Broken Heart Tails (6 page)

Lenette was Wiccan. She owned the B & B with her two sisters. Though Samhain was an important holiday in their religion, she and her sisters embraced the campy side of Halloween, too. No one liked a haunted house better than they did.

She took one look at the stubborn six-year-old planted on the first step, and waved Simone and Brady forward. “Why don’t you and Brady go enjoy some punch? I’d like to introduce Glory to a friend of mine.”

Simone looked at Brady, then at Glory. Finally, she nodded, and they went into the house. Lenette sat on the step next to Glory and patted the top of the jack o’ lantern next to her. “Say hello to Jack.”

Glory glared at the carved pumpkin. “Jack?” Her tone seemed to suggest the name wasn’t too original.

Lenette smiled. “Yes. Jack. He’s a very special pumpkin, Glory. He eats your fears. All you have to do is tell him what they are then
gulp
, he gobbles them up like Halloween candy.”

“And I won’t be scared anymore?”

“That’s right. You wanna try it?”

Glory’s gaze flicked down the well lit sidewalk and at the twinkle lights strung in the trees and bushes. She wasn’t scared. Much.

“Okay.”

Lenette patted the pumpkin again then she stood up. “I’m going to check the decorations on the gate. I’ll be right back, okay?”

Glory nodded, and waited until Lenette reached the wrought iron gate. She fussed with the webbing strung across the top.

Glory scooted closer to Jack and leaned down to peer into his face, which looked kinda like a goblins. “Um … Jack?”

“Hello, Glory.”

She squeaked and reared back. “You talk!”

“I prefer to use my pumpkin ears to absorb from you all those delicious fears.”

The pumpkin seemed to have some kind of orange sparkle. His mouth wasn’t moving, but he was definitely talking. She slanted a look at Lenette, who was still messing with the decorations on the gate.

“I’m scared of the dark,” whispered Glory to Jack. “I’m scared of … of blood.”

“The dark is yummy, sweet as cake, and blood is the kind of frosting I take.”

Glory felt funny for a second, as if those fears that made her chest go tight and her heart skip beats were being pulled from her. Then suddenly, she wasn’t scared anymore.

“Nom, nom, nom!” cried Jack. “Thank you, Glory. Is there more?”

She flicked one more look at Lenette to make sure she was out of hearing range then she leaned very close to Jack and said, “I don’t like spiders.”

“Spiders are crunchy treats, and so it’s my pleasure to eat, eat, eat.”

Glory felt the strange sensation again … then her fear was gone. “Thank you, Jack,” she whispered. Then she kissed the top of the pumpkin. He glowed bright then she heard a little
pop
.

The pumpkin was a jack o’ lantern once more.

“Feel better?” asked Lenette. She was walking toward Glory, her hand extended.

Glory stood up and took her hand, eager now to visit the haunted house with her mom and dad. “There’s candy, right?”

“Lots and lots of candy,” said Lenette.

Together, they went inside.

Jack grinned.

Dragon Me to Broken Heart

The Prequel to
Wait Till Your Vampire Gets Home
 

“Oklahoma?” Libby Monroe stared at the map her parents rolled out on the chipped table. She tugged her sweater around her and pressed her lips together to keep from chattering. The RV was freezing thanks to a broken heater. It was just one of a million fixes needed. Her parents spent money on state-of-the-art equipment such as sensitive recorders to catch electronic voice phenomena and thermal video cameras to catch the heat signatures of ghosts. “Seriously? Okla
freaking
homa? In
February
?”

“Yep. Broken Heart,” said Dora Monroe, tapping a spot on the map. “Our online forums are buzzing with constant news of activity. Sightings of Bigfoot, monster wolves, and in one instance, a flying man.”

Elmore Monroe grinned. “Now, that would be something. Jet pack? Or…”

Her parents began a debate about how a man would manage to zoom around the sky. Libby stopped short of rolling her eyes. She loved her parents. She loved their work for the Paranormal Research and Investigation Services, the organization they co-founded. However, she didn’t think every report was credible and every situation was paranormal. Her parents approached each investigation realistically and used science-based methods (and okay, the occasional psychic)—but they were so open-minded about the supernatural it was a wonder their brains hadn’t fallen out. 

“Where’s Brady?” she asked. He was good back-up when her parents got … er, enthusiastic. Braddock Hayes had joined PRIS ten years ago. He was a firm believer in the paranormal, although he never fully explained why. The most Libby had ever gotten out of him was that he’d experienced something unexplainable. He was the one who created the security protocols everyone used when on-site. Sometimes, she thought that Brady was just paranoid, but he was obviously good at his job. Plus, he had some seriously great electro-whatsits. He also had weapons. Weird ones.

“Braddock’s with his team in Texas,” said Mom. “One of these days, we’re gonna get that Chupacabra.”

“Mom. Focus.”

“Yes, dear. We have to cross Oklahoma to rendezvous with Braddock, so Broken Heart is right on the way.”

Woo. Libby scooted out from the bench seat and went to the temperature controls. Fifty-eight degrees? Ugh. She messed with the fan and heat settings, but nothing kicked on. She sighed. Her parents had moved on to the Bigfoot sightings. Dad was tapping away on the laptop, checking out the PRIS message boards.

Libby put on her parka and slipped out of the RV. She crossed to the fire pit. They’d piled it with wood earlier, so it was just a matter of lighting it. She got a blaze going and sat on a camp chair, staring at the flames. Even though it had been ten years, fire still reminded her of the explosion. She wasn’t scared of fire … not any more.

That awful night, she’d been thirteen, checking out an abandoned farm with her parents. Their friend Archie had been inside the decrepit old barn when it blew.

