It's
always wonderful to have Ann Gimpel as my guest. This time she's sharing tips
on surviving the holidays.
Be sure to check out her great 3-part witchy series, Demon Assassins.
Thanks for inviting me back to your blog, Marsha. The
following is part two of a four part series about surviving the holidays that
I’m running in my newsletter. Here’s the link to part one. http://eepurl.com/clHxYb And
here’s the link to subscribe to get the next two segments. http://eepurl.com/bbN3jf
We rarely grow up in Ozzie and Harriet families. At best,
our parents and siblings disappoint us. At worst, there may be substance
dependence and/or outright emotional or physical abuse. The best news about
less-than-optimal families is we can escape them once we grow up.
If we let ourselves.
That last is the kicker. Many of us carry debris from our childhoods
for a long time and let it color how we live our adult lives. We don’t have to
do that. Nor do we have to return to our families over the holidays out of a
misplaced sense of guilt or obligation. Sometimes running head up against their
negativity drags us into a place we’d rather not be. It returns us to when we
were much younger and helpless to alter our environments.
My mother was one controlling woman. It was her way or the
highway over and over again, and her favorite question was, “What would
so-and-so think?” Long before I hit eighteen, I was quite sure I could give a
you-know-what less about what anyone thought. I left home two weeks after I
graduated high school and never went back. Not for long, anyway. It didn’t
actually feel safe to come home for much more than a family dinner until I’d
developed enough confidence in who I’d become as an adult to stand up for
myself and not feel like I’d failed in some elemental way.
Most of our families are mixed bags. One thing that helped
me was sorting the good from the bad and focusing on the positives I got out of
being raised by two very strict depression-era parents. Another thing that made
a difference was convincing myself they did the best they could by me—at least
most of the time.
I can see some of you shaking your heads and thinking I had
dream parents compared with yours. Maybe so, but the same principles apply.
Parents who were physically abusive usually grew up with physical abuse. Ditto
for chemical dependency. It’s what they learned growing up, and it’s the only
way they know how to be in the world. It’s possible to move beyond those early
lessons, but it takes a great deal of determination. Instead of being locked
into everything that’s wrong with them, work to find one thing right and focus
on that instead.
We can’t fix our parents. Or our partners. Or anyone beyond
ourselves. The only exception to that is our kids and we have a brief little
window when they’re small to shape the adults they’ll become. It works better
for some kids than others. Kids will be the next topic. Let me go back to
families and the holidays.
Is there some event you dread? Something you go to every
year and kick yourself all the way there and all the way home for caving in? My
first question is why is it important for you to go? If there are really good
reasons like one of your parents is terminally ill, or it’s the only
opportunity for your children to get together with all the aunts, uncles, and
cousins, then you need to build in some safeguards.
No one ever said you have to get drawn into an uncomfortable
conversation. Simply say, “Sorry, not going there,” and walk away. Give
yourself permission to be strong.
If Mom or Dad or Uncle Frank drink too much, ignore them.
They can’t hurt you anymore. Keep your kids away from them if they get rowdy or
feisty. That goes double for any closet pedophiles in the family.
How about if someone starts browbeating you about something
that happened years ago? Same response as above, with a small caveat. “Sorry,
can’t change the past. Not going there.” If they persist, tell them nicely
you’re not taking the bait. Not now, and not ever again.
Those are just a few examples, but the bottom line is you
have the power to craft your experiences. You’re not at anyone’s mercy—unless
you allow it to happen.
Stay tuned for part three, which will deal with kids and how
to rein in their endless desire for rampant consumerism through the holiday
season. Part four will address loss. Many of us have lost loved ones around the
holidays, or a particular holiday will be the first one without our mother,
father, sister, husband, or other special person.
Demon
Assassins
Book
One
Ann
Gimpel
Dream Shadow Press
66K words
Release Date: 9/6/16Genre: Urban Fantasy Romance
Urban Fantasy Romance with a
heaping side of Hexes, Spells, and Magick!
Book Description:
One of three remaining demon
assassin witches, Colleen is almost the last of her kind. Along with her
familiar, a changeling spirit, she was hoping for a few months of quiet,
running a small magicians’ supply store in Fairbanks, Alaska. Peace isn’t in
the cards, though. Demons are raising hell in Seattle. She’s on her way to kick
some serious demon ass, when a Sidhe shows up and demands she accompany him to
England to quell a demon uprising.
Gutsy, opinionated, and outspoken,
Colleen refuses to come. Witches need her help, and they trump everything else.
Despite breaking a prime Sidhe precept concerning non-interference in mortals’
affairs, Duncan offers his assistance. Colleen fascinates him, and he wants to
discover more about her. Lots more.
The Sidhe might be the best-looking
man Colleen’s ever stumbled over, but she doesn’t have time for him—or much of
anything else. She, Jenna, and Roz are Earth’s only hedge against being overrun
by Hell’s minions. Even with help from a powerful magic wielder like Duncan,
the odds aren’t good and the demons know it.
Sensing victory is within their
grasp, they close in for the kill.
Excerpt
from Witch’s Bounty:
Rain worsened from
a steady drizzle to a pounding, punishing deluge of icy sleet. Colleen Kelly
strengthened the spell around herself. It sizzled where it ran up against the
droplets. At least she wasn't quite as wet as she would have been without its
protection. Pavement glistened wetly in the last of the day's light. It was
just past three in the afternoon, but December days were short in the northern
latitudes and Fairbanks was pretty far north.
“At least it’s not
snowing,” she muttered as she pushed through a nearby glass-fronted door into
the magicians’ supply store she owned with two other witches in the older part
of downtown. Bells hanging around the door pealed discordantly. She sent a
small jolt of magic to silence them.
“I heard that. Not
the bells, but you. It’s supposed to snow this time of year. How could you
possibly be pleased the weather patterns have gone to hell?”
Jenna Neil stalked
over to the coatrack where Colleen stood. Blonde hair, hacked off at shoulder
level, framed a gamine’s face and shrewd, hazel eyes. Jenna towered over
Colleen’s six foot height by a good four inches, and her broad shoulders
would’ve made most men jealous. Between her trademark high-heeled boots and a
scruffy embroidered red cloak tossed over skintight blue jeans, she looked as
exotic as the anti-hex hoop earrings dangling from each ear.
Colleen rolled her
eyes, shook out her coat, and hung it on the rack. “Spare me your lecture about
global warming, okay? It’s cold enough to snow. It just isn’t, for some
reason.”
“Mmph.” The line
of Jenna’s jaw tensed.
Indian spices
wafted through the air, mingling with the scents of herbs, dried flowers, and
desiccated body parts from small animals. Colleen’s stomach growled. Breakfast
had been at six that morning—a long time ago. Pretty bad when even dried newt
smelled like food.
“Did you cook
something?” she asked. “And if you did, is there any left?”
A terse nod. Jenna
turned away, walking fast. Colleen lengthened her normal stride to catch up.
“Hey, sweetie. What happened? You can’t be in this big a snit over the
weather.”
Jenna kept
walking, heading for the small kitchen at the back of the store. “A lot of
things. I was just having a cup of tea. Shop’s been dead today.” She
disappeared behind a curtain.
Colleen glanced
over one shoulder at the empty store. The phalanx of bells around the door
would alert them if anyone stopped in. The minute she tugged the heavy,
upholstery fabric that served as a kitchen door aside, the pungent tang of
Irish whiskey made her eyes water. “You said tea.”
“Yeah, well I
spiked it.”
Colleen grunted.
“Smells like you took a bath in booze. What the fuck happened?” She grabbed the
larger woman and spun her so they faced one another.
“We got another
pay-your-tithe-or-die e-mail from our Coven.” Jenna’s nostrils flared in
annoyance.
“So? That’s like
the tenth one.” There were new policies none of them agreed with, so they’d
joined with about twenty other witches and stopped paying the monthly stipend that
supported their Coven’s hierarchy.
“It’s not what’s
bothering me.” Jenna pulled free from Colleen, tipped her cup, and took a slug
of what smelled like mostly liquor.
Colleen fought a
desire to swat her. Getting to the point quickly had never been one of Jenna’s
talents. She clamped her jaws together. “What is?”
“Roz called
with…problems.” Jenna turned and started toward the steep staircase ladder
leading to her bedroom above the shop.
“You can’t just
drop that bomb and leave.” Colleen made another grab for Jenna to keep her in
the kitchen. Worry for their friend ate at her. Of the three of them, Roz was
by far the most volatile. “What happened? I thought she was in Missouri, or
maybe it was Oklahoma, visiting that dishy dude she met online.”
