Summary:
THIRDS, Inc #8
In a matter of days, Dex has been kidnapped, tortured, killed, revived, become half Therian, offered the chance to become a spy, and accepted a proposal to marry his jaguar Therian boyfriend, Sloane Brodie. It’s been a lot to take in, and although Dex is still trying to wrap his head around everything that’s happened, he knows he has to move forward.
After the events of Smoke & Mirrors, Dex and Sloane find themselves in one of the most frightening situations of all: revealing the truth to their Destructive Delta family. When the dust settles, nothing will ever be the same, and it’s up to Dex to prove that in the face of change, the one thing that will always remain the same is family.
After the events of Smoke & Mirrors, Dex and Sloane find themselves in one of the most frightening situations of all: revealing the truth to their Destructive Delta family. When the dust settles, nothing will ever be the same, and it’s up to Dex to prove that in the face of change, the one thing that will always remain the same is family.
Just like all my reviews I won't spoil anything even though this is a long ago written series, I came late to the party and I know there are many out there who have yet to experience everything Dex, Sloane, and the whole THIRDS gang so I won't touch on anything plot-wise.
Just like in my original review, I still found #7 & 8 so closely linked that just as with the reading form, the audios had to be listened to together and reviewed together.
Honestly, as much as I love the whole THIRDS gang, Dex and Sloane have always been my favorite. Is it because they were the initial introduction couple? Maybe. Is it because their chemistry is so unforgettable? Perhaps. Is it that their level of snark and cuddle is so snarky and so cuddley? Possibly. Frankly, I think it's a case of all three and so much more that I just can't find the proper words for. So what I will say is this: Mark Westfield's voice brings to life Charlie Cochet's words and characters so powerfully and spot on that I can see it happening right in front of me, I feel like I'm a fly on the wall, a window shopper on the street, if I stretched out my arm I could touch them, that's how vivid and real Westfield and Cochet make the story.
Spot on all the way around and definitely worthy of many re-listens for years to come.
Original Review October 2017:
Combined Review for Books #7 & 8
Blogger Note: For me, more than any of the series yet these two are so connected that I feel they are almost one super large novel. Though you must read the whole series in order as the characters and storylines are interwoven, its most important that #7 & #8 are read in order IMO. I had the luxury of reading them when they were not new releases so I didn't have the "waiting period" between and frankly I'm super glad for it 😉.
Dexter J Daley, lover of all things 80s & all things Sloane Brodie, is about to have his life turned upside down once again but this time he learns new facts about the past which directly effects his future as well as that of all the members of Destructive Delta and their friends. As much as Dex and Sloane are devoted to each other, will their love survive these new found truths and changes?
As followers to my blog and reviews know, I don't do spoilers and I definitely don't want to spoil any elements of mysteries so I won't touch on any specific plot points for Smoke & Mirrors or Thick & Thin but I will say this: I was blown away and thrown for a loop farther than anything one of Delta's shifters could have hit me with. "Holy Hannah Batman!" came out of my mouth more than once and considering I was reading these while enjoying the refreshing fall air under my maple tree in my front yard and trying not to scare the neighbors with my sudden outbursts, I think those three little words sums up how I felt reading these two better than anything else I could come up with here.
Even though Dex is at the heart of these two installments, don't think Charlie Cochet has forgotten the rest of the team, their friends, family, and co-workers but we also discover a new enemy who may or may not be what Delta is led to believe. Yeah, I know I'm being cryptic but its the closest thing you're going to get out of me concerning the plot 😉.
As I said when I reviewed Hell & High Water #1 a few weeks ago, I had this series on my TBR list for a few years but now that I've read it I can't begin to guess what took so long. Brilliance from beginning to end and I can't wait to see where the author takes these characters in the future but I do know that I will be among the first in line to read any new adventures and they won't be lingering-in-waiting on my TBR list any more.
RATING:
Dexter J Daley, lover of all things 80s & all things Sloane Brodie, is about to have his life turned upside down once again but this time he learns new facts about the past which directly effects his future as well as that of all the members of Destructive Delta and their friends. As much as Dex and Sloane are devoted to each other, will their love survive these new found truths and changes?
As followers to my blog and reviews know, I don't do spoilers and I definitely don't want to spoil any elements of mysteries so I won't touch on any specific plot points for Smoke & Mirrors or Thick & Thin but I will say this: I was blown away and thrown for a loop farther than anything one of Delta's shifters could have hit me with. "Holy Hannah Batman!" came out of my mouth more than once and considering I was reading these while enjoying the refreshing fall air under my maple tree in my front yard and trying not to scare the neighbors with my sudden outbursts, I think those three little words sums up how I felt reading these two better than anything else I could come up with here.
Even though Dex is at the heart of these two installments, don't think Charlie Cochet has forgotten the rest of the team, their friends, family, and co-workers but we also discover a new enemy who may or may not be what Delta is led to believe. Yeah, I know I'm being cryptic but its the closest thing you're going to get out of me concerning the plot 😉.
As I said when I reviewed Hell & High Water #1 a few weeks ago, I had this series on my TBR list for a few years but now that I've read it I can't begin to guess what took so long. Brilliance from beginning to end and I can't wait to see where the author takes these characters in the future but I do know that I will be among the first in line to read any new adventures and they won't be lingering-in-waiting on my TBR list any more.
Summary:
Enchanted Occasions #2.5
Being invisible makes it really hard to get laid.
When half-human Kai Schiffer steps into the Interstices—the post-creation gaps between realms—his supernatural half kicks in and he literally disappears unless…well, don’t ask.
But in a stroke (heh) of good fortune, Kai finally has a chance to show his face (and other parts, stars willing) to his long-time crush Jovan Kos—Interstitial Law Enforcement agent, wolf warrior, occasional berserker, and best man at their mutual best friends’ Imbolc wedding.
Jovan, who’s half in love with Kai already, is grateful his best man duties are light enough that he can focus all his attention on Kai. After all, with Enchanted Occasions Event Planning handling the Olesson-Pakulski wedding, what could possibly go wrong?
Best Beast is a 36,000-word friends-to-lovers story featuring grumpy/sunshiny, awkward invisibility, even more awkward visibility, and a raft of wedding day disasters.*
Summary:
Haunted Love #4
Peter Thorne has a secret—he can bring the dead back to life.
When Peter’s mother died, she passed him the touch of life and made him promise to use his abilities wisely. Unable to bring her back and afraid of being caught or causing too much imbalance in the world, Peter vowed to use his gift only on plants. After all, with people, sometimes dead is better.
Or that is what Peter thinks until he takes a gardening job at Benes Manor. The mystery of a missing girl, an old gothic home, and the whispers and tempting caresses of a ghost in his room lead him to delve deeper into his powers than ever before. Perhaps he can find the missing girl and the origins of his ghostly visitor, if only he knew who to trust—and who and what to touch.
Gardening with a Ghost is part of the MM paranormal romance collaboration Haunted Love.
Summary:
WindWard Triad #1
Nothing could’ve prepared Kell for the strange new world of magic and shifters…and discovering he’s the Windward! Sure, stranger things have happened…but to him?
Keller Thorne, graduate of the school of hard knocks, expected life to be tough but he never expected to be swept off his feet by a handsome alpha shifter.
Johnny Oaks, a Brit living in Boston, has chosen the reclusive life of an outcast werewolf practicing hedge magic. As a Child of the Moon, he split from the witches while his childhood friend, Ash, chose their side. A betrayal he can never forget.
The Vigil is out to eliminate anyone who isn’t human and Kell’s their next target. But he can’t pry himself away from Johnny, even with the world against them. The alpha seems to have taken a liking to Kell’s stubborn streak.
Learning he is a Child of the Moon, Kell must embrace his role as the Windward. His fate split between the wolves and witches; will his stormy nature be enough? As for Johnny, resisting his alpha instincts might be too much when Kell blooms into an omega.
Enter a world of sensuality, intrigue and powerful shifters. The Wizard Wolf is a standalone M/M romance in the breathtaking WindWard triad series. Prepare yourself for steamy love affairs that will leave your heart racing. 18+ only please.
Mountain Springs Omega #9
Sam has always dreamed of moving out west, and as he approaches his 30th birthday, it's time to make that happen.
Sam knows that his future is out west. He has a good job and a good apartment, but it's time to make his dream come true. So he gets on the back of his motorcycle to ride across the country. Unfortunately, an accident outside Mountain Springs causes an extended stop in the idyllic town.
Ethan wants a mate and family of his own, but isn't interested in any of the available omegas. At least he can watch his twin's kids to get his baby fix, right?
Ethan is content enough in life, but after years of watching everybody, including his twin brother, find omegas and start their families, he's ready to settle down himself. If only he had the perfect omega. But he's dated more than he can remember, and none have stuck. At least his twin lets him babysit the kids. Then a new omega rolls into town, and he can't tear his eyes off him.
The attraction is mutual, and instant. But can love flourish when one man has a plan that doesn't include staying in Mountain Springs?
Recipe for Romance
One Lonely Alpha
An omega ready for a change
An lucky accident
The intervention of old friends
Harvest Kisses for the Omega is a 15.5K word , non-shifter, M/M, Mpreg romance, featuring an omega in search of something new, and alpha ready to settle down, and realization that love happens where you lease expect it.
Thick & Thin by Charlie Cochet
Chapter One
BREATHE. JUST breathe.
Hadn’t he been here before?
Dex leaned against the bathroom counter, studying himself in the mirror. It seemed like a lifetime ago that he’d stood in a bathroom not dissimilar to this one, staring at his reflection, wondering how his life had taken such a turn. So much had happened since then. A lot of bad, but a hell of a lot of good too. Much like that day at the courthouse, he now faced an uncertain future. The last few weeks had gone by in a blur—a whirlwind of chaos, heartache, and pain—like he’d been swept up in a tornado of what-the-fuckery only to be spit out abruptly into an alternate universe. His existence was sharper. Images, colors, sounds, and sensations were brighter, louder, more profound.
On the outside, he looked like any other Human. His eyes were still blue, the same pale shade they’d always been. On the inside, however, he was anything but Human. He stared down at his hands, the same hands he’d used to kill Moros. Actually they weren’t. He sucked in a sharp breath at the pain of unsheathing his claws. Fuck. He had claws. Jaguar Therian claws, to be exact, and they were razor-sharp, capable of shredding through Human flesh with ease.
It had been days since his transformation. Since he’d… died. He hadn’t been able to process that before his dad was shot and Moros gutted. Now here Dex stood in a hospital bathroom, trying to find the courage to explain something to his family he had yet to wrap his head around. Then his eyes caught the silver band around his ring finger. He was getting married.
Dex’s heart swelled, and he couldn’t help his stupidly wide grin. That news would be much easier to share with his family, though Tony was obviously aware, considering he’d given Sloane the ring to give to Dex. His dad’s ring.
“You okay?” Sloane stood by the door, looking worried.
Man, how long had Dex been in here?
“Yeah.” The moment the word left his mouth, he shook his head and dropped his gaze to the sink. “No. No, I’m not.”
In two strides, Sloane was at his side, his arm around Dex’s back. The strength radiating from Sloane and his gentle touch soothed Dex like a balm to his soul, offering the solace he needed. Sloane turned Dex to face him, his arms wrapping around Dex’s waist.
“Talk to me.”
