Tales from Tarker's Hollow

by Tasha Black

  Even their footsteps quieted at his command.

  Mac pushed the door open silently and stepped between the potted plants, gesturing to the others to stay where they were, in the back hall. He couldn’t risk them being seen from outside. And with the light pouring in from the great hall, a large group of people could be easily visible.

  Borrowing his wolf’s graceful stealth, Mac crept into a grove of potted fig trees and dropped to his knees to wait.

  Soon enough, he heard a scraping sound against the glass, and smelled an abundance of peaches.

  Ava had returned.

  He could see her from his place in the shadows. She was removing a glass panel and squeezing through it to enter.

  Quick as a thought, he bounded up and turned on the lights.

  She gasped.

  “Ava!” Dr. Thayer scolded, as the whole party crowded into the entry to the solarium. “What in heavens name are you doing?”

  “I—I—” the young woman stammered. Sweat beaded on her forehead and her hair stuck to her temples.

  “She has your keys, and something else as well,” Mac announced darkly.

  A murmur went through the crowd.

  14

  “What in the world are you talking about, J.D.? Ava would never steal from me,” Helen protested, marching across the room to pat her assistant’s arm.

  “On the contrary, Dr. Thayer,” Mac said calmly. “She’s been waiting for an opportunity for a long time.”

  “She’s had every opportunity. She sleeps here most nights,” Helen said.

  “That’s quite true. More often now than in the past, I’ll bet,” Mac suggested.

  “That’s none of your concern,” Ava spoke up for the first time.

  “You’ve been staying here more nights than not. But you had to wait until tonight to take those keys. Because tonight there were guests in the house, and that gave you plausible deniability, right, Ava?” Mac asked.

  She turned away from him, but he saw the color rise in her cheeks. His wolf raged at the insult to its intended mate. But Mac was in charge here. The girl was not his mate, after all. And wrongs had to be righted.

  “What would Ava want with the keys anyway?” Dr. Thayer asked, more quietly.

  “Ava has no interest in their historical value, Helen. She is interested in them, or in one of them, because of what it opens,” Mac explained gently.

  “The old toolshed? The reading room at the Friends Historical Library?” Helen pleaded. But her devastated expression told Mac that she had already put it together.

  “One of those keys, a very small one, had a swirl pattern on it, didn’t it?” Mac asked.

  Dr. Thayer nodded forlornly.

  “It matched the pattern on the decorative box on your desk at the college, is that what it opens?” Mac asked.

  She nodded again.

  “And what was in the box, Helen?” Mac made his voice as gentle as a mother’s caress. “Was it photographs?”

  She shook her head.

  “No, J.D.,” she sighed. “It was a flash drive. But it amounts to the same thing.”

  “You must be in so much pain,” he replied softly. “But you didn’t know who?”

  She shook her head.

  “I told Ava that I paid a PI to follow him, and that they caught him with someone at a hotel in Springton. But they never caught her face on camera…”

  “Did you confront him?” Mac asked.

  “No. But we have a prenup. Evidence was all I needed,” Helen answered.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Mac saw Ava slide to the ground, her face in her hands.

  “What the hell is going on?” Brad Lloyd-Thayer’s voice bounced off the glass walls of the solarium as he pushed through the crowd to get to his wife.

  “You were fucking… Ava,” Helen’s voice broke on her assistant’s name.

  “How could you have possibly known that from missing keys, MacGregor?” Brad demanded, turning furiously to Mac.

  “When I was in the library tonight with Miss Everly, someone else was in there with us.”

  From her place near the front of the crowd, Parker blushed at the thought.

  “The person made a quick exit, hoping not to be seen. Then Ava began to pay a lot of attention to me. And when my guard was down, she disappeared with my pants,” Mac admitted less triumphantly.

  Brad’s face went pale and he turned to face Ava.

  “Is that true?” he asked, “Did you sleep with him?”

