Tales From Otherworld: Collection One (2 page)

“Smoky’s supposed to bring the turkey. I asked him to go down to the store with Vanzir and pick out a twenty-five pounder. I don’t know what could be keeping them.” I frowned, glancing up at the clock. Surely, Smoky and Vanzir could handle a job as simple as picking up the turkey.

Just then, the door opened and Vanzir burst through. “Where’s Delilah?”
 

“Right here!” Delilah swung around, then stopped. “What the hell?”

I turned to see what the matter was. Vanzir looked frantic. His hair was mussed up and there were what looked like puncture wounds on his forehead. He wiped a string of blood off his cheek.
 

“What the hell happened to you?” I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
 

“Don’t ask! You don’t want to know. And Delilah, I advise you to get your ass out of this kitchen before Smoky brings in the turkey.” Vanzir looked like he was caught between exasperation and a smirk.

I frowned. “Why on earth would she…” And then—I knew. “No. No. Oh for fuck’s sake. Just where did you go to for the turkey?”

Vanzir shrugged. “I wanted to go to The Natural Pantry—you know, where we buy most of the produce that we don’t grow. But Smoky had other ideas. Since he’s still not entirely thrilled hanging out with me, I decided I wasn’t about to make waves.”

“And just where did Smoky want to go?”
 

But Vanzir didn’t have time to answer, because in that moment, Smoky strode proudly into the kitchen, with a big mother of a turkey under his arm. Only the turkey? Was still alive. And by alive, I mean, hopping mad. The bird must have weighed a good twenty-five pounds, all right, and it had its tail feathers in an uproar.

He plunked it down on the floor in front of me. “Now, here’s a turkey. The ones at the store looked puny so I decided that—”

“What the fuck?” I jumped back as the thing took a stab at the buckles on my boots. “Smoky, have you lost it? We can’t cook that thing. The bird is still alive!”

“Not a problem, my love. I’ll get up early tomorrow and chop its head off for you and I’ll even volunteer to pluck it—”

“What the hell is that?” Iris came back into the room at that moment, and the basket of clean laundry she was carrying went tumbling to the floor. “Just
why
is there a turkey in my kitchen?”

“My kitchen, thank you—you have your own kitchen now, Iris.” Hanna glared at Iris, then at Smoky. “But yes, what the hell were you thinking? Get that nasty creature out of here!”
 

Iris jerked her gaze away from the turkey to stare at Hanna. “Excuse
me
? I may have my own house but this kitchen is still—”

But we were saved from a fight over territory as Delilah shoved her chair back and stumbled to her feet. Fixated on the turkey, a strange, bemused look flickered across her face.

Oh hell, I knew that look! The turkey, meanwhile, was strutting around the room, puffing out his chest, his feather tails were spread wide. Which mean he was getting huffy. And a pissed-off turkey was a pain in the ass.

“Delilah! No—don’t!” But I was too late.
 

Within the blink of any eye, Delilah shifted. One moment my 6’1” sister was standing there. The next moment, a fluffy golden tabby appeared. She promptly went bounding after the bird.
 

Unimpressed, the turkey lunged at Delilah, narrowly missing her with his beak. Roz tried to grab him from behind and the turkey let out a loud gobble and viciously punched a hole in the incubus’s hand.

“Motherfucker!” Roz jerked his hand away. At that moment, Menolly pushed her way around the table. She made a leap for the turkey, but Delilah was in mid-pounce, and the next moment, the two of them collided and went down, Menolly getting an arm full of fur and razor blades. Startled, Delilah tried to claw her way out of Menolly’s grasp.

The chaos increased as the kitchen door opened and Nerissa and Chase entered the room. The turkey, seizing his chance, bolted for the open door, throwing Nerissa off guard. She fell against Chase, who caught her, but in doing so, he backed into Hanna, and the tray of biscuits went
 
flying into the fray. The turkey, now caught on the back porch, was hissing and gobbling, stirring for a fight.

“Enough!” I cautiously put down the last of the pies I was holding, trying to make sure it was well away from the edge of the counter. But nobody was listening. So, I did the only thing I could think of. I slipped out into the hall, grabbed my purse, then dashed out the front door and raced around back of the house. The rain and wind were whipping up a storm and by the time I got there, I was soaked through. But, as I yanked open the door to the back porch, the turkey shot through the opening like a bullet out of a gun. I ducked out of his way he raced into the storm. The next thing I knew, Delilah was headed for the door and I slammed it shut before she escaped. A
thunk
on the other side of the door told me she’d hit her head.
 