Dex inhaled deeply and released it slowly. It was okay. He was okay. “How am I supposed to explain to them what’s happened to me when I still don’t understand it myself? I mean, I understand what happened, but….” He lifted his gaze to Sloane’s. “We don’t know the full extent of it yet. We haven’t even had a chance to talk about it. I died, went to work the next day, Dad got shot, I killed a guy, got engaged, went to visit my parents’ grave—all in a span of two days. I’m trying not to freak out, and oh my God, what the fuck? What the fuck, Sloane?” He gulped a lungful of air. Oh shit. Was he having a panic attack? He laughed at the thought. He was not having a panic attack. He did not have panic attacks. Dexter J. Daley did not lose his shit. Fuckbunnies. “I think I’m about to lose my shit.”
“What would you like me to do?” Sloane’s voice was calm.
“I don’t know.” Dex pulled away and paced. This had never happened to him before. He got worked up. He had “diva fits” and blew his top, but he never panicked. Then again, he’d never been half Therian before. Or engaged. Or seen Tony bleeding out. “It’s too much.” His pacing picked up speed. “What do I do, Sloane?” He bent over and placed his hands on his knees, breathing in and out through his mouth. What the hell was going on? He was fidgety at the best of times, but this was different, like he was restless inside. His eyes widened as realization struck.
“What is it?” Sloane placed his hand on Dex’s back, and Dex straightened, facing him.
“This is how you feel, isn’t it? When shit gets too much for you? Like your insides are going to explode if you don’t move, if you don’t do something.”
Sloane stared at him, snapping himself out of it before nodding. “Yeah. My inner Felid gets restless.”
Dex swallowed hard. “Do you think… do you think I have one?”
“An inner Felid?” Sloane visibly shivered, and Dex cocked his head. “Sorry, I um, I don’t know. I don’t think so. I mean, when you’re born a Therian, you’re born with your feral half. Some believe it’s like a second soul. It’s a part of you. If he was there, you would know it. Believe me.”
“But scientifically,” Dex said as he started to pace again, “it’s part of your DNA, which is now part of my DNA. So would I have one? And if I do, would he be yours, or would he be mine, or a mix of both?”
Oh God, his head hurt. What if he did have a feral half somewhere deep inside him? He’d have to, wouldn’t he? Wouldn’t that explain his claws and fangs and—
Dex came to an abrupt halt. “What if that’s what was happening when I lost it with Shultzon? When my fangs came out for the first time and I hissed, it was like I wasn’t myself. What if I wasn’t myself?” Crap, he just made things worse. He could handle his DNA changing, and with time he’d get used to being part Therian, but to have an inner Felid? To have another… soul? Was that possible?
“Babe, stop.” Sloane pulled Dex into his arms and held him tight. Dex tried to push away at first, too restless to stop moving. But Sloane’s warm breath against Dex’s temple, the feel of Sloane’s strong arms, and the sound of his heartbeat stilled Dex, calming something inside him. He closed his eyes. Sloane was right. All he was doing was driving himself crazy with unanswered questions. He’d find out the answers in time.
Sloane stroked Dex’s hair and swayed gently, comforting. His scent was thick, enveloping Dex in a bubble of familiarity and safety. Whatever happened, Sloane would be at his side to help him work through it.
“It’ll be okay,” Sloane promised.
Dex sighed and wrapped his arms around Sloane. His future husband was right. The thought made him smile. He was such an idiot. Here he was worrying about something he had no control over, rather than embracing it. Yeah, it was kind of terrifying, but he had Sloane to understand him and help him through all the crazy. Everything would be okay. He pulled back just enough to look into Sloane’s amber eyes. They were filled with so much love.
“You have every right to be nervous, but think about it for a second.” He kissed Dex’s temple, nuzzling his hair afterward. “They’re your family, Dex. They love you.”
With a smile, he met Sloane’s gaze. “You mean our family.”
“Our family,” Sloane agreed, giving Dex a kiss that was both sweet and sinful. When Sloane pulled away, he inhaled sharply as he looked into Dex’s eyes. “Shit.” He let out a soft laugh. “That’s going to take some getting used to.”
Dex needed to learn to control that if he was going to keep his secret. His eyes seemed to change when he got emotional or worked up. “What do they look like?” He tried not to appear too nervous.
Sloane didn’t hesitate. “They look beautiful, but then everything about you always is.”
“Well, now you’re just trying to get in my pants.”
Sloane laughed. He placed his hand to Dex’s cheek, his lips brushing over Dex’s in a feathery kiss before he brought Dex up against him, his mouth gentle but hungry, like he couldn’t get enough of Dex or the taste of him. It made Dex’s toes curl, and he dug his fingers into Sloane’s arms, allowing himself to be consumed by the man’s love and warmth.
“You two wanna get a room or something? People shit in here.”
Dex wrinkled his nose and pulled away to peer around Sloane at Ash making his way to one of the urinals. “You’re a paragon of gentility.”
Ash shrugged. “Hey, I know you get off on doing it in other people’s bathrooms, but this is a hospital, man. Just saying.”
“On that note,” Dex grumbled, giving Sloane a quick kiss. “I’m gonna go. I’ll call you when I’m done. Make sure he washes his hands.”
“Fuck you,” Ash growled at him from over his shoulder. “I always wash my hands. And I respect people’s bathrooms, you turd.”
“Well, you’re in the right place for that.” Dex laughed, running out of the bathroom to the sound of Ash’s curses and threats. Outside, he let out a sigh of relief. That was more like it. He felt like himself again. Straightening his shoulders, he held his head high and strode toward his new future.
“All right. Let’s do this.”
BREATHE. JUST breathe.
Hadn’t he been here before?
Dex leaned against the bathroom counter, studying himself in the mirror. It seemed like a lifetime ago that he’d stood in a bathroom not dissimilar to this one, staring at his reflection, wondering how his life had taken such a turn. So much had happened since then. A lot of bad, but a hell of a lot of good too. Much like that day at the courthouse, he now faced an uncertain future. The last few weeks had gone by in a blur—a whirlwind of chaos, heartache, and pain—like he’d been swept up in a tornado of what-the-fuckery only to be spit out abruptly into an alternate universe. His existence was sharper. Images, colors, sounds, and sensations were brighter, louder, more profound.
On the outside, he looked like any other Human. His eyes were still blue, the same pale shade they’d always been. On the inside, however, he was anything but Human. He stared down at his hands, the same hands he’d used to kill Moros. Actually they weren’t. He sucked in a sharp breath at the pain of unsheathing his claws. Fuck. He had claws. Jaguar Therian claws, to be exact, and they were razor-sharp, capable of shredding through Human flesh with ease.
It had been days since his transformation. Since he’d… died. He hadn’t been able to process that before his dad was shot and Moros gutted. Now here Dex stood in a hospital bathroom, trying to find the courage to explain something to his family he had yet to wrap his head around. Then his eyes caught the silver band around his ring finger. He was getting married.
Dex’s heart swelled, and he couldn’t help his stupidly wide grin. That news would be much easier to share with his family, though Tony was obviously aware, considering he’d given Sloane the ring to give to Dex. His dad’s ring.
“You okay?” Sloane stood by the door, looking worried.
Man, how long had Dex been in here?
“Yeah.” The moment the word left his mouth, he shook his head and dropped his gaze to the sink. “No. No, I’m not.”
In two strides, Sloane was at his side, his arm around Dex’s back. The strength radiating from Sloane and his gentle touch soothed Dex like a balm to his soul, offering the solace he needed. Sloane turned Dex to face him, his arms wrapping around Dex’s waist.
“Talk to me.”
Dex inhaled deeply and released it slowly. It was okay. He was okay. “How am I supposed to explain to them what’s happened to me when I still don’t understand it myself? I mean, I understand what happened, but….” He lifted his gaze to Sloane’s. “We don’t know the full extent of it yet. We haven’t even had a chance to talk about it. I died, went to work the next day, Dad got shot, I killed a guy, got engaged, went to visit my parents’ grave—all in a span of two days. I’m trying not to freak out, and oh my God, what the fuck? What the fuck, Sloane?” He gulped a lungful of air. Oh shit. Was he having a panic attack? He laughed at the thought. He was not having a panic attack. He did not have panic attacks. Dexter J. Daley did not lose his shit. Fuckbunnies. “I think I’m about to lose my shit.”
“What would you like me to do?” Sloane’s voice was calm.
“I don’t know.” Dex pulled away and paced. This had never happened to him before. He got worked up. He had “diva fits” and blew his top, but he never panicked. Then again, he’d never been half Therian before. Or engaged. Or seen Tony bleeding out. “It’s too much.” His pacing picked up speed. “What do I do, Sloane?” He bent over and placed his hands on his knees, breathing in and out through his mouth. What the hell was going on? He was fidgety at the best of times, but this was different, like he was restless inside. His eyes widened as realization struck.
“What is it?” Sloane placed his hand on Dex’s back, and Dex straightened, facing him.
“This is how you feel, isn’t it? When shit gets too much for you? Like your insides are going to explode if you don’t move, if you don’t do something.”
Sloane stared at him, snapping himself out of it before nodding. “Yeah. My inner Felid gets restless.”
Dex swallowed hard. “Do you think… do you think I have one?”
“An inner Felid?” Sloane visibly shivered, and Dex cocked his head. “Sorry, I um, I don’t know. I don’t think so. I mean, when you’re born a Therian, you’re born with your feral half. Some believe it’s like a second soul. It’s a part of you. If he was there, you would know it. Believe me.”
“But scientifically,” Dex said as he started to pace again, “it’s part of your DNA, which is now part of my DNA. So would I have one? And if I do, would he be yours, or would he be mine, or a mix of both?”
Oh God, his head hurt. What if he did have a feral half somewhere deep inside him? He’d have to, wouldn’t he? Wouldn’t that explain his claws and fangs and—
Dex came to an abrupt halt. “What if that’s what was happening when I lost it with Shultzon? When my fangs came out for the first time and I hissed, it was like I wasn’t myself. What if I wasn’t myself?” Crap, he just made things worse. He could handle his DNA changing, and with time he’d get used to being part Therian, but to have an inner Felid? To have another… soul? Was that possible?
“Babe, stop.” Sloane pulled Dex into his arms and held him tight. Dex tried to push away at first, too restless to stop moving. But Sloane’s warm breath against Dex’s temple, the feel of Sloane’s strong arms, and the sound of his heartbeat stilled Dex, calming something inside him. He closed his eyes. Sloane was right. All he was doing was driving himself crazy with unanswered questions. He’d find out the answers in time.
Sloane stroked Dex’s hair and swayed gently, comforting. His scent was thick, enveloping Dex in a bubble of familiarity and safety. Whatever happened, Sloane would be at his side to help him work through it.
“It’ll be okay,” Sloane promised.
Dex sighed and wrapped his arms around Sloane. His future husband was right. The thought made him smile. He was such an idiot. Here he was worrying about something he had no control over, rather than embracing it. Yeah, it was kind of terrifying, but he had Sloane to understand him and help him through all the crazy. Everything would be okay. He pulled back just enough to look into Sloane’s amber eyes. They were filled with so much love.
“You have every right to be nervous, but think about it for a second.” He kissed Dex’s temple, nuzzling his hair afterward. “They’re your family, Dex. They love you.”