  Ava buried her face in her hands again and began to sob.

  Brad spun back to Mac, with an indescribable expression. “So what does this have to do with me?”

  “I saw a brush in Ava’s room, and in the brush were long blond hairs.”

  “Okay, okay,” Clive Warren pushed his way up to Mac. The sheriff looked mightily confused.

  “Are you saying that he was having an affair with her?” Clive pointed to Brad and then to Ava.

  “Yes,” Mac nodded.

  “And she stole the keys?” Clive asked, pointing again to Ava.

  “Yes,” Mac agreed. “Helen had likely confessed to her that she knew her husband was having an affair. And that the flash drive with the evidence was in the box.

  When Ava realized that Helen hadn’t recognized her, she knew it was only a matter of time. She had to get the flash drive.

  The box was locked. It is quite large, and a prized possession of Dr. Thayer’s. It would be too difficult to smuggle out unnoticed. And Ava knew that if the box went missing, Dr. Thayer might figure everything out.

  The keys, on the other hand, are of interest to several people. They’re quite small, and easy to spirit away in a pocket.

  Ava thought she would slip away from the party with the keys. In the excitement, perhaps no one would realize they were missing for a short time, and she could replace them once she had removed the drive from the box.

  And if someone did notice that they were missing, there would be plenty of other suspects.

  With the keys here at the house, and the box over at the office, it might be a long time before Helen Thayer ever bothered to open it again. And that would remove suspicion from Ava as well.

  Did I get it right, Ava?” he asked, as solicitously as he could, under the circumstances.

  The weeping girl looked up.

  “I - I was going away, next week. Dr. Thayer found me an incredible position in D.C.. I just wanted to tie up loose ends. I never wanted to hurt anyone. I’m so ashamed,” she cried, burying her face in her hands again.

  “J. D. MacGregor, I know you are trying to help but you’ve ruined everything,” Dr. Thayer suddenly exclaimed.

  There was a collective gasp. Even Brad Lloyd-Thayer looked stunned.

  “I knew darned well what was going on. But I love this girl like a daughter, and I have sympathy for my husband, hapless and stupid though he may have been for her… charms,” she paused.

  Mac figured she might as well just have said “breasts” instead of charms.

  “Anyway,” she continued, “when I told her about the flash drive, it was only to give her a way out. After we talked about the pictures, I offered her a wonderful internship opportunity in D.C.. I knew that if I offered her that chance and she took it, that the dalliance with Brad didn’t mean anything and we could still be like a family. I was so proud of her when she agreed immediately to go. I was sure that once she was there, she would meet a nice young man, and in a year or so she could bring him home and everything would be fine,” she sobbed out the last word and pulled the girl into her arms. They cried heartbrokenly together.

  Brad stood over them, tearing at his hair and muttering angrily at himself.

  “So, so what was on the flash drive?” Mac asked, at a complete loss.

  “Nothing!” Helen cried.

  “There was no PI?” Mac asked.

  “Of course not,” Helen replied.

  “So how did you know they were…” Mac’s question trailed off.


  “I just knew,” she replied sadly. “But I could have convinced myself otherwise if it weren’t for your interference.”

  Mac stood silently, at a complete loss.

  “So, what you’re saying, ma’am, is that you’re not pressing charges?” Clive asked.

  “No, of course not,” Dr. Thayer replied.

  “All right then, everyone can go about their business. Have a good evening,” Clive said as he strode out of the solarium toward the front hall, shaking his head as if to pass judgment on the strange ways of the wealthy.

  The crowd began to dissipate. Likely, no one wanted to invade further on the Lloyd-Thayers’ privacy.

  On the way down the hall to the front door, Mac caught Parker’s elbow.

  “Wait, Parker,” he whispered.

  She stopped and turned back to him. Somehow there was still a twinkle in her cool gray eyes.

  “I’m so sorry, I can’t believe I thought that you would take those keys,” he told her earnestly.

