“It doesn’t matter what he thinks,” snapped Leopold. “I love you, Zel. We’ll find someplace to live until I can enlist and then I can send money home.” He kissed the top of my head. “I’ll provide for you. I promise. You’re not alone.” He choked on those words, and I knew the shock of my family’s deaths was only just then hitting him—it was only just then hitting me. All I’d known was that I’d needed him and I’d had no one else.
Leopold had become my home. My everything. And now, he paced toward me, a ghost of his former self, his lips twitching, a fang extending.
“Stop,” said Minnie, and Leopold did, his fangs retreating under his upper lip. “The rest of you, back inside. Our neighbors are almost up.”
Mary Ellen practically growled, but Ruby took her by the shoulders and guided her back inside, leaving the four of us alone in the driveway.
“Zelda, were you running away?” asked Leopold, that twinge of sadness again coating his words.
“Let’s run away,” he said. “I won’t let them put you into foster care—I won’t let us be separated.”
I nodded.
Bobbing my head against his chest, I gripped him tightly like my life depended on it. The sound of creaking stairs and clomping footsteps told us his dad had awoken, that he was on his way down.
“Then let’s go,” Leopold said, pulling back from my embrace to grab my hand. Then we were off, down the road, both of us in our pajamas and bare feet—my nightgown covered in ash.
“Where do you think you’re going, boy? Don’t think you’re too old for me to whup you!” his father shrieked after us. “You get back here and let go of that whore from that lazy, no-good family—”
But whatever else he said, we didn’t hear. We were running, fumbling on bare feet, hiccupping, even laughing—not because I was happy, far from it. But because I was delirious, practically outside myself, choking on fresh air and fighting through the pain as we ran far, far away.
But Leopold had been the one good thing through it all.
And he… he was right here.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice low.
I turned my head toward Dean. “I’m sorry,” I said again, tugging on my hand to ask him to let me go. I hadn’t meant for him to get in trouble. I hadn’t asked him to help me—but I shouldn’t have gone along with it.
Leopold was here. He’d given up everything for me.
Dean’s bright blue eyes bore into mine and then his fingers loosened. There was something there in those eyes—disappointment. And pain. But he couldn’t keep his eyes open—he was squirming now in Minnie’s grip, his eyes darting away from the horizon.
Leopold laughed as he held his arms out to me. “As Bogie might say, ‘never trust a dame.’” He swept me into his arms and pecked me on the cheek. “Only joking, baby.” My cheek rubbed his, the iciness of his skin sending shivers down my back.
“Oh, good,” said Minnie, smiling. “You only have a bite or two before you turn into one of us. It’d be a shame for all that work to go to waste.”
“You’ll be even more gorgeous, Zel,” said Leopold as he slipped an arm around my shoulder. “Then you can join us downstairs and dance all night long.” He leaned into the top of my head and sniffed my hair. There was a hunger there, a thirst. “But first, you owe us a quencher…”
“Wilhel… mina,” said Dean and I looked over my shoulder. Minnie hadn’t lost her grip. “It’s… almost sun…” The last word was lost, too quiet for my ears.
Minnie laughed—a little chirping titter. “I know, dear nephew. And you appear to be the only one outdoors without his sunglasses.”
Dean made a guttural growl and I paused on the stairs leading to the porch, pulling Leopold to a stop so I could watch what Minnie had in mind.
In the blink of an eye, she moved from the driveway to the middle of the street, where the sun shone the brightest as it broke into the sky. She lifted Dean higher, spinning him so his face pointed east.
He shrieked.
Minnie’s voice carried across the driveway, soft-spoken as she was. “Hush, child, you’ll wake the whole neighborhood.”
Dean tried to close his eyes, but it wasn’t enough. His eyelids seemed to steam in the sunlight.
Leopold shuddered beside me. “That’ll hurt. And I bet Minnie won’t let him have a quencher to heal from it anytime soon.” He laughed and muttered under his breath. “Serves the pompous grandstander right.” He nodded at the top of my head. “I like the shorter tresses,” he said. “Always wondered how you didn’t trip on that braid.”