“Didn’t work out.”
The corners of Jenna’s mouth twisted downward.
Colleen quirked a
brow, urging her friend to say more.
Jenna plowed on.
“He only wanted her for her magic. Turned out he preferred men.”
“Aw, shit.”
Colleen blew out a breath. “She must’ve been disappointed.”
Half a snorting
laugh bubbled past Jenna’s lips. “Maybe now she is. At the time, furious
would’ve been closer to the mark.”
Colleen’s throat
tightened. “Crap! What’d she do? She didn’t hurt him, did she?”
“Not directly. She
turned him over to the local Coven.”
“Thank God!”
Colleen let go of Jenna and laid a hand over her heart. Roxanne Lantry was more
than capable of killing anyone who pissed her off. It was how she ended up in
Alaska. Roz hadn’t exactly been caught when her cheating husband and his two
girlfriends went missing, but she hadn’t stuck around to encourage the
authorities to question her, either.
Colleen and Jenna
had already left Seattle when that little incident went down. Roz repressed her
antipathy for Alaska’s legendary foul weather and joined them. Magically, she
was strong as an ox, and she had a hell of a temper.
Colleen’s stomach
growled again. Louder this time. It didn’t give a good goddamn about anything
other than its empty state. She pushed past Jenna to the stove, lifted a lid,
and peered into a battered aluminum pot. Curry blasted her. The spicy odor
stung her eyes and made her nose run.
“Whew. Potent.
Mind if I help myself?”
“Go ahead.” Jenna
sat heavily in one of two chairs with a rickety wooden table between them. She
picked up her mug and took another long swallow.
Dish in hand,
Colleen slapped it on the table in front of the other chair and went in search
of a mug of her own. There weren’t any clean ones, so she plucked one out of
the sink and rinsed it. Back at the stove, she tipped the teakettle. Thick,
amber liquid spilled from its stubby snout into her waiting mug. Jenna waggled
the whiskey bottle in her direction.
“Nah.” Colleen
settled at the table. “It would go right to my head. Maybe after I get some
food on board.” She tucked in. After the first few mouthfuls, when the curry
powder nearly annihilated her taste buds, the pea, potato, and ham mixture
wasn’t half-bad.
Jenna drank
steadily, not offering anything by way of conversation.
When Colleen’s
dish was empty, she refilled her mug with tea, filched a couple of biscuits
from the cupboard, and sat back down. “Are you going to talk to me?”
“I suppose so.”
Jenna’s words slurred slightly.
Colleen cocked her
head to one side. “I suggest you start now, before you forget how.”
“Oh, please.”
Jenna blew out a breath, showering the small space with whiskey fumes. Colleen
waited. The other witch could be stubborn. Wheedling, cajoling, or urging
wouldn’t work until she was good and ready to talk.
Finally, after so
long Colleen had nearly chewed a hole in her cheek, Jenna finally muttered,
“Roz called.”
Colleen ground her
teeth together. “You already said that. It’s how you knew what happened with
the guy.”
Jenna nodded.
“There’s more.” She picked up the whiskey, started to pour it into her mug,
then apparently changed her mind and drank right from the bottle. “She’s in
Seattle. Checked in with Witches’ Northwest, just to say hello, and because she
wanted to touch base with people she’s known for a long time.”
Another long pause.
Colleen batted back a compulsion spell. It wasn’t nice to use those on your
friends. She shoved her hands under her bottom to reduce the temptation.
Jenna lowered her
voice until Colleen had to strain to hear. “The Irichna demons are back.”
“But our last
confrontation wasn’t all that long ago. Only a few months. Sometimes when we
best them, they’ve stayed gone for years.”
Colleen shook her
head. Even the sound of the word, Irichna, crackled against her ears, making
them tingle unpleasantly. Irichna demons were the worst. Hands down, no
contest. They worked for Abbadon, Demon of the Abyss. Evil didn’t get much
worse than that. No wonder Jenna was drinking. Colleen held her hand out for
the bottle—suddenly a drink seemed like a most excellent idea—and picked her
words with care. “Did Roz actually sight one?”
“Yeah. She also
asked if we could come and help. More than asked. She came as close to begging
as I’ve ever heard her.”
“Erk. They have a
whole Coven there. Several if you count all the ones in western Washington. Why
do they need us?” Colleen belted back a stiff mouthful of whiskey. It burned a
track all the way to her stomach where it did battle with all the curry she’d
eaten.
Jenna just shot
her a look. “You know why.”
Colleen swallowed
again, hoping for oblivion, except it couldn’t come quick enough. She knew
exactly why, but the answer stuck in her craw and threatened to choke her. The
three of them were the last of a long line of demon assassins, witches with
specialized powers, able to lure demons, immobilize them, and send them packing
to the netherworld.
When things worked
right.
They often didn’t,
though, which was what killed off the other demon assassin witches. It didn’t
help that demons as a group had been gathering power these last fifty years or
so. Witches lived for a long time, but they were far from immortal, and demon
assassin ability was genetic. She, Jenna, or Roz would have to produce children
or that strain of magic would die out. So far, none of them had come anywhere
close to identifying a guy who looked like husband material…
Colleen looked at
her hands. Even absent a husband, none of them had a shred of domesticity.
Certainly not enough to saddle themselves with offspring.
“What’s the
matter?” Jenna grinned wickedly, clearly more than a little drunk. “Cat got
your tongue too?”
As if on cue, a
blood-curdling meow rose from a shadowed corner of the kitchen and Bubba,
Colleen’s resident familiar, padded forward. When he was halfway to them, he
gathered his haunches beneath him and sprang to the table. It rocked
alarmingly, and Jenna made a grab for her cup. The large black cat skinned his
lips back from his upper teeth, bared his incisors, and hissed.
“Oh, all right.”
Colleen clamped her jaws tight and summoned the magic to shift Bubba to his
primary form, a gnarled three-foot changeling.
The air shimmered
around him. Before it cleared, he swiped the liquor out of her hand and drained
the bottle.
“Would’ve been a
good reason to leave you a cat,” Jenna mumbled.
He stood on the
table and glared at both of them, elbows akimbo, bottle still dangling from his
oversized fingers. “If you’re going to fight demons, you have to take me with
you.”
“No, we don’t,”
Colleen countered.
“You don’t follow
directions well,” Jenna said pointedly.
“Isn’t that the
truth?” Colleen rotated her head from side to side, starting to feel the
whiskey. At least once when they’d humored the changeling, he’d almost gotten
all of them killed. Problem was she couldn’t predict when he’d follow her
orders, and when he’d decide on a different tack altogether. Then there were
the times his fearlessness had saved them all.
Bubba might be a
wildcard, but he was her wildcard.
“You forgot when I
welcomed your spirit into my body—and kept it alive—while the healers worked on
you.” Bubba eyed Colleen, sounding smug.
“If you hadn’t
decided to play hero, and needed to be rescued, the demons wouldn’t have
injured me.” Colleen winced at the sour undertone in her voice. That incident
had happened five years before. Maybe it was time she got over it.
“Nevertheless.” He
tossed his shaggy head, thick with hair as black as the cat’s. “When you
conjured me from the barrows of Ireland, and bound me, we became a unit. You
can’t go off and leave me here. It would be like leaving a part of yourself behind.”
His dark eyes glittered with challenge.
“I hate to admit
it—” Jenna sounded a little less drunk “—but he’s right.”
“See.” Bubba
leered at them, jumped off the table, and waddled over to the stove with his
bowlegged gait. Once there, he opened the oven, climbed onto its door, and
peeked into the pot. He started to stick a hand inside.
“Hold it right
there, bud.” Colleen got to her feet, covered the distance to the stove, and
dished him up some of the curry mixture. “Get some clothes on and you can have
this.”
He clambered down
from his perch and over to several colorful canisters scattered around the
house where she stashed outfits for him. Keeping Bubba clothed had been a huge
problem until she’d hatched up a plan, and sewn him several pant and shirt
combos with Velcro closures, since he didn’t like buttons or zippers.
The changeling
dressed quickly and took the bowl from her. “I could’ve gotten my own food.”
“Better for the
rest of us if you keep your paws out of the cook pot.” Jenna stood a bit unsteadily.
“I’ll be right back.”
Bubba stuffed food
into his mouth with his fingers. “Where’s she going?” His words came out
garbled as he chewed open-mouthed.
