Magic & Mistletoe: 15 Paranormal Stories for the Holidays Read online

  Fen’s eyebrows rose as the same hand emerged with her prize. “Not what I was expecting. What’s this?”

  My military ID dangled from her fingertips, the spiel I’d planned fleeing from my brain. “I want to marry your mother,” I said at last, all flowery language long since faded into the dim recesses of a brain that begged me to flee, flee, flee.

  “And the neck bling?”

  I cringed away from words that no longer sounded nearly as amusing as they had in the safety of my own home. Hesitating, I cleared my throat then spoke. “It’s a dog tag. To prove I want to be part of your pack.”

  For a moment, all was silent except the crackle of the fire. Then a choked huff emerged from the werewolf’s throat. I couldn’t decide whether to apply the Heimlich maneuver or to run as fast as I could in the other direction.

  Only when the hacking erupted into gales of laughter did I relax at last. Like mother like daughter. A woman enjoys a man who can make her laugh.

  “You have my blessing,” my stepdaughter said, pulling my head down to drape the chain back around my neck where it belonged. “Welcome to the pack.”

  Potatoes and Gravy

  “What do you want for Christmas?”

  Calla stroked tentative fingers across soft red fur then peered up at the human’s fluffy white beard. She wasn’t quite sure why this stranger was so over-dressed or why he asked such nosy questions. But she was a good-natured kid, so she ignored the former discrepancy and obliged the latter request.

  “Snow.”

  “Snow? That’s all? What about a Barbie. Little girls love Barbies.”

  Calla had a vague understanding that Barbies were miniature plastic humans useful for practicing haircuts and streamlining fashion consciousness. She wasn’t remotely interested in learning to accessorize. If she wanted to look pretty, she’d just grow out her fur and return to her more familiar lupine shape.

  Werewolves didn’t need Barbies.

  “Snow,” she repeated firmly. “I want snow for Christmas.”

  “Well, I’ll see what I can do,” the human said, his words agreeable but his body language tense as he all but pushed her out of his lap. Calla shrugged and pattered back to her waiting pack mates, all of them older than herself and more able to fit into this strange human world they’d recently found themselves in.

  “Snow, huh?” Lupe asked, pushing her nose into Calla’s hair. Humans would think Lupe was smelling that cute little-girl smell, but Calla knew her pack mate was reassuring her as an older wolf should.

  “Snow,” Calla agreed.

  “Weather’s supposed to be warm and dry tomorrow,” Sterling said quietly. The protector of her new foster siblings didn’t want to see her disappointed. “Might snow later in the week.”

  “How about a snow cone?” Lupe interjected. She flourished crisp dollar bills, still proud of being the one granted the cash when their alpha had dropped them off at the mall an hour earlier.

  “I like cherry,” Calla said to make them all happy. She did like cherry. But she also wanted snow. Real snow like she’d seen on television, falling out of the sky. She wanted to catch a snowflake on her nose while music swelled around her. To dance and caper in the cold, white fluff.

  Calla’s life had changed so dramatically over the past few months. She’d gone from being a Sit-Stay-Aren’t-you-listening? dog to a wolf who could make herself heard with human words. She’d traveled north to join a pack, had found true friends and family, and had learned to walk on two clawless feet.

  Still, in the movies, there was always snow at the grand finale. She wanted snow.

  The rest of the day passed in a blur of hot chocolate and “Which Christmas present do you want to unwrap tonight?” and stockings hung by the chimney with care. There was a story about Santa Claus—so that’s who the mall human was pretending to be—and flying reindeer and melting snowmen.

  The drippy snow creature was ominous. But if reindeer could learn how to fly, surely her pack could rustle up just a little snow.

  Creeping downstairs the next morning, she passed by the bulging stockings full of goodies her alphas had hidden in the back of their closet two weeks earlier. She’d really been looking forward to those treats—puzzles and fluffy mittens and, last time she’d nosed into the stash, even some lusciously ripe pears.

