Wicked After Dark: 20 Steamy Paranormal Tales of Dragons, Vampires, Werewolves, Shifters, Witches, Angels, Demons, Fey, and More

by Mina Carter

  “Lovely girl, my ass. You stink, sister.”

  “Speak for yourself, fairy boy. My alluring musk trumps your pansy sweet scent I can guarantee you.”

  I stayed in the cleared space between them as the line started to snake slowly forward over the moat, through the entrance and into a long winding corridor. The interior was just like I imagined a castle to be, except there weren’t any colorful tapestries lining the cold stone walls to soften them. I gulped. The very heart of Apollyon’s lair was bleak and barren as soulless as the demon that dwelled within it.

  It took nearly three hours of waiting in line before we reached the ten foot high ebony doors that led into his throne room. The troll I had been waiting behind had just come out, so it was my turn next. I was a nervous wreck, but rationalized. I’d come this far. My task was too important. It was too late to turn away now.

  “Hey,” the fairy protested when he saw me materialize. “No cutting.”

  “I’ve been here the whole time,” I explained. “I heard you and the troll arguing about body odor.”

  He frowned. “Ok.”

  “You can go on in before me if you’d like,” I offered helpfully not overeager to see Apollyon even though I very much wanted something from him.

  “No that’s fine.” He looked as nervous as I felt. “You go in ahead.”

  I drew in a deep breath. This was it. I knew my heart and I was here because I was following it. The way Mr. Hill had advised me to do all those years ago.

  The door made a groaning sound as a Roux-ga-roux wearing brown leather pants opened it. The Louisiana werewolf was in his human phase, his reddish hair held back by a dark cord. A shirtless chest rippling with muscles was crisscrossed with a harness that held two wicked obsidian scimitars. Their leather-wrapped handles peeked out above his brawny shoulders.

  I craned my neck to look up at the Roux-ga-roux’s wolfish face. His gaze widened perceptibly as if he recognized me. He opened his mouth to speak, but whatever he’d been about to say was drowned out by a voice I well recognized.

  “Let her in, Samuel.”

  The Roux-ga-roux placed a hand on the small of my back guiding me inside and closing the door after me. Apollyon’s throne room was a gigantic modified magma chamber. The floor looked to be some kind of opaque limestone. The walls were adorned with reflective onyx tiles. Columns lining either side were fashioned to resemble naturally connected stalactites and stalagmites.

  “Leave, Thyme,” Samuel hissed between his teeth, incisors peeking out of the sides of his mouth. “If Morpheus knew you were here…”

  “Why Thyme Bellerose, you honor me with your presence in my humble abode.” My head snapped up just in time to watch the Evil One abandon his ornately carved obsidian throne. He eagerly strode down a terraced hill of white travertine, clouds of steam hot enough to sear flesh escaping from thermal vents and curling around his half naked form like ghostly admirers.

  The anticipation on his face was readily apparent and nauseatingly familiar as he strode toward me quickly closing the distance that separated us. Samuel backed away from me. I wanted to backup, too, but I held my ground lifting my chin as Apollyon walked around me, giving an appreciative whistle under his breath.

  “Nice sundress. I’ll never forget the feel of those legs of yours wrapped…”

  “Stop!” I screeched swallowing back imagined bile. “Stop it. I didn’t come here to relive that. I want my mask for Mardi Gras.” My fingers curled into tight fists. “It’s my right to have one each year during this time,” I demanded. “The same as any shade, desecrated or not.”

  “A mask, you say? You’ve never asked for one before. Very interesting.” He moved closer studying me with his oily black eyes, making my imagined skin crawl. For once, I was glad not to have a sense of smell anymore. He barked out an order. “Clear the room! I want everyone out!”

  I heard the rush of footsteps on either side of us but I didn’t take my gaze off my adversary. Nothing else mattered. He was the threat. I knew from experience that he was fast and unpredictable. Within that amulet he wore around his neck surged the power of thirteen immortals, including my own. If only I could reach out and grab it.