Colleen looked
away. “Probably to pee. Maybe to throw up. Um, look, Bubba, it might be wiser
if we took a quick side trip to Ireland and released you.”
She glanced
sidelong at the changeling spirit she’d summoned during a major demon war forty
years before. He’d been truly helpful then, especially after he’d mastered
English, which hadn’t taken him all that long. In the intervening time, he’d
mostly clung to his feline form, eating and keeping their shop free of mice and
rats. They’d lived in Seattle the first ten years or so after he joined them,
relocating to Alaska to conceal their longevity. She dragged the heels of her
hands down her face, feeling tired. It was getting close to time to move again,
but she didn’t want to think about it.
Bubba shook his
head emphatically. Food flew from the sides of his mouth. He scooped a glob off
the floor and ate it anyway. “I have to agree to being released. I don’t want
to go back to my barrow. I like it much better here.”
Colleen sucked in
a hollow breath, blew it out, and did it again. Bubba was right. Rules were
rules. He’d had a choice at the front end. He could’ve refused her. Witches
respected all living creatures. The ones on the good side of the road, anyway.
No forced servitude for their familiars, despite rumors to the contrary.
Jenna lurched back
into the kitchen looking a little green. “You okay?” Colleen asked.
“Yeah. I drank too
much, that’s all.” She rinsed her mug at the sink, refilled it with tap water,
and sat back down. “Did you two come up with a plan?”
“I’m going.” Bubba
left his dish on the floor and vaulted back onto the table.
Jenna rolled red-rimmed
eyes. “That was the discussion when I left.”
“Your point?”
Colleen swallowed irritation.
“Nothing.” The
other witch sounded sullen, but maybe she just didn’t feel well.
“I offered to free
him—” Colleen began.
“I refused,” Bubba
cut in. He shook his head. “No recognition for all my years of loyal service.
Tsk. You should be—”
“Stuff it.” Jenna
glared at him. “We have bigger problems than your wounded ego.”
He stuck out his
lower lip, looking injured as only a changeling spirit could, but he didn’t say
anything else.
“I suppose we have
to go to Seattle,” Colleen muttered, half to herself.
“Don’t see any way
around it.” Jenna worried her lower lip between her teeth.
“What exactly did
Roz say?”
“We didn’t talk
long. Her cellphone battery was almost dead.” A muscle twitched beneath Jenna’s
eye. “She’d just stopped in at Coven Headquarters and the group mobbed her.
Said we had to come. They’ve already lost about twenty witches to stealth demon
attacks.”
Colleen’s heart
skipped a few beats. Twenty witches was a lot. Maybe a quarter of the Witches’
Northwest Coven. “Crap. When did the attacks start?”
“Only a few days
ago. They’d planned to call us, but saw it as goddess intervention when Roz
showed up.”
“Damn that
Oklahoma cowboy.” Colleen pounded a fist into her open palm. “If his Coven
doesn’t flatten him, I will.”
“He wasn’t a
cowboy.” Jenna’s voice held a flat, dead sound. “He was supposed to be a witch.
You know, like us.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Do you want to
close things up here, or should I try to get someone from our Coven to fill in
at the shop?” Jenna looked pale, but the tipsy aspect had left her face.
Colleen shook her
head. “We haven’t sold enough in the last few weeks to make it worthwhile to
pay someone to clerk for us.”
“Okay.” Jenna’s
hazel eyes clouded with worry. “When do you want to leave?”
“If you asked
Witches’ Northwest, we probably should’ve left three days ago.”
“How are we
getting there?” Bubba squared his hunched shoulders as much as he could and
eyed Colleen.
“Excellent
question.” Jenna looked at Colleen too.
She raised her
hands in front of her face, palms out. “Stop it, you two. I can’t deal with the
pressure.” Colleen clamped her jaws together and considered their options. Roz
already had a car in Seattle. It didn’t make sense to drive their other one
down, plus it would take too long. Flying with Bubba was impossible. He looked
too odd in his gnome form and his cat form didn’t do well with the pressure
changes. They had to teleport, which would seriously deplete their magic and
mean they couldn’t fight so much as a disembodied spirit for at least
twenty-four hours after they arrived.
Jenna screwed her
face into an apologetic scowl, apparently having come to the same conclusion.
“Look, I’m sorry I’m not more help. There’s something about that particular mix
of earth, fire, and air that I always bungle.”
Air whistled
through Colleen’s teeth. It had been so long since they’d teleported anywhere,
she’d almost forgotten Jenna’s ineptitude with the requisite spell. “How about
this? You go down to the basement and practice. I’ll get a few things
together…”
“What do you want
me to do?” Bubba asked.
“You can help me,”
Jenna said. “I’ll do better if I have an object to practice with.”
The changeling
scrunched his low forehead into a mass of wrinkles. “Just don’t get me lost.”
“Even if she does,
I’ll be able to find you.” Colleen tried to sound reassuring. She was fond of
her familiar. In many ways, he was very childlike.
Heh! Maybe that’s
why I’ve been so reluctant to have a kid. I already have one who’ll never grow
up.
The bells around
the shop door clanged a discordant riot of notes. “Crap!” Jenna shot to her
feet. “First customer in two days. I should’ve locked the damn door.”
“Back to cat
form.” Colleen flicked her fingers at Bubba, who shrank obligingly and
slithered out of clothing, which puddled around him. She snatched up his shirt
and pants and dropped them back into the canister.
“I say,” a
strongly accented male voice called out. “Is anyone here?”
“I’ll take care of
the Brit,” Colleen mouthed. “Take Bubba to the basement and practice.”
She got to her
feet and stepped past the curtain. “Yes?” She gazed around the dimly lit store
for their customer.
A tall, powerfully
built man, wearing dark slacks and a dark turtleneck, strode toward her, a woolen
greatcoat slung over one arm. His white-blond hair was drawn back into a queue.
Arresting facial bones—sculpted cheeks, strong jaw, high forehead—captured her
attention and stole her breath. He was quite possibly the most gorgeous man
she’d ever laid eyes on. Discerning green eyes zeroed in on her face, caught
her gaze, and held it. Magic danced around him in a numinous shroud. Strong
magic.
What was he?
And then she knew.
Daoine Sidhe. The man had to be Sidhe royalty. No wonder he was so stunning it almost
hurt to look at him.
Colleen held her
ground. She placed her feet shoulder width apart and crossed her arms over her
chest. “What can I help you with?”
“Colleen Kelly?”
Okay, so he knows
who I am. Doesn’t mean a thing. He’s Sidhe. Could’ve plucked my name right out
of my head.
“That would be me.
How can I help you?” she repeated, burying a desire to lick nervously at her
lips.
“Time is short.
I’ve been hunting you for a while now. Come closer, witch. We need to talk.”
Witch’s
Bane
Demon
Assassins
Book
2
Ann
Gimpel
Dream Shadow Press
66K words
Release Date: 9/6/16
Genre: Urban Fantasy Romance
Urban Fantasy Romance with a
heaping side of Hexes, Spells, and Magick!
Book Description:
Last of the demon assassin witches,
Roz, Jenna, and Colleen have escaped disaster so far, but their luck is running
low. Demons strike in the midst of Colleen’s wedding, and Roz launches
desperate measures. As she shape-shifts to keep one step ahead of evil, at
least it takes her mind off her other problems. Personal ones. She burned
through a couple of marriages and hooked up with a string of loser men before,
after, and in between. Though she wants to be happy for Colleen, the jealousy
bug bit deep and hasn’t let go.
In Roz’s secret heart, she’s
attracted to Ronin, one of the Daoine Sidhe. He’s so profanely beautiful she
can barely breathe around him, but he’s also headstrong and arrogant. Not good
partner material—unless she wants to end up dusting her heart off one more
time.
Ronin set his sights on Roz the day
he met her, and he can’t get her out of his mind. Unfortunately, she’s so
prickly getting close to her requires scheming. He casts an enchantment to lure
her at Colleen’s wedding, but she senses the spell and calls him on it. Demons
swarm out of the ether before he can come up with another strategy. Killing
them trumps everything.
Roz is used to calling the shots.
So is Ronin. Sparks fly. Tempers run hot, right along with an attraction too
heady to ignore.
Excerpt
from Witch’s Bane:
Roxanne Lantry—Roz
to everyone who knew her—paced up and down the sodden lawn outside the huge old
Victorian that housed the Witches’ Northwest Coven headquarters in Seattle.
