Making Midlife Madness: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel (Forty Is Fabulous Book 2)

by Heloise Hull

  Thessaly looked mildly impressed at that, and I had to admit it was a bit of a thrill to amaze the stone-faced siren.

  Marco banged open the door, carrying his customary tray the size of a zebra pelt over his head. He sat it down on the table next to us. “Ladies, let me delight your taste buds with a sample of the finest apertivo snacks in the world. In my humble opinion.”

  One after another, Marco placed tiny plates on our table. Olive and rosemary focaccia with large shards of flaky sea salt; polenta squares with a lacy bite of fried parmigiana cheese melted to the bottom and a jammy, slow-roasted tomato straight from the wood-fired oven on top; pickled eggplant and red bell peppers; an array of smoked and cured meats; and to round out the antipasto platter, a splatter of fig jam.

  “This looks divine,” I declared. “I missed your food almost as much as I missed your wife!”

  “You could not have paid me a dearer compliment. Enjoy, cara mia. Dammi un baccio.”

  Their kiss was loud and wet, and I’d forgotten how into PDA they were. How gross. And adorable. It was a lot.

  Thessaly looked at the food with a little trepidation. I pointed to the polenta. “Try that first. The tomatoes taste smoky while the polenta and cheese is super crisp.”

  She hesitated.

  “Are you still full from Nonna’s?” I asked.

  “I didn’t eat at Nonna’s.”

  I froze, a polenta square half-way to my mouth. “Why not?”

  “Because I haven’t eaten in centuries.”

  “Not even since you were un-cursed?”

  “No.”

  “Aren’t you hungry?”

  “Yes, but it feels weird.” As if on cue, her stomach let out a demon-sized roar.

  “Well, time to start again,” Rosemary told her. “There’s no better place to get reacquainted with food than at Marco’s taverna.”

  Thessaly picked up the polenta between her fingers and stared at it. We all encouraged her. “Go on. Try it!”

  Thessaly put it in her mouth and slowly chewed. We waited as she swallowed and stared at us. “I love it.”

  I squinted. “It’s a little hard to see. Your face isn’t screaming love to me. More like ‘I have hemorrhoids but I don’t want anyone to know’.”

  “This is my happy face.”

  I avoided looking at Rosemary and Coronis, otherwise we would’ve all burst into laughter, and I still wasn’t quite sure what the ex-siren was packing in terms of powers. At very least, we’d all be drenched and our clothes ruined if we got on her bad side.

  “Try the bread next,” Rosemary urged. “I made the dough this morning.”

  She nibbled on a slice and said stoically, “Beautiful.” Except it wasn’t irony. It was just Thessaly.

  After that, we settled into a more relaxed evening of eating and drinking wine. Thessaly didn’t imbibe, but we didn’t push her. To each siren their own.

  “How did you relax in the ocean?” Coronis asked curiously.

  “I didn’t relax.”

  Silence followed.

  “Nothing?” I asked. “You didn’t catch fish with your teeth or scare passing sailors for fun?”

  Thessaly turned her glowy purple eyes on me. I had the distinct urge to shrink back for a moment.

  “No.”

  “Okay…. What about before you were cursed?”

  Thessaly stiffened. Uh-oh. She was like coaxing a feral cat out of a box.

  “That’s okay,” I said hastily. “You don’t have to share. Hey! Did I tell you how Jim tried to call the police on me? Aurick used the mist to cast a shroud over us that made us invisible. You should have seen his face when the officers couldn’t see us. Classic.”

  Thessaly cleared her throat. “It’s okay. I will tell you about my life before I fell in love and called down the wrath of the gods.”

  “Oh, great,” I said encouragingly, nodding to the other two who hurriedly nodded, too.

  Thessaly scooted a pickled eggplant around her plate for a moment. “I lived in a small village by the water. My father was a fisherman, and I used to run to the dock every day to meet him and help haul in his catch.”

  “That sounds almost human,” I said, amazed.

