cannot harm you now.”

“What’s going on? What did the guy do?” Terri asked.

“I want to wake up! Right now!” I said, clawing the couch to sit up.

“Very well. I’m going to count backwards to one, and when I reach that number, you will awaken feeling refreshed and quite serene. Five, four, three, two, one. Welcome back, Corazon.”

“You OK?” Patsy asked as I sat up, gasping, my blood all but curdling at the memory of what I’d witnessed.

“Yeah. I think so.”

“What happened at the end?” Terri asked. “You looked scared to death.”

“You’d be scared too if you saw a vampire kill someone!” I rubbed my arms. Goose bumps ran up and down them.

“A vampire! You’re kidding!” Patsy gasped.

“I wish I was. He just kind of pounced on the woman, fangs flashing, and blood everywhere, and then she collapsed and he had blood all over his mouth. It was horrible. I never, ever want to see anything like that again. Man alive! I need a drink!”

A half hour later, Barbara the hypnotherapist left, but only after giving me her card and telling me she wanted to interview me at length about my regression session.

I said nothing, just nodded, not wanting to remember the horrible scene.

“What really gets me is that the whole bit with me being run down and killed didn’t bother me,” I told my friends as we sat over a couple of bottles of wine. “But that man, that vampire...brrr. I’ll never forget the look on his face as long as I live. It was like he was in hell. I’ve never seen such anguish before, and then he was just on her, biting her. Urgh. It was terrible.”

“What did he look like?”

I thought, trying to separate the last images of him from the earlier ones. “Tall. Muscular. Dark hair. Green eyes. Squarish chin. Handsome, really. The kind of guy if you saw him in a mall, you’d do a double-take.”

“Sounds like my neighbor,” Patsy said, getting to her feet.

“You have a handsome neighbor you’ve been keeping from us?” I asked her.

“Well, I don’t see him very often. He works at night or something—I never see him during the day. But he’s gorgeous, really gorgeous. He likes to swim in the nude.”

“We’re you’re oldest friends,” Terri said. “You owe it to us to share gorgeous men who swim naked.”

“How,” I said, my mind slightly muddled because of the wine, “do you know he swims naked?”

Patsy hiccupped. “If you happen to be at the east side of my fence pruning the hedge, there’s a bare spot where you can see into his back yard, and the pool.”

“I wanna see,” Terri said, tipping over.

“You have had way too mush wine, misshy,” I said, pulling her upright. “But I agree. I want to see the naked gorgeous neighbor.”

Patsy glanced at the clock. “Normally I don’t see him until closer to midnight, but a little fresh air will do us good. Tally ho, ladies!”

“We’re off to get a fox,” Terri said, giggling as we clutched each other and staggered after Patsy, who carried a bottle of wine with her, pointing it toward the back yard.

It took a good ten minutes to get to the spot Patsy had mentioned, but only because we all had to troop back into the house, one by one, to use the facilities.

“Sucks having a tiny bladder,” Terri said, wobbling slightly as she returned to where Patsy and I were laying on the grass, sharing the last bottle of wine. “C’mon, let’s go find that neighbor.”

There was no one in the pool.

“Dammit,” I said, clutching a tree that stood next to the neighbor’s house.

“Well, that’s disappointing,” Patsy said. “Maybe he’ll be out later.”

“Antimacassar,” Terri said, taking a swig off the bottle.

“Huh?” I asked.

“I think she means anticlimatical,” Patsy said with great precision.

“Ah. Gotcha. Well, hell. I’m all keyed up to see a gorgeous guy.”

“I know!” Terri said, heading for the house. “Let’sh peek in the windows to see him.”

“Ter!” Patsy said, her voice hushed as she ran after Terri. “That’s illegal.”

“No it isn’t,” she insisted. “He’s your neighbor, right? That’sh not illegal to look in a neighbor’s house. You ever hear of Neighborhood Watch? We do it all the time. It’sh good. C’mon. Let’s peek.”

“Somehow, that makes sense,” I said, following the pair. “I think it’s because I’m drunk.”

By the time we found a window that wasn’t curtained, and which looked in on what appeared to be a living room done in shades of cream and white, Patsy had to pee again, and was urging us to return to her house.

“What’sh the big deal?” Terri asked, having some difficulty navigating the one step that led up to the doors.

“He’s my neighbor! I don’t want him pissed at me.”

“It’s not like he’s going to know we were here,” I pointed out, admiring the intricate tile laid in the entryway.

“He’s going to know I was here if I leave a big puddle of wee,” she said, her legs crossed as she did a little hopping dance. “Let’s go back home. I really have to go!”