  “That’s okay. To your credit it actually was really amusing. And I can’t believe you solved that mystery, Mr. MacGregor. You are one very talented man,” she smiled, poking him in the chest.

  “Can I walk you home?” he asked.

  Parker laughed.

  “Not that talented,” she said lightly. “Take care. Call me if you’re ever going to one of these things again. You know, so I can witness the tragedy,” she added over her shoulder, as she slipped out the front door laughing.

  Mac smiled back. He couldn’t exactly blame her.

  “MacGregor!” Andrew Farthing’s reedy voice carried across the hall.

  “Hey, Andrew,” Mac said. “Some night, huh?”

  “Oh yeah, it was great! Thank you for clearing my name,” Andrew replied.

  “Well, I think your name was already cleared before I botched everything,” Mac told him.

  “That was amazing what you did, I love mysteries,” Andrew congratulated him.

  “You do?” Mac asked incredulously.

  “Oh yeah, yeah, that’s why Helen gave me the biggest part. Hey, I live near you, want to walk out together?” Andrew asked. “I can lend you my coat,” he added, looking doubtfully at Mac’s muddy sheepskin.

  “Hell yes. It’s good to know that even after a night like this one, someone still wants to get this wolf out of sheep’s clothing,” Mac replied ruefully.

  “What do you mean?” Andrew asked.

  “Oh, nothing. So you do horticulture, right? I should ask you for advice about my garden.”

  “You know, I’ve been wondering when you would ask,” Andrew replied seriously. “There’s a lot you need to know about pruning those roses in your front yard.”

  It might end up being a boring walk.

  But the temporary alpha of Tarker’s Hollow was glad to have a friend.

  * * *

  THE END

  * * *

  Want to read more about Tarker’s Hollow? Be sure to check out Curse of the Alpha: The Complete Bundle.

  The Clockwork Dragon

  A dragon’s fire can melt the coldest heart.

  1

  Perchance to Dream

  There was hardly any magic left in the world.

  Her parents said it was because of the internet, and the death of any sense of wonder. Her uncle Otto, after a few glasses of wine, told tales that put the blame on a darker force, blocking out the magic like the moon eclipsing the sun.

  Marie didn’t think it mattered much, one way or the other.

  Until she began dreaming of the golden-eyed prince, and her heart leapt in her chest.

  He was a vision. He had to be.

  The prince was so handsome in today’s dream, his dark hair framing his handsome face, long lashes kissing his cheeks, mischievous eyes shining a startling gold.

  He stretched out his hand, a tiny smile curving up one side of his cruel mouth.

  Marie clutched it without hesitation. Feverish warmth greeted her, the rough beading on his snow-white jacket a delicious contrast to the velvet of that warm hand.

  A snatch of familiar music floated by, a butterfly on the wind, not lingering long enough for her to make out the melody.

  The scent of almonds - achingly sweet, and almost sentimental – permeated the air.

  The smallest sliver of uncertainty crept in, and the prince’s grasp softened under hers, threatening to become the wispy stuff of dreams.

  But when she met those dazzlingly golden eyes, all her doubts vanished.

  Warm honey spread through her limbs under his ardent gaze.

  He caressed her cheek with his other hand and the sensation spread to the place between her legs, a throbbing so intense it felt like a weight - utterly different from any desire she had ever tasted before.

  “Marie,” he whispered.

  She leaned closer, dizzy at his proximity.

  “Marie,” he said, more insistently.

  She wanted to respond, but her voice failed her. She tried to show him with her body that she was listening, completely alert and ready to absorb whatever magic he might share.

  “Marie!” her mother’s voice pierced the vision.

  The golden-eyed prince gave her a half-smile, and melted away.

  Marie awoke in the urgent embrace of her mother.

  She tried her best not to cringe away. Her body still sparkled under the spell of the prince, his song still rang in her ears.