With a smile, he met Sloane’s gaze. “You mean our family.”
“Our family,” Sloane agreed, giving Dex a kiss that was both sweet and sinful. When Sloane pulled away, he inhaled sharply as he looked into Dex’s eyes. “Shit.” He let out a soft laugh. “That’s going to take some getting used to.”
Dex needed to learn to control that if he was going to keep his secret. His eyes seemed to change when he got emotional or worked up. “What do they look like?” He tried not to appear too nervous.
Sloane didn’t hesitate. “They look beautiful, but then everything about you always is.”
“Well, now you’re just trying to get in my pants.”
Sloane laughed. He placed his hand to Dex’s cheek, his lips brushing over Dex’s in a feathery kiss before he brought Dex up against him, his mouth gentle but hungry, like he couldn’t get enough of Dex or the taste of him. It made Dex’s toes curl, and he dug his fingers into Sloane’s arms, allowing himself to be consumed by the man’s love and warmth.
“You two wanna get a room or something? People shit in here.”
Dex wrinkled his nose and pulled away to peer around Sloane at Ash making his way to one of the urinals. “You’re a paragon of gentility.”
Ash shrugged. “Hey, I know you get off on doing it in other people’s bathrooms, but this is a hospital, man. Just saying.”
“On that note,” Dex grumbled, giving Sloane a quick kiss. “I’m gonna go. I’ll call you when I’m done. Make sure he washes his hands.”
“Fuck you,” Ash growled at him from over his shoulder. “I always wash my hands. And I respect people’s bathrooms, you turd.”
“Well, you’re in the right place for that.” Dex laughed, running out of the bathroom to the sound of Ash’s curses and threats. Outside, he let out a sigh of relief. That was more like it. He felt like himself again. Straightening his shoulders, he held his head high and strode toward his new future.
“All right. Let’s do this.”
Best Beast by EJ Russell
Chapter One
If he lived to be three thousand and two, Jovan Kos would never understand why his best friend agreed to hold his bachelor party in the Las Vegas Interstices. Sure, it was the last day of January, and the Interstices— the post-creation gaps between realms— didn’t completely reflect the weather in their Earthside counterparts, but Las Vegas was in the freaking desert, for fuck’s sake. Ole’s frost goblin clan hailed from Niflheim, a realm that was nothing but wall-to-wall ice, snow, and mist. With his thick full-body fur, Ole had to be miserable in this heat. Jovan wasn’t that comfortable himself, his dress shirt sticking to his skin, and he was human. Ish. Most of the time.
But Ole had given Jovan the sad-puppy eyes and said that Radka, his bride-to-be, was having her bachelorette party here too, and one peculiar feature of Radka’s vila culture required the bridesmaids to kidnap the groom midway through the festivities.
Whatever.
So as Ole’s best man, Jovan had caved, coordinated with Radka’s snooty maid of honor to set it up, and booked this bar for the party’s exclusive use.
Something had to be wrong with the environmental spells though, because the place could double as the antechamber of Muspelheim, the Norse fire realm. He glowered at the bartender, who’d come to refresh his drink. “What’s with the air conditioning?” The faun bartender gulped and inched back, his goatee quivering and his hooves tip-tip-tipping on the wooden floor. Fuck. Better tone down the attitude. Because Jovan really needed that drink. “Sorry.” He tapped the rim of his highball glass with one finger. “Same again, please.”
The bartender nodded, snatched the empty with the tips of his fingers, keeping as far away from Jovan as possible, and practically sprinted back to the other end of the bar. Jovan sighed and tugged at his shirt collar, hoping in vain for a little breeze.
A shriek split the air and Jovan leaped off his barstool, sending it crashing to the floor. He reached for his sidearm and came up empty. Loki’s balls, why had he agreed to surrender his weapon at the intergate? The bartender was crouched behind the bar, his arms over his head, clearly not about to stage an intervention.
Fuck it. Armed or not, Jovan was fully capable of countering most threats. His inner wolf warrior was never far below the surface, but he loosened his iron control, allowing heat to build behind his eyes as he crept forward until he could see past the pony wall that separated the bridal party from the rest of the empty bar.
Radka and her bridesmaids were fluttering around like so many blonde sparrows, while a wizened old woman dressed head to toe in rusty black— including her babushka— rocked in her seat with a very poorly knitted shawl thrown over her head.
Poor Ole sat at the other side of the oval table with an even more poorly knitted hat jammed on his head and draped in at least three mufflers. He was clutching a tall glass of ice almost desperately, and his big paws were encased in heavy mittens.
What the fuck? The man could weather sub-zero temperatures naked. Why the Hel did he need ratty winter gear in a bar that was three degrees away from a sauna?
Jovan wasn’t supposed to intervene in this part of the proceedings— his job was technically done once the bridesmaids had “kidnapped” Ole from the very sedate poker game that was all Ole would allow for his bachelor party. But Jovan wasn’t leaving until he was sure Ole hadn’t melted into a fricking puddle.
Besides, Jovan felt a personal responsibility for making sure this weekend ran smoothly. Not only was he Ole’s best man, he was the one who’d introduced him to Radka. At the time, he’d never seen this relationship coming. Nobody had. Who’d have believed that a frost goblin and a vila would ever fall in love?
Jovan hesitated, debating whether to wade in and demand explanations. The only thing that stopped him was that Ole didn’t look distressed. If you don’t count incipient heat prostration. Instead, he was gazing at Radka with that same dreamy half-smile on his face he’d worn since the day Radka had proposed to him.
Jovan shook his head. “What the fuck is all the fuss about?” he muttered.
A cool breeze wafted across his neck and a low, husky voice, its tone laced with buried laugher, murmured, “Propuh,” from the space on his left.
Jovan smiled in spite of himself. “Kai. Who the Hel is Propuh to cause this kind of stir? A gremlin? An ifrit? A Mongolian death worm?”
A chuckle rose from the empty air. “Propuh isn’t a who, Jovan. It’s a what.”
“Don’t keep me in suspense. I’ve faced down hundreds of supernatural and magical menaces, but this is a new one. What kind of weapon do I need? Should I call for backup?”
The old woman continued to shriek as she tottered out of her chair and hefted a giant carpet bag onto the table. She pulled out another ratty muffler and tried to wrap it around Radka’s neck. Radka rolled her blue eyes, unwound it and stuffed it back in the bag, but the old woman yanked it out again and tried to enswathe one of the bridesmaids. Jovan couldn’t tell which one— they all looked alike to him except for Taline, the maid of honor, whose eyes were nearly black instead of blue.
An invisible hand patted his arm. “It’s a false alarm anyway, my friend. And entirely my fault.”
Not for the first time, Jovan wished he could see Kai Schiffer in the flesh. He knew, from where Kai’s voice emanated, that the man was about five-ten, a good eight inches shorter than Jovan himself. He knew that Kai used cologne or body wash that smelled of a fresh ocean breeze. He knew that Kai’s dry humor came closer to making him laugh than anything in the multiverse, and that Kai’s voice always made him half hard.
But he’d never seen his face. Or any part of his body, for that matter.
Kai was a HAH— a half-and-half, aka aitcher, someone who was a mixture of human and one or more supernatural races. In Kai’s case, his supernatural half was Klabautermann, a relatively rare race who lived invisibly aboard ships, only becoming visible when the boat they were committed to was about to sink. His human half allowed him to live Earthside, but whenever he entered the Interstices— which was the only place Jovan had ever spent time with him— his Klabautermann side activated and he turned invisible.
Damn it.
“Don’t hold out on me, Kai. Did you bring this propuh in with you?”
“Weeelll,” Kai drawled. “In a way, but you can stand down, Agent Kos. Propuh is a draft.”
Jovan blinked. “A draft? You mean like moving air?”
“Exactly. Where Radka’s family is from, propuh is feared more than, oh”— Kai’s tone turned teasing—“ a grumpy, six-foot-six Interstitial Law Enforcement agent. Who just might go into wolf berserker mode when the inclination strikes.”
“Let me get this straight.” Jovan glared at the spot where he’d triangulated Kai’s eyes to be. “They’re afraid of the air? No wonder this place is hermetically sealed.”
Kai’s warm chuckle zinged straight to Jovan’s balls. “Did you think this establishment went to the trouble of reversing their environmental spells just for fun? That poor bartender is sweating bullets.”
Jovan rubbed the back of his neck. “That, uh, may be my fault. I might have intimidated him a little bit.”
“You? Intimidating? Jovan, you shock me.” Kai’s hand slid between Jovan’s arm and his side, and Jovan automatically bent his elbow so Kai could rest his hand there. “This particular instance of propuh is entirely my doing. I was in the men’s room and passed a little too close to Baba Lenka on my way to join you.”
Jovan’s own laugh was rusty as Hel. When did I laugh last? Probably the last time he was with Kai, at that little restaurant in the Oslo Interstices when Ole and Radka had announced their engagement. “Do you suppose you could run back and forth behind Ole for a while? The poor guy could use a little propuh.”
“Are you kidding?” Kai pulled Jovan toward the bar, and Jovan let himself be pulled— which never happened with anybody except Kai. “Baba Lenka would force more of her horrible knitwear on him and he’d probably pass out, which Baba Lenka would take as the worst possible omen, I’m sure. And trust me, I don’t want anything to interfere with this wedding. Or anything more,” he muttered.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Kai’s sigh was clearly audible, even over the continued clamor from the bachelorettes— plus one overheated goblin and one delusional baba. “Later. First, I need a drink, and, for obvious reasons, it’s impossible for me to attract the bartender’s attention.”
“Fine.” Jovan submitted to Kai’s tugs and resumed stalking toward the cowering bartender. “But only because I need something too. An extremely tall something. Or an ice bath.”
“Really?” Kai’s tone held interest now. “I didn’t think you Jötnar were so susceptible to heat, not like the frost goblins. You’re not furred or scaled.” A finger traced a line across Jovan’s cheek, making him shiver despite the tropical temperature. “Your skin doesn’t feel any different from mine.” The touch vanished. Damn it. “Sorry. That was inappropriate. I should have asked first.”
Jovan swallowed. “I don’t mind.” What I wouldn’t give to touch his skin. Although first he’d have to find it. “A Jötunn can be many things.” He snorted. “Consider my half siblings, if you don’t believe me.”
“Yes. A wolf, a snake, and the woman who may or may not be half-corpse. I always wondered how you managed to turn out so human-looking.”
“It helps that Loki wasn’t my father.” Jovan’s father had been human— but that wasn’t something he could ever reveal, even to Kai. In Jovan, the DNA combination of his Jötunn mother and his human father had produced a Úlfheðinn, a wolf warrior and sometime berserker. A beast. “Even though I lack Ole’s heavy pelt, I’m stationed in the Stockholm Interstices. We’re not used to sweltering.” They reached the bar and Jovan pulled out a stool for Kai, then sat on the stool to his right with a clear view of the table, earning a side-eye from the bartender. Jovan ignored him. “What’ll you have?”
The bartender’s eyes widened, and he looked about ready to bolt. “I… er…”
“Stop terrorizing the poor man, Jovan. I’ll have a bottle of Mountain King red ale, please.” A knock sounded on the bar in front of Jovan. “And a bucket of ice for my friend to soak his head in.”
Jovan glanced sidelong in Kai’s direction as the bartender scuttled away in a clatter of hooves. “Everybody else in the multiverse cuts a wide swath around me.” Which is just the way I like it. “But not you. Why?”
