Dirty Little Misery (Miss Misery) (28 page)

Passion burns. Betrayal scars.

Talent to Burn

© 2014 Laura Welling

Cat Wilson grew up a misfit among misfits. She couldn’t read minds, see the future, or start fires like the other Talented kids inside the shadowy Grey Institute. Finally she ran, leaving her beloved brother, Eric, behind. She’s been running ever since.

When she learns that Eric has escaped, leaving deadly fires in his wake, Cat is torn between fear for her brother, and unwanted attraction to the messenger, a charming, Talented ex-con who lives for the next adrenaline rush.

Jamie Murphy is sure his group of outcast Talents can help Eric—if they can get to him before the cops or the Institute, and before he kills again. Cat’s aversion to Talented bad boys is like a wall of ice, but to his surprise, he doesn’t have to use an ounce of his own unique gift to find a way through it.

Yet locating Eric is only the beginning. In the battle to pull him back from the brink, Cat must find the courage to unlock a fearsome Talent of her own. And pray the psychic backdraft doesn’t destroy everyone she loves.

Warning:
Contents are hot. If you smell smoke, keep reading and ignore those pesky smoke alarms on the ceiling. Okay, just kidding! But oven mitts might come in handy.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Talent to Burn:

When I walked out of Reilly’s bar shortly after midnight, every vestige of psychic Talent I possessed stood up and shivered.

I stopped on the doorstep in the frigid Washington night, turning my head, listening, trying to work out what had triggered the feeling. Reilly’s had one lamppost in the parking lot, an island of light on the concrete. The only other illumination came from the neon beer signs in the window beside me, beacons against the dark.

I’d been working at the bar for nine months now, and the late-night noises had ceased giving me the creeps long ago. I knew the scurry of rats in the Dumpster and the hum of the lamp. This was something else, one of the echoes of Talent that sometimes broke through. Unlike other members of my family, I had no real Talent. Only shadows.

Nothing unusual jumped out at me. My rational brain took the bad feeling—hunch, whatever you want to call it—and shoved it in a corner. My heart slowed again. I shuddered, pulling my coat closer around my body. Years ago, I’d grown tired of starting at every little thing, despite my upbringing. Time to go home.

I trudged over to my hunk o’ junk car and climbed in. The key turned and the engine coughed and struggled.

My father would have parked closer to the door, checked both directions before crossing the ten feet in between, looked under the car for suspicious packages, and driven away white-faced, pretending everything was normal. Screw that. There were plenty of rational things to be afraid of, like being stuck working in a dive bar for the rest of my life. I had bigger plans.

The car started at last, and I pulled out of the parking lot and headed home.

A few minutes later, I jogged up the stairs to my apartment. The stairwell stank of tomcat and mold, but the place itself wasn’t bad, although kind of cold at this time of year. Winter would be over soon enough.

I pulled out my key and as I touched it to the lock, the door drifted open. The apartment lay dark in front of me, and I swore under my breath. My last place had been broken into, and I’d lost everything of value. At least there would be less for them to take this time.

I stood still and quiet, waiting, but the apartment lay silent. I detected no trace of an aura within.

I couldn’t stand out here all night, and it wasn’t like I could call the police. Quietly, I slid my arm around the doorframe and flipped on the light.

The living area resembled the aftermath of a hurricane, at least a category three. Complete disaster area. Everything I owned lay on the floor, and all of it broken. Among smashed plates and glasses were chunks of foam rubber from my couch, which had been knifed. Everything from the fridge had been poured out, my cookbooks torn up, DVDs smashed.

I repeated my cautious approach to the bedroom, although my instincts told me whoever did this was long gone.

The mattress had suffered the same treatment as the couch. Ripped from the closet, my clothes lay in a pile of slashed rags at the foot of the bed. Even the cheerful red and white snowflake curtains I’d sewn myself had been torn down. The window had been thrown open and an icy draft stirred the ruins of my possessions.

I slid down the wall and rested my head on my arms, let things get the better of me. I knew I’d stand up again in a minute and start cleaning, but I needed to breathe first, to get my head back in a positive place. No crying allowed, because if I started it would be hard to stop.