My fingers went absentmindedly to run through hair that was no longer there. I could no longer hear Mom’s voice asking me not to play with it.
He slid an arm back around my shoulder and guided me inside. “You ready for the quencher? We’ll wait for Minnie, of course, but—”
I nodded and put a finger to his lips. Standing up on tippy-toes, I leaned my chest against his and whispered, “Finish it. Now. Just you. I’ll stay still.”
He grinned, his fangs descending out from between his lips. “Just you and me, baby. For eternity.” He clamped his fangs into my neck and I twitched, but he held me close, keeping me from flailing about. I dug my fingernails into his arms and stood on trembling legs.
Dean’s struggled grunts from the street died out as the pain of Leopold’s venom slithered through my body, the desperate thunder of my heart pounding in my own ears.
Until, all at once, the sound stopped. And so did the pain.
My heart would beat no more.
But there was a thirst—a wild, insatiable thirst.
The end... for now.
Want more? The vampires in this story also appear in Fangs & Fins (Blood, Bloom, & Water, Book One), available now!
♛
About the Author
Amy McNulty is an editor and author of books that run the gamut from YA speculative fiction to contemporary romance. A lifelong fiction fanatic, she fangirls over books, anime, manga, comics, movies, games, and TV shows from her home state of Wisconsin. When not reviewing anime professionally or editing her clients’ novels, she’s busy fulfilling her dream by crafting fantastical worlds of her own. Learn more about Amy at amymcnulty.com, or discover all her books at Books2Read.
Books by Amy McNulty:
Fangs & Fins (Blood, Bloom, and Water, Book 1)
Salt & Venom (Blood, Bloom, and Water, Book 2)
Iron & Aqua (Blood, Bloom, and Water, Book 3) (Coming soon!)
Nobody’s Goddess (The Never Veil, Book 1)
Nobody’s Lady (The Never Veil, Book 2)
Nobody’s Pawn (The Never Veil, Book 3)
Fall Far from the Tree
Turn to Dust and Ashes (Fall Far from the Tree, Book 2)
Ballad of the Beanstalk
Magic All Around
a retelling of The Goblin and the Grocer
♛
JANE WATSON
“Take care, Greta dear!”
Greta turned and waved to the candy maker before hurrying down the cobbled village lane, the basket she wore on her arm becoming heavier with each step. Pausing for a moment, she pulled the packet of gingerbread she’d just purchased free from the basket, regarding it hungrily. She wondered if she could take a small respite from her errands for Frau Rosa to allow herself just a small taste of the delightful bread, but quickly decided against it. The other goblins might give in to their indulgences, but she wouldn’t allow it. The bread could wait until after dinner to reward a hard day’s work.
With her gray-colored cloak tied over her simple dress and tightly-laced boots, Greta looked no different than the other village girls. The mortals didn’t notice that her ears were longer with fine pointed tips, or that her dark hair was actually a mix of black and green. They didn’t notice that a few of her teeth were long and sharp, or that her skin glimmered when it caught the light. And they especially never noticed when her vivid green eyes—unusually large with a black sliver for a pupil�
�glowed with a supernatural light whenever she used magic. For though goblins and mortals had lived together in the little village high in the mountains for centuries, with each passing generation, more of the mortals lost their ability to see magic.
This did not bother Greta in the slightest. She did not care to use her magic, preferring the simple life of the hardworking and dedicated mortals. They had less leisure time, but they enjoyed it so much more. After years of unhappiness with the other goblins, Greta had finally decided to take matters into her own hands and started working in the shop of the elderly mortal grocer, Ernst, and his wife, Rosa. Greta had known the couple since she was small—they were among the few villagers who could still see magic. A year had passed quite happily as Greta spent her days working in their store and her nights in the spare bedroom of their rambling home.
With a wistful glance at the gingerbread, Greta tucked it back into her basket and entered the postmaster’s shop.
At the sound of the bell, the postmaster emerged from the back room. “Ah, Greta! Let’s see what we have today,” he said, pulling a stack of letters and parcels from a wooden compartment and setting them on the counter.