  But there was something else she wanted to check out first.

  Cracking open the front door, she peered out into the dim morning light. The sun was barely beginning to creep up over the mountaintop and frost glinted silver atop the grass.

  Silver...but not white. The sky was cloudless, the air was dry. There was no snow.

  She shouldn’t have been disappointed. After all, Sterling and Lupe and fake-Santa had all warned her it was too much to ask for. Still, she couldn’t help pressing a hand to her aching stomach as she took a step backward, began to close the door.

  Magic isn’t real.

  Then, out of nowhere, a snowflake appeared. The house above and behind her woke as music filled the air. “Twas on a night like this,” her pack mates crooned in glorious harmony.

  More flakes. She inched out into the gentle cascade, stuck out her tongue, twirled amid the sparkling fall of brilliant snow.

  Mmm, tastes like mashed potatoes. Yummy.

  Looking up, she caught Lupe sliding closed the window above her head. A last few granules of instant potato mixed with glitter glinted in the rising sun as they drifted down into Calla’s hair.

  Licking her chops, Calla smiled. She’d gotten what she wanted. Now, everything else was gravy.

  About the Author

  Aimee Easterling is a USA Today Bestselling author writing on the boundary between urban fantasy and paranormal romance. She specializes in spunky shifters and invites you to dive into her werewolf world in the Wolf Rampant trilogy, the spinoff Bloodling serial, and her new Alpha Underground series. (In case you’re curious, Wolfie features in the first two series listed while the other characters in these short stories hail from the Alpha Underground series.)

  Studying biology and working as a naturalist have both informed Aimee’s writing, but she’s quite willing to let reality slide in favor of a good story. When not writing, she loves to read and always keeps books by Robin McKinley, Patricia Briggs, and Elizabeth Peters on her shelf. You can learn more and download two free books at www.aimeeeasterling.com.

  Miami Twist

  A Magic Bullet Short Story

  A. Blythe

  Copyright © 2016 Red Palm Press LLC

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Miami Twist

  “Santa is a demon.”

  Flynn looked at me askance. “A little presumptuous, don’t you think?”

  “No, I mean that Santa is a demon.” He followed my gaze to the street-corner Santa, ringing a bell with more flair than any Santa had a right to.

  “Shaitan,” Flynn murmured. “I wonder where he’s hiding his animal part?” Shaitans tended to be attractive in human form, but with the added bonus of an animal part hidden somewhere on their bodies.

  “Hard to tell under all that red velvet.” It was eighty degrees and Santa wasn’t breaking a sweat in his suit. Another telltale sign he wasn’t human.

  Between the sunny weather and the carnival atmosphere, Miami seemed like the perfect choice for a holiday getaway. I’d grown tired of D.C. and needed a break from the pressures of Academy training. Flynn and I both intended to work for the Paranormal Agency Network, or PAN, when we graduated. Right now, though, if I had to memorize one more section of the paranormal penal cod
e, I was going to make it my mission to commit every single prohibited act. Twice.

  “We should probably head to the room now,” I said. “We’ll want to get settled before dinner.” Flynn had called in a favor to secure a luxurious penthouse for the next few days. Collecting favors was one of his many skills.

  “Your tower awaits, princess.” He slipped his hand in mine and we bent the light together. I didn’t even get a chance to admire the outside of the building because we zipped straight through the lobby and up to the fifteenth floor.

  Apparently, ‘room’ was a bit of an understatement.

  “I don’t even want to know what this guy owed you for,” I said, surveying the impressive suite. A rooftop deck. A wine room. A wraparound glass wall with views of the ocean and beach. The owner had spared no expense and it showed.

  I bounced on the edge of the custom bed and thrust out my hands. “Ready to receive your offerings, oh wise man.”

  He flashed a wicked grin. “Now that I have you on the bed, I have a different offering in mind.”