“OK. I don’t see him anyw—hoo! I see him!” Terri plastered herself to the glass on either side of the double front doors, loudly jabbing the glass with her finger. “Look! Do you see? Oh, baby, you’re right. He is gorgeous, although he’s not naked. Hey, he’s looking this way. I wonder if he can see us?”

“It’s night outside,” I said, waving my arms around to show her the night. “See? Black. Night. No one can see us. We’re like ninjas. Except for the wee puddles.”

The door opened, light spilling out from inside, the silhouette of a man clearly visible. “Can I help you?” he asked, his voice deep and alluring with a slight German accent.

“I have to wee!” Patsy wailed, clutching at herself. She shoved the bottle at me and pushed past the neighbor into his house.

“Second door on the left,” he directed her. She ran in the direction he was pointing.

He turned back to us, but I couldn’t see him clearly, what with the light behind him. “Is there something I can do for you ladies?”

“Pats said you like to swim in the altogether,” Terri said, looking hopeful.

“Ah. Well, I’ve had my swim for the day. Is there anything else?”

He stepped out of the doorway and onto the entryway, straight into the light cast by a standing yard lamp a few feet away.

I dropped the bottle of wine, pointing at him as my skin tried to crawl away.

“What’s wrong, Cora?” Terri asked, weaving slightly. “You look like you’re going to barf.”

“Vampire,” I said, the word coming out as a croak.

The man, who had been reaching out to steady Terri, suddenly whirled around to look at me.

“What?” Terri asked, wobbling her way down the lone step.

“Vampire,” I repeated.

The man narrowed his green eyes at me. “Who the hell are you?”

“VAMPIRE!” I screamed, and suddenly, the world started spin, and a great big back hole opened up at my feet, and I fell into it.

The last sound I heard was that of Patsy. “Oh, thank you, Alec. I really didn’t want to wee on your lovely tile work. What’s Cora doing on the ground?”

Baltic’s Journal is another promotional piece written at the request of Penguin for the release of one of the Light Dragon books (most probably Love in the Time of Dragons). It’s a micro short, super, super quick, but I’m including it because the last entry makes me laugh every time I read it.

Baltic’s Journal

Transcriber’s note: although the origins of the diary presented here are lost in antiquity, it is attributed to the black wyvern named Baltic. It should be noted, however, that Baltic has never admitted to ownership.

Day One

Recorded by Samuel the Scribe

Birthday. Present to self: wax tablets to record many important thoughts, and scribe to write them down. Is new millennium today. What will the future bring for the sept? More importantly, will I be named heir, or will that bastard Constantine’s bribes work? Must look into lopping off his head. Wonder if I could get Kostya to do it? He likes beheading people.

Day Two

Recorded by Brother Guillaume

Birthday again. Present to self: battle-axe. Forgot to write in new diary for last two hundred and fifteen years. Busy trying to keep that bastard Constantine from assassinating me. Thinks I don’t know he was the one who put the vipers in my bed. Ha! Put scorpions in his pillow. Only stung his ears, though. Must find stronger poison next time. Until then, heard rumors French lord is invading England. Big battle. Will sail tomorrow to see if I can join in the fighting. Wish bastard Constantine would be there. Would like opportunity to “accidentally” kill him.

Day Three

Birthday again. Present: two wenches given to me by Kostya’s green dragon brother (he had an excess and was giving them to anyone who would take them). Went to sarkany with others. Red dragon wyvern hit on me. Told her I wasn’t interested. Told her she had a mate. She said she liked her dragons black. Told her to see Kostya (he’ll bed anything).

Day Four

Birthday. Present to self: heir at last! Chuan Ren still pissed about spurning. Sent me letter saying she would declare war if I didn’t let her lick me all over. Told her to see Kostya. Having new armor made up with big BLACK DRAGON SEPT HEIR written on it. Will wear whenever around bastard Constantine. Ha ha ha ha!

Day Five

Birthday. Present to self: sept! Am wyvern. Constantine snotty to me at ceremony. Tempted to banish him, but held back because am thoughtful wyvern. Kostya named to elite guard, along with Pavel and Matheo. Told them to watch for vipers in their beds. Going to sarkany tomorrow for weyr recognition. Hope Chuan Ren keeps her hands to herself. Will have Kostya take his tunic off as a distraction.

Day Six

Birthday. Present to self: weyr war. Not much of a present, but at least will have a few good battles. Bastard Constantine went and formed his own sept. Jealous of me, clearly. Said he didn’t like the way I got all the girls. Jumped at the chance for a war with black dragons. Other septs joined in war, too. Good news: get the beat the shite out of bastard Constantine. Bad news: black plague on mortals. Heard half the population was wiped out. Oops.

