The Banshee's Walk (36 page)

I mopped blood and blinked.

The street was full of halfdead.

Ten or more glided past, quiet as ghosts. My giver of handkerchiefs joined them, gliding toward the warehouse like a black-clad puff of wind.

I shuddered, but I held the cloth tight to my nose and marched toward the carriage. More halfdead popped out of the shadows. Each and all ignored me, though I tottered and stank and dripped their favorite beverage liberally out onto the street.

There’s a metaphor there, somewhere. Something about bleeding profusely at a vampire parade. One day I’ll finish it and tell Mama it’s a Troll saying. But that night I just clamped the cloth to my nose and headed for Evis’s carriage.

I found it easily enough, though the coachmen had lit their lanterns. They were both on the street, and both bore crossbows and nervous frowns.

They backed up and wrinkled their noses at my approach.

“We’ll never get the smell out,” said one to the other.

“Just be glad you aren’t wearing it,” I said. The driver, bless him, produced a clean handkerchief and stepped close enough to hand it to me.

“The boss said you found a bad one,” he said, quietly.

I mopped and nodded, not asking how the Boss had communicated this to the driver. I figured House Avalante could afford the finest sorcerous long-talkers.

The driver’s friend opened the door. “Best get in. We’ll be leaving soon, and in a hurry.” He squinted at me in the lantern light. “It didn’t scratch you, did it?”

Hell. Had it?

I shook off my old Army jacket, kicked it into the gutter when I saw the thick black stain all down the back. I rolled up my sleeves, checked my arms and waist and legs.

All the fresh blood was from my nose or my right hand. All the other—well, it wasn’t mine.

“No,” I said. My voice shook, and I was getting weak at the knees, so I climbed into Evis’s fine carriage, leaving black stains as I went.

Bertram and Floyd—I never learned which was which—watched me go, then turned their frowns and their crossbows back out toward the night.

I sat and I panted and even with the door and window open I gagged at my smell. My heart still rushed, and memories of the thing’s bloated, eyeless face, I knew, would haunt my dreams for years.

“The boss said you found a bad one.”

That’s what the driver had said. A bad one. The flip side of Evis and his well-groomed friends. Halfdead in the raw—a hungry corpse, rotted and foul, still driven to a grim parody of life by a hunger that drove it from the grave.

Born to protect women’s hearts, her own beats longingly for a mortal. Oops…

Oh Goddess

© 2009 Gwen Hayes

Ondina, one thousand years a goddess, doesn’t think much of mortal men. Probably because her sole purpose in life is to protect the hearts of women who don’t want to fall in love. And now one of those blasted men—Jack—has shattered her sacred chalice, trapping her in a mortal body.

Jackson Nichols, on the partner track at his law firm, is the first to admit he always follows his head. Never his heart. Dina is infuriating, messy, condescending, sexy, beautiful and…well, just about everything that doesn’t fit into his meticulously planned life.

Neither expects to find many redeeming qualities in the other. But when push comes to love, which will Dina choose? Her newly human heart…or one thousand years of duty?

*All author and editor proceeds from the sale of
Oh Goddess
will be donated to the Coalition for Pulmonary Fibrosis. You can find out more about the foundation at
www.coalitionforpf.org
.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Oh Goddess:

“In you go, Goddess.”

The mortal held open the front door to his home and gestured her in. Ondina sauntered through the threshold, but not before glaring at him. She also held back the great desire to stick out her tongue at him.

Humans were strange creatures, especially the male ones. She did not much care for being thrust into his caretaking, though she saw the wisdom of it. Until she was able to return to her own realm, she needed a guide for this one. Males had their uses. Or so she hoped.

She appraised his living area—black and steel, sleek lines and little color but for a few pieces on the walls. She ran her finger over the divan made from the skin of an animal. She doubted he had killed it himself. He was more a scholar than a hunter, yet he seemed to maintain strong masculinity. She had no doubt he attracted a fair amount of female admirers. Once again, humans were strange creatures, after all.

