Curse of Christmas: A Collection of Paranormal Holiday Stories

by Thea Atkinson

  A thousand djinn, out of how many? Did it matter, though? What mattered was at least there were a thousand of these beings who believed humans were worth saving, who had defied what the majority wanted. A thousand djinn meant a thousand humans saved.

  There were so many other things she wanted to know, but she supposed she would come to learn more in the days and weeks and months ahead. More about who these djinn really were, what their powers might be. She’d caught a glimpse of those powers in Kamal, in the way he’d protected her from the bear, and how he’d been able to give her hot running water here at the hotel. Well, that was something. Sarah had a feeling she wouldn’t be lacking for creature comforts in her new home.

  “And is that where you want to take me? Up to Taos?”

  “Yes.” His arms tightened around her, and she felt him brush a kiss against the top of her head. “It is the only place I can take you. That is part of the agreement — that we of the One Thousand live in our own communities with our Chosen, away from the rest of the djinn.”

  Taos. She’d never been there. A resort town to the north, in a high valley ringed with mountains. It would be a new adventure. One of many, she supposed.

  Well, she had been trying to get out of Cloudcroft….

  Very gently, she pressed her lips to the bare skin of his chest, then pulled away. She knew she’d already made her decision. “All right. That is, I think I forgive you. Maybe I’m crazy, but — ”

  She never got the chance to finish, for Kamal bent to kiss her, his mouth warm, insistent. A flush of desire passed over her, shocking, sudden. Obviously, her body was ready to forgive him, too.

  When the kiss ended, she caught the mischievous flash of Kamal’s eyes and glanced upward. Hanging from the center of the chandelier was a large sprig of mistletoe, bound with red ribbon.

  “You do think of everything, don’t you?”

  “I try,” he replied. “And we shall still have our Christmas here, before I take you away to Taos. Would you like that?”

  She nodded. “I would. I think it would help — having a chance to really say goodbye to everything.”

  “Then you will have your chance. And we will start the new year in our new home.”

  His arms went around her again, and she lifted her mouth to receive his kiss. He took her to the couch and handed a glass of wine to her. They toasted one another, and broke bread, and relaxed into one another’s company, while the white lights glittered on the Christmas tree he’d brought for her, and the portrait of Rebecca smiled at them from the foyer, a little sad, as though she knew she would soon be the only one left here, a ghost town without a true ghost.

  But it would be a new beginning for Sarah and Kamal, and perhaps the world. A way for her to move forward, with the djinn who loved her at her side. And in the meantime, the past she remembered could shine brightly one last time, before its illumination was gone forever.

  The End

  Illuminated is only the beginning of the Djinn Wars saga. Go here to explore all the books in the series, or visit Christine’s website to see the complete selection of all her available works.

  About the Author

  USA Today bestselling author Christine Pope has been writing stories ever since she commandeered her family’s typewriter back in grade school. The author of more than seventy books, she makes her home in Arizona, where many of her novels are set.

  Want to get cover reveals, sneak peeks, and inside info on Christine’s books? Join Christine Pope’s Paranormal Posse, her reader group on Facebook!

  You can sign up for Christine’s newsletter here, or visit her website at www.christinepope.com.

  Unwelcome Gifts

  A Ruby Silver Story

  Margo Bond Collins

  Chapter 1

  I always liked spending Christmas in the mountains.

  When Trip and I got the message that there was some kind of bugaboo tearing it up in some tiny mining town in the Rockies, I was delighted for us to point the horses’ noses in that direction.

  We’d been in San Antonio together, dealing with an infestation of trolls under their newest bridge. But as much as I liked Mexican food and touring the Alamo, I was looking forward to some snow.

  We had to get up to Fort Worth before we could get tickets for the two of us, my horse Lakota, and Trip’s horse Bandito on a train headed toward the Rockies. As soon as we hit Fort Worth, I checked us in to spend the night in a real hotel, where I ordered a bath for the first time in weeks.