  “You’ve changed somehow, my dear. You’re radiating heat like a hot poker. That can’t be good for a shade. Not good at all. That form is much too frail to contain such a…fatal flame. I fear that it will burn you up from the inside out.” Noticing the direction of my gaze he took a step back, fingers that had caused me so much pain wrapping protectively around the claw pendant as if he’d read my thoughts. “What’s on your mind? Speak!” he prompted loudly when I didn’t immediately comply. “Tell me exactly why you want the mask, then maybe I’ll grant your request.”

  “But it’s my right to have it.” My fingers tightened. “The carne vale states, ‘farewell to all inhibitions, farewell to the ties that bind all, farewell to fleshly restrictions, what was lost shall be returned from sundown to sunrise while the mask is worn.”

  “I know all that, girl.” His voice was soft, but deceptive. The way everything was with the Father of Lies. He suddenly cast aside the illusion of mortality giving me a glimpse of his true demon god form. A cowled shadow brushing the thirteen foot high ceiling loomed over me, eyes flashing torrid red. “I am the ruler of the In Between!” The floor beneath me shook with the force of his bellow. “I make the rules! There is no other!”

  I trembled but I didn’t cower. I had to have that mask. Billy said I was strong and resilient and he was right. I was the one who put that scar on Apollyon’s cheek. I had figured out a way to survive in the underground all on my own. I was here by myself taking control of my own destiny. And just thinking about Billy right now, his humor, his grin and his all the way in commitment to me, made me feel braver. I threw back my shoulders discovering that light truly does shine the brightest in the darkest places.

  “Are you no longer afraid of me?” He returned to his usual illusionary form leaning in and speaking near my ear. “You should be. Seems to me the clock might be running out for Thyme.” He chuckled ominously.

  I licked my dry lips. “Are you going to give it to me or not?”

  “I think not.”

  My heart sank. I’d thought surely he would, if only because it would give him an opportunity to torture my fleshly body once more.

  “Unless,” he let that hang, and I lifted my chin looking into the inky depths of his eyes dread pooling in my mind when I read the glee in them. “You promise to bring me Blade’s harmonica.”

  Shit. But what choice did I have. “Ok.” I swallowed the lie hoping he’d believe me.

  “See? That was easy enough.” He snapped his finger and a contract appeared out of thin air. “We’ll just sign on the dotted line if you don’t mind.”

  Double shit. I knew about his contracts. They were notorious topside and in the underground. If I signed, the contract would appear on my form and I’d be compelled to follow it to the letter. “No contracts,” I brazened out, eyes steady on his. “You want that harmonica? I’m you’re best chance to get it. There’s no one else who can get as close. You’re just going to have to take me at my word.”

  “Clever little mulatto. You show backbone for an incorporeal spirit.” He tapped his pointy chin three times. “Very well then.” He reached in his pocket and produced a black filigree lace mask with ornate skulls and flame detailing woven into the fabric. When he handed it to me, his cold fingers closed and tightened around mine. “I must say I like the new Thyme. It’s so much more enjoyable to play with you now that you have some spunk. Hurry back, Ty Boo. Bring me what I desire or my displeasure will be…devilish. I expect to see you before sunrise.”

  Chapter 42

  Life is the flower for which love is the honey. - Victor Hugo

  Billy

  “I almost used the harmonica to make her come to me,” I told Morpheus glancing around, registering the black and white framed pictures of the former Bacchus kings on the walls
of the Krewe member’s home where we awaited the parade start. “But I knew she’d resent it. I want her to come to me willingly.”

  “You were wise not to compel her.” He clasped a firm hand to my shoulder. “I am relieved that you located her. I had feared that she might have gone to Apollyon’s lair.”

  “Why on earth would she do that?”

  A sharp rap on the door was my non answer. I let out a loud sigh. We were out of time. I’d put this off as long as I could. My staff and the natives were getting restless.

  “Come in!” I shouted.

  Blue tooth device on her ear, my personal assistant waved a group of stuffed shirted Bacchus higher ups toward me, mouthing an apology from behind them while checking out Morpheus from underneath her eyelashes. My brother had been getting looks like that from women all morning long. Despite the oversized coat he wore to hide his folded wings.