Day Seven

Birthday. Present to self: hot chick. Too bad she’s a silver dragon. Still, could be worse—could be Chuan Ren.

Day Eight

Birthday. Present to self: hot chick wants a baby. Score!

Day Nine

Birthday. Present to self: going to punch Kostya in the nose. Bastard Constantine still alive, dammit. Hides behind other dragons when we meet in battle. Doesn’t respond when I flap arms and cluck at him, although got snippy when called him “Connie” at last sarkany. War: still going. Mortals: dropping like flies. Really should stop war before no mortals left, but Connie too much of a pain in the arse. Kostya: bitching about way am running sept. Ysolde still hot.

Day Ten

Birthday. Present to self: none. Kostya killed me. Damn.

The Dark Ones on Facebook is another piece Penguin asked me to write to kick off the release of In the Company of Vampires, the long-awaited tale of Ben and Fran all grown up. Rather than writing one of the standard Dear Reader letters, I decided it would be fun to see how the vampires and their buddies would interact online. And thus, the Dark One Dies at Dawn event was born.

DARK ONES ON FACEBOOK

MORE BOOKS BY KATIE

Want to hear the latest news about upcoming books, read sneak peeks, and get exclusive freebies and offers? Join the fun in Katie’s exclusive Reader List.

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Dark Ones Series

A GIRL’S GUIDE TO VAMPIRES

SEX AND THE SINGLE VAMPIRE

SEX, LIES, AND VAMPIRES

EVEN VAMPIRES GET THE BLUES

BRING OUT YOUR DEAD (novella)

THE LAST OF THE RED-HOT VAMPIRES

ZEN AND THE ART OF VAMPIRES

CROUCHING VAMPIRE, HIDDEN FANG

CUPID CATS (novella)

IN THE COMPANY OF VAMPIRES

CONFESSIONS OF A VAMPIRE’S GIRLFRIEND

MUCH ADO ABOUT VAMPIRES

A TALE OF TWO VAMPIRES

THE UNDEAD IN MY BED (novella)

Aisling Grey Guardian Series

YOU SLAY ME

FIRE ME UP

LIGHT MY FIRE

HOLY SMOKES

DEATH’S EXCELLENT VACATION (short story)

Silver Dragon Series

PLAYING WITH FIRE

UP IN SMOKE

ME AND MY SHADOW

Light Dragon Series

LOVE IN THE TIME OF DRAGONS

THE UNBEARABLE LIGHTNESS OF DRAGONS

SPARKS FLY

Dragon Fall Series

DRAGON FALL

DRAGON STORM

DRAGON SOUL

Time Thief Series

TIME THIEF

THE ART OF STEALING TIME

Matchmaker in Wonderland Series

THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING ALICE

A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S ROMP

DARING IN A BLUE DRESS

PERILS OF PAULIE

Contemporary Single Titles

IMPROPER ENGLISH

BIRD OF PARADISE (novella)

MEN IN KILTS

THE CORSET DIARIES

A HARD DAY’S KNIGHT

BLOW ME DOWN

IT’S ALL GREEK TO ME

Noble Historical Series

NOBLE INTENTIONS

NOBLE DESTINY

THE TROUBLE WITH HARRY

THE TRUTH ABOUT LEO

Suffragette Historical Series

SUFFRAGETTE IN THE CITY

Paranormal Single Titles

AIN’T MYTH BEHAVING

DEATH’S EXCELLENT VACATION (short story)

MY BIG FAT SUPERNATURAL HONEYMOON

(short story)

Mysteries / writing as Kate Marsh

GHOST OF A CHANCE

Steampunk Romance

STEAMED

Young Adult / Writing as Katie Maxwell

CONFESSIONS OF A VAMPIRE’S GIRLFRIEND

EYELINER OF THE GODS

Emily Series

THE YEAR MY LIFE WENT DOWN THE LOO

THEY WEAR WHAT UNDER THEIR KILTS

WHAT’S FRENCH FOR “EW”?

THE TAMING OF THE DRU

LIFE, LOVE AND THE PURSUIT OF HOTTIES

ABOUT KATIE

For as long as she can remember, Katie MacAlister has loved reading. Growing up in a family where a weekly visit to the library was a given, Katie spent much of her time with her nose buried in a book.

Two years after she started writing novels, Katie sold her first romance, Noble Intentions. More than fifty books later, her novels have been translated into numerous languages, been recorded as audiobooks, received several awards, and have been regulars on the New York Times, USA Today, and Publishers Weekly bestseller lists. Katie lives in the Pacific Northwest with two dogs and a cat, and can often be found lurking around online.

You are welcome to join Katie’s official discussion group on Facebook, as well as connect with her via Twitter, Goodreads, and Instagram. For more information, visit:

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