“Those bastards made a real mess,” a voice said, and I leaped to my feet, stumbling, reaching for a weapon I didn’t own anymore.

A huge man in a leather jacket stood in the doorway of my apartment. The aura of his Talent surrounded him, a dark gray blur of pure power around his edges. He stepped toward me.

“Get out!” I heard the note of hysteria in my own voice from far away, like a long distance call on a bad line. I turned to run, to escape, but my legs gave out and I tripped over something in the mess and fell flat out on the floor. I began to crawl away as fast as I could manage, panting to drag air into my lungs.

The man’s legs moved into my field of vision, and he crouched down in front of me, blocking my path. “Are you all right?”

“Get away from me!” I sat up and shoved myself back into a crouch, ready to run. The fear dropped from a roar to the hum of blood rushing through my ears.
Get it together, Cat. Remember your training.

He spread his hands in front of him, whether to show me he didn’t have a weapon or to calm me as if I were a skittish horse, I didn’t know. “I’m here to help you, if you’ll hear me out.”

“What did I do to you?” I tensed my muscles, ready to fight. “Why did you do this?”

“I didn’t.” He must have seen the disbelief in my eyes, because he reached out and put a hand on my shoulder, steadying.

Although I wanted to smash his hand away, I didn’t flinch.

“I wouldn’t do this—partly because I have no reason to, and partly because I’m not that much of an ass. This was done by Grey Institute men.”

A cold feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. I hadn’t heard that name since my father had passed away when I was seventeen. I rose to my feet, slowly, warily, and the man did the same.

“Are you one of them?” My voice came out raw and scratchy. Perhaps it was a naïve question, but I wanted to gauge his reaction when I asked.

“No.” His eyes turned dark, the pupils huge. “I swear to you, on my mother’s grave. I have nothing to do with those sons of bitches. You couldn’t pay me enough.” His voice held steady and strong. He held out his hand. “I’m Jamie Murphy. I already know you’re Catrina Wilson.”

I ignored his hand, watching his face and his aura instead. “What do you want with me?”

He lowered his hand to his side. “The Greys are looking for your brother. I want to find him before they do.”

Eric. I hadn’t even thought his name in years.

I considered, watching Jamie, adding up the evidence. He knew the Greys existed, which could mean he was one of them, or he worked for one of the few top-secret government agencies who knew of their existence, or he’d tangled with them like I had. He didn’t look regimented enough to be one of them, or boring enough to be a government employee. The hatred in his voice had been heartfelt. His aura churned around him, his control slipping. I saw no traces of deceit in it.

Through the open window came the sound of a car door closing quietly. The hairs stood up on the back of my neck, and my gaze connected with Jamie’s.

“We need to get out of here,” he said, not whispering, but hushed. “They might be coming back for you. This stinks of trap.”

I walked to the window. My apartment faced the street. Several identical black vans had appeared, parked in a line along the curb on the opposite side of the street. No one in sight. I had a profoundly bad feeling about this.

“Come with me?”

I looked back at Jamie. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere we can talk.”

Not a good choice, to trust a complete stranger. He looked like a clichéd bad boy— dark hair falling in his eyes, unshaven jaw, leather jacket. I’d bet he had a raft of bad Celtic knot tattoos. But he had a remarkably clear aura. Something about it felt right to me, and if I’d learned anything in all these years, I’d learned to trust my gut. I made an instant decision. “All right. We can talk. I’m not promising anything else. I need to get out of here, anyway.”

Jamie led the way out to the stairwell. Suddenly, he stopped, turned and lifted a finger to his lips. In the darkness, several people’s footsteps echoed up the stairs. They were running.

My heart kicked back into overdrive, the adrenaline rushing through my system once again. I beckoned to Jamie and then made my way down the dark hallway, past the neighboring apartment, to the window that opened onto the fire exit.

He took one look at the window and grimaced. Setting his hands, he forced the window open, making the old sash screech against the frame. Footsteps pounded behind us and he said, “Go, go,” as I pushed myself through the window and hit the fire exit running.