Standing there, dripping wet, I listened to the shouts and turmoil coming from within the kitchen. Fuck it. At the very least, we’d need another turkey, preferably one that was dead. Hoisting my purse over my shoulder, I headed for my car.
 

The turkey let out one last gobble. Turning around, I watched him, an evil gleam in his eye shimmering as he was caught in the light coming from the house.
 

“You’re lucky, sucker. I’d get a move on, if I were you, before you have a dragon, a puma, a panther, and a pissed-off house sprite after you.”

As if he understood me, the turkey cocked his head, then turned and ambled into the forest. I jumped in my car and headed to the supermarket. Just another typical D’Artigo Thanksgiving.

A GHOST IN THE HOUSE

This story takes place before Samhain, before Harvest Hunting. It is from Camille’s point of view…

“What’s that?” I whirled around, once again sure I heard something behind me. But there was nothing there. The past few hours, I’d been sure something was in the house, but the wards showed no intruders, and there didn’t seem to be anything out of kilter. Frowning, I glanced over at Menolly and Delilah. We were carving pumpkins for Samhain, and the entire kitchen was a mess of newspapers filled with bright orange guts and seeds.
 

“I didn’t hear anything.” Delilah mumbled around a mouthful of Cheetos, her eyes crinkling. “But then again, I was watching the movie.”

We’d moved one of the smaller TVs into the kitchen and were watching Gary Oldman-as-Dracula entice Winona Ryder into a clandestine affair. Even Menolly had to admit, he had his charm, though we all knew Dracula wasn’t
really
like that. While we’d never met the vamp personally, the scuttlebutt had it that he was an egomaniacal bloodsucker with a narcissus complex. There was a reason he gave vampires a bad reputation.

“I never understood the appeal.” Menolly stabbed one of the pumpkins and began sawing away at the top.
 

“What about Roman?” I asked, repressing a smile.

“Dracula is no Roman, believe me.” But she laughed, and then hopped off the counter. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to call Nerissa to find out when she’s coming home.”

“Camille, can you hand me the Sharpies?” Delilah was drawing on one of the gourds, and doing a pretty good job of it. Maggie was sitting beside her, happy as a clam, scribbling away with a fat pencil on a piece of paper.

I reached for the bag of pens and stopped as something brushed past my hand.
What the…?
The touch was soft, but definitely there. And there was something familiar about it. At first I thought it might be Misty, my ghost kitty, but she was off in the living room, playing with Roz, chasing the red dot toy we’d bought for Delilah.

Maggie let out a
mooph
as Delilah picked her up and moved her to the side. Hanna opened the oven door, and Delilah hurried over to help her extract a batch of cookies from the oven. Peanut butter, chocolate chip, by the smell.
 

“Don’t you let me see you with a face full of molten chocolate, Delilah!” Hanna might be strong, but Delilah’s desire for hot cookies won out as she grabbed one, darting around Hanna to get it. Hanna let loose with a stern scolding in her native dialect, and I returned my focus to the pumpkin I was carving.
 

I was doing my best to design a dragon but regardless of all my efforts, the damned thing was looking more like a bedraggled bat. My talent with the carving tool wasn’t much better than my talent for punching bad guys.

A few minutes later, Menolly returned, frowning. “Well, fuck. Nerissa has to work late. I wish she could get home before it gets too dark, but that’s not going to happen.” She paused, looking around. “Where’s Maggie?”

I sat up. “Delilah has her—Kitten, where’s Maggie?”

Delilah pursed her lips. “I put her on the ground by the table. Isn’t she still there?”

I glanced under the table to Delilah’s side, but there was no Maggie. “No. Where is she?”
 

Of course, we immediately went into panic mode. Maggie couldn’t have gone far, and the kitchen door was closed, but…
 

“The front door! Is it open?”
 

Maggie was learning how to open doors and drawers, and we were watching her all the time now because she was thoroughly into that inquisitive toddler stage. She’d be stuck there for some time. Gargoyles grew very slowly so we had probably a good decade before she grew out of it.
 
