Broken Heart Tails

Broken Heart Tails

A Collection of Secrets, Surprises, and Stories about the Broken Heart World

By Michele Bardsley

Published by Michele Bardsley

www.MicheleBardsley.com

Copyright © Michele R. Freeman 2013

A Few Good Fantasies is a Freeman Publication.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the copyright holder.

Any trademarks, service marks, product names or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement from the author of this work.

Cover Art by Renée George

http://romance-the-night.com/Renee_George/

Dearest Readers,

You have my undying appreciation for your continued support and enthusiasm for the Broken Heart world. The first book,
I’m the Vampire, That’s Why
, appeared on shelves in August 2006. For nearly seven years, I’ve written about the vampires, werewolves, fairies, zombies, and paranormal misfits who all live in, visit, or invade Broken Heart.

Over the years, I’ve also written snippets, short stories, insights, and other Broken Heart-related items that never made it into the books. I’ve gathered those blog posts, FAQs, website revisions, newsletter tidbits, deleted scenes, character interviews, and so much more to create
Broken Heart Tails
.

I know it’s impossible to address every aspect about the series, the characters, and the town. Feel free to email me your questions or comments at
[email protected]
or visit my website for the latest updates at
http://www.michelebardsley.com
.

Thank you all so very, very much for your posts, reviews, emails, tweets, and so forth about the Broken Heart series. All of your kind words are sustenance for a grateful working writer.

With much love,

Michele Bardsley

The Broken Heart Turnbloods

Jessica Matthews
: Widowed (first husband, Richard). Mother to fourteen-year-old Bryan and nine-year-old Jenny. Stay-at-home mom. Vampire of Family Ruadan.

Charlene Mason
: Mistress of Richard Matthews. Mother to one-year-old Rich, Jr. Receptionist for insurance company. Vampire of Family Ruadan.

Linda Beauchamp
: Divorced (first husband, Earl). Mother to eighteen-year-old MaryBeth. Nail technician. Vampire of Family Koschei.

MaryBeth Beauchamp
: Single. Waitress at the Old Sass Cafe. Vampire of Family Ruadan.

Evangeline “Eva” Louise LeRoy
: Single. Mother to fifteen-year-old Tamara LeRoy. Owns and operates the town library. Vampire of Family Koschei.

Patricia “Patsy” Donovan
: Divorced (first husband, Sean). Mother to sixteen-year-old Wilson. Beautician who owns and operates Hair Today, Curl Tomorrow. Vampire of Family Amahte.

Ralph Genessa
: Widowed (first wife, Teresa). Father to toddler twins Michael and Stephen. Fry cook at the Old Sass Café. Vampire of Family Hua Mu Lan.

Simone Sweet
: Widowed (first husband, Jacob). Mother to six-year-old Glory. Broken Heart’s mechanic. Vampire of Family Velthur.

Phoebe Allen
: Single. Mother to two-year-old Daniel. Waitress at the Old Sass Café. Vampire of Family Durga.

Darlene Clark:
Divorced (first husband, Jason). Mother to seven-year-old Marissa. Stay-at-home mother. Operates Internet scrapbooking business. Vampire of Family Zela.

Elizabeth Bretton née Silverstone
: Widowed (husband, Henry). Step-mother of twenty-year-old Venice (who currently lives in France). Socialite. Vampire of Family Zela.

Direct descendents of the first five families to found Broken Heart: The McCrees, the LeRoys, the Silverstones, the Allens, and the Clarks.

In the book,
Come Hell or High Water
, it’s revealed that there is an eighth Family line, once thought to be extinct: The Family Shamhat.

Wish Upon a Zombie

Chapter One

“Where the hell is that damned box?” I paused and looked over my shoulder. I don’t know why I bothered. We were in the attic of the house on Sanderson Street, which was where I’d lived with my kids while I was alive, and for a little while as a vampire. It’s a long story. Anyway, my family and I had moved back into the house after vacating the Silverstone mansion. I wasn’t too sorry about leaving there—it was huge, dusty, and a bitch to clean. Also, I got a lost. A lot.

“She’s not here, Jessica,” said my husband. My sexy Irish vampire bent over a trunk and dug through the contents. “And quit lookin’ at my ass.”

“I wasn’t,” I protested, moving my gaze away from his butt. (P.S. Fantastic view, peeps. Better naked, but hey, I’ll take it where I can get it.) As for the “she” Patrick was talking about—that was my daughter, Jenny aka She Who Rules the Bad Words. My inability to stop cursing had put enough money in the Cussing Jar to pay for a Wii. Needless to say, I was paranoid. Jenny popped up out of nowhere with that damned jar. I think she’s saving up for a PlayStation 4. Or college.

Patrick straightened. Cobwebs clung to his longish black hair. He plucked them out and sighed. “You know we’re rich, right? Wealthy beyond measure. I could buy you new decorations. I could buy you entire factory that made decorations.”

