Gods and Mortals: Fourteen Free Urban Fantasy & Paranormal Novels Featuring Thor, Loki, Greek Gods, Native American Spirits, Vampires, Werewolves, & More (337 page)

“Tell her to text me.”

“Sure. Did Eirik text you?”

“Yes. He explained his situation.”

I frowned. “His situation?”

Coach ignored my question and looked at his watch. “If you plan to take your car to the shop, you’d better get going.”

It was six fifteen, and DC Tires closed at seven. I didn’t bother to shower, just changed and raced to my car. The air pressure held up again, thank goodness. At the shop, while they fixed the leak, I checked my text messages and responded to Cora’s, which were funny. The game was close and could go either way, but she sounded like we’d already won. Cora had a way with words.

There were no texts or missed calls from Eirik, which was beginning to worry me. He never missed practice, and he usually answered my messages and calls. Did his absence have anything to do with the ‘situation’ Coach Fletcher had mentioned?

It was seven when I left the shop for home. I looked at my rearview mirror, convinced I’d heard the sound of a motorcycle start, but there were only cars behind me.

I entered my cul-de-sac, and the first thing I noticed was the Petersons’ mailbox. The wooden post no longer leaned sideways, and the tiny house looked normal as though I hadn’t hit it. Weird.

As soon as I parked, I hurried to the mailbox and studied it. There were no dents. No new nails hammered in. Nothing out of place. I touched the surface to see if it had been repainted. It was dry as the day Mr. Peterson had unveiled it. I pushed at it to see if it would lean sideways, but the vertical pole anchoring it to the ground was firm.

Where had my new neighbor found a replacement? The Petersons bragged about ordering the miniature mailbox house from some fancy homeowner’s website, so there was no way Blue Eyes had bought it locally. Had he used magic? Yeah. Right. There was no such thing as magic.

T
he scent
of food greeted me as I entered the house. Mom was home early, as promised, with takeout. Cooking wasn’t her thing.

“I’m home,” I called out, closing the door behind me and dropping my gym bag by the stairs. “Mom?”

“Be down in a sec.”

I went to the kitchen and got a bottle of water from the fridge. As I guzzled it, I glanced out the window at my neighbor’s house, my humiliation returning. I had to go over and thank him for fixing the mailbox. My pulse leaped at the thought, and my mouth went dry.

Think about Eirik… Think about Eirik…

I yanked the cord and closed the slats, then sneaked a cookie from the cookie jar. Chocolate chip, yummy. My favorite.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Mom said as she entered the kitchen.

I shoved the rest of the cookie in my mouth, turned, and almost choked. Her colorful, flowing skirt, gauzy duster, and matching headscarf were way over the top. Mom was a throwback to Woodstock. She had a flamboyant Boho-chic style, which matched her bubbly personality. But at times, I wished she’d dress like regular mothers. You know, wear jeans or normal pants and tops.

Unlike my boring hazel eyes and dark-brown hair, Mom’s green eyes and pitch black hair gave her an exotic appearance. She was also tall with a perfect figure for someone who didn’t work out. Me? How should I put it? My ass had a mind of its own, and my chest quit on me years ago.

“I’m sorry you had car troubles, sweetie.” She kissed my temple and enveloped me in perfume and other scents that defied description but I’d always associated with her. She leaned back and wrinkled her nose. “Eek, your hair reeks of chlorine.”

“I didn’t have time to wash it. You know, I had to take the car in,” I reminded her.

“You drove it after I told you not to?”

“I know I shouldn’t have, but I had to go and the leak was slow. Really.” I braced myself for a lecture.

She shook her head and cupped my face. “Why do you have such little regard for your life, sweetheart? Do you know what could have happened? I’d hate to lose you in a senseless accident, Raine.”

Like Dad. “I’m so sorry, Mom. I didn’t think. I drove slowly. I was even late because of it.”

She sighed and stroked my hair. “What did the shop say?”

“They fixed the leak. Did you see the e-mail about Ultimate Frisbee from Coach Fletcher?”

She frowned. “No. When did he send it?”

I sighed. Mom rarely used her computer. In fact, I’d reached the conclusion that she hated technology. She did inventory for the Mirage by hand and had piles of thick ledgers gathering dust in the den. “I don’t know, but it’s tomorrow afternoon at four.”

“Do we need to take something? Drinks? Dessert?”

Smiling, I shook my head. “It’s Ultimate Frisbee, Mom, not team dinner. How was the store?”

“Other than the broken mirror, business as usual. Go shower. I’ll keep the food warm.” She stepped back, reached down, and lifted a large paper bag from her hand-made crocheted bag. “Sweet and sour chicken, your favorite, and beef and broccoli for me.” She dug inside a bag and pulled out an egg roll, which she dangled teasingly.