  When I’d traded in my demon-hunting rifle to join up with a monster-hunting agency, it hadn’t occurred to me how dirty that kind of hunting could be. Troll killing left behind the kind of stench that you simply could not scrub away at a washbasin with a single washcloth. For that matter, I’d had a couple of dips in the San Antonio River and even had the opportunity to dump more than one bucket of well water over my hair. It still hadn’t been enough to clear away the troll stink.

  But Fort Worth, for all that it was mostly a hub for cattle drives—or maybe because of that fact—had some of the best amenities to be found west of the Mississippi.

  Trip was kind enough to let me use the bathwater first.

  I sank into the hot, scented water up to my neck and stretched out my legs until my toes rested on the far side of the copper tub the hotel clerk had sent up to my room and had the hotel help fill.

  “Read the telegram to me again,” I instructed Trip.

  “Ruby, darling, I have read it to you repeatedly, despite knowing that you are quite capable of reading it to yourself.”

  “One more time?”

  He fished it out of the saddlebag hanging from the back of his chair. “FIRE DEMON IN LEADVILLE COLORADO STOP MEET IN HOTEL GLENWOOD DENVER SOONEST STOP CARTER CARLISLE, P.I. AGENT & GENERAL MANAGER.”

  “And that’s it?” I asked for what must have been the fifth time.

  “That’s all. Looks like this new outfit doesn’t give as much detail as the last one.”

  Trip and I had once worked for a nationwide agency that dealt with problems of the supernatural kind. Our severed contract didn’t allow us to advertise that fact, though. Or even tell people which one. Anyway, at that time, the old company hadn’t had much competition. But since then, a couple of others had sprung up. One of them, The Psychical Investigations Agency, had approached us while we were in San Antonio with such astounding employment offers that we simply could not turn them down, particularly once they agreed to allow us to remain a team.

  This would be the first case assigned to us by the new company.

  I was rather looking forward to meeting with the company representative. The representative in San Antonio had demonstrated to us several surprisingly advanced—and, I hoped, effective—weapons to take into our ongoing battle with the supernatural forces arrayed against us in this world.

  “Have you ever dealt with a fire demon before?” I asked Trip now, lazily running the soap up and down my arms, one after the other.

  “No.” Trip’s answer was perfunctory, his attention distracted by the motion of my hands on my body.

  “Do you think any of the weapons Mr. Johnson showed us would be especially helpful against one?” I ran my fingertips across my collarbone to test my emerging theory about his interest. His darkening gaze followed my hands.

  “Trip, darling, do you think perhaps there is room in this tub for two?” I hadn’t even finished my question before he was standing and peeling out of his riding clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor.

  Dear Reader, there was, indeed, room for two.

  Barely.

  Chapter 2

  Although Mr. Carlisle had specified that he wanted us to make our way to Denver as quickly as possible, we spent a full day in Fort Worth rejoining the ranks of what passed for society in the Wild West of the 1880s. Primarily, that meant having our current clothes laundered and using some of the funds the P.I. Agency had advanced us to purchase new clothing suitable for a business meeting
in a hotel in Denver.

  This season’s skirt, the dressmaker had assured me, was much narrower than last season’s, and complete with ruffles and flounces and more lace than I could bear to contemplate.

  Curses.

  “This will take some time,” I informed Trip, who had simply placed an order with a tailor he’d used before. “Perhaps you could return in an hour or so?”

  He grinned, his cheerful demeanor, as always, making me happy in return. “Of course. I’ll look in on our riding gear.”

  With a tip of his hat, he departed the dress shop to attend to having all our leathers examined and repaired.

  I turned to the dressmaker. “We should discuss the skirt first.”

  By the time Trip returned, I had thoroughly offended the dressmaker’s sensibilities, but given a large enough financial incentive, she had sent one of her girls to fetch the local corsetière and her best seamstresses.