“I’m the executive assistant for the general manager of a television studio. She makes you look like a fluffy kitten.”
Jovan lifted an eyebrow. “What does an executive assistant do?”
“Make life easier for the GM. If I do my job right, nobody even knows I’m there.”
“In other words—”
“Like any good Klabautermann, I’m invisible except when doom looms.” His tone was wry. “When I’m conveniently there to take the blame.”
My stars, could I sound any more pathetic? Kai snagged a bar mat and pulled it toward himself. Manipulating some kind of prop that others could see made his Interstitial invisibility easier to manage— for others, anyway. As long as he didn’t pick the object up fully and catch it in his transparency matrix, it gave them a reference point.
Jovan, though, had never treated Kai as nothing. Even during their first meeting two years ago, when Radka had dragged him to an Interstitial club so Kai could meet her new boyfriend, Jovan had always behaved as if Kai were as visible here as he was Earthside. Kai had often wished that there had been some way for them to meet face to face. And maybe body to body?
But Jovan was a Pure, and they didn’t do well outside their home realms. To spend time in the Interstices or in foreign realms, including Earthside, they had to take special adaptation elixirs, which could have serious side effects over time. Kai had heard that ILE agents had special spell implants, like Earthside nicotine patches, so they could move from realm to realm at will in pursuit of criminals.
But that same rumor stated that since the ILE was forbidden from interfering Earthside, their implants prevented them from crossing the threshold.
Kai sighed. Attempting a hookup while invisible was a logistical nightmare. His gaze slid to Jovan’s profile— his strong jaw dusted with sexy dark scruff, his blade of a nose, his deep-set eyes the color of onyx. For him, I’d make the effort. But would Jovan be willing to put up with the hassle? Sure they were friends, but given Kai’s lack of visible body parts whenever they’d met, it was like perpetual online dating with no hope of an IRL meetup. Hell, I could flash my dick right now, and nobody would ever know.
Not that he would risk it. Traditionally, Klabautermänner were only visible to their boat’s crew and passengers who were about to die. His own father had been shunned by his clan and forbidden to ever take ship again when he’d fallen in love with Kai’s mother and rescued her from the wreck.
Jovan’s job was perilous enough already. Some supernatural races were plenty scary when they weren’t criminals— wendigos sprung to mind— and Kai didn’t want to tempt fate by adding a Klabautermann sighting to Jovan’s danger quotient.
The bartender returned with Kai’s ale and a highball glass full of a pale amber liquid and clinking with ice. “Did you…” He licked parched lips, the horns protruding from his shaggy brown hair quivering. “Were you serious about the ice bucket?”
Jovan just glared, but Kai laughed. “You don’t need to bother.” He nudged Jovan with his elbow, earning him one of those delicious growls. “Although maybe later.” He flicked a fingernail against Jovan’s glass with a soft tink. “What are you drinking? Scotch rocks?”
“Ginger ale.” Jovan’s scowl deepened at Kai’s laugh and he curled the long fingers of one of his big square hands around his glass. “I don’t drink when I’m on duty.”
“You’re his best man, not his bodyguard.”
Jovan cast a dark glance at the table where Baba Lenka was wrapping yet another scarf around poor Ole’s neck. “Seems like he needs a bodyguard at the moment.”
“Not a bodyguard, although he may need intravenous fluids before the ceremony tomorrow.”
Kai took a swig of his beer, causing the bartender’s eyes to pop when the bottle disappeared and then reappeared when Kai set it down. Stars and storms, this was the Interstices. The silly man should be inured to the unusual by now. This whole bar was nothing more than a freaking magical construct.
Jovan turned, his gaze focusing unerringly on where Kai’s face was. “Didn’t Ole and Radka hire that fancy event planning agency to run this circus?”
“Enchanted Occasions, yes.” Kai smiled crookedly. “Its owner and all its staff are aitchers. Radka insisted on booking them as a nod to me, despite some pretty extreme opposition from her entire extended family. Although I think she took a certain smug satisfaction out of besting them in the melee. They’re still on her case about divorcing her first husband, let alone marrying a goblin.”
“If this outfit is so good, why did they stage the bachelorette party in this dump?” Jovan lifted his glass at the bartender. “No offense.”
“They didn’t. The maid of honor is one of the javerzaharses.”
“The what now?”
“Armenian nymphs. Aka, the ‘perpetual brides.’ Their species exists literally to plan weddings, and she was certain Radka would let her wrangle this one, even though she was one of the most vocal in her objections to Ole.” Kai took another long pull of ale. “Imagine her surprise when Radka didn’t take her up on her ever-so-kind offer.”
“Fireworks?”
“You have no idea. Radka allowed her to be in charge of the bachelorette party to preserve the peace. More or less.”
Jovan glanced over his shoulder at the party. “Why aren’t you hanging out with them, anyway? You’re Radka’s best friend. For that matter, why is that Taline witch the maid of honor? Radka’s not exactly a traditional vila. I’d have thought she’d insist on you as her man of honor, tradition be damned.”
Kai rolled his eyes, which lost a lot of impact considering Jovan couldn’t see him do it. “Jovan, the wedding is in the Oslo Interstices. The Interstices.”
“Yeah. So?”
“So imagine having an empty space in all the wedding photos. Or an arm’s-length gap between Radka and the next bridesmaid while they’re standing at the altar.”
“Hmmm. I guess that would be awkward.”
“You think?” He took another gulp. “Radka and Ole are putting up with enough from both families. They didn’t need what would look like a political statement on top of everything.”
“Don’t the event planners have a magical doohickey that could make you visible for the festivities? They offered me one to let me go Earthside.”
Excited butterflies caromed around Kai’s ribcage. You don’t say. Let’s get back to that later. “Think about it. Everybody in Radka’s family knows about me. They know what I am. If you think Baba Lenka had a fit about propuh, imagine what would happen with an actual Klabautermann sighting.”
Jovan winced. “Right. That could get ugly.”
“No kidding. Baba Lenka is already prophesying doom because this is Radka’s second wedding. She’s demanding all kinds of concessions to ward off bad luck.”
“What kind of concessions?”
Kai chuckled, even though it wasn’t the least bit funny. “You know how usually the wedding ceremony is followed by a cocktail hour and then a reception?”
“Of course.”
“Baba Lenka demanded that the ceremony come last.”
Jovan’s brows drew together further. “What the— Why? And who the Hel is Baba Lenka, anyway?”
“She’s Radka’s maternal grandmother.” Kai shrugged. “And she claims that inverting the ceremony order will confuse any entity with an evil agenda— although she didn’t specify who that might be— and prevent even more bad luck.”
“If you asked me,” Jovan growled as Baba Lenka, wailing in Serbian, tried to wrestle a scarf around Radka’s neck again, over her daisy-print sundress, “Baba Lenka brought the bad luck with her.” His glare ought to have set her headscarf on fire. “Ole never mentioned this old bat to me before. Do they keep her locked in an attic somewhere most of the time?”
“Hardly.” Kai swiveled his stool to lean his back against the bar and observe the table. “She’s the CEO of their family’s wind turbine business.”
Jovan’s jaw sagged. “She’s what? Then why does she look like a refugee from a bad Russian folktale?”
“Shhh!” Kai clapped his hand over Jovan’s mouth. Jovan’s eyes widened, but then they crinkled at the corners and his mouth moved against Kai’s palm, and since Kai was invisible, he could see exactly how devastating the curve of those lips was. Gods, that smile. Kai dropped his hand before he lost his mind and traced Jovan’s lips. “Never let her hear you say that. She’s Serbian, not Russian.”
“I don’t care if she’s the lost princess of Atlantis, if she puts one more scarf around Ole’s neck, I’m taking her down.”
“Not the best way to ingratiate yourself with Radka’s family, Mr. Best Man.”
“Ask me if I care.”
Gardening with a Ghost by Amanda Meuwissen
Chapter 1
Peter breathed in the mixed scent of life and decay wafting in through the open window. He loved that smell, when the rot was just a little stronger than renewal, because it meant this place needed him.
Like the pink hibiscus tucked into a dark corner that he had surreptitiously moved to a sunnier spot.
The exterior of Benes Manor could have been the setting for The Secret Garden, with fountains, statues, hedges, sprawling rose bushes, and every other type of plant that could exist in the generally year-round warmth of the area’s climate.
Peter had been recommended to the family, who had lived in the manor for less than a year, by word of mouth, which was Peter’s preference. He couldn’t risk being too widely known and rarely stayed with a client for longer than a few months, just enough to salvage dying or neglected gardens into something magnificent again. Then it was up to them and whatever everyday gardener they hired for upkeep.
Peter was often called a “miracle worker,” and his reputation preceded him that even an utterly devastated garden could be salvaged by his capable hands. What no one knew was how right they were to call what he did a miracle, for his hands contained the rarest gift of all.
The touch of life.
“Mr. Thorne, a pleasure to finally meet you in person.”
An impressively tall and polished dark-skinned man approached, wearing what Peter had long since learned was the rich person equivalent of casual, only to them that meant loafers without socks, a lighter colored blazer, and a button-down with no tie. The man carried himself congenially enough, sporting a smile, and immediately reached to shake Peter’s hand upon joining him in the sitting room that looked out on the gardens.
He was mid to late 40s with a shaved head and equally clean-shaven face, and his casual ensemble probably cost more than Peter’s entire wardrobe—which he had with him in two pieces of luggage left in the foyer. Given Peter’s clientele, he made decent money, but most of his positions were live-in while they lasted since impressive manor homes weren’t usually easily accessible or near places where Peter could afford to rent.
He tried not to feel too self-conscious about his Target-brand shirt and basic slacks.
“Mr. Connelly, my pleasure as well.” Peter met the man’s hand with a firm shake.
“Joseph, please. If I can call you Peter.” Then, as was common for Peter upon meeting someone for the first time, Joseph stared at Peter’s gloved hands. “Ready to get to work already?”
“These aren’t gardening gloves,” Peter explained. They were probably the most expensive item he wore, since they were a daily necessity—a dark brown pair of lambskin driving gloves, touchscreen compatible, so he didn’t have to remove them to use his phone. “Given how much I work with my hands, I find wearing these in my off hours keeps them in better shape. I hope you don’t take offense.”
“Not at all. We all have our quirks where our professions are concerned.”
Good. Sometimes Peter’s employers did take offense, and that just made things complicated.
He could control his abilities for the most part, choose when and to whom his gift of life was passed to, but that required concentration and people could usually feel it regardless, like a shock that made them startle at his touch. That happening too often got suspicious.
If Peter wasn’t careful, he could banish a person’s cold as easily as cure a disease they didn’t know they had. He wished he could simply do that for everyone, but overuse took a toll on him, and he couldn’t risk anyone discovering his gift, or who knew what experiments he might be subjected to or what evils his powers could be forced to commit.
Therefore—gloves.
“I see you’ve already been admiring the grounds.” Joseph gestured through the double doors leading to the gardens.
This was possibly the grandest home Peter had ever been hired on to, worth several million, and beautifully renovated, while retaining original antique moldings, fixtures, and even furniture where possible. The sitting room was two-stories tall, with the landing of a large staircase looking down on it. Accompanying the French doors were ceiling-high windows, a massive fireplace ornamented with two lions carved into either side of it, and the staircase entrance was grand and winding, with stained glass windows leading all the way up.