I snatched it and munched on it as I headed upstairs to my bedroom. After showering, I changed into sweatpants and a shirt and headed downstairs. Halfway down the stairs, I noticed Mom in front of the mirror in the living room. She was muttering to herself while studying her reflection.

“I can’t do it without Tristan. Our daughter needs both of us.” She swiped at the wetness on her cheeks. She’d never cried since Dad’s plane crashed.

“Mom?”

“Ah, there you are,” she said without looking at me. She moved away from the mirror and hurried toward the kitchen. “Let’s eat.”

I frowned, hustling after her. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I wish your father would hurry up and come home.”

My throat closed. “Have you heard something?”

“No, sweetie, but three months is too long for him to be missing.”

Even though he was listed as a missing person and his case was still open, he could have been at the bottom of the ocean for all we knew. I hated to be negative, but every time I visited the website the airline had created for victims of the flight and found nothing new, my confidence dipped. I didn’t know where Mom got her optimism.

She removed the boxes from the microwave and poured herself a glass of wine, which she immediately sipped. “So, what do you want for your seventeenth birthday, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know. The usual.” I liked my birthday celebrations low key. I hung out with Eirik and Cora, watched my favorite TV series, and pigged out on pizza and cake. “What is it you and Dad wanted to tell me when I turned seventeen? You made it seem like it was important.”

“Oh, honey.” A haunted look entered her eyes. As though she didn’t want me to see her expression, she put down her wine and unwrapped the chopsticks. “We’ll explain after your dad comes home.”

“Why not now?”

She smiled, reached out, and gripped my chin. “Always impatient. You get that from me. Your father is the patient one.” She let go of my chin, picked up her drink, and sipped. “The story can wait. You’re only seventeen anyway.” She cocked her head, green eyes sparkling. “Let’s do something fun together for your birthday, just the two of us.”

What did my age have to do with anything? I forced myself to focus on her last statement. “Like what?”

“Mani-pedis. I can call Caridee.”

Caridee Jenkins was Mom’s manicurist. I never liked people touching my feet, but maybe this once. “Okay. When?”

“Let’s see. I have to work tomorrow, and you have the Frisbee thing in the afternoon. Do you have plans for the evening?”

“I was planning on hanging out with Eirik and Cora.”

Mom laughed as though to say, what else is new? “Let’s have her come over on Sunday afternoon. We could get facials, too.”

“Can a facial remove freckles?”

Mom’s back stiffened, and her eyes narrowed. Uh-oh, I knew that look. It meant a lecture was coming. I braced myself.

“Lorraine Sarah Cooper, you should be ashamed of yourself. Don’t ever do anything to get rid of your freckles.” She touched my nose. “They are beautiful, like a sprinkle of gold dust.”

I rolled my eyes. She was so biased. My skin would be perfect without them.

When we finished eating, Mom yawned and eyed her bulky bag. As usual, I knew she couldn’t wait to disappear upstairs to take a long bath and relax. She worked hard and deserved it. “Go on upstairs, Mom. I’ll lock up.”

“You sure?”

“I have this covered.”

“You do, don’t you?” She kissed my forehead and picked up her bag and wine glass. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Night, Mom.”

Left alone, I checked my phone one last time. Eirik still hadn’t returned my calls or answered my text messages. His silence had pushed me past worry to ticked-off. I sent him one last text, then wiped down the counter and left the house for my neighbor’s.

My heart picked up tempo with each step. What if he hadn’t fixed the mailbox? I’d look like an idiot thanking him for something he hadn’t done. Lights were on downstairs and upstairs, but as I got closer, rock music reached me from the other side of the house.

I followed the sounds to the garage, where Blue Eyes sat on a wooden box and tinkered with a greasy thingamajigger that looked like something one pulled out of a robot. I couldn’t tell where the music came from, but I recognized the classic rock tune. Not bad.

He didn’t glance up or move, yet the music stopped. Magic? No, I shouldn’t even think like that. It was illogical. Magic didn’t exist.

“I thought we agreed to stay away from each other, Freckles.”

I’m not letting him get to me. Not this time. “I plan to, but you fixed the Petersons’ mailbox, so I’m here to thank you.”

“Courteous? You? What happened to the snarky girl I met earlier? Raine with an E?” He looked up, a wicked smile curling his lips. “I liked her.”

I ignored the dig. “How did you do it?”

He wiped his greasy hands on a cloth. “Magic.”

“Don’t start. Magic is not real.”

“Says who?”

“Me. Science. Logic.”

“Okay, Freckles. We’ll play this your way. We’ll say I was inspired, and there’re no heights a man can’t reach when...” he got up, leaned closer, and whispered, “inspired.”

I stepped back. He was overwhelming up close. Vibrant. “Uh, well, I just wanted to say thanks and see how much I owe you for replacing it.”

He pulled a folded manila envelope from the back of his pants and offered it to me. It was the envelope I’d used for the Petersons’ mail, but the letter I’d taped on it was missing.