  “My world s not so different in many ways,” Thessaly agreed. “Sometimes, he would find odd things stuck in his nets and gift them to me. This was my favorite.” She pulled out a freshwater pearl, buffed to a translucent sheen on a thin, filigreed necklace. Wrapped around the gemstone was a gold dolphin with its bottle nose lifted in the air. One could almost imagine hearing its clicking laugh just from looking at it.

  “It’s gorgeous,” I breathed. “I’m impressed you’ve kept it all these years. I’m terrible at keeping track of things.”

  “It’s not hard when it’s all you have.”

  “Oh.”

  We waited for her to continue. She stared blankly back. I took it that story time was over.

  “Well, it’s lovely,” Rosemary said quickly. “Thank you for sharing. I also grew up in a small village, although it was far inland. Aradia is like another planet compared to my village.”

  “Have you gone back since coming here?” I asked.

  Rosemary frowned. “No.”

  Sensing the turn things had taken with my usually joyous friend, I tried a different tact. “I was curious, are harpies born that way?”

  Rosemary was silent a moment, and I felt I’d really done it this time. I’d upset the sweetest supernatural in the world. “I’m sorry, I may be one of the oldest here, but I don’t know much about anything.”

  Rosemary’s sweet smile reappeared. “It’s fine, darling. I don’t know why we let our pasts dictate our present! Actually, it was part of why I was researching old manuscripts in the basilica when I found your curse. I wanted to know more about my species. You see, harpies are born harpies. And Marco was born part-lion. I... I was curious. Is that why we’ve never been able to have babies?”

  “It’s certainly not for lack of trying,” Thessaly said frankly.

  We needed to nickname her Captain Obvious and pin a warning sign to her chiton.

  Rosemary blushed. “Yes. Well, I haven’t found anything. I always pictured us having little hybrid griffin sort of babies. Like a lion cub with wings. But I don’t let that bother me anymore. I found Aradia. Like most of us, she let me in during my time of utmost need. When I didn’t think life was worth living anymore. And here was Marco. He’s enough.”

  “Oh wow. I’m so sorry you ever felt that desperate, Rosemary.”

  She squeezed my hand. “Darling, don’t be. It was a long time ago. And now I have more family than I could have ever dreamed.” She smiled fondly at Coronis and back at me. “Everything worked out perfectly.”

  Rosemary saw Thessaly biting a fingernail. “Oh sweetie, don’t do that. You’ll tear it.”

  Coronis and I looked at each other and burst out laughing. “Once a harpy, always a harpy,” Coronis said.

  Rosemary joined in good naturedly. “I can’t help it!”

  “They’re growing,” Thessaly said in wonder at her nails. “I forgot that happened.”

  Rosemary nodded decisively. “I’ll take you to our spare storage room tomorrow. We’ll get you set up with everything you need in your new life.”

  My heart warmed watching Rosemary. After Nonna, she was the first person to take me in and make me feel comfortable. Despite technically being a harpy, she was the kindest soul I’d ever met. When I’d asked before, she’d said kids weren’t in the cards for her and Marco. Almost wistfully. It made me sad to think what an amazing mother she would have been.

  “This has been lovely, but I think I better call it a night,” Coronis said, stretching. “I’m still a bit tired.”

  “What about the lantern?” I asked, standing a little too suddenly.

  “Aurick’s warrior is there,” Thessaly reminded me.

  “Right, right,” I said. My head felt thick and fuzzy from the alcohol. I’d forgotten how mu
ch stronger the wine was here.

  We all kissed goodbye, and instead of Luca, this time Thessaly helped me onto the Vespa and drove us home, no midnight kiss attempt included. Although, if I was going to keep a habit of making a fool of myself on my first night in Aradia, I really needed to invest in human bubble wrap.

  I tiptoed into the villa. Everything was silent, except for the giant man in the kitchen reheating leftover pici pasta. Aurick wore gray sweatpants and nothing else. His abs were not non-existent, which was more than I could say for myself, and I was almost hoping he wasn’t excited to see me. While I was nowhere near the level of drunk I was that first night with Luca, I was buzzed enough to be embarrassed tomorrow. As for tonight, I leaned against the doorframe for support and crossed my arms. “You wore that on purpose,” I said, flipping my finger up and down his body.