  “What is this?” Trip asked, picking up one of several sketches from a side table next to the upholstered chairs in the dressmaker’s front room. With one forefinger, he traced the loops and pockets I’d added.

  “That, my darling, is a tactical corset. I’ve just created it.”

  He frowned. “I thought you hated corsets.”

  “Yes. But I’m growing fond of the idea of being able to carry some of those P.I. gadgets Mr. Johnson demonstrated.”

  His gaze grew heated again as he leaned in close to whisper, “I look forward to assisting you as you remove it.”

  I gazed at the drawing, frowning. I had specifically designed it so as to be able to both dress and undress myself without assistance.

  It won’t do to announce that.

  “Shall I wrap myself in ribbons and bows for Christmas, as well?” I finally asked with a wicked smile.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Trip all but growled.

  Luckily for what remained of the dressmaker’s sensibilities, one of the seamstresses interrupted us at that moment. “Miz Elaine says to tell you she’ll have the dress delivered to your hotel by tomorrow morning.”

  “Thank you.” As the seamstress retreated again to the workroom in the back, I turned to Trip. “I do believe I feel the need for another bath.”

  “Bring you to a city and you turn into a pure hedonist.” His smile belied his words, though, and he practically raced me back to our room.

  Chapter 3

  Our new wardrobes were indeed delivered overnight, including a simple traveling dress—with a wider-than-was-fashionable skirt—I had ordered to wear on the train. It didn’t have much room for weapons, but I hoped I wouldn’t need to pull a gun on the train.

  I cast a small protective field around our Pullman car as we boarded, though, just to be sure. But the trip was uneventful, other than the conductor giving me a contemptuous stare when he realized from our names on the tickets that we weren’t married. “Mr. Austin.” He paused for a long moment, examining my ticket carefully. “Miss Silver,” he finally said.

  I bowed up at the expression on his face, but he left soon enough, leaving us to our luxurious private car with its red velvet upholstery and chairs that converted into beds.

  “It would be simpler if you traveled under an assumed name,” Trip suggested, not for the first time. I didn’t point out, as I usually did, that Ruby Silver was an assumed name—one I had lived with for years now and had come to love.

  “Perhaps,” I said aloud as it occurred to me, “you could travel under an assumed name.”

  Trip’s stunned expression made me laugh aloud. “I like that idea.” I warmed to my theme. “We could be Mr. and Mrs. Silver. Trip Silver. I think that is a lovely name.”

  He held his hands out in front of him as if to ward me off. “Okay, okay. I surrender. From now on, when we travel together, I shall be Mr. Trip Silver.” He stood and swept me a bow. “At your service.”

  Chapter 4

  The representative of the P.I. Agency met us at the hotel, in the lobby.

  He stuck out his hand to Trip and tipped his hat to me. “Mr. Austin, Miss Silver. Nice to meet you. I’m Carter Carlisle, your liaison with the P.I. Agency.” Mr. Carlisle had dark blond hair and a slightly darker goatee that came to a point under his chin. He wore a bowler hat and his eyes were an odd cinnamon color glinting with golden highlights. He was tall and slender, with long arms and fingers, and he moved gracefully as he gestured for us to come with him. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll introduce you to the other agents we have working on this case.”

  Trip and I shot each other a glance as Mr. Carlisle turned to lead the way into one of the private meeting rooms off the lobby.

  Other agents? That was a first. At least, the first in a long time. Trip and I had been paired up as partners by our former agency, but that had been over a year ago. I gave a small shrug. With the kind of compensation they were giving us, I’d be willing to work with Satan himself, almost.

  And with more of us to do the job, we were more likely to finish early. I was looking forward to spending a lovely holiday season in the snowy mountains of Colorado with Trip.

  Anything would be better than the previous year when we had spent Christmas day tracking down a feral werewolf and cutting off its head.

  In some ways, those were the worst. Anything that used to be human and was no longer made me especially sad.

  But I didn’t have time to consider that now, as we were moving directly into our meeting. I would have preferred to freshen up first, but we were, after all, on the P.I. Agency’s time.

