by Ashlyn Chase
Also by Ashlyn Chase
STRANGE NEIGHBORS
Strange Neighbors
The Werewolf Upstairs
The Vampire Next Door
FLIRTING WITH FANGS
Flirting Under a Full Moon
How to Date a Dragon
Kissing with Fangs
BOSTON DRAGONS
I Dream of Dragons
My Wild Irish Dragon
Never Dare a Dragon
PHOENIX BROTHERS
Hooked on a Phoenix
More than a Phoenix
A Phoenix Is Forever
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Books. Change. Lives.
Copyright © 2018 by Ashlyn Chase
Cover and internal design © 2018 by Sourcebooks, Inc.
Cover art by Aleta Rafton
Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks, Inc., is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.
Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.
P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410
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Fax: (630) 961-2168
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Contents
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
A Sneak Peek at A Phoenix Is Forever
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Back Cover
To my extended family. Now that my entire family of origin is gone, you’re all I’ve got.
Fortunately, I like you.
Chapter 1
Deep in the Amazon rain forest of Brazil, a group of thirteen men gathered in a circle. All were Caucasian, wearing tattered remnants of old uniforms.
The leader of the white men withdrew a pistol. One of his members shrank back.
“What?” the commandant asked.
“Do you need a weapon to cast a spell?”
“I can use yours, if you prefer…”
The leader’s cold blue eyes concerned him. The man shook his head, not trusting some of his companions as far as a blind panther could see.
“Good. Then I’ll use this,” the commandant said. He raised his Luger P08 pistol in the air and tucked his free hand behind his back. Stepping smartly around the outside of the circle, he spoke in his native language. “May the ancient and powerful gods hear us! May our ancestors who worked tirelessly to become gods hear us! We need you to punish a—”
“No, Commandant! You must not use the word ‘punish.’ That is considered black magic.”
“Horseshit!” he cried. Then he took a few deep breaths and resumed walking. “I meant to say, we need justice!” Glaring at the one who’d had the audacity to interrupt his spell casting, the leader continued.
The man watched with great concern. Would the spell backfire because he’d asked for the ancient gods’ help to cause harm? Or did the leader of the white men, who’d been hiding here for three generations, know what he was doing? The lives of his entire group plus the women and children in the compound could be affected. Would their gods punish the innocents among them?
“Perhaps we should do this another time… After we’ve had a chance to discuss—”
“There is no other time! The stars have aligned to favor this spell. It is the first of May, a sacred holiday. If you want to scare off the developer, this is the time. Or do you want our community discovered? Do you want to be made to answer for the actions of your ancestors? It won’t even be legal. We’ll be tried and found guilty in the court of popular opinion. Remember how one of our direct ancestors never made it to court? He was assassinated!”
The man hesitated, then nodded for him to continue.
The commandant completed the circle and made a sharp quarter-turn to retake his spot. “There is an unreasonable man calling himself the developer,” the commandant yelled loudly, pointing with his pistol in the direction of the Amazon River. “He wants to destroy this peaceful place. He plans to bring many tourists here. He will ruin our way of life—if you do not stop him!
“Stop him!” the commandant cried, and the others echoed. “Stop him! Stop him!”
“This is not his home! Send him back where he belongs!” All the voices took up the chant. “Send him back, send him back, send him back…”
Where had the man who called himself the developer come from? Surely it must be far away. And how would the gods and spirits of their ancestors make him go back there?
Just then, the leader withdrew a poppet—a small, stuffed effigy of a man—held the Luger against its head, and yelled, “Go home!”
Before he could pull the trigger, a spider monkey fell from an overhanging tree and landed smack in the middle of their circle.
“Eep!” The monkey grabbed the doll out of the leader’s hand, then scurried away as the stunned men watched.
“Fuck! That damned monkey broke the circle!” the commandant yelled in frustration. Then he bent over and shook his head. “I’m not doing it again.”
“But did it work?” one of the men asked.
He shrugged. “Probably.” He gazed in the direction in which the monkey had fled. “If the gods don’t make him leave, at least the monkey took him away.”
They all laughed—except the concerned member.
* * *
Mallory Summers was trying to chat with a nice young man about the weather, but couldn’t help being distracted by two old biddies sitting on the bus bench, peeking at her from under their umbrellas.
One old woman leaned toward the other and whispered loudly, “Tsk. Tsk. Such a sweet young thing…”
“It’s a shame,” said the other one.
