Good Things: An Urban Fantasy Anthology

by Mia Darien

  “You,” you say too simply.

  Heat explodes within my breast and pours right down my front. You smile gently as if you already love me. I alone know you do.

  “But I’ll settle for your story instead,” you say.

  “My story?”

  “Just your story.” You kiss me with those words.

  “I don’t have a story,” I whisper.

  “Everyone has a story,” you say. “What’s yours?”

  Oh, kiss me and be done with this. Kiss me, and remember…to hell with the consequence.

  “Why do you want my story?”

  “I like stories,” you whisper. “Who are you?”

  “Just a nobody,” I say. “Loved and spoiled too much by her daddy, who tried to compensate for the mother who ran off and left her alone.”

  “The father?”

  “Worked his health off to ensure his daughter had all the luxuries in life to make up for the one thing he couldn’t bring back.”

  “The mother,” you say conclusively.

  “The mother,” I agree.

  “And the spoiled brat?” you ask.

  “Emerges now and then from her gardens to mingle.”

  “You should emerge more often.”

  “I should,” I say. “And you should be careful.”

  “Should I?” You grin oh so mischievously. You are trouble. But I already knew that.

  “The night is growing late. And I need to go.”

  I collect my things and stand from the table. You stand with me.

  “Do you have someone waiting at home?”

  “I have to go,” I whisper. Your mouth is inches from mine.

  “I’m afraid,” you say. If I rise up on tiptoe, your mouth would be on mine.

  “Of what?” I ask.

  “Never seeing you again.”

  I lock my knees to keep from falling.

  “I get the distinct feeling that if you walk through that door tonight, I’ll never see you again.”

  “Maybe you won’t,” I say. You shake your head at me.

  “I’m not okay with that, lass.”

  Another spike of heat to my gut. I shake my head slightly to try in vain to clear it.

  “Maybe you should be,” I say.

  You shrug.

  “What can I say? I love danger. How do you feel about adventure?”

  Before I can answer, someone grabs your shoulder, pulling your attention away from me and breaking me from your spell. Cursing my stupidity, I run for the door, rudely shoving my way through the crowd. I’m gone, down the alley before you even realize I’m gone.

  FIFTH LETTER

  With every step, I stab the wet pavement with the heel of my boots.

  “Selfish,” I mutter, cursing myself for being so stupid. I shake my head, forcing back the tears that threaten my cool composure. What was I doing? You’d see me, know me, and then what? I put you through the hell of watching me die all over again? And for what? All for the chance of seeing you again? Selfish. I was risking too much for my own interests. It’s a mistake I wouldn’t make again. I will not be going back to the club. I shove aside the wrenching scream that tears at my insides. I have to deal. Maybe I’ll move to some remote plateau or curl up in my forest and die in a place where I can’t hurt you ever again.

  You call my name, and I stumble over my feet. Cold runs down my legs.

  My name.

  I never told you my name since your deal with Death. You would have no way of knowing, unless…

  I gaze over my shoulder and into your eyes. In that moment, you own me. I’m yours, and again, as before, your words are the commands I’m eager to follow. My mouth is agape. It’s as if I’ve stepped into one of my dreams. I see sadness in your eyes…the moon, the sun, the world all hang in your eyes. You look at me as if you know me. I want to ask, but fear takes me. What I want I can’t begin to have, but if I don’t start walking now, I never will.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” I say. I don’t know where I find the strength to speak. “Please…” I say. “Leave me be.” I turn to leave.

  You call my name and it pulls at my heart, but I keep walking.

  “I remember!”

  I stop and look back, my eyes wide with disbelief. Everything about you has changed. Your games are over. For a moment, I think you’re angry with me. I can’t name the look in your eye.

  “What did you say?” I gasp, unable to breathe.

  “I remember,” you say again. “I remember everything.”