  I shook my head. “Present. Now.”

  He sighed and produced a box from behind his back. It was wrapped in shimmering gold paper and tied up in a crimson bow. Very festive.

  “An actual gift?” I queried, accepting the pretty package. “You didn’t summon it?”

  “I even paid human money for it.” The ultimate compliment. As powerful djinn, we can summon most of what we need or want, although there are limitations. We can’t summon a pile of money, for example. That’s cut from the same cloth as wishing for more wishes.

  Greedily, I untied the bow. “You’re spoiling me.” I lifted the lid and parted the soft, white tissue paper. “Oh, Flynn. It’s exquisite.”

  Inside was a clutch bag so blue and sparkly, it appeared to be cut entirely from gemstones.

  His expression softened. “For you, my blue diamond.”

  My heart fluttered a little every time he used his pet name for me. Flynn had a way of making me feel like the only djinni in the world.

  “Thank you. I love it.”

  I summoned the usual contents of my handbag directly into the clutch—lipstick, money, and phone.

  “Everything fits,” I said, pleased. “What time are our reservations?”

  He moved closer to the bed. “No worries. We can be a few minutes late.”

  As appealing as his idea seemed, I was starving—for food. “They won’t hold the table on Christmas Eve and you know it.”

  “Dinner it is.” He gave my outer thighs a playful slap. “As long as we take dessert to go.”

  “Deal.”

  The restaurant was teeming with people when we arrived. Thanks to Flynn’s magical charm, we nabbed the best seats in the place, a private table overlooking the water. We stuffed ourselves on seafood and champagne and talked about our future together. By the time the bill came, I was in a particularly festive mood and offered to pay half.

  He waved me off. “Let me pay for dinner.”

  “We’re both still in training,” I argued. “Our bank accounts aren’t exactly overflowing.” The Academy provided its trainees with room, board, and a small stipend to help us fit into the human world.

  I opened my clutch bag, ready to pull out a few bills. “What in the Plasma Plane…?”

  Flynn leaned forward. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s empty.” I turned the clutch upside down. “Even my lipstick is gone.”

  “How could someone manage to empty your entire bag without you noticing?”

  I stared into the gloom. “They couldn’t. It was snapped shut.” And I would have noticed. Even in my human form, my radar and reflexes were top of the class.

  My fingers explored the intricate construction of the bag. “Flynn, where did you buy the clutch?”

  “When you went inside that spa to book your massage, I saw a boy selling them on the corner of 2nd Street.”

  I held up the sparkling bag. “It’s magical.”

  Flynn grinned. “So are you.”

  I rolled my eyes. “No, I mean it. There’s an actual spell on the bag. We need to find the boy who sold it to you.” I was already mentally listing the relevant violations of the paranormal penal code and I hated myself for it.

  Flynn dropped a wad of cash onto the table and scraped back his chair. “Your wish is my command.”

  There was no sign of the boy on the corner of 2nd Street. The only people in view were tourists and partygoers. I felt a pang of longing. I’d really wanted to spend the evening being both. Now it looked like I’d be tracking down a ring of criminal magicians.

  “What did the boy look like?” I asked, surveying the area.

  “About twelve. On the short side. Dark hair. A pretty decent tan.”

  Probably because he spent so many hours outdoors robbing unsuspecting customers.

  We ducked in and out of open stores, giving the boy’s description. No one remembered him. Likely thanks to another magic spell. We’d just decided to head back to the penthouse when Flynn’s arm shot out.

  “There he is.”

  The boy was standing next to a bench on the beach, talking to another boy of a similar age. I shifted to mist right there on the sidewalk. If anyone saw me, I hoped they were too drunk on eggnog to remember tomorrow.

  I materialized in front of the boys, hands on hips.

  “Recognize this?” I asked, thrusting the sparkling clutch bag into his face. “It’s empty now. Know anything about that?”

  The boy stared at me with dark, round eyes. “No, miss.”

