Curse of Christmas
A Collection of Paranormal Holiday Stories
Contents
Holiday Magic
Thea Atkinson
Illuminated
Christine Pope
Unwelcome Gifts
Margo Bond Collins
Cursed By Christmas
Stephany Wallace
Christmas Spirits
Harper A. Brooks
Soul Kiss
Kat Parrish
A New-Fashioned Holiday
J. A. Cummings
Krampusnaughty
Edeline Wrigh
A Rueful Equinox
Stacey Jaine McIntosh
Blood & Prophecy
Zoey Xolton
Snow White: As White As Snow
S. K. Gregory
Fireworks And Magic
M.T. Finnberg
Ghosts in the Snow
Lily Luchesi
Frolicking in the Snow
Elvira Bathory
A Very Changeling Christmas
Samantha Bell
A Haunting for Christmas
Tricia Schneider
Her Mane Escort
J. A. Belfield
Mistletoe And Demons
D.C. Gambel
Christmas with the Alpha
Alyssa Daring
A Break from the Blood: A Pink Rhinestone Tiara Christmas Story
DJ Shaw
Holiday Magic
An Isabella Hush series story
Thea Atkinson
About Holiday Magic
The holidays should be fun, not deadly.
When Maddox lures Isabella out of the house on December 24 with promise of a job, she relents and gets dressed to work. She doesn't realize it will be at a Christmas party in the Shadow Bazaar until she finds herself in the middle of a group of Kindred on the cusp of their most sacred and savage time of year.
But a special kind of power waits for her within the sliver of portal known as Scourge. She just needs to claim it before the things in the bazaar descend into chaos.
If only she can do that without losing Maddox in the process…
Holiday Magic
It was Christmas Eve and I was wearing an all-black cat suit.
To be fair, everyone was in costume.
I stood in the middle of a large, festively decorated chamber with vaulted ceilings and old stone work that might have been a gallery in the south of France in days past, if the decorations were any indication. Clove-studded oranges hung from smoke-blackened rafters by red and green ribbons. Pine boughs stretched across the sedate mantel of a fireplace that cast a yellowish glow from a crackling hardwood fire.
Dozens of partiers milled about, their laughter an indication of their buoyant moods. Music stoked the atmosphere of celebration. Mulled wine and cider permeated the air with a spicy, warm scent.
Everything, right down to the ribbon tied cinnamon sticks and perfectly positioned vases was exquisite
The party was on the ninth world fringe of the Shadow Bazaar so it was entirely possible that the witch with a long green nose could very well be a real witch. Or she could be a vampire dressed as a witch. Or a fae princess for that matter.
I really had no idea.
And I told myself I didn't want to know. Ignorance can sometimes truly be bliss.
Apparently, Christmas Eve for Kindred didn't mean the same thing as it did for us humans.
It was just as well.
I hated Christmas.
That it was more like Halloween for these unfolks suited me just fine.
Maddox, who had gone to get me what he termed as grog, was dressed as a ghoul complete with green makeup on his ruddy face and fake black contacts that obliterated the greyish green of his eyes. I could see him across the room, hovering near a rose colored crystal punch bowl filled with something that spit out micro-bubbles every few moments before churning in on itself and changing color.
He dipped a ladle in and dumped a liquid ton of the stuff into a pewter goblet, then raised it over the crowds at me with something akin to victory.
Damn good thing. I'd been there for twenty minutes already and was too long sans punch. Ghouls and goblins and the odd witch pressed in on me as they milled about and I felt distinctly exposed as the only human in the room.
Of course the cat suit didn't help.
I pinched at the legs of the thing, testing the flexibility once again of the fabric. I'd ordered it online with one day delivery because when Maddox had invited me to this shin-dig, he'd told me I needed a cat suit.
I assumed I'd be shimmying in and out of some remarkably tight spaces. The reason for it hadn't yet materialized and now I was feeling as though my dignity had taken a cannonball hit.
I lifted my gaze to the punch bowl once again as a witch bumped into me and purred under her breath. I shuffled closer to the fireplace hearth, thinking it was safer to have my back to something solid.
"That's not a costume," said a male voice.
I turned to the voice.
"Excuse me?"
A reedy man with longish teeth lisped out a response. "I said it's not a costume. You can't attend the Savages without a costume."
"Are you daft?" I said, immediately pulling out an indignant show of bravado. "You don't recognize human garb when you see one?" I plucked at the top of the suit as though I'd paid for an authentic costume and ended up with a dud.
He narrowed his pale eyelids to slits.
"No one would come as a human unless they were truly from the ninth world and simply unaware of the consequences of coming here."
"Tell that to the host over there," I said and pointed to where Maddox was weaving his way through the crowds with the goblet of punch held high and hiccupping bubbles into the air.
I tried terribly not to be alarmed by the way this stranger said consequences but he caught something in my expression and his gaze darted to Maddox, who stood taller than anyone in the room except for the giant by the door.