  I brace for Death’s cold hand. I wait for the earth to open up and take me away from you. But none of that happens. I’m afraid to move. Perhaps with my first step, Death will see us and she’ll know. I’m too afraid to move. The earth begins to shift.

  “The forest. The hunters. The gun shot,” you say.

  That day comes back to me as you walk me through it—all of it. It’s as if the last year never happened at all. This can’t be real. The street is spinning, but you keep talking.

  “The blood…and Mara.”

  Mara. Death’s name leaves a vile sick in my throat.

  “My deal with Death,” you say. “All of it.”

  I hunt your eyes for truth and truth glares back at me. My blood turns to ice as my legs buckle. As if waiting for me to fall, you’re on me, catching me just as my legs give out. I fall to my knees and I cry.

  You take my face in your hands and you pull me into you. And just like that, my love, the world comes rushing back, and, for the first time since that night, I can breathe. I gasp between my sobs. I curl my fingers into you, too afraid to wrap my arms around you, should you be a wonderful dream I’ll soon wake up from. Too afraid to let go should you be real. You hush me as you rock. But I feel you shaking. You’re just as scared to lose me. If you let go…perhaps I’m not really here at all.

  “How?” I ask.

  “I never forgot, lass,” you say.

  “But the letter…” I gasp. I can smell you and your scent clouds my head. “Why…Why did you write…?”

  “I wrote what she allowed…”

  My heart is pounding as if beating the life back into me.

  “I didn’t lose my memory, lass. You did. That’s why I wrote you the letter…because you didn’t remember.”

  The world is spinning and I am teetering on panic.

  “You didn’t lose…” I gasp. “You didn’t lose… I…?”

  All the letters. All the dreams. All the nights spent clawing at my skin, wishing for death. I force my brain to focus. You were still holding me there. You next to me. Telling me I couldn’t kiss you. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think.

  “What,” I whisper. My head is spinning.

  “I never lost my memory, lass,” you say. “That was part of the deal.”

  I’m hyperventilating as I battle against the air to breathe. “Why are you telling me this?” I gasp. “For a year… A whole year… You knew? What I lived through? The hell I lived through?”

  “I lived it too,” you say gently.

  “Why?” Tears streak my face, and you wipe them away with your thumbs. “Why are you telling me this now?”

  “You were at the club. You were there every night. I thought it would be easier if you thought I couldn’t remember… If you stayed away—”

  I’m shaking my head, desperate to clear it…to think.

  “I saw how you looked at me,” you say. “It was killing you.”

  “Of course it’s killing me… You’re…”

  I can’t bring myself to say it.

  “Why?” I whisper.

  I think about it for a moment. I see you holding me right now, rocking me…

  “If I saw you, knowing what you know now… Could you then see me and not have me? Could you let me go?”

  I thought about the months that had followed that day. Of nights spent screaming. I hadn’t eaten, hadn’t slept. I lay in bed for months, writhing in pain. When I did finally moved, it was
because I had moved to find the club where you played. I lived to see you, to know you, to hear you. Aching to speak to you, and touch you. And this now. You, so close, right there, sharing now in the hell and the agony, knowing what we both want but can’t have. If we do…if we do… I don’t know any more.

  “Was this just a game to you?” I ask. “Is that what this is? Something you could play with, handle, have, toy with then just throw away?

  The question upsets you and at once I regret asking it.

  “Not throw away,” you say.

  “What am I to you?” I ask. “Is this just a game? Was any of it real? What really happened that day?”

  “I believed…if you thought I couldn’t remember, it would be easier.”

  And it had. It did. I had to admit.

  “Until I saw you,” you say. “Not knowing, suffering this alone…it was clearly taking its toll on you. I knew you when you first came into the club. I watched you fall apart. This was eating you up inside. And you carried it all alone.”

  “So what now?” I ask. “We’re to go back to what we were? Me hanging back, watching you from another life? Pretending none of this ever happened? That I don’t love you? That we didn’t—”

  But you don’t let me finish. Your mouth is on mine so fast, so hard, I suddenly don’t care about any of it. You silence me with your kisses, and I rise up and respond.