May the best hero win…

Behind the Curtain

© 2014 Heather Long

The Amazon librarian Jaimela serves in the Midnight Mystery Lounge as a dancer, distant and cool even to the best of her sisters. Until the exodus of Anthony and Roseâtre stirs her sleeping mind, sending her on the hunt for knowledge which first drove her to the Arcana Royale.

But that thirst only comes in daylight. Her nights are spent in trapped service to the whim of the stage. Until the warrior arrives.

Dimitri Abraxas, who serves at the pleasure of the Goddess Demeter, is on a quest to find Prometheus’ flame. He will leave no earthly stone unturned to decipher clues as to its location, for the world needs it more than ever.

One look at Jaimela and he knows the answer is within reach…but the sphinx harbors more than one secret. To awaken it, he must rouse the Amazon who would take the prize for her own. But unless they can put aside their differences and combine their quests, they will lose to the greatest foe of all…the Arcana Royale.

Warning:
This book includes Greek gods, heroes, trials, myths come to life and a passion that cannot be denied…power, passion, and persistence, oh my!

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Behind the Curtain:

He leaned against the doorway to Heidi’s office, not quite crossing the threshold. If he remained absolutely still, cloaked in the shadows cast by the single lamp on her desk, she wouldn’t notice him. His quarry leaned back in her chair, absently toying with a charm on the end of a long silver chain around her neck. The mind still proved to be the oddest of obstacles. He’d forgotten about the chain, about the charm and about its value until he locked on the way her fingers caressed it.

The stubborn woman confounded him at every turn, pushing him away, rigidly denying him access. But a few weeks earlier she’d given him a gift. Her arrival in the bar had startled him, but she’d joined him for the length of time it took her to drink a glass of wine. Fortunately for him, she’d never been overly fond of alcohol, and had nursed the single drink for hours.

A line creased the space between her brows, but she continued to rub the charm. Hints of sulfur perfumed the air and a hollow popping sound preceded the arrival of the tufted-eared Minion.

“Heidi!” The creature bounced onto his quarry’s desk and flung herself with unabashed enthusiasm at the stage manager.

Intrigued, he drew the shadows tighter around himself. Heidi let go of the charm and wrapped her arms around the miniature being. Barely three feet in height from the top of her head to the tip of her tail, Minion bubbled with vibrant enthusiasm. Her large eyes shimmered and her ears flicked back and forth like a cat’s, though at the moment they were pointed toward the woman giving her a hug.

“Kiki called and there is a shopping trip to Paris and London and Rome and then back to New York, and she will be opening her club and I get to go and I want to go and can I go? Fang Daddy said I could and promised lots and lots of ice cream and protection, but you have to say yes. Please say yes. Please?” The words came out like a rockslide, gaining momentum as they crashed down the mountainside.

Heidi chuckled and everything inside of him stretched toward her, like a candle flame seeking the source of fresh air. The sweet sound of it, so distinctly and utterly feminine, captivated him. Sensuality blended with playful amusement and, he believed, the first glimpse of real affection he’d ever seen her express. She loved the little beast bouncing on her desk and ignored the papers Minion sent skittering everywhere.

“Will you behave yourself?” Heidi asked the imp, stroking a finger down her wrinkled nose.

“What fun would that be?” Minion snorted. But under Heidi’s gimlet eye, her ears flattened and she sighed with such melodramatic gusto he had to suppress a smile lest he betray his presence. “I’ll behave.”

Her soft laughter filled the air and a look of utter indulgence filled Heidi’s expression. “You may go, but—” she held up a finger when Minion began to vibrate with glee, “—you will behave. You will follow the rules. You will not use your powers in public. You will stay with Kiki or—”

“Or Fang Daddy, I got it.”

He frowned, uncertain of the identity of this “Fang Daddy”.

“His name is Richard, Minion. He’s the Vampire Prince of New York; you should give him a modicum of respect.”

“Why?” Minion asked with an impudent lift to her chin. “He said I could call him Fang Daddy ’cause it makes Kiki laugh.”