Ondina wandered to the wall at which he had set up an altar consisting of a large screen and several lit up boxes. Apparently, he prayed to the Gods of Technology. She faulted him not, for she also very much liked the noises and pictures from those boxes. She surveyed the devices with keen interest. Perhaps he would instruct her on their use.

Just thinking of asking him for assistance made her snarl. He had barely spoken to her on their journey here; his jaw had been set as if cast in iron. She rolled her eyes. Obstinate male. And every time he called her “Dina” her fingers clenched like bird feet on a branch. It was worse when he called her “Goddess” though. No reverence in his voice—in fact, the opposite. He may as well have been calling her “Nuisance”.

She opened her mouth to say something demeaning to him, just for fun, when a hideous noise emanated from her middle and she felt a sharp, gnawing pain. “Mortal! Quickly! There is something wrong.”

He looked unamused. “Yes, Your Highness?”

She shook her head and grabbed his hand, bringing it to her own middle. “Something growls. It hurts here.”

He laid his hand flat on her belly. “When was the last time you ate?”

“I have not. Are you insinuating that I ate a small, growling animal?”

He chuckled. “No. I am insinuating that you are hungry. What do goddesses like to eat? I’m afraid I’m all out of fresh peeled grapes.”

“So, the growling signals hunger?” She would remember that for next time. Besides, to eat would be such an adventure. She’d wanted to try flapjacks since she had saved a young woman’s heart on the Oregon Trail.

He led her to the kitchen and motioned for her to sit. “When you win the Oscar someday, I guess I will be glad I played along with this. You must be very popular with the drama club.”

She sat on a stool while he began meal preparations, accepting a goblet of what he told her was wine, but not before she smelled it for poison. She swirled it, enjoying the look of it in the glass.

Ondina studied him closely. His hair was black as night, but his eyes as blue as cornflowers. He moved about the kitchen with lazy grace, not lumbering like some fool men she had seen. She supposed he was handsome, therefore dangerous. She wondered why she had never been invoked by a woman wanting to protect herself from
him
. It would certainly necessitate a strong magic.

They didn’t speak while he cracked eggs into a bowl. He wasn’t snipping at her anymore, but it unsettled her more that he did not. She did not like to be ignored. She watched him a few minutes more.

“Tell me, mortal…” She stared at him thoughtfully. “If you do not believe I am here by way of magic, why are you preparing a meal for me? Why am I not on the grass of your lawn with a bruised tailbone for my troubles?”

He was stirring the mixture over the heat. “I suppose I’m wondering what you’re really about. My sister certainly believes you, and she is generally trustworthy.” He plated the eggs and set one plate in front of her as he came around to take the stool next to hers. “I just don’t believe in conjuring and goddesses and magic bottles.”

She regarded her eggs carefully and then took a bite. “I am enjoying the eating. I should like to try a bubble bath next. Do you possess the potions to make it bubbular?”

“Bubbular?” he repeated, and then shook his head. “I suppose I could make your bathwater
bubbular
.”

They ate the rest of the meal in silence.

He poured them more wine and gestured to the living room. “Ondina?”

“Yes, mortal?”

He sighed. “I have a name you know.”

“How pleasant for you.”

She shrieked a bit when the goblet he thrust at her dribbled onto her hand.

He sat next to her. “Tell me why Rachel turned to spells and witchcraft.”

He looked perplexed, and her heart pinged. Just a little. It would take some getting used to, this human heart.

“Rachel is very intelligent. She is also very dedicated to her studies. She will be a fine healer someday.”

“I know that. Tell me the part I’m missing.”

Ondina sighed. “Men. Boys. Neanderthals.” His face was not yet registering understanding, so she gulped the rest of her wine and stood. “Love.” She paced the room. The subject always agitated her. “She was falling in love. She was falling
hopelessly
in love with one of your kind.”

“Is he a bad guy or something?”

“He is a
he
.” Imbecile. What more was necessary to make him a “bad guy”?

Jack stood up and blocked her path. “I’m all for Rachel finishing school before rushing into any serious relationships, but being male doesn’t equate him with being evil.”

“Does it not? Are you so sure?” She folded her arms and looked him square in the eye.