  Aurick lifted an eyebrow. “Pajamas?”

  I scoffed. “Everyone knows gray sweatpants are dude lingerie.”

  “They do?”

  I nodded solemnly.

  “I’m so sorry for accidentally going X-rated on you.”

  “Apology accepted.”

  Aurick gave me a lazy smile. “Did you have fun tonight?”

  “Yes. It was nice getting to know Thessaly. I’m glad she’s no longer a siren.”

  “She’s still a siren. Just not a cursed one. Don’t let her tell you otherwise.”

  “Really? What does that mean?”

  Aurick walked me to my room and took my shoes. He pulled back the covers and fluffed up a pillow. With a steady hand, he tucked me into bed and pulled the covers tight around me like a mini-mummy.

  “It means, she’s still a demon.”

  “Yes, but she’s our demon,” I said as Aurick turned to go. “No goodnight kiss?”

  He put a finger to his lips and pressed it to my forehead. “I don’t make a habit of kissing drunk women.”

  “How about tipsy ones?”

  “I might make an exception.”

  Aurick leaned down to give me a chaste kiss, and I was wrapped too tight to lunge for more. I heard him whisper, “Buona notte, Ava,” as I drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The English Channel

  August 26, 1346

  Jeanne de Clisson

  I came in the fog.

  The only preludes to my attacks were the creaking of the wooden boards painted black and the whipping of my blood red sails as they strained against their ropes in the harsh Channel winds. My Vengeance led the Black Fleet. We sailed like a nightmare, armed with English longbows and armor-penetrating arrows. I had one mission. Kill every Frenchman I could find.

  Again, I married for love.

  Again, he was taken from me.

  My husband fought for the French king, Philip, as his loyal man. He was captured and tortured before the English released him in a ceasefire. And his thanks? His grand present for the wounds on his body?

  I’ll show you. Just as I showed our children what Philip had done.

  Philip lured my husband to Paris with promises of feasts, jousts, good food, and better wine on account of the great truce. But then the foul king arrested him, ordered him to stand on a scaffold in front of all of Paris, and cut off his head. He desecrated his body and sent it back to Brittany. Not to me, but near enough that I could imagine his mouth, opening and closing in the wind, calling out for me to save him.

  At least the English were upfront about what they would do to you.

  I took my three children to see their father’s head. I stoked their outrage and wiped their tears with brimstone and fire. My two boys swore to avenge him.

  The first castles we burned were easy. Men and supplies flocked to my side in my great rebellion. I attacked in the night, looting and killing every Frenchman on board, taunting Philip to come find me. Every man on board but one. One could live. How else would Philip be assured it was me?

  “Hurry home to your king. Tell him I am coming for him.”

  Now, I had the Black Fleet and my children at my side. But something was in the air. I sniffed. It wasn’t a mere fog. It was more wild. Like a summer storm frothing from the fingertips of God.

  The boats creaked ominously.

  Men began to scramble and scream as arrows of fire rained down. “The French!”

  Somehow, Philip’s forces had found me first. I wrenched my axe free and told my youngest two children to hide. Olivier, named for his father, was only ten, but he could fight. He could avenge.

  Yet, I hesitated. It wasn’t just the storm. Something was wrong. It didn’t smell right. I had learned time and again to trust my instincts on the open waters. I always knew when and where to strike, making my men whisper among themselves that I was a witch.

  The only thing I had was God-given sense.

  I shook Olivier free from the armor he was struggling to fasten. “Go get the twins. Find the escape boat.”

  “Mother?”

  “Do as I say.”

  I whirled as the first French sailors jumped on deck, the thudding of their boots echoing in the pit of my stomach. I swung my axe and exacted my retribution. Olivier had to scream to make me stop.

  “But we’re abandoning everyone,” little Jeanne protested as I threw my children one by one into the boat below and climbed aboard myself.

  For five days, I rowed.

