Good Things: An Urban Fantasy Anthology

by Mia Darien

  “Really?” he said, coming to stand beside me. He sounded about as shocked as Remy looked.

  “Yeah, really,” I said. “You deserve it. When it comes down to it, I know that I can leave my pack in your hands and not have to worry about a thing.”

  “Damn, X. I don’t even know what to say.”

  “Just say yes, fool.”

  He grinned and stuck out his hand. “I got your back, cuz. I’m in.”

  “Better be,” I laughed. We shook and then I held up my hands for silence. “I know everyone expected me to pick Remy,” I said to the pack, “but I have a different job for him.”

  “Oh yeah?” Remy said. I watched his disappointment morph into curiosity.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I want you to be the pack general.”

  “What?” His expression let me know he hadn’t seen that one coming at all. “You serious, X?” Pack general wasn’t beta, but it wasn’t too far from it.

  “Why wouldn’t I be serious? No one has hops like you. No one can fight like you. You’re a natural warrior and I’ll expect you to turn the rest of these mutts into warriors, too.”

  Remy laughed into his fist. “That’s what’s up!” He came over to dap me up. “Thanks, X.”

  I grinned. “It’s nothing, cuz.”

  All the tension behind my reveal was gone now, and the pack was already getting comfortable with the changes. I let them spend some time saluting Darien and Remy’s new positions while fielding questions myself. But after a while, Darien pulled Remy and I aside. The other wolves looked a little confused, but of course, they weren’t going to ask what was going on.

  “What’s wrong, D?” I asked with a laugh. “You look scared.” Remy smiled.

  “I’m not scared, X. I’m concerned.”

  “About what?”

  “About the kingdom,” he said. “Is there going to be a war or something?”

  I stiffened. “Why are you asking?”

  “I don’t know. I guess because Uncle Bart never saw the need to have a general. First official day on the job and you’ve already got Remy signed up. What’s up with that?”

  I didn’t see the point in lying to them. “Look, at my ascension, Roman told me the kingdom is in danger. He didn’t say why or what the danger was, but I believe him. Whatever it is, we need to be ready for it, that’s all.”

  “Damn,” Remy said. “Guess I better start getting their asses together now rather than later.”

  “I agree. Start next week, in fact. But don’t tell anyone the real reason why you’re going so hard. Tell them to just get used to it.”

  Remy laughed. “That won’t be a problem.”

  “Good. Darien, you and I will meet first thing in the morning. A lot of ideas came to me during my metamorphosis and I wanna talk to you about them.”

  “You were able to think through all that pain?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I know. Shocked me too. But it happened.”

  “Okay. I’ll be there, boss,” he said with a smile. “But tonight, we celebrate. I’ve invited everyone to my cabin later. You coming through?”

  I didn’t really want to, but how could I say no? “You know I am. Wouldn’t miss it.”

  “All right, see you then.” Darien met up with a few of the other pack members and they vanished into the woods. I assumed it was either to go for a run or go on a hunt. Our human side preferred the grocery store, but our wolf side still enjoyed hunting fresh meat. As far as we were concerned, we had the best of both worlds.

  “I’m headed to the library,” Remy said.

  “The library? Do you even know where it is?”

  “Ha! You’re such a comedian. Yes, I know where it is, asshole. I need to study up on battle strategy. That way, I’ll know how to train the pack.”

  I didn’t think all of that was necessary, but I wasn’t about to deter Remy from taking initiative. “Sounds good,” I said.

  “I’ll see you at the party tonight.” He left and that was the rest of the pack’s cue to swarm me. They loaded me up with more questions about everything from my metamorphosis to my plans to find a mate. I answered the questions the best I could, but my mind wasn’t really there. There was just too much going on inside.

  Now that I’d ascended, it was time to lead my pack. That meant all the hard decisions would now be mine to make. Anything went sideways, and I would be blamed for it. I answered directly to the king and Roman wasn’t going to give me a break just because we were friends. In fact, he would probably be harder on me than any of the other alphas.