  I don’t know how long we sat in the street, kissing under the lamplight. I don’t know when or how we came to be in the manor in the wood where you live. I do remember thinking just as I fell asleep with you beside me how many questions I had with too few answers. I do remember having no care or concern for the death witch who we had just betrayed or the price we would soon pay.

  SIXTH LETTER

  For you, sweet lass, I would lasso the moon and pull it down for you… If only I could.

  The moonlight spills across the bed. You sleep soundly. I could watch you sleep all night and for the rest of my life. I’m too restless to sleep or stay still, and my empty stomach urges me to hunt for food. Rising from the bed to not wake you, I silently step into the hall.

  I don’t know what the day will bring. I don’t know what any of this means. What games Death plays. It was from an old story that I first heard her name and how, if you knew that name, she could be called upon for a favor. Little did I know how much it would cost us.

  I follow the hallway down the stairs to the grand foyer. A moment later, I’m searching the kitchens for something on hand while I think about what I have in the fridge, but I can’t steal my mind from Death.

  Abandoning the fridge, I head to the library. I browse the books, gliding my finger across the spines, until I find the title I’m looking for.

  “Mara,” I read aloud. I pull the book from the shelf and open it to the page marked with a scrap of paper covered in my hurried handwriting. A moment later, I’m scanning the text for anything at all that stands out.

  “Mara,” I read. “Of death… Nightmares.” The passage goes on to describe its roots in Hinduism, Buddism, Slavic, and Scandinavian cultures as well as Old English and Greek.

  “Known in many cultures as being of and/or related to nightmares, death… In some cultures, she is the Succubus…the ancient Druids…Celts…”

  “Fascinating, isn’t it?”

  I look up from the book, closing it quickly on the note, bookmarking the page I was on as I gaze into Death’s cool, black eyes.

  She’s here, sweet lass. The light bathes her body like a fine cloth. She possesses me. I feel it. It’s all I can do not to ravage her right there. I fight a primal ache that I know stems from her games and not my desires. That’s when I realize she has the power to puppet me like a marionette on shackled chains if the wish becomes her.

  “Your instructions were clear.”

  Her voice is like silk. “You knew what would happen if you spoke to her again.”

  I know I have no time to barter. On a whim, she could strike you dead.

  “Anything,” I say. “Anything at all.”

  “You said this once.”

  She turns her back to me and pretends to browse my collection of books.

  “Anything, Mara,” She glances over her shoulder at me. “Name it. It’s yours,” I say.

  “You possess nothing that I want,” she spits.

  “Is it my memory you want?”

  My words provoke her, and before I can blink, she is on me. Her cheek presses into mine. I breathe deep her intoxicating scent meant to torment the strongest of men. Her lips graze my ear. I drop the book.

  “I want you writhing in pain,” she says then pulls away. Her spell thickens and I try to shake it off. If she lacked her venomous poison, I’d be inclined to scrub her filth from me, the wretched bitch.

  “Me,” I say.

  “You?”

  “My life.”

  She scoffs.

  “Your life is nothing to me.”

  “My servitude then.”

  I see the desire dilate her pupils at the thought of keeping me as her obedient plaything. I know I just found my bargaining chip.

  “That’s what you want,” I say. “What you’ve always wanted. Me…bound to you for all eternity…” I let the words marinate as she rolls them over. “Name your command. I’ll obey.”

  “Slavery…” Her lips rise in a smile that pours a chill down my back. “This is the price you’d pay?”

  For you, my love. Anything.

  “Yes,” I say, knowing I’m binding my fate to Death’s will. Hating that once again, I find myself bartering with Death.

  “No letter this time,” she says. “No goodbye. No answers. This time, you’ll just go.”

  No answer. I imagine you living and never knowing what or where or why… Never knowing what happened to me. Would such a life be worse than death?