  Mr. Carter led us to a room with three other people standing around a table covered in mechanical gadgets and weapons.

  “Ladies, Mr. Swansby, I am pleased to announce that Miss Silver and Mr. Austin are here. We can begin.”

  He introduced us to each of the people at the table, starting with the women. At least he had good manners.

  “This is Ruby Silver and her companion, Trip Austin. Mr. Austin, Miss Silver, may I introduce Hattie Hart.”

  Miss Hart wore a fashionable dress in a burgundy silk, and her hair had been carefully arranged in dark ringlets around her face. She was beautiful, but her eyes were glazed over in much the same way as a trader I’d once met who had grown addicted to smoking opium on a visit to China, where they grew poppies in vast fields. I’d seen the same look in the eyes of those addicted to laudanum, as well. I would bet my Stetson—currently packed in a trunk—that she was one of those poor addicted souls. That’s why, when she murmured hello and then turned slightly to the side, gestured with one hand, and murmured “And this is…” I initially chalked it up to her addiction. It took a great deal of laudanum to produce hallucinations, from what I understood, but from the look in her eyes, I wouldn’t doubt that she had taken enough.

  Mr. Carlisle turned to the couple. “This is Cole Swansby and his wife, Annabelle Swansby.”

  The Swansbys looked more civilized than Miss Hart, despite her fancy clothing and carefully coiffed hair. To be fair, they looked more civilized than Trip and I did. She was several years younger than he, with hair the rich red of polished copper, emerald-green eyes, and skin so pale it looked like fine bone china. He was tall and lanky, with coal-dark hair and eyes. Their clothing was neither as fashionable nor as rich as Miss Hart’s, and yet they somehow appeared neater, less disheveled than she did. Miss Hart’s actual appearance, on second glance, was perfectly well-kept. But something about her gave the impression of being unkempt.

  As the Swansbys finished greeting us, Mr. Carlisle began listing our specialties.

  “Miss Hart can see and communicate with the spirit realm,” Mr. Carlisle said.

  That explained much. I’d known several involuntary mediums in my time and it was a hard life, being unable to differentiate between the living and the dead, the world of matter and the world of spirit. My talents in that direction remained entirely within my conscious control, but I could imagine what it must be like to be bombarded day in and day out with the demand of the spirits.
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br />   I considered the introduction she had almost given and tilted my head to stare at the space beside her. With just a few deep breaths, I could almost see a shimmering outline of someone standing next to her.

  She traveled with a ghost.

  Mr. Carlisle might have introduced me to one person, but I needed to remember that anytime I spoke to Miss Hart, I was dealing with at least two people, even though only one of them was alive.

  “Miss Silver is our spiritualist specialist,” Mr. Carlisle said, gesturing at me.

  “What does that entail?” Mr. Swansby asked.

  “It means I dabble,” I said with a self-deprecating smile. “I can control a little of the spiritual realm, cast a few spells, do a little psychometry.”

  “Psychometry?” This was from Mrs. Swansby. Her voice was as sweet and gentle as her face.

  “I can sometimes gain impressions from holding objects.”

  She nodded her understanding.

  “Mr. Austin is our specialist in magical weapons,” Mr. Carlisle said.

  “Mostly that means I’m a gunslinger,” Trip said. “Ruby enspells them, I use them.”

  “He also knows just about everything there is to know about what kinds of weapons you need to take down different types of supernatural creatures,” I added loyally.

  “Mrs. Swansby is clairvoyant,” Mr. Carlisle continued.

  “I do a little dream walking, as well,” Mrs. Swansby added. “Now that I know how to control it.” She and her husband shared a fond glance.

  “And I didn’t believe in any of this until my beautiful bride proved me wrong.” Mr. Swansby put his arm around his wife’s waist and grinned. “That makes me the muscle. I don’t have any special skills. When I worked for… a different agency…I relied on the manuals they sent me. I still do, in fact.”