Shame? Should I be ashamed for chatting up a nice-looking guy and offering to share my umbrella? Just to make sure the gossips knew how unashamed she was, she turned back to the young man and spoke louder. “Yeah, I saw the weather report this morning. It’s supposed to rain until about noon.”
The guy just nodded. He was a little hard to engag
e in conversation.
Still, she persisted. “That will probably keep people at home, so my work at the mall will be slow.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted one of the women waddling up to a guy in uniform. They were farther away, so she couldn’t hear what they were saying.
A few moments later, he approached her slowly. He was a handsome devil. She could only imagine what the interfering old woman had said. Probably warned him not to be taken in by the young lady’s flirtatious ways.
“Uh, hi,” the guy said, smiling. He had stunning brown eyes, with thick, dark lashes most women would envy. One of the patches on his uniform looked just like the one on her uncle’s Boston Fire Department uniform.
She suddenly realized he looked familiar. “Hi. Do I know you?”
The young man paused. His smile turned into a grin, lighting up his handsome face. “I know you. You’re Mallory Summers.”
“Right—and you are…”
“Dante Fierro, and I’m wondering who you’re talking to.”
“Huh?” Well, that’s rude. Why should anybody care? She was about to say as much when she turned back to the guy in question to apologize for everyone else’s bad manners—but he was gone.
“Where did he go?” she asked.
“Where did who go?”
“The man… I don’t know his name. And—wait a minute… You’re the Dante Fierro from high school?”
“Yup. So you do remember me.”
“Of course.”
“Do you always hold conversations with blank air?”
“What the heck are you talking about?”
“Mallory, these ladies have seen you at this bus stop three times, talking to yourself. They won’t call the cops, because you’re not doing anything illegal, and they don’t want to call an ambulance, which would be expensive, but they’re worried about you.”
Mallory jammed her hands on her hips and strode over to the two old ladies. “You should be minding your own business.”
They leaned away from her as if they might catch an airborne virus.
“Mallory…” Dante gentled his voice. “I don’t live far from here. Why don’t you come over for coffee and we can talk.”
“Because I have to go to work. I take two buses to get to my job at the Union Mall.”
“I can drive you.”
The weather didn’t look like it was going to let up, and a nice warm car sounded good. She shrugged. “I don’t want to put you out. You look like you’re on your way to work too.”
“I’m on my way home, actually. Come on. It’s no trouble.”
She smiled. “Well, now that I realize who you are, it would probably be okay to accept a ride. After all, it’s not like you’re a complete stranger.”
“Good.” He stuck out his elbow like he was escorting her to a fancy ball. “Let’s go.”
She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm and gave the old busybodies a glare as they passed.
He lived around the corner in a nice two-family house on L Street, a stone’s throw from the main drag, which bordered the beach.
“I shouldn’t stay for coffee. I can get coffee at the mall. Is that your car?” She nodded toward a black Camaro with bright-red racing stripes down the side.
“Yup. My brother Noah calls it my wife.”
“Your wife? Why?”
“Because I named her Joanna, and I take good care of her. He says it’s because she eats up half my paycheck.”
She giggled. “Okay. Well, nice to meet you, Joanna.” As they approached the passenger’s side, she realized how talking to an inanimate object might also make her look like a crazy person—and he’d already caught her talking to, what…a dead guy? Maybe someone who stepped in front of a bus many years ago… She still wasn’t sure what was going on. Could two old ladies be punking her?
He just smiled, dug the key fob out of his pocket, and opened the door for her.
She settled herself on the comfortable leather seat and looked around. His car was indeed in pristine condition. It didn’t have that new car smell, but it looked as if it could have.
He jumped into the driver’s seat and pulled out of the driveway. “Where to?”
“I work at the mall in Somerville. I thought I already said so.”
He drove in the general direction of the expressway, but stayed quiet for a few moments. At last, he asked, “Mallory, are you sure you should be going to work?”
She reared back and stared at him. What was he saying? And did she want to know? “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”
He glanced over at her. “It’s just that… Well, you… I mean…”
“Just say it, Dante. You think I’m nuts.”
“No, not nuts. I wouldn’t put it that way, but maybe…I don’t know, stressed?”
