Curse of Christmas: A Collection of Paranormal Holiday Stories

by Thea Atkinson

  I was in. Thanks for the invite!

  Thirty yards ahead, I could see where the crimson light was emanating from, exactly: a demonic lava hearth all but blocked the tunnel. Demons placed these hearths here and there in the Underworld tunnel system, for heat and as a source for ward spells and lighting. I shielded my eyes with my hand, squinting against the fierce glow, as I tried to see if there were guards here.

  Ah, I wasn’t as alone as I’d felt: a figure stood by the hearth, arms crossed over his chest. Demons looked perfectly human, except for their sturdier fingernails, which formed pointy claws, unless manicured to look more discreet, and their eyes, which always had a reddish tint. In fact, like all darklings, not only did they look human, they were typically gorgeous. But this one wasn’t, not so much, more like, a regular guy with a suspicious, disbelieving frown. His magic presence and aura reached nice and strong all the way where I stood. Potent magic. But then, demons were lucky that way. The impression of strength was amplified by his crimson robes billowing high in the heated air currents from the hearth. This was a plebes, one of Asmodeus’s demon servants.

  “You! Stop right there.” He leaned in, and I was guessing he was taking in the details of my fabulous fashion statement.

  I called up my magic and sent a bolt of blue lighting his way. It hit him on the shoulder, probably stinging — I hadn’t sent anything loaded with lethal power, just a little taster — and he turned to yank the lighting star out. At that, I called up my camouflage shields and speeded up to a sprint.

  I was past him, before he realised I wasn’t intimidated by this little blockade. I supposed I looked like a magic-less human — albeit dressed rather, well, interestingly. My angelus magic didn’t show on the outside, and my magic wasn’t noticeable if I put up camouflage magic shields. It was understandable that a demon guard would expect a human to approach cautiously, but, well, I basically chatted with Nethersheen monsters every other night, so…

  I didn’t want to underestimate him, though. Demon magic did overpower mine, that was the plain truth, and though my Stifler gun evened out the situation a little bit, it was still obvious I did not want to get in a fighting ring with this guy.

  I ran.

  Another guard came out of the shadows, rolling his head, questioning. “What was that all about?”

  I assumed he’d been on a break.

  “I don’t know, a Christmas, um, event thing? Santa Claus here to…deliver some presents? You know?”

  I wondered why he’d say that, until I saw him starting to follow after me. Ah. He didn’t want the attention drawn to how he’d almost let me slip past like a rookie. He’d track me, catch me by himself, and throw me out, without having to bother anyone with the embarrassing details? Was that it?

  I cast an aeromancy incantation and kicked myself up in the air, speeding up.

  I had a pretty good idea which direction to go to. The only issue was, these tunnels were a complicated maze. But as long as I didn’t make wrong turns too badly and mess it all up in my head, I was golden. It just so happened, my childhood bestie, my dearest and closest friend, was a full-blood demon. He hadn’t lived here, he’d spent all his life in Junction City — a human and halfling town — but he could still tell me about demon den vaults, as all dens were built according to a similar plan. Also, I happened to be engaged to a guy who worked for Asmodeus, the Overlord. If that doesn’t open up a few doors, what does? Reed had access to certain files through work and had been able to dig up a map of the tunnel complex. So, things were flowing along nicely enough. I had the map at hand, and had put my magic to use, so it worked almost like a navigator, alerting me when I was about to take a wrong turn.

  I took turn number twenty eight, choosing a tunnel at a junction, and there it was.

  The vault door.

  Six heavy slabs of stone, in the shape of pointy flower petals, blocked the entrance — like an ominous, black lily.

  With demon magic, it would have been child’s play to lift the boulders out of the way. Now, let’s see if angelus halfling’s good currency, here…

  I powered up, sent the surges of energy from my palms, and stars of blue lightning began barraging the dark granite. One by one, the streams of light from my hands pushed the boulders to the side, until the doorway was clear.