  After an agonizing half hour of game planning, I managed to convince them that I was well versed on the proper etiquette for the parade. They shuffled off in a herd of society sheep.

  “Five more minutes,” Lorraine warned before she shut the door.

  “Do you yet require my presence here?” Morpheus asked.

  “No, I guess not.”

  “I am more valuable in the skies. I’ll follow the parade along the route. I’ll alert you if I see anything.”

  “Sounds good.” We clasped arms.

  Morpheus clapped me once on the back. “We’ll meet again after your performance if I am not detained. I shall resume my natural guise.”

  “Will do.” I managed a smile. “I’ll look for the guy with the kickass wings everyone will surely be talking about.” He had assured me that a lot of the Mardi Gras costumes I’d see would not be costumes at all. The supernatural world I’d been thrust into apparently loved a good party. This one in particular.

  “One thing more.” Morpheus paused on his way out, one hand on the door frame, the other tossing something black and shiny that tumbled end over end straight at me. I caught it, flicking the new switchblade open. The shiny black blade flashed with inner light. “That will serve you better than the toothpick you tried to prick me with. Its hardened obsidian blade will stand against most metals, as well as flesh both mortal and immortal. Now that you’ve made on enemy of Apollyon, it is sensible to be prepared.”

  I gave him a firm nod. I felt more confident knowing he had my back.

  Lorraine returned looking backward over her shoulder at Morpheus as he departed. She fanned her face. “Any chance I can get your friend’s number?”

  “Ask him.” I wasn’t getting in the middle of that. No way. No how. “Have you seen Arla?”

  “No.” A crease formed between her brows reminding me of the way Thyme looked when concerned. Hell, everything reminded me of her and everything felt wrong without her around. Less vibrant. Dull. Lifeless. I rubbed at the ache in my chest.

  “Is there anything else you need?” Lorraine asked.

  “I guess not.” That wasn’t really true though. I needed Arla. I wanted to talk to him in private. I hadn’t seen him since his revelation about my parents. His continued absence didn’t make any sense, not after what he’d shared about his plans, not when this particular event was so important to him.

  Knowing the dangerous game we were playing made me more than a little edgy. My manager MIA. My ghost girl nowhere to be found. One insane demon brother running amok. Another a highly conspicuous winged outlaw. The devil as my archenemy. Like I needed one more thing to worry about.

  “Hey,” Lorraine said. “Did you hear what I said?”

  “No. I’m sorry. I’m a little distracted today.”

  “It’s ok.” She blushed. “I just want you to know your family’s all squared away. I’ve got them at a table up front near the stage.”

  “Awesome, thanks.” I raked a hand through my hair and took the black cowboy hat and polarized sunglasses she handed me. I put the hat on. “What about that shop off Royal? Did they get back to us yet?”

  “Yes. They accepted your offer.”

  “Great.” At least something was going right today. “And Chantelle Bellerose?”

  “Oh, yes.” She slapped her forehead. “Thanks for reminding me. I texted you her number. She said she doesn’t usually come into town anymore, especially during Mardi Gras. I told her we’d send a car but she wanted to talk to you first.”

  “Ok, thanks.” I pulled out my cell from my blazer pocket, hand bumping against my harmonica I’d also stored there. I wasn’t planning on playing it or using it but I was keeping that sucker close by. With all of the supernatural shenanigans going on, I wasn’t taking any chances.

  Sunglasses dangling from one hand, finger swiping over my phone screen, following Lorraine down the narrow hall, I multitasked, scrambling for the words that might convince Thyme’s Mamere to come talk to me.

  I had decided Tony had made the wrong choice all those years ago. He should have told Chantelle that he had seen Thyme. Dead might be dead, but there wasn’t an expiration date on love.

  Chapter 43

  Dance with you till day. - Langston Hughes

  Thyme

  Standing next to the gallery pole on St Charles, I smoothed my hands down the cool silk that clung to my curves, trying not to go into sensory overload, but the excitement and the raw energy were tangible. I’d gone so long without experiencing real touch, taste or smell. I had all three now, though they had a twenty-four hour use by date.