  I couldn’t help but think on what threat to the kingdom could have Roman so stressed out that he would bring it up during my ascension ceremony. I knew it had to be serious and I was already feeling the pressure of how I was going to protect my pack from it. Because if I didn’t do it, who would?

  Who would fight for us, if not me?

  Who else would die for the pack, if it came down to it? I would, without hesitation.

  I wasn’t afraid. I was determined.

  I was going to do whatever I had to do.

  Danger could bring it.

  And the Wesley werewolves would be waiting.

  FIRST LETTER

  Waking up has never been so cruel.

  Too soon, the morning comes and rips you from my arms. The son we never had slips from my fingers. Another part of me screams in terror. I don’t have the power to reach for you. Too soon, I’m awake. Again, I scream your name knowing you won’t answer. Again, I’m all alone.

  The alarm blares four AM at me. I open my eyes to the dark and remember. The memories flood back. The smell of you and our son. Your hard arms wrapped around me. Your kisses that swallowed my gasps. Then the cold cruel morning that reminds me there was no son…and you’re gone. Alone, I curl into myself. I shiver, cry, and wish for my death. I lay there knowing I won’t fall back asleep. Instead, I reach for the book on my desk.

  Mara.

  How that name sits with me and churns a vile taste in my mouth. Again, I read through every clue and every word, desperate for an answer to my curse. But your name, it haunts me. Too soon, I close the book and take up the pen and paper beside my bed. Again, I write to you, my dearest love. My sweet. Another night, another day without you. I’ve recorded every day of my life since our first, our last…our only… Every dream, every wish, every moment. If I can’t have you, then I can talk to you at least in note. Here I safely tuck away every thought I have ever had since that night. Our private exchange of you and I. Here on these pages, we live.

  A year ago, I didn’t have any demons to fight. Now, they’re everywhere and I can’t keep my head above water.

  SECOND LETTER

  Your letter had been quite clear. If you see me, if you know me, you will watch me die all over again. Your memory of me in exchange for my life…that was the deal you made with Death. Usually I cast aside such nonsense, but the memory of that night and the scar on my chest where a bullet pierced my heart is a daily reminder that I had died that day and woke again, all on the whim of a death witch and the deal you made with her.

  I can’t stay away any longer. I’m back again tonight. The club smells like stale booze. It matches my mood, and makes me feel something. In the last year, it has become my favorite place to be. I never want to leave.

  I order my usual with a wordless look that the waitress has learned to read. A moment later, she brings me a cold Guinness. A routine heavy tip guarantees the uninterrupted brooding I’ve been craving now since that night and secures the solitude I want. All drinks are returned to sender. Any attempted advances are quickly and quietly redirected. This is my domain. And you, my king, sit high on your throne center stage, oblivious to my existence. Exactly the way I like it. You take the stage and there it is: the ache, the pull. Just when I think I’ve gotten over you, I see your face and forget all else but you. One word, one sigh, and I’m yours all over again.

  I nurse the drink in my usual place at the back. You can’t see
me behind the stage lights, but I have a clear view of you. Envy builds in me as I watch your fingers slide up and down the guitar’s neck. Too well, I know what that feels like. The sleeves of your black shirt shift with your arms. I remember my dream and welcome the wave of pain that washes over me.

  The band plays on, but I only see you as I turn the bottle of Guinness around in my hand. As your music sweeps through me, I replay the only night we had. The memories build in me and threaten to break my will right here. By the second song, I’m entertaining ideas of walking on stage and greeting you. Or you, by some miracle, see me and know me. Perhaps you buy me a drink. I’ve stolen your heart for the second time in this life, but this time you remember and keep me.

  We’d end the evening mouth to mouth. Before my drink is done, the song is over. You’re waving to the audience and packing up your guitar with the same affection in which you cradled our dream son.