The gardens would have echoed that beauty, if they hadn’t been allowed to get so overgrown, inviting wildness and rot.
“It’s everything you described,” Peter said, “stunning but definitely in need of a tender touch. You never mentioned what became of your previous gardener. Or was it a team? A local company maybe?”
A shadow passed over Joseph’s friendly disposition. “My wife planned to tend to everything herself. She knew it would be a lot to take on, but she’d dedicated herself to raising our children instead of having a career, so she was looking forward to helping some brand-new life grow since they’d both be going to school.”
There was far too much past tense in that explanation.
“I’m sorry,” Peter said cautiously, “did something happen?”
“Not to Fran, my wife. Well, something happened to all of us, but…” Joseph faced Peter directly. “Our daughter went missing several months ago.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you. Before we knew it, the gardens had become a jungle. I’m hoping seeing it tended to and revitalized might help Fran move on. Help all of us move on.”
“If you’d prefer not to speak more on it, I understand, but… may I ask…?”
“We don’t know what happened. One day, she was just gone, our little Delia.”
Joseph turned to face the fireplace, and above the mantle was a family photo. It showed Joseph, even more smartly dressed, beside a beautiful woman, slightly lighter in skin tone but with intensely dark eyes. Their two children stood in front of them, a girl about four or five, and a boy twice her age, both a perfect mix of their parents with medium skin, chestnut hair, and dark eyes like their mother.
Delia had a very sweet if mischievous smile.
“She’d be starting pre-school this year,” Joseph said. “Her brother, Dennis, is nine. He might pester you from time to time, but he’s a good boy. The grounds and house were searched top to bottom, but we never found anything. I think that’s the real reason Fran hasn’t been able to move on. Maybe if we’d found a body, we’d have some closure…
“I’m sorry.” Joseph shook himself after a pause for reverie.
“Please, it’s alright,” Peter assured him.
“The point of bringing you on is to breathe some life back into this place.”
That, quite literally, was what Peter could do, and if he could also help a grieving family, all the better. He knew what it was like to lose someone.
“Come on.” Joseph guided Peter out of the sitting room. “I’ll introduce you to the staff, show you around, and then you can get a look at the gardens up close.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
They entered an expansive hallway. Behind them, through a door beside the entrance into the sitting room, was a small office, but they headed away toward the split in the hall that either turned to the foyer and grand main entrance, or into the dining hall. The dining hall also had a spiral staircase leading to the second floor like a perfect bookend of the other side of the house.
The moment they crossed the threshold, Peter sucked in a breath and stopped. He hadn’t been through this part of the house yet, but the presence he felt was unmistakable, even if it was something he rarely experienced—a spirit passing by or through him, like an echo of life, disconnected from its body.
These poor people. Their daughter was dead, which they likely suspected. There was no way to give them the closure they’d been denied, however, for Peter could never tell them how he knew.
He shook the jarring sensation from his shoulders and continued behind Joseph. In some cases, Peter had tried talking to spirits, seen the haze of a few, but they weren’t something he could touch in the conventional sense. Even so, his presence seemed capable of giving them a little life, which usually amounted in frightening scenarios for his clients. He preferred to avoid places where he could feel this sort of presence. He’d have to be careful, but he didn’t want to call it quits so soon.
“Oh, Joseph! I didn’t hear you coming.”
A young blond stopped in the doorway to the kitchen just inches from having run into Joseph on her way out, laden with an armful of linens Peter assumed were being carted off for laundry. She didn’t wear anything so formal as a maid’s dress, but her navy uniform-like shirt, black pants, and comfortable shoes clearly said housekeeper.
“Just means you’re on a mission, Sheree, like usual.” Joseph stepped to the side to let her pass, and her eyes fell on Peter. She carried herself with the sort of excess energy he envied in others, and despite her hair being in a messy bun, it struck him as a very controlled mess.
“You must be the gardener,” she said with an out-of-breath huff. “I’d shake your hand, but…”
“Don’t worry.” Peter raised his gloved fingers, which prompted a curious head-tilt.
“Peter, Sheree. Sheree, this is Peter Thorne,” Joseph introduced.
“Is that the new blood?” an older woman called from the kitchen.
Joseph and Sheree shared a practiced look of exasperation, and Sheree offered Peter an apologetic nod before hurrying away.
“Nice to meet you, Pete!”
At her departure, they entered the kitchen, which was wall-to-wall beige, even on the cabinets, along with a beige and ivory marble-topped island. The room had lower ceilings with recessed lighting that made everything a little too bright for Peter’s tastes. A few paintings on the walls broke up the monotony with splashes of color.
“We’ll need to be feeding him,” the owner of the previous voice said by way of greeting, perusing Peter’s trim form like a disapproving grandmother.
She very well could have been a grandmother to this family, given her dark complexion and familial attitude. She stood at the stovetop left of the island removing a steaming kettle from a burner. She wore a floral-patterned dress and full apron, with silver hair pinned neatly, and small spectacles on her nose.
Peter was a little too skinny, exaggerated by his six-two height, which made him feel lurching on his best days like a scarecrow come to life, made worse by his straw-colored hair that he rarely kept trimmed. His thin physique wasn’t for lack of trying, but even the healthiest of appetites failed to keep up with the energy he expended using his gift.
The woman’s scrutiny made him sweep back his hair, which was long enough now to resemble a 90s teenage heartthrob.
Also in view was a breakfast nook, where an ancient looking gentleman in a suit and tie was seated—Hugh, Peter recalled, who’d met him at the door and showed him into the sitting room.
“Peter, this is Mrs. Benedict, our cook,” Joseph said, “and Hugh, who you met earlier, is the manor’s caretaker. Anything the ladies of the house can’t handle falls to him.”
Hugh rose with some effort, pale-skinned and gaunt. He was easily in his seventies but moved like someone in his nineties. He managed to stand tall regardless and offered Peter a polite bow like a proper butler. “I assure you, anything the ladies can’t handle is frightfully little.”
Joseph and Peter chuckled in good humor.
Mrs. Benedict kept staring.
“How wonderful to meet you both!” Peter blurted, realizing he hadn’t yet greeted them aloud.
No handsome, single, young men on staff, which was a relief. Not that Peter worried any of these people would care that he was gay, but he wasn’t good at hiding his attractions, and it was better if he didn’t invite romantic attachment.
As much as he might long for companionship—a boyfriend, lover—it wasn’t possible. He’d made that mistake before and always ended up leaving when too many questions arose. The more someone touched him, the more they became curious, and that led nowhere good.
Mrs. Benedict nodded in mild approval. “Dinner is at six-thirty—for everyone. Being late or trying to be a hermit in your room will not do in this household. Understood?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Peter said promptly. “It is very kind of you to include me.”
She seemed pleased by this response and offered a nod toward a nearby tea set with a platter of assorted cookies and snacks. “Coming up to meet Dennis and join us for tea?”
Peter regularly felt out of place around his wealthy clients, but although this one appeared to observe teatime like some posh English family, the inclusion of the staff was a pleasant surprise, like everyone was a member of the family.
“I wish we could,” Joseph spoke up, “but I need to finish a tour of the house and introduce Peter to Fran first.”
“I will absolutely take you up on that another day though,” Peter said in appeasement, which she also seemed to appreciate—very much like a grandmother. “I promise.”
Peter had no memories of his own grandmother. He’d grown up solely with his mother until he was nine, and then… no one. At least no one related to him. Foster care hadn’t been easy, but also not the horror story he had often heard from others. He was never adopted, just part of a revolving system that saw him in several different households until he was eighteen. Since he was an orphan, no one expected him to be especially physical, which he always thought sad, but at least it had been convenient.
By the time he could go out on his own, if anyone suspected there was something strange about him, he was already gone.
He and Joseph continued from the kitchen into a small wet bar that connected to a smoking room, which was really another sitting room, just smaller than the main one.
“Normally, I’ll be in the city during weekdays,” Joseph explained along the way, “but any questions you might have, don’t hesitate to ask the staff. They can usually answer things better than I could.”
Joseph was a commodities broker, which Peter didn’t really understand outside fictional knowledge of Richard Gere’s character in Pretty Woman. The family wasn’t well-off purely because of Joseph’s job, however. His wife, Francine Connelly—formally Benes—came from money. Benes Manor had been in her family for decades, originally belonging to some distant cousin and having sat empty for years.
“I’m amazed you’ve only lived here a few months,” Peter said. “This place is in wonderful shape for having been empty for… forty years, was it?”
“At least, but empty only of a Benes. Hugh was caretaker during that time too. Kept the place in pristine condition until the next Benes wanted the place, which ended up being my Fran. Speaking of…” He swept his arm forward as they entered the final area of downstairs.
There were two bathrooms on this level, one half-bath near the dining room for guests, and one full connected to the master bedroom—and what a master it was, almost as large as the sitting room, with the same two-story ceiling-high windows and French doors leading to the gardens.
The difference was that these doors didn’t have glass, and the windows were covered by thick curtains.
“May we interrupt?” Joseph knocked on the partially open door before entering.
Peter didn’t see anyone at first, only the impressive view of a carved antique chest at the end of a California king-sized bed, with a matching dresser, and a chandelier hanging from the ceiling.
Joseph turned to his left, and as Peter followed, he saw the rest of the room, which included a vanity, where the woman from the family portrait sat, scribbling on a piece of paper that she tucked under a stack of others as soon as she noticed them.
“Joseph! Is this the new gardener?” Francine rose, a little tired looking maybe, but every bit as rich-casual and prim as Joseph, despite the way her mourning had been described. Her chestnut hair was tied back into a full mane of curls, and she wore a chic marigold jumpsuit, with bangles on her wrists and a locket necklace.
When she shook Peter’s hand, she didn’t seem to notice his gloves. She was all in her head, though clearly trying to put on a braver face than what she felt.
“You have a beautiful home, Mrs. Connelly. A little TLC is all that’s needed for those gardens, and they’ll be brand-new.”
“That would be… incredible,” she said with more wistfulness than Peter had intended to conjure.
Brand-new, the chance to start over, wouldn’t mean anything to this woman without her daughter, and the plain truth of that made Peter wonder what she’d been scribbling when they came in.
Even if he hadn’t been wearing gloves, he couldn’t heal a broken heart.
“It was nice to meet you, Mr. Thorne, but there are a few things I need to finish up before dinner.” As Francine said this, she shifted as though to hide the vanity and its stack of papers behind her. “I look forward to seeing what you can do for us.”
“I won’t let you down,” Peter promised.
“Be sure to get out and enjoy some sunshine, won’t you, dear?” Joseph moved in closer and pressed a kiss to her cheek. She didn’t shy from it. In fact, she leaned into Joseph and a faint smile touched her lips that was realer than her previous expression. There was still an ache between them, unspoken tension, and shared sorrow, but all too often Peter saw this sort of loss wedge a rift between couples. It was nice to see one trying to overcome that.
Even so, whatever Francine had been working on, Joseph wasn’t fooled into ignoring it. He didn’t comment as he led Peter out but allowed a brief troubled frown.
There was a third staircase, this one hidden and not as grand as the others, which they used to ascend to the second floor, coming up in the center of a long hallway stretching either direction.
