Magic After Dark: A Collection of Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels

by Margo Bond Collins

  She wished more than ever that she could speak to her sister one last time, to decipher all these cryptic clues left behind.

  The daughters will rise, rise.

  Sirena sat up straight.

  If you wish to read this sight you’ll need a touch of blood from Michael…

  Could Brie read this?

  She tried to remember what Cora had told her—they found the message in Brie’s mind, but it was blurry, and they couldn’t decipher the letters or words from it…

  But Milena wouldn’t have written this message on the wall for her own health. Milena had written this message to her, the last daughter of Michael. Was she trying to tell her that there were more daughters out there—that her own daughter might be one of them?

  The daughters will rise, rise.

  It didn’t seem possible that little Brie van Rossum, her niece, could be a daughter of Michael when she had an earthlie father. She should be an earthlie.

  She wasn’t able to see the message in full, Sirena reminded herself.

  If you wish to read this sight you’ll need a touch of blood from Michael…

  Don’t set yourself up for disappointment, she told herself.

  The daughters will rise, rise.

  Don’t look for longshot help with your cause just because you feel too insecure to step into who you must become on your own, she begged herself.

  But what if?

  What if she wasn’t the last daughter of Michael?

  What if Brie was the answer to everything?

  A boisterous group of college-age kids walked into the bar, though this group had a look about them. They wore Harvard insignia and backpacks, but she caught the subtle signs. They were Nephilim, not earthlies.

  A redhead stood out to her. She knew somehow, without having met him before, that this was Kerr Fitzgerald.

  He recognized her immediately, locking eyes with her before she even had a chance to disguise herself or disappear into the higher dimensions. Thankfully, his friends passed by her without a glance, laughing and talking to themselves.

  He touched her arm as he passed. “Do you know what to do next?” he whispered quietly.

  She glared at him, though he didn’t see that response because he didn’t wait for her answer. He kept walking, as if he hadn’t spoken to her at all.

  How did he know?

  Or did he even know?

  She practically ran out the doors and into the bustling streets of Boston, transporting away from the scene before anyone else could recognize her.

  How in the world did he find her?

  Jaelle? Some other tracking device?

  Do you know what to do next? he had said to her.

  Was that some sort of sign that she was on the right track?

  He’s a Nephilim, she reminded herself. Zane didn’t trust him, and several of the guys he walked into that bar with looked familiar and powerful.

  But he was linked to Milena. Maybe Milena had sent her more than one message.

  She had no idea if she was making good decisions anymore. Her heart wanted to go to Honolulu, see her niece and nephew for herself up close. Her mind told her not to… that she was too easily manipulated… that there were too many loose ends to consider to feel safe leaving the area, or bringing her drama and enemies along with her to her sister’s kids.

  It seemed impossible to her that Brie would be a daughter of Michael.

  Then again, what else would bring Milena back into the Archworld, if not her children?

  And if that was why she had gone on her trip, then her sister’s children were in trouble… the murderer knew who they were, and could easily find out where they were from the media coverage.

  She quickly realized there was only one option. She had to go to her remaining family. She had to get more involved, even if it was a risk to her. She had to protect the daughters of Michael, and if Brie had the chance to be one, she had to do everything she could to protect her.

  She had to honor her sister’s death the best way she knew how.

  The daughters will rise, rise…

  For the first time, Sirena really believed that.

  If you plan to continue with this series, there’s an epilogue…but I suggest you stop here if you don’t like cliffhangers and don’t plan to continue.

  Thanks for reading!

  Epilogue

  Kerr

  “How dare you,” Zane said.

  Kerr stretched out on his couch in the Boston apartment he shared with his longtime boyfriend Jensen.

  “You were supposed to be discreet. She’s going to figure out we’re tracking her immediately, and then she’ll unwind the rest of it too.”

  “I had no choice,” Kerr replied. “She was taking too long to get to the point. She needs to go after Brie and train her to fight. Every second she isn’t in Honolulu is another second that Vega figures out that the daughters are still alive and well. He’ll go after them in a heartbeat.”

  Zane buried his head in his hands. “You don’t understand, dude. She will never forgive me for my role in this, no matter how much I try to explain the necessity of it.”

  “Milena wanted it this way—”

  “Screw Milena,” Zane said. “We should have told Ri the truth—that Milena wanted her to go after Brie if something ever happened to her on these trips. Done and done. Why convolute things so much?”

  “I don’t know,” Kerr said. “Maybe Milena thought her sister would need some convincing, or wouldn’t do it if she didn’t feel like she came up with the plan herself. Either way, you agreed to it and you did it and it’s done.”

  “When Sirena finds out, she won’t be able to forgive us. She’ll never fully trust us again.”

  “Luckily I don’t seek Sirena’s forgiveness or trust. I seek her action to take out Vega once and for all. How she gets there is of no concern to me, even if I have to coerce her.”