Shivering, Libby veered off memory lane. She walked down it often enough, especially lately. She was twenty-three now, and had been living her parents’ dream—one she thought was hers, too. She wasn’t exactly qualified to do much else since her education and experience were paranormal-related. Still, she’d been thinking more and more about going off on her own—maybe it was just time. She couldn’t live forever with her parents. She wanted to date, and one day, to get married and have a family.

Night sounds filtered into her consciousness—chirping crickets, scurrying animals, a chill wind tickling dead leaves. She shivered again, staring up at the night sky. The moon winked down at her, unaffected by her internal drama. Maybe after the Broken Heart investigation, she’d take her meager savings and go … well, somewhere. Her parents would understand. They’d even encourage her. They wanted her happiness, no matter what form it might take.

“Hey, Libs!” called her father from the doorway of the RV. “Your mom and I are mapping out the Broken Heart investigation. How do you feel about taking the cemetery?”

“Again?” she called. “I always get the dead people.”

He chuckled. “So long as they don’t get you.”

Her dad shut the door with a tinny bang. Libby scooted closer to the fire then returned her gaze to the sky as if her future were there, waiting for her among the stars.

* * *  *  *

“Synd is back,” said Elder Raine.

Sylphina put down her delicate china teacup, careful not to slosh the hot liquid. Fear spiderwebbed through her.
Her brother was back?
Unable to form words around the knot in her throat, she took a moment to study the drawing room. That’s what they called it—the drawing room. Brocade curtains, dark antique furniture, doilies sitting like snowflakes on the overstuffed furniture, and ceramic knickknacks crowding every surface.

“How?” she asked.

“We don’t know.” Raine’s gaze was as steady as always, but lurking in those teal depths was sadness. Sylphina knew then that her life was forfeit. An event Raine had predicted to her sorrow on the day of Sylphina and Synd’s births five-hundred years before.

Sylphina studied her friend and mentor. Raine was dressed in the traditional blue robes that denoted her status as a Council member. Her silver hair was plaited into a single braid that was so long it coiled behind her chair. Her teal eyes burned with ancient dragonfire. The gold-rope necklace with its fire-red jewel rested just above her bosom. Raine clung to the traditions of their kind, though dragons were nearly extinct.

Next to her, the only other remaining member of the old Council, Elder Amethyst, sat wringing her hands. She was nearly as old as Raine. In human form, she looked in her early sixties. She wore a crocheted white sweater with a pink dragon on it, purple knit pants, and thick-soled orthopedic shoes. Her lilac eyes were filled with dread.

“Oh, my,” she said. “Oh, my.”

Sylphina clasped her hands, mostly to keep them from trembling. After Synd made a bargain with a powerful demon, he lost what few morals he had. In his quest for power, he didn’t care who he hurt—humans, dragons, parakind. The Elders had tracked him down, subdued him and encased him in stone. They did it for her. Synd wanted from his sister what he had given away for power. He wanted Sylphina’s essence, and now … now he was free to pursue her. To take it from her. Synd had always been the stronger one, even before he gave in to the dark magic that now ruled him.

“I’ll call Ash and make arrangements,” said Sylphina.

“The soul shifter?” Amethyst’s eyes went wide. “She’s … not very nice.”

“Most assassins aren’t,” agreed Sylphina dryly. “But she’s got a moral code and a sense of honor. Giving her my soul and my powers is far better than Synd taking them.” Her gaze met Raine’s. “Is there any way…” She trailed off, already knowing the answer to her unasked question.

“I fear not,” said Raine. “He will find you. He always does.”

Sylphina nodded. “Then the sacrifice is necessary.”

“For good to endure, sacrifice always necessary.”

“Oh, my darling!” Amethyst popped off the couch and wrapped Sylphina in a warm, lavender-scented hug. “May your journey to Yalinia be a peaceful one.”

“Thank you, Elder.”

Amethyst let go, sniffling. She drew a tissue out of her sweater sleeve and wiped her nose.

Raine rose and embraced Sylphina. “I, too, wish you a peaceful journey, child.”

“My thanks, Elder.”

“One last thing,” said Raine, regret tingeing her voice. “You must draw your brother away from us.”

“Of course.” Sylphina had already planned to go as far from her home as possible. Synd wouldn’t blink an eyelash at harming the Elders. Hate burned in him as bright and hot as his own dragonfire.

“There is a place in Oklahoma. The town is called Broken Heart. I believe the vampires there will help you. Ruadan is familiar with our kind—and Ash could meet you there.”

“What if Synd finds me there?”

“Broken Heart knows how to handle the dangers,” said Raine. “They are a strong community.” She stroked Sylphina’s red hair, her gaze wet with unshed tears. “Though you cannot be with us during your transition perhaps being with other immortals will be of some comfort.”

Sylphina lowered her head, a sign of respect, but also to hide her own tears. How could she be comforted?

She was going to die.

Alone.

* * *  *  *

Libby lay face-down in the dirt, spitting out grass and rocks. Something warm and wet trickled down her temple, and she rubbed at it with trembling fingers.

Blood.

“Oh, my God! Libby!”

Her mother’s terrified voice sounded muffled. Libby shook her head and realized the fiery blast just moments earlier had muted her hearing. Dora stumbled toward her, her own face streaked with dirt and blood.

Libby’s whole body ached as she rolled onto her side and stared at the fire consuming the old barn. Even though she was yards away and protected by the tree line, the heat was intense. Her mother reached her and pulled her into her arms, hugging her so tight Libby couldn’t breathe.

She stared over her mother’s shoulder, unable to look away from the fire as it reached jagged, flickering fingers toward the blackened sky.

Libby woke up, the thin coverlet clenched between her fists. She sat up and flipped on the bedside lap. Her heart raced and sweat beaded her upper lip. Damn it. She hadn’t dreamed about the night of the bombing for a long time. Wasn’t ten years enough time to just to get over it, already?