"He shouldn't have invited a human." The man leaned in and inhaled deeply as though he were nosing a fine cab sav.
"Very human. You'll be sorry." He swiped at his nose with his sleeve, and left a trail of blood across his cheek. "He shouldn't have invited you."
He lay one more meaningful, beady-eyed glance at my throat and shambled off to disappear like a mist before he met a throng of witches. They murmured amongst themselves and glanced meaningfully at me.
I didn't need to hear what they were saying to know exactly what they were thinking.
Maddox pressed close and passed me the goblet. I grabbed for it with a haste borne of self-consciousness. I immediately recoiled when I caught a whiff of the smell. Weedy. Like skunk.
I gave the drink a nasty look.
"This is punch?"
"Grog," he said. "The best this side of the Bazaar."
I pushed it back at him.
"Then you drink it."
I caught sight of a server threading her way through the crowds. She held aloft a dozen flutes of red and green liquid over her head. All the drinks bubbled upward between the nubs of horns that jutted from her skull, but these in a sparkling way, not a witch's brew like the grog. Scattered around the stems were piles of roasted chestnuts.
Festive. Absolutely.
"I hate Chri
stmas," I said.
Maddox just blinked at me in a maddeningly subtle movement.
"Too much fake cheer and sycophantic gift swapping. The only thing that makes it worthwhile is the booze."
I plucked a flute of sparkling greenish liquid from the tray as the server passed by.
I sniffed it. No skunky smell. More like peppermint and chocolate. Much better.
Maddox took it from me before I could lift it to my lips and downed it in one draft. He looked at me over the rim. The black contacts shifted as he blinked and I caught a hint of his irises.
"Hey," I complained. "Get your own."
There wasn't a hint of remorse in his face. He ran his hand over the top of his hair, no doubt trying to get accustomed to the military cut that he'd chalked up to whiten it, but the hue made the auburn look more pink than gray.
He set the glass down on the hearth between a pine cone and someone's mug of cider.
"Did I tell you how amazing you look in that outfit?" he said.
His gaze moved from my hair to my hips, lingering too long on the curve of my waist. I had the feeling he was memorizing every inch. I tried not to let it go to my head. No doubt a thousand year old virgin memorized a lot of women's curves out of sheer frustration.
I ran my palm over my backside self-consciously.
"You did say to dress in a cat suit."
"I said cat outfit." He stressed the difference in the words as he lifted one russet eyebrow and tilted the glass at me. "But you won't hear me complain."
"What you said, was that we had a job." I leaned past him to grab at another flute of green stuff as the server swung by again. "I assumed by job I'd need to dress for tight spaces."
After the ordeal with Scottie and Absalom, Maddox had offered me a job in the more clandestine side of his business he called Recollections. I'd not reclaimed one object for him in the weeks I'd been employed. Not that it mattered, I supposed. I kept myself busy enough staring out the window and feeding the cat.
Maddox visited me every day, checking in, making sure some other bogeyman hadn't materialized to make my life Hell. So far, so good.
But no job.
I was beginning to think he had lied about the Recollections business and just wanted to torment me by showing up at odd times. The first time was exactly one day after I'd killed Scottie.
I'd been shaving my legs and only realized I had cut myself in a dozen places when the doorbell sang out no less than five times, scaring the living beJesus out of me.
I'd swiped off the foam and pulled on a robe over my panties and drawers before grabbing the Ruger from under my bed. My heart hammered beneath my ribs as I peered through the peephole.
He looked awash in gloriousness of course, being Maddox and six foot some inches short of giant.
His glance at my filthy robe and blood stains on its cuffs went unremarked when I let him in and trailed my way to the sofa. I flopped down on it, not caring if my robe crept open until he leaned over to fold one side over the other.
Just like a monk, I'd thought, and then I dug beneath the cushions to pull out a key. If he was planning to show up frequently, I didn't feel like hopping off the couch to let him in.
And he did come. Every day. And sometimes, he seemed genuinely shocked at whatever he found within my apartment.
He found me in my sweats, eating chips and cookies from the box, a jug of milk between my legs. When I did manage to get groceries, it was usually peanut butter and ice cream, both of which I scooped out with my fingers.
But for all his visits, there was no job. Just visit upon visit upon visit to the point that I never got off the couch to greet him. Once in a while I managed to offer him a cookie from the box or a glass of milk if I happened to be going for one.
And he spent more time doing dishes because for some reason, the scum of old milk at the bottom of unwashed glasses made him retch.
When he showed up on my doorstep to declare we had a job to do, I'd assumed it was my time finally.
I dusted off a give-a-fuck and made an effort to do what he asked. Thus, the cat suit.
"So exactly what is the job?" I said. "You never told me, and I feel like I should know. Because really, if there isn't one, then this is a colossal waste of my time."