Rain pelted her from beneath a gunmetal sky, but it was better out here than
inside. She fought an unfamiliar thickening at the back of her throat and
balled her hands into fists.
“I will not cry,”
she muttered to an inquisitive ground squirrel that ran across her boot tops,
but telling herself and controlling her emotions were two different things.
One of her two
best friends, Colleen Kelly, would be getting married in less than half an
hour. Roz had been inside, in the midst of all the bride-craziness, but seeing
Colleen swathed in cream-colored lace sent her into a tailspin.
What the fuck is
wrong with me?
She kicked at a
hummock of grass and yelped when it didn’t move, but the pain from her stubbed
toes helped her focus. If she was honest, not an easy task when men were
involved, she knew exactly what was bothering her.
“Yeah,” she
mouthed the words, lecturing herself. “Two failed marriages and a whole bunch
of loser dudes before, after, and in between. I’m jealous and I need a good,
swift boot in the backside. Just because Colleen finally stumbled across Mr.
Right doesn’t lower my odds of ever finding someone who’s gorgeous and magical
and worships me.”
Now if I could
only believe that…
Roz was happy for
Colleen and Duncan, the Daoine Sidhe she was marrying. They made a great
couple, but surely there was enough connubial bliss in the universe to sprinkle
a little her way too. Her last go-round with a strikingly handsome Oklahoman
she’d met online had ended in fireworks when he’d admitted all he really wanted
was to tap into her magical ability. When the rubber met the road, he didn’t
even like women. Her stomach churned. She hated being made a fool of. She’d turned
the guy in to his Coven for false advertising and laying a trap to delude a
fellow magic wielder, but she doubted they’d done much to censure him.
Water dripped off
her nose. She stuck out her lower lip and blew upward, but the rain kept on
dripping. Roz shook her fist at the low-hanging clouds, recognizing it for
displacement activity. What she really wanted to do was pound her fist through
the Oklahoman’s nice, straight nose.
Enough of this.
Give it a rest. That happened months ago.
For Christ’s sake,
I need to get moving, go inside, and trade my jeans and serape for fancy duds.
Roz took a few
deep breaths to settle her angst. She couldn’t show her tear-stained face to
the world. She’d never live it down. When she closed her eyes, the Oklahoma
asshole formed behind her lids, taunting her. Roz clenched her jaw and summoned
a calming spell. It seemed like cheating, but time was short. As the wispy
edges of magic caught her up, they soothed her frazzled nerves and she turned
hard right and headed for the house at a brisk trot.
She, Colleen, and
Jenna Neil were the last of a long line of demon assassins. Witches with
specialized powers, they lured Irichna demons, immobilized them, and sent them
packing to the netherworld. When things worked right, she and her sister
witches—along with Colleen’s familiar—shanghaied the demons and locked them
behind the gate guarding the Ninth Circle of Hell.
The demons didn’t
go without a fight, though, which was what had killed off the other demon
assassin witches. It didn’t help that demons as a group had been gathering
power these last fifty years or so. Witches lived a long time, but they were
far from immortal, and demon assassination ability was genetic. She, Jenna, or
Colleen would have to produce children or that strain of magic would die out.
None of them had a shred of domesticity, so no one had signed up for
motherhood. At least not yet.
I can’t put two
weeks together without a major demon battle these days. How the hell could I
take time off to raise a kid?
Rain ran down her
neck and Roz shivered. Thinking about demons chilled her bones. Realizing she’d
stopped walking, she plodded toward the house again and forced her thoughts to
the magicians’ supply store she owned with Colleen and Jenna in Fairbanks,
Alaska.
The other two
witches had moved there months ahead of her. She hated the idea of all that
snow and cold and winter nights that lasted twenty hours, but she’d boxed
herself into a dicey situation and hadn’t had much choice. Her temper, never
very controllable on a good day, had gotten the better of her, and she made
short work of her cheating husband and his two—yup, count ’em—girlfriends.
After that, she’d packed up and headed her aging Subaru north. Next stop,
Fairbanks…
That had happened
a few years ago. So many, it was almost time to move on before anyone noticed
she and the other witches didn’t seem to grow any older.
Roz shook her
head, not wanting to go there, either. She forced her mind back to the special
skill she shared with Colleen and Jenna. She hated to admit it, but demons held
the high cards these days, and she had no idea how to even the odds.
Aren’t I just the
queen of cheerful?
She gave herself a
mental shake with instructions to snap out of her funk.
Roz made it to the
huge house and tugged on one of the ground level doors. When it didn’t open,
she hit it with a jolt of magic, and the deadbolt snicked aside. She stopped
long enough to shake water off her and then loped down a long corridor with a
concrete floor toward one of the old mansion’s many stairwells. Fluorescent
lights, recessed into the ceiling, gave off a sickly yellow gleam that matched
her sour mood.
She’d just begun
climbing upward when a rush of footsteps sounded from the hallway below.
“There you are,”
Bubba, Colleen’s familiar, cried out and leapt up the stairs after her.
Roz glanced over a
shoulder and saw he was in his normal form: a three-foot-tall changeling with
oversized feet, long arms, and a bow-legged gait. His shaggy, black hair had
been brushed until it shone, and his dark eyes glittered mischievously. Colleen
had a hell of a time keeping him dressed, but today he sported black pants and
a black jacket over a white shirt.
“Yes,” Roz
countered, still feeling out of sorts. “Here I am. The question is why aren’t
you upstairs with everyone else?”
“Colleen got
worried. She sent me to hunt you down.” Bubba crossed his arms over his chest,
looking pleased with himself.
Roz rolled her
eyes. “Bubba, look—”
“Uh-uh.” He
uncrossed his arms and waggled a finger at her. “Niall. Remember, you all
promised to use my real name from now on.”
“So we did. Crap!
I don’t have time for this.” She unkinked her neck and trudged upward.
“No kidding,” he
agreed. “Everyone’s here, and you’re not even dressed yet.”
Rather than focus
on her shortcomings, Roz changed the subject. “You’re looking pretty spiffy,
bud.”
“Do you like it?”
“What I saw of it.
It’s sort of like a black tuxedo, but with Velcro instead of buttons.”
“I hate buttons.”
Roz grinned in
spite of herself. “I know you do, sweetie.”
She came to the
third floor landing and pushed the stairwell door open, holding it for the
changeling. “Run and tell Colleen I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.”
Without waiting for an answer, she walked briskly halfway down the long hall
and let herself into her bedroom. Locking the door behind her, she unlaced her
wet boots and toed them off. Next she shucked her sodden clothes, ducked into
the bathroom, and gathered strands of coal black hair, pulling it into a
ponytail with both hands. Once she had her hair together, she wrapped her head
in a towel. She didn’t believe in hair dryers, so once she’d soaked as much
water as she could into the towel, she grabbed her comb, made several sections,
and plaited her knee-length, straight-as-a-stick hair, weaving it into a
pseudo-French braid.
Before she left
the bathroom, she inspected her face in the mirror. She never wore makeup
because it made her look like a clown. Her bronzed skin and stark bone
structure declared her Native American blood more clearly than words could
have. She smoothed her eyebrows with a few drops of water and considered which
of two outfits to wear. Colleen had said it didn’t matter to her, so long as
Roz didn’t show up in her usual tattered blue jeans and combat boots.
With a snort of amusement,
she padded back into the bedroom and pulled a long, beaded black buckskin skirt
off a hanger. She stepped into it and laced the side fastening. Next came a
turquoise deerskin top, also beaded, that clung to her like a second skin. In
addition to not bothering with makeup, she also didn’t care for underthings, so
the outline of her breasts was clearly visible through the soft leather. She
slipped a heavy silver and turquoise necklace over her head, arranging her
braid on top of it, and grabbed a matching ring off the dresser.
The only thing
left was her moccasins. Roz wriggled her feet into them, enjoying the way the
deerskin warmed and hugged her feet. Jenna always wore high heels, but Roz had
never understood how she could tolerate them. They’d had a few heated
discussions years ago before Roz finally gave up.
“To each her own,”
she told the mirror. Satisfied she looked presentable, she focused the threads
of her calming spell, strengthened it a bit to make certain she’d last through
the ceremony without breaking down and bawling like an idiot, and let herself
into the hallway.
The buzz of a
crowd reached her from the main floor. She glanced toward the stairs and then
the other way, wondering if Colleen was still up here. Figuring it couldn’t
hurt to find out, she walked two doors down and knocked. The door flew open
almost immediately and she looked into an accusing set of pale blue eyes.