“There’s a full bathroom at either end, though you’ll likely use the one to the right.” Joseph brought Peter left despite saying that, and along the way, they passed two closed doors, each bearing signs that said Pink Room and White Room, respectively. “Hugh has the White Room. Sheree the Pink.”
Next to the bathroom on this end was a laundry room, where Sheree was folding a recently finished load, while having started another, presumably the linens she’d been carrying earlier.
As she looked up to wave, an orange blur shot up from out of a basket of folded clothes, disrupting articles every direction. Sheree shrieked as it raced past her out of the room. Peter and Joseph parted to give the cat clearance, and Peter just barely made out its long ginger-striped fur and heard the tinkle of a bell before it was gone.
“Damn cat!” Sheree cried, stomping her feet.
Joseph cringed and passed her a penitent wave. “Sorry! I didn’t forget to check if you were allergic, did I?” he asked Peter.
“I’m fine. I love cats.” Although Peter would have to do something about that pink hibiscus in the sitting room. It shouldn’t be one of the types that was toxic to pets, but best to be safe.
“Well, watch out because that little monster doesn’t love anyone. Anymore,” Joseph added, which immediately told Peter who the cat had belonged to. “Back this way.” He gestured Peter the other direction. “You’re in the Blue Room, and Mrs. Benedict has the President’s Room.”
“President’s?” Peter questioned when they passed it.
“The aesthetics and dark blue carpet evoke a certain Oval Office charm,” Joseph said with a smirk, “and residing in something called the President’s Room suits our cook just fine.”
Peter chuckled. That grandmother air certainly made Mrs. Benedict seem like the runner of the house, even if Hugh was caretaker.
The door to the Blue Room was open, and while the President’s Room might have dark blue carpeting, Peter’s room was so named for royal blue walls. It bore similarly carved furnishings to the master bedroom, and the rounded arches above the windows held more stained glass, with a view looking down on the gardens.
Peter’s bags had already been brought up and were stacked beside the bed.
“Oh! I didn’t realize Hugh would be carrying everything up for me,” Peter said with a twinge of guilt.
“That man is sturdier than he looks—and as stubborn as everyone else in this house. He would have insisted.”
“I forgot to ask—no basement?”
“There is, through the kitchen, but just for storage and our wine cellar.” Joseph led Peter into the hall again. “All the work supplies you need should be in the garden shed, which I can show you once we’re outside. That just leaves—” He cut off and reached into his jacket to pull out a vibrating phone.
The only place left to tour was up a central staircase beside the one they’d used from the first floor, which Peter assumed led to the children’s rooms.
“I need to call my assistant,” Joseph said. “I apologize. Are you good to get settled?”
“Absolutely. Honestly, I’ll be happy to get to work.”
“About that fatigue you mentioned…”
“A mild case of chronic fatigue, yes.” Peter was upfront about that with his clients, since he usually required periodic rests and early evenings after using his abilities all day. “I promise it won’t affect my work, simply means my breaks might include a power nap and I retire early most nights.”
“Whatever you need to do, your schedule is yours to dictate. But don’t work too hard your first day,” Joseph teased.
“I’ll just get my hands in the dirt and start a game plan. This is what I do, Mr. Connelly, and I love every part of it.”
“Joseph,” Joseph corrected. “And alright. Help yourself to the kitchen any time—though Mrs. Benedict is likely to force-feed you more than you might want. Nowhere is off limits here other than private rooms. Unless you prove to be a sloppy houseguest,” he added with a wink. “See you at dinner.”
Heading left again toward the staircase that wound down into the sitting room, Joseph had his assistant on the line before he had even begun his descent, leaving Peter to the sounds of his fading voice and the hum from the not-too-distant washer and dryer.
Peter glanced up the third-floor staircase. If he craned his ears, he could hear the faint clink of the tea set and Mrs. Benedict’s voice mingling with a younger one. As tempted as he was to go up, he was more eager to see the gardens.
When he returned to his room, he felt a stir he hadn’t while Joseph was with him.
The spirit was back, and it was stronger here than in the dining hall.
Wary as he was, Peter moved to the windows in front of the bed and turned around, taking in the whole of the room to try pinpointing where the spirit was most concentrated. Though he couldn’t see it, he felt it in the far corner, watching him like it had been waiting for him to be alone. There was no malice in the intent, merely curiosity, maybe because Peter’s presence made it feel a rush of life.
“Hello?” Peter said softly, surprised when he realized he was meeting the spirit’s scrutiny at his own eye level. This was no little girl. Delia was unlikely alive after so many months missing, but this was someone else, an adult who had died, a man, with a bold aura that spoke of a once boisterous personality.
Since this was an old family home, any number of people might have died here, and Peter wondered who he was talking to.
“Am I in your room?” he asked.
A flutter surrounded him like an answering breeze. His encounters with spirits before had always included negative emotions, like confusion, fear, even anger, but this spirit seemed content, at least with having Peter in his presence.
“I’m glad you don’t mind me being here, but it can be dangerous if I interact with you too much.”
Another breeze blew, and Peter sensed the questioning in it.
“I’m… different. You can already feel it. Interacting with me will only complicate things. You’re not really here, not alive. I might make you feel a little like you are again, but you’ll only end up… turning lights on and off, moving things, or frightening these poor people if you suddenly appear in front of them.
“They lost their little girl. The last thing they need is to think she’s haunting their house. It’ll only hurt them more. Do you understand?”
Again, came the breeze-like flutter, sadder now but comprehending.
“Thank you. I won’t be staying long anyway. So please, let this family grieve in peace.”
There was no breeze this time, no flutter or chill whispering across his skin. Like an unspoken promise, the spirit was quiet, and although that was what Peter had asked for, he felt a pang of regret.
The contentment from the spirit initially had been in answer to a welcome reprieve from loneliness, something Peter could understand.
He sighed and started to unpack.
The Wizard Wolf by Noah Harris
Chapter 1
Keller
Kell clutched the steaming cup of coffee closer to him. Other than a light jacket and a hat on his head, the drink was his only source of warmth on the cool day. Winter was fading into spring but it wasn’t disappearing fast enough for him. The gray clouds overhead were a remnant of the long weeks of winter, and it seemed that snow was just as likely to fall from them as rain.
The coffee was black and bitter, and a shudder ran through him as he drank, relishing its warmth. It would still be a few more weeks before the overcast sky gave way to blue and warmer weather arrived. Despite the chilly air, the sidewalks were a little more packed than usual. Late March had warmed enough to draw people out into the open, rather than huddling in their homes to avoid the worst of the weather.
Summer would soon draw closer and people from the city would flood the streets, on vacation or simply visiting. Boston wasn’t a beach resort haven, but plenty of people wanted to see the ocean and walk the streets of one of the oldest cities in America all the same. Keller looked forward to the warmer season, not just because it meant no longer having to bundle up to go outside, but so he could take in the sight of the crowds of people once again.
The chilled air and sharp wind made it impossible for him to sit down and watch the crowds pass him by. Kell liked to choose a place, somewhere just off the path of the people but close enough for him to see them, and watch them for hours. As a boy, he found he liked to listen in on snippets of conversations, catch the expressions on people’s faces, and even look over their clothing, trying to guess the story behind their day or even their entire lives.
Living on an army base as a boy had given him plenty of practice at looking beyond the masks people wore in public. He learned to catch the barest flicker of emotion, the downward twitch of a lip, the subtle crease in someone’s brow, or the way someone’s eyes might linger just a moment too long on something. When his days of being contained on a base had been exchanged for living in the foster care system, he discovered his insights helped him survive.
Some homes he’d been placed in had been quiet and easy to live in, if only temporarily. Others, however, had required him to be quick to notice a storm coming and to get out of its path. While he learned that getting too attached to any one family or the other kids was an invitation for disappointment and loss, he excelled in learning other people’s stories, habits, and personalities.
At the age of twenty-two, Kell considered himself a master people watcher, instinctively knowing things about others at a glance. He’d learned some of the best places in the city, near his apartment, to sit down and watch the crowds go by. Sometimes he sat near cafés or restaurants, and as summer came, he would place himself near bars at night. People never knew how much of themselves they gave away to an outside observer as they carried on with their lives. Keller prided himself on being able to see those moments and paint a mental picture of the person’s life.
A couple, holding hands and pressed close to one another, brushed by Keller, jarring him from his thoughts. Instinctively, he tucked the cup of coffee closer to him to keep it steady. A muffled apology came from the pair as they tried to make their way through the crowd, but Keller said nothing. It was rare for him to allow himself to actually speak to the people on the street, feeling it broke the protective bubble that simply observing gave him.
The woman from the couple turned as she walked, her eyes lingering on Kell for a moment. Kell’s heart gave a heavy thump in his chest as she watched him. It wasn’t the first time someone noticed him in the crowd and paid close attention to him, even briefly. At those times, Kell couldn’t help but wonder if the person was seeing something about him, perceiving a piece of him, as he could with others.
The people who noticed him before he noticed them were the ones he always avoided talking to. The occasional moment he broke from his bubble to speak to someone in a crowd was only ever with unsuspecting strangers. While part of him always craved knowing what those perceptive and curious strangers saw in him, he’d never been able to bring himself to speak to them. The idea that they saw something was intriguing but the reality of someone truly seeing him was unnerving.
His heartbeat slowed as the woman turned her attention away, distracted by something the man said. Keller could see the wisps of condensation drifting from the scarf around his face as the couple walked and wondered what he’d said to pull her attention away so quickly. It could have been a warning of where they were going, but Kell watched as she smiled and dismissed the thought. Whatever it was, it caused the woman to lean closer toward the man, and Keller felt a lingering stab of loneliness mingling with his happiness at her contentment.
“She could just think you’re a creep,” he muttered to himself with a smile.
It was an old, private joke. There’d been plenty of times since he’d begun the ‘game’ that he’d had to face down someone who was insulted by his attention. As a child, people simply took his attention as something endearing or amusing. As an adult, however, there were those who noticed his attention and were unnerved by it. While some simply found his attention ‘creepy,’ Keller suspected others were self-conscious. It was as if they sensed he was seeing something about them they didn’t want others to see, and they either confronted him or got out of his sight as quickly as possible.
With the oddly-weighted sensation of loneliness still in his chest, he turned back the way he’d been heading. He hesitated before continuing to walk, having caught the flash of a familiar face. Kell had first spotted the man when he’d stepped out of his apartment building that afternoon, and he’d seen him a few more times on his walk. There was nothing about the man’s face or clothes that made him stand out, but there was an odd look in his eyes. Kell had yet to be close enough to the stranger to make out what the odd look could be but it caused a knot in his stomach when he saw it.
“You’re being paranoid, just walk,” Kell muttered to himself as he forced himself to keep moving.
Despite his assurances to himself, Keller began to walk with a hurried pace. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt like he was being watched or followed, and having been stalked by someone in the past, he didn’t want to relive the experience. His stalker had turned out to be a furious ex-boyfriend, though Kell was sure that wasn’t the case this time. Edward had gone from following Keller everywhere to breaking into his home. It was the escalation which had seen Edward locked up for breaking and entering, and the possession of a knife had guaranteed he’d be locked away for some time. No, Keller was quite sure he wasn’t being followed by his ex again, but the thought wasn’t comforting, as he would at least know how to handle that.