He snorted but disguised it just in time by a cough into his hand.
"Oh please," I said. "I know you think I do nothing but lie around all day."
He looked like he wanted to argue but clamped his mouth closed. I guess you didn't live a thousand years and not learn a thing or two about women--even if you were a virgin.
I looked down into my drink and watched it fizz. It looked entirely too festive for my taste but it was a drink after all.
I didn't get the flute to my lips before he took that one from me as well and downed it. He belched beneath his fist. The smell that wafted toward me was distinctly pepperminty.
"That's the third drink you've taken from me," I complained. "I'm a big girl. I can handle my liquor."
He eyed me and the look he gave indicated he wanted badly to make a joke about my size.
"Don't do it," I said. We both knew I didn't crack five feet, but that just made me, in my opinion, the perfect size for my vocation. "I'm in no mood."
He mumbled something that sounded like no kidding but a sharp glance had him squaring his shoulders innocently.
He heaved a sigh and snagged me by the elbow, pulling me in tight to his side so he could whisper.
"You will be shimmying through some tight spaces tonight," he said against my ear. "So it's actually synchronous that you wore that leotard."
I knew we were in one of his fancy warehouses and that he'd paid a sorcerer to glamor the outside to look like a rundown tenement, but we were close enough to the Shadow Bazaar to mean I wasn't quite in the ninth world anymore. Being on the cusp of human and magic worlds meant anything could happen. Just because he owned the territory that shadowed the portals of multiple worlds did not mean I was safe in it.
I couldn't take safety for granted ever again.
I pulled out of his grip and shoved him toward the overstuffed leather loveseat next to the fireplace.
"It's a cat suit," I said through gritted teeth. "A leotard is see through."
A witch standing nearby snickered and I thought about giving her the finger. I settled for turning my back to her until she eddied back toward her throng of people, presumably to discuss eating children's fingers or something.
"It's not a leotard," I said again, looking up into Maddox's face.
"I'm not sure you're aware just how much that thing shows..."
I held up my hand. "Don't. Just don't." I scanned the crowd again, looking for a server. "You have more of that green drink?"
He shook his head. "Not now. Cactus wine spritz is wasted on the human palate."
I looked past him at all the ghouls and witches and mummies who lifted delicate glasses to their lips and sighed.
"Listen, if you're not going to let me drink after you pulled me out of my cozy home on Christmas Eve to attend a Christmas party..."
"It's not a Christmas party."
"You have a damned tree."
I jabbed my finger in the direction of the nine foot balsam fir that stood sentry in the library doorway decked in lit candles and something that looked like purple kernels of popcorn threaded together. Several Kindred stood around it, exchanging small boxes. Beyond, was a small office, locked up tight lest anyone decide to go snooping.
"It's huge. Where did you get it? Canada's Great North?"
I wasn't sure why the sight bothered me so much. I'd felt very little in the way of emotion for the last few weeks. Something gobbed up in my throat and I had to clear it with a swallow of something. I reached for his goblet of grog and took a swallow.
It tasted of licorice. Not what I expected at all.
I looked up at the man who, even dressed as a ghoul, did strange little things to my belly.
"Well," I said.
"Eve aux Savages is a special night for us, Kitten," he said. "As you can see, a good deal of my tenants are here. But if you look close, you'll see others as well."
He swept aside a crimson velvet cushion so I could sit down and then he scooched in next to me so close I could smell wood smoke and whiskey. His warmth swaddled me, almost rivalling that of the fireplace.
"Do you see?" he said against my ear.
His breath shivered down my neck and I wondered why I wasn't enjoying it. I should have. Another Isabella would be easing her eyelids closed to enjoy it.
"Isabella?"
"What? Oh yes. Yes, I do see." I didn't, not at first, because I was too busy trying to conjure images that might move something in my chest and all but gave up because I couldn't keep a single thought process running long enough to care.
Even so, I dutifully scanned the room, searching for evidence of his comments.
There were indeed obvious Shadow Bazaar tenants. I recognized the ghostlike man who had split into several iterations of himself when a fae assassin had attacked the bazaar. I recognized the old woman who sold eyeballs and bones.
But there was a cluster of six men and women who had an unnatural sheen to their skin. Black hair shone so lustrously that it reflected the lights.
"Is that an aura I see?" I said, noting the way the air around them seemed outlined in gray.
"Very good, Kitten."
I wasn't sure why that little comment warmed my chest but it did. And these new-to-me Kindred definitely had me intrigued. Enough that it lifted what felt like a wet wool blanket from my shoulders that had been there for weeks.
Maybe I did need to go to work. Maybe that was what was wrong.
"This party isn't just for my tenants," he said. "There's another purpose for the party, especially tonight. Those Kindred you see are a mix of incubus and angel. They're called Scourge."
Curse of Christmas: A Collection of Paranormal Holiday Stories Page 1