“It’s about
fucking time,” Colleen exclaimed. Auburn hair with lily of the valley woven
into it swirled around her, falling to waist level. At six feet, Colleen was
normally a good four inches shorter than Roz, but today she wore heels and they
were of a height.
“Huh?” Roz
murmured, confused. “I almost went downstairs. I had no idea you were waiting
for me.”
“We’d planned to
all go down together.” Colleen sounded sullen. “You know, like a proper wedding
party.”
“If we were all
that proper,” Roz said, “Jenna and I would be wearing matching—”
Jenna made
chopping motions with both hands and unfolded her well-rounded frame from off
the bed. Blonde hair, hacked off at shoulder level, framed a gamine’s face with
shrewd, hazel eyes. Rather than her standard, thrift store couture, today she
wore a short beige silk skirt, a lacy blouse, and her trademark high-heeled
boots. Huge, golden hoops graced her ears.
She walked to
Roz’s side and looped an arm through hers. “Don’t think anything of it. The
bride—” she waved an airy hand Colleen’s way “—has been antsy as a scalded cat
all day.”
Colleen closed her
teeth together with an audible clack. “Maybe I’m making a mistake.”
Roz and Jenna
turned to stare at her. “What?” Jenna asked, incredulous.
“Hey, if you don’t
want him—” Roz began.
“No shit,” Jenna
interrupted. “Tall, blond, drop dead gorgeous. Those green eyes are to die for
and those shoulders.” She made panting noises. “The couple of times I saw him
without a shirt, I almost came just watching his muscles rustle beneath his
skin when he walked.”
Colleen rolled her
eyes. “You two are impossible. Can’t a bride have a case of jitters without her
two closest friends turning into vultures?”
“No.” Roz looked
down her nose at Colleen. “Considering how long and hard I’ve hunted for decent
partner material…” She let her words trail off before the extent of her
jealousy leaked out.
The door blew
inward and Bubba marched in, hands on his hips. “Come on. Everyone’s ready.” He
lowered his voice, but not by much. “I think Duncan’s worried that you—” he
pointed at Colleen “—got cold feet.”
“She nearly did,”
Jenna muttered.
“Aw, crap. Guess I
need to go tell everyone the wedding’s off.” Bubba did an about face, but
before he could sprint through the open door, Colleen snatched him up.
“You’ll do no such
thing.” She swallowed audibly. “I’m ready. I guess.”
“Let go of me.”
Bubba writhed in her grasp.
“Not before you
promise to keep your mouth shut.”
Roz smirked.
Circumspection was not exactly the changeling’s long suit. She walked to
Bubba’s other side. “I’ll take him.” She held out her arms.
“I can walk,” the
changeling said with a great deal of dignity, “as soon as Colleen lets go of
me.”
“You haven’t
promised,” Colleen said. “Please, sweetie. It’s important to me. A girl needs
to have some things stay private.”
He blew out an
annoyed sounding breath. “All right. I promise.” Colleen relaxed her grip.
Shaking himself like a dog might have, the gnome-like changeling chuckled. “Too
bad. Something like that’s a prime piece of gossip.”
Colleen broke into
a broad grin. “Right up your alley, eh?”
Roz made shooing
motions. “Let’s get going. You don’t want all that food the Sidhe catered to
get cold do you?”
“I don’t care
about food,” Colleen mumbled. “I’m so nervous I probably won’t be able to eat a
thing.”
“Well I do,” Jenna
said. “I’m with Roz. Let’s get this show on the road.”
“Have a couple
belts of whiskey,” Roz suggested. “It’ll do wonders for your nerves.”
The hallway air
brightened and shimmered. When it cleared, Titania, Queen of Faerie, shook
floor-length silvery hair out of her ice blue eyes and pushed it over her
shoulders. A diaphanous gown, more jewels than fabric, floated around her tall,
thin frame. “Is there some problem?” she inquired with asperity, and her gaze
zeroed in on Colleen.
Colleen half
curtseyed.
Roz considered it,
but didn’t because Titania wasn’t her queen.
“No problem at
all.” Colleen inclined her head. “We were just on our way.”
The Queen of
Faerie’s severe expression softened. “Thank the goddess. For a minute there, I
was afraid you were going to break Duncan’s heart.” She strode forward and
thumped Colleen’s chest with a bony forefinger. “If you ever hurt that boy,
I’ll hunt you down and make you very sorry.”
“That boy—”
Colleen held the queen’s gaze “—is a thousand-year-old man.”
Titania furled her
perfect silver brows. “Details. Besides, it’s rude to contradict me. Privilege
of age and rank and all that. Let’s go. I haven’t performed a marriage in
centuries. I’m quite looking forward to it.”
Colleen’s eyes
widened. “I thought Naomi, the leader of this Coven, was going to join Duncan
and me.”
“We both have
roles to play.” Titania’s mouth twitched. “Surely you didn’t think I’d let one
of my own be bound in marriage without my magic involved.”
“I have no idea
what I thought,” Colleen managed, but she looked ready to throttle the queen.
Before things got
any tenser and Colleen started in about it being her wedding, Roz herded them
out the door and down the hallway. Colleen stopped for a moment at the head of
the stairway, tension rolling off her in waves.
Roz wrapped an arm
around her. “It will be fine,” she whispered. “Just fine.” After a quick hug,
she let go.
As if those six
words did the trick—or maybe it was the hug—Colleen swept down the long, curved
staircase, looking regal. Roz, Jenna, and Titania jostled one another as they
made their way down the twenty-five steps. Bubba made an end run around them
and fell in behind Colleen, where he picked up her lace train.
They marched
through the dining area where caterers and witches bustled about laying out a
spread of food that smelled delicious, into a large, luxurious room that took
up much of the bottom floor of the old Victorian. At one point, they’d talked
about having the ceremony outside, but the weather put the kibosh on that idea.
Roz wondered why they’d wasted their breath even considering an out-of-doors
event. It was the winter solstice in Seattle. She bet there’d never been one
when it wasn’t raining like crazy—or snowing.
Chairs lined the
wood-paneled great room, and a fire burned merrily in a huge stone fireplace
that took up one end of the sumptuous space. Old-fashioned chandeliers were
festooned with hundreds of blazing candles. Witches sat on one side of a center
aisle, Daoine Sidhe on the other. Roz guessed between three and four hundred
people were in attendance—more Sidhe than witches. Everyone turned in their seats
to stare at Colleen, and a collective aaaaah surged through the room.
Roz clamped down
on a grin. Colleen really did make a lovely bride, with her Irish complexion
and red tresses. The creamy lace dress was perfect. White would have made her
look washed out. Titania strode around all of them and took her place at the
head of the room. Roz noted with amusement that Naomi held her ground when
Titania tried to push her to one side.
Before she and
Jenna left Colleen to find their seats, her gaze landed on Duncan—Lord
Regis—and her heart nearly stopped. All Sidhe had an ethereal beauty, but
Duncan practically glowed. Dressed in a black tuxedo with a crimson cummerbund
and diamond studs, he cut an impressive figure with his high forehead, sculpted
cheekbones, and strong jaw. Longish blond hair had been braided in tight rows,
but the severe style suited him and make him look like an ancient warrior.
Roz averted her
gaze, afraid he’d catch her staring, but he only had eyes for his bride. She
said a quick prayer asking the goddess’s blessing on their union and turned
toward the witches’ side of the room.
Because Ronin came
up from her other side, she didn’t notice the Sidhe leader until he wove an arm
around her shoulders. “I saved you a chair next to me.”
Her heart slammed
into double-time rhythm. She’d met Ronin two weeks before at his castle in
northern England, and they’d shared several spirited conversations over meals.
Something magical and electric had sparked between them, but she’d chalked it
up to everyone’s emotions running full tilt. She’d just escaped demons by the
skin of her teeth, and he was dealing with shame or guilt—or whatever he
felt—about forcing witches into being demon assassins two centuries before.
While his attentiveness had been welcome—and more than a little
flattering—she’d been more focused on her relief at being alive than anything
else. Besides, after the Oklahoman, she’d sworn off men—forever.
Ronin smiled, not
looking anything but glad to see her, and her heart did a funny little flip-flop,
in addition to beating much too fast. Dark hair hung loose to his shoulders,
and his blue eyes twinkled warmly. Every bit as handsome as Duncan, he was
dressed in formal clothing, black with a blue cummerbund, and what might have
been ruby studs.