  That wasn’t even hard.

  Nice.

  I walked in, my hands lifted to the sides, ready at a moments’ notice…but there was no-one in the vault.

  I tsk-tsk’d in my mind. How was this guarding your precious things?

  Granted, the demons did not have any reason to expect intrusions like this on a regular basis. In English, I was crazy to come here. But first of all, I’d been here before, secondly, I knew Asmodeus would only give me a lecture and throw me out, and finally, I wanted to get the best present for Daemon he’d ever got.

  He deserved this.

  The thing was, I’d heard Asmodeus had gotten a shipment of sanguine dispensers. Sanguinine was the medicine that kept darklings going in the modern world. It was what every darkling had to take on a regular basis, unless they were hunting for prey. Obviously, these days, a lot of people didn’t want to hunt for prey. Daemon wouldn’t hurt a fly, so hunting for prey was sort of out of the question. He needed his sanguinine. But since he was an outcast to the demons in the den, and an outsider to the registered human and halfling citizens of Junction City, he didn’t get communal rations of sanguinine. Yup. That was the boring part.

  He had to buy his sanguinine at the pharmacy, and it cost him an arms and a leg. And the most important part, he couldn’t get dispensers anywhere. They simply weren’t sold anywhere. You could get one at the den, if you were a registered citizen, but he didn’t have access to one. In the fringes of society, you either got by without one and accepted it, or got by without one and kept cursing the fact.

  Since Daemon couldn’t get a dispenser, his magic was all over the place, sometimes spiking, sometimes low. A dispenser would have helped keep his sanguinine levels smooth and even.

  So, once I heard Asmodeus talking about the shipment and learned where I’d find them, I’d had this idea of getting one for Daemon for Christmas. He’d been rejected by the demon world, when his parents had abandoned him on the street as a baby, and a human woman had found him and raised him — wonderfully, I might add, but that was beside the point. The human laws and regulations in Junction City hadn’t treated him much better, apart from his mom and us, his friends, I wanted to think.

  So, yes, he was getting a sanguinine dispenser for Christmas, if you asked me.

  I went through the boxes, shelves, and cabinet drawers. Finally, I found the stack of boxes saying, Sanguinine Dispensers, Regular Size.

  I got one and put a gold coin in its place. I might have been a sworn enemy to Asmodeus, and thought him nothing but a mean old mob boss of the darkling underworld, but I was no thief.

  When I flew out, I ran into another hearth with one sleepy-looking guard, only a few hundred yards from the entrance. I had to halt my flight so fast I toppled over, rolling on the tunnel’s stone floor. My hat was knocked off my head, and I picked it up, adjusting the beard that had run down my face.

  The demon stirred, starting to walk up to me. “What’s going on, here?”

  My Stifler gun already in my hand, I raised it, climbed to my feet, and began going around the guard. The beard slipped down to again droop around my neck, like a necklace of cotton balls, and I tried pulling it back up, but it wouldn’t stay.

  The guard made a face but raised his hands, clearly not worried, more like, puzzled. These guns were not lethal, they just took away your magic for a while, but from his face, I was betting he likely didn’t want the hangover that resulted from a blast.

  “No need to shoot, I know you. You’re that bounty hunter…I know the Overlord hired you for a monster hunt. Honestly, no need for this,” he muttered, ruby-tinted eyes faintly glowing in the flickering shadows and fire from the hearth — w
hich told me he was preparing to strike with his magic, if things turned south. “I heard you did a good job,” he added, “and sending the eeries to the Nethersheen like you’re doing, boom, boom, no wonder he hired you.”

  Hired me, yes, like once, almost a year ago, but you don’t need to know that…

  And who would have guessed I’d have a fan in the demon den?

  I put away my Stifler, but went over a few angelus magic incantations in my mind, just to be sure. If he changed his mind, I was a ticking time bomb, here.

  “Thank you. I’ll be off,” I muttered.