“But these are family decorations,” I whined. “Stuff the kids made. Like that Frankenstein Bryan made from a coffee can … and that pumpkin candle thingie that Jenny painted in 2nd grade.”

“I can buy you new children.”

“Patrick!”

He grinned; and lust zipped through me as hot and quick as lightning. He knew it, too, because his smile went all wicked-sexy. “Screamin’ is traditional on Halloween, isn’t it?”

“It’s not Halloween.”

“I still want to explore the screamin’ issue. We should practice, I think.”

Patrick tended to blur my good judgment … well, what little I actually had. It’s not like I’d ever get a medal for excellence in decision making. Still, I felt like I should at least try to accomplish the mission that had brought us to the attic.

“The sooner we find the decorations,” I said, being all practical and responsible, “the sooner we can get to that screaming thing.”

Patrick drew me into his arms and kissed me until I couldn’t feel my toes. Then he stepped back and looked down at me, tender desire illuminating his silver gaze. “As you wish.”

“Don’t even try, Sucky McSuckpants.”

He laughed. Then he let go of me and headed toward the opposite corner. I followed him to another towering pile of boxes, none of which I’d bothered to label. We each took a box. I found baby clothes; Patrick found Christmas lights.

The last box held the treasures I was looking for. Most of the items had been created by either Jenny or Bryan. When Rich, Jr. got older, I imagined he’d make a few things to add to my trove. He was my adopted son (part of that long story I mentioned earlier) and I loved him to the bottom of my undead heart.

Something glittered among the paper mache witches and the orange and black paper chains. I plucked the object and held it up to the wavering yellow light that barely cut into the dark attic. Not that Patrick and I needed too much light. Our vamp vision was awesome.

The gemstone was orange, in a teardrop shape, and about the size of a kiwi. I’d never seen it before and I wondered how it had gotten into the box of Halloween goodies.

“Let me see it, love.”

I handed it to Patrick and he spent a quiet minute studying it. “There’s magic here,” he said.

“Uh-oh. The good kind, or the bad kind?”

“I don’t know. It’s too faint to tell.”

“Well, let’s give it to someone who can figure out what it is.”

“Dr. Michaels then.” Patrick stood and picked up the box of decorations. Because he was part sidhe (AKA fairy or fae), he could fly, so he lowered himself through the attic trapdoor easily. I could do the same trick, but I choose to use the ladder. I hadn’t quite given up my human ways.

When we got to the kitchen, Patrick put the box on the table. We’d wait until the kids got home from school to go through the stuff. Rich, Jr. was hanging out with his vampire grandpa, and I was only slightly worried about Ruadan. It had been a while since the ancient vampire had been around young children, and I worried he thought sitting on top of the Great Pyramid or meeting the Tibetan Yeti were acceptable activities for a toddler.

Patrick took out the gem and examined it again. “It looks kinda familiar.” He handed it to me and pulled his cell phone from his back pocket. “I’m goin’ to call Stan and hand it over to him. Maybe he can figure out what it is.”

How had something magical ended up in my attic in a bunch of Halloween decorations? I’d never seen it before. Had one of the kids found it last year and just thrown into the box thinking it was Halloween-y?

Patrick finished his phone call. “Dr. Michaels will pick it up later.”

“You know what I wish I had?” I asked, rubbing the gem. It was feeling warm. I didn’t have a pulse, much less a temperature, so it wasn’t me generating the heat.

“Chocolate?”

“Why do you always assume that’s my wish?”

“Because it always is.”

“This time it’s something different.”

Patrick looked at me, a smile flirting on his lips.

“I want those Godiva pecan pie truffles.” I grinned. “In bed. With you.”

He laughed and wrapped his arms around me. He leaned down for a kiss.

Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop.

“Dead you hear that?” I asked.

Patrick looked at me, one eyebrow quirked. “Really? Why do you try to work ‘dead’ into every sentence?”

“‘Cause I still think it’s funny.”

“That makes one of us.”

We hurried up the stairs, following the odd sounds to our bedroom. Patrick opened the door and we peered inside.

Little foil-wrapped balls were raining onto the bed. Thanks to my vampire nose, I could smell the gourmet delight that was Godiva. I pushed past Patrick, who protested and tried to grab my arm, but hel-lo, ain’t nothing or no one getting between me and a freaking bed full of Godiva.

I grabbed one of the truffles, unwrapped it, and stuffed into my mouth. “Oh, my sweet lord,” I said, “it really is a pecan pie truffle.”

“I think that accidental pixie wish is the best thing that happened to your chocolate craving,” said Patrick.

“That, and this pecan pie freaking truffle,” I responded. Though it came out more like “Thfrpecpiftrufeeeeee.” Luckily, my husband speaks Jessica. Hah.

“Jess, where’s the stone?”

I tossed him the gem and crawled onto the bed. I made a space, said a brief prayer of thanks that I no longer had to worry about widening my ass, and started unwrapping truffles.