“I can’t,” she
whispered. “I’m supposed to sit over there.” She gestured in the general
direction of the witches’ side of the room.
“No one will
notice,” he assured her and hooked his hand beneath her arm.
Roz didn’t fully
understand why she let him guide her to a padded straight-backed chair near the
front of the room and help her into it, but there was something irresistible
about his energy. Too late, she recognized a mild compulsion spell. Anger
spiked, but now wasn’t the place to give in to it. With every shred of
self-discipline at her disposal, she forced her attention to Duncan and Colleen
reciting their vows, and to Naomi, who’d muscled her way in before Titania
could get rolling.
When Ronin draped
an arm around her shoulders, she shot him a harsh look that made him move it
damned fast. Good, she thought. It’s about time the Sidhe realize their days of
pushing witches around are over. Yes, he was gorgeous, and he seemed interested
in her, but the last thing she needed was some overbearing mage mucking things
up. She still wasn’t quite certain how Colleen’s marriage to Duncan would
impact her and Jenna. They’d always been kind of like The Three Musketeers,
demon style. The permanent addition of a Sidhe was bound to have some effect.
Exactly what was hard to gauge.
Who am I kidding?
We didn’t just get Duncan. We’re stuck with his kinfolk now too. All of them.
She bit back a
sigh. If the series of meetings a couple of weeks before in the U.K. was any
indication, she, Jenna, and Colleen would have to fight to be recognized as
anything remotely close to equal.
Roz snuck a glance
at Ronin. He sat straight in his seat, his profile heartbreakingly beautiful.
His long-fingered hands were clasped together in his lap. She couldn’t stop
herself from wondering what they’d feel like stroking her body. Warm. Electric.
Compelling.
Maybe I should
give him a chance, a tiny, inner voice piped up.
Bosh.
Roz tried for a
stern note, but the other part of her brain wouldn’t shut up.
Demon
Assassins
Book
3
Ann Gimpel
Dream Shadow Press
68K words
Release Date: 9/26/16
Genre: Urban Fantasy Romance
Urban Fantasy Romance with a
heaping side of Hexes, Spells, and Magick!
Book Description:
Jenna’s a special witch, sort of, when her magic works, which it often doesn’t. One of three remaining demon assassins, she and her sister witches, Roz and Colleen, are Earth’s only hedge against being overrun by Hell’s minions. On the heels of Roz’s and Colleen’s weddings, Jenna is headed for the U.K. when a demon confronts her. Any other witch could teleport out of the plane, but not her.
Frustration about her limited power
eats at her. It would be pathetic to get killed for lack of skills a teenager
could master.
Tristan is a Sidhe warrior, but his
primary gift is attunement to others’ emotions. He fell hard for Jenna, but
hasn’t had an opportunity to act on their attraction beyond a few kisses
because she returned to Alaska, and he’s been in the field fighting demons.
As seer for the Sidhe, Kiernan is
haunted by visions, particularly an apocalyptic sending that seems to be coming
true. A confirmed bachelor, he doesn’t understand his attraction to Jenna, but
it’s so strong he can’t fight it. After a while, he doesn’t even try, despite
recognizing Tristan’s claim to her.
Startling truths surface about
Jenna’s magic, and then there’s the problem that she’s falling in love with two
very different men. At first she believes she has to pick one of them, but her
spirit refuses to walk away from either. It’s impossible to choose between a
seer with dreams in his eyes and a beautiful man who intuits her every need.
Standing on the verge of Earth’s destruction, will she defy convention and
follow the song in her heart?
Excerpt
from Witches Rule:
Jenna Neil sank
heavily onto her airplane seat and kicked off her high heels, shoving them
beneath the seat in front of her. With a small sigh of relief, she rotated her
ankles to take the pressure off her aching arches. She’d always loved heels—the
higher the better—and insisted on wearing them, never mind they definitely
lacked a comfort factor. Once she’d shot past six feet, she figured it didn’t
matter if she added a few inches to her already overbearing height.
A flight attendant
leaned over to hand her a pillow and blanket. Jenna tucked the pillow behind
her head as she listened to the safety briefing and estimates of their arrival
time in London.
She closed her
eyes, but it didn’t ease how tired and gritty they felt, and smoothed her
too-short denim skirt down her thighs. A red wool sweater and matching denim
jacket finished off her outfit. She’d been so excited about getting out of
Alaska and away from the layers she was forced to wear through the winter,
she’d probably underdressed for the current jaunt. Less trendy clothes were
tucked in her checked luggage, but they weren’t exactly accessible.
The last few days
hadn’t offered much opportunity for rest. She, Colleen Kelly-Regis, and Roxanne
Lantry-Redstone—Roz to everyone who knew her well—were the last of the demon
assassin witches. Having escaped Irichna demons by a ridiculously narrow
margin—again—the three of them were on their way to the U.K. where they could
do it all over again.
Jenna grinned
ruefully. Demons running amok through the British countryside had thrown
witches and the Daoine Sidhe together after two hundred years of enmity. It had
also netted impossibly hunky husbands for her sister witches, but that was
beside the point. Staying alive was a much more front and center problem.
Because Irichna
demons had become so much more aggressive, everyone but her thought it would be
best to travel separately. She hadn’t agreed, but she’d been the one dissenting
vote. As far as Jenna was concerned, there was always strength in numbers, but
the others were convinced their current strategy would confuse the demons long
enough for everyone to regroup on the eastern side of the Atlantic. Colleen and
Roz were teleporting with their husbands. Niall, Colleen’s Irish changeling
familiar, was making his own way back home along with two Scottish changelings,
Llyr and Krae. Jenna had never been much good at teleporting, so she’d opted to
fly commercial. It would place her arrival at least twelve hours after everyone
else, but she could live with that. At least the first leg of her journey, from
Fairbanks to Seattle, and thence to New York, had been uneventful.
Thinking about
Irichna made her shiver, so she unfolded her blanket and draped it around her
shoulders. Demons didn’t get much worse than Irichna. As Abbadon’s chosen
henchmen, they played for keeps, and Abbadon was the biggest and baddest of
Hell’s denizens, so nothing was off limits. Demon assassin witches had been a
craw in his throat for a long time, and lately he’d upped the ante to get rid
of them—permanently.
Them means me, and
I’d do well not to forget that.
Jenna blew out a
weary breath. One of her not-so-distant ancestors had been forced into demon
containment two hundred years ago by the Sidhe, breaking every rule that bound
magic-wielders, but the Sidhe hadn’t cared. In the intervening years, demons
had managed to kill every single witch with demon-assassin ability—except for
her, Roz, and Colleen. The Sidhe were primed to take back some responsibility
for ferrying Irichna to the Ninth Circle of Hell where the gatekeeper locked
them away, but that hadn’t exactly happened yet.
She gritted her
teeth and unclenched hands she’d balled into fists around the edge of the thin
airline blanket. The aircraft backed out of its slip and headed for one of the
many runways at JFK Airport. While it would be lovely to have help with the
demons, working with the Sidhe held its own set of problems. For one thing,
most of them were insufferably autocratic, which was how Jenna’s
great-grandmother had ended up being suckered into picking up the demon banner
in the first place.
Even though
Titania, Queen of Faerie, appeared marginally tolerant of Colleen’s and Roz’s
marriages to Sidhe now, she’d given Duncan quite a bit of grief over his
proposed marriage to Colleen at the front end of things. By the time Ronin, the
de facto Sidhe leader, made it clear he’d set his sights on Roz, Titania had
backed down a few notches, probably because they were beset by Irichna.
Jenna thinned her
lips into a hard line. Hundreds of years before, Ronin’s human partner had died
in childbirth, and the child along with her. Apparently, both the Queen and
King of Faerie made it clear Ronin had sunk himself by choosing to marry
someone outside his race. In the face of their indifference, Ronin had carried
his grief alone.
It’s just like it
is with humans. Everybody’s got to have somebody to look down on…
Jenna tamped back
a cynical grin. The Sidhe had made strides accepting other races, but they had
a way to go before they moved beyond their intolerant past.
Jenna pictured her
friends’ husbands, and a small sigh escaped. Like all the Daoine Sidhe, Duncan
Regis and Ronin Redstone were heartbreakingly stunning. Duncan’s blond good
looks and green eyes provided a counterpart for Ronin’s dark hair and deep blue
gaze. When Jenna scratched the surface and did a little soul-searching, she had
to admit she’d never expected to find a permanent partner. Girls like her—well
rounded and obscenely tall—weren’t exactly in demand. Colleen was beautiful
with her waist length auburn hair and pale blue eyes, and Roz was unusual and
striking. Her Native American heritage and long, lean frame turned heads
whenever she passed by.