He wanted to tell himself he was being paranoid but part of his mind swore he could feel the stranger somewhere behind him, those strange eyes locked on Keller’s back.
Keller was thankful he’d caught sight of the man again in a neighborhood he knew so well. His time wandering around the area near his apartment, people watching, gave him a reliable mental map of the streets and alleys. Thinking ahead, he plotted out the path he’d take, hoping it would give him an escape route.
Kell made his way through the thickest part of the crowd near a group of popular restaurants and outlet stores. As the crowd swallowed him up in the press of other bodies, Keller swerved to the nearby alley between a pizzeria and a shoe store. There were enough people milling about for him to squeeze through, hopefully unnoticed, into the shadowy recess between buildings.
The noise of the crowd echoed down the alley, growing weaker as he hurried to turn a corner and take the next path. The sound of the streets and people dulled behind the buildings, and Keller let out a sigh of relief when he glanced behind to see no one there.
Before he could finish telling himself he’d been silly, a scuffing sound drew his attention. A man was walking toward him from his right, his gaze locked on Keller. A shiver ran down Kell’s spine and he turned down another alley, his step hesitating as he spotted another man walking down his intended path. Kell heard another sound from behind him and instinct told him it was his original tail.
A glance over his shoulder confirmed it as his new stalker rounded the corner, eyes fixed on Keller. For one brief moment, Kell thought he was seeing a trio of brothers bear down on him. Looking at them, however, he realized they didn’t look alike at all. One was blond and fair-skinned, another was dark-haired with light eyes, and the third reminded Kell of Edward, whose mother was Puerto Rican. It was the look in their eyes which made them seem so similar, the same strange look that had unnerved Kell.
Kell let out a puff of air, mind racing as he tried to decide what to do. “Can I help you boys?”
The original stalker stepped forward. “Keller Thorne.”
“Right, so you know my name, good on you. That doesn’t tell me what you want,” Kell replied, sensing the other two drawing close.
The man tilted his head, a lock of his dark hair falling across his forehead. It seemed to emphasize the odd light in his eyes and, up close, Kell realized what had so unnerved him about the man. It was the same look he’d seen in some of the other foster kids’ faces while hopping between homes. The expression of someone who’d been bent, battered, and beaten by the world, and decided enough was enough. If the world was going to be hard and bitter, then they would be even worse. The odd glint of the man’s gaze was one of bitter anger.
Keller glanced between the three men as they closed in, cutting off his exits completely. They knew him, had been following him, and Keller realized they’d probably known as much about the area as he did. The three had been waiting for the perfect moment to get him alone where there were no witnesses. He suspected they’d intentionally forced him into the alley where he’d be isolated and they could hem him in. They were intelligent, clever, and they had outsmarted him easily.
“We’re here for you,” the blond to his right said evenly.
Kell snorted, unnerved by their stoic faces and overly bright eyes. “Look, the three of you are cute enough, but I’ve got to tell you, this is the worst way to try to pick me up. How about you guys give me your numbers and we talk about a dinner date or something.”
He sensed the attack before the dark-skinned man leapt forward. Instinct took over and Kell dropped to the alley floor with a startled yelp. Something bright and silvery flashed in the air overhead, and Keller felt something cleave through his jacket and shirt. Telling himself to keep moving, Keller dug into the ground with his feet, barreling forward in the space between two of the men’s legs. A bright flash of light lit the alley and pain flared around his calf as he dove free from the circle they’d trapped him in.
Kell hit the ground chest first, scrambling to shove his arms under him and get to his feet. As he stood, his right leg buckled slightly beneath him in a new wash of pain. Looking down, he realized the right cuff of his jeans was smoldering, the seam gone completely and the skin beneath raw and bright red.
Keller looked up at the three in disbelief. “You tried to set me on fire?”
It had been the blond man from the looks of it and all three were advancing on him. The man held what looked like the sort of thing Keller would expect a suburban dad to attach to the end of his hose to fertilize and de-weed the grass. The difference being, the handled tub wasn’t made of plastic, but metal. It glinted from the overhead light, and Keller could see a fluid, gas from the smell of the alley, drip in a single drop onto the alley floor.
Keller took a step back, hissing when his arm bumped into the corner of one of the buildings. Instinct brought his hand up to touch the spot, which stung. His fingers came away red and sticky with his own blood, and he realized he’d been cut. Kell could see a knife, a silvery glint reflecting off its deadly blade, in the hand of the dark-skinned man who’d started the attack.
“I guess I should be a little quicker on my feet,” Kell muttered.
His mouth was working of its own accord as he frantically tried to figure out a way to escape. The hard look in their eyes had grown worse and they didn’t seem to be in any hurry to finish him off. Kell didn’t blame them—he didn’t exactly make a formidable opponent, relying more on wits and agility to get out of dangerous situations than combat skills or strength.
When one of them moved, Kell threw himself to the side, aiming for the mouth of the nearby alley. His shoulder hit the ground and the ripe smell of trash and stale beer filled his nostrils as he slammed down. Gritting his teeth, he shoved his feet against the ground, backpedaling away from them as they turned to pursue him.
“What the fuck is your problem?” he demanded.
Their silence wasn’t unexpected and Kell could feel the acidic fear bubbling up in his throat even as he spat angry words. His eyes fell on the dismal sight of the dropped coffee cup he’d lost in his previous attempt to get away from their attack. The anger he’d spat at them burst with new life in his chest, making him forget all about his fear for a moment. He’d been minding his own business, hurting no one as he tried to squeeze out whatever pleasure he could get from the day. That the day had culminated with him in a dirty alley, bleeding from his arm, and one of his few pairs of pants singed beyond usefulness, made him utterly furious.
His foot lashed out, driving toward the knee of the dark-haired man who’d been his original stalker. Kell hadn’t aimed quite high enough, hitting the man’s shin instead but earning a snarl of pain from the man all the same. Kell didn’t care. His life in the foster system had been marked by his passive quietness, broken only by furious moments of undiluted emotion. It was normally anger, unbroken and pure as it took hold of him, bringing him to lash out in ways no one could predict.
The dark-haired man certainly hadn’t predicted the blow and Kell was happy to have the momentary upper hand. The fits of anger and lashing out might have plagued his younger years, but he held tight to them as he fought for his life.
A sharp crack from above broke the unnerving silence of the alley. Kell looked up in time to see something huge and heavy plummeting toward them. His fearful mind reacted and he darted out of the way. The three men weren’t as lucky, having reacted too late as the large air conditioning unit crashed onto the alley floor, exploding into shrapnel on impact. A shard cut his arm, but the worst of it caught the three men as Kell scrambled to safety.
Kell knew an opportunity when he saw one, and he kept his feet moving toward the mouth of the alley. He left the sounds of an outraged cry and a moan of pain behind him as he ran full speed into the relative safety of the street. Ignoring the odd looks from people who’d heard the commotion, Kell continued running away from the alley.
Kell could only think of one safe place, and he ran toward it as fast as his legs could carry him.
Pounding on the door, Kell muttered under his breath as he waited for his friend to answer. His own apartment was next door, only a few feet from where he stood. But Kell didn’t think it was safe there anymore. If the men who’d attacked him knew him well enough to be able to trick him, they definitely had to know which apartment was his.
Kell let out a sigh of relief when the door swung open, revealing a faintly annoyed looking Carson. His friend was half-dressed, and his gray eyes took in the sight of the wounded and frenzied Keller with surprise. Kell didn’t wait for Carson to speak, pushing past his friend into the apartment and closing the door before Carson could protest.
“Kell, what the hell?” Carson began, looking Keller up and down.
Kell shook his head, trying to catch his breath as he walked out of the entryway of Carson’s apartment. He was always amazed, and a little jealous, whenever he stopped by Carson’s apartment. Though they lived in the same rundown apartment building, Carson was good at concealing the dilapidated condition. His apartment was always neat and tidy, and it was tastefully decorated. It was a far cry from the mess Kell’s apartment usually was, furnished only with what he could scrounge together.
“Looks like you got that raise,” Kell noted, poking a small Grecian statue on a nearby table.
“Business is booming,” Carson said, following close.
“Must be nice,” Kell replied.
He tried his best to not be jealous of his friend and focus instead on being happy at his success. Carson had been another foster kid just like him, but unlike Kell, he’d been adopted, rather than continuing to be passed from home to home. Kell tried to not attribute the adoption to Carson’s success, but it was hard. While Kell had been shunted around, Carson had found a stable place, with a supportive family and his every need taken care of.
Carson huffed. “Are you going to tell me why you showed up, pounding on my door, looking like you were in a brawl? Or are you going to stand around and give me hell because I’ve got a new statue?”
Kell sighed. “I look like I was in a fight because I was. Some guy was following me around today. When I tried to get away, him and his buddies decided to jump me in an alley.”
Carson blinked, his mouth opening and closing uselessly a few times before he spoke. “Jesus. Are you okay?”
Kell looked down at his burned pants. “Other than having a little cut and ruined pants, yeah, I’m fine. An AC unit fell off the building and gave me a chance to get away. I don’t know if they’re going to come back here but I didn’t want to go back to my apartment. They knew me well enough to corner me, so I wasn’t taking any chances.”
Carson nodded slowly. “I guess Lady Luck was looking out for you again.”
“Yeah, I’m blessed alright,” Kell replied bitterly.
“Blessed enough for luck to swing your way and save you from whatever those guys had planned for you,” Carson insisted.
Carson might want to call it good luck, but Kell thought of it as a mixed curse. Strange events had followed him his whole life and they rarely worked in his favor. The AC unit falling off the building was one of the rare times Kell could blatantly be thankful for something odd happening in his life. The other times, such as when a large bay window had blown inward during an argument he’d been having with one of the other foster kids, were the bane of his existence. Kell had been untouched by the exploding window but the other boy had needed dozens of stitches from the flying shards of glass. Kell had ended up transferred out of the house to another, far more miserable home.
It wasn’t the first time something bizarre had occurred in the heat of the moment and Kell had ended up suffering the consequences. Although no one had ever been able to directly attribute the events to Kell personally, it was a case of guilt by association. Kell didn’t want to call the events supernatural but he was more than willing to call himself cursed. Odd things seemed to happen around him, often enough that others learned to avoid him, especially if he was emotional. The more agitated he was, the more likely something odd and dangerous was to happen around him.
Kell stared at his friend. “You going out?”
Carson looked down at himself. “Yeah, I was called in and was getting ready when you showed up.”
“They know you’re over an hour away from the office, right?” Kell asked. “They know. They’ll hold things down until I get there,” Carson told him, busying himself by adjusting his tie.
Kell shook his head. “I don’t know why you don’t just move closer. You’re obviously making the money to move to a nicer place.”
Carson shrugged. “I like it here, it suits me. Plus, who would you bug in the middle of the night whenever you’re feeling bored and lonely?”
“Cabs exist, you know,” Kell pointed out.
Carson walked out, his voice drifting down the hallway. “And you’re going to fork out the money for a cab just to stop by and bug me?”
“I appreciate you sticking around to keep me company and all, but there’s no reason for you to stay here just for that,” Kell called after him.
Carson reappeared a moment later, suit jacket and shoes on. “Who says it’s because of you?”