Heidi shook her head. Exasperation shimmered under that smile of hers. The expression curved her lips, the unguarded affection and joy locking the air in his lungs. He forgot the need to breathe, wary of disturbing the moment. “Fine. Call him Fang Daddy, but do behave. Now, do you want the spell or not?”

“Really? You’ll really do it?” Minion clapped her hands together.

“Yes, I will really do it.” So patient and kind. Heidi rubbed her palms together. The glide of her skin on skin rasped the air and a glow spread over her fingers, heating as she stared fixedly at the little one. Minion didn’t flinch, her trust so absolute in the powerful woman before her.

Intimately aware of the power housed by this woman, the hairs on the back of his neck began to stand up. Energy rippled out from the stage manager as she touched Minion’s face. The magic coalesced, falling on the tiny being like a gossamer web. The flaxen energy draped Minion until it coated her, and between one blink and the next, her ruddy skin vanished along with her tufted ears and too-long tail to be replaced by a young woman with blue-streaked blonde hair and warm blue-gray eyes—a girl who very clearly resembled the manager herself—dressed like any other modern teenager.

Knowledge tingled in the back of his mind, some connection that seemed as obvious as it was elusive, but it vanished before he could fully grasp it.

Minion launched off the desk and tripped over her feet, sprawling on the rug. “Ow.”

“You’re taller now, silly. You need to remember that.” But he hadn’t missed the concern that flashed through Heidi’s eyes or the way her hands clenched. Still, she remained seated and let Minion pick herself up. Rubbing her hands against her new jeans, the young woman walked over to a mirror and inspected her appearance.

“I like it.” The change was startling, even her voice had deepened by several notes. She turned back to Heidi with a grin. “But I can still ’port?”

“Yes, but don’t do it too often. And never…”

“Yeah, never in public. I got it. Thank you!” She started to bounce over, and then seemed to think twice about it, choosing to walk at a more sedate pace instead. Heidi rose from her chair and hugged her younger image. “Will you miss me?” The plaintive note tugged at something in his chest, but he ignored the irritating sensation.

“Not a bit,” Heidi replied and leaned back to comb her fingers through the girl’s hair.

“Liar.” Their matching grins aroused that elusive wisp of knowledge, but it skittered away before he could grab it.

“Sometimes. Now, get moving. I have work to do before the girls wake up.”

“Love you.” Minion kissed her cheek and then—
bamf!—
teleported out of the room with a much louder bang and heavier scent of sulfur.

Heidi waved her hand to clear the air and sighed. Her smile faded and her sadness was so tangible it struck him from across the room. He took a half step forward without realizing it.

The vulnerability in her expression vanished behind a shield of iron and her gaze narrowed on him. Frost iced over him at Heidi’s glacial glare.

“Spying, Connor?”

“Checking on my investments,” he countered. He gambled that the cloaking spell she’d cast had drained her and crossed over the threshold. No magic shoved at his shields or tried to push him out.

“Uh-huh.” Gone was the tenderness she’d given the little imp, leaving only the brusque, impassive woman he’d sparred with for so long. She retrieved the scattered papers without another look at him. “What do you want, Connor? I have work to do.”

He watched her silently, curious at the sensation of envy stabbing him. She rose, papers in hand, and stacked them together. Her dismissal flicked over him like a cool spray and disappointment rushed into the wounds made by the envy.

“What?”

He shook his head and embraced the cold comfort of his power. “Nothing. Is the new show ready? The theatre has been dark for over a week and the guests have begun to complain.”

“We open Friday. On schedule.” Dismissal hung like stalactites from each word.

Annoyed, he gave her a curt nod. “It better be.”

Power shimmered along his senses. Her energy had returned and it wouldn’t be long before she gave him a shove out the door. Snapping his fingers, he teleported out without another word. In his own rooms high above the Arcana Royale, he looked down through the glass floor, surveying everything below him, every level, seeing all, save for the one blemish in his vision.

The Midnight Mystery Lounge remained hidden, shrouded from his sight. An old anger awoke the Overseer within Connor and shuttered the man.

Far below him, a new threat stepped through the front doors and the paranormal casino shuddered with awareness.