“Dina, it sounds to me like you had a really bad relationship, and you’re trying to scare my sister off men.” A subtle change came over his face as an epiphany dawned across his features. “You’re an angry lesbian, aren’t you?”

She shoved him out of her way. “Do you even know what eviscerate means?”

Ondina stomped back into the kitchen, poured the last two drops of wine into the glass and growled with frustration. She opened the door of the cold storage and removed another bottle. She stared at its closure while eyeing the opener on the counter. How in the worlds would
that
open
this
? It made no sense, surely they could have come up with an easier way to open a bottle. Maybe she should throw
his
chalice into a wall and see how well he liked it.

The mortal followed her into the kitchen and held out his hand for the bottle. She snorted and handed it to him. Condescending ingrate. How frustrating. Especially when he opened the bottle with ease and poured them each another glass.

“Sorry about the whole lesbian thing.” He handed her a glass. “It was very tactless of me. You seem to bring that out in me for some reason. Why don’t you tell me why you hate men.”

She pursed her lips and cocked her head. “I do not hate men. Why ever would you think that?”

Jack blinked at her. “Just a hunch. The word eviscerate comes to mind.”

“My purpose is to protect the heart of a woman, not to hate men.” She wrinkled her nose. “I just happen to find most of them to be daft.”

“You have a point. I must be daft. I just made scrambled eggs for a crazy woman who thinks she is a goddess, I’m getting ready to run her a bubbular bath, and it looks as though I’ll be putting her up for the night.” He shook his head. “Until a few short hours ago I led a very well-ordered life, you know.”

No magic for two weeks? What’s a fairy to do? Go to Vegas, of course!

Survival of the Fairest

© 2008 Jody Wallace

Princess Talista of the fairy clan Serendipity has been sent, like all young fairies, to a remote forest in humanspace for mandatory survival training. But headstrong Tali’s got different ideas about where to spend two weeks without magic. What better place than Las Vegas to learn to live like humans, a
true
test of survival?

Tali might not blend, but she’d like to be shaken and stirred with stage magician Jake Story. Their attraction is instant and electric…and Tali senses there’s more to Jake’s show than flashy tricks.

Jake always knew he was different, even before he developed an unusual flair for hypnotism. He has no trouble mesmerizing the luscious Tali during act three, but the lights that appear around them when they kiss weren’t part of the program.

When the authorities from Tali’s homeland track the missing princess to Vegas, Jake and Tali end up on the run. In between magic experiments, evil gnomes and astonishing sex, Tali learns what it really means to be human—by falling in lust, followed closely by love.

But Tali’s not human. And Jake doesn’t believe in fairies. The truth will either bind them together—or tear the fairy realm apart.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Survival of the Fairest:

“The hotel with the red and blue spires.” Tali bounced in her seat, forgetting that she was belted to it, and the heavy strap bit into her shoulders. “
Oof
!”

“What?” Jake snapped his cellular teley-phone closed.

Tali had listened avidly as he’d called his sibling, that copper fellow, and cancelled their appointment for the evening. The cellular teley-phone seemed almost as efficient as communication spells. She squirmed until she was more comfortable in the restraints. “The hotel that looks like a palace. Take us there.”

“The Excalibur?” Jake deftly maneuvered his automobile into the stream of traffic on the main road. The black car had darkened windows and room for five people. The soft seats were upholstered in leather, a rare material in the Realm now that civilized fairies were vegetarian hippies. A pleasant herbal odor emanated from a gaudy cloth bag that hung around the mirror on the front window, and the motor purred like a giant cat. Vast buildings towered behind the flashing lights and signs, inns Jake said were often full to capacity. People in showy outfits thronged the sides of the street.

There was no sign of Elder Embor and his menacing team anywhere among them. How in the world had they found her? Probably her obnoxious survival teammates back in the Bitterroot, though that didn’t answer how the Elder had known to transport to Las Vegas. Maybe a tracer spell of some sort. She wouldn’t put it past the Court to have bugged her or something.

Dang. Well, they couldn’t track her now that she wasn’t using magic.