  “Vanish. Gone…without an answer,” she croons, spelling out the terms for me. “Only then will I let her live.”

  Live. With life, you’d have a chance to love another. With life, you’d have a chance to forget and go on. With life, there is such possibility. Whereas with death…

  Just then the solution is clear. Possibility, this is what I was exchanging my freedom for. And just like that, I have no doubt. For you, my love, I’ll do anything.

  I gaze into Death’s black eyes and speak the word that seal my fate.

  “Done.”

  And just like that, I am no longer of this realm.

  SEVENTH LETTER

  Sweet, lass… Will you ever forgive me?

  I watch from the other side as you scream and writhe in torment. I am here, always here, since the moment you woke. I am still here, watching as worry turns to fear then panic.

  Those first few hours were the easiest. Once realization set in, the real hell began.

  You stopped searching the house and calling my name. Now you just sit on my bed, breathing me in, rocking and screaming. I thought the first several hours were agonizing…then you started to scream. Part of me wished for Mara’s orders, but they never came. I think she wallowed in watching my agony as your pain set in.

  You passed the first day in bouts of panic and screams. The second day came and went in one endless scream. On day three, your screams were interrupted by long stretches of silence. By day four, there was only silence. I watched helpless as you lay staring off into nothing. Still, Mara didn’t call. So I sat beside you and waited while you muttered my name.

  How long has it been? Weeks? Months? The life in your eyes is gone now, replaced with a deadened stare. Today, you finally showered and dressed. You tried to eat, but threw everything up. Next day, you tried again. After a week, you finally kept it down. A month later, you left the house. I thought you would never return, but not you, sweet lass. You returned hours later with your barest of essentials. By the end of the day, you had made my vacant house your own as if perched in my nest, waiting for me to return.

  Your work consumes you, but the sp
ark and life in your eyes is gone. Nights always were the hardest. With no club to escape to, you spend your nights pouring over my books. You’re still looking, sweet lass. Let me go. You talk in your sleep and I listen. You call for me less and less. Then you wake reaching for me and I watch helpless as another bout of weeping takes you.

  Your love seems like ages ago. Mara now calls constantly and, as promised, I do her bidding. On occasion, I check in with you. Life seems to have resumed for you. While, for me, eternal imprisonment has just begun.

  In silence, I gaze, forever watching only inches from you, but a world away. You’ll never see me. Never hear me. But you’ll live, sweet lass. Perhaps one day you’ll find another. Live long and hard, find another. Forget me, lass. This I do for you.

  ###

  Thank you for your support. – Angela B. Chrysler

  Congratulations! You have unlocked “The Letters.” Proceed to http://www.angelabchrysler.com/the-letters/ and enter the case-sensitive password “Raven” to access the bonus features, deleted scenes, and download the unrated version.

  Water poured from the showerhead, hitting Alex with enough pressure to be pleasurable without being painful. She rested her head on her forearm against the back wall of the shower. Every single stress of the day melted away with the pounding pressure. As she watched, she saw black streaks of mud trailing down her body. It had been a hard day, but then every day seemed hard for the young woman lately.

  Slowly, almost reluctantly, Alex reached for the shampoo and began washing her hair. It was not unusual to see mud streaks pouring into the tub anymore. Working for an environmental firm in Louisiana wasn’t what she thought it would be. Remediation was not what she had in mind when she studied environmental sciences, nor was walking through swampy lands trying to get water and soil samples to measure for contamination. One of the few perks of her job was the solitude. They had tried giving her a partner on more than one occasion, but they didn’t last.

  It was unnerving for people when Alex could tell them what they were thinking before they said anything. She had been called a freak, or worse, but no one could argue with her work ethic, or the quality of that work. Not many people wanted to put on hip-waders and walk through the marshes where snakes, alligators, and other not-so-friendly beasties lived, but Alex didn’t mind.