Guess I’m the odd
witch out these days…
Jenna pressed her
lips together. It remained to be seen how her friends’ marriages would impact
their lives. Some things would have to change because she couldn’t quite
envision Duncan and Ronin simply moving in to her Fairbanks, Alaska, home along
with their new wives. For one thing, all the Sidhe maintained amazing abodes in
the U.K. Places that resembled castles more than houses.
Jenna reined in
her thoughts. There were a lot of unknowns, but the main problem would be
surviving the next few weeks. Once they got the Irichna on the run—if that were
even possible—then she could figure out more prosaic things, like if she’d be
the only one still living in Fairbanks and running their magicians’ supply
shop. Before the thought even finished forming, she knew that arrangement
wouldn’t work. She, Roz, and Colleen had to stay together, and if the others
insisted on remaining in the U.K., well then she wouldn’t have much choice in
the matter. If she returned to Alaska by herself, she’d be a sitting duck for
Irichna to swoop down and overpower her.
She shivered again
and considered asking for a second blanket.
In an attempt to
divert herself and maybe unwind, though it seemed unlikely, Jenna started to
push her seat back and then remembered she wasn’t supposed to quite yet. The
plane’s engines were revving, but they hadn’t left the ground. She heard the
captain instruct the flight attendants to prepare the cabin for takeoff and
tried to relax in her plush first-class seat. If the goddess was good to her,
maybe she’d catch a few hours of sleep before the plane landed.
A flurry of
supernatural energy caught the edges of her attention, and Jenna’s gut twisted
into a sour knot. She sat up straight and craned her neck to scan the cabin,
defensive magic at the ready. Her eyes widened in disbelief as Krae’s
unmistakable form shimmered into being, and the changeling bounded into the
empty seat next to Jenna. Her long, bright red hair hung loose, and her eyes
shone like emeralds. Krae’s stocky body was draped in wide-bottomed green silk
pants and an embroidered black tunic. As was usual with changelings, her feet
were bare. The creatures drew their power from the earth, and Jenna assumed
they didn’t want layers of leather or rubber or neoprene between themselves and
their magical well. With their three-foot height, broad shoulders, and longish
arms, they looked like a missing link between humans and the great apes.
“What are you
doing here?” Jenna kept her voice low.
“Don’t worry,”
Krae replied, not exactly answering Jenna’s question. “No one can see me except
you.”
“Where are Niall
and Llyr?”
“Niall joined
Colleen and Duncan, and Llyr is with Roz and Ronin.”
Of course, why
didn’t I think of that?
Jenna cleared her
throat. “Why did you make different plans?”
Krae cocked her
head to one side and crinkled her gnome-like face, making her look even more
outlandish. “We discussed it and decided you might need help.” A corner of her
mouth curved into a frown. “Personally, I thought it was a bit overdrawn, but
Niall was most insistent about remaining with Colleen.”
“Can he join her
teleport spell after it’s already set in motion?” Jenna was curious, but if
Krae could teleport into this aircraft, maybe the other two could tap into a
spell she’d always considered sacrosanct.
“Not directly, but
he communicated with Colleen telepathically, and she altered her destination to
pick him up. Llyr did the same with Roz and Ronin.” Krae dusted her palms
together and grinned. “Nothing easier.” The changeling swept her agate-green
gaze around the first-class cabin. “When will they feed us?”
“As soon as we
pass through ten thousand feet, which won’t be long since we just took off.”
Jenna paused for a beat. “If you weren’t thrilled about the plans to get to the
U.K., why didn’t you speak up back in Alaska?”
“We did. No one
listened to us. Roz and Ronin were so wrapped up in lust and pawing at each
other, all they wanted to do was get to his manor house as fast as they could.”
“Well, they did
just get married,” Jenna pointed out in defense of her friend. “And I don’t
recall anyone but me voicing concerns about splitting up to travel.”
“That’s because
you weren’t paying attention, either. Look, sweetie, if the Irichna win, no one
will be tupping anyone.” Despite being much shorter than Jenna, the changeling
managed to send a withering glance her way.
“Point taken.”
Jenna shot an equally scathing glance back. “Next time, if you feel strongly
about something and no one’s paying attention, talk louder.”
“Rehashing the
past is a waste of time.” Krae bounced up and down in her seat. Jenna
considered telling her to fasten her seatbelt, but if no one could see her,
there wasn’t much point. “Be sure to take everything they offer foodwise,” the
changeling instructed. “I’m hungry.”
“Shouldn’t be a
problem since I’m not.” Jenna lapsed into silence.
“Why so glum,
witchy girl?” Krae trained her ancient eyes, which probably didn’t miss a
trick, on Jenna.
“Oh, no particular
reason.” Jenna stifled a snort and rolled her eyes. “I find facing death
several times a day downright exhilarating.”
A bell sounded,
and the fasten seat belt icon winked out. Moments later, the first-class cabin
flight attendant leaned close. “Are you all right?”
“Why wouldn’t I
be?” Jenna snapped and then winced at how surly she sounded.
“I heard you
talking and thought maybe you needed something.” The flight attendant smiled
encouragingly. Airlines had moved past using Barbie clones long since, and this
woman was middle-aged with streaks of gray in her dark, shoulder-length hair,
the beginnings of wrinkles around her blue eyes, and a kind expression.
“Food,” Krae
prodded, not bothering with telepathic speech.
“Thanks for being
concerned.” Jenna managed a genuine smile for the cabin attendant. “I am
hungry, so snacks would be appreciated whenever you get around to serving.”
“Of course.” The
woman smiled back. “I’m Suzanne.” She tapped the nametag hanging around her
neck. “Just press your call button if you need anything. Other than that, relax
and enjoy your flight.”
“You could’ve been
a bit more assertive about our dinner,” Krae complained.
“I’m guessing they
can’t hear you, either.” Jenna switched to telepathic speech.
“Of course they
can’t.” Krae blew out an annoyed-sounding breath. “Look, witchy-girl, draw a
spot of magic and shield your speech. That way no one will bother us, and we
can talk.”
Feeling like an
idiot because she hadn’t come up with the idea herself, Jenna drew the
requisite spell before she spoke again. “I was actually hoping to sleep.”
“You can do that
after we eat and talk.”
Jenna turned to
face the changeling and raised a quizzical brow. “This is starting to sound
bigger than you. Whose idea was it for the three of you to split up, and for
you to join me?”
Krae’s generous
mouth twitched into a grin, and she jabbed a finger in the air between them.
“Smart witch.”
“You didn’t
exactly answer me.”
“No. I didn’t.”
Jenna pressed her
tongue against her teeth to manage her annoyance. The last thing she needed was
a rousing game of twenty questions, so she trained what she hoped was a
non-confrontational gaze on Krae and shrugged. “We have seven hours, feel free
to take your time.”
The changeling’s
green eyes sparkled with mischief. “You’re burning up with curiosity. I can
smell it.”
Jenna didn’t
bother to point out she was so trashed from the past few weeks that she doubted
she had enough energy to burn up with anything. Suzanne handed her a bottle of
water and a tray with an assortment of appetizers. The flight attendant had no
sooner moved on to the next passenger than Krae bent over the tray and dug in.
The changeling
looked up after inhaling half the finger sandwiches and most of the nuts. “Sure
you don’t want any of this?”
“Help yourself.”
Jenna adjusted her seat so it tilted backward, twisted the cap off the water,
and drank deeply.
“Beer, wine, or a
cocktail, miss?” a masculine voice asked.
Jenna glanced up
at a cabin attendant she hadn’t seen before. He was tall and rangy with very
blue eyes, white-blond hair, and a gold band on the third finger of his left
hand. She swallowed a smile. With looks like his, he might have begun wearing
the ring in self-defense, to slow the tide of women throwing themselves at his
feet. He arched a brow and gestured toward the drink cart.
“Um, maybe a cup
of coffee with a side of Irish whiskey.”
“Excellent
choice.” He beamed at her, displaying very white, very even teeth. He may have
winked, but she wasn’t quite certain. “Would you care for cream or sugar?”
“Both.”