  My ears rang from the noise of the celebratory crowd. I savored the humid air and my mouth watered from the smell of coffee from the Starbucks behind me. I reveled in the prodding and poking of arms and elbows as people in costumes nearly as elaborate as those in the parade took everything in, pressing toward Canal Street desperate to catch trinkets thrown from the passing floats.

  The Bacchus parade had thirty-one animated super-floats, most bright green and liberally sprinkled with grape clusters. The Bacchasaurus, a gentle plant eating dinosaur was a favorite as was the Bacchagator, a hundred foot three piece float that sat eight riders. I had no desire to see that one. Though a cartoon like representation, it would remind me too much of Six. Luckily, the King float that Billy would ride in would be the first in the parade. I wasn’t planning to stick around for the rest.

  I pushed forward threading my way through the throng, apologizing as I received glares. I wasn’t looking for parade throws like they were. I was looking for him. To see him with eyes that were real.

  And then there he was, the sole focus of my desire, above the crowd standing on a gigantic harmonica modified to look like a chariot. Larger than life size exaggerated replicas of other famous mouth harpists in sculpted painted colorful foam encircled him.

  My newfound eyes had their feast. Black cowboy hat, wind tousled hair beneath its wide brim, eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. Purple grape clusters on green grape vines adorning his chest in lieu of a royal sash. Lips subtly quirked up as he directed his masked attendants where to throw his doubloons.

  The crowd went crazy, adults yelling for cheap beads and children for toys and candy. Suddenly someone shoved into me hard from behind. I lost visual contact with Billy for a moment as I wobbled in my four inch silver heels. When I stabilized myself, I glanced back and discovered that he seemed to be looking straight at me, his shaded eyes fixed in my direction.

  He reached in his pocket and tossed a doubloon right to me. I caught it in my hands and brought it to my lips kissing the cold metal. I imagined it was him. His head turned to look back at me, appearing to hold my gaze until he was out of view.

  Billy would have the easy way into the Rendezvous Supper dance. The floats would be driven right into the building itself. I ducked back into the crowd heading toward the riverfront, the shortest most direct unimpeded path to the Morial Convention Center. But I’d forgotten how hard it was to get anywhere during Mardi Gras. Revelers on balconies shouted for the women to show their breasts for beads. Some
complied and the banquette got congested as people stopped to gawk. Plus I had to really walk this time, not to mention the fact that I was in four inch heels. Sexy for sure, but not practical.

  Fortunately, once I cleared the worst of the pedestrian traffic I managed to catch a ride in a bicycle rickshaw. I thanked the semi-inebriated LSU frat boy driver as he wobbled and weaved his way forward, politely declining his less than subtle overtures after he dropped me off.

  I hurried up the steps in front of the glass fronted hall joining the long line of brightly costumed and masked celebrants waiting to enter the exclusive invitation only Bacchus event.

  I was so busy running through a list of improbable scenarios to get myself inside that I almost didn’t see him. When I did, I broke out of the line, clambered after him, and went for it, without worrying about the Code or rules. This was Mardi Gras, right?

  “Tony,” I called.

  He turned around, his masked gaze sliding over me then coming back when I said his name again. He said something to his wife and twin girls with him before walking over to me.

  “Do I know you?” he asked, his cocked head revealing his confusion.

  “It’s me, Tony. Thyme.”

  “Who are you? Really?” His brows lifted appearing for a moment above his mask before disappearing into his curly hair. “Don’t mess with me. I don’t have time for sick jokes.”

  “It is me. I can’t explain right now. I need to see Billy. I know he’s looking for me. You had to be the one to tell him to look for me in the park last night.”

  His jaw dropped open.

  My lips quirked up. He looked silly, a befuddled harlequin in his multi-colored diamond suit. “Can you get me in?” I wanted to hug him. It had been so long since I’d seen him for real and when I was alive I’d taken too many things I shouldn’t have for granted. I settled for touching my old friend’s arm briefly to show him that I was alive and no longer a ghost…for now.