  His face was cryptic. Well, demons were naturally suspicious of everything. They weren’t the most honest beings themselves, and perhaps that made them suspicious of everyone else, since they did have to live among each other, poor souls.

  Our tiny living room was crowded, the Christmas tree twinkling, and the lights around the windows winking, with classic Christmas pop hits playing in the background. Reed and I had only invited nine people altogether, but our little dream apartment by the river was no mansion — however, what it was, right now, was cozy and prettied up, as we’d decorated our hearts out with all sorts of Christmassy things.

  There was my sister Audrey and her husband, Reed’s brother and his boyfriend, and some of our closest friends, plus my boss’ toy poodle running around in excited circles. Cartland had wanted to visit his old mother, and couldn’t take Noodles with him, so we’d promised to dog-sit this cute little ball of fluff.

  Noodles had competition in fluffiness: I had forfeited the Santa outfit to Reed. He made it look better, anyway. He managed to even make the beard kind of sexy, which was a lot said — um, a mess of fuzzy, white cotton, anyone?

  I smiled at Daemon, my bestie, my bestest-ever childhood buddy, as he tore open the wrapping of his gift. Reed put an arm around my shoulders, standing beside me.

  When Daemon saw the dispenser, his eyes widened. For him, the rule-of-thumb about demons having gotten lucky in the looks department held true for sure — he was a charmer, a brooding, ruby-eyed twenty-three-year-old, who looked like he’d swallowed a poetry book. Right now, that look of surprise on him was so adorable I wanted to squeeze him like a rag doll.

  “Are you freaking kidding me?” he asked me, beaming.

  “Buddy, you deserve it.”

  “Where the heck did you even find one?”

  “Let’s just say, little birds told me there was a box with your name on it in the demon den.”

  “…You kick ass.”

  “Well, I’m not gonna deny that…” I laughed.

  Reed put a golden, square gift box in my hand. The giant ribbon bow on top shimmered in the glow of Christmas lights.

  “Your turn,” he said in his warm, sandalwood voice. Being a dryad, he managed the sandalwood part pretty awesomely. In other words, swoon.

  I wasn’t sure I even needed more gifts…I already had everything I wanted right here.

  Outside, in the windows, fireworks burst out into the evening sky. The yearly Junction City Christmas Galore downtown with its fireworks.

  Fitting.

  Beautiful.

  I decided to memorise this moment and lock it deep in my heart to think back on whenever I was feeling glum. This perfect moment would sweep away everything gray, and the best part was, I was sure there would be lots more just like this.

  The End

  Enjoyed this story? Be sure to leave a review! You can also get the series novels by searching Daemon’s Designs #1 (Urban Fantasy With A Kiss Of Paranormal Romance).

  About the Author

  I’m a fantasy and scifi nut through and through. Once I found my big brother’s bookshelves, there was no turning back — like they say, through books we can live a thousand lives. Books can soothe us, transform us or just entertain us, and all that’s good.

  I used to work as a psychologist, but took the leap to set up a small business to find more time for my kids and writing. I hail from the tiny country of Finland, where you can tell it’s summer when your feet plop out of the ice (well, that's how it can sometimes seem)...In my spare time, I can be be found cross-country skiing with my phone in one hand (you know how it is, when those plot twist ideas pop into your head, right!?) or wandering about sipping on a smoothie (very likely).

  I'm going to be dabbling in different genres, starting with urban fantasy, paranormal romance, and a military space opera series...for now! ;) You're welcome to join my gang on Facebook (Never Too Many Books), and if you’d like to hear about fabulous fantasy reads, book prizes, giveaways, and all things awesomely bookish, you can join my newsletter here:

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  Read More of M.T.’s Books

  Wing Walker (Swooning Moon Saga #1)

  Shards of the Stars

  A Rose In The Ashes (Fantasy Fairytale Retelling of Sleeping Beauty — This Time Told By The Witch)

  Ghosts in the Snow

  Lily Luchesi

  About Ghosts in the Snow

  Vincent Cross, a mortal, marries Veronica Delarue, a vampiress, with a winter wedding. Everything seems fine until the spirits appear, trying to drive Vincent from Cumberland Manor.