  “Spoken like a true Nephilim,” Zane said. “The ends justify the means.”

  “Spoken like a bleeding heart Hallow,” Kerr retorted. “If only we could all just get along with each other?”

  “Stop,” Jensen said. He stood across from them, his arms folded over his chest. “You’re on the same side and you both agreed to carry out Milena’s plan with no questions asked. So next steps. We got Sirena to Honolulu. What’s next?”

  “Now, she stays there until we’re ready to intervene again,” Kerr said. “Phase one, distract Sirena from revenge, is complete.”

  “What’s phase two?” Jensen asked.

  “Don’t worry about that,” he said moving toward him. He put his arms on his waist. “You’re very cute in that shirt.”

  “Okay,” Zane said. “That’s my cue to leave.” He picked up his jacket from the couch, putting it on. He pointed at Kerr. “You’ll tell me if there’s another issue with the plan, before you do something stupid like that again.”

  “She needed a nudge!” he called out as Zane slammed the front door.

  He turned his attention to Jensen, who joined him on the couch. “You want to get out the ski mask?” he asked nonchalantly.

  Jensen shivered. “I could do without ski masks for awhile.”

  “You played a very, very good fake murderer though.” Kerr unbuttoned Jensen’s jeans as he spoke, reaching his hand down below.

  “Until a daughter of Michael eventually comes after me to kill me,” Jensen pointed out.

  “I’ll resolve things with Sirena before that happens,” he sighed. Jensen was being a buzzkill. “Look, Milena wanted it this way.”

  “And when do you stop oweing a dead woman?” Jensen asked.

  Kerr bit his lip. “When I’ve figured out how to repay her for everything she did for me.”

  “Which was?” Jensen asked. “You’ve never told me.”

  Kerr kissed Jensen’s mouth. “Do you want me to thank you for your help on all this, or not?”

  Jensen smiled. “I could use a good thank you…”

&n
bsp; The End

  Continue the Waters Dark and Deep series in book one, Instruments of the Angels.

  http://monicaleonelle.com/mad-wdad1

  Newsletter

  http://monicaleonelle.com/mad-wdad1-news

  About the Author

  Monica Leonelle was born in Germany and spent her childhood jet-setting around the world with her American parents. Her travels include most of the United States and Europe, as well as Guam, Japan, South Korea, Australia, and the Philippines.

  She’s written over half a million words of fiction spread across several genres and series, most notably her young adult urban fantasy and paranormal romance series, Waters Dark and Deep.

  Monica lives in a very, very old, 3-story home in St. Louis, MO with her husband and adorable westie, Mia. It possibly has ghosts. And definitely has a secret passage.

  Want to continue reading about the daughters of Michael? The story picks up immediately after the epilogue in Instruments of the Angels, the first book in the Waters Dark and Deep series.

  Read More From Monica Leonelle:

  http://monicaleonelle.com/mad-wdad1

  Wanderer’s Song

  Song of Prophecy Book 1

  P.E. Padilla

  Wanderer’s Song © copyright 2017 P.E. Padilla

  Copyright notice: All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Wanderer’s Song

  The one to crush the darkness…

  Nearly three thousand years ago, the Prophet penned the Song of Prophecy, foretelling a time when darkness would engulf the world and threaten all life. The Malatirsay would come, the Chosen One to save the world of Dizhelim, wielding magic unseen in centuries. To prepare for this future time, the Hero Academy was built, its sole purpose to train the One. But it has lost its focus throughout the ages, not watching vigilantly for the signs of the end.

  The time has arrived and the animaru have come, dark creatures of un-life, intent on snuffing out all living things and light itself. But where is the Malatirsay?

  Aeden Tannoch, trained as a highland clan warrior, raised by the Gypta traveling people, could be the One, but he cannot use the promised magic. Yet. In the midst of the dark swarm invading his world, he must travel to the Hero Academy to seek the aid and tutelage of the masters there. The enemy has caught his scent and pursues him. If he doesn’t learn to use the power he is prophesied to employ, not only will he fall, but the entire world will die with him.

  Comes the Malatirsay

  When mankind all but fails

  So fall the animaru

  So the light prevails.

  From Commentary on the Song, by Ahred Chimlain, Prophet to the King of Salamus, Year 4 of the New Age

  Prologue

  The infant’s scream pierced the night air, causing Sartan Tannoch to feel a prickle of irritation. The wailing continued unabated for long minutes, punctuated only by the thunder that followed immediately after each flash of light in the sky. The storm would be upon them soon.

  “Miera,” he growled, the brogue of the clans on his tongue. He spoke loudly, but the wind still whisked his words away almost before they could be heard. “Will you take care of her, please? Is it not enough of a trial without her caterwauling?” He closed his eyes and breathed. He didn’t like that he was so out of sorts that he snapped at her.

  “Aye,” his wife responded, mouth going to a tight line. She was already rocking the baby, trying to soothe her. “I’ll do what I can.” She covered her infant daughter’s face with the blanket in anticipation of the rain and cooed to the girl. The crying lessened, but did not cease.