  The knot in my throat returns with the ball of ice in my stomach and I fight back another wave of hot hurt that will later turn to cold hate. Not toward you, my love, but for the death witch whose deal forged the life we now live.

  I grab my purse and slip out the door, but tonight I have no doubt. You see me, I am certain. Maybe I’m off my game. Maybe the dream affected me more strongly than usual. No matter the reason, I ignore your gaze at the back of my head and vanish into the night before you can stop me.

  THIRD LETTER

  I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling and waiting to feel whole again. For a moment, I feel you here with me. I think, foolishly, that I’ll be alright. But the second ends with a heightened state that leaves me sensitive to pain. The bitter bite of absence moves in. I yearn for you. I turn to hold you, to fill the void, but you aren’t there. The hole you left in me returns colder than I ever, and I break.

  Shivering, I sob. I tuck my knees into my chest and I cry.

  I fall asleep like this every night. You have no idea how much I love you. How much you are a part of me…and how much I miss you. I say your name and feed my fingers through my hair then dig at my scalp, wishing my death would return and take me away from this life as it once did. I sob just one more time until I run out of tears.

  Forget the death witch and your vow. Forget loneliness and her bitter bite. Forget all of this life. I relax as my resolve settles the matter.

  Whether I should or not, I’m going back.

  FOURTH LETTER

  No matter how many times I hurt, I can’t stay away. You’re playing again tonight. I have to go back again. Just one more time. Without you, I can not breathe. I know this. I’ve tried.

  I smear the black eyeliner under my eyes to match the muted red lipstick. I don the usual faded jeans, the kind that rest on my hips while I slide on a tank that hugs my form. Guilt warms my gut and I want to throw up. A part of me is dressing up for you, in the off chance you see me and know me, and will want me. I know a part of me wants you to see me. And I know you can’t. I shouldn’t go. I’m taunting Death. It’s you or I. Only one of us can watch from afar and remember. Me alive, alone in silence. Or you standing over my grave. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t stay away. I can’t…

  I zip my boots that touch my thigh then grab my leather jacket, the one with a tint of purple buried in the black. The look is not mine, but where I’m going, it serves as camouflage. Nothing more. Dressed like this, I’m invisible despite not looking at all like myself. All the more to hide me from your eyes.

  I step outside and the cold air hits me. I breathe deep the stale, thick wet in the air left by the recent rain. What little sky I can see, beyond the rows of buildings, is black. The pavement shines beneath the orange street lights like black gold. My leather boots grind the wet pavement as I walk toward the pub where you’re playing tonight. There, I can breathe easy again. I hasten my step, eager to get to you once more.

  I’m early tonight. An hour? Maybe two? It doesn’t matter anymore. My life is on hold for you. The music beckons me and I go. Paying no mind to the tats, the piercings, and body mutilations, I descend the steps into a hole where a cloud of smoke engulfs me. I squeeze my way past a euphoric couple who reek of alcohol and cigarettes. I envy their happiness. It doesn’t matter if it wasn’t natural.

  A band—not yours—is playing. Based on the time, they have maybe ten minutes left on stage. I find my seat and slide into the black steel chair pulled up to the little round red table. Here, I’m invisible. It’s far enough from the stage that you can’t see through the shadows, but at such an angle that I can see you no matter where you stand.

  You.

  I feel calm, complacent, and the anxiety melts away. I order my usual from the waitress and do as little as possible to draw attention. The club and bar scene has never been my thing. I much prefer my quiet gardens back home with a book. I don’t belong here. I know that, but this is as close to you as I can get.

  You’re not here yet, but I expected that. I usually come late and slide in through the back just as you walk on stage. Only then can I guarantee your eyes won’t find me. Even if you did, I doubt you would recognize me like this. When last we met, I looked like a fairy child stepped from the stories. Tonight, I look like a succubus freshly born of Hell. You’ll never know me. I am certain. I hope.

  Within the hour, you’re on stage. I feel the breath return to me, but I can only take short gasps. Speak to me, my love. Please come back to me. My heart selfishly pleads. I wish this knowing it’s wrong.