  Flynn appeared beside me. “Come clean, kid, and we won’t hurt you.”

  The other boy took off in a sprint, leaving his friend to face us alone.

  The boy looked around in a panic. “I’ll give you your things back. Just please don’t get me in trouble.”

  “I won’t call PTF,” I promised. Human cops were useless in this situation. Instead, it would fall under the auspices of the Paranormal Task Force.

  His voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t mean them.”

  Flynn and I exchanged glances. “Who are you afraid of?” Flynn asked.

  The boy closed his eyes and murmured a few words in Spanish. “Open your bag.”

  I peered into the clutch. Everything was there.

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  “Oliverio.” He glanced over my shoulder and I saw the fear in his solemn eyes. “Please. You must go now.”

  I turned around to see a man ambling toward us wearing a light gray linen suit and a pale pink tie. Although his pace was leisurely, his tight expression suggested urgency.

  “There you are, Oliverio. We have been looking everywhere for you.” The man placed his arm around the boy’s shoulders. “It’s Christmas Eve, chico. You should be with your family.”

  “I don’t have a family,” the boy muttered under his breath.

  “My apologies,” the man said to us. “Is the boy bothering you?”

  “Not at all,” I said, taking in the man’s aura. Skeevy but human. “We were just having a nice chat.”

  “Merry Christmas to you both,” the man said, clapping Oliverio on the shoulder. “We’ll be on our way now.”

  Flynn’s jaw tightened and I sensed he was about to make a move. I grabbed his arm and gave my head a quick shake. I waited to speak until they crossed the road.

  “Now we follow them,” I said softly.

  “Mist or light?” Flynn asked. Whether we opted to bend the light or shift to mist, we’d catch up quickly, but we’d still need to materialize close to them. We’d give ourselves away.

  “Invisible,” I said.

  “Good call.”

  Djinn can turn invisible at will. We’re only seen in the human world if we choose to be seen. It’s one of the ways we manage to stay under the radar.

  We followed them down a dark alley between two retro buildings, where the man finally stopped walking to interrogate Oliverio.

  “Wha
t was that about, huh?” he demanded.

  “Nothing,” the boy replied. “Please don’t tell him, Rodrigo.”

  “You swear it’s not a problem? Because it’s my life on the line, remember?”

  “And mine,” Oliverio said quietly.

  They turned and faced a wall on the side of the building. Oliverio pressed his palms against the bricks and a door appeared. They continued inside and we slipped in behind them before the door closed.

  Inside was a large, open space with a loft area. On the main floor were several long tables loaded with beautiful handbags. I counted about twenty children in the loft. Like Santa’s workshop without the Christmas cheer. The second boy from the beach was there, speaking in rapid-fire Spanish to an older man in a wheelchair. The older man wheeled across the room when he saw Rodrigo and the boy enter. He wore leather sandals, khaki shorts, and a tropical shirt with an open collar. I glimpsed a jade pendant around his wrinkled neck and groaned. Men with turkey necks just shouldn’t wear jewelry.

  “Trouble, Rodrigo?”

  Rodrigo chuckled. “On Christmas Eve, boss? Impossible.”

  “Ricky was concerned.” The old man nodded toward the second boy from the beach.

  Rodrigo gave him a reassuring smile. “Just a couple of drunks giving the boy a hard time. Consider it handled.”

  “Good.” The older man glanced toward the loft. “Send Petra out.”

  Rodrigo adjusted his tie, a nervous gesture. “You sure? Tonight won’t be too busy.”

  “Lonely men without a family?” the older man said. “Men looking to escape a family. Get her now.”

  Rodrigo reluctantly walked toward the loft and whistled. Oliverio made a move to follow him, but the older man blocked him with his wheelchair.

  “Not so fast, Oliverio.”

  The boy swallowed hard. “Yes, sir?”

  “Have you eaten?”

  The boy shook his head.