  Can the duo stop the ghosts before Christmas, or will they take over the Manor?

  Ghosts in the Snow

  “Do you, Vincent Cross, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

  Shining blue eyes looked down into black ones as a deep voice stated, “I do.”

  “And do you, Veronica Delarue, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

  Those black eyes crinkled a bit in the corners as a soft voice declared, “I do.”

  “By the power vested in me by Her Majesty the Queen, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss your bride.”

  Vincent smirked as he leaned down for the kiss; this was certainly not the first time he kissed Veronica, and she knew it was the cause of his smirk. She smiled into the kiss, feeling her fangs try to escape their sheath inside her gums.

  Tonight, she promised herself. You will Claim him tonight, at the Witching Hour.

  The orchestra played all of their favourite songs during the reception. It was held in the main hall of Cumberland Manor, lavishly decorated with the finest wedding decor. A band was set up in one corner, a buffet for the non-immortal guests in the other, and the smallest corner featured living blood banks for the vampiric guests.

  The food was made by the best chef, one that Veronica planned to hire to cook for her husband during the day. Considering Veronica herself had one domestic skill, and it typically did not involve a kitchen, the chef would be needed. At least until she could finally convince him to turn.

  “Fabulous wedding, Mrs. Cross,” said Benjamin Quinn. He was one of her new husband’s best friends and was the best man in the wedding. She didn’t know him well. She assumed that he and his partner, Doctor Michael Finnigan, weren’t comfortable being around her, considering the fact that, once upon a time, they tried to kill her.

  “Thank you, Mr. Quinn,” she replied. “And thank you for coming.”

  He smiled and gave a little head bow. “My pleasure. It is wonderful to see Vincent so joyful.”

  Michael Finnigan approached, a bit more inebriated than Benjamin. “Hello, Veronica, dear. Absolutely delightful night.” He was far less professional than Benjamin. He pumped her hand as though she was a man.

  “Glad you are enjoying yourself,” she replied.

  “Indeed we are. The winter theme is lovely,” he said, taking a sip of wine.

  “He’s drunk to avoid his fear that one of your friends will recognise us as hunters and eat us,” Benjamin explained, a wicked little smile playing on his lips.

  Veronica chuckled. “Really? How cute. No, my dear boy, no one here is going to eat you. We have perfectly good blood donors stationed ov
er there. Your blood is saturated with liquor anyway.” She gave a mock shudder. “Now, where is my husband?”

  “Talking to my brother,” Benjamin said with a roll of his eyes.

  “Is that for Vincent or your brother?” she wondered.

  “My brother. Vincent is wonderful. My brother, on the other hand, is a pretentious blowhard.”

  Veronica’s lips quirked. “You know, funny you say that. I’ve heard others say the same thing about you, dear. Must run in the family.”

  She walked away, leaving Benjamin befuddled and Michael in stitches.

  Vincent was not difficult to spot, with his shock of black hair. And talking to Mahon Quinn, who was well over six feet tall with reddish hair, made him even more conspicuous. With them was Constable George Linwood, a rough-and-tumble fellow who was prematurely grey. He and Mahon worked closely together to monitor paranormal crime.

  Meanwhile, Vincent, Benjamin, and Michael were employed by Parliament to control the paranormal community. Until a year ago, when Vincent began courting Veronica, the hunters killed indiscriminately. It didn’t matter if the creature never harmed a human: if they were paranormal, they were slaughtered.

  Veronica helped to change Vincent’s mind, and he in turn changed the minds of his colleagues. All but one, that was.

  She approached the three men and looped her arm boldly through Vincent’s. Despite being married, in those days, a woman should never act so brazen with a man in front of others. Veronica, however, was never fond of rules.