  I watch the crowd respond to you and you to them. You eagerly fuel the symbiotic relationship between performer and fan. While you prefer the limelight, I bask in the shadows. As much as this world isn’t mine, it clearly belongs to you. Often, I wonder how we could live if you were to remember me. The thought doesn’t matter so I shove it aside, and I sit in silence, nursing my drink and loving you alone in the shadows.

  Your fans squeal and scream their affections and I watch you smile at the attention, oblivious to my existence. Once more I watch you bid goodnight and, as always, I sit and wait. You’ll pack up your things and slip out the back long before I abandon my table and emerge from the shadows.

  The next band is already on stage. They’re playing something slow and sensual. They’re not half bad. I shift my thoughts to you and use the music to slip into our fantasy.

  Kiss me, love. Open your mouth for me, I imagine you saying. I obey and you take what is yours.

  “Hello, lass.”

  Lass.

  The word cuts my legs out from under me and just like that, I feel again.

  I raise my eyes and inhale so sharply it hurts. For the first time in a year, you look right through me. Tears burn my eyes and I force a false smile as my blood turns to ice. I can not move. I know I’ve gone white. I can’t breathe. I can’t move. I can’t think. You see me and all I want to do is run to you and fall into you. Excitement and dread collide in my chest and I wait.

  I drain the last of my drink, but before the bottle hits the table, a second black bottle drops in front of me.

  Don’t move. Don’t breathe.

  “What can I do you for?” I ask. My words are so out of place here.

  Your presence mutes the music. It’s now just a dull thing in the back. You pull out the empty chair across from me and sit. Leaning forward, you put your weight on the table and close the space between us.

  “You come here often,” you say.

  You noticed. My heart soars with glee. You still love me enough to notice. It’s all I can do not to cry.

  “I do,” I say.

  “Why?” Your eyes dig hard into me.

  “I like music,” I say, digging back. You smirk with a gentle playfulness in your eyes.

  “Just music?” you say.

  “And Guinness,” I add, purposely puckering my lips to the bottle’s head.

  “And Guinness,” you repeat, not believing my lie.

  I swear you purposely pause to let the heat build. You’re enjoying our little game. I won’t l
ie. I’m starved for it too and play back.

  “Will you be here tomorrow night?” you ask.

  “No,” I say and watch your smile fall.

  “Why not?” you ask.

  “Tonight is my last night.”

  “Oh…” You look wounded. “Why?”

  “I’ve decided I don’t like music.”

  “Or Guinness?” you ask, seeing right through my lies.

  “Or Guinness.” I smile back and take another sip.

  “Shame.” Another heavy pause sits between us.

  I can’t have you here. You have no idea how much I want to jump on you and take you right here on the floor. You have no idea how much I want to tell you all of this and jog that memory of yours.

  It isn’t fair, I want to scream. You’re mine. You just don’t remember. I’m dangerously close to saying too much.

  “You need to go,” I mutter.

  “I do,” you say.

  “Goodnight,” I say.

  You nod. “Goodnight.” But you don’t move. We sit instead and study the other. I swear my pain is mirrored in your eyes.

  Oblivious to the demons I fight, you say, “If you’re not doing anything tomorrow, would you care to grab something to eat?”

  The pain, it encompasses me. The pain rips right through me. We’re playing with Death. Any moment you could remember. Any moment I could fall dead. What would you do then, my love, sitting here, suddenly forced to hold my still body while a year’s worth of memories floods back? You’d hate you. And you’d have to live with it all alone. Tears swell up. They burn my eyes. All I want to do is love you. Is that so bad?

  “What do you want?” My voice is a whisper. I drop my guard and I look at you. I let you see my hurt. I know you see the torment in my eyes. I know I sound cold and cruel, but manners right now will only lead you on to false intentions. I can’t explain what you should know, but I can show you. Maybe then, you’ll understand.