“Where’s my letter?”

“Check inside. It was a very sweet and sincere apology.”

Part of me was outraged he’d read my letter, but I wasn’t surprised. He was rude. “So how much do I owe you?”

He pushed his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, giving me a glimpse of skin around his waist. I quickly averted my eyes before he could catch me ogling him again.

“Let’s see,” he said slowly. “Fixing the mailbox, your car, sitting through tea with the two nosey ladies across the street, and listening to their gossip makes that—”

“You fixed my car? There was no dent on it.”

“Scratches. Mrs. Rutledge and Mrs. Ross believed you deliberately crashed into the Petersons’ mailbox. The scratches would have confirmed it, but I convinced them they were mistaken.”

“Convinced them how?”

“By drinking lukewarm tea and eating rock hard scones.” He shuddered.

I smiled despite myself. “Okay. So how much do you want?”

“I don’t want your money, Freckles.” His voice became serious. “But one day I’ll need a favor and you’ll drop everything for me.”

Put that way, it sounded ominous, like he already knew what favor he planned to ask. I shivered. “As long as it’s within reason.”

“I’ve been told I’m a reasonable guy.” The smile he gave me was slow and so wicked my breath caught. I stepped back.

“Well, uh, goodnight.” I hurried away, but I was aware of his eyes on me.

His laughter reached me when I stopped to check the rear end of my car. Did I really have scratches? How and when had he fixed them? Maybe the motorcycle I’d heard after picking up my car hadn’t been a figment of my imagination. He probably went to DC Tires and spray painted over the scratches. One phone call tomorrow should confirm it.

Magic my butt. He was just screwing with my head.

A
weird rattling
yanked me from a bad dream. I sat up and stared around in confusion, not sure whether I was still dreaming, but the dull hum filling my room was as familiar as the hated freckles on the bridge of my nose. My bedroom was the only room in our house with a vintage fan that droned all night like a plane’s engine. According to Mom, the fan belonged in the junkyard or some metal sculptor’s masterpiece. I disagreed. The fan was one-of-a-kind, like something straight out of a steampunk book, my latest craze.

I glanced at the clock on my dresser. Almost midnight. I’d barely gone to bed. Sliding under the covers, I closed my eyes and tried to force myself to fall asleep.

The rattling came again, and realization hit me. Someone was throwing pebbles at my window. Only one person could wake me up in the middle of the night and get away with it.

Eirik.

I flung the covers aside, ran to the window, and looked outside. He stood under the tree, shafts of street light bouncing off his golden locks, his faithful companion—a Nikon camera—hanging around his neck.

“I’m coming up,” he called.

“No, you’re not.”

“C’mon, Raine.” He started up the tree right by the house where the balcony ended.

“You didn’t answer my calls or texts,” I griped.

“I didn’t have my phone. I still don’t.” For a six-foot-one guy, he was agile. But then again, he’d been climbing up this particular tree since elementary school. I still couldn’t do it without scraping something. He landed on the balcony like a lithe jungle cat and flashed his famous sweet smile, amber eyes begging. “Let me in, please.”

I crossed my arms. “Why should I?”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re dying to know where I’ve been.”

I was, but I had to take a stance. If I’d ignored his calls, he’d be pissed. He had a terrible temper. “Not interested.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t return your calls and texts. I was pissed, and my cell phone flew right out of my hand and hit a wall.”

I frowned. “You mean you threw it.”

“If you must be so literal,” he said then added, “Uh, my parents are back.”

The pain in his voice killed all my protests. His parents were cold, standoffish. They were the least loving people ever. I unlocked the window and stepped back, flipping on the light on my computer desk.

As soon as he stepped inside, I hugged him. He wrapped his arms around me and buried his face in my hair. Eirik and I had been inseparable since we were kids. We grew up together and played in our backyards, which were connected before his parents decided one day to add the stupid fence. We’d shared everything, and in third grade, we’d even promised to marry each other. He was my best friend, and there was not a thing I didn’t know about him. His parents had adopted him when he was a baby, but instead of showering him with love and attention, they’d spent most of their time traveling and leaving him with nannies and a housekeeper. He’d spent most of his waking and sleeping hours at our house as a child and that hadn’t changed. Sometimes I wondered how my loving parents could be friends with his.

“How long are they going to be around this time?” I asked, stepping back.

“They’re not. They are talking about moving back home.”

Home was somewhere in northern Europe. I panicked. Dad was still missing, and I refused to lose someone else I loved.

“No. You can’t leave. We promised we’d graduate together, go to college, and—”

“Hey… hey…” Eirik gripped my arms and peered into my eyes. “I’ve spent the last several hours trying to convince them to let me stay.”

“What did they say?”

“They’ll think about it.”

That wasn’t good enough. “I can’t lose you too, Eirik. Not now.”