Greta lifted them one by one to slip into her basket. There were several letters addressed to Ernst and Rosa. She paused, noting that one had fine, straight handwriting, and a sketch on the front of the bronze-tinted envelope. “Hm.”
This letter was different than any Greta had seen before. The detailed sketch of a stone building—with pointed windows and ivy growing up the sides—wrapped all the way to the back, interrupted only by the large red dollop of wax that sealed the flap.
“Whoever sent that must be quite the artist,” the postmaster commented, peering at her over his wire-rimmed glasses.
“Yes,” Greta agreed softly, her fingers beginning to feel warm, tingling with magic. Her eyes widened in alarm as strands of gold magic wound their way into the lines and form of the sketch. She looked quickly at the postmaster, but he had already turned his back to her, sorting letters and parcels into the boxes. I mustn’t use my magic here, she chided herself. Ernst had once told her that when he was a boy, some of the shopkeepers who still could see magic sprinkled salt on their doorsteps to keep the goblins away. Not wanting to be treated like an outcast, Greta hid her magic. She stared at the envelope for another long moment, the light finally fading. Strange, though. I didn’t mean to summon my power. She shook her head to clear her thoughts before stuffing the letter deep in her basket.
“Good day to you,” she called to the postmaster before leaving his shop.
She made her way out of the shop and up the winding cobbled street, greeting the other shopkeepers as she passed. The crisp autumn air added a rosy tinge to her cheeks, and she dug her hands into her cloak.
“Little Greta!” An old woman with a pointed face popped out of thin air into the alleyway as Greta approached. Silver hair came out of her messy bun in tufts, and her fiery amber eyes stared at Greta. She lifted a glimmering hand in greeting.
“Oh. Ursula. Hello,” Greta mumbled with little enthusiasm.
The elderly goblin emitted a high-pitched cackle. “Out for the day? Why don’t you join me at the top of Mount Engel? I hear there’s going to be quite the gathering this eve.”
In Greta’s experience, goblin gatherings were nothing more than a way for her kind to eat, drink, and play cruel jokes. She’d attended some in years past and deeply regretted it. She pulled her cloak tighter about her and said stiffly, “No, thank you. I don’t wish to set a landslide on innocent mortals.”
“Oh, it was only a little one,” Ursula replied with a cluck of her tongue. “You just don’t know how to allow yourself any fun, Greta. You toil away as if you hadn’t any magic at all.”
Greta bristled, about to snap a retort, when Frau Minna from the shop next door came out to sweep the step. “Greta! What a lovely surprise.” The florist’s expression was puzzled as she looked from Greta to the alley and back.
Greta realized that Ursula had made herself invisible to mortals. She took a deep breath, not wanting to look as if she were rambling madly to herself. “I thought I heard a crash down this way,” she explained hurriedly.
She fought to ignore Ursula as the old goblin smirked and muttered, “A crash, you said?”
Minna and Greta both flinched when a deafening sound reached their ears. The metal buckets the florist kept with the stems and scraps had all been knocked to the ground. Greta cast her eyes to Ursula, narrowing them dangerously.
“Oh, dear!” Minna exclaimed, gathering her skirts to hurry down the cobbled alley. “How did that happen?”
Greta set her basket on the ground, righting the bins and scooping the scraps into her arms. “An animal, most likely.”
“You needn’t help me, Greta,” Minna said with a cluck of her tongue as she watched Greta’s hands become scratched from the thorny stems. “I’m sure you were off on an important errand.”
“No trouble at all!” Greta replied cheerfully, wishing with all of her might that Ursula would disappear. Yet there she was, arms folded as she watched Greta and the florist, a smug smile on her narrow lips.
“Thank you, my dear,” Minna said. “Now I mustn’t keep you from your errands.”
“Good day, Frau Minna.” Greta waved, continuing on her way. She sighed when she realized Ursula was following her.
“Hmph,” Ursula grumbled. “Little miss goody two-shoes.”
“The fact that I have magic doesn’t mean I haven’t better use of my time than to dabble in mean-spirited tricks,” Greta hissed. “Now go away before the mortals see me talking to myself.”