Once he handed her
drink over, she uncapped the small bottle of spirits and dumped a little into
her cup. She’d traveled through so many time zones already, it scarcely
mattered whether it was evening yet, and the liquor might have a salutary
effect. The steward’s gaze traveled up her body in frank appraisal before he
moved to the passenger across the aisle. Jenna’s face warmed a few degrees.
What the hell? Was he sizing her up for a quickie in one of the plane’s johns?
Krae twisted her
head and stared at the man. The air glistened wetly where the changeling
deployed magic. She wasn’t particularly subtle, and the man’s spine stiffened,
but he didn’t turn around.
“He felt that.”
Jenna pitched her mind voice just for Krae and shielded it to boot.
“Indeed he did.”
Krae narrowed her eyes. “Do you know what he is?” Jenna shook her head. “Pity,”
the changeling went on, “neither do I.”
“I don’t think
it’s a good idea to send more magic his way,” Jenna murmured. “As it is, what
you did tipped him off. How did you know something was wrong?”
“How else?” Krae
shrugged. “I almost missed it, but something…odd drew my attention when he
looked at you. If he’d been human, his gaze would have held more heat. Instead
there was an…unnatural hunger.” She hesitated. “More like he was relieved he’d
found you rather than wanting sex.”
A shudder iced
Jenna’s blood. Unlike Roz and Colleen, she couldn’t simply teleport off the
airplane. Her heartbeat sped up. “Maybe you should leave,” she told Krae. “No
point in both of us being trapped.”
“Uh-uh. We hold
our ground for now. It’s possible his presence has nothing to do with you.”
“Not very fucking
likely.”
Krae picked up
another small sandwich and stuffed it into her mouth. Jenna snuck a peek at the
steward just in time to see him disappear through the curtain separating first
class from the remainder of the aircraft. Because she was desperate for
information, she sent a tendril of magic snaking outward and yanked it back as
soon as she determined the man wasn’t an Irichna disguised as human. Duncan had
run up against one masquerading as a priest near the Witches’ Northwest Coven
headquarters in Seattle. It had lured two female teenagers and would have
drained them of life if Duncan hadn’t intervened. As it was, he wasn’t certain
either had survived because he’d left them at a hospital and hadn’t hung around
long enough to find out.
Jenna ran options
through her mind, not liking any of them. She didn’t want to end up in a
pitched battle inside the aircraft. Hell, they’d probably lock her away as a
terrorist the minute the plane landed, and Irichna would pick her off from her
cell.
“I was serious,”
Krae’s out loud voice intruded. “There’s at least a small possibility he’s
simply some sort of mage. He might have gotten a magical hit off your aura and
was curious.”
“What did you want
to talk about earlier?” Jenna changed the subject because she could speculate
about the mystery steward from now until he made a move against her, and it
wouldn’t change the outcome, other than making her more aware to watch out for
him.
“How much do you
know about my race?” Krae countered, answering Jenna by asking a question of
her own.
“Mostly what I’ve
gleaned from living with Niall for forty years. Why?”
Krae popped the
last sandwich into her mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “We’ve always known we
would have a key role to play in major battles against the Irichna. It’s
written in our histories, and we’ve prepared as best we could.”
Jenna drew her
brows together. “Niall never mentioned it.”
“It’s quite
possible he didn’t know. We’ve done our damnedest to keep that particular bit
of knowledge quiet, so the Irichna wouldn’t target us before the time came to
play our part. Not that we didn’t inform our people—and try to coach them—but
Niall’s been gone for a good many years.”
Jenna rolled her
shoulders to offset the iron bar of tension sitting between them. “You sound
like a preacher threatening the latter days are nearly upon us.”
“They are.” Krae’s
expression turned deadly serious.
“More whiskey,
miss?”
Jenna started at
the sound of the steward’s voice. He’d returned to the cabin so quietly, she
hadn’t heard him. “Um, no.” She resisted the temptation to look at him. It
would give her more information, but that was a two-way street.
“As you will,
miss.” He pushed the drink cart past her. It made quite a bit of noise, which
led her to suspect he’d used magic to muffle his presence earlier.
How long had he
studied her without her knowing?
Why hadn’t Krae
sensed him?
Worse, he’d
apparently made his way back to the front of the plane, pushed the rattling
cart past her, and served other passengers without alerting her to his
presence. Not good. Jenna shielded her mind—just in case—and clamped her jaws
together when he sashayed into the curtained galley alcove between first class
and the cockpit. Her heart thudded against her ribcage, and her throat was dry.
It was looking like she’d need to do something, but what would attract the
least attention?
Krae uttered a
muted expletive in Gaelic, bolted from her seat, and whisked after the steward.
Jenna stared after the changeling with her mouth hanging open. She pushed
upright, remembered her seatbelt, and fumbled with the clasp. By the time she
was free of it, a flash of multicolored light practically blinded her, flaring
above, below, and through the curtain. Heedless of the other first class
passengers, who couldn’t sense expended magic anyway, she threw her power wide
open.
Jenna didn’t
realize she’d been holding her breath until it whistled from between her
clenched teeth. She drew her lips back, hissing in satisfaction once she
realized the blast of power had come from Krae, not the man. Balancing on the
balls of her stocking-clad feet, Jenna strode forward and pushed past the
curtain.
The steward was
shaking his head back and forth, his face screwed into a mask of pain. Power
flashed from the changeling’s hands. “No more,” he rasped, tottering from foot
to foot. “I won’t hurt either of you.”
Jenna dragged an
invisibility spell over all of them, layered a don’t look here spell over that,
and prayed to the goddess no one would enter the small, enclosed space for the
next few minutes.
“What are you?”
She shoved the question hard into his mind.
“I already figured
that out,” Krae said sourly. “He’s a minor demon sent to keep an eye on you and
report back.”
“I already told
you I hadn’t,” he whined. “And I won’t. You can bind me with magic.”
“That’s not good
enough,” Jenna growled. “Demons lie.”
“So do changelings
and witches.” He shot her a venomous look that belied his promises of
non-interference.
“We’re wasting
time,” Krae said and settled into a low chant.
A look of horror
twisted the steward’s handsome face into something unrecognizable. He tried to
walk past them but clearly couldn’t move. The air thickened, took on a blackish
tinge, and stank of ozone just before smoke rose from the creature and he
vanished.
Jenna drew back,
impressed. Whatever Krae had done was magic well beyond her own abilities.
Footsteps sounded on the far side of the curtain. Suzanne. Jenna recognized her
energy and ducked into a passenger restroom. If Krae was powerful enough to
banish the demon, shielding herself from the flight attendant should prove
trivial. Kicking herself for being sloppy, Jenna pulled the magic from her
spells to make the cramped galley appear as normal as possible.
“Paul,” Suzanne’s
voice was pitched low, “your drink cart’s here. Where are you?”
Jenna flushed the
toilet and splashed cold water on her overheated face. She took her time drying
off and settled her features into a bland expression before stepping out of the
john. With a nod and a smile at Suzanne, she pushed the curtain aside and
returned to her seat. Krae was already there, doing her best to mask a
self-satisfied grin.
“Okay, I give up.”
Jenna eyed the changeling. “What did you do?”
“Teleported him
outside the plane. Nature took care of the rest.”
Jenna thought
about it. “While it’s good he’s gone, how will we know he didn’t report in
somehow?”
“We won’t,” Krae
said shortly. “Which means we’ll have to be very careful not to lead the enemy
right to wherever we’re staying after we land.”
About
the Author:
Ann Gimpel is a national
bestselling author. A lifelong aficionado of the unusual, she began writing
speculative fiction a few years ago. Since then her short fiction has appeared
in a number of webzines and anthologies. Her longer books run the gamut from
urban fantasy to paranormal romance. Once upon a time, she nurtured clients,
now she nurtures dark, gritty fantasy stories that push hard against reality.
When she’s not writing, she’s in the backcountry getting down and dirty with
her camera. She’s published over 30 books to date, with several more planned
for 2016 and beyond. A husband, grown children, grandchildren and wolf hybrids
round out her family.
@AnnGimpel (for Twitter)
JOIN MARSHA'S MAILING LIST and receive a free copy of her paranormal romance story RULER OF THE NIGHT.
Read Marsha's COON HOLLOW TALES of paranormal romance and her ENCHANTED BOOKSTORE LEGENDS for adventurous epic fantasy romance. For a FREE ebook download, read her historic fantasy, LE CIRQUE DE MAGIE, available at Amazon and Smashwords.
1 comments:
Ann I think we need advice to how to survive and go forward after the results of this crazy election.
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