  It just wasn’t fair - she had been so close.

  “Darling, how can you be napping right now?” her mother asked. “Just look.”

  Her mother, Addie Ironwood, looked hardly older than Marie’s twenty-two years. Though, of course, she was more than twice that.

  While Marie was tall and curvy with long raven hair, her mother was tiny and doll-like, with mousy curls.

  At the moment, she looked smaller than usual as she clutched the long, beaded, white satin dress.

  “It’s the gown for tonight,” she exclaimed, looking down at it fondly like it was a second daughter.

  Marie forced a smile, though it felt like icicles in her heart.

  She was a disappointment.

  Her parents were kind, but it was only because they had to be. Marie suspected they must wish they’d had a different daughter - one who would bring back the family magic.

  It had weighed on her, an invisible burden, for as long as she could remember. Although it seemed unfair, since neither of her parents had any real magic to speak of. But rather than excuse her, that fact only served to worsen the issue by making Marie her family’s last hope.

  A hope she’d dashed.

  No matter how hard she tried, no matter how many tutors and charlatans her parents paraded through, her magic just wouldn’t come.

  This was why she had not told them about the golden-eyed prince.

  The visions created such a delicate spark, she worried the inevitable gusts of her parents’ tremulous excitement would extinguish it before it ever had a chance to burn.

  Instead, she cradled the visions in her own head, protectively.

  They were probably only dreams.

  But as long as she didn’t expose them to disproof, there was hope. And they were hers.

  Marie was becoming quite possessive over her prince, even though he never told her his secret.

  She was sure he would, eventually. But she needed him to hurry if it were going to be of any use.

  Tonight wasn’t just the usual Christmas Eve party. This weekend would be the passing of the torch. And if Marie didn’t have her magic by the time of the Choosing, their family would be royalty no more.

  They probably thought she was sleeping so much, since arriving home for her last winter break from college, because she was depressed about failing them.

  In fact, Marie’s napping was deliberate, if not frenzied. Because of her grandfather’s death, a new matriarch or patriarch of the magical community must be chosen. By rights, it should have been Marie. Magic s
ometimes skipped a generation, meaning stronger powers for the final recipient. If that were true, she was due a hefty dose.

  “Let’s try it on!” her mother chirped.

  Marie sat up, feeling invigorated, as she always did after the visions.

  Late afternoon sunlight suffused her room, filling the huge windows and pouring in over the window seat to caress the spines of the books lining the walls before making its way over to the copper posts of her canopied bed.

  Her room had been painted a pale cream with floors of the lightest oak and a soft white carpet on top. The other rooms of the Ironwoods’ mansion were dressed in chestnut millwork and dark wallpaper, but here in this room, Marie had enjoyed a light and happy childhood. Some of the old toys, like her model horses, her favorite dolls, and her grandmother’s music box with the tiny, twirling ballerina - all but forgotten when she went away to school - still sat on the shelves to help her remember the good times.

  Somehow, the laptop bag and cell phone by her bed seemed out of place. It might have been some kind of enchantment, but their house had always held a sort of timelessness, like as soon as you walked through the door, you were transported back to a simpler time, away from the gadgets and frenetic pace of the world outside.

  Inside the Ironwood mansion, it always felt… like home.

  Without ceremony, Marie pulled her nightgown over her head.

  “Goodness,” her mother exclaimed kindly. “How womanly you are.”

  Marie did have a very womanly figure. She was vaguely aware that she should be ashamed at the abundance of her curves, but she was quite proud of her body, since she looked exactly like her Grandmother Marie had as a young woman.

  Everyone always said so, and the family pictures told the same tale. Grandmother Marie had had been tall and shapely, with long straight dark hair and Roman features that could have made her Marie’s twin.

  Aside from being her namesake, Grandmother Marie had also been the last Ironwood to have magic. Not silly parlor tricks, but real magic, the kind that could change the course of history.