  My little Guillaume started coughing on the second day. His little body began to shiver on the morning of the third and he had turned blue by that evening. He stopped breathing sometime near midnight under a full moon.

  As I gave him a last kiss, his twin beat at me with her fists. “Do you even care?” she cried as we let his body slip into the sea.

  I didn’t answer. I had to get to England. I would prostrate myself, crawling on my knees, and beg the king to give me more ships. Revenge was all I had left. To hunt and kill Philip.

  I woke up the fifth morning with sand clinging to my eyelashes. My two living children were asleep. I could see the rise and fall of their chests. For a moment, I almost felt contentment. Until the sun turned dark. With my hand shielding my eyes, I looked up to see a man standing over me.

  This man could not have been real. His face…

  “Are you done toying with your food?” he asked mildly.

  I turned my head, although it was hard to move and everything hurt. The man who looked like a god of pagan manuscripts held out his hand.

  So I took it.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Light from the crescent moon poured into my room, and the waves created a soft, natural white noise that usually lulled me to sleep. No such luck today.

  I’d already woken up three times from disturbing dreams, and now, I stared at the ceiling, afraid to fall asleep. I knew I couldn’t avoid sleeping forever, but I didn’t want another haunting memory to ruin my first night back in Aradia. I wanted to cleanse myself of these nightmares and never remember.

  Finally, I felt around for my alarm clock and groaned at the time. Five in the morning. It really was an ungodly hour. Nothing good could come from five a.m. except for perhaps bombolni. Mmmm. Bombolni. I sat up. Might as well get used to early hours again. I was done with dreaming for a while.

  I dragged myself out of bed and ran a comb through my wild mane. I needed Coronis to show me how she did that chignon thing for Rosemary. Anything to keep it from hitting critical mass.

  I pulled on a sweater and a pair of comfortable blue jeans, then tiptoed out of the house and rode to town. The difference from the suburbs was striking. The fresh air and quiet peace of the early hour, so unlike West County, slowly woke me like a mother gently singing. While I’d never call myself a morning person, I didn’t hate this.

  When I arrived at the bakery, Rosemary was already bustling around the kitchen. She looked up from kneading, elbow-deep in dough, and let out a shrill scream. “Dio mio, Ava, you gave me a fright,” she laughed, putting a floured hand to her forehead.

  “Sorry. I was awake
and thought I’d come help. Is that okay?” Before I’d even finished my sentence, she threw a lemon-printed apron at my face.

  “Wash up and get to work on the pastry cream and toasting the pistachios.”

  “You got it, boss.”

  We laughed and chatted the early hours away. “Do you ever get tired of waking up before everyone else, day after day with no breaks? All for no money?”

  She rolled the pizza dough for Marco and patted it a few times. “No.”

  “Simple as that?”

  “As simple as that. I love my life here.”

  “Even the routine?”

  “Especially the routine. Before, when the gods roamed, life was totally unpredictable. You never knew when one might take offense.”

  “To what?”

  “Who knows? The way you made an offering. How you washed your dishes. Your face.”

  “My face?”

  Rosemary laughed. “Not yours. Anyone’s. We never knew what to expect. Some might challenge you to a contest, others could force you to fall in love, and the rest enjoyed sending mortals on meaningless quests for godly bets. If you accidentally died along the way, they might not even remember you existed. So I embrace routine and give it a big kiss.” She made smacking noises, gesturing enthusiastically.

  “Ah. That makes sense. As much as the Council creeped me out, this life does seem better than before the Archon Wars.”

  “It is to me.”

  “So, did you fight in them?”

  Rosemary laughed. “How old do you think I am?”

  “Honestly, I have no clue. Not even a guess.”

  “Well, I’m the youngest. The wars were during what MILFs call the Dark Ages. I was born much later, during the Renaissance, and I never let Marco forget it. His descent from the Nemean Lion means he’s much older. He’s the last lion of his line.”

  “Oh, wow, so when was he born?” I asked.

  “During the Archon Wars. They lasted for at least two centuries. He didn’t fight in them, though, being a cub for most of it. Shifters have long babyhoods.”