And decades after that before she remotely reached puberty.

I hurried to the front door, but it was still locked.
 

“She couldn’t have gotten out through here. I’ll check the living room!”
 
As I headed for the living room, Delilah shrieked. Running full tilt into the kitchen, I found her staring at the floor. Maggie’s favorite stuffed bear was lying there.

“What’s wrong? Why did you scream?”

“The bear! I swear, I saw it floating in the air.” She stared at it, eyes wide. “I
know
I saw it—it dropped right as you came in.”

“Did you see it, Menolly? Hanna?” I turned to them. Both shook their heads.

“I was checking the bathroom to see if Miss Maggie was there.” Hanna walked over to the bear and picked it up. “This was on the table with her last I saw.” She headed toward the back of the house. “I’ll just check my room.” Maggie slept there with her at night, in her crib.

“Nothing out on the back porch.” Menolly cocked her head. “I don’t know what to think.”

“Come quickly!” Hanna’s voice echoed from her bedroom and we raced to join her.

There, in the crib, lay Maggie, fast asleep. A faint shimmer sparkled near the bed, and as we watched, the bear floated out of Hanna’s hand, through the air.
 

“Who…what…?” Delilah took a tentative step forward, then hesitated.
 

I pushed past her and cautiously made my way over to the crib, the others following me. I stopped right before reaching the sparkling lights.

“Who are you? What do you want with Maggie?” I was ready to go toe-to-toe with any ghost who might be seeking to harm our little girl. But then, Menolly gasped. I turned to see her pointing at the crib, a spark of recognition on her face. Delilah and Hanna were wide-eyed too.

“Look. Camille…look.” Delilah’s voice was hushed.

I slowly turned back around. There, leaning over Maggie’s crib, stood a large, doe-eyed gargoyle. She was a woodland gargoyle, with calico fur just like Maggie. A soft, sad light filled her eyes, and her silky fur waved in the astral wind. She gazed at me, as the bear floated down to snuggle beside our girl. It was then that I noticed the resemblance.

“You’re Maggie’s mother, aren’t you?” I wondered if she could hear me. But, as she smiled and nodded, I realized that she was dead.

“We’re taking care of her as best as we can.” Delilah slowly moved closer.

“We hope you approve.” Menolly gave her a guarded smile, and the gargoyle smiled back.

She turned back to the crib, and with a ghostly hand, reached down to stroke Maggie’s face. Sound asleep, our little gargoyle softly giggled, and then turned over to hug her bear. Maggie’s mama gave us one last look. Mingled with the sadness, we could see relief, and tears of joy.

“You can come visit her any time you want,” I said. “You’re welcome here, you know.”

She raised one hand, nodded again, and began to fade away. As the light of her aura grew fainter, I thought I could hear her say, “Thank you. Please, take care of my baby.”

“We will,” I promised. “We will.”

FIRST TOUCH

From Rozurial’s point of view, First Touch takes place between Shadow Rising and Haunted Moon…

A creaking woke him up. He became aware of the noise as he began to reach the very edge of consciousness. Then, as sleep departed, rolling back like a wave, the sound grew louder, penetrating the last fog that separated Rozurial from the waking world.
 

As he opened his eyes, he had to stop for a moment. For the hundredth time, or perhaps the thousandth—he had to let himself catch up. Had to remember who he was and how he had become the man he was now.

His dreams often took him home to his childhood, before Dredge destroyed his family. Or they swept him away to the idealistic days of his marriage where Fraale and he lived in love.
Fraale,
 
the only woman who had ever fully won his heart.
 

A moment after waking, his heart would slow down, and he’d remember what had taken place during the long centuries of his life. And he’d remember how he’d become an incubus and once again curse Zeus and Hera.

But now, the sound was foremost in his mind. He listened. Whatever it was, it beat a steady cadence, like footsteps falling in an empty hallway.
 

The studio had been divided into bedrooms—there were four, one of them empty. Roz claimed one, Vanzir another, Shamas the third. Roz’s bed was decked out with thick bedclothes, including a heavy comforter that was quilted and inviting. His room was replete with pictures of his adopted family: Camille and Delilah. He wanted a photograph of Menolly, but vamps couldn’t take photos. So he’d added one of Iris. Dear Iris, who he had a mad crush on, but knew he could never have.