“Nope. I’m an artist, and having a creative outlet decreases stress. To pay the bills, I take professional portraits at the mall. Kids’ photos mostly. But I like kids, so that’s not very stressful either.”
“Please don’t be offended, but…are you on drugs?”
She burst out laughing. “No. Are you?”
He sighed. “Of course not. Maybe you should think about seeing someone for an evaluation though.”
“Like who?”
“Like a doctor. I mean, you’re not stressed and not on drugs, so why were you hallucinating? Doesn’t that concern you?”
She cringed. “A lot of artists aren’t wrapped too tight, but this has never happened to me before. I’m as confused as you are.”
“Except for the two other times those ladies saw you.”
She took a deep breath. How many times had this happened? If she had been hallucinating, how would she know? What if she was seeing ghosts and couldn’t tell them from real people? That baffled her. She felt like that poor little kid in the Sixth Sense movie.
She remembered that one time the cops came when she was having an argument with someone panhandling. He kept following her and wouldn’t listen when she told him to back off. The cops acted like she was the only one responsible. When she got through explaining her side of the story, the beggar was gone. But the cops weren’t. One of them tried to take her to his cruiser until she wrenched her arm free and ran down the alley and around to the back of a laundromat.
Oh…and then that other thing happened. She had somehow been able to run up a drainpipe, which clearly shouldn’t have held her weight—not that she was heavy. And when she saw herself in a puddle on the roof, she saw a monkey. Just for a second. Then the puddle blurred, and she saw her own face and long blonde hair again. Maybe she was losing her mind.
“Mallory, please let me take you to the ER for a quick evaluation,” he was saying. “You can call in sick or say you’re running late.”
“But what if they lock me up?”
Dante looked right at her. “Are you planning to harm yourself or anyone else?”
“Of course not!”
“Then they can’t hospitalize you against your will.”
At this point, she thought a professional opinion might be a good idea. She let out a deep sigh. “Yeah. I guess you’re right. Take me to Boston General.”
* * *
After several minutes of sitting and stewing about Mallory, Dante heard his brother Noah trudging up the stairs to the second-floor apartment they rented together. He looked like a drowned rat as he let his soggy coat drop onto the floor. Noah was probably expecting him to say something about picking it up. Dante slumped over and said nothing.
“What’s wrong?” Noah asked.
“What makes you think something’s wrong?”
“Your hair is sticking out in all directions like you’ve been pulling it out, and you’re not annoyingly cheerful. So something is wrong. Or more wrong than usual.”
Dante
sighed. “Okay, I need to talk about it, but you can’t tell anyone.”
“Who would I tell?” Noah pulled a chair over, acting like this might be something serious.
“Oh, I don’t know…maybe the whole damn family at Sunday dinner. Or the guys at your firehouse.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.” Dante rose and paced the length of the living room. At last, he stopped in front of Noah and asked, “Do you remember Mallory Summers?”
“Homecoming queen Mallory? Prom queen Mallory? The girl you had a massive crush on but were too chicken to ask out?”
Dante folded his arms. “Yeah, that’s the one, but I wasn’t too chicken to ask her out. I just realized she was out of my league and saved myself a humiliating rejection.”
“So now what? You bumped into her, finally asked her out, and got shot down anyway?” Noah rose and trod toward the kitchen. “Why would I tell anyone about something like that?”
“That’s not what happened. Will you just listen a minute?”
“I will, if you’ll say something worth listening to. You want a beer? I know it’s, like, ten o’clock in the morning, but you look like you could use one. I know I could. We had a bitch of a fire in a downtown clothing store last night.”
Dante plopped onto the couch. “Sorry to hear that. Getting back to Mallory… I brought her to the hospital this morning. She was hallucinating.”
“Shit! Was she on drugs?”
“No. At least she said she wasn’t and didn’t look or act like it. Like I told her, it could have been due to medical reasons. Very high blood sugar, severe depression… I had to talk her into calling in sick and letting me take her to Boston General for an evaluation.”
“Who would’ve ever thought… She seemed so put-together.” Noah continued on to the refrigerator and grabbed two bottles of Sam Adams lager.
“I know. I could hardly believe it myself.” And I’m still not sure what’s going on.
Noah returned to the living room and handed Dante one of the beer bottles. “So, what do you think caused it?”
“I don’t know. She was coherent and didn’t look depressed. But she kept saying, ‘Don’t tell my parents. I don’t want to worry them.’”