Kell rolled his eyes but said nothing. Neither of them had been willing to talk about why Carson stuck around in a ratty apartment on the poorer side of the city when he could easily afford to move to a cleaner, safer part of town. Kell had chosen to move into the same apartment building because it had been convenient to be near his childhood friend and helped ease some of his own loneliness. However, with Carson’s new job, he was more than capable of moving somewhere that suited his income better and would put him closer to work.
He was touched that his friend wanted to stay around for his benefit but it made him feel guilty as well. If Carson had better opportunities, Kell felt he should take them. It would be a lonelier existence for Kell, but at least he wouldn’t feel as if he were holding his friend back.
“Are you going to be okay?” Carson asked as he checked his pockets.
Kell flopped down onto the couch. “I’ll be okay. I just didn’t want to be in my apartment is all. I’ll crash here for a little bit—you go do your job.”
Carson shook his head, opening the door to his apartment. “There’s leftover Thai in the fridge, help yourself. I’ll be back later tonight if you’re still here.”
Kell was content to enjoy the silence after Carson disappeared. One of the reasons he liked Carson was because the man just understood him. He was sure if it’d been anyone else he’d talked to after being ambushed, they’d have insisted he go to the police. Kell didn’t like anyone with authority and was especially wary of cops. Something about the mix of aggression and command always seemed to bring out the worst in people, and it didn’t help that most cops quickly learned about him and his reputation growing up. Kell was content to hide out, grumbling about his ruined jeans, rather than run to the nearest police station.
He felt his life had prepared him for dealing with hardship and no small amount of struggle. What it hadn’t prepared him for was being jumped in an alley by three men he’d never seen before. Three men who knew more about him than he was comfortable with. Kell had contented himself with living his life quietly in the background hum of the rest of the world.
In the span of an hour, the three men had thrown him from the background into the spotlight of someone else’s life. They knew him, well enough to know his habits and reactions. The fear in the alley finally gave way to paranoia and unease. He’d always thought of himself as unobtrusive and not worth noticing. Kell didn’t know what he’d done to earn crosshairs aimed at him, and the quiet of Carson’s apartment was only serving to give him space to worry and fret.
The peace was ruined when a thud resounded from somewhere to his left. It took Kell a moment to realize it was the sound of a door being flung open. Another thump brought him upright, tense as he realized the sound was coming from his apartment.
“Son of a bitch,” Kell hissed as he heard a series of noises, objects being tossed by the sound of it, from the other side of the wall.
The next heavy sound was further away, and Kell realized they weren’t tearing through his things but searching through his apartment, probably for him. That he’d been right about them knowing where he lived provided little comfort as he heard their irritated mutterings to one another through the shared wall. As he listened intently, noting one of the voices moving toward the hallway again, it occurred to him they probably knew about Carson as well.
The sound of the men began to drift closer to the hallway and Kell figured he only had a minute or so before they broke into Carson’s apartment. As much as he hated the idea of the thugs in his room, there was no way for him to stop them. The best he could do was get out of the apartment as quickly as possible and be thankful his friend was already out of harm’s reach.
Kell dashed across the living room toward the sliding glass door. He stepped out onto the second-floor balcony, closing the door behind him just in time to hear the first blow hit the apartment door. Kell swore under his breath as he looked to the nearby fire escape. It didn’t look stable, but he figured it was better to risk the danger of possible injury rather than stay for the certainty of one.
The door to Carson’s apartment blew inward with a splintering crash. Kell leapt the short distance between the railing of the apartment and the fire escape to the sound of one of them yelling. He didn’t stop to find out if they’d been yelling about him, yanking himself up over the rail of the fire escape and darting to the stairs. The metal shook as he hurried down. Another shout brought his head up as his feet hit the ground, and he glanced up to see one of men hanging out the sliding door to the balcony, pointing down toward him.
Kell spared them a flash of his middle finger as he ran out of the alley between his apartment building and the next. The afternoon crowds had thickened in the time he’d been in Carson’s apartment, and Kell made straight for the densest part. He hoped he could lose them in the crowd of people and give himself a chance to get away. Then he’d be able to call Carson and warn him of the men in his apartment while he figured out what to do next.
He was so caught up in making sure they weren’t close and forming his next plan of action that he forgot to look in front of him. His face slammed into a warm body and would’ve gone crashing to the ground if it weren’t for a sudden strong grip on his shoulders keeping him upright.
Keller caught his balance, spitting out an apology with a glance backward before looking up. His words failed as he looked straight into the most striking pair of blue eyes he’d ever seen. Even in the gray light of the overcast day, the man’s eyes shone with a crystalline light, accented perfectly by the thick crop of black hair on his head. The man was noticeably taller than Keller, having to look down at him. His grip was strong, and Keller couldn’t help but notice the width of his shoulders. For a moment, Kell forgot where he was and found himself wondering what it would be like to run his hands over the man’s back.
“You okay?” the man was asking, his voice heavy with a British accent.
“I’m so sorry, I was…” Kell stopped, glancing over his shoulder, unsure how to explain himself.
The man snorted. “Running headfirst through a crowd of people without paying attention to where you were going? Yeah, I noticed. My sore chest says hi.”
Kell’s response lodged in his throat when he caught sight of his pursuers heading through the crowd. His attempts to pull away from the irritated man were thwarted as he was held tighter to him. Kell squirmed, trying to break the guy’s hold as the three attackers pushed their way toward them. The man held him even tighter, his bright eyes looking at the trio.
“Hold still, you’re fine,” the dark-haired man hissed at him, sounding even more annoyed than before.
Kell’s tension burst into almost pure panic as the three men from before came within sight. One of them, the blond, looked right at them, but Kell could have sworn the man’s gaze passed right through him. With a hand motion, the blond pushed farther into the crowd with his friends on his heels.
He looked around in amazement as the crowd passed by them, surging around the space his assailants had made in their search. As he watched, they walked around where he and the bright-eyed stranger stood without so much as a glance toward them. It was as if the two of them had disappeared from sight.
Harvest Kisses for the Omega by Lacey Daize
Chapter 1 - Sam
I took a look around my empty apartment and grinned.
If anybody had asked a few days earlier I might have admitted to being nervous—even wondering if I’d gone slightly crazy—but now I was excited.
Granted, I still wondered if I’d gone crazy, but it wasn't as prevalent an emotion as it had been before.
I mean, who leaves a damn good job and gives up a rent-controlled apartment in an expensive city on a whim? But that’s exactly what I was doing.
Go west young man…
I couldn’t remember the first time I’d heard the old quote about westward expansion, but somehow it had always stuck with me. I’d even considered heading out to the west coast for college, but then I received an in-state scholarship that I would have been insane to turn down.
For years it had only been a lingering thought in the back of my mind, but as I approached thirty it had started to nag at me again. Finally, as I was handed the renewal paperwork for my lease, I decided: for my thirtieth birthday, I was going to move out west.
The thought was half-energizing, and half-terrifying. I didn’t have a new job or apartment lined up, and had no idea how long I’d be living off savings in motels. But I was doing it. I was listening to that voice that had called me westward for at least a decade and a half.
I’d managed to prepare for the move in record time too. Almost all my stuff was in pod storage, just ready for me to call. And I’d decided to leave my car with my parents until I’d settled into a new place.
But that also left me the ability to fulfill another dream: drive across the country on the back of my motorcycle.
I made one last sweep of the apartment, making sure everything was ready for the inspection with the property managers, then pulled out my phone one more time to go over my map.
As soon as I finished the walkthrough I would be on my way.
I’d picked as many backroads and small highways as I could. Sure, the interstates could get me there faster, but I wanted to see the country. I wanted to be able to roll into a quiet town, visit the shops and restaurants, then continue on my way, and the fact that the trees were just starting to display their fall colors would make my journey even better.
Immediately following the walkthrough I went to get breakfast, then checked my bike over one final time.
I wove through city traffic, allowing both nostalgia and excitement to exist side-by-side. A part of me would always miss my home in the big city, even if I landed in another. But I was ready for a new adventure.
I’d find a new corner deli for lunch, and another mom and pop grocery store to get essentials at. I’d discover my new favorite dive bars, and maybe—if I was lucky—I’d find the alpha for me.
Most of my omega friends had been mated and with kids for several years already. I was the old man of my childhood group, and while I wanted it all, I’d never found my alpha.
In a city of millions, I somehow knew that my match wasn’t there.
My alpha was out west. I was sure of it, and with any luck, I’d find him.
I couldn’t wait to tell my eventual children the story of how papa decided to leave the east coast, and how that led him to his alpha.
The wind whipped at my leathers as I got my bike up to speed, the city shrinking behind me.
Some might say that, at thirty, I was starting over. But to me, I was finally getting started in the first place.
Charlie Cochet is the international bestselling author of the THIRDS series. Born in Cuba and raised in the US, Charlie enjoys the best of both worlds, from her daily Cuban latte to her passion for classic rock.
Currently residing in Central Florida, Charlie is at the beck and call of a rascally Doxiepoo bent on world domination. When she isn’t writing, she can usually be found devouring a book, releasing her creativity through art, or binge watching a new TV series. She runs on coffee, thrives on music, and loves to hear from readers.
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Multi-Rainbow Award winner E.J. Russell—grace, mother of three, recovering actor—holds a BA and an MFA in theater, so naturally she’s spent the last three decades as a financial manager, database designer, and business intelligence consultant (as one does). She’s recently abandoned data wrangling, however, and spends her days wrestling words.
E.J. is married to Curmudgeonly Husband, a man who cares even less about sports than she does. Luckily, CH loves to cook, or all three of their children (Lovely Daughter and Darling Sons A and B) would have survived on nothing but Cheerios, beef jerky, and satsuma mandarins (the extent of E.J.’s culinary skill set).
E.J. lives in rural Oregon, enjoys visits from her wonderful adult children, and indulges in good books, red wine, and the occasional hyperbole.
Amanda Meuwissen is a bisexual and happily married geek. Primarily an M/M romance author with a focus on urban fantasy, she has a Bachelor of Arts in a personally designed Creative Writing major from St. Olaf College and is an avid consumer of fiction through film, prose, and video games. Amanda lives in Minneapolis, MN, with her husband, John, and their cat, Helga.
Noah Harris is a 31-year-old bisexual man currently single and living in a small apartment in New York.
Being a natural introvert with significant extrovert tendencies he expresses himself through the world of writing MM books, often with a darker, paranormal twist. His books are written from the heart of his deep, sensitive and mysterious, but playful and creative, wild spirit.
Noah is dedicated to giving something back to the universe, sharing generously in his successes and inspiring and motivating others through his writing and in any other way he can. He believes in living a natural, healthy lifestyle and has embraced meditation as a way of clearing the 'noise' in his head and allowing his dark creativity to shine through in his books.
He is determined to reach out to as many readers, who he considers his 'friends', as he can through his unique personal touch and through building like-minded communities online. It is this personal touch, with his readers, that sets him apart from most other authors today.
Lacey lives in New Mexico with her four critters. She’s a Jill-of-all-trades by day, but loves writing in her spare time. She dabbles in a variety of pairings, but jumped feet-first into the deep end of omegaverse the first time she read it. She loves the play on social expectations and the different ways to express romance.
EJ Russell
Thick & Thin by Charlie Cochet
Best Beast by EJ Russell
Gardening with a Ghost by Amanda Meuwissen
The Wizard Wolf by Noah Harris
Harvest Kisses for the Omega by Lacey Daize