  Sartan looked to the infant in his own arms, the boy. He stared at his father with big eyes but made no sound. The clan chieftain wondered what the baby was thinking, if babies indeed thought at all. He was just happy the twin in his arms wasn’t crying like his sister. This was hard enough already.

  “We must be about the ritual, Sartan,” Arlden said.

  Sartan looked at his friend and fellow warrior. He was a big man, though not quite so big as Sartan himself. His long, dark braid had little bells and bits of colored stones tied in it. The scars crisscrossing his bare, muscular torso flashed silver every time the lightning struck. He wore his great sword across his back, two long knives at his waist, and the small throwing hatchets he favored strapped to his lower legs.

  “Do I need you to tell me my business?” Sartan snapped. “I know the laws as well as you. Do not rush me in this. It will be done.”

  Arlden broke eye contact with the chief and shrugged slightly. “As you say.”

  The infant girl was screeching again despite all Miera, Sartan’s wife, could do to shut her up. Let her cry. It would soon be over.

  Sartan felt a gaze settle upon him and looked down at his son. The baby was intent on his face, as if willing a question into his father’s mind. It was discomforting, seeing that intelligence in so tiny a person. It wasn’t natural.

  Shaking his head, the clan chief looked back to his wife. “Miera, it is time. Go and take care of the girl. I will handle my part with the lad.” He frowned, but it was not meant for his wife.

  Miera’s beautiful face scrunched into a grimace. Even with that expression, she was so striking it took Sartan’s breath away. Her long red hair danced in the wind, whipping about her and giving her a wild look. He had no doubt his daughter would have shared her mother’s beauty.

  Had she been allowed to grow.

  A sadness rushed through him, unlike anything he had ever felt. He was accustomed to pain. Those of the Croagh Aet Brech, the clans of the highlands, were most at home when it afflicted them, but this was different. This ached from the inside out instead of how pain should be, from the outside in. He tamped it down with ruthless efficiency and shifted his eyes back to the bonfire. Absently, he noticed Miera slipping away with the wailing girl, the tiny bundle in blankets held protectively to her chest. The cries faded as the pair got farther away.

  A movement caught Sartan’s eye. His son, Aeden, craned his head toward his crying sister. His eyes held question and fear and something else. Resolve, maybe? No, that wasn’t possible in a child not yet a month old.

  Arlden spoke again. “We are ready, Clan Chief. Shall we proceed?”

  “Yes.”

  Clearing his throat, Arlden spoke to the crowd gathered around the fire.

  “As it has been since ages past, the ritual of welcome must be performed. For each child, a formal greeting must be given to allow a child to be taken into the clan. Boys or girls, it is the same. Except for one case.

  “As it has been passed down for as long as the Croagh Aet Brech have existed, if twins are born of the clan chief, one a boy and one a girl, the female must be sacrificed so that her power will inhabit the male. To allow her to live will weaken the boy, and he will be unable to lead the clan in the way he is required.”

  The warrior looked to his friend, and Sartan saw compassion in his eyes. Never had anyone thought it would be necessary to actually enforce that tradition. In fact, Sartan had never heard of it happening in his, or any of the other, clans. He was not happy to be the first.

  Arlden continued. “So as not to show disrespect for the male child, the female will meet her end
away from his ritual, in the dark and empty highlands while he is accepted in the brightness of the fire.

  “Aeden, son of Sartan, Chief of the Tannoch clan, be you welcome. Our brother you are and will always be, for so long as you follow clan laws and represent the clan well in every way.”

  Arlden reached near the edge of the fire and dragged a finger in the ash. Stepping forward, he wiped it across the infant’s forehead, leaving a gray smudge there.

  “So has it always been done, so is it complete. Welcome, brother Aeden. May you grow strong and be the bane of Tannoch enemies for decades to come.”

  “Achman!” everyone shouted, startling the baby in Sartan’s arms. Still, the infant made no sound, just stared up at his father. The clan chief had never seen the like.

  Sartan held the baby up, letting the firelight wash over him. As he did, it began to rain.

  Chapter 1

  Sartan Tannoch watched his son train. The clack of wooden swords echoed in the little sheltered valley in which two boys sparred. Sword on sword, sword on shield, and the occasional softer thunk of shields clashing against each other or against the body of an opponent, made a kind of grim symphony.

  The chief of the Tannoch clan smiled. It wasn’t as sweet as the sound of steel, but the rhythm was the same. Well, nearly the same. The sound of battle between skilled warriors was flowing music, songs within songs. This was more like off-key humming or whistling. Still, the melody was there, buried beneath the untrained movements.

  Young Aeden was only eight years old, but he was more skilled than boys several years older. He seemed to adapt well and learn quickly. He would be a fine warrior, a great clan chief after Sartan’s bones had been returned to the earth.