“If they knew magic was all around them, she’d see me,” Ursula observed shrewdly. “I hardly had to use any power at all for their dull eyes to pass over me. Just because they don’t believe in magic, suddenly it isn’t there.”
Greta slowed her steps, turning to the old goblin. “Go,” she whispered firmly.
Ursula scowled. “Don’t come crying to me when no goblin wishes to pay you any courtesy.”
Greta lifted her chin. “You say that as if it would upset me.”
As Ursula disappeared with a loud pop, Greta winced and lifted her hand, scratches crisscrossing her skin. They stung in the brisk air, and crimson droplets of blood popped up on her fingers.
Glancing about to be sure no one was watching, Greta concentrated hard on the threads of magic that now pooled about her, willing them to encircle her hand. She was a bit out of practice, but after several long moments, warmth graced her fingertips as the cuts began to heal. Flexing her fingers, Greta nodded in satisfaction. She convinced herself this was worthy—if it hadn’t been for that nosy Ursula, she wouldn’t have been injured in the first place. She hurried on her way back to the grocer’s, irritated by the whole thing.
By the time she reached the grocer’s storefront, she was out of breath and the basket was heavy on her arm. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing thoughts. “I mustn’t storm into the shop like this,” she whispered, lowering herself to sit on the front stoop. Sifting through the basket, she came across the large bronze-tinted envelope, staring at the delicate drawing once more. The climbing ivy on the building was so detailed, she found herself wondering how the artist was able to make such tiny, precise marks. She found her ill mood dissipating as she focused on the lines and strokes on the envelope.
Greta was jolted from her reverie when a horrible crash sounded from the back of the store. “Ursula!” she growled, pushing the strange letter back into the basket and hurrying around the corner. She was met with an absolute mess—the rubbish bins were overturned, and the boxes that she had so carefully stacked by the back door, just as Rosa had taught her, had toppled.
“You old kobold,” Greta hissed, setting down her load on an upended crate to search for Ursula. “I bet you’d like me to use my magic to fix this mess you made, wouldn’t you? Well, if it pleases you to watch me sweep and scrub for the next hour,
you’re welcome to it!”
Movement caught her eye, and she was startled to see that it was not Ursula emerging from behind the overturned bins, but a small kitten, with black fur and feet that looked as if they had been dipped in flour.
Her anger subsiding, Greta approached the kitten. “So, it was you who did all of this? Rather a large mess for such a little one.”
“Meow?” The kitten’s mouth opened wide as it stared up at her with large, vivid green eyes—which bore an uncanny resemblance to her own—and she felt a kinship to the feline. “Meow?”
Greta knelt before the kitten, cautiously extending her hand. The kitten let out another soft meow as she rubbed against Greta’s knees. “Aren’t you the sweet one?” Greta whispered as she began petting the kitten’s long, soft fur. The kitten let out a blab in reply. After a few moments, the kitten raised her nose and began sniffing the air. She bounded over to the crate where Greta had left her parcels, putting her paws up to rifle through them.
Greta scrambled to her feet. “No, no,” she murmured, hoisting the kitten around the middle. She discovered the curious feline had already unearthed her prize, pulling out the small packet of gingerbread with her teeth.
Greta paused, setting the kitten down as its little body began to rumble with purrs. “You like gingerbread?” The kitten looked up at her and blinked slowly, responding with an emphatic meow. Greta giggled, unwrapping the paper and breaking off a piece of bread—which was rather difficult, since the kitten was scrambling for a bite. “There.” The kitten enthusiastically took the gingerbread and gobbled it up, making all sorts of noises that sounded halfway between grunts and purrs. “My, but you can chatter! I think I’ll call you Calla.” The kitten meowed emphatically. “I see you approve,” laughed Greta. She flinched when cold drops of rain hit her head and shoulders, and she thought of the poor little kitten out in the cold rain all night. Placing the basket firmly on her arm, Greta scooped Calla onto her shoulder and hurried